The Rumor (A Secret Past--Volume Two) Read online

  The Rumor

  A Secret Past - Volume Two

  By Norah Black

  © 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  And above all – Enjoy

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  The Rumor (A Secret Past - Volume Two)

  To be continued...

  ~ Volume One: The New Boy ~

  ~ Volume Two: The Search ~

  ~ Volume Three: Escape ~

  ~ Volume Four: Last Chance ~

  Volume 2 of the A Secret Past series

  Clara has spent twenty-three years watching life pass by from her family’s country estate while they enjoyed all the pleasure and company available to the wealthy in 1920’s America.

  Now, as much as Clara can’t get Robert’s kiss out of her mind, the rumors about her family prove just as prominent. Clara’s determination to uncover answers forces her to confront her sister about her odd behavior. What is really going on?

  She must also deal with the small, annoying fact that her parents seem much more inclined for a match between Robert and Helen than between Robert and Clara.

  Will she find out the truth in time?

  Note: Parts of A Secret Past were previously published as Clara’s Secret.

  Also includes a Sneak Peek at an upcoming novel!

  Volume Two

  Clara awoke the next morning, still wearing her dressing gown over the dress she’d borrowed from Helen. She sat up and realized she hadn’t even made it under the blankets after sneaking back into her room. Overcome with exhaustion and lightheaded from her encounter with Robert, she had been lucky to remember to lock the door behind her before falling onto the bed and passing out. The memory of standing in the dark, so close to Robert, the feeling of his coat against her hands as he kissed her, the smell of him mingled with the sharp, woody scent of the trimmed hedge... She fell back against the pillows and let herself get lost in the details. She wondered when he would call again, how long she had to wait before she would see him.

  A knock at the door broke her dreamy reverie. “Miss Clara,” Trudy’s voice called quietly through the door. Clara heard the woman try the doorknob. She sat up again and took in her disheveled appearance. She was still wearing the everyday shoes from her sojourn outdoors and there were blades of grass and mud stuck to them. Clara hastily removed them and hid them under the bed before moving to the door and unlocking it. She eased the door open enough to let Trudy in.

  “Good morning, Trudy.”

  “Miss Clara, why’re you still in that dress? If you couldn’t get out of it on your own you should have rung the bell and I could have helped you.” Trudy reached out to pull the dressing gown from around Clara’s shoulders but Clara clutched it to herself.

  “I can undress myself without assistance, Trudy,” she said. “I was simply too tired last night to be bothered.”

  Trudy backed away from Clara, resigned.

  “Very well. I was sent to see how you were feeling after the excitement last night. Your mother noticed you hadn’t come down to breakfast yet.” There was something in the way Trudy raised her eyebrows as she spoke the last part and an image of her mother at the breakfast table, carefully watching the clock with a growing smirk popped into Clara’s mind.

  “Thank you, Trudy. You can tell Mother that I’m not hungry this morning and will be down shortly if there’s something she wishes to discuss.”

  Trudy nodded and left the room. Before closing the door behind her, she stuck her head back in and reminded Clara, “If you need anything, just ring for me.”

  Clara wanted to return to bed where she could lose herself in dreams of the previous evening. But just as there was lingering warmth in her cheeks at the thought of Robert’s kiss, there was also lingering tension in the muscles of her neck at the thought of her mother’s criticism. She walked over to a small clock on the small mantle above the fireplace. No one was ever sent to wake Clara and she hadn’t slept more than twenty minutes past the hour at which she habitually rose (quite the feat considering how late she had returned compared to the time she usually turned in each evening).

  Her mother sending Trudy to check up on her brought to mind all the rumors Robert had mentioned during their stolen encounter. Having sent the message with Trudy that she would be down shortly, every moment spent contemplating such things when she should be dressing was a moment in which her mother won. She slipped off the dressing gown, reached her arms behind her back as best she could, and began unfastening the line of miniscule buttons.

  It was remarkable how quickly her relationship with her mother was deteriorating. Martha had never been a doting mother, but that extended to Helen as well. There had been nannies and nursemaids before the tutors and governesses appeared and took charge of the girls’ daily schedules. Martha was a figure that had hovered at the edges of her early awareness, in Clara’s case, critically. There had never been doubt in Clara’s mind that their mother treated her and Helen differently. She had always assumed that it was because Helen was younger, her baby; or that Helen was healthier. There was one frigid winter day in her childhood when Clara had been laid up with a bad cold and a thought occurred to her that caused her to shudder and wonder about her mother’s detached attitude towards her: what if Mother always seemed to look through her because of all the times she’d been at death’s door; what if it was just because Mother had looked at her so many times convinced she was about to die and she didn’t know how to handle the loss of her daughter; maybe it was all just Mother trying to keep herself from getting hurt if something happened to her, Clara?

  Clara had clung to that interpretation of her mother’s behavior and succeeded for a while. When she mentioned the idea to Trudy, the woman had reassured her and reiterated that everything was done to ensure the health and safety of the girls, even if the measures themselves seemed harsh or unnecessary at first glance. It was an idea Clara struggled to remember each time she felt slighted or unfairly censured growing up. Eventually, she had simply become numb to the barbs and digs, unaware of them or able to overlook them entirely.

  Her fingers fumbled over the last button just below the hook at the very top of the dress’ back. She managed to undo the hook but the button continued to elude her. It wasn’t going to give. Aside from not wanting to ring for Trudy after having sent her away, requiring assistance for a single button. Wincing in anticipation, Clara tugged at the button and listened for the sound of something tearing, praying it would be the thread holding the button and not the fabric of the dress itself. There was no tearing noise but the back of the dress was open and slipping down Clara’s body on it’s way to the floor. She stepped out of the dress and bent to retrieve it. The button was missing; a few loose strands of thread showed where it had formerly been secured.

  In the past few days, whatever thick skin Clara developed over the years had vanished. No, because they didn’t hurt. Not anymore. They were annoying and unpleasant but they didn’t wound the way they once did. No, now those comments fueled something inside her: a desire or a loathing, she wasn’t sure which, maybe
both.

  Standing in just a slip and her underclothes, Clara used her foot to locate the renegade button on the worn rug. It caught between her toes. She stooped over and took up the button, intending to place it on the bed where she’d laid out the dress. She examined the mother of pearl sheen on the small button’s surface. It was intact and would take one of the maids no more than a few minutes to reattach.

  But instead of setting it aside to return to Helen, Clara brought it over to her jewelry box. Tugging the lining out from the edge where it was wedged, she took the photograph of Martha and Amelia from its hiding place. What had Amelia done to become nothing more than a mysterious neighborhood rumor and a fading image? More than simple curiosity, Clara knew there was something about this mysterious aunt that was tied to her mother’s hostility. She replaced the photograph and lining, leaving the button from the borrowed dress resting in the corner. A few of the miniscule beads from the dress would have been a better reminder of the evening, but the button was more easily replaced and Clara felt less guilty about it than she would if she were to willfully tear loose some beads.

  Glancing up at the mirror, the reflection of the clock set Clara back into motion and with an added vigor. Whatever she had gotten herself into with her mother, Clara decided she would see it through. But to do so, she would need answers. Pulling a simple skirt and loose blouse from her closet, Clara dressed herself and began to devise a plan for how to uncover information while she had no idea what she should be looking for.

  Pulling her everyday shoes from beneath the bed and digging out a scrap of cloth, she sat at the edge of her bed to wipe them clean. It occurred to her that perhaps Trudy would know something about her mother’s sister. She’d been with the family for as long as Clara could remember. There wasn’t a tremendous amount of turnover with the staff, but Clara couldn’t think of anyone who had worked for the Davis’ as long as Trudy. Surely, when she’d first been hired, there were servants who gossiped about the feud or falling out or whatever it had been.

  Clara wished Robert had been able to tell her something more concrete instead of second and third-hand rumors. Throwing one last glance at the dress laid out on her bed, Clara set off in search of Trudy and answers, taking a deliberately roundabout route that would ensure she was seen by her mother.

  ***

  Clara found Trudy in the woman’s small room. It wasn’t located with the rest of the servants’ quarters but rather at the other end of the house, closer to Clara’s own room. The room was smaller than the standard room provided for live-in servants, but they were usually forced to share while Trudy had sole possession of hers. There was rigidity to the order Trudy kept in her private quarters but also an inviting warmth. As a child, Clara had enjoyed spending time in Trudy’s room, exploring her things. But as she’d grown older, the visits had been discouraged and finally eliminated altogether. Trudy was surprised when she looked up from her desk to see Clara standing in the doorway, knocking on the jamb.

  “Miss Clara,” she exclaimed, hurriedly setting aside what looked like a letter she’d been composing. “I told you to ring the bell if you needed anything.” She stood up from her chair and made to leave the room.

  Before Trudy had gone two steps, Clara had waltzed into the room and plunked herself down on the bed, just as she had always done as a child. “Does my mother have a sister?” Clara asked bluntly.

  Trudy froze and stared at Clara for a few moments. Her hesitation confirmed Clara’s suspicions. She watched Trudy’s mind evaluating how best to handle Clara’s unexpected questions. Clara knew the best way to get anything out of Trudy was to keep ahead of her. “I’m not a child anymore, Trudy,” she reminded the woman. To illustrate her point, she sat up on the bed, replacing the slightly lounging posture of childhood with the straight back and pulled back shoulders of a proper young woman. “I know you try to protect me and you still treat me like one, and for the most part, I’ve let you.” Trudy noted the shift in Clara’s posture but when she noticed Clara’s feet resting on the floor, her legs no longer too short to reach that was when Trudy took a step back and sat down in the desk chair again. “But I’m not and it needs to stop.”

  Trudy sighed, never taking her eyes from Clara. She could see that this conversation was going to test her loyalties and wondered whether Clara realized exactly what she was doing. “Perhaps you’re right. But you have to keep in mind, if you’re ready to ask questions, you need to be prepared not to like the answers,” Trudy cautioned.

  “Does my mother have a sister?” Clara asked again, pushing blindly past Trudy’s warning.

  “None that I’ve met,” Trudy answered cryptically.

  Clara tried to stare her down but Trudy never blinked. “You’ve been with our family for a long time—”

  “Almost twenty years,” Trudy interrupted, throwing Clara off balance.

  “Precisely. You’ve been with our family longer than anyone else on staff, as far as I’m aware. But that wasn’t always the case and in those early days, surely you must have heard something—”

  “I don’t condone gossip and have always avoided it,” Trudy said with pride.

  “This isn’t an interview,” Clara snapped, wresting control back from Trudy. “I’m not judging you and I’m not...” she sighed, realizing the position she was putting Trudy in if word got back to her mother. She couldn’t blame Trudy for not wanting to incur her mistress’ wrath. Beyond that, Trudy’s tenure with the family was impressive. It had been her first job after arriving in a foreign land and Clara couldn’t deny that Trudy had been treated well. Everyone who lived in the house had seen Martha snap at members of the staff for a variety of infractions but she made a visible effort to keep her temper when it came to Trudy. As much as she knew Trudy was fond of her, Clara also knew that Trudy must feel at least a grudging respect if not sincere loyalty for Mr. and Mrs. Davis. “I’m sorry,” Clara said quietly. “I know what I’m asking you to do—”

  “Do you?” Trudy challenged.

  “Do you think I don’t love my parents? That I’m just bored and looking to cause trouble for the sake of something to do? You know me Trudy. Does that sound like me?” Clara asked, managing to keep control of her voice and temper, despite Trudy’s provocation.

  It was Trudy’s turn to sigh. “Of course not,” she admitted. “You’ve always sought the path of least resistance, even if it meant suffering in silence. I know you’re not trying to make unnecessary trouble,” she assured Clara. “But trouble is what you’ll get and I’m not sure you’ll find the answers worth it at the end of the day. It’s been my job to keep you safe and healthy and that’s just what I’m trying to do.”

  “I know and I appreciate that. But the situation has changed. I’m old enough now to know if decisions are being made for me. I want a say in my own life but how can I be expected to make decisions for myself if I’m being kept in the dark?”

  Trudy didn’t say anything to further challenge Clara but there was a visible reluctance in the way she nodded for Clara to go ahead with her questions. She made no promises to answer but the stubborn set of her jaw had relaxed a little.

  Clara took a deep breath and once again asked the question, “Does my mother have a sister?”

  “You already know she does or you wouldn’t be asking,” Trudy responded, fighting to keep the harsh edge from her voice. “Why don’t you move on from that one?”

  “Can you tell me what you know about her?” Clara still had little idea what she was hoping to discover so she remained unsure of just what to ask.

  Trudy paused and stared at Clara for a moment before beginning. “As I said, I never met the woman. You mentioned those days when I was first hired by your parents. Do you realize that when they married, they had to hire their own staff? They built their own household; they didn’t inherit one. The servants, the staff that you’re interested in would have worked for your grandparents. They’re the ones that would have known about your mother and... her sister.
”

  Clara looked down. It hadn’t occurred to her. “The house...” she began.

  “Your mother inherited the house after her parents died, but that was when you were a babe. Most of the staff that worked here before your parents took possession moved on to other positions. But... there was a housekeeper who was too old and frail to find work elsewhere.”

  Clara’s head jerked up. She was about to press Trudy but the woman held up a hand to keep Clara from speaking. “Please, let me say my piece without you interrupting every two seconds. And know that when I’m done, I’ll have said all that I’m going to on the matter. No questions.”

  “Understood,” Clara agreed breathlessly.

  “When your grandparents died, your mother took pity on the housekeeper. Mrs... Johnson? Jacobs? Something like that. She was sick and had no family left to take her in so your mother insisted she be given a room here to live out her days comfortably. She’d been with your grandparents your mother’s whole life and they were fond of one another. The woman died when you were... you must have been four, maybe five years old. Anyhow, she was touch and go for a long while. Confined to bed, telling tales, reminiscing, talking to people when there was no one in the room with her, confusing who it was when there was someone sitting with her. Your mother would sit with her some afternoons when her schedule allowed.

  “When she found out she was expecting Helen, she and your father decided it would be better for her to avoid sitting in the sick room. It broke her heart to stop; she didn’t want Mrs... Jeffries? She didn’t want her to be left alone like that. So, your mother asked if I would sit with her when you went down for your afternoon naps, just so there’d be someone with her.

  “You must remember, I was still new to this country and my English wasn’t what it is today. She rambled on and I only understood a fraction of what she would say. I did manage to understand that your mother had a sister, Amelia. She... that is, Mrs... Jones? ... She was very fond of your mother. She knew what your mother was doing for her and she appreciated it. She regretted that your mother had been treated so badly by Amelia. She didn’t say anything about the circumstances, but I got the impression that your aunt did something she considered unforgiveable to your mother and she was proud that your mother had done so much to rise above it, that she hadn’t given in to pettiness or jealousy. I don’t know the specifics of what happened, but it seems that Amelia betrayed your mother in some way. I gather that there was a minor scandal that took its toll on your grandparents.”