“How can we even seem ungrateful? Haven’t you heard that people are going hungry?”
Anger for the situation, anger for Nanci’s deriding comments, fueled her temper. “So why did you agree to meet Douglass then?” Rosalind asked pointedly. “If you know Douglass will never think of you as more than a servant in his house, why did you spend time alone with him?”
Nanci shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t understand Rosalind’s naïveté. “Because I’m not dead. Yet.”
Nanci’s words shook Rosalind to the core. And they set off a spark of questions. “Is this what happened to Miranda? Did she get too close to Douglass and he abused her?”
Nanci jerked her head to the side. “Why does it always go back to Miranda? Why do you even care?”
“Because someone should.”
Nanci’s eyes flashed fury. Then, little by little, her expression eased, as if she, too, had just realized how wrong it was for a single girl to disappear and no one to lift a finger to find her.
“I don’t know if she was ever with Douglass,” she said finally. “Maybe she was.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with her disappearance? Do you think maybe he made her leave?”
Nanci’s eyes widened as she considered that possibility, and then she shook her head. “No.”
Though they were walking at a fast pace, Rosalind didn’t dare leave their conversation. “Why not?”
“Because he doesn’t work that way. Douglass Sloane is an indolent gentleman. He can be amusing and wicked and great fun. But he knows one thing more than anything else: his legacy is the Sloane name and the home that has housed generations of his ancestors. He knows what he has to do to keep it.”
“And what is that?”
“He must marry a society girl who will increase the family’s wealth and place in society. For him to get one of those debutantes, he must keep his reputation on this side of respectable.”
“In other words, he can be bad, but not too bad.”
“That is exactly it,” Nanci said bitterly. “He can do most anything . . . as long as he doesn’t get caught.”
They were almost at the Women’s Building now. Rosalind knew that once the conversation ended, there would be no opportunity to open it again. Unlike hers, Nanci’s life was destined to be in the grand house. “If he’s so worried about getting a real lady for a wife, I don’t understand why he would treat you so poorly.”
“Why?”
“Well, he must know you could complain to Mrs. Abrams. Or even to his mother.”
Nanci glared at her, then pulled her to a grassy section of lawn on the left of the building. “I’m only going to say this one last time, Rosalind, and I hope you hear what I’m saying at long last. Girls like you and me do not count. If we complain? We will get fired.”
Rosalind felt her skin pale. “And Douglass knows that.”
Nanci sniffed before turning around and stepping up the white steps into the building. “Not just Douglass,” she murmured over her shoulder. “Everyone. Everyone knows this.”
“Don’t say a word about this to anyone, do you hear me? If I ever hear that you did? I promise, I will never forgive you.”
Rosalind nodded. Then, feeling miserable, she followed Nanci into the Women’s Building.
She had a feeling she had just lost her only real woman friend in Chicago.
CHAPTER 15
Four days later, Rosalind was still worrying about Nanci. Her friend and roommate was having trouble sleeping. More than once Rosalind had been awakened by Nanci’s crying out in her sleep.
The mornings, however, were a different story. Every time Rosalind tried to talk to Nanci about her nightmares, Nanci would deny that anything was wrong. Even though she now had dark smudges under her eyes and little appetite, she refused to discuss what had happened with her and Douglass during the two hours they were alone.
Coming from a large family, Rosalind was a firm believer in discussing problems. Keeping secrets was never a good idea, especially if they festered over days and weeks. And now, other people were starting to notice Nanci’s short temper and lackluster spirit.
Finally Rosalind couldn’t take it anymore. They were in Mrs. Abrams’ sitting room mending stockings and sheets. When Rosalind looked over and saw Nanci’s large, uneven stitches, she knew she was going to have to redo them.
“Nanci, why don’t you close your eyes and rest for a few minutes while I redo that seam?”
“There is no need to redo anything. My work is fine.”
Rosalind pointed out the obvious. The material around the seam was gathered in an odd spot. In the condition it was in, not even the lowest scullery maid would wear the stocking. Certainly Mrs. Sloane would not.