The Traitor's Wife: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

Shippen.
    Clara detected the sound of footsteps ascending the staircase. “Peggy?” a woman’s voice called out.
    “It’s Betsy.” Peggy turned to the maid. “Quick, run behind my closet, out of sight. Go!” Peggy practically pushed Clara away from her, and Clara obeyed, heart racing as she dashed behind the hulking piece of furniture.
    “Peggy.” A timorous voice now drifted in from the doorway of the bedroom. From her spot, Clara could see Miss Peggy but not the elder sister.
    “Oh, Betsy, hello. Well, did you let Mr. Neddy Burd see an inch of flesh? Perhaps a kiss, if only on the cheek?” Peggy’s voice was cool and taunting as she turned from her seat before the mirror.
    “Stop teasing, Peggy.”
    “Poor man looks wound up tighter than a spring. Won’t you at least let him see a glimpse of your ankle, Bets? He may be patient, but even saints have their limits.”
    “Peggy, quit being vile or I shall tell Papa.”
    “Oh, what do you want, Bets?” Peggy cocked her head to the side.
    “Mrs. Quigley tells me our new maid is here.”
    “Is she?” Peggy sounded bored.
    “Yes. Mrs. Quigley said she was with you.”
    Peggy raised her hands as if to ask, where? Clara receded farther behind the armoire, feeling as guilty as a thief.
    “But . . . Mrs. Quigley just told me.”
    “Bets, you see perfectly well that I am here and this so-called maid is not. What would you like me to say?”
    Betsy paused, quiet. “Where did she go?”
    “I do not know, Bets, I have yet to lay eyes on her.”
    “Oh,” Betsy said. “Well, if she turns up, will you send her my way? I’d like help dressing.”
    “Of course,” Peggy agreed, her tone obliging.
    “But do you promise, Peggy?”
    “I shall send her your way, I promise. Now, Bets, I’m about to dress myself. Be a dear and close the door?”
    Betsy left without a word, quietly closing the door behind her.
    “Come here.” Peggy wheeled back around, so that her gaze now fixed on her maid through the mirror. She waved her hand. “I said come here.” Her face was encouraging, even sweet. Clara treaded forward, keeping her eyes down.
    “Thank you.” Peggy took Clara’s hand in hers and gave it a soft, conspiratorial squeeze. Clara felt uncomfortable, ill at ease over unwittingly taking part in a lie to one of her new ladies.
    “Lean down beside me, Clara.” Peggy urged her maid closer, her voice suddenly silky, and this sweet tone did more to put Clara on edge than any previous iciness had. “You know, Clara, you are not ugly . In fact, I’d say you’re quite pretty. For a farm girl.” Clara looked into the glass before them, staring at the two faces. Herswas stained an unattractive, rosy pink after her long journey in the sun from Lancaster, while Peggy’s was creamy and unlined, like freshly pressed lace. Their complexions were similar—both fair, with light eyes—but Peggy’s hair was silky, the texture of freshly spun gold, while Clara’s appeared more like dried straw at the end of the harvest. Clara thought her eyes looked dull and colorless, while Peggy’s shone blue under shaped eyebrows and long eyelashes. Peggy’s gaze was alert, her features active, as though they were perceiving things, understanding things, which Clara herself had not even noticed.
    “You flatter me, Miss Peggy.” Clara pulled her face back from the mirror, retreating behind her mistress.
    “No, I don’t flatter people,” Peggy answered matter-of-factly, powdering the tip of her nose. “They flatter me. Go fetch my rose-colored silk dress.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “And I’ll need my white satin gloves, my white heels, my widest pannier hoopskirt, and any of the ribbons—either white or pink—that you think would be agreeable with the rose silk of the gown.” Peggy pointed Clara in the direction of her wardrobe, and Clara crossed the room to retrieve the requested items.
    “Tonight shall be very festive. Of course, every night is festive now that the