Читать книгу The House Of Secrets - Elizabeth Blackwell - Страница 9

1904

EVELYN O’KEEFE’S wedding day passed in a blur. For years afterward, only one image remained clear: the sight of Will Brewster pulling up in front of the church in his lurching, dirt-spattered motorcar, exuding such vitality that everyone else seemed to fade into the background. Evelyn had never believed in love at first sight. The idea of losing her heart to someone she had just met—on her wedding day, no less—had always struck her as absurd. But from the moment Will arrived, she couldn’t stop watching him. He stepped easily from the car and greeted the guests mingling around him. His smile dazzled her as he pulled up his goggles and caught her eye. The attraction was instantaneous.

Until that point, the wedding and reception had progressed as smoothly as any other social event held at the Brewster estate. Alma Brewster, her new mother-in-law, had made all the arrangements. It was never suggested that Evelyn be involved in the planning. Alma knew what food was appropriate for the sit-down dinner and which flowers would be in season. Since Alma was paying for everything and hosting the reception in her home, Evelyn acquiesced immediately. It was a relief to be spared potential social disaster.

The only decision Evelyn made was the style of her wedding dress, which was sewn by her mother, Katherine. Evelyn’s earliest memories were of Katherine holding a needle, with a pincushion and scissors tucked into a white apron wrapped around her waist. Even when Evelyn’s father, Thomas, was alive and Katherine spent most days helping him at the family’s general store, she’d always had fabric and needles tucked behind the counter, waiting for a lull. When Thomas died and they were forced to sell the store to cover unexpected bills and debts, Katherine refused to despair. “We’ll get by,” she told Evelyn. “I always have my sewing.”

And so, Katherine had transformed herself from meek assistant to breadwinner, eventually becoming the dressmaker to many of Chesapeake County’s richest families. And it had all begun with a wedding. Evelyn could still remember the day Katherine had flung open the front door and shouted for her.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Evelyn asked breathlessly as she raced down the stairs, bracing herself for bad news. Though only sixteen, she had none of the naive hopefulness common among girls her age. Already, life had taught her to be wary of change.

“Lavinia Brewster’s getting married,” Katherine announced. “Mabel Goodridge and two other ladies have already asked me to make dresses for them, and I’m sure there will be more to come. If they like my work, they’ll hire me again, I just know it. Thank heavens for the Brewsters!”

The Brewsters. The richest family in Oak Hill. The ones who set the tone for everyone else to follow. If Alma Brewster, the matriarch, wore purple ostrich plumes in her hat at church, the rest of the women in town scrambled to find purple feathers for the next week. The lives of her three children were tracked and discussed as if they were royalty. William, the eldest, known as the family ne’er-do-well, had been shipped off to boarding school at a young age and was now reportedly doing his best to squander his allowance in Europe. Charles, the middle child, was the heir apparent. After graduating from Harvard University and spending a year in London, he was being groomed as the future leader of Brewster Shipping. Their younger sister, Lavinia, had been given a lavish coming-out ball in Baltimore and had dazzled her way through cotillions and debutante dances in New York and Paris.

Now Lavinia was getting married. Half the women invited to the wedding hired Katherine to make their dresses. Although it meant working well into the night for weeks, the money earned from that one event brought Evelyn one step closer to her dream of going to college.

Thanks to Lavinia Brewster’s wedding, Katherine was able to set aside enough money for Evelyn to enroll in a teacher-training program when she was eighteen. Over the next five years, she continued her studies in fits and starts, completing courses whenever she had earned enough money tutoring the spoiled children of rich Baltimore families. During visits home, Katherine would update her on the local gossip, usually dominated by news of the Brewsters: William hadn’t come home for his father’s funeral, Lavinia had given birth to a baby girl. To Evelyn, the Brewsters seemed more like legendary figures than real people. Until the day she was summoned to their mansion on the hill. The place where her life changed forever.

It was a few months after she had received her teaching degree. Evelyn was accompanying her mother to a meeting of their church’s Bible study group, which usually focused more on gossip than Gospel. She had recently received an offer to teach at a private girls’ school in Philadelphia. The salary was tempting, but Evelyn was torn at the thought of leaving her mother. As the two women walked through town, Evelyn was distracted by the decision she faced. Then a carriage clattered past and stopped suddenly just a few steps ahead of them.

“That’s Mrs. Brewster,” Katherine noted, walking quickly toward the carriage.

As they approached, an elegant older woman leaned out a side window. An enormous plumed hat only partially obscured her high forehead. She held her neck and shoulders rigid, as if to counteract the drooping skin around her chin and eyes. Her thin lips curved in a perfect half-moon of a smile, but her deep blue eyes held no trace of warmth.

“Mrs. O’Keefe,” she said.

“Mrs. Brewster.” Katherine tilted her head in submission. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Evelyn.”

Evelyn started to bow, but quickly pulled herself upright. It was bad enough that her mother was acting like a servant.

“You’re the one attending the ladies’ college?” Mrs. Brewster asked, her soothing voice at odds with the stiffness of her posture.

“Yes,” Katherine confirmed. “Evelyn received her degree in June. She was the top-ranked student in her class.”

Mrs. Brewster stared at Evelyn intently. “Do you plan to pursue teaching?”

“Yes, I’m considering an offer in Philadelphia.”

Mrs. Brewster nodded thoughtfully. “Lavinia’s daughter, Beatrice, has just turned six, and she’s beyond the capabilities of her nanny,” she said. “We shall have a proper English governess once she is older, of course, but for the next few years she needs someone to teach her writing and comportment and that sort of thing.” She raised her shoulders slightly in a hint of a shrug. “If you’re free Friday morning, we can discuss the position in further detail.” It was phrased as an invitation, but Alma’s tone made it clear she wasn’t used to being denied.

“Thank you so much,” Katherine gushed, filling the void of Evelyn’s silence. “She can be there at whatever time is convenient.”

“We’ll say ten o’clock sharp,” Mrs. Brewster declared. “See Hayes at the front entrance when you arrive.”

Katherine thanked her effusively, but Evelyn said nothing as Mrs. Brewster slid the carriage window shut and drove away.

Katherine grabbed Evelyn’s arm and pulled her daughter close.

“Oh, darling, how wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Imagine, a position with the Brewsters!”

“Until the real English governess arrives,” Evelyn said.

“You can’t possibly take offense at that!” Katherine scolded with a gentle slap to Evelyn’s arm. “Besides, you weren’t planning on working more than a few years, were you? After you earn some money, you’ll want to think about getting married.”

“I suppose,” said Evelyn.

“And she wants you to come to the front entrance,” Katherine gushed. “That’s a very good sign. When I started doing alterations for her, I had to use the servants’ entrance. It was years before I was welcome at the front door.”

“No matter which door I walk through, I’ll still be a servant,” Evelyn said, not bothering to hide her irritation.

“Have those professors at school been filling your head with socialist nonsense?” Katherine scoffed. “The Brewsters’ money has supported us through difficult times, as you should know. Mrs. Brewster deserves the courtesy of your consideration.”

“Yes, Mother,” Evelyn said.

“I know she seems high-and-mighty, but that’s just her manner. Besides, if you’re Lavinia’s daughter’s governess, you’ll hardly see Mrs. Brewster. Lavinia has her own home on the estate.”

“Then why is Mrs. Brewster arranging the interviews?” Evelyn asked. To that, Katherine had no answer.

In the days before the interview, Evelyn came up with a plan. The more she thought about the position in Philadelphia, the more appealing the offer became. This could be her chance to make a mark on the world by teaching young girls to value themselves and their intelligence. She could still visit her mother every weekend. Katherine might even be convinced to move to Philadelphia with her.

But she couldn’t insult the Brewsters. The key was to make sure Alma Brewster didn’t want to hire her. She could accomplish that by being herself: independent and outspoken. She would not beg for the position, and she would not cater to Alma Brewster’s snobbishness. Mrs. Brewster would dismiss her, and that would be that.

It was only when the butler Hayes—his rotund body waddling on two thin legs like Humpty Dumpty brought to life—led Evelyn into what he called the morning room, that her self-confidence faltered. She had prepared herself to stand up to Alma Brewster. But she hadn’t expected to be faced with a roomful of people, all eying her curiously as she entered.

Mrs. Brewster immediately took charge.

“Miss O’Keefe, I appreciate your promptness,” she said. “I am often appalled by the tardiness of people your age. Please, come in. I will make the introductions.” She led Evelyn toward a pale, nervous-looking young woman clutching the hand of a small girl whose flushed face was surrounded by tangled blond ringlets.

“This is my daughter, Lavinia Preston, and my granddaughter, Beatrice.” Lavinia nodded at Evelyn, while Beatrice stared at her resentfully.

“Beatrice was attempting to hurl herself into the garden fountain a few moments ago,” Alma said. “It is precisely this willfulness we need to remedy. Isn’t that right, Lavinia?”

Lavinia nodded again, but still said nothing.

“This is Beatrice’s father, Winslow Preston,” Mrs. Brewster said, indicating a middle-aged man with a bloated stomach that strained against his waistcoat. He bent his head and shoulders quickly in a brief acknowledgment of Evelyn’s presence.

“And, of course, Charles,” Mrs. Brewster added, as if the other person in the room needed no introduction.

Charles Brewster was a favorite subject of local gossip. Nearly thirty and still a bachelor, his marriage plans were the topic of endless speculation. His wealth and status put the most prestigious possibilities within reach. But for all the discussions of his money, his social connections and his talent for business, Evelyn had never realized how handsome he was until now. He had his mother’s erect posture, but what came across as snobbish in Mrs. Brewster made him appear dignified. His dark brown hair was combed carefully back from his forehead, not a lock out of place. A moustache was neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes focused on Evelyn, observing everything about her but giving nothing away.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss O’Keefe,” he said smoothly, tipping his head. “Mother, if you intend on a lengthy interrogation…”

Mrs. Brewster silenced him with a wave of her hand. “If Miss O’Keefe is to become a member of this household, I expect you to show an interest. Your business affairs can wait.” She turned back to Evelyn. “Come—sit down.”

Evelyn watched as the family members took their places along two parallel sofas in the center of the room: the Prestons on one side, Mrs. Brewster and Charles on the other. After a moment’s hesitation, Evelyn settled on a narrow wooden chair.

Mrs. Brewster began by quizzing Evelyn about her education and her qualifications, nodding approvingly when she mentioned the Baltimore families she had worked for. Beatrice sulked, Winslow looked bored and Lavinia watched silently. But it was Charles who unnerved Evelyn the most. For someone who had tried to avoid the interview, he appeared surprisingly interested in Evelyn’s answers.

“I’m curious,” he interrupted. “What is your philosophy on education for women?”

Evelyn smiled. “I believe women should receive as much education as possible.”

“But if every respectable woman’s goal is marriage,” Charles continued, “why the need for any education? Beyond the simple requirements of literacy and perhaps familiarity with household finances.”

“I believe a successful marriage is one between intellectual equals,” Evelyn responded, echoing a sentiment that had often been debated at college. “A husband will grow bored with a silly wife, but an educated woman is a worthy companion for life.”

“Hmph,” Mrs. Brewster snorted. “Do you think all young ladies should renounce marriage and family to attend college?”

Her face flushed, Evelyn rose to the bait. “Of course not,” she said quickly. “However—and with no offense intended—women used to be considered educated if they had a few years of French and could play a waltz on the piano. We have now entered a new century. Times have changed.”

“Indeed they have,” Charles agreed. To Evelyn’s surprise, he looked pleased.

“I certainly wish Beatrice to have every opportunity,” Mrs. Brewster said. “College is not necessary for someone in her position, but I can see how it would be advantageous for a woman like you, who has to make her own way in the world.”

Evelyn nodded, fairly certain she’d been insulted.

“Now, do you have any questions?” Mrs. Brewster asked.

Evelyn remembered Mrs. Brewster’s offhand comment about her becoming part of the household. “Is this a live-in position?” she asked. If so, she wouldn’t hesitate to decline. Being surrounded by these people every day would be intolerable.

“Given that you live in town, a daily schedule could be arranged,” Mrs. Brewster said. “I see no need to deprive your mother of your company. I know all too well what it is to be a widow alone in this world.”

Hardly alone, thought Evelyn, with three children and a household full of staff.

“I assume lessons would be held at Mr. and Mrs. Preston’s home?”

Mrs. Brewster shook her head. “We have a proper schoolroom here,” she said. “My own children took their lessons there. It’s fully supplied, but there will be funds set aside for books and any other necessities that may be required. Well then,” Mrs. Brewster continued, rising to her feet. “That will be all. We have a few other candidates expected today, but we hope to make a speedy decision. It’s high time Beatrice’s wild ways were tamed.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for considering me.” Evelyn said her goodbyes quickly and almost raced out of the room. How foolish she had been, thinking that she would reject the Brewsters! Of course they would interview other governesses, all of them more experienced and more sophisticated than her. This meeting was simply a gesture of goodwill toward her mother, a gracious signal to the town that the Brewsters weren’t above hiring locals on occasion.

In her hurry to leave the house, Evelyn dashed toward the front door, barely giving Hayes the chance to open it for her. As she made her way swiftly down the drive, she heard her name being shouted behind her. “Miss O’Keefe!”

She stopped and turned, stunned to see Charles Brewster taking the front steps two at a time.

“Your hat, Miss O’Keefe!”

He held up Evelyn’s best hat, made of dark blue straw and decorated with a ring of woven white ribbons. Against the backdrop of the Brewster mansion, it now appeared worn and faded.

“Oh, thank you,” Evelyn muttered as she gingerly took the hat from his hands, careful that their fingers didn’t touch.

“Hayes is far too corpulent to catch you, so I thought I’d try,” he said.

“Yes.” Evelyn was rarely at a loss for words, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Especially since Charles, rather than turning back to the house, continued to stand in front of her, apparently waiting for something.

“Miss O’Keefe,” he began, then coughed in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. “I hope I didn’t offend you with my questioning. I’m afraid I may have been somewhat overbearing.”

“Oh, not at all,” Evelyn lied. “An educated woman—especially one who intends to teach children—should be able to defend her opinions.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He smiled reassuringly, and his voice softened. “Mother can be chilly, but she only wants what’s best for the family. You acquitted yourself quite well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brewster.” Once again, an awkward silence settled between them.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Charles said finally, clasping her hand briefly with both of his. His touch sent a thrill of sensation up Evelyn’s arm, and her heart began to pound. Then he was gone, back to his sprawling home, while Evelyn wondered if she had only imagined the question in his eyes.

WHEN MRS. BREWSTER OFFERED Evelyn the governess position, at double the salary she would have received in Philadelphia, Evelyn felt she had no choice but to accept. She began her duties warily, keeping to the schoolroom and avoiding her employer except when summoned to provide reports on Beatrice’s progress. Yet most days, seemingly by chance, Evelyn found herself crossing paths with Charles. Gradually, she realized these encounters were no accident. Charles’s tone moved from respectful to flirtatious, and Evelyn was flattered by his attention. There were moments stolen in the hallway of the Brewster mansion, his hand brushing hers as if by accident. Visits to the schoolroom as she tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on Beatrice. His whispered confession that she intrigued him as no other woman ever had. From then on, she was at his mercy.

At the time, she thought it was love. Why else would she weaken at the thought of his hand resting around her waist? It wasn’t the grand romance she had once imagined—there were no intimate conversations or tender declarations of affection. Yet Charles had a hold over her that she had no wish to escape.

When Evelyn first confided the new developments to her mother, Katherine almost fainted with delight. She insisted on making new dresses for Evelyn and admonished her to be on her best behavior. When Charles finally appeared at the house one evening and asked for Evelyn’s hand in marriage, Katherine could only nod and stammer before dissolving into tears of happiness.

The reaction at the Brewster home was considerably less joyful. When Charles brought Evelyn into the drawing room later that evening, announcing that she had accepted his proposal, Alma fixed her future daughter-in-law with an expression of such horror that Evelyn had to turn away.

“Nonsense,” Alma declared after an agonizing silence.

Charles took a step toward his mother, his body stiff with self-righteous anger. “If you won’t welcome my future wife, Mother, we are prepared to settle in Baltimore.”

Alma eyed Evelyn up and down. “That won’t be necessary. Charles, will you give us a moment alone, please?”

It took all of Evelyn’s self-control to keep from clutching Charles’s hand. Charles glanced at her, then back at his mother.

“Whatever you say to Evelyn, you can say in front of me.”

“Very well.” Alma paused, pacing in circles in front of them as if rounding up her thoughts. “Charles, if you are attempting to prove your independence, the point has been made. I urged you not to rush into marriage, yet you ignored my advice and proposed to someone who is utterly unsuitable.” She turned to face Evelyn. “Miss O’Keefe, I am not unsympathetic. I understand your position, your family’s precarious finances. You saw an opportunity with my son…”

“I assure you, I didn’t,” Evelyn protested. “Charles pursued me.”

Alma glanced at Charles, taking in his amused smile. Then she smiled coldly at Evelyn.

“Very well,” she conceded. “My son showed an interest, and you took advantage of it. No doubt you are quite skilled. I confess I was completely unaware of this turn of events. However, if you are willing to consider an alternate solution, I’m prepared to be quite generous.”

“I have no interest in your money,” Evelyn said. “Charles and I love each other.”

Alma flinched.

“As you see, Mother, this is not a commercial transaction,” said Charles, a note of contempt lurking beneath his cheerful words. “I have proposed, Evelyn has accepted, and we will be married. With or without your blessing.”

Though Evelyn was heartened by Charles’s resolve, she felt momentarily chilled by the fury in his eyes.

Alma nodded slowly. “If you are determined to go through with this, you will have it. Miss O’Keefe, may I offer my congratulations.” But the words were a mere formality. Alma did not offer an embrace or even a handshake. Her body remained rigid, as if she were afraid she would crack into pieces if she moved.

“Don’t worry, our house will be finished soon enough,” Charles reassured Evelyn as they waited for the carriage to take her home. “You won’t have to spend a night under this roof.”

Their house. The thought of it was almost enough to distract Evelyn from the memory of Alma’s insults. Construction had begun long before Charles’s proposal to Evelyn, but she had been delighted by the building when he’d shown her around a few days before. She had never imagined a place so elegant could also feel so welcoming.

When the carriage arrived, Charles held the door open for Evelyn, then climbed in beside her. He closed the door behind him and drew her toward him for a kiss that obliterated her fears. Until now, Charles had given her nothing more than fleeting pecks on the cheek. Now, his lips explored her face in a frenzy of pent-up passion, his hands roaming along her shoulders and down her arms. Evelyn felt her body melt into his and wondered how she would manage to resist him until their wedding night.

It was only much later, as Evelyn lay in bed, that she felt a pang of doubt. She had told Alma that she and Charles were getting married because they loved each other. Yet Charles had never once told her so.

By the day of the wedding, however, any lingering worries about her future husband were overshadowed by the event itself. Evelyn moved through her duties as if in a dream. She glided down the aisle and repeated her vows in a firm but quiet voice. She smiled graciously as Charles escorted her back through the church and out the front doors.

Then she saw Will Brewster, and the haze lifted.

Charles hadn’t expected his brother to come. Will had gone abroad years ago—“To study art,” Alma had told Reverend Alderson’s wife, in the same hushed tone she might have used to discuss a fatal illness. Charles had informed his brother about the wedding in a letter, but when no response arrived, Alma had crossed Will’s name from the seating chart. Yet there he was, standing at the bottom of the church stairs, pulling off his grimy driving glasses and greeting Evelyn with a delighted smile.

“Will Brewster,” he said cheerily, waving his hand. “I take it you’re my new sister-in-law? Can I give you a lift to the reception?” Evelyn looked into his blue eyes, the same piercing shade as Charles’s, but sparkling with an amusement she’d never seen from her husband. His dark blond hair was tousled from the drive, but despite his disheveled appearance, he held himself with the same strong confidence as the rest of his family. Evelyn couldn’t help but smile back.

“A lift? In that monstrosity?” Charles asked incredulously.

“Nice to see you, too, Charles.” Will laughed.

By this time, guests were filing out around them, and friends called out Will’s name as they rushed up to greet him. It wasn’t long before Alma pushed her way to the front. She hurried toward her eldest son, then stopped in her tracks when she saw the condition of his car and clothes.

“Oh, Will!” she admonished. “You look frightful!”

“There was no time to change,” Will said. “I was trying not to miss the wedding—although apparently, I did anyway.”

“Go to the house and clean up,” Alma ordered. “We’ll be serving dinner in one hour.”

Will tipped his goggles in Evelyn’s direction. “I’ll look forward to getting acquainted this evening, Mrs. Brewster,” he said. His voice had a light, teasing tone, as if acknowledging how ridiculous it was that she should now bear that name.

She meant to ask Charles about his brother, but she didn’t have a chance. Three hundred guests had to make their way through the receiving line, then she and Charles had to be presented as man and wife and take their places at a table with Alma and an assortment of elderly Brewster relatives. Evelyn became aware of Will only later, after the dessert dishes had been cleared and the orchestra began playing. Evelyn looked at Charles expectantly, only to have him announce, “I never dance.” There were so many things she didn’t yet know about him.

A figure in an immaculately pressed tuxedo appeared at Evelyn’s side.

“If my brother won’t take his bride for a pass on the dance floor, perhaps I might be permitted the honor.” Will’s words were courteous to a fault, but Evelyn sensed an undercurrent of amusement.

Evelyn glanced at Charles, who waved her off. “Of course,” he said, before continuing a discussion of trade tariffs with his great-uncle.

“Only Charles would discuss business during his wedding dinner,” Will said, as he lightly took hold of Evelyn’s waist and pulled her across the wood floor. “But I suppose you’re used to that by now.”

In truth, she wasn’t. But revealing how little she really knew about Charles might seem disloyal. “The business keeps him very busy,” she said.

“Oh, Charles was born an old man,” Will said with a wink. “He’s always been the serious one.”

“And what are you?” Evelyn asked.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the black sheep.”

Evelyn laughed, but she knew it was true. Charles seldom discussed his brother, and when he did, it was usually to criticize him.

“You’re not at all what I expected,” Will said. “When I heard Charles was marrying a governess, I pictured a humorless old spinster, the sort who used to rap my knuckles with a ruler when I misbehaved.”

“Did that happen often?” Evelyn asked lightly.

“More than I care to admit.” Will smiled, and Evelyn caught a glimpse of the boy he once was, his eyes twinkling with mischief, but without malice.

“You’re not what I expected either,” she admitted.

“Ah, now things get interesting,” Will said, twirling her gently around the edge of the dance floor. “You imagined a clubfoot or some other deformity?”

Evelyn laughed again. “No, not at all. I suppose…well, you don’t act like a Brewster.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Will said. “There were many times growing up when I didn’t feel like a Brewster. And just think—now you’re one, too.”

Evelyn flashed back to the moment Will had addressed her as Mrs. Brewster. How the sound of her new name—her new identity—had filled her with dread.

“I understand how it is.” Evelyn could barely hear Will’s voice over the sound of the violins. He continued to watch her with a bright, unconcerned expression, but his tone was serious. “It’s hard work fitting into this family,” he whispered. “I have no doubt you’ll make a great success of it—you seem like that kind of girl—but I hope you’ll think of me as a friend. Someone you can talk to if things get sticky.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn said. Uncomfortable with his intimate words, she glanced toward the table where Charles sat. He had his back to her, still engrossed in conversation. She saw people at the other tables watching her. Her behavior must be above reproach. She was a Brewster now.

“Will you be staying long in town?” she asked in her best society-hostess manner.

Will nodded. “I’ve caused enough of a stir in Europe. Time to recuperate.”

“Then I’m sure I’ll be seeing you at the house regularly,” Evelyn said. The music was building to a climax. “I’ll look forward to continuing our conversation.”

“As will I,” Will said smoothly. But the superficial chatter couldn’t erase the bond their moment of honesty had already formed between them.

The orchestra paused before starting the next dance. Evelyn pulled her body away from Will’s as he leaned over and gently kissed her hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, sister,” he said. His lingering hold on her hand made Evelyn blush. Was he flirting with her at her own wedding?

Evelyn lifted the skirt of her gown and walked back to her table. She laid her hand on Charles’s shoulder as she sat down and smiled when he turned to look at her. Evelyn felt she was playacting the part of a dutiful wife. Inside, her stomach was churning with excitement, her mind replaying every word of her conversation with Will.

With a sinking feeling, she wondered if she had married the wrong Brewster.