Gertrude wasn’t certain if she should laugh or bang her head against the wall. “To refresh that obviously faulty memory of yours, Mrs. Davenport, the main reason I was wheezing the night of the engagement celebration was because I had to borrow a dress that was two sizes too small for me from Edwina. The reason behind that borrowing, if you’ll recall, was because the bustle you created and demanded I wear that night was not what anyone could call practical, and ... well ... there’s really no need to revisit the horror that happened to me while I was wearing that creation.”
Mrs. Davenport pursed her lips. “There’s no cause to be so snippy.”
“There’s no cause to embarrass a person either, but that didn’t stop you from sending me off to a formal engagement celebration wearing a birdcage attached to my behind.”
“It was only half a birdcage.”
“True, although I must say here and now that birdcages really have no place being turned into bustles—no matter that gossip has it the size of bustles will continue to increase. However, because we are short on time and arguing is not going to help the tight schedule we’re currently under, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to pack up all the reticules you’ve decided we can’t leave behind.”
To Gertrude’s concern, the color that had recently returned to Mrs. Davenport’s face drained immediately as she began biting her lip and looking almost nervous.
“If you’re concerned I’m going to make use of that mysterious trunk, do know that I’m planning on hauling it straight back up to the attic, where it can continue to molder forever if that’s what you wish,” Gertrude said.
Mrs. Davenport’s eyes suddenly seemed suspiciously bright. She blinked, blinked again, then let out a sigh. “You’re very kind, dear, too kind to me in fact, and I fear what I have to disclose next will do a grave disservice to that kindness you’ve always afforded me.”
Gertrude lowered herself back into the chair she’d just begun to vacate. “Have you decided you don’t need to take all of those reticules with you to Newport, and you’re worried I’m going to be annoyed with you because I’ll need to put them away?”
“No, that’s not it at all, although what I have to explain does revolve around reticules, or rather one particular reticule, the one I might have, quite unintentionally mind you, misplaced ... on a yacht . . . that might happen to belong to Harrison.”
For what felt like an eternity, Gertrude simply sat on the chair, wishing she had not heard the words Mrs. Davenport had just uttered. When her employer shifted on the seat and smiled a less than genuine smile, the temper Gertrude always fought to keep in check no matter the ridiculousness of Mrs. Davenport’s request took that very moment to break free. Heat coursed over her as her fingers clutched the arms of the chair, her mind whirling with retorts she knew she would never voice, no matter the fury she felt toward her employer.
“May I dare hope the contents resting in that particular reticule are not of a questionable nature?” she finally managed to ask.
Mrs. Davenport’s smile dimmed. “They’re perfectly ordinary items, Gertrude, items often found in a lady’s reticule.”
“But do they belong to you?”
“Ownership is so tricky to explain at times.”
Gertrude lifted her chin. “It’s not, and you’re stalling. What’s in the reticule?”
Mrs. Davenport winced right before she began to tick items off on her fingers. “Two strands of pearls, one silver spoon, a lovely gold locket encrusted with diamonds that has a lady’s portrait in it, and a ring that fits my left ring finger to perfection.”
With anger now thrumming through her every vein, Gertrude rose to her feet and stalked to the window, leaning her forehead against the cool pane of glass as she tried to regain her composure. It would not benefit her situation to rail at Mrs. Davenport, but at this particular moment, she simply could not understand how it had happened that she’d come to be employed by a woman with a distinct propensity for helping herself to items that did not belong to her.
Why had she never confronted Mrs. Davenport or demanded an explanation for behavior that was completely beyond the pale?
Mrs. Davenport was a wealthy woman who could purchase whatever item caught her fancy, and yet, from the very first week Gertrude began working for her, she’d been expected to return items that Mrs. Davenport pilfered from one society member after another.
Diamond bracelets, rings, jeweled combs, and even snuffboxes were simply a few of the items Gertrude had been expected to return discreetly. But in all those years, she and Mrs. Davenport had never discussed the matter. The one and only time Mrs. Davenport had even broached the subject was three days after she’d hired Gertrude. That broaching consisted of Mrs. Davenport mentioning she’d accidentally picked up a diamond ring from Mrs. Livingston’s soirée and needed Gertrude to return the ring posthaste, although return it as stealthily as possible.
Instead of demanding a more reasonable explanation, though, Gertrude simply hopped in the hansom cab Mrs. Davenport suggested she hire, directed that cab to Mrs. Livingston’s four-storied brownstone, paid her respects to Mrs. Livingston, and then, in a move that would have impressed the most seasoned actress on stage, dropped the ring as inconspicuously as possible to the carpeted floor. She’d then waited all of a few seconds before she’d released a rather dramatic breath and then pointed out the ring nestled in the carpet, earning Mrs. Livingston’s most earnest appreciation.
It had not been an experience Gertrude enjoyed, and she’d sworn to herself that she’d never do such a thing again. But then, when a diamond bracelet had shown up on a table the day after another society event, she’d found herself traveling through the city in a different hansom cab, returning it without demanding so much as a single explanation from Mrs. Davenport beforehand.
But when she’d met up with Mrs. Davenport after completing her unpleasant task, she’d tried to discuss the situation with her employer.
The discussion had not gone well.
Mrs. Davenport seemed to shrink in size and age right before Gertrude’s eyes. She’d also looked fragile and forlorn, reminding Gertrude exactly how her mother looked before she’d died. Because of that, and because Gertrude knew what could happen to a person when they descended into a despondent attitude, she’d immediately stopped her questioning about Mrs. Davenport’s troubling habits and they’d never spoken about it again.
A pointed clearing of a throat pulled Gertrude from her memories. Forcing herself to turn from the window, she found Mrs. Davenport watching her warily.
“Are you still cross with me, dear?” she asked.
Gertrude arched a brow. “I thinkcrossmight not be the word I’d choose to describe what I’m feeling toward you now.”
“Disappointed?”
