Acting the part of hoity-toity rich lady was wearing thin real fast. After Karen had her say with Arthur, trying to get him to see what was right in front of him, she was ready to slip the mask off and be herself again.
Sure, it'd been fun making up a bullshit background and acting like some of these rich bloods were too poor of company for her. But it had grown tiresome over the course of the evening.
She'd had plenty of practice keeping up a front as the drunken harlot or lost girl. Yet, she was beginning to realize a fifteen minute act in front of strangers she'd never see again was nothing compared to a full day of interactions with the same people.
Unfortunately, unless she wanted to call the wrong sort of attention to herself, she couldn't stop her act now. Which wouldn't be so annoying except everyone she liked at the wedding party had turned in early. Arthur had dropped to the floor, Charlotte stayed at his side and Ben was one of the men who volunteered to help carry him upstairs.
Before Karen could follow, Martha, Charlotte's mother, laid a hand on her arm, saying, "There's no need to disrupt your enjoyment of the party, Miss Jones. Please stay."
Since she couldn't think up an excuse and knew she wouldn't be any help to the others, Karen did stay. She wandered the ballroom aimlessly, occasionally accepting a dance from a stranger, but never more than one. Usually, she never had a problem having fun on her own, but tonight, without the others and without any alcohol, there was no appeal.
She'd kill for a whiskey, but even if she'd still been drinking her days away, nothing offered at this party was strong enough to suit her needs. All they were serving was wine.
An hour after Charlotte and Arthur's departure, Karen was ready to turn in. She slipped from the ballroom easily enough, but party guests crowded the halls and staircase. To avoid any questions her way regarding Arthur's tumble, Karen ambled her way towards a lesser known path, a narrow staircase in the kitchen used by the servants.
Throughout the morning and afternoon, Karen had explored the house extensively with Grace and Ruthie. Watching those girls hadn't been how she'd wanted to spend her morning, but she'd gained the knowledge on how to get around the house better. So, all in all, it hadn't been a waste of her time.
However, as she entered the kitchen, she heard voices behind her in the hall. Instinctively, Karen slipped into the pantry, hiding. It only took her a moment to realize what a foolish reaction it was. If found, she'd look all the more suspicious to be hiding instead of acting like she meant to be in the kitchen.
Karen made to leave the pantry when the voices became recognizable and in the middle of an argument.
"...bribery isn't working, Martha. I told you it wouldn't from the start."
Howard Dorsch. Karen had caught her first glimpse of the man at the party. He'd been the one to methodically check Arthur over after his collapse.
Martha argued, "I'm sure if Ralph and Cecilia have their chance to talk with her—"
"No," Howard interrupted her. "There shall be no more bribes and no more easy-going discussions. The only solution now is to confront her directly."
"But, Howard—"
"You've had a chance to convince Charlotte to remain home your way, Martha," he cut in. "Now it's my turn."
The couple passed by completely and Karen was tempted to follow to see if she could hear any more. But once she left the kitchen, it would be impossible not to be seen. She slipped from the pantry and started up the servants' staircase.
What was old Dorsch up to?
Arthur had warned her to watch out for him, but she'd thought he'd been paranoid. But from what she'd just heard, Dorsch really was a devious bastard with machinations on the mind.
She could guess why they wanted Charlotte back so badly. If they'd seen Willard's Rest and it didn't reach their approval as an appropriate home for 'a lady', there didn't have to be much more of a reason than that.
But what the hell did her father think he could do? Karen knew Charlotte's true feelings of Chicago. Her personality wasn't suited for the fast-paced life and, with a baby on the way, she ain't gonna want to move back.
Whatever the old man's plan was, Karen didn't like the tone he'd had while discussing it. Unfortunately, it turned out she'd have to wait until morning to speak with Charlotte about it. When she reached her floor, a maid in passing informed her that the lady asked not to be disturbed.
Karen wasn't sure if that included her or not, but she wasn't selfish enough to ruin any kind of rest her and Arthur should be getting. The man was bull-headed at the best of times and Karen had noted Charlotte hadn't taken a break since the night before. She decided to wait.
In the morning, as she was finishing up sliding on her stockings and slipping on her shoes, there was a knock on her door and just the person she'd intended to speak with.
"Charlotte," Karen said in surprise. "I was about to come bother you." She held her door open wide to invite her in.
Charlotte shook her head, her usually pinned-up dark hair flowing freely down her back. "I'm sorry, Karen. I don't mean to stay long. I only wanted a moment to speak with you before Arthur woke."
Karen eyed the door cracked open down the hall. " How is he?"
"It was nothing serious, thank goodness."
"What's going on then?"
"As you know, we were supposed to meet my Aunt Rosie today. Since Arthur's taken ill, I think it's best if we cancel the visit."
Karen wasn't stupid. "Ain't that the one damn thing you've been looking forward to?"
"There are other things," she replied, a little too defensively.
"Arthur ain't gonna like it." Karen didn't understand him fully sometimes, but when he found out his sickness had prevented Charlotte from doing something she'd really wanted to do, he'd be feeling guilty as hell.
"I'm afraid this is how it has to be."
"I thought you said it weren't serious, what happened to him."
"It wasn't. Only a faint that he could have prevented if he—"
"Then I ain't seein' why you can't go?"
"Arthur's health is more important," she said firmly.
Karen knew she was self-serving most of the time, but she recognized a selfless act when she saw it. Charlotte compromised too often, for her and Arthur's sake.
"There must be some way. You think Arthur would feel better this afternoon? Could we put it off the trip until later?"
Charlotte stroked her stomach absentmindedly, as if the baby inside would give her the right answer. She said slowly, "That...could work." Her momentary brightening expression dimmed. "However, our visitation appointment at Schofield is set to start at ten this morning. I've found they aren't very flexible when it comes to rescheduling."
"What if I went there first?" Karen offered on impulse. "You know, keep the reservation and then you and Arthur could join later?"
Charlotte bit her lip. "You'd be willing to do that? I must warn you, before you say yes, Aunt Rosie can be...unpleasant company when she wants to be."
"She can't be any worse than how old Grimshaw used to treat us." All sharp-tongued and stinging palms. Karen waved her hand, warding off those sorts of recollections and dismissing Charlotte's worry in the same movement. "I can handle whatever the old bird throws at me."
"Alright." Charlotte's expression cleared. "I think this can work. Mr. Godfrey can drop you off. Arthur and I can take a larger carriage to pick you up in the afternoon."
Ooh. Maybe Karen could convince them to detour downtown for some shopping when they were done with the visit.
"Thank you, Karen. We'll see you in the afternoon then." Charlotte shifted, about to return to her room.
"Say, Charlotte." Karen had just remembered what she'd wanted to say to her last night. "Since you two are hanging around here, I ought to give you a warning. Watch out for your pa today."
Her eyes widened. "Whatever for?"
"I overheard him and your ma talkin' last night and I don't know what he means to do, but he seems fired up."
"Charlotte?" Arthur called sleepily from the bedroom.
"I'll be right in, dear." Charlotte responded to Arthur. She stepped up to Karen and clasped her hands briefly. "I'll keep your warning in mind, Karen. But I know how to handle my father so don't worry on it overmuch."
Karen said skeptically, "If you say so..."
"And, please, let Rosie know we'll be there this afternoon."
Downstairs, Karen asked a butler if Mr. Godfrey was available to drive her to Schofield. He nodded, bowed slightly and left the hall. Karen waited only a few minutes before the valet who had picked them up at the train station entered through the front door.
"I have a cart ready, Miss Jones."
He held open the door and she left the house, asking, "Hey, how far is this place anyway? And is it anywhere near downtown?"
"Schofield Sanatorium is half an hour north along Lake Michigan, miss," he informed her. "I'm afraid it's nowhere near the shopping district. The doctors who run the sanatorium believe the proximity to the lake is good for patient health."
The cart provided for her journey was small, a two-seater for just her and the driver. They were headed away from the heart of the city so there weren't as many interesting sights to be had. The going was so slow with the traffic that Karen wished she could have just taken a horse for herself and journeyed her own way. But the view of the lake was nice, seemed to be what she thought the ocean might look like since she couldn't make out the other side.
The cart drove by a pier full of milling people that caught her interest. Children shouted excitedly down the dock as vendors opened up their gift shops for the day. A large sign declared a show every hour in a wide tent set up near the edge.
Eventually, they passed all the activity and started to ride alongside property surrounded by tall white metal fencing. They stopped at an entrance gate, having to be let in by a guard. Mr. Godfrey continued up the drive, trees on either side and the lake remaining in view on their right.
Schofield Sanatorium was brick-faced, two stories tall and stretched along the fence border. A few outer buildings stood on its left side. The lawn up the drive was well-maintained, cut short and a perfect green. Sidewalks wound around a pond on the lower half of the lawn, benches scattered along the stone path.
The gravel road curved in a circle in front of the building. Mr. Godfrey pulled up to the front steps leading into the sanatorium. He hopped from his driver's seat and walked around the back of the small buggy to assist her down.
"Enjoy your visit, Miss Jones. I'll return to collect you with Mrs. Balfour and Mr. Callahan in a few hours."
Inside, Karen stepped into a building with too grand of a lobby for a mere hospital for sick folks. The room was enclosed, but there was plenty of seating and the ceilings were high like in the Dorsch mansion.
"Can I help you, miss?"
A receptionist behind a stained wooden desk greeted her and Karen pulled her gawking gaze from the artwork garbing the walls.
"Uh, yes. I'm here for an appointment with Rose Dorsch."
The woman opened a logbook and flipped the pages. "Ah, yes. We were expecting her niece today, weren't we?"
"Well, I ain't—"
The receptionist twisted in her chair and pulled a rope bell behind her before Karen could fully correct her.
"One of our nurses will take you to her room." The receptionist lifted the book and handed her a pen. "Please sign here. You're scheduled for the whole day, it looks like."
Karen scribbled something that looked like a name as a woman entered a windowed door from across the room.
"Mildred," the receptionist said to the older woman who had arrived, "a visitor for Ms. Dorsch."
"Dorsch?" A barely perceptible wince touched her face before her attention riveted on Karen. She scrutinized Karen from top to bottom with nothing short of bewilderment.
"Mildred!" the receptionist scolded.
"Of course," Mildred nodded, shutting her gaping mouth. "Follow me then, miss."
Karen followed the orderly, somewhat uneasy over the bold inspection. Once through the lobby area, the sanatorium part of Schofield revealed itself. In the first hall, they passed a large room with a fireplace of river stones and few residents in rocking chairs, the next a dining hall with a group of people eating in silence.
Eerily, the halls were also quiet, as if the residents weren't meant to speak. To cut away the creepiness of it all, Karen asked, "How many patients you got here?"
"There are 150 beds that have been provided to us," said Mildred easily. "However, at the moment, only about eighty are occupied."
"Why's that?" Karen asked, more to keep the flow of conversation than out of curiosity.
"Schofield is a prestigious institution. Not many can afford to stay here without a sponsor." Mildred lifted her shoulders as if it were no matter. "And I suppose, we lost a few guests over the winter."
She said it so coldly that Karen shuddered. She was no stranger to the dead, but damn, there was no feeling behind the statement.
"Ms. Dorsch is one of the few lucky enough to have her own room. Schofield keeps twenty private rooms on the premises, for the more prominent guests of course."
"'Course," Karen said agreeably, though her stomach turned now at the realization she'd have to remain in this dreary place for the rest of the day.
Mildred led her down another hall, this one lined with tall windows. The sun's rays streamed in with an attempt to breathe life into the institution. The view of the green lawn, blue skies and glittering pond was a welcome sight. Anything was better than the white walls behind her. Karen hated this place with every step.
"Here we are," declared Mildred. "Room twelve. Rose Dorsch."
The nurse knocked, but opened the door before receiving an answer. Karen explored the room with her eyes. For all that bragging that it was a privilege for a private room, it was small, with the same bland walls as the rest of the facility. The room was made up of a bed, a small desk, and a bedside table. Sheer gray curtains partially covered the windows.
Oddly, every goddamn object in the room was black, white or gray. Karen realized now why Mildred had studied her with confusion upon laying eyes on her. Karen had decided on all red today, from the top of her hat to her stockings. She must stick out like a sore thumb among all this monotony.
At the foot of the bed, a raven-haired woman sat at a small writing desk, penning a note, but not looking up at their intrusion, as if she were entirely used to the lack of privacy. Damn. Karen would definitely go insane getting stuck in a place like this. She'd rather die in the middle of a gunfight than waste away being this confined.
"Ms. Dorsch? You have a young lady here to visit you."
"Yes, yes," the woman waved her in. "I've been expecting her. Let the girl in and don't let the door smack you on the way out."
Likely used to the woman's brash manner, the nurse nodded. "Have a nice visit."
Now that Karen was here, she didn't exactly know what she should do. But going blind into a situation had never before stopped her from making the best of it.
First, Karen inspected Rose Dorsch. This woman was no old biddy as Karen had expected. Besides the thinness of her frame, some hollowness in her cheeks, she had the same black hair as Charlotte. There were strands of gray, but it had not yet overtaken the dark mass. Even still, Karen estimated she had to be close in the same number of years as Miss Grimshaw, but aged better.
"Who are you?" The aunt finally looked up and expressed not fear or surprise, but genuine curiosity. The green, hawkish eyes took her in just as thoroughly as Karen had on her a moment before. "You're not my niece."
There'd be no bull-shitting this one. Maybe that's why Karen couldn't resist quipping back, "Yeah, no shit."
"Incorrigible," she stated as fact rather than insult. "Who are you?"
"Name's Karen Jones, Ms. Dorsch."
"Don't call me that. I prefer Rosie," she said briskly right before recognition took over her eyes. "Charlotte's friend, yes? She's written of you. Why are you here?"
Rosie was sharp, to the point and the complete opposite kind of woman Karen thought she'd be dealing with. She supposed Charlotte never specified her aunt's age, but she'd expected a dithering, mindless fool to struggle with having a conversation.
"Charlotte sent me."
"Why isn't she here? Don't tell me Martha's interfered again."
Karen shook her head. "She's coming this afternoon."
"And what's preventing her from appearing now?"
Karen didn't know what Charlotte had written to her aunt about the specifics of her and Arthur. "Arthur wasn't feeling well last night after the party."
"So, he's preventing her visit?"
Impatient at the accusatory tone, Karen snapped back, "Look, lady, it wasn't personal so drop the paranoia."
Rosie straightened, her gaze intensifying. "What is your purpose for being here? Messenger?"
"The hell if I know."
"Hmm. Unacceptable answer."
Karen tried again, "Charlotte wanted to make sure the reservation wasn't canceled so I'm filling in until she arrives."
"A better explanation." Rosie accepted and turned to her writing, as if intending to ignore Karen's presence until her actual niece arrived.
Karen shrugged and moved to the window to not feel so closed in. "Anything fun to do around here for a few hours while we wait?"
Rosie's lip curled derisively. "Cribbage, chess, or prayer."
"Board games?" Karen crinkled her nose with displeasure. "You got a deck of cards for poker?"
"Even if that were an approved game, all supplies are kept locked in the rec room," Rosie stated without pleasure. "Unapproved activity of any sort is deemed too excitable and likely to exacerbate our symptoms."
Karen glanced at her in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"So they tell us." Rosie eyed her again. "The nurses run this establishment with the strict intention of keeping us preoccupied, not entertained."
Damn. This place was growing more depressing by the moment. "What about walkin' around the path out there?"
Rose's eyes strayed without interest to the window. "An acceptable activity, but it's a pond where not even the ducks congregate."
This was shit. Karen wasn't spending the next few hours stuck in this soul-crushing dump. She'd be desperate for a drink in minutes.
"What about that theater near the pier? I saw there's a show every top of the hour."
Rose laughed mirthlessly. "Since you haven't taken the obvious hints, Miss Jones, let me make it clear. I'm effectively a prisoner. I haven't left this sanatorium in years."
"But if you could," Karen pressed, "you'd want to see a show?"
"Of course," she replied in a dismissive tone, "Hypothetically, any change from routine would be ideal."
Karen examined the lawn, noting the lack of nurses. "They got guards out there?"
"There's no need. Most of the residents are too weak to leave their rooms, let alone the grounds, on their own."
Karen hadn't taken that into account. "What about you? How weak are those bones of yours? Can you walk?"
Rosie stood. "Miss Jones, this line of questioning has me suspecting you want to get up to something nefarious."
"If you're up for it, Miss Rosie," Karen winked boldly. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."
Rosie narrowed her eyes, as if suspicious of her intentions and not wanting to be caught in a trap. With clear reservation, she answered, "There are no guards, but there is a locked gate for maintenance workers on the southwestern border of the estate."
Rosie's knowledge such a thing existed and willingness to divulge it had Karen grinning.
"I've got a way through locks," she said confidently. She'd been picking since she was ten.
Rosie commented, "You grow more peculiar by the minute, Miss Jones."
"What do you say?" Karen prompted. "You want me to break you out of here for a little while?"
Karen recognized the hunger in the other woman's eyes, a want for adventure. As if all she'd suggested was a stroll, Rosie declared, "I shall fetch my coat."
Rosie and Karen left the dormitories out a side door rather than the grand front entrance. They walked the gardens, full of well-kept and pretty, decorative eyepieces for the residents.
They made their steps measured, but there wasn't anyone watching them closely anyway. While they passed a few residents, no one raised the alarm at the sight of them. Karen felt the familiar thrill of excitement she used to get breaking into places.
Rosie led her to the gate at the end of the property and the large lock keeping them from freedom. The size of the lock was all for show as it was an older model that needed replacing. Karen pulled two pins from her hat and lifted the lock in under a minute.
"Marvelous," remarked Rosie, clearly impressed.
"That was nothing." She slipped out the door and held it open for the aunt.
Rosie stepped through, inhaling as if it were fresher air across the gate. "It's been quite awhile since I've been up to some mischief."
It was a decent distance from the sanatorium, but the pier was in sight at least. The women had to cut across a lightly wooded area, their skirts snagging on some thorns, but nothing tore. In a few minutes, they reached the wooden planks of the pier, their shoes marked with dirt, but overall they remained presentable.
Karen worried at the start of the walk that it may be too far. She'd witnessed Arthur huffing and puffing, trying to get around sometimes, but Rosie seemed robust. Or maybe that was the determination of hers to be free of her prison for a few hours.
The little theater tent Karen had spied on her ride over was the nearest to them so she pulled out the correct change for two tickets and they slipped inside. They caught the show only five minutes in, but in Karen's opinion, it wasn't worth the 25 cents a piece that was charged. It only consisted of some string puppets and bad jokes, but Rosie must be truly starved of entertainment for she laughed uproariously at them all.
Instead of returning directly to the sanatorium after the show, Karen and Rosie strode down the pier further, taking in the sights. Vendors were setting up stalls for the lunch rush, a couple of children were playing at a penny arcade, and a newspaper boy was calling out the day's current events.
They passed a man with a small cart selling caramel and nut popcorn in a box. Karen splurged and bought one for each of them for ten cents.
"Excellent," Rosie said between kernels.
"Tell me something," asked Karen with curiosity, "You sure you sick with anything? All this time I've been around you, you ain't coughed or nothing."
Rosie chortled and it brought forth a fleeting, youthful smile. "Ah, yes, Miss Jones. Regrettably, it is so. I have the daily exhaustion to prove it."
"Then how do you seem...normal?"
"Because," Rosie explained without pleasure, "despite how draconian their methods are at Schofield, they seem to work. Diet, exercise, and more rest than one can properly conceive."
"It actually works?" So, it could be done. Charlotte wasn't spouting hopeful gibberish whenever she was overriding Arthur's melancholy.
"Unfortunately so," Rosie answered and continued dryly, "It makes it infernally difficult to argue for my withdrawal of the establishment when I'm so 'well-taken care of'."
"I don't blame you for not liking it there. That place gives me the willies and I ain't even been in there an hour."
Rosie's gaze drifted away from the pier and down the road. She revealed mildly, "I own a little house in Groveland Park. I'm hoping to move back one of these days."
Surprised, Karen asked, "Why ain't you done it yet? You're rich, ain't you?"
"I have the funds, but Howard has all the control."
"How does that work?"
Rosie mulled over the popcorn between her fingers. "When I was diagnosed, my dear brother cut off my allowance of the family fortune. As my symptoms lessened, I informed him I wanted to live in my own house again. After some incessant badgering, he finally agreed." Her expression soured. "With a stipulation. I must find a live-in nurse."
"Sounds easy enough, if you got the cash."
"One would assume so. However, I've discovered money isn't everything. The nurses in Schofield find me more troublesome than not. I've written to other institutions, but I think my letters have been accompanied by some warning notes because I've been rejected time and time again."
Karen winced. "That's some bad luck alright."
"Since I don't have a husband to circumvent Howard's authority, there's nothing to be done except to meet his requirements on my own in some manner."
"Really? You've never married?"
"In my youth, there were certainly plenty of men of interest. But not my interest." She lifted her chin and said proudly, "As much pressure I received, neither my father nor brother could push me into marrying." Her chin lowered. "However, I see now that my haste to remain unattached was to my own detriment. These days, the likelihood of finding a husband I can mold is next to nothing."
"Why ain't you told Charlotte about this? Sounds like a wrong she could easily right."
Rosie halted her steps on the pier completely and faced her. "Absolutely not."
"What? Why?"
"You said you were friends with my niece? You must see how that girl burdens herself needlessly." Rosie clutched Karen's shoulder. "Say nothing of my true feelings for Schofield to her."
"Alright, lady. I won't say nothin'."
Rosie released her. "I don't want my intolerance of the place affecting her new life. I know she's happy where she is now."
Karen nodded in agreement. "That she is."
"How is Willard's Rest, by the way?" Rosie resumed walking. "Charlotte calls it idyllic and Martha claims it decrepit."
Karen shrugged. "I mean, it ain't nothin' fancy. Just a cabin in the woods. It's pretty enough."
Rosie sighed. "Despite my resentment of the boy pressuring her into leaving, it was the right choice for her. Did you ever meet Char's husband Cal?"
Karen shook her head.
"Lovely boy, but the very opposite of Charlotte in nearly every aspect," Rosie told her. "Where he was flighty, she kept a practical head. Excitable when she was calm. Charlotte was content with the mundane, but he was overly ambitious with a head full of nonsense and dreams. He always wanted something more than he had and, by all accounts, he had it all. The money, the well-paying job, the caring wife..."
Fascinated by the story, Karen munched on her popcorn and asked, "So, why'd they give it all up?"
Rosie's nose crinkled. "They lived under Howard and Martha's roof for much too long. They dreamed of a house of their own. It was a true pity when I heard of Cal's death. The last thing I wanted was Char back in Martha's clutches, miserable and trapped. Or worse, playing out Howard's ambitions."
Karen hadn't understood when they'd arrived in Chicago how Charlotte could have left in the first place. The luxury she left behind, the servants who did everything for her, the stylish clothing and the society life, was all to die for.
But listening to Rosie gave Karen an insight she hadn't considered. To all this glamour and wealth, there were strings attached. And Howard Dorsch controlled those strings as expertly as the puppeteer from the show her and Rosie had just watched.
"Now that I've given you some sordid details of the Dorsch family, tell me of this new beau in Charlotte's life." Rosie demanded, "Tell me of Arthur."
Wary, Karen didn't meet her eyes. "What do you want to know?"
"Cautious about that, are you?" Rosie mused. "I find it interesting that Charlotte is too."
Karen tried a more casual tone. "What's Charlotte told you?"
"Hmm," she replied in a nonresponse. "Why don't you tell me what you feel I, as her loving aunt, should know?"
Karen had herself a little laugh at the antic Rosie was attempting to pull. "Real nice try there, missy, but them kinds of guilt trips don't work on the likes of me."
"Pity," she said concisely. "It does so on my niece."
"Listen," Karen looped her arm through the other woman's with familiarity, "you don't got to worry about Arthur. Trust me."
"Trust you? A near stranger who pops locks like a common thief?" She drawled, "How very reassuring."
Karen snorted. "If you were so worried over me, you wouldn't have followed me out of the sanatorium so willingly."
Rosie rested her fingers on her forehead in a dramatic fashion. "Perhaps, something has seriously affected my decision-making."
"Yeah, being cooped up in a tiny room without any color could do that to a person, I'd bet."
"In any case, I shall make the determination as to Arthur's worthiness of my niece when they visit," Rosie conceded. "I was rather surprised your arrival wasn't to deliver word Howard had locked Charlotte away the moment she stepped in his house."
"Oh, he's got some plot brewing," Karen confessed. "Last night I heard him talkin', saying he was ready to do things his way."
The news alarmed Rosie in a way nothing else had this morning. She replied seriously, "That does not bode well."
"You really think he'll try something?"
"I know my brother. He's a conniving scoundrel who thinks he's always in the right."
"Charlotte seemed to believe she could handle him just fine."
"Yes, well, I didn't help build Charlotte a backbone only for her father to break it on a whim."
At the ferocity of her tone, Karen wished she'd had someone like Rosie in her life as a child, to build her confidence. Instead, she'd had to learn how to be tough on her own.
Unfortunately, it'd taken her too damn long to learn how to say 'no' and even longer to gain the strength to punch, slap or kick her way out of miserable situations.
"Yet, even Charlotte has her limitations." Rosie tapped her chin. "And what about dear Arthur? Has he done anything troublesome my brother could uncover and threaten him over?"
A whole shitload, but Karen wasn't ready to reveal any of that. "Martha said something about telling Cecilia and Ralph?"
"Indeed?" Her thin, dark eyebrows lifted high. "What is Martha up to, I wonder?"
"Who are they?"
"Why, the Balfours," Rosie revealed, matter-of-fact. "Cal's parents."
"What! Why the hell would they involve Charlotte's former in-laws?"
"While we Dorschs pride ourselves as being the center of the social elites, the Balfours' connections are much more on the side of high authority."
"Arthur and Charlotte can handle themselves," Karen said with confidence.
"They're going to have to, Miss Jones," Rosie told her. "As they've assuredly been left in the lion's den to fend for themselves."