Deception at Sable Hill (12 page)

Or was it that he didn’t think she was capable of seeing it? “No matter what the history, here this house still stands, in all its glory. Giving hope.”

“Such that it is.” The lieutenant cast a wary eye her way. “I still feel that you might be imagining that things are a bit too rosy.”

“Will your sister be here?”

He grimaced. “Maeve promised she would.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go inside?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” A flutter of nerves filled her stomach as she lightly placed her gloved hand on his forearm. The muscles under his coat bunched, stiffened, as if preparing to bear her weight.

Or maybe it was just a simple reaction from her touch.

Looking at her hand on his coat, she couldn’t help but notice the differences between them. Her glove was white and one of many specially made to her measurements. His coat jacket was made of inexpensive worsted wool, undoubtedly slightly scratchy to her touch.

At that moment, as they ascended the steps, she was suddenly very worried she was overdressed. Her gown of pale-blue worsted wool, which seemed so plain and utilitarian in her elegant bedroom, now seemed far too fancy and pretentious for the work her heart hoped to accomplish. A tremendous wave of apprehension flowed through her.

She might not know this area, or what exactly the women and children had gone through, but she’d made it her life’s work to study her surroundings and the people within them. Always, she’d been able to fit in.

Unfortunately, she had a terrible feeling she was about to be disregarded without saying a single word, simply because she looked so out of place.

“Do I look all right?” she blurted when they were almost at the door. “I mean, do I look appropriate? Or terribly overdressed?”

Sean’s head whipped toward her. First he met her eyes, then, with a long, slow look, his gaze slowly fluttered downward, skimming her lips, her neck, her shoulders, her clothes.

She stood straight and proud, unsure, and too conscious of the new flutters that filled her. This time, though, they had nothing to do with her insecurities and everything to do with a handsome man’s appraisal. This man.

At last he exhaled. “You look beautiful, Eloisa.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you look fine.”

“You don’t think I will stick out like a sore thumb?” She fingered the fabric of her sleeve. “Perhaps I should have worn a different dress.”

“A different dress wouldn’t have made a difference. Nothing would have.”

“You sound so certain.”

“I am.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he ran a thumb along the length of her jaw. “I think even in burlap you would look beautiful. It simply cannot be helped.” While she digested his words, realizing that she’d just received one of the sweetest compliments in her life, he rested his hand on the door handle. “Come now. Let’s go inside before my sister gets too impatient.”

When she felt him rest his palm on the small of her back, carefully guiding her forward, she smiled. “Well, that mustn’t happen. I never thought I’d see a man like you afraid of his sister’s wrath.”

“Maeve has two children of her own and could easily manage a family of twelve,” he said dryly. “She certainly did her best to manage
me when we were growing up. Believe me, you don’t want to get on her bad side.”

A giggle escaped her just as Sean opened the door and motioned for her to precede him.

As he closed the door behind him, she realized their arrival had indeed been anticipated. A handful of scrubbed boys and girls dressed in utilitarian dresses and shirts and trousers were watching her the way so many people examined the curiosities at the World’s Fair.

Several women stood behind them or off to the side. Those women’s expressions showed nothing but unease and suspicion.

And right then and there, Eloisa knew Sean Ryan’s words had been correct. Nothing she wore was going to make her fit in here. She was out of her element, and everyone in this entryway knew it. Including her.

Hoping to show that she wanted to make friends, she met their eyes and smiled softly. “Hello.”

Not a single person responded. If anything, Eloisa’s weak attempt at friendliness seemed to arouse even more disdain. She tried again. “I’m pleased to meet you all. My name is Eloisa Carstairs.”

One of the younger women’s eyes widened, then the corners of her lips lifted. “That you are.”

Eloisa wasn’t sure what that meant. She certainly wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. Confused, she glanced at Sean.

A curious mixture of resignation and irritation tugged on his features. After gazing at her softly, he turned to the cluster of women. “Come now, everyone. No need to be putting on airs, right? I told Miss Carstairs here that you were a friendly group,” he continued in the same tone of voice. It was a bit coarser than his usual tone with her. A bit deeper.

Little by little, the postures of the assembled women relaxed. One almost smiled.

“Sean’s always been a charmer, he has,” one lady said as a dimple appeared in her cheek. “So much so, it’s a wonder that he hasn’t been snapped up by a whole host of eager girls on Haversham Street.”

“Those days were a long time ago,” he mumbled.

“Not so much,” a dark-haired woman snapped, giving Eloisa a very strong impression that she’d just met his sister.

“Maeve, thank you for meeting us here,” he said.

The woman he was speaking to, a striking brunette with blue eyes the same color as Lieutenant Ryan’s, raised her eyebrows. “I told you I would be here. ’Course, you didn’t tell me you would keep me loitering about in the entryway while the two of you chatted on the front stoop for a good ten minutes about Lord-knows-what.”

Eloisa had no idea why Maeve was needling him, or why all the women there were looking at her like they hoped she would turn away and leave them in peace as soon as possible.

However, she was determined to make a good impression. Not wanting to wait for Sean to formally introduce her to his sister, she stepped forward and held out her hand. “Mrs. O’Connell, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having me here. I don’t wish to inconvenience you too greatly. I just wanted to get a tour, and your brother was kind enough to offer his escort.”

Maeve stepped forward and grudgingly shook Eloisa’s hand. “It weren’t too much trouble, miss. We don’t get cause to put on our Sunday best and mingle with our betters much, anyway.”

“Maeve, mind your tongue,” Sean warned from behind her.

“I’m only speaking the truth.”

“And then some.” His voice gentled when he looked at Eloisa. “Given that this is a shelter for women and their children, I am not allowed to go any farther than this entryway. But I’ll wait for you here until you’re ready to leave.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? I could get home on my own.” At least she hoped she could.

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, his eyes warm and impossibly kind. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Aren’t you the gent, Sean?” Maeve muttered. “Well, Miss Carstairs, I suppose we must get on with this. First of all, these ladies come from all over the city. They live here free of charge while they heal from whatever injuries they might have sustained or until they decide where to go next.”

Stunned that Maeve would speak so plainly in front of the residents, Eloisa glanced at the women. Some of them would hardly look at her. But one or two of them were gazing at her shyly.

Smiling gently, she asked, “How did you all hear about Hope House? Did the police bring you here?”

A lady with curly, blonde hair cleared her throat. “Not me, miss. I heard about the place from one of my old neighbors’ sisters. She said the women who worked here treated people real nice. Like it weren’t their fault they were here.”

Eloisa swallowed back a cry of dismay, afraid to say the wrong thing. But inside, a dozen comments and questions bubbled forth. She was both curious and filled with the need to offer as much assistance as possible.

But also in that mix was a burgeoning notion that everyone in the room was only humoring her, that they all thought of her as nothing more than a simple-minded debutante with too much time on her hands.

It was disheartening to realize that in many ways that may be the truth. She was, indeed, looking for an escape from her everyday concerns—and from the haunting memories that threatened to overcome her when she had nothing else to occupy her mind.

“May I have that tour now?” she asked. “And please, do call me Eloisa.”

Maeve stepped forward. “I’ll be glad to show you, Miss Carstairs. Let’s start in our drawing room, if I may? It most likely pales next to what you’re used to, but we’re mighty proud of it.”

With effort Eloisa bit back a reply, both to the rather judgmental tone and the continued use of her last name. She decided not to offer her first name again. She had a distinct feeling that it would be ignored. With a peek over her shoulder at Sean, who was watching her with an impassive expression, she followed Maeve and entered the maze of rooms.

The drawing room was an open space decorated in shades of gray and blue. The furniture was obviously a cluttered compilation of castoffs from other places. But even to Eloisa’s discerning eye, it had a calming aura.

Continuing on, they crossed into another area, this one with two desks and a shelf containing no more than a paltry dozen books. “This here is the library,” Maeve said.

“It looks to be in need of books.”

“Well, some girls can read, others can’t. So I guess it’s fair to say that a reading tutor would come in handy too.”

“Perhaps I could help with that in some way?”

Maeve shrugged. “How you wish to help is up to you.”

After following Maeve down a dark, narrow hallway covered in faded, rose-colored wallpaper, they came to another small room, really nothing more than a large closet. It held a couple of dolls and a bin of wooden blocks. “This here is the playroom, such that it is. Some of the children like to have a space of their own. It’s their mothers’ saving grace, it is.”

Eloisa peeked inside, intending to merely smile at the little girl
she’d suddenly spied sitting on the rag rug in the corner. But when the little girl gazed at her with hope in her eyes, Eloisa couldn’t resist trying to make a new friend. Walking in, she said, “Hi. I’m Eloisa.”

“I’m Gretta.”

“What game are you playing in here all alone?”

“I’m pretending.”

“Oh?” She kept her voice low and encouraging, though she could sense Maeve’s disapproval. “Who are you pretending to be?”

“A daughter.”

Stunned, she knelt down beside the girl. “You’re pretending to be a daughter, dear?”

“She don’t have a family,” Maeve said in her brisk, no-nonsense way. “Gretta here is an orphan.”

It took everything Eloisa had to suppress the flinch that had risen up inside her. Surely there was no need to speak so bluntly. Or was Mrs. O’Connell’s tone a result of how she felt about Eloisa?

Keeping her eye on the child, she said, “I like your name, Gretta. How old are you?”

“Six.”

Eloisa was surprised. Gretta was small and rail-thin. She wouldn’t have guessed her age much more than four. But then she noticed the weariness in the little girl’s brown eyes. “How long has Gretta lived here, Mrs. O’Connell?”

“Seven months, or thereabouts. When her mum died of the tuberculosis, a couple of her neighbors tried to take her in, but they couldn’t afford another girl, especially one so young. Luckily we had space here for her. Otherwise she would have gone to the workhouse.”

A flash of fear appeared on Gretta’s face. Then, to Eloisa’s amazement, she valiantly attempted to hide it.

“Well, I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance, Gretta.”

Gretta’s nose wrinkled. She paused, then reached out and gingerly ran one finger along Eloisa’s sleeve. “Your dress is pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re pretty too.”

Eloisa gently covered Gretta’s hand for a second. “I think you are prettier. Next time I come, perhaps we can visit some more?”

Gretta smiled but said nothing, leaving Eloisa with the feeling that she was far too used to grown-ups not following through on promises.

After getting to her feet, she followed Maeve out of the room and up the back stairs.

“Up here are the sleeping quarters. As you can see, everyone shares. Most of the residents take a stroll on a Sunday afternoon with decent weather, or a lot of them would be in their rooms.”

There were at least two if not three beds in each room. Each was made up neatly. Also in the rooms were bowls and pitchers of water, hooks to hang dresses, and shelves where the women’s belongings were stored. It was all very utilitarian and very sad. However, none of the women she saw downstairs had looked especially dejected or displeased to be there. Unlike the women in the entryway, the two in the room smiled when Eloisa greeted them.

At the end of the hall on the second floor was a children’s room. “This is where the orphan girls live. The boys are in the attic.”

Eloisa felt tears prick her eyes as she imagined sweet little Gretta lying on one of the cots that lined the floor, each with one thin blanket. There were no toys or extra blankets to be seen.

“It’s very sparse, isn’t it?”

“To someone like you, I suppose it is. These women are grateful for their blessings, however. And the children grow up learning not to expect much.”

The meaning was clear. That Maeve was certain Eloisa had never
had the occasion to go without something she wanted . . . and that she obviously took everything she had for granted.

Eloisa knew she should have expected Maeve’s disdain. But the distrust that emanated from her came as a surprise.

And there, in the darkened hallway, she realized that not only did Maeve not think much of her, but she actively disliked her too.

“Why do you dislike me so much?”

Maeve’s expression soured. “I don’t
dislike
you, Miss Carstairs. It’s simply that I have no use for young ladies like you.” Her tone hardened as she continued. “I have no desire to be a part of your miniscule effort to do charity work, to temporarily fill some gap in your life, deal with something that’s been missing.”