The Address(95)

The air changed imperceptibly. The scent of rosewater. Sara twirled around.

Mrs. Camden had returned.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE



New York City, October 1885


The woman who stared back at Sara was a completely different person from the sickly patient who’d been carted off a week ago. Mrs. Camden looked almost regal, wearing a handsome black-and-cream silk afternoon dress. The only giveaway of her illness were the creases under her eyes and gray shadows that emerged even under a coating of powder.

“Miss Smythe.”

“Mrs. Camden.” Sara took her hand off the side of the crib and stood limply, trapped.

Mrs. Camden walked over to the crib and Sara moved out of the way, allowing her by. But Mrs. Camden didn’t reach down, smooth the blanket, nothing at all maternal. Just stared at the boy as if she’d never really seen him before. The sailor outfit hung over the rails at the head of the crib.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Camden fingered the material.

“A sailor dress I sewed. While you were away, Miss Honeycutt asked me to help out with the children in a pinch, and I thought this might suit him.”

“You made him this?”

“As well as small things for the others.” She had meant the statement as a way of showing that her attentions had been equally parsed among the children, but judging from Mrs. Camden’s pinched lips, it had come off as possessive. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Mrs. Camden appraised Sara from her feet to the top of her head, assessing every inch. She must know. Of course she knew. The servants talked; the other neighbors must have seen Theo coming back from her rooms in the morning. Sara was no better than her mother, who had succumbed to the advances of the Earl of Chichester with devastating results. The point of coming to America was to escape the old habits, the patterns of destruction. She’d wandered right into the thick of it.

“I overstepped. I’m sorry.” Sara hoped Mrs. Camden would understand the multiple layers of meaning that swirled around the four words. She’d wrought havoc in the home of a sick woman. Like her mother, she’d lose everything. She would take the sashes, necktie, and sailor suit away, store them in her trunk, out of view. “I must go.” Sara turned to leave.

“No, wait.” Mrs. Camden’s voice was no less than a command. But suddenly her head dipped forward. A trembling hand went to her forehead.

“You’re ill; let me help.” Sara put her arm around the woman, who leaned into her.

“I feel faint.”

No wonder, returning home to find your husband’s lover hanging about in the children’s nursery.

“Please, let me make you a cup of tea.”

Sara led her to the kitchen. They didn’t speak for a while, as Sara boiled water, steeped the tea, and then poured it. Being back in the kitchen, instead of one of the formal rooms, made the idea of the two of them having tea together somehow palatable, weirdly cozy.

Mrs. Camden took a sip, then placed the cup carefully back on the saucer. “Where are the others?”

“They are out with Theo, I mean Mr. Camden, at the Statue of Liberty celebrations.”

“Emily sent me letters every day that I was away, filled with what you were doing. Together.”

“I wanted to help. Mr. Camden seemed out of his element, and Miss Honeycutt . . .” She paused.

“Miss Honeycutt is far too concerned with the attentions of the new porter, Davin, these days.”

Davin was a strapping boy with dark eyes. Mrs. Camden’s acuity surprised Sara. “I believe you are right.”

Mrs. Camden laughed. “He’s a handsome lad.”

“The children missed you. They are quite lovely. As is Christopher.”

“Yes. My ward.” An odd way to refer to the boy. Or maybe it was the tone of her voice, like she’d bitten into a fruit and found it to be unripe. “I never formally gave you my apology for accusing you of stealing the necklace. I am sorry about that. I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. But I should have.”

How long ago that time seemed now.

Mrs. Camden continued on. “I’m still recovering, and I want you to take care of the children the way you have been.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.” Maybe she hadn’t heard her correctly. Or maybe Mrs. Camden was only saying this for effect, to appear generous.

“You should continue taking care of Theo as well.”

At this, Sara’s heart pounded. The woman was staring at her, not with malice or judgment. Her face was clear.

“Mr. Camden is a difficult man. I don’t have the energy right now to handle him in the way he wishes.”

Could she be saying what Sara thought she was? The conversation was tipping over into dangerous territory. “I am happy to work as Mr. Camden’s assistant in whatever way necessary.”

“No. I want you to take care of him beyond that.” Mrs. Camden put a hand out on the table, as if she were going to cover Sara’s, but stopped short. Instead, she drummed her fingers on the wood. “Arrangements like this happen all the time.” She looked out the window before adding, “It’s quite simple, really.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She fixed her gaze on Sara. The twins’ eyes had the same hazel coloring, the same gold flecks near the iris. “Of course you do. Don’t be shocked. It’s for the best. Theo responds to you in a way he doesn’t to me.”