Masquerade by Nancy Moser Page B

true.
    Lottie’s mother extended a hand once more. “I am heartened by your attitude, but as it is … even though I cannot travel, you will not travel alone.”
    Lottie suffered the horrible thought that Aunt Agatha would act as her mother’s surrogate. Lottie would rather travel with a woman off the streets than with her aunt. She shuddered at the thought of an entire voyage filled with her aunt’s lectures addressing Lottie’s shortcomings.
    Considering this alternative, and though the thought of traveling alone was daunting, she had to offer a show of confidence. “I can go alone. I don’t need a chaperone. I know I could do it.” But did she want to do it? Going to America still involved marrying Conrad. Lottie needed time to think, to figure out her best strategy. It was all happening too fast.
    “I’ve come up with an alternative.” Her mother coughed softly.
    “Forgive me, but I don’t want Aunt Agatha—”
    “I agree,” Mother said. “Frankly, the notion of my sister representing our family at the Tremaines’ …” She shook her head. “God love her.”
    And keep her here.
    Mother continued. “My alternative involves having Dora accompany you.”
    Lottie’s legs turned to butter and she took hold of the bedside table for support. “Dora?”
    “Is she not your friend as well as your maid?”
    “She is,” Lottie said.
    “Which is why I want Dora to use the other first-class ticket and travel as your friend, not your servant. That way you’ll have a companion during all segments of your voyage.”
    A laugh escaped and Lottie clapped a hand over her mouth.
    “You find this amusing?” her mother asked.
    “No, no,” she said. “I find it perfect, beyond anything I could have planned myself. Will Father agree?”
    “I will give him no choice.”
    Lottie had never heard her mother sound so determined. Had the time for “enduring” passed?
    Mother offered some advice. “Although it’s a blessing that Dora has already rid herself of the peculiar language mannerisms of her class, you will have to instruct her in numerous points of etiquette and loan her some of your clothes. Do you think they will fit?”
    “We will make them fit.” Lottie couldn’t wait to see the look on Dora’s face when she heard the news and when she tried on one of Lottie’s gowns. On more than one occasion Lottie had offered to give Dora the experience, but Dora had shied away from it, saying it wouldn’t be right.
    Until now.
    Mother closed her eyes, then opened them for one more bit of instruction. “I need you to go to America and find a good life, Lottie. Find a good man. Be happy—for me.”
    There was something slightly singular about this request. Absent was any mention of Conrad or the Tremaines. What was her mother really saying?
    “Do you promise to be happy?”
    “I do,” Lottie said, even though she had no idea what that would entail.
    Her mother studied her, as if seeking the truth behind Lottie’s promise. Giving up her search, she said, “I need to sleep. Go on, now. Go share the news with Dora.”

    Dora hated kitchen duty. Not only was it well beneath her position as lady’s maid, but the smell of raw food made her stomach threaten to do something nasty. It wasn’t that Mrs. Movery was a bad cook; it was the preparation involved that turned her stomach.
    But this morning she’d been called into kitchen service because Cook had decided the way to cure Mrs. Gleason’s cough was to drown it with food. Under way were bread, stewed vegetables, baked apples, and two kinds of soup.
    Cook looked up from stirring the steaming pots, her face perpetually flushed from the heat of the stove. “Chop those onions next, Dora, and don’t give me no lip about hating to do it. I’m having to do with two hands what used to be done with six.”
    She looked to the bell on the wall that was marked Charlotte . Surely Lottie would ring for her as soon as she was free and remove her from this hell.
    Until