Chapter 13 #2
Her jaw dropped and her eyes filled with tears, as if I’d slapped her. “How can you say that? You think just because I’ve gone into service that I don’t need you?”
I didn’t reply, for she’d laid her finger on the crack that her leaving had cut in my heart, though I’d done my best to pretend otherwise. I did fear it.
“Kit,” she said, her voice breaking. She clutched both my hands in hers, her face earnest. “If anything, I know better how much I need you. It’s different than when I was a child and couldn’t fend for myself. But it’s not less, Kit. Never less.”
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, and I blinked them back.
“I know I still have things to learn,” Sarah said. “But . . .”
“You’re not a child and you’re not a fool,” I finished. “I know. And I will try to find a way to stop. I promise.”
It took a moment, but her expression eased. “Well, at least you’ve acknowledged I’m not a child.”
“But you were one for fourteen years,” I reminded her. “You’ve only been in service a few months. I need time to catch up.”
Her laugh, brief and teary as it was, showed her dimples.
My sister was never one to drag a quarrel beyond its natural end. She’d said her piece, and I’d said mine, so she slid her hand around my elbow, and we talked of other things the rest of the way home.
When Sarah and I arrived upstairs, I found two items on my bed: a note from Mary saying she was visiting relations for a few days, so Sarah could use her bed, and a prettily wrapped box tied with a white satin ribbon.
Mary and I didn’t usually buy each other presents.
I opened it to find a pair of beautiful gloves of fine, supple kid, the kind I’d steal first from a store shelf. “What’s this?”
Sarah made a show of peering at them. “Well, I can’t be sure, but I think they’re what folks call gloves.”
I gave her a look.
“There’s a card. You dropped it.” Sarah retrieved it from the floor and read it. “All it says is ‘Kitten.’” Her eyebrows rose and her eyes brightened. “Who calls you that? Is it James?”
Heat rose to my cheeks, and a delighted grin curved her mouth. I took the card from her and saw that, indeed, it had only the one word. There was an elaborate monogrammed W on the card, the same W displayed above the door of Whiteley’s department store.
Sarah took the card back and examined it once more with an air of satisfaction. “I told you, I’ve always liked him.”
“Hmm.”
I returned the gloves to the box, feeling as off-kilter as if I had rocks in only one thieving pocket.
I perceived the significance of the fine paper wrapping, the shining ribbon, and the monogrammed card.
James didn’t want any misunderstanding about how he’d obtained them.
My mind darted to the moment in the carriage when he’d put his warm hand over my cold one.
It was a thoughtful gift, and an elegant one.
My heart tripped, and warmth washed over me, a wave of more feelings than I could name.
“Those gloves probably cost two weeks’ wages.” Sarah unbuttoned her coat as she studied my expression. “Why do you look like that?”
“Lately, he’s been . . . different. Trying to help me . . . and he’s been keeping an ear out, to see if any of the Castle men mentioned you.”
“You told him?” she asked, surprised.
“He was with me when I saw the newspaper article. He guessed as much as I did.” I undid my coat and hung it on a nail by the door. “I figured there was no harm. He’s looked out for you before.”
“Not just me, Kit,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow.
“He’d likely not want me telling you this.” Sarah hung her coat beside mine. “But he asked Emma to hire you for piecework after Ma died. And the badger scheme was his idea, although he asked Amelia to propose it, so you’d say yes.”
I blinked at yet more instances of his kindness. “How do you know all this?”
She shrugged. “My point is, he’s been kind all along. You should give him a chance.”
“Goodness, Sarah. You’re puffing him like he’s a railway share,” I said, half joking. “Have you sold me to him as well?” Her eyes slid away guiltily, and I felt a prick of suspicion. “Wait a moment. Did you say something to him? Is that why he’s changed?”
She looked apologetic. “He’s been sweet on you for ages,” she said, her eyes pleading on his behalf, or for my forgiveness, or both. “I just hinted it might be time to try.”
The blood fell from my face. “Sarah!” Mortified, I sank onto my bed. “What exactly did you say?”
She plumped down on Mary’s bed. “I only told him that with me being gone, you might be lonely, and you’d be less occupied, seeing as you weren’t taking care of me anymore.
” She had the air of making a clean sweep.
“In fact—I, er—I said the same to Mary. She was grateful, Kit. She liked the idea of being needed, with her ma gone.”
“Well,” I managed. “Aren’t you one for arranging things.”
Sarah studied me warily. “You’re not angry?”
“No, I’m not angry.” My fingers pleated my skirt. “But I don’t want James feeling obligated.”
A chuckle burst from her. “Obligated? Trust me, he doesn’t.” She planted her hands behind her on the bed and leaned back, swinging her feet gently above the floorboards. “I never said a word to him about gloves, and I think it’s lovely of him. You never buy yourself nice things.”
“Because I don’t need them,” I retorted.
Sarah’s mouth opened, but then she seemed to think better of her reply. “Don’t be peevish, Kit. I just want to see you happy. You haven’t had a fellow hanging about since Dan Wist, and he was awful.”
“You remember him?”
“Of course I do! He came around all the time, all leering and sly.” She made a horrid face. “Besides, I saw him making up to Bea one night you weren’t around. He was as harebrained and fickle as they come.”
I was dumbfounded at all she’d noticed, and even more at how she’d been looking out for me, when I’d thought I was looking out for her.
“James isn’t harebrained or fickle,” Sarah said firmly.
But I wasn’t thinking of James at that moment. I was looking at Sarah with a feeling of wonder and a dawning sense of gratitude.
When I didn’t reply, Sarah rolled her eyes as if I was hopeless. “Suit yourself in a set of fool’s clothes. I wash my hands of you.”