A Lady of Secret Devotion Page 3

  “Amen,” Cassie said, looking up. She watched as Mrs. Jameston picked up a small fork and began to sample the fruit. Cassie quickly did likewise.

  The flavor was unlike anything she’d ever known. The strange pieces were remarkably chilled, yet tasted as though they’d come straight in from the garden. They were sweet, but tangy, and she found the combination much to her liking. Within moments the fruit was consumed and the servants were bringing new dishes to the table. Pastries were set before her that looked so light and flaky Cassie could only marvel at them for several moments before choosing. She was not disappointed by the buttery richness.

  “I must say, my dear, I slept better last night just knowing you were here. I think God has provided for us both.”

  “I’m glad,” Cassie replied. She sampled the sausage on her plate and nodded her approval. “This is quite delicious.”

  “It seems eating is one of the few pleasures left me.” The older woman took up a cinnamon scone, then motioned the servant to pour more tea.

  Cassie could scarcely take it all in. “Everything is so good. I’m used to having only oatmeal or toasted bread for breakfast.”

  “I enjoy oatmeal on occasion. We shall certainly have it from time to time.”

  “Don’t bother on my account,” Cassie said without thinking. She smiled in apology. “What else do you enjoy?”

  Mrs. Jameston considered her words for a moment. “I love to take walks, but I fear my health is not up to great distances anymore. Carriage rides will perhaps be their replacement. I enjoy my garden, as I mentioned yesterday. I would love to read there but find my eyes grow tired so quickly.”

  “I shall be happy to read to you there. What kind of books do you enjoy?”

  “I find myself capable of enjoying a great variety. Of course, I love the Bible. The stories of history, as well as the guidance I find there, encourage me and keep me directed on the right path. But I also enjoy other works. I have very much enjoyed Nathaniel Hawthorne’s stories, as well as Dickens and Cooper. I recently read Thackeray’s Vanity Fair and was less impressed, but was quite fond of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre.”

  “I’ve read that one as well. I thought it a compelling story,” Cassie admitted. “I was upset by some turn of events, but overall satisfied in the end.”

  “As was I. It portrayed a definite understanding that often life is not what it should be.”

  “Have you read Elizabeth Wetherell’s The Wide, Wide World ?” Cassie asked.

  “No. Perhaps that can be our first to share.”

  Cassie nodded. “It’s a wonderful story about a young woman named Ellen Montgomery. I think you shall like it very much.”

  “Then I will give you money to secure us a copy. We will do that right away. Now tell me, did Ada get your measurements this morning?”

  “Yes. She took them right after my bath.”

  “Good.” Mrs. Jameston turned her attention back to her plate but continued to speak. “I want you to feel as if this is your home, Cassie. It’s important to me. I have instructed the staff to treat you as they would me. In turn, I hope you will not mind if I take to directing you in the ways of my society. I do not mean to imply they are better than yours, nor to belittle what you have known as your own place in the world. However, it is my hope that I might better you in some way.”

  “Your friendship will surely do that,” Cassie replied. “Not to mention that my mother and sister will benefit from your generous pay to me. My mother already spoke highly of you, but now she believes you to be very nearly angelic in nature.”

  Mrs. Jameston laughed. “It is your mother who would fill that role, for a more patient and loving woman I have never known. She has often helped with tireless efforts whenever there was work to be done at the church. Her compassion never fails to bless me.”

  “My mother is a good woman,” Cassie agreed. “She has suffered much in life, but maintains a cheerful disposition. My sister and I have been quite blessed.”

  “Well, in turn, I’m convinced that we can bless her. I would like very much to know what her needs are. As I’ve said before, I have more than I need. It would do me good and please me greatly to bless someone less fortunate.”

  Cassie reached out and boldly patted Mrs. Jameston’s hand. “You have done just that by hiring me here. I see a new hope for my family, and I know that God has brought us together for just such a purpose.”

  “Family is very important, Cassie. Never forget that. I’m afraid that is an area in which I failed.” Her expression grew sober. “I am only now seeing just how many mistakes I have made.”

  “Mother says we all make mistakes—even when we have the best of intentions. Please share with me about your family. I know that you have a son. Why don’t you tell me about him?”

  “Because he’s a great disappointment to me, and I’d rather not ruin our lovely breakfast.” Mrs. Jameston turned her attention back to her plate. “Sebastian has offered me nothing but pain of late, and we’d all be better off to forget him.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Boston

  Mark looked at the food on his plate and pushed it back. The lamb was roasted to perfection, but it tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He turned an apologetic gaze to his mother as he threw his napkin on his parents’ table.

  “I’m afraid I have no appetite.”

  “Son, you mustn’t take Richard’s death so hard,” his mother said, reaching out to give his arm a sympathetic pat. “He wouldn’t want you to grieve so.”

  “Your mother is right,” Mark’s father replied.

  “I know,” Mark said. “I know that very well. That’s why I’m going to go to Philadelphia.”

  His mother gasped and put her hand to her throat. “What? You’re going to Philadelphia? Surely you cannot mean it. Look how dangerous it was for Richard!”

  “That’s exactly why I have to go,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Someone has to be willing to fight for what’s right. Richard was doing an honorable service. In turn I will do the honorable thing for him. I will see his killer brought to justice.”

  “Son, this is hardly an appropriate time or place for such a conversation,” his father said, frowning. “You’re upsetting your mother.”

  Mark got to his feet. “I’m sorry. I knew coming here would be a bad idea, but I wanted to tell you of my plans and see you before I left. I take the train in the morning.”

  “This is so abrupt. Are you certain it’s wise?” his mother asked. “Richard hasn’t even been gone ten days.”

  “I know, but the longer I delay, the better chance his killer has of getting away with the deed. Worse still, he could take someone else’s life.”

  “But that someone could be you, Marcus.” His mother’s eyes filled with tears. “I could not bear to lose you.”

  “I know the risks at hand, Mother. Try not to worry.” Mark pushed in his chair. “I have to do this. I have to avenge Richard.

  He would do the same for me.”

  His mother sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, I do wish your brothers lived closer. They might talk some sense into you.”

  “This isn’t a matter of not being sensible. I have a job to do. It just so happens that job will also see justice done for my friend. Whether Richard had died or not, I’d still be working to figure out the missing cargoes and insurance claims.” Mark could see the worry in his parents’ expressions and offered them a weak smile. “I promise I will not risk myself in an unwarranted manner. I will be wise.”

  Mark thought of that promise hours later in his own home as he set aside his packed valise. The entire project would warrant a risk, but there was no sense telling his parents.

  The clock struck nine and the echoing of the chimes reinforced Mark’s loneliness. At least sleep would hopefully free him from the intense solitude he endured.

  He walked to the fireplace and put on another log. Though the days had been quite warm, the night air held a chill. He poked the wood until the
fire blazed up. How many fires had he made at this hearth? How many days had passed since he and Ruth had called this house home?

  Looking across the room at a small framed painting of his deceased wife, Mark knew a deep, abiding emptiness in his heart. Ruth had been his childhood sweetheart. They had been nearly inseparable until cholera claimed her life. Mark, too, had nearly died from the epidemic. He had thought God rather cruel to take his beloved Ruth, leaving him behind to bear the loss.

  Now, seven years after the fact, the pain had eased considerably. He missed her—missed her smiles and her sweet words. Missed the way she looked after him and doted on him. His mother said he needed to marry again, and in truth, Mark was compelled to do just that. But whenever he began to share the company of the local women, he found either haunting reminders of his dead wife or disinterest.

  A knock at the front door drew his thoughts from the past. Opening it, he found his father, hat in hand and a look of concern on his face.

  “Might I come in?”

  “Of course. It’s quite late for you to be out and about the town, however,” Mark said, ushering his father inside. “I was just about to retire.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I knew I had to see you before you left for Philadelphia,” his father replied.

  Mark noted the tired, even worried expression on his father’s face. “You sound concerned.”

  His father took a chair and nodded. “I am exactly that.” He raised his hand as Mark started to speak. “Please hear me out. I’m not here to try to talk you out of going, but rather to encourage caution on your part. Whoever killed Richard Adkins obviously has no qualms about breaking the law. I fear this person would not hesitate to do so again, should he feel the threat to his industry.”

  “I agree. In fact, I’ve already decided to take an entirely different approach. Richard gave us a name—a single name. I’m going to start by learning all I can about that man. Richard focused on the docks and the cargoes. I plan to focus on Sebastian Jameston.”

  “I hope, for your sake, you will also focus on God’s direction.”

  Mark frowned. He hadn’t meant to. He knew it wouldn’t be taken well by his father. Theodore Langford believed strongly that God controlled man’s destiny and that man had only to seek Him out to know what direction he should take. Mark had felt the same way at one time. Now, however, he only felt confused.

  “Mark, I cannot understand what you are thinking, but I’m convinced it isn’t what it should be.”

  “I’d rather not discuss it, if you don’t mind.” Mark turned away and pretended to attend to the fire once again.

  “I do mind. You know very well that I do.”

  Mark turned to see his father. By the set of his jaw and the way he had squared his shoulders, Mark knew he intended to speak his mind. With a sigh, Mark sat down and waited for his father to do likewise. There was no telling how long this would take, and Mark had no desire to see it continue even a moment longer than necessary.

  “I know you feel that God has somehow betrayed your faith in Him,” his father began. “I sympathize and tell you that I do understand. I have walked that road myself. So much in our world—in our lives—seems so senseless. We cannot understand the things we are forced to endure.”

  “Even when I pretend to understand,” Mark said, sending his gaze back to the fire, “I find no relief or comfort.”

  “God doesn’t ask you to merely pretend,” his father countered. “He has no need for it. He already knows your heart. He knows all.”

  “Which makes it particularly hard to understand why He would allow Richard to die. He knew Richard was working for a greater good. God knew the job we had was to overcome the evil plans of someone who obviously had no concern for God or His ways. I grow weary of trusting and having faith when wrong continues to prevail and innocent people are cut down in the prime of their lives.”

  “This world is a battleground,” his father said softly. “The battle is the Lord’s.”

  Mark jumped to his feet in anger. “Then perhaps He should start fighting instead of sitting idly by. Please understand, Father, I have no desire to blaspheme God. I simply do not understand why this has happened or why my best friend lies in a cold grave, three blocks away.”

  His father seemed to consider his words for several minutes. Mark thought he might find the conversation useless and go, although there was a part of him that hoped his father would continue.

  Tell me I’m wrong, Mark whispered in the depths of his heart. Offer me proof that my thoughts are false. Show me some-how that my faith can be restored when all I feel is loss and grief and pain.

  “Mark, anger is marring your ability to think clearly. I fear it will cause you to act rashly or make improper judgments. Anger is not in and of itself wrong; even the Bible speaks of being angry, but not sinning. Your anger is justified. It speaks to the depth of love you hold for your friend. However, there is such a narrow path, and to step into sin, compelled by that anger, is quite easy. Not only that, but to venture to the other side of that same narrow path is to lose your ability to reason and focus. There you will find a consuming self-pity that will keep you from making any proper and reasonable decision.”

  The words were driven deep into Mark’s conscious mind. He had fully expected his father to chastise his disrespectful comment about God standing idle, but instead, Father, being the wisest man Mark knew, had figured to appeal to another side of the matter. Mark could easily see how all issues tied together.

  He blew out a long breath. “I know you are right.” He shrugged and offered his father a sheepish grin. “What is the sense of being thirty and two if I still reason and act as one a score of years younger?”

  His father chuckled and got to his feet. “Son, I have often asked God that question on my own behalf. I know you feel abandoned by God, and it is that very issue that drives your anger, more than anything. I only ask that you consider the situation for what it is. Richard’s death was a tragedy, but there are dark forces at work in this world. We must not leave the authority and protection of God’s truth, even if it does cost us our lives, as it sometimes does. Richard felt he was fighting to see good overcome evil. Now you will take up that fight. I simply plead with you to consider what that fight is really about, and who it is that might help you most in winning such a battle.”

  Mark heard the longing in his father’s voice and knew that he desperately needed assurance. Reaching out, Mark hugged his father tightly. “I will be careful. I promise you that I will put my anger aside and do what is necessary to handle the matter with a clear mind.”

  His father pulled away and met his gaze. “I will pray for you every day. I know that you must go and do this thing, but I wish it were otherwise. Please let us know how things are going. Keep us apprised, or we will worry overmuch.”

  Mark nodded. “I will. I promise.”

  He walked his father to the door and bid him farewell. Watching the older man walk down the pathway to his waiting carriage caused Mark a twinge of something akin to regret. He would have loved to have given his father complete peace about the entire situation, but he knew there was no chance of turning back now. They were in too deep. They needed to follow through. Richard’s sacrifice would not be in vain.

  “So long as there is breath in my body, I will see this through to completion,” Mark vowed.

  Philadelphia

  The pain was more than Sebastian Jameston could bear. He allowed his friend Robbie to treat the wound, but only because going to a doctor would arouse suspicions. Gunshot wounds always did.

  “It’s actually better,” Robbie said as he worked to remove bits of bandage from the oozing flesh. “I think what you need, however, is a great deal of time off your leg and good care.”

  “Fine.” Sebastian spat out the word from between clenched teeth.

  “At least you’re not as bad off as you could be,” Robbie chuckled. “That Boston fellow won’t be stirring up any more trouble for you
.”

  “Maybe not, but they will surely send someone else. We’ll have to change some of our methods and plans.”

  “Perhaps,” Robbie suggested, “it’s time for a new scheme.”

  Sebastian eased back against the pillow and pulled a bottle of whiskey to his mouth. He took a long drink, letting the liquid course through him before speaking again.

  “We’ll go to my mother’s house for a time. You’ll come as my caretaker and stay with us. I cannot allow anyone else to treat me.”

  “Are you sure she won’t put up a fuss?”

  Sebastian narrowed his icy blue eyes. “Not if she knows what’s good for her.”

  Robbie laughed. “I swear you have no conscience, Sebbie. What man makes such threatening statements about his mother?” He took the bottle from his friend, then motioned for Sebastian to roll over so he might treat the back of the leg. Thankfully the ball had passed completely through, but in doing so, it had torn muscle and nicked the bone, leaving tiny fragments with which to contend.

  Sebastian moaned with each painful movement. If only he had been more cautious. He should have known the insurance man would carry a weapon. But the fellow seemed so naïve and civilized that Sebastian had never figured him for armed. Things definitely were not always what they seemed— especially when it came to people.

  “Would you just finish this and be done with it!” Sebastian cried out as Robbie pressed an herbal concoction into the wound.

  “I’m nearly done. Keep still or you’ll cause it to bleed again.”

  Sebastian forced his body to still. He thought of what his mother might say when he showed up on her doorstep. She wouldn’t be pleased, but neither would she turn him away. Of that he was certain.

  Mark stepped from the train and waited for the porter to bring his horse. He had been torn between bringing Portland on the trip and leaving him in the care of his family. The necessity for transportation won over, however, and he paid the extra expense of shipping the sorrel gelding.