A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Thirty-Nine

Upon arriving home, Rose’s priorities shifted immediately and dramatically. A temperamental Bridie greeted her with a list of chores.

"The misses is confined to ‘er bed fer the afternoon," she said, refraining from any further comment on Victoria’s condition, "so them gifts ‘n things will ‘ave to wait. You may want to stop in and check on Josie, poor child’s taken ill. Belinda gave her a little somethin’ fer the fever but she couldn’t spare a minute to sit with ‘er, y’know how that one is. I would, but I don’t dare in me condition, she could be catchin’. But before you do, you’ll need to prepare a cot in the basement for Richard. The good Lord knows we don’t need more of ‘em sick."

Rose nodded and tried to extricate herself, but Bridie remembered something else. "Oh, dear, before I forget, I spoke with Meg th’ other day and she wanted me to tell you some fella came ‘round lookin’ fer ya. Name was Franklin something-or-other. She didn’t tell him where to find ya, said somethin’ smelled funny about ‘im, but she wanted to warn ya."

Too late, Rose thought.

Her first impulse was to head straight for her room in the attic, to pack all her belongings and steal away in the night. The more she contemplated the situation, the more running away appealed to her.

She nearly tripped on the second floor landing. Richard was playing fetch with Skipper, and the ball rolled right into her path.

"Richard!" she scolded, her voice harsher than she intended. "You know you’re not to play with the dog in the house. Take him outside at once!"

Skipper eyed her nervously and gave her a wide berth as he returned the ball. Unfortunately for Rose, her charge was in a rebellious mood and refused to do as she demanded.

"I can’t take him out in the yard," he complained. "Belinda’s out back with Cecilia and she said she didn’t want Skipper to bother them."

"Belinda took Cecilia outside in this weather?"

"Yeah." Richard pried the ball from Skipper’s mouth. "She wants to keep her away from Josie’s germs. What a loon." He laughed and tossed the ball in the air. Rose caught it.

"Take Skipper to the basement," she told him, choosing to overlook the insult to Belinda. She’d thought it herself many times. "You’ll be sleeping in the playroom until your sister gets better."

Richard groaned. "I hate sleeping down there. That cot’s lumpy and it hurts. Why can’t you sleep in the basement?"

"Richard–"

"All right, all right. C’mon, Skip." The collie trotted obediently behind him. "I can’t wait till you’re gone and I get your room," Rose heard him mumbling on the way down.

"That may be sooner than you think," Rose said to herself. She unlocked the attic door and climbed the stairs, pausing to survey her modest surroundings before retrieving a suitcase from a tiny storage space.

Would they miss her? As Richard had painfully made aware, come graduation, she would be expected to find employment better suited to her skills and level of education, and a place of her own. By next September, the children wouldn’t need her anymore; Bill would be off to Harvard, Richard would take his place at prep school, and Lucy would return to finishing school. Bridie would be more than capable of handling Josephine.

"Where are you going?"

Rose nearly jumped out of her shoes. Josie had sneaked up on her, as was her habit. She was barefoot and her skin was flushed.

"Josie, what are you doing out of bed?" Rose grabbed a quilt from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around the girl’s body. Josephine’s nightgown was soaked through.

"My throat hurts." Her eyes wandered back to the open suitcase. "Are you going back to school?"

"Yes," Rose lied quickly. Her last exam was two days away, but Josephine wouldn’t know that.

Rose bustled the little girl downstairs and back under the covers, Josephine protesting all the while. She was hungry, she wanted her mother, she wanted to play with Richard and Skipper, she was hot, she was cold.

"Come now, don’t you want to be all well for Saturday?" Rose cajoled her, pulling the layers of coverlets to Josie’s chin.

"Will Mama be well for Saturday?"

"I think she’ll feel better if you’re up and about," Rose said, sidestepping the question. "How about I get Arnolde to fix a pot of his delicious chicken soup? And I’ll bring you a cup of tea with honey for your throat."

Josephine brightened at that and promised to stay in bed. Rose was at the door when she asked coyly, "Is Sebastian coming Saturday?"

Sebastian! With a pang of guilt, Rose realized she hadn’t given him a thought since having the rug pulled from under her that day. She’d come within hours of walking out of his life forever without saying good-bye. It suddenly occurred to her just how agonizing that would be.

She was also aware that she would need help in dealing with Thomas Franklin, and Sebastian was the only person she could trust with the truth.

"Yes," she said, a hint of her first smile in days playing at the corners of her mouth. "Sebastian’s coming."

*****

This was going to be much harder than she thought. Victoria had granted her the evening off and graciously extended an invitation to Sebastian, and Rose hadn’t been allowed a millisecond alone with him. She was all too aware of the envious stares from other women at the party—some of them no doubt recognizing her as one of the servants—but they weren’t the ones monopolizing his time. Josephine, Richard, and Lucy clamored for Sebastian’s attention, begging for some of his uproariously funny show business stories, a giggly Lucy hanging onto his every word until her embarrassed father ordered her to go mingle. Now, dinner was over and Bill had captured Sebastian’s ear.

"I don’t think this country should get involved in Europe’s affairs," he was saying. "I mean, look at all we need to tend to at home. Look at the conditions of our cities, all the poor immigrants and the Negroes living in run-down tenements because they aren’t given equal opportunity at employment or–"

"What does that have to do with Europe?" Sebastian interrupted, suddenly irritable. Bill had struck a nerve.

And angered his father. William had been keeping an eye on his eldest all night, certain he’d begin ranting about some injustice or another, and he couldn’t afford for any of their important guests to be offended. Now, with a clipped, "Excuse us," he pulled his son roughly aside.

"If you don’t stop annoying people with that leftist nonsense, I’ll–"

"You’ll what?" Bill challenged him. "Cancel my tour of Cambridge next month? Go right ahead." He stalked away, leaving a few guests within earshot staring after him in shock. William made a weak joke about his son’s budding interest in politics.

"He’s a smart young man," Sebastian said thoughtfully. "But he should be careful of his influences, especially that Negro minister he mentioned, Reverend Griffiths. He’s the one who organized that protest at the movie theater, you remember, Rose?"

How could she forget? "Sebastian, can we talk in private, please?"

The study was occupied; Rose could smell the cigar smoke from the foyer, so she took him to her room, the only room in the house where she was certain they wouldn’t be disturbed. And there, tears streaming down her face, she told him she wasn’t an orphaned farm girl from Wisconsin, but a once-wealthy heiress belonging to one of Philadelphia’s finest families.

"I left home almost four years ago, when I was seventeen," she wept, as he sank into a chair at her vanity, his expression unreadable. "My father had died a year earlier and left us with nothing but debt. My mother was desperate for a means of holding onto her status in the community, and she found it in the form of Caledon Hockley, whose father was the owner of Hockley Steel. If I were to marry Cal, we would be saved from a possible future of poverty and disgrace.

"But there was one small problem; I didn’t love Cal. My mother knew this, and she was going to force me to wed anyway. So on the eve of our engagement gala, I decided to change my name and escape. I stole some money from Cal and came to New York." This last she spilled our rapidly, hoping he wouldn’t realize she was glossing over a boatload of details. "When he didn’t come after me right away, I actually believed I wouldn’t be found. Until Wednesday." And she described her encounter with Thomas Franklin, omitting many details of that as well.

"I’m sorry to burden you with my sordid past, especially now when you’ve become so important to me," she finished. Sebastian only watched her. He hadn’t spoken a word throughout her tale. "But I don’t know what to do, and I realized I needed to be truthful with you. Please forgive me, Sebastian."

He stared at her critically for a few moments more, until she began to wonder whether she’d made the right decision. Then he stood slowly and drew her into his arms.

"Darling, I’m certain I’ll be furious with you later, but tonight I’ve had a bit much to drink, I’m worried as hell about my father’s health, and frankly, the story you just told me sounds more like a Grimm’s fairy tale than real life, so I can’t tell what’s the truth and what isn’t."

Rose couldn’t meet his eyes as he continued, "But I do believe you’re being blackmailed for some reason, so I’ll give you a piece of advice: don’t pay him a dime."

She finally forced herself to pull away and face him. "But he’ll tell Cal where I am!"

"Oh, he’ll probably do that, anyway, so’s to collect whatever fees he’s charging. Or once he realizes he can bleed you dry once, he’ll keep coming back for more money. I know how characters like this work. They don’t just go away, not even for five thousand dollars, which you don’t have anyway." His eyes narrowed. "Or do you?"

"No," Rose said quickly, although she did have access to many times that amount, in the form of a blue diamond. "But what do you suggest I do?"

"Call his bluff," he suggested. "Let him tell Cal."

"You can’t be serious!"

"Why not? Did it ever occur to you that this Hockley fellow might not be pining away for you, that he just might have gotten on with his life? Perhaps he hired that detective on behalf of your mother. Maybe she’s ill and needs to reach you. Did you ever consider that possibility when you disappeared from her life?"

Rose was dumbfounded. Of course she hadn’t. And to her surprise, she found herself conceding that yes, Cal may have been acting on Ruth’s behalf.

"Oh my God," she said more to herself than to Sebastian. "I never even asked if he knew how she was."

But that was neither here nor there. Sebastian didn’t know all the circumstances. He had no idea she’d faked her own death.

"What did he do to you, Rose?" he asked softly. "What did he do to make you abandon your own mother?"

She sat down on the bed and covered her eyes. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she heard a cruel voice calling her a slut, and the sound of gunshots.

Sebastian’s arms were around her, forgiving, but his voice had a calculating edge. "I know someone who may be able to persuade this bloody idiot to leave you alone. Don’t say a word about this to anyone else."

A frantic knock at the door brought Rose to her feet. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and ordered Sebastian to hide in a corner. All she needed was for a member of the household to catch her entertaining a man in her room.

It was one of the staff hired just for the occasion, a girl of about eighteen whose job it was to watch the children. She looked overwhelmingly relieved to see Rose. "You must come quickly, Miss. It’s the little one, Cecilia. She’s very sick."

Rose found the three-year-old near the Christmas tree in the great room, lying in a pool of her own vomit and crying. Many of the guests, particularly those with children of their own, were making excuses and departing early, fearful of whatever it was Cecilia had. Rose knelt beside her and felt her forehead; it was hot.

"I thought it would be fun for her, to take her sister’s place at the gift exchange." Victoria, babbling away hysterically. "I didn’t want to tire Josie."

"So you chose to make Cecilia sick, too," William snapped at her. "Exposing her to all these people, and on Belinda’s night off!"

"I just wanted her to have some fun for once!"

They were hopeless. No wonder they’d sent for Rose. She scanned the thinning crowd for Randolph, but he’d gone to fetch the doctor. The maids refused to touch the child, so Sebastian and Bill aided Rose in getting her to the nursery.

Sebastian loosened the collar of Cecilia’s dress as Rose removed her shoes. "Rose, look."

She did, and winced at the angry red rash that had spread over the child’s neck and chest.

"What’s wrong with her?" Bill asked, alarmed.

"Bill, make sure no one comes in this room until the doctor arrives," Sebastian ordered. When Bill had gone Sebastian covered Cecilia carefully with a blanket and pulled Rose into the hallway. "You really shouldn’t be in there, either. This looks an awful lot like a sickness I had as a boy."

"What is it?"

He looked grim. "Scarlet fever."

Chapter Forty
Stories