When I'm with You (13 page)

She wasn't surprised by the response, as every servant was well aware of their place in the social order. A maid working as a kitchen helper would be almost as ludicrous as Lady Sally offering to serve as a housemaid. It just wasn't done. But she wasn't giving up without a protest. “I know, but I'm an idle maid, as Mrs. Bates doesn't want me anywhere near the dining room just yet, although it's supposed to be empty now. Please, Mrs. North, isn't there
something
I might do? I'd be happy washing dishes if you need me to.”

“How'd you get that bruised eye?” Lucy asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing. “Everyone's been wondering about it, but no one will say if they know.”

“Lucy!” Mrs. North shot her a horrified look.

Lucy didn't back down at Mrs. North's gasp, nor did her pale cheeks show any sign of embarrassed color. “Well, they have.” She drew herself up to her full height of not quite five feet, which brought her up to Katie's chin. “I won't tell if you don't want me to. I just like the idea of knowing something no one else does.”

Lucy's bluntness caught Katie by surprise and left her momentarily at a loss for words. She stared at the girl, wondering if she should laugh or scold. But Lucy wasn't being malicious or smug, like Abigail. She was merely curious, and Katie couldn't fault her. If she wore Lucy's shoes, she'd probably be just as outspoken in her curiosity.

Before she could answer, Mrs. North broke in. “Then why don't you acquaint yourself with that bin of dishes needing to be washed? I'm sure that would be a story no one else would know as well. Get to work.” She jabbed her forefinger at the bin in question, then turned her faded blue gaze to Katie. Although she spoke sharply, sympathy overflowed in her eyes. “As for your helping in here, that is out of the question. You've a free evening; don't begrudge it. The others won't be down for a bit yet, so sit and read the newspaper. Have another cup of tea and enjoy a rest. It won't last forever, you know. You should enjoy it whilst you can.”

Katie didn't want to tell the cook she couldn't read or that the last thing she wanted was yet another cup of tea, so she simply nodded. “Of course, Mrs. North. How foolish of me. I'll enjoy it while I can, I suppose. But if I might help—”

“You'll be the first one I bellow for. Now, off with you, like a good girl. We've work to do.” Mrs. North turned and walked away, gesturing for Lucy to follow, leaving Katie in the doorway, staring at two retreating backs. Her argument lost, she went back to the table and sat down, dragging the creased, slightly smeared newspaper toward her. She glared at the teapot as if it had just insulted her. The water had long since gone cold, and she really didn't want to trouble Mrs. North by asking her to reheat it.

She squinted at the smudged newspaper and began the torture that was reading. The words fairly swam on the page, but there were a few she recognized, so she spent the time reading what she could and trying to figure out what she couldn't. By the time everyone returned and it was time for their dinner, she didn't care if she ever attempted to read another word. Her mind wandered. She found herself listening to Mrs. North and Lucy again, wondering if maybe—just maybe—she should think about setting her own goals a bit loftier.

Her thoughts came back to her kiss with Rafe, and guilt flashed through her. Lady Sally would be devastated if she knew about that kiss. God would have to grace her and keep Rafe as far away from her as possible. Especially once he married Lady Sally.

The pain would be greater than any bruised eye could ever be.

So, as much as she would miss Marchand Hall and the people within its walls, the time had come to move on.

Which left her with really only one option.

Perhaps it
was
time to go home to Jamaica.

Chapter Twelve

Katie tried to imagine the look on Balboa's face when she turned up in Kingston. She smiled all through her chores the next morning, every time she thought about it. Hopefully passage to Jamaica wouldn't wipe out her entire savings, as she certainly didn't want to come ashore with nothing in her pockets but lint. She didn't want to have to start over again. She'd done so when she arrived in Bermuda and had vowed she would never be that poor again.

“Where are you today?” Abigail's voice pricked through Katie's pleasant thoughts like a knife tip through a soap bubble. A not-so-gentle nudge to her shoulder accompanied those words. Mrs. Bates must have left the room.

“Don't do that.” Katie glared at Abigail as the other woman nudged her again. They were supposed to be dusting the upper hallway, from the ceiling to the railing, and the numerous vases filled with draping ferns. Katie fought off a sigh. It was going to be a long day. Why couldn't she have been assigned to work with Josephine?

“Then you should answer me.”

“You didn't say anything worth answering.” Katie moved to one of the gold urns, crouching to dust the rim.

“I think her Ladyship is going to announce the engagement this afternoon. That's what Lucy was saying to Mrs. North.”

“How would Lucy know?”

The look Abigail shot her suggested she was as stupid as the fern fronds brushing her legs. “Very simply, really. No one ever notices Lucy. She's even more invisible than we are. She comes in to tend to the fires and no one sees her. They talk openly in front of her. Even more so than they do in front of us. The best thing about us is that we are good at being invisible. Even you would have to admit to hearing things that were never meant for your ears.”

Yes, she had. Many times. Without thinking, Katie sat to take the pressure off her knees, which had begun to ache from being in a crouched position. She ignored the soft crush of linen as she peered at Abigail, busily running her rag over the railing. “I suppose both families will be relieved, to know Lady Sally has finally found a husband.”

“Well, her Ladyship might be relieved. But I'm not so certain the Sebastianos will be. When I was tidying up Captain and Mrs. Sebastiano's chambers, they were discussing Lady Sally, and Captain Sebastiano did not seem at all happy that she was to be their daughter-in-law.”

“What did he say?” Katie tried to sound as offhand as possible, but it made her heart skip a beat to hear that not everyone was happy about these upcoming nuptials. It was petty, but she didn't care. If the groom were anyone other than Rafe, she would probably be thrilled to see Lady Sally marry.

Abigail swished her cloth over the gallery railing's fine scrollwork, as if pondering her response. Dust motes swirled by, floating this way and that in the damp air. She frowned, scrubbing at the base of the rail, where the dirt collected. “Not much. But, oddly enough, he mentioned you.”

Katie felt the blood drain from her face. “He mentioned me? Whatever for?”

Before Abigail could look up, she turned away, frowning at the floor as she searched for something,
anything
, to dust. Something must need her attention, although the gallery was dusted on a regular basis.

Aside from where Abigail worked, which was normally hidden behind a large urn, the marble was spotless. The urn had been broken two nights earlier, when Mrs. Bates had been swapping out the old flowers for fresh blooms. The look of horror on the housekeeper's face had been one Katie didn't think she'd ever forget. It was probably the first time Mrs. Bates had ever broken something in Marchand Hall.

However, even that memory wasn't enough to drown the roar of Katie's pulse as Abigail went on. “Tell me something, why
would
he bring
you
into a discussion?”

“Why, indeed? I couldn't tell you, since
you
were the one listening.” Trying to quell the thunder of her heartbeat, she swiped at some soil that had spilled from the broken urn and forced her voice to remain as even as possible as she asked again, “What did he say?”

The silence was so thick, much like the air before a storm. It grew thicker still, more uncomfortable, until Katie could practically feel her ears clogging with it. “Abigail? What did he say?”

Just when Katie was about to grab her and shake an answer from her, Abigail's arm went still. She slowly turned to peer at Katie, her expression so smug, so self-satisfied, that Katie wanted to drop her cloth and bolt back out of the gallery.

“He thought you looked familiar. Said he thought he knew you from somewhere else.” A feeling of icy dread carefully spiraled through Katie. “Now, why would he think you looked familiar, Katie? Where could he
possibly
know you from?”

Katie shrugged, and managed to inject disdain into her words. “I haven't the faintest idea. I'd never seen him before he and Captain Sebastiano arrived here.”

“Is that so?” Abigail countered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She straightened up, folding her arms over her narrow chest, her dirt-smudged dusting cloth hanging limply from one hand. “What exactly did you do in Jamaica, that would make a man remember you?”

“I worked in—in service.” Fear took root, and she hoped like mad nothing showed up on her face. Over the years, she'd gotten quite good at hiding her feelings. It had made life easier in her line of work if no man could see how she'd
really
felt about his being there. But this was different. This scared her more than any nameless, faceless sailor ever could.

“In service.” Abigail gave her a sly look. “I don't suppose you would meet many men that way, would you?”

The inside of Katie's mouth went dry and a sour taste rose in the back of her throat. She coughed, trying to swallow the awful taste and rid herself of the dryness. “No, I—I… Well, there were several sons in the family, and they had friends, so I suppose I met my fair share. Now—” she gathered up her supplies, “—I'm going to go start on the music room.”

She ignored the exultation on the other maid's face. Abigail was just making trouble. If she really knew the truth, she would have run squealing to Mrs. Bates by now, telling tales. She was just trying to upset Katie, trying to make her lose her temper.

It was working.

Katie made her way to the music room, where she dropped her supply box. A cooling ocean breeze blew in through the open doors, clearing her head. She didn't stop moving until she was outside, where she sank onto the low stone wall, leaned against a smooth marble pillar and closed her eyes.

What else had Captain Sebastiano said? Surely they hadn't been discussing Jamaica. As far as she could remember, neither of Rafe's parents had wanted to hear about Kingston, or why their sons visited there when they didn't have actual business dealings going on.

She shuddered. Sebastiano Distillers had legitimate business in Jamaica, but that wasn't always what brought Rafe and his brothers to her shores. It certainly wasn't the reason she and Rafe had first crossed paths, although he'd never actually said he was in Kingston to pay Madame Zeta a visit. At the time she hadn't cared, but now she was eternally grateful he hadn't confessed to being there with the sole intention of visiting the finest brothel on the island.

Of course Inigo Sebastiano would know about Madame Zeta and her girls. They were infamous throughout the West Indies and had been for many years. There probably wasn't a sailor in those waters who didn't know about Madame Zeta.

Not that Katie had been one of her girls. If she had been, her existence wouldn't have been quite so meager. Madame Zeta took very good care of her girls. They didn't live hand-to-mouth, as Katie had for so long. They wore the finest gowns and never went hungry. Rumor had it that they drank champagne with every meal. Champagne. Madame Zeta had it imported specially for her clientele and her ladies. Champagne imported on Sebastiano ships. If anything, Katie had envied those girls at times.

“Katie, what are you doing out here? I thought Mrs. Bates said you were to clean the gallery?”

Katie bolted from the wall as Martha came out onto the terrace. Thank goodness it was her and not Mrs. Bates, but Katie's relief went no further than that. Her hands refused to be still, her palms smoothing over her skirts of their own accord. “I—that is—you— Why are you here? Don't you have Lady Edna to attend to?”

Martha's eyes flicked up and down, following the motion of Katie's hands, and Katie thrust them into the folds of her skirts. Her forehead wrinkling, Martha shook her head. “Not yet. But why are
you
here?” She hurried over to Katie and put a concerned hand on her shoulder. “Katie, you're as white as anything. What's the matter?”

Katie pressed her lips together, not trusting herself to speak. Besides, what could she possibly say? Martha's hand tightened on her shoulder, gently rubbing it. The concern in her dark eyes was almost enough to make Katie burst into tears and confess all of her sins. She wanted the comfort badly enough that the words all but formed on her lips. She went as far as to sag into her friend, to rest her head on Martha's shoulder and heave a heavy sigh.

“Katie, what is it? Please, tell me.” Martha drew her into a warm embrace, like a mother would hold her terrified child. “I've never seen you look like this. You're a mess.”

“I know,” Katie choked, and the hot, thick tears stung her eyes. Vanessa hadn't judged her, and although she hoped like mad Martha wouldn't either, Katie couldn't bring herself to say anything. One of the first rules of survival was to trust no one, and she didn't know if Martha would hold her past against her. Or worse, use it against her. It was too great a risk to take, so she remained silent.

“Very well. Tell me when you feel you can.” A thin layer of hurt spread over Martha's words, which added a subsequent layer of guilt to Katie's conscience.

Katie hated causing that hurt, but there was nothing else she could do. She lifted her head to look her friend in the eye. “Martha, I wish I could, but—” Her throat squeezed shut, cutting off her voice. She let her head drop back onto Martha's shoulder. “I can't,” she finished lamely.

“Why?” Martha eased free and faced her. “Katie, what's going on?”

Perhaps she could tell Martha without actually speaking the words. Could she chance it? Should she?

She looked up at the floor of the terrace above the music room. That was the Hamiltons' private parlor. It was rarely used, so there was little chance she'd be overheard, but she still didn't feel comfortable baring her soul if there was any possibility of it. Someone might be lurking on the garden paths beyond the steps, or could come into the music room just as the wind swept her words inside.

She caught Martha by the wrist to bring her back into the music room. “I can't speak freely out there.”

“Speak freely about what?”

Katie closed the terrace doors, ignoring Martha's, “What the devil—?” She sagged against the right-side door. “I don't want to be overheard. By anyone.”

“Over— Oh my…” Martha's eyes were bright with the dawning of realization. “Katie Dunn, what have you done? Did you pummel Abigail? Please tell me you have.”

“Sorry, but no. That's not it.” Katie's knees had a moment's doubt about holding her up, so she caught the door handle to steady herself. “I only hope you don't hate me after what I'm going to tell you.”

“You're speaking in riddles, Katie,” Martha complained, rubbing her forehead. “Why would I hate you? What on earth could you have done to deserve hatred?”

Katie hesitated. This had to be done, and once it was, Pandora would never be able to put all of the evils back into the box.

She took a deep breath. “Because I know Captain Sebastiano. Rafael Sebastiano. The younger one.”

Martha's hand fell away from her face, her brow furrowing with confusion. “Well, of course you do. You said you once worked for his parents.”

“I know, but… I told you that, but it's not true.” There was no point lying any longer, but still, she drew in a shaky breath. Before her courage fled, she blurted, “Rafe and I were…lovers. In Jamaica.”

She held her breath, waiting for Martha to suck in a horrified breath and run from the room, screaming and crossing herself. But when she looked up and met Martha's gaze, there was no horror to be found. To Katie's surprise, Martha looked more concerned than appalled, and it was all she could do not to burst into real tears.

“Lovers as in—” Martha visibly swallowed, “—the biblical sense?”

Katie nodded. “It's a long story, but in short, I helped the woman his brother eventually married, and one thing led to another, and then…”

Martha leaned against the door beside her. “So, what happened? How did you end up here alone?”

Katie's throat squeezed shut.

It was time. She had to trust Martha now. Her load was far too heavy to keep carrying on her own.

She moved to the pale blue damask sofa in the center of the room and patted the cushion next to her. As Martha settled in, Katie cleared her throat.

“Because his family disapproved of me.” That was all she could bring herself to say.

“Because you were a barmaid? They don't seem so stuffy as to hold that against you.”

Martha had been sworn to secrecy about that piece of her past, but it was so far from the entire truth. Still, the lies had to stop. Katie hated lying. It became such a burden, trying to remember what story you told which person, or if she left that detail out or changed it in some way. As she looked into her friend's concerned eyes, she knew Martha wouldn't betray her, wouldn't turn away in disgust.

At least, she hoped not.

Katie tucked a lock of blonde hair behind one ear. “They would have been happy if I was just a barmaid, Martha.”