Secrets of Sloane House(16)

“By what?”

Looking as if she’d said something she shouldn’t, Nanci shook her head. “Never you mind that.”

“You’re not going to even give me a hint? Perhaps I should consider looking through some of those keyholes.”

“Don’t you ever do that,” Nanci said, her voice hard. “Some things go on here that you don’t want to know about. Ever. And I shudder to imagine what would happen to you if one of the family discovered you were spying on them.”

“I was only joking.” It was all Rosalind could do not to shake off the words with a bit of a nervous giggle. Never before had she received a warning like that. Had Miranda been warned like this? Was that what had frightened her so?

Looking a bit chagrined, Nanci spoke more lightly. “I hope I didn’t scare you none. I don’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that a home like this is a big change from your life in Wisconsin. The people here do things a bit different too. And if you don’t get used to it, well, it can cause a lot of problems in the long run.”

Nanci’s change of tone gave Rosalind confidence to ask questions.

“Is that what happened to Miranda? Did she never get used to things here?”

“Miranda refused to listen to reason. That’s what happened with her. If she would have listened in the first place, it would have saved her a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, though. Just like you suggested.”

“Good. You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had. I don’t want to lose you anytime soon!”

“Thank you for that.”

Now dressed in her nightgown, Nanci crawled into her narrow bed. “We should get some sleep, since tomorrow is sure to be wonderful.”

“I’d almost forgotten.”

“I don’t know how! Can you believe our luck? We both get tomorrow afternoon and evening off. And Mr. Sloane has given us tickets for admission to the fair and tokens for the midway!”

Just a few hours before, Mr. and Mrs. Sloane had lined up all the staff and presented each member with tokens and tickets for both the fair admission and the Ferris wheel in the midway. Even the most senior members of the staff had trouble containing their excitement.

Mr. Hodgeson and Mrs. Abrams had then, in turn, made up a schedule that allowed a few of them at a time to visit the fair, in addition to their usual half day off once a week. Nanci and Rosalind were paired together.

The idea of going to the fair was tremendously exciting . . . and terribly hard for Rosalind to accept. She didn’t feel she should do anything other than hunt for Miranda or work. Taking part in even the most harmless of amusements felt wrong.

But perhaps she could show her sister’s daguerreotype to a few of the workers while she was there. It was a long shot, to be sure, but at least it was an attempt to find some answers. As Nanci continued to prattle on, Rosalind tried to look excited too. But as she washed her face and then got under her sheet, her mind drifted to other things. About how she used to share her bed at home with Miranda.

And how at the moment, the cold cotton settling against her skin felt like ice despite the warmth of the room. Whether it was the coolness of the sheet or the direction of her thoughts, Rosalind felt her skin break out in chill bumps. A tremor coursed through her as her body attempted to warm itself. Thinking about how cold their attic room would be when winter came . . . Oh, what she’d give then for just one of the down comforters that were in the guest rooms, not to mention how wonderful it would be to have a fireplace in a bedroom like Veronica did.

Yet she should know better than to not count her blessings. She was lucky, and that was the truth. Back home, the work was just as hard, only there was little gaiety or anything to break up the days. Early morning brought milking, then the hard labor of sterilizing the buckets and milking areas. Afterward, a long line of chores blended each day into the next, and all the while she was pestered by her younger brothers. Only gardening gave her much pleasure.

But the worst part was sitting at her parents’ table and feeling their despair and exhaustion cloud the room. Her mother, though not even forty, looked twenty years older. Her father’s perpetually grim expression was weighted down with the burdens of the nation’s recession and the responsibility of caring for the four children still at home.

And then, of course, there was the ever-present worry about Miranda. From the time her dear sister’s letters had stopped arriving, Rosalind had tossed and turned at night and worried and fretted. She had to find her. She had to. Or she had to discover what had become of her. There was no choice.