The Wager at Harrow House

New York, 1893. Three weeks after Mrs. Constance Pembroke discovered philanthropy with the enthusiasm of a religious convert and the bewilderment of everyone who had known her before, Lady Adesina Okafor once again put away the silk, the jewels, the expensive perfume, and the quiet authority of Blackwood House, dressed herself in the same plain brown walking dress she had used before, pinned a modest hat over her hair, slipped worn gloves onto her hands, and became, for the benefit of Manhattan, Addie Cole. By noon she had already been rejected twice. The first woman looked at her references, then at her face, then back at the references as though hoping the ink might rearrange itself into something less inconvenient. “You are very well spoken,” she said. “So I have been told.” “I mean unusually so.” Adesina looked at her for a moment. “I understood you the first time.” The woman’s smile tightened. “I simply think the household might be more comfortable with someone less conspicuous.” Adesina rose from her chair and calmly gathered her papers. “How fortunate for us both that you discovered this before I was forced to suffer your company.” The woman gasped, but Adesina was already at the door. The second interview lasted even less time. “You seem proud,” the employment agent told her, peering over the rim of his spectacles. “I am.” “That is not always desirable in domestic service.” “Neither is stupidity, yet it appears to flourish.” The man pushed back from his desk so sharply that his chair scraped the floor, but Adesina had already turned away, hiding the smallest trace of amusement as she left. Outside, rain had begun again, a fine gray drizzle that turned the pavement slick and sent carriages rattling past beneath umbrellas, and after walking half a block Adesina stopped beneath the awning of a milliner’s shop, lowered her head, covered her face with one hand, and produced a perfectly convincing tremor in her shoulders. She had learned long ago that people who ignored suffering often became fascinated by tears. “Girl.” Adesina waited. “Girl, turn around.” She did. The woman standing behind her wore a dark green velvet coat trimmed with fur, a hat decorated with black feathers, and enough jewelry to make modesty an impossibility. She studied Adesina from head to toe without embarrassment. “Again.” Adesina blinked. “Madam?” “Turn around.” Adesina obeyed slowly, aware of the woman’s gaze lingering on her waist, her shoulders, and the line of her back. “Yes,” the woman murmured. “Very good.” Adesina nearly smiled. “Are you in distress?” At once, Addie Cole returned. “My position disappeared this morning, madam,” she said, allowing her voice to tremble. “I have nowhere to stay, and the employment office says there is nothing suitable.” “What sort of work?” “Companion, secretary, household service, anything respectable.” “Anything?” Adesina lowered her eyes. “Anything respectable.” The woman smiled. “I am Mrs. Beatrice Harrow. Come with me.” “Where?” “To my carriage.” Adesina hesitated beautifully. Beatrice’s expression softened into the satisfaction of someone who believed she had discovered something valuable before anyone else. “My dear, if you intend to survive in New York, you must learn when fortune is offering you a seat.” Adesina looked at the carriage, then back at Beatrice. “I should hate to offend fortune.” Inside the carriage Beatrice questioned her briskly, as though conducting an interview and making a purchase at the same time. “Can you sew?” “Well enough.” “Read aloud?” “Yes.” “Serve at table?” “Yes.” “Keep secrets?” Adesina turned her head and looked at her. “Exceptionally well.” Beatrice smiled. “Excellent.” Then she named a weekly wage so large that even Adesina raised an eyebrow. “That seems generous.” “I expect loyalty.” “So do kings.” “I am not a king.” “No,” Adesina said. “You are much better dressed.” Beatrice laughed, delighted. “I like you.” The carriage stopped before a broad townhouse overlooking a private square, its stone facade glowing in the rain. “You would live in,” Beatrice said as they entered. “I had assumed so.” “You will share a room.” “With whom?” “Two girls.” Adesina paused. “Girls?” “Women,” Beatrice corrected impatiently. “Servants. You’ll meet them.” The servants’ room was smaller than Adesina expected, with three narrow beds, one wardrobe, a washstand, and a single window overlooking the alley, and when she entered she found the two women standing close together beside the far bed, one with her arms around the other’s waist while the other rested her forehead against her shoulder. They separated quickly when the door opened. Adesina noticed the movement, the flush in their faces, and the instinctive way their hands remained linked for one heartbeat longer than necessary. She said nothing. The dark-haired woman recovered first. “You’re new.” “So I am.” “I’m Rosa Bellamy, and that’s Lydia Crane.” Lydia gave a shy little wave. “Addie Cole.” Adesina placed her reticule on the empty bed and looked between them once more, catching the small private glance they exchanged. Not sisters, then. Not merely friends either. That, Adesina decided, was worth remembering. Rosa glanced toward the closed door. “Did she tell you?” “Tell me what?” Lydia’s face changed immediately, and Rosa muttered something under her breath. Adesina sat on the edge of the empty bed. “You may as well explain.” Lydia shook her head. “If she hears us talking about it, she’ll make things worse.” “She won’t hear you.” Rosa frowned. “How could you possibly know that?” Adesina glanced toward the door with a faint smile. “I have excellent hearing.” Rosa stared at her for a moment, then crossed to the wardrobe and opened it. Inside hung three outfits of black satin and lace, cut far more daringly than any ordinary servant uniform. Adesina lifted one carefully from its hanger. “Oh, this is unfortunate.” Lydia covered her face. Adesina examined the bodice. “It seems rather impractical for polishing silver.” “It isn’t for polishing silver,” Rosa said. Adesina looked at her. “I had already begun to suspect as much.” Rosa sat down beside Lydia, whose hand immediately found hers again. “Mrs. Harrow has card nights. Five women, sometimes six. They gamble for money, jewelry, favors, whatever amuses them.” “And occasionally?” Lydia swallowed. “Us.” Adesina became very still. “The servants.” Rosa nodded. “The winner chooses one of us for the night.” Adesina looked at their joined hands. “And neither of you has been able to leave.” “We owe her money,” Lydia said quietly. “She advances wages and then charges us for things, clothes, medicines, breakages, anything she likes. Every time we think we’re close to paying it off, the amount changes.” Adesina looked from Lydia to Rosa. “And she knows the two of you are together?” Rosa’s expression hardened. “She thinks that makes it more amusing.” That, Adesina decided, made the whole arrangement considerably uglier. That was when Adesina laughed softly. Both women stared at her. “You think this is funny?” Rosa asked. “No,” Adesina said, and the smile in her eyes had become something altogether colder. “I think Beatrice Harrow is going to be very funny.” Rosa frowned. “What does that mean?” Adesina carefully returned the dress to its hanger. “It means that neither of you will be working here tomorrow.” Lydia looked close to tears. “You don’t understand. We can’t simply walk out.” “My dear Lydia,” Adesina said, “by breakfast I expect your debt will be the least interesting thing that has happened in this house.” At six o’clock Beatrice summoned her. The mistress’s dressing room smelled of roses and face powder, and a black evening dress lay across a chaise beside a small stack of banknotes. Beatrice pointed to the dress. “Put that on.” Adesina stared at it. “I was hired this afternoon.” “Yes.” “And already you are dressing me.” “You object?” “I find it unusual.” Beatrice stepped closer, studying her as openly as she had beneath the awning. “You are very beautiful, Addie.” Adesina lowered her gaze. “I would prefer not to discuss that.” “Then we won’t.” Beatrice opened a small box and placed several banknotes on the dressing table. Adesina looked at them. “That is nearly a month’s wages.” “A bonus.” “For what?” “For being agreeable tonight.” Adesina immediately stepped back. “No. I believe I should leave.” Beatrice blinked. “You cannot be serious.” “I am entirely serious.” Adesina turned toward the door. “Wait.” She kept walking. “Addie.” Adesina stopped. Beatrice added more notes to the pile. Adesina glanced at them, then back at her. “I don’t understand.” “You don’t need to.” “I think I do.” Beatrice sighed. “My friends enjoy games. I intend to win tonight.” “And if you do?” A little smile appeared. “Then nothing unpleasant will happen to you.” Adesina stared as though frightened, and it was one of her better performances. “And if you lose?” Beatrice’s smile faded. “I do not lose.” By eight, the drawing room glittered with crystal, diamonds, cards, brandy, and women who had never been required to wonder what anything cost. Adesina served wine beside Rosa and Lydia and could feel every gaze following her across the room. One guest whispered, “Where did you find her?” Beatrice smiled over her cards. “Fortune.” Mrs. Viola Ashcombe, dressed in burgundy silk, watched Adesina walk away. “If fortune looked like that, I would attend church.” The table erupted in laughter. Adesina continued pouring champagne. Rosa leaned closer and whispered, “How are you so calm?” “I have met worse people.” Rosa glanced sideways at her. “Where?” Adesina continued filling a glass. “In several centuries of disappointing company.” Rosa stared. Adesina smiled. “That was a joke.” It wasn’t. At ten, Beatrice tapped the table. “Ladies, shall we improve the stakes?” Rosa went pale. Beatrice pointed toward the three servants. “The winner chooses.” Viola leaned back. “Oh, Beatrice.” “What?” “You wicked woman.” “You’re objecting?” “Absolutely not.” Her eyes moved to Adesina. “I am simply admiring your confidence.” Adesina lowered her eyes demurely. Two hours later, only Beatrice and Viola remained in the game. The final hand turned. Beatrice stared at the cards. Viola smiled. “That settles it.” Beatrice dropped her cards onto the table. “Damn you.” Viola stood. “I’ll take the new one.” Silence. Adesina let her hand tremble. “No, madam.” Beatrice looked annoyed. “Do not embarrass me.” “I don’t want to go.” Viola laughed softly. “Good. Fear makes people honest.” Adesina looked toward the bedroom door. Inside, something ancient and delighted began to stir. The bedroom door closed behind them. Viola Ashcombe removed her gloves slowly and dropped them onto a chair. “You may stop trembling now.” Adesina allowed the tremor to remain in her hands. “I would rather leave.” “You’ll survive.” “I don’t know you.” Viola smiled as she approached. “You know enough.” Adesina stepped backward until the edge of the bed touched the backs of her legs. “May I ask you one thing?” “You may ask whatever you like.” “If you intend to kiss me,” Adesina said, her voice still small and uncertain, “then let me do it.” Viola paused. The fear vanished from Adesina’s face so completely that the woman barely had time to understand what she was seeing. “Let you—?” Adesina’s hand settled gently behind her neck. “Exactly.” Then the fangs entered. Viola gasped once, but the sound faded almost immediately as her body relaxed in Adesina’s arms. Adesina held her upright as she fed, slowly enough to keep the woman conscious for a few moments, long enough for their eyes to meet. “You gamble with women because you think people can be won,” Adesina whispered. Viola’s eyelids fluttered. “Tomorrow you will discover generosity.” She drank again. “And service.” When Viola finally slept, Adesina laid her gently across the bed. “You will give tonight’s winnings to Rosa Bellamy and Lydia Crane, and you will volunteer to replace them in this household.” Viola breathed deeply. “You will refuse wages, and you will find the arrangement deeply satisfying.” Adesina smiled. “Consider it a change of fortune.” Adesina left Viola sleeping and walked quietly down the corridor until she found Beatrice’s bedroom, although in truth she had known precisely where it was from the moment she entered the house. She knocked. A sharp voice answered from within. “Who is it?” “It’s Addie.” There was a pause, followed by a much softer, “Come in.” Beatrice was sitting at her dressing table, furious and halfway through removing her jewelry, but when she saw Adesina standing in the doorway the disappointment vanished from her face. “You came.” “I did.” “Why?” Adesina closed the door behind her. “Perhaps I felt sorry for you.” Beatrice laughed. “You?” “Perhaps.” Adesina moved toward the bed. “Did Viola hurt you?” “No.” “Did she—” Adesina sat beside her. “Would you like me to kiss your neck?” Beatrice stared at her for a moment, then smiled. “Yes.” Adesina leaned closer. “You should be more careful, Beatrice, when beautiful strangers offer you exactly what you want.” “What does that mean?” Her answer became a sigh as Adesina bit her. This time Adesina fed deeply. Beatrice clutched at her sleeves, then softened, her breathing gradually slowing. “You will free Rosa and Lydia,” Adesina whispered. Beatrice’s eyes fluttered. “You will give them enough money to live comfortably for years, and you will consider it payment for excellent service.” Another slow swallow. “And when Viola offers to become your servant, you will accept.” Beatrice’s eyes closed. “You will never again gamble with a person’s freedom.” By dawn, Harrow House had become a very strange place. Viola Ashcombe awoke announcing that she had always secretly longed for honest domestic work, and Beatrice Harrow, who under ordinary circumstances would have found this declaration absurd beyond words, agreed immediately. Rosa received more money than she had expected to earn in ten years. Lydia received even more because Beatrice suddenly remembered that she had once deducted wages for a broken lamp. Neither woman understood any of it. Adesina did. At seven in the morning she stood on the pavement between them while a hired carriage waited. Rosa held a leather case filled with money. “This is impossible.” Lydia looked at Adesina. “What did you do?” “I resigned.” “That isn’t what I mean.” “I know.” Rosa grabbed Adesina’s hands. “Come with us.” “I have somewhere to be.” “Where?” Adesina smiled. “Home.” They rode together as far as the Waldorf. When the carriage stopped, Lydia stared at the grand entrance. “We can’t stay here.” “Why not?” “Because people like us don’t stay at places like this.” Adesina looked at her. “Then begin disappointing people.” Rosa laughed first, and Lydia followed a moment later. They hugged Adesina before leaving, and she tolerated it with considerable dignity. “Thank you,” Lydia whispered. “Do something worthwhile with it.” “The money?” “The freedom.” Rosa slipped an arm around Lydia’s waist as they turned toward the entrance, and Adesina watched the two women walk into the hotel together, still half convinced someone might stop them, still half afraid that freedom itself might be revoked if they moved too confidently. No one stopped them. Adesina waited until the doors closed behind them. Then she told the driver: “Blackwood House.” When Adesina entered the library at Blackwood House later that morning, Amara was waiting with tea, a shawl around her shoulders and the expression of someone who had already decided that whatever had happened in Manhattan was probably unnecessary. “You smell like two different women.” Adesina removed her gloves. “That is an extraordinarily rude observation.” “It is also accurate.” “Unfortunately.” Amara poured the tea and handed her a cup. “So what happened?” Adesina settled into the chair beside the window. “I found employment.” Amara stopped pouring. “You?” “Briefly.” “That sounds dangerous for the employer.” “It proved inconvenient.” Amara sat opposite her. “Go on.” “There was a wealthy widow named Beatrice Harrow who thought her servants were suitable prizes for card games, and two young women named Rosa and Lydia who had been trapped in her household by manufactured debts.” Amara’s expression changed. “And now?” “They are free.” “Money?” “Enough to begin again comfortably.” “Safe?” “I left them at the Waldorf.” Amara stared at her. “You put two newly unemployed servants in the Waldorf?” “They needed a memorable first morning.” “And Mrs. Harrow?” Adesina took a leisurely sip of tea. “She has acquired a new servant.” Amara narrowed her eyes. “Do I want to know?” “Probably not.” “And the other woman whose scent you brought home?” “Also involved.” Amara closed her eyes briefly. “You fed twice.” “I was busy.” “That explains the expression.” “What expression?” “The one you wear when you believe civilization has improved because you interfered with it.” Adesina looked toward the distant city. “In Africa, men built kingdoms and called themselves eternal. In Europe, aristocrats built palaces and believed God had personally approved their seating arrangements.” “And here?” Adesina smiled. “Here they gamble servants over cards.” Amara shook her head. “You sound delighted.” “I am.” “Why?” Adesina settled deeper into the chair, the smallest suggestion of fang appearing behind her smile. “Because arrogance makes hunting terribly easy.”