Secrets of Sloane House (10 page)

Rosalind figured she should take that as advice. She was completely alone. There wasn’t a single person she could trust with her own secrets.

Not a single solitary one.

“No, Mrs. Russell. There’s nothing at all.”

CHAPTER 9

R
eid Armstrong might have been heir to one of the wealthiest fortunes in Chicago, but for the most part, he still felt a bit like a fish out of water along Michigan Avenue.

Perhaps it was because his parents hadn’t come from money. Instead, his father had gotten lucky in the silver market and had been shrewd in his investments right after the War of Southern Aggression.

Those investments tripled, then tripled again, propelling their somewhat comfortable existence into a whole new direction. And because his parents had always dreamed of creating a better life for their only son, they’d pushed Reid forward into a series of prestigious boarding schools, followed by a finishing year at Harvard.

So now he was firmly embedded in high society, yet always most comfortable around folks who were far less pretentious. He liked going to church. He liked spending an evening listening to music or playing cards. There, he felt at ease. At rest.

But those days had become few and far between. His parents
wanted him to marry well, to do justice to their plans. So he’d learned to curb his tongue and look a bit bored. He’d learned to dance well and play poker and billiards even better. He’d learned to be quick-witted—or to at least appreciate that gift in others.

And he did well.

But even so, he sometimes found himself at a loss for words in certain situations. Which was what was happening at that moment.

He’d gone to see Douglass to seek his opinion on a certain investment he was considering, when Veronica spied him in the Sloane House entryway and came running to his side.

“Reid, I’m so glad to see you,” she said, her voice wavering and her eyes looking to be on the verge of tears. “Everything here is falling apart. Help me escape!”

He was taken aback. Though they’d certainly spent time together, their relationship had definitely not progressed to him providing her comfort.

In an effort to lighten her mood, he teased, “And where shall we escape to? Would you care to take a stroll down Michigan Avenue? Go to the fair again?”

“Neither of those things. I want to stay away from the crowds. Be alone.” Her voice lowered. “Let’s do something more private, Reid. At the moment, I don’t want to be around anyone but you.”

Stunned by her comment, he curved his hand around hers. “What is wrong, Veronica? Are you hurt?”

“I’m not hurt. Simply exhausted. It has been a terrible day.”

“What on earth happened?”

“The new housemaid broke several pieces of china just minutes before my guests were to arrive.” She shuddered dramatically. “It was simply awful. All the ladies had to wait in my mother’s private receiving room for a full ten minutes while everyone set things to right.”

He blew out the breath he’d been holding. “You’re crying over a broken teacup? Come now, Veronica. I can never imagine you getting so worked up about something so insignificant.”

“You’re only thinking that way because you weren’t there to witness it all. Our new maid is ghastly.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to fire Rosalind, but my mother said we were already short one servant. Then she declared I was getting too emotional. And then Douglass got in the middle of things.”

“The maid’s name is Rosalind, you say?”

She stilled as a new, sharp awareness filled her eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s just that I, uh . . . met her the other day in the hall, remember?” Not wanting to create a problem where there wasn’t one, he said, “Tell me, where are your guests now?”

“Oh, they left.” Her gaze warmed as she reached out and pressed her palm against his lapel. “So, where should we go?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time to take you anywhere today. I only dropped by to get some stock advice from Douglass.”

She leaned in a little closer. “Are you sure you can’t change your plans?”

“I’m afraid not.” He tried his best to look regretful.

“You’re as bad as everyone else.” With a flounce of her lovely pale pink gown, she strode down the hall, leaving him to wonder where Douglass was. Seeing one of the footmen, he asked.

“Mr. Sloane is in his rooms, sir,” the footman replied. “He asked not to be disturbed.”

“Oh.” He paused, half waiting for the man to give some explanation. When the servant merely stared back at him, his gaze revealing nothing, Reid stepped away. “Well, thank you. I’ll be on my way then.”
When he was back on the street, he felt at a bit of a loss. He wished he’d brought his carriage instead of choosing to walk to the Sloane mansion. Now he had little choice but to walk back home to get it.

He’d just turned the corner when he spied a riot of brown curls. He picked up his pace, wondering if he’d guessed right. Just as he got close enough to realize that he had, Rosalind crossed the street to the park.

Though he feared it wasn’t proper, he followed. He was curious about her, about her side of Veronica’s story, and, he had to admit, drawn to this little slip of a girl.

The park was several acres, a wide expanse that many had seen as wasted space when it had first been planned. Only the grove of maple, birch, and oak trees prevented it from becoming mowed over for someone’s home. Eventually, however, it became a popular spot for many of the well-to-do families in the area and for many middle-class families seeking a respite from the bustling city.

When Rosalind slowed, he closed the distance between them. When he did so, he noticed the thick bandage on her hand. That, combined with the careful way she was holding her arm, told him much about Veronica’s complaints.

Obviously, her version of the events wasn’t the whole story.

He debated briefly before approaching her. But when Rosalind looked up at him, and the startled look in her eyes faded into suspicion, he knew he had no choice but to speak to her.

“Hello, Rosalind. I thought that might be you.”

Her expression turned wary. “Yes, sir? I mean, beg pardon, Mr. Armstrong?”

Feeling vaguely foolish, he murmured, “Deciding to take a respite outside?”

“Yes. Mrs. Abrams, the housekeeper, said I might have a short break.”

“I’m not checking up on you,” he assured. “I was out walking and happened to notice your hand. I didn’t want to walk by without ascertaining if you needed any help.” He waved a hand at the nearby bench. “Please, sit down. That is, if you’d care to.”

She sat. Moving her bandaged hand to her lap, either to shelter it from his gaze or to ease its pain, he didn’t know. “I don’t need any help. But thank you for asking. Sir.”

He felt a little foolish, looming over her like he was. “May I join you on the bench?” When she stiffened slightly, he added, “I promise, I only want to talk to you. To pass the time.” He waved a hand and tried to look as innocent and unassuming as he wished he felt. “We are out in the open too.”

“Of course, sir. Please do sit down, if you’d like.” Looking away, she murmured, “I’m sure you’ve never seen a woman as skittish as me.”

“It’s a big city. And we don’t know each other well . . .”

Hugging her bandaged hand a little tighter to her stomach, she added, “Being around so many people can be overwhelming, you see. I grew up on a farm in Wisconsin.”

“It is natural for a girl like you to be apprehensive. Even a young lady raised in the city would be.” He paused. “Some would say that is even a smart decision, though I will say that you have nothing to fear from me. I assure you of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “If it is a smart one, it is surely the only smart thing I’ve done today.”

“It’s been that bad?”

“The worst.”

“How did you hurt your hand?”

“I accidentally broke some china and sliced my palm when I was picking up the pieces.”

He winced. “That sounds painful. Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“I’ve already seen one. Mrs. Sloane called for him.” She shook her head with a bit of wonder. “Their personal physician came to the kitchens and took care of my hand. Can you even imagine? A doctor being called to care for a maid’s hand?”

“I’m glad she sent for the doctor. By the looks of that bandage, his assistance was needed.” When she smiled, he ventured, “What did he say?”

“That I needed twelve stitches,” she quipped. “But he also said that after a day or two of rest I’ll be right as rain.”

“Twelve!” Irritation flooded him as he recalled Veronica’s callous version of the incident. “Rosalind, that was no mere scratch, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t, sir.” A line formed between her brows as she fingered the fabric of her dress. “This is my Sunday dress. We’re soaking my uniform, hoping to get the bloodstains out of it. I hope we can.”

It seemed a trifling thing to worry about, what with her injury and all. “I’m sure the Sloanes will procure you a new uniform if one is needed.”

“I’ve cost them quite enough with the doctor’s visit. I don’t dare imagine that they’ll be too eager to spend another cent on my behalf.”

He ached to tell her that a single pair of Veronica’s gloves were most likely double the price of one of her uniform dresses, but he was afraid that would only make her feel worse about her situation. “Please don’t worry,” he said. “Accidents happen. And china cups practically beg to get broken.”

She smiled for the first time. “Thank you for saying that, Mr. Armstrong.”

Glancing at her again, he noticed how the smattering of freckles on her nose made her seem adorably innocent. “Tell me about your farm and your family. Do you have any siblings?”

To his surprise, a dark shadow appeared in her eyes. “I have a large family. My parents, three brothers, and . . . a sister.”

“You hesitated.” Seeking to tease a smile from her, he raised his brows. “Are you not sure if you have a sister?”

If anything, her expression became more stricken. “There were five of us growing up. Miranda, me, then Henry, Stephen, and Ethan. But a few months ago, my sister moved to Chicago.”

“And?”

“And after the first couple of months, we didn’t hear from her again. She’s disappeared.”

“She’s missing? Are you certain?”

“To be honest, I don’t know what has happened to her.” She paused, eyed him more closely, then blurted, “That’s the real reason I’ve come here to Chicago. I promised my family that I’d try to discover what has happened to her.”

“I’m surprised your parents allowed such a thing.” Reid was shocked. He couldn’t deny that.

“I’m afraid they didn’t have much choice. We are all desperate, you see. And very worried. Plus, when my father came to Chicago, he didn’t get much help. The police said she’d probably run off with a man.”

The police response shocked him as well. But he was also curiously drawn into her story. “Where was she when she left? Was she with a man? Did she have a job?”

Rosalind opened her mouth, then closed it just as quickly as she scrambled to her feet. “I must go.”

Reid got to his feet, too, and attempted to stop her. “Why must you leave this very minute? I could help you. I mean, I’d like to try.”

“I don’t know how you could help.” Nibbling her bottom lip, she blurted, “I probably shouldn’t have even told you this much.”

“What about the Sloanes? What do they say?”

Looking even more distressed, she stared hard at him. Then, as if she’d suddenly made a momentous decision, she whispered, “My
sister was working for the Sloanes, sir. I fear that someone in the house had something to do with her disappearance.”

Without a word, they both sat down again.

“You can’t be serious,” Reid finally scoffed.

And she knew at once that telling Mr. Armstrong had been the absolute worst thing to do. As his statement rang in her ears, Rosalind could practically feel her sister’s exasperation. From the time she’d been old enough to be embroiled in any sort of conflict, Rosalind had been miserable at keeping secrets. Time and again, Miranda would glare at her, whisper that if she could ever be trusted, it wouldn’t be too soon. Rosalind would promise to do better in the future.

But yet, here she was again, sharing the most important secret she’d ever kept in her life . . . to one of the people she should be treating as a suspect, not a confidant.

She kept her eyes trained on her injured hand, but couldn’t resist taking a peek at him through the corner of her eye.

As one might have expected, he looked flummoxed.

After taking a long moment—she assumed to gather his thoughts—he turned slightly so that he was more or less facing her on the cool iron bench.

“Who accompanied you? Who has been sharing your burden here?”

The question couldn’t have been more surprising. “My family knows, of course. But I am here by myself.”

“Have you talked to the Sloanes? Asked them for their help?”

“No, sir. When my father came here to find answers, he went to the Sloanes first. They wouldn’t give him the time of day. So if none
of the servants are to blame . . . I fear that someone in the Sloane family might have had something to do with her disappearance.”