15. Estelle

15

Estelle

W hen we returned to the city after two glorious weeks, we fell quickly back into our routine. Clara started school. Mrs. Bancroft and I returned to our work. Percival spent long hours away from home, often not returning to eat supper with his mother and me. I knew he was avoiding me. I understood why. Knowing, however, did not make the pain of his absence hurt any less.

Blessedly, Mrs. Bancroft kept me so busy that the days sped by. She had been correct about one thing. Focusing on others helped to keep my mind off my own worries and troubles. In addition, seeing how bad people had it compared to my life at the Bancrofts' kept me from feeling too sorry for myself. There were times, usually when checking on a mother and her newborn, that a crippling pain threatened to bring me to my knees. However, I fought through it, having taken Mrs. Bancroft's advice to heart. Doing for others was a balm like nothing else.

Autumn was over before I knew it. Thanksgiving came and went. Soon, we were weeks from Christmas.

One morning, out of the blue, Simon Price, Mary's brother, arrived for an extended stay. I didn't know what to make of him. His thick, wavy brown hair, dark twinkling eyes, and full mouth made him undeniably handsome. A cleft perched in the middle of his chin endlessly fascinated Clara. No matter how many times her grandmama told her not to, she couldn't resist poking her finger inside the dent and giggling.

Yet the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up whenever he was in the room. He was dangerous to me. I could feel it in my bones, even though he was charming and pleasant.

One morning, a few days after his arrival, I was alone in the sitting room enjoying a cup of tea and a good read. Price sauntered into the room, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He wore no jacket, roaming around in his shirt and suspenders without even a tie looped around his neck. In the middle of the day, no less!

"Miss McCord, good morning." Simon gestured toward the chair across from me. "May I sit?"

"Good morning. Yes, please do."

He cocked his head to the right and puckered his lips, watching me.

"Is there something you needed from me?" I asked, keeping my tone pleasant even though he made me nervous.

"You've made yourself very comfortable here in my sister's house."

I looked at him in surprise. Was it malice I detected in his tone? This wasn't his sister's house, I thought, defensiveness tightening my stomach. This home belonged to the Bancrofts.

"Do you enjoy playing the role of Mary's replacement?" Price asked.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm an assistant to Mrs. Bancroft. Nothing more."

"Yet you're living in the guest room. I've not known a secretary to reside in the home of their employer. In addition, I've never known one who couldn't type."

My stomach churned nervously. It was a legitimate question, but how did I explain my presence without spilling my entire story? I didn't want Price to know about my pregnancy or the shame I'd brought to my life. Percival and Mrs. Bancroft understood what had happened to me and had given me grace. Not everyone would be that way. Perhaps no one but them? "The Bancrofts have been very kind to me, giving me a home after I became estranged from my family."

"To clarify, has Percival been kind to you, or his mother? In fact, that brings another question to mind. Whose idea was it for you to stay here and work for the family?"

This line of questioning made me nervous. What did he want? Did he suspect there was something romantic between me and Percival? If so, he couldn't have been more mistaken. We'd not so much as glanced at each other since that night on the beach. All right, perhaps a glance, but nothing more. We'd kept our promise to each other.

"I believe it was a mutual decision between Percival and Mrs. Bancroft," I said, wishing I could swipe away the droplets of sweat that had erupted along the bridge of my nose. "They needed someone to assist them in a variety of capacities, and I desperately needed a job."

"But why? You're obviously well-bred and educated, which makes it all the more befuddling to me. You clearly come from money. Why would you need a job?" Price flopped into a chair and crossed one leg over the other. "Was it you who seduced my brother-in-law or the other way around?"

"There's been no seduction," I said, horrified. "I don't know what you think you know, but you couldn't be more mistaken. Percival is very loyal to his wife."

"Has he admitted he's fallen in love with you?"

I was right. He thought something untoward was going on between Percival and me. That explained his obvious hostility.

"That's ridiculous. You've got this all wrong." Heat rose to my cheeks. How dare he insinuate such things? "Your brother-in-law's a good man, faithful to his wife and daughter."

He went on as if he hadn't heard me. "Was that your aim all along? Did you target him? Knowing he was vulnerable and lonely? Or did you work the old lady? Make her feel as if you're the daughter she never had?"

"Whatever you might think, I'm not skilled in the art of seduction, even if Doctor Bancroft wasn't a married man. As far as Mrs. Bancroft goes, she took pity on me and offered me shelter and a job. I do my best to pay my keep."

He smirked, nodding knowingly. What he thought he knew? He couldn't haven't been more wrong.

"It's a shame what happened to my sister. Still, he's a young man. Should he pine away for her for all time or get a little piece when he can?"

A little piece? Appalled, for a moment, I couldn't speak. My heart beat fast inside my chest. "I cannot say, as it's none of my business."

"Shall I be frank?" Price didn't bother to wait for a response. "I did research on you, Miss McCord . Very interesting what I found."

Why did he say my last name as if it were a bitter pill in his mouth?

"Research?" My instincts told me to flee the room, but of course, I couldn't. It would only make me look guilty.

"Yes, I have a private detective who does extraordinary work here in the city. One might find it interesting—his discovery about you, that is."

I clasped my hands together to stop them from trembling. "I have to get ready for work, Mr. Price, if you'll excuse me."

"If I were a different kind of man with different experiences, I would consider it merely a coincidence. However, knowing that you changed your name and have taken on a new persona, I have to say the evidence is quite damning."

I swallowed the bile that had risen up from my stomach. "I don't understand?" I tried to sound flippant, but the squeak in my voice gave me away.

"Isn't it remarkable that no one's discovered who you really are? No one in this house thought to investigate a stranger who showed up on their doorstep with a sad story? I knew my brother-in-law was a do-gooder, but I had no idea how naive he could be. Unless, of course, he chose you because you're beautiful. A lonely man and a grifter easy on the eyes is certainly a recipe for debauchery and treachery." He paused, watching me with amusement—waiting for me to make my next move, like a conceited cat who knows he has a mouse trapped.

I glared back at him, conjuring as much courage as I could muster. "What is your point, Mr. Price?"

"My point is you're not who you say you are. You're Estelle Sullivan, not Stella McCord. I must say, you might have chosen a better city than New York to disappear into. It was very easy to find you."

Nerves seemed to travel up from my hands to my heart, making it beat even faster. "I don't know what you're referring to, Mr. Price."

"Do lies fall out of your mouth easily, Miss Sullivan? Who taught you the art of deceit or seduction or both? I ask again, why are you here? What game are you playing with my family?"

"There's no game."

"Your father's an extremely wealthy man, which leads me to the conclusion that you were tossed out of the nest. The question is—what did you do?"

"You're correct. I'm estranged from my family for reasons which are personal. The Bancrofts took me in when I was very ill. They've given me shelter and a place to live. I'm repaying them by being of service."

"Why the name change?"

"I don't want my family to know where I am. It's that simple," I said.

"Why?" One eyebrow arched. He changed the position of his feet, so that the left foot was over the right.

"It's not your concern. I've told Mrs. Bancroft and Percival why. I don't have to answer to you."

"That's where you're mistaken. I found out something damning. Something that will change Percival's opinion of you, I have no doubt."

I waited. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away the seconds.

"Miss Sullivan, your father's responsible for the death of my father. Or should I say, the murder of my father in front of his daughter?" His mouth stretched into a grimace. "Which I believe contributed greatly to my sister's decline."

"I've no idea what you're talking about." The room spun. If I'd been standing up, I might have fainted dead away.

"Your father ordered the hit on my father," Price said. "Simple turf war type of thing."

I stared at him. "I'm not sure what you mean."

He cocked his head to the right, peering at me from eyes that I'd at first interpreted as warm and inviting, but now seemed menacing. "You may not know the details of your father's trespasses. That hadn't occurred to me until just now."

"What trespasses?" My voice now shook as violently as the rest of me. How did he know?

"Your father has a reputation as a ruthless businessman."

"As a woman I wasn't privy to the details of his work." I pressed my hands together, unsure of what to admit.

"What would make a girl leave her comfortable life?" Price asked.

"Didn't your detective discover my reasons?" Anger surged, replacing some of my fear. What could this man do to me that hadn't already been done? Percival and Mrs. Bancroft knew my reasons for leaving home, even if I hadn't told them my real name. "If this detective of yours knows who I really am, then he must have also discovered why I had to leave."

"No, that's where things became a bit nebulous."

A movement in the doorway caught my eye. It was Percival, looking none too happy, given the scowl that etched his fine features.

"What's going on here?" Percival strode into the room to stand next to the desk, glaring at Price. "Simon, do you mind explaining yourself?"

"I've been getting to know Miss McCord. Or should I say her real name? Estelle Sullivan ." Mr. Price raised his hands as if warding off a physical altercation, which I knew Percival wasn't capable of. He was too gentle, too well-mannered to participate in something so ugly.

"Estelle Sullivan?" Percival looked in my direction, confusion in his eyes.

"Sean Sullivan's daughter," Mr. Price said. "I take it you haven't properly met."

"Sullivan?" Percival asked. "Stella, is this true? Is that your real name?" Percival had gone perfectly still, watching me.

"Yes, it's true. As you know, I didn't want my family to find me, so I changed my name."

"Oh, God. This can't be." Percival sank into the chair next to his brother-in-law. "Sean Sullivan's your father?"

"Yes, but what does this have to do with your family?" I asked, fighting tears.

"Your father had him killed," Percival said. "We've known it since the beginning but there was no way to prove it, even if the cops were interested in the murders of mobsters."

"Mobsters?" I asked.

"Sean Sullivan ordered the hit," Price said. "As an act of revenge."

"Oh. God. This can't be," I muttered under my breath. "What are the odds?"

Percival scrubbed a hand over his face and drew in a deep breath. "Your father was in deep with a lot of bad people. He and my father-in-law had a disagreement over a business matter. We don't know the details, but it involved a large amount of money. My father-in-law was involved in bootlegging, gambling, racketeering. Your father is as well.

"Simon, you can see she had no idea about any of this," Percival said.

Price turned to me. "My mother died weeks after him when she was thrown from her horse. Because she was distraught? Perhaps? Or was it planned for something or someone to spook her horse? She was an experienced equestrian. For her to have lost control is more than a little suspicious. Your father took our parents from us, Miss Sullivan. He's the reason my sister succumbed to madness. She wasn't strong enough."

I pressed my fingers against my mouth, worried I was going to be sick. "My father's cruel and ruthless, but I didn't know he was a criminal. I had no idea. About anything, apparently." I looked over at Percival, but he would not meet my gaze.

"C'mon, Percy, you can't stand there and tell me this doesn't stink to high heaven?" Price asked. "She shows up at your door out of the blue?"

"I didn't show up here," I said. "I was invited."

"It is a strange coincidence." Percival lifted his gaze and watched me through narrowed eyes. When he spoke next, he hardly sounded like himself. "One that evokes questions. Simon, I need to speak to Stella alone, please."

Simon nodded and without another word, left the room.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

"I don't understand what's happening here," Percival said. "Is this just a coincidence? Namely, did you plan this? Target me on the train?"

"Target you? For what purpose? If you recall, you sat next to me. There was nothing premeditated."

"Stella, how could this be? Your family's the reason for my wife's illness."

"I don't know, but I'm sorry. I should have told you my real name."

"If you had, I would not have invited you home with me," Percival said.

"It was my father, not me," I said, lamely. "Everything else I told you is true."

"God, Stella." He rubbed his face and drew in a deep breath. When he looked back at me, tears flooded his eyes. "What am I supposed to do now? Let the woman whose family ruined mine stay in my home? My daughter loves you. My mother loves you. I…I…" He trailed off and fumbled for his handkerchief to wipe his damp face. "Why is God punishing me like this? I've tried to be such a good man, but the blows keep coming."

"I'm sorry. For everything. For my father and everything he did to your family. But it's not me. I'm a woman without a family." I rose shakily to my feet. "I'll leave. You've all been very kind, but I can't stay here now that we know the truth." Our friendship and working relationship was essentially ruined. I knew the same would be true for Mrs. Bancroft. The tangled web of our two families made it impossible for me to stay.

"I wish I could disagree, Stella. I really do."

"It's all right. None of this is your fault. I'll pack and be gone by the morning."

"Where will you go?" Percival asked woodenly.

"I've no idea. Not home." But where would I go? "I'd like to say goodbye to your mother."

"Yes, of course."

I fled from the den. By the time I reached my room, sobs racked my body. I had nowhere to go. Not enough money to last me but a few weeks at a boardinghouse, even if I could find one. Images of the tenements we'd visited over the last few months played before my eyes. Was the plight of the poor people I'd been helping the future that awaited me? It was hard to think otherwise.

No one wanted me. My father had made sure of that.

By the next morning, I'd packed up my belongings. I'd not slept much, thinking about how to say goodbye to the woman I'd come to think of as a friend and substitute mother.

There was Clara too. I'd grown attached to her and she to me. What would be best? To say goodbye to her? Or just slip away as I'd done with my sister and Mireille? The pain of goodbyes seemed to be the plague of my life.

Penelope knocked on my door soon after I'd finished packing. Her tear-streaked face told me she'd heard that I would be departing.

"Miss Stella, I'm going to miss you very much." She started to cry, prompting more tears from me. We fell together into a tight embrace.

"It'll be all right," I said. "Don't be sad. Some things are not meant to be." What was meant for me? A lonely life of poverty?

"Where will you go?" Penelope asked, withdrawing from our embrace.

"I don't know. I'll find a room somewhere and look for another position, I suppose."

"I'd help if I could, but I don't know how," Penelope said.

From behind us, Mrs. Bancroft appeared. I wanted to shrink into the floorboards when I saw the sadness and confusion in her eyes.

"Penelope, have Robert come up for Miss Sullivan's things," Mrs. Bancroft said.

"Yes, ma'am." Penelope gave me one last look and then scampered from the room.

"Is it true you had no idea?" Mrs. Bancroft folded her arms over her chest.

"That's correct. I had no idea about my father's business dealings or the connection to your family. Honestly, why would I have come here if I'd known my father was the cause of so much of your family's pain?"

"Right. It makes no sense."

"Regardless, I can't stay. Not with all of this between us," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm going to miss you very much. You were more a mother to me than mine ever was."

Her expression softened, and she held out her arms. "You were like the daughter I never had."

We held each other tightly, both weeping. When we parted, she patted her face with a hankie. "Why is it that the sins of the men in our lives cause us so much pain?"

"I don't know."

"If it were up to me, I'd ask you to stay. However, the complexities of the relationship between our families is too much for us to continue as we are."

"I understand. Thank you for taking me in and helping me to recover. I'll always be grateful to you for your kindness."

Mrs. Bancroft pulled a check from her pocket. "This is a little something to keep you going. I should have been cutting you checks all along for your work."

"No, room and board was payment enough."

"You'll find somewhere to stay, won't you?" Mrs. Bancroft asked. "I could make some calls."

I shook my head. "You've done enough. It's time for me to go and let you and Percival and Clara get back to your lives. I'm not worth any more of your time."

"Listen to me." She wrapped her hands around my arms. "You're tough and intelligent. You will find a new life. You'll meet a man and have a family. Soon, you'll barely remember your time here."

"That will never be the case. You've taught me so much. I'll remember you for the rest of my life." I hesitated for a moment before asking, "Will you tell Clara I said goodbye? I can't do it." Seeing her little face confused and rejected was too much for me.

"Write her a note before you leave," Mrs. Bancroft said. "Reassure her that you're not leaving because of anything she did."

"Yes, of course. I'll do it now and leave it on the desk with her name on it."

"Goodbye, dear one. Be well." Mrs. Bancroft opened her arms, and I walked into them for one last embrace. And then she left without looking back, but not before I saw her lift her hankie to her eyes.

I went to the desk and found a piece of stationery and an envelope. It took two tries before I was satisfied. How did one say goodbye to a little person whom I'd grown to love? Another loss, I thought, to add to so many.

Dearest Clara,

I've been called away to take care of something important and unfortunately, will not be returning. I've enjoyed our time together, especially at the beach, and will miss you very much. Always remember how smart and kind you are. You'll grow up to be wise and good like your father and grandmama. Much love,

Stella

I slipped the paper into the envelope, the lump in my throat painful. Next, I chose another piece of paper and envelope and addressed this one to Percival.

Dear Percival,

The night we swallowed moonbeams and said the truth will stay with me all my life. When I see the moon, full, crescent, and everywhere in between, I shall think of you. I wish you nothing but the best and hope that life will prove kinder to you in the years to come. Quite simply, you are the finest man I've ever known. I'm sorry our friendship had to end this way. However, I'm mostly sorry for the sins of my father and how they took your Mary away. If I could change any one thing in this world, it would be that.

Love,

Stella

I sealed the envelope and left both of them on the desk. Mrs. Bancroft would know what to do with them. Then I drew in a deep breath and walked out the front door.

I found a room in a boardinghouse not far from where Mrs. Bancroft and I had frequented during our visits to the tenements. My landlady, Mrs. O'Grady, was a silver-haired woman in her sixties missing most of her teeth and as stingy as she was skinny. I paid her the first month's rent in cash and then borrowed a newspaper to see if I could find a position somewhere. With no references and no skills, I wasn't sure how much luck I would have.

The weeks that followed were a series of failed interviews with various degrees of horrible men. By the end of the month, I was completely discouraged. I was almost out of money and had no job in sight. One night, while eating some of Mrs. O'Grady's watery soup, one of the other girls, Luella, announced her intent to leave us at the end of the week.

Mrs. O'Grady looked up from breaking a piece of bread into pieces to soak up the last of her soup. "Where are you going?"

"None of your concern." Luella glared at her. There was no love lost between the two women. Luella was a robust, pretty farm girl who had come from Minnesota to try her luck in the city. She'd been friendly and forthcoming from my first night at the boardinghouse, unlike some of the others. There were six of us, and Luella had been the only one who spoke to me at all. That said, none of them seemed friendly with one another either. They were like ghosts, these girls. Waiflike and pale, keeping to themselves. It was fine with me. I was too sad to want to spend evenings chattering away as Mauve and I had done as girls.

Later, I was in my room scouring the help wanted ads in the Times when a knock on my door drew me from my task. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Luella. She wore a cotton nightgown, and her yellow hair hung in two braids down her back.

I greeted her with a smile. "Do you need something?"

"No, I just wanted to talk to you—tell you about where I'm going."

I waited, curious to see what she would say next.

"I'm going to work at a house run by a madame," Luella said. "To provide services to the wealthiest of clientele."

At first, I didn't follow. "A madame?"

"Ladies of the evening. You know, for men."

My stomach dropped as it became clear what she meant. I stared at her. "But I thought you were working at the livery?"

"I was. However, Miss Scarlet discovered me and asked me to come by her mansion for tea. Once I got there, she explained what she does. You should see the house and the rooms. Stella, they live in luxury. Only the best clients are allowed inside. Miss Scarlet says they're not permitted to treat the girls unkindly or rough them up."

Rough them up? Good Lord.

"You're going to work for a brothel?" I could hardly breathe. "As a…?" I couldn't even say the word.

"A lady of the evening. That's right." Luella grinned. "Miss Scarlet says she has a few clients who like my type."

"What type is that?"

"You know, I'm tall and strong from working on the farm all my life. I guess some men love women who look Scandinavian. She said I should really play up the whole farm-girl persona, and it'll be kind of like acting on the stage. I'll play a part for these men and be handsomely paid for it."

"Have you done any of…the work yet?"

She smiled and tugged on one of her braids. "I sure did. Two nights ago, Miss Scarlet gave me the opportunity to prove my worth. She had me go upstairs with an oil tycoon from Texas."

"Was it awful? Touching him?"

"I thought it would be, but once I got him up there, it didn't take him long at all to do his business, and then he wanted to talk. He practically talked my ear off—all about his frustrations and worries. Miss Scarlet said I did so well he wants to see me every time he comes to town."

"But don't you want to get married? Have a family?"

She shrugged one muscular shoulder. "I gave up on all of that when I left home to move here. This is only temporary anyway. Just until I can get a role in a play. Miss Scarlet said she looks after her girls. There's no place safer in the city."

As long as one was willing to sell her body. Dear Lord above, was this the only option?

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

"Miss Scarlet asked me if I knew anyone who might be interested in coming to work for her. You have to be pretty and classy, so I immediately thought of you. Like I said, she has only the very best type of men visit. What with your fancy way of talking and all, plus you're almost exotic-looking with that dark hair—why, she'd be happy to meet with you. What do you say? I can take you there."

"I wish you the best, of course, but Luella, that's not for me. I couldn't just lie with a stranger." With Constantine, it had been beautiful and special. He'd been gentle and loving. I couldn't imagine a stranger inside me as he'd been. It was too awful to think about.

"Some of the girls have regulars. They don't have to do it with anyone else because their men pay to keep them there."

My eyes widened at the idea. "They're paid mistresses?"

"Yes, isn't it wonderful? They never have to worry about being hungry or where they're going to sleep for the night."

"What happens when they don't want you any longer?" I asked. "When they find someone younger or prettier?"

Luella stared at the clock on the wall, which lost approximately one minute per day. After seven lost minutes, Mrs. O'Grady would set it back to the correct time, only for the cycle to begin again.

She turned back to me. "Do you really think we're going to live long enough to grow old in this city that eats poor people alive, especially women? For whatever time I have on this earth, I'd like to spend it somewhere comfortable and with a full stomach. Whatever I have to do, I will." Her blue eyes glittered. "It may be different for you—growing up rich—but I've been poor all my life. No one cares about us. There's nothing to pull us from poverty except work like this. We have only a few options and none of them are virtuous by nature. Thievery. Cheating. Taking advantage of those in need to line our own pockets. Prostitution."

"The meek shall inherit the earth," I said under my breath.

"They tell us that to keep us from rebelling or questioning our lot in life. You can starve to death from moral superiority. One bowl of watery soup at a time." Luella gave me a sad smile before leaving for her own room.

I sat alone, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen—a murmur of voices, clanking of dishes and pans. Was she right? Would we only survive through dubious means? Had I signed my own death warrant the day I left our idyllic cottage by the sea? Or was it the moment I fell in love with Constantine Harris?

I closed my eyes, evoking an image of that first day in the garden. The dappled light through the trees, the buzzing of insects, and the kaleidoscope of greens and yellows in Connie's eyes. I'd been naive and powerless to do anything other than fall in love. Luella was correct. Because I was born into wealth, I'd assumed my life would go as planned because nothing had ever challenged that idea. I'd lived in luxury, educated and spoiled without any knowledge of my father's criminal empire. The truth of what I'd seen since arriving here in the city had opened my eyes to the suffering of others. I was no longer that naive girl under the fluttering leaves of a maple tree.

My thoughts drifted to Percival. I missed him, Clara, and Mrs. Bancroft with an ache like homesickness. I'd let myself believe that somehow, I could stay as long as I needed. However, once again, my father ruined my chances for any kind of secure life.

Still, I could not give up. Tomorrow would be the day I found work. It had to be.