Chapter 3 #2
Thankfully, she had a tray sent up to my room for supper, since she didn’t want the staff to know of my existence yet.
I gobbled up the chicken in mushroom sauce, boiled potatoes, carrots, and lettuce salad.
There was so much of it, I could hardly believe it was all for me.
But the caramel custard was the best part.
I tried to savor it, feeling the first twinge of guilt that I couldn’t share it with my younger cousin, Imogen.
She loved sweets, though we rarely had them.
Mrs. Hill entered the room as I finished. She was wearing a shimmering gold and black gown with a large bustle and a sweeping train. She was going out for the evening to a card party hosted by one of her friends.
“You look exhausted, Miss O’Day,” she said as she stood behind a sofa across from me.
I rose, still unused to her presence.
“I have decided to call you by your first name,” she said as she pulled a long glove onto her hand.
“If we’re to convince the world we’ve known each other for years, we’ll need to start acting the part.
” She settled the fingers of the glove into place.
“However—I’m afraid Keira won’t do. We’ll need to Americanize you as much as possible and given the disdain between the English and the Irish, we’ll need to distance you from that heritage. ”
I lowered my gaze, feeling shame for something I knew nothing about, nor could I control.
“When I adopt you,” she continued, “we’ll make the name change legal. Of course, you’ll want it to be something similar to Keira—but with a little softness. What do you think about Clara?”
“Clara?” I repeated, trying to wrap my mind around this change.
“Clara Day Hill,” she said with an indulgent smile. “So you can keep a bit of yourself in the process.”
Keep a bit of myself? Did I want any of my former self to remain? I had always suspected that God made a mistake when I was born. I hadn’t been wanted by anyone, so perhaps I hadn’t been wanted by Him, either.
Mrs. Hill was the first person who had ever chosen me—and the truth of it sank down deep into my heart. What was in a name, anyway? If this would hinder Mrs. Hill from adopting me, then I would not make a fuss.
“Clara Day Hill sounds grand,” I assured her.
“Good.” She lowered her chin. “And, Clara, you’ll need to speak up.
You’re so soft-spoken. That will never do.
The English aristocracy loves American women because they are confident, bold, and intelligent.
That is your first order of business. When you’re addressing people, you must tell them who you are and what you want with your words and behavior.
Be in command of every situation—do you understand? ”
I looked down at my hands, my cheeks growing warm at her admonition, and nodded. “Aye.”
“Clara?”
I forced myself to look up at her.
“Let’s try again. This time, look at me and speak clearly and directly—and say yes, instead of aye.”
It went against everything I’d ever been taught or experienced. I had never been in command a day in my life. But I would try, for Mrs. Hill.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled—and her smile warmed me from head to toe. I had pleased her.
“Very good. Now, I’m off. I’ll see you in the morning. Get some sleep. We will be busy tomorrow with the dressmaker.”
With a swish of her skirt, she turned and left the room.
I sat for a moment, Louis XIV’s intimidating bed beckoning me, but I didn’t think I could sleep, because I had realized something important earlier that day.
I didn’t have my mother’s locket.
It was the only thing I could call my own. The only thing that connected me to her and to my past. And I wanted it. Besides that, Uncle Charlie and Aunt Orla would wonder where I had gone. I owed them some kind of explanation.
But how would I leave Mrs. Hill’s house, travel to Five Points, and get back inside without someone telling her?
It was still light out, but the longer I waited, the more dangerous it would become.
It was one thing to go into Five Points dressed in my old clothing—another to go dressed in the gown Mrs. Hill had loaned me.
I would attract a lot of unwanted attention.
But I didn’t know where my old gown had gone.
I could send a note to my family, asking them to bring my locket to me, but they would never do it. And I didn’t want them to get ahold of my nine dollars and fifty cents. If things didn’t work out with Mrs. Hill, I would need every penny I could get.
That left one option. I would have to go on my own and hope I could get out of Mrs. Hill’s house—and back in—without being noticed.
But what if Mrs. Hill came home before I returned? Would she think I had changed my mind? Or, worse, that I had stolen the dress from her?
It was a risk I would need to take. I couldn’t have Uncle Charlie and Aunt Orla wondering about me—and I couldn’t leave the locket behind.
I opened the bedroom door and looked out at the gallery. There was no one in sight, so I quickly left the room and closed the door behind me. It would be chilly without a shawl, but I didn’t want to risk taking anything else from Mrs. Hill.
The next decision I had to make was which door I would use to leave the house. There was a greater chance of being discovered if I went out the servants’ entrance—and I had no idea how to find it. So, I decided to use the front door—though I had no idea where that might be, either.
I crossed the upper gallery on slippered feet, marveling at the plush carpet beneath me, and went to the grand staircase. Surely the front door had to be somewhere near the stairs.
As I rounded the corner and began to descend—I paused.
Mr. Paxton-Hill was on his way up.
He stopped and his gaze was filled with surprise—and perhaps a bit of wonder.
“Miss O’Day?” he asked, frowning.
Dread filled me at being caught. What would he think when he learned I was leaving?
Slowly, he started up the stairs again, and I couldn’t help but back up. I clasped my hands together, uncertain what to say—afraid of what he might say.
He stopped at the top of the stairs, taking me in from the hem of my yellow gown to the top of my hair. Gallagher had brushed the curls until they shone and then styled them gracefully atop my head.
“You—” He paused, as if trying to find the right words.
“I’m sorry,” I said, glancing toward my bedroom door.
He was still staring at me. “You look lovely, Miss O’Day.”
I glanced down at the gown, my cheeks getting warm at his compliment. “Thank you.”
“Are you in need of something?” he asked. “Can I be of service?”
I nervously played with a ribbon on my gown as I glanced toward the stairs. Did I tell him the truth? I had to say something.
He studied me and I realized that he, unlike Mrs. Hill, had given me several choices in the past twenty-four hours. Nothing he had said or done would indicate whether he would try to dictate my actions. Perhaps he would even help me.
“I left somethin’ at home,” I told him. “Somethin’ important to me. And I should tell me aunt and uncle what has become o’ me.”
He blinked in surprise. “You haven’t told them?”
“How could I?”
“I hadn’t even realized. Yes. You should tell them—immediately. They’ll be worried about you, I’m sure.”
Maybe not worried—but curious, at least.
“I’ll accompany you,” he said.
I shook my head, imagining what might happen to Mr. Paxton-Hill if he walked down Mulberry Street in that expensive suitcoat as darkness fell.
“Please,” he said, “allow me to do this. I’ll have the carriage brought around.”
“No.” I continued to shake my head. “I’ve been goin’ home me whole life—alone.”
“But now you have a—” He paused, as if surprised at his own realization. “A cousin to see to your welfare.”
I had a cousin—Sean—who would be better suited to my welfare in Five Points than this dandy.
“Allow me the honor, Miss O’Day.”
“Honor? To go to Five Points?” I might have laughed if he wasn’t so serious—and kind.
There was a hint of surprise in his eyes when I said Five Points, but he rallied and nodded. “Of course.”
A carriage would get us in and out much faster—and we could be back before nighttime shrouded Five Points in darkness.
“Aye—but we must hurry. Five Points is no place for a nice carriage after dark.”
Ten minutes later, after insisting I borrow a cloak from Mrs. Hill’s dressing room, Mr. Paxton-Hill and I were in the family carriage on our way to my old neighborhood.
I sat across from him in the elegant vehicle, marveling at the details in the upholstery and the comfort of the conveyance.
“How has Aunt Maude treated you?” he asked me. “You look tired.”
“I was up all night sewin’ before I come.”
His eyebrows jumped. “You haven’t slept since I saw you last night outside the opera house?”
Shaking my head, I looked down at my rough hands. So much had happened since then.
“I’ll see that she lets you sleep in tomorrow.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Paxton-Hill.”
“Please,” he said, “call me Alec.”
I nodded, though I couldn’t imagine calling him by his given name.
“And may I call you Keira?”
I parted my lips to say yes—but then I remembered what Mrs. Hill had told me earlier. “Mrs. Hill has changed me name to Clara.”
Alec stared at me, his frown deepening. “Clara?”
I sensed his disappointment again—but was he disappointed in me or in Mrs. Hill?
“You’ll let her change your name?” he asked.
Something broke inside me—a dam I had not realized was being held back. Emotions surfaced that had been lying dormant my whole life, and somehow, I knew that this man would understand. That he was someone I could talk to—trust.
“I would let her change everythin’ about me if it meant I could have freedom from Five Points. Where I come from, me name means nothin’. If I can have a name that means somethin’—to someone—then I’ll gladly take whatever she offers me.”
He nodded as if properly chastised, but then he said, “Do not let her change everything about you . . . Keira.”
His gaze was so raw, so penetrating, I had to look away.
Soon, we were entering the Five Points neighborhood. People looked up at the carriage with surprise and suspicion.
My heart began to beat an erratic rhythm as we drew closer to Mulberry Street. I could smell it before I could see it.
And when Alec glanced out the window, I looked away from him, not wanting to see his reaction. Would he think less of me after seeing where I came from? Would he tell Mrs. Hill to cast me out? Surely he’d realize what a mistake she had made.
When the carriage finally came to a stop, I began to open the door, but Alec reached out and placed his hand on mine. There was undisguised shock in his face—but there was also empathy there, which was much different than pity, and it caught me unaware.
“Allow me,” he said.
His touch was soft and reassuring. Everything about this man was refined.
I moved back and allowed him to exit the carriage, apprehensive at what he must be thinking.
For a moment, he looked at the neighborhood—and I could see it all from his perspective.
Rats feeding off a dead, rotting horse, sagging timbers, dirty children, and sewage running through the street.
But when he turned back and offered me his hand, there was nothing but respect in his eyes.