A Lady of Hidden Intent Read Online Free PDF Page A

proper authorities. She didn’t believe God minded her personalized addition.
    “Why is it that decent men may suffer such heinous injustice, while evil men go about their business wreaking havoc and pain?”
    She went to the window and pulled back the drapery she’d helped to make. It was a privilege, she knew, to be in a private room. She was here because she now managed the sewing floor for Mrs. Clarkson. Having worked her way up after proving her ability with a needle, Catherine enjoyed many such privileges.
    Turning from the window, she surveyed the room. It was only a fourth of the size of her room in Bath, but it was cozy and tidy. She hugged her arms to her body and felt the worn velvet of her housecoat. It was a little tight in the bodice but otherwise still served her needs faithfully.
    Once again she thought of her mother’s loving care in choosing it for her and embroidering the panels that ran down the front. The dark green material had been inset with black and embroidered with gold and silver, red, and lighter greens. The floral pattern her mother had created had come from her own design, and it was to her mother that Catherine credited her own creativity.
    Designing had been easy enough for Catherine. Having worn glorious ball gowns and equally lavish day dresses, Catherine knew a thing or two about regal wear. She also knew, as a woman, what things she would like to see changed in fashionable garments. Catherine had instituted some of those ideas in the creations she made for Philadelphia’s elite.
    Taking a seat by the fire, she sighed and wondered where her life might take her next. How long before someone came to America and recognized her? Better yet, how long could she stay away from her father? Yet she knew there was nothing she could do. Even if she went to the prison, she would no doubt be turned away without ever being allowed to see him. Worse still, she might be taken into custody and given a similar fate—and then who would fight for her father?
    “Lord, I do not pretend to understand that which has been thrust upon us. I can only pray for deliverance. As you freed your people from Egypt, I beg you to free my father from prison.”
    A knock sounded at her door and Catherine stiffened. It was not Selma’s light knock or even Mrs. Clarkson’s gentle hand.
    “Who is it?” she asked as she went to the door.
    “Felicia. Open the door, it’s drafty out here.”
    Catherine did as the young woman requested, but she dreaded it. Felicia carried the title of Second Hand in the sewing house.
    That put her subservient only to Mrs. Clarkson and Catherine—a position Felicia greatly detested.
    She swept into the room with queenly airs, letting her gaze quickly survey Catherine’s possessions as if assessing for anything new. Appearing satisfied that all remained the same, she turned to Catherine.
    “I saw your light was still on. I wondered what you could possibly be up to at this hour.”
    Catherine looked at her hard. “If it’s such a strange hour to be awake, I might ask the same of you.”
    Felicia laughed and pushed back her long, loose blond hair. “I just finished my work for the day. I felt it important to complete the blouse I’d been given. So there is no foul on my part.”
    “I am glad to know it. Now that we have that clear, perhaps you will retire and allow me to do the same.”
    Felicia frowned. “You needn’t be uppity with me. You have always taken on airs of superiority, and I resent it very much.
    Your English background does not give you any kind of preference here. The English have often been considered traitors and enemies of this country.”
    “I may well be English, but I am neither traitor nor enemy.
    I’m merely a dressmaker,” Catherine stated, trying to sound indifferent. In truth, her anger was building by the second. Felicia had been nothing but trouble to her since coming to Mrs.
    Clarkson’s.
    “Well, as long as you know your place,” Felicia said,