Brides of Banff Springs Read online

  “No, thank you.” Burma did not look at her.

  Tilly gathered up the soiled linens and damp towels she had removed from the bathroom, but before she reached the door Burma stopped her.

  “I want to make one thing clear, McCormack.” Tilly looked up in surprise at the harsh tone that might have come from Miss Richards’s own mouth, not Burma’s. “The socializing of yesterday evening will not be repeated, and you and I are not friends.”

  “Of course not, Miss Evans,” Tilly assured her. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll wish you a good morning.”

  Tilly frowned as she closed the door behind her. She knew Burma could be rude and impetuous and, after observing her closely since starting to work at the hotel, concluded that this was more of a front than the girl’s true personality. Either there was a decent person struggling to break out, or Burma was afraid. Of what or of whom should not concern her, but it did. There had been bruises on Burma’s neck and, despite her attempt to hide them beneath the collar of her feathered robe, Tilly had not missed them.

  “What do you think I should do?” she asked Fliss later as they sat together at lunchtime.

  “Nothing.” Fliss sighed. “Look, Tilly, it’s great that you care, that’s just who you are. But we are not allowed to get involved with the guests here. We are polite and helpful to them and pass the time of day when we see them, but that’s it. Anything else is not for the likes of us.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Tilly,” Fliss snapped in frustration. “Just let it go before Miss Richards lets you go, because that’s what it will come to if you carry on with this. Burma Evans is only one of over five hundred guests here right now, so drop it.”

  Tilly set off with her cart to clean the rest of her allocation of rooms. As she stripped beds, folded and tucked sheets and fluffed up pillows, she could not shake the picture of the bruises around Burma’s neck from her mind. She could not have done that to herself and there were the two brands of cigarettes in the ashtray, which made her, think that Burma had had company last night. Was it Frederic Vanderoosten?

  She didn’t want to argue with Fliss, nor could she ignore the depth of her own convictions. By the time she finished her shift she had reached a decision. Her common sense told her she was taking a risk, but she remembered how her father, if he found a critter in trouble, either put it out of its misery or fixed it. The first choice was not an option, but if she could help Burma, she would.

  When she stowed her service cart, she picked up two clean ashtrays and a dusting cloth. If anyone asked why she was still there, better to be ready with a plausible excuse. She paused at the junction of all the corridors, but there was no one about. The whole floor could have been abandoned. She turned into Burma’s wing and marched along to her suite where she stopped and looked over her shoulder. There was still no one about, so she took a deep breath and steeled herself before she knocked on the door.

  There was no response but she was sure that Burma was still inside. She knocked again and waited. Just as she decided that no one could be there, soft footfalls approached the door. She was sure it was Burma. Time stopped in the drowsy afternoon and, just as she was about to turn away, she heard a sound that could have been a sob.

  “Go away, Freddy.” Burma’s voice was choked with tears. “I told you I don’t want to see you.”

  Anger raged through Tilly as she realized who had caused Burma’s bruises, but she calmed herself. Allowing that anger to cloud her judgement would do no one any good.

  “It’s me, Miss Evans,” she said. “May I come in?”

  Tilly waited for what seemed an eternity but in reality could only have been a few seconds at most. Burma had been so abrupt earlier that day. Maybe she really had meant what she had said, but Tilly almost didn’t care. The girl had seemed so hurt and, in spite of her harsh words, strangely defenceless. Tilly could no more let it go than she could leave a wounded animal.

  After a moment more of silence the key clicked in the lock, the handle turned and the door opened a little. The wedge of space it offered was wide enough for Tilly to quickly step inside. The drapes were half-closed but there was enough light for her to see items of clothing littering the floor, as if Burma had started to get dressed in one outfit then changed her mind. Various pieces of delicate pastel colored underwear looked like a shower of flower petals amidst dresses and shoes.

  Shocked, she looked at Burma, hoping for some indication of the reason for the wreckage. All she received was a sardonic shrug and the trade-mark raised eyebrow before Burma threw herself nonchalantly onto the sofa. Her apparent lack of concern was a poor front for the fact that she was deeply hurt and trying not to show it. Tilly folded herself into the chair closest to the sofa.

  “I know it’s none of my business,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could, “and I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but why did he do it?”

  “Because….” Burma’s eyes brimmed with tears and she brushed them away with the back of her hand while she tried to control herself.

  “Here.” Tilly offered her the dusting cloth. “Get it out of your system. I won’t tell anyone, and I’m not going anywhere until you feel more like yourself.”

  After a few sobs and hiccups and a lot of sniffs, Burma began to relax.

  “Thank you, Saint Tilly,” she said with a final sniff. “You know you are too good to me, don’t you? Especially after the way I snapped at you this morning. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t concern yourself about that. I knew something was wrong even before I saw the bruises on your neck.”

  Burma unconsciously reached up and massaged her neckline. “These aren’t quite so bad. At least I can cover them with a scarf”

  “Are you really going to marry a man who could do this to you?” Tilly asked.

  Burma picked at the piping that trimmed the arm of the sofa and shook her head. “I found out some things about Freddy that are totally unsupportable. When I confronted him, he didn’t deny any of it, so I broke off the engagement. There will be no wedding. Freddy was so furious he just grabbed me around the neck and shook me. This is the result.”

  Tilly thought back to her first night in Sam’s bar. The way Frederic Vanderoosten had looked at her had made her skin crawl, and Fliss had not been at all complimentary about him either.

  Burma got to her feet and strode restlessly about the room. “It seems he thought he would get his hands on a lot of money once we were married. The money was the attraction, not me. When I told him that I don’t have control of my funds and only receive a small monthly allowance, he lost it. I mean, he really was livid. Oh, I wish I was dirt poor.”

  Tilly hissed in a breath. She could not trust herself to speak, so stood up and went to the closest heap of clothes. Picking up a pair of French knickers, the rose-pink satin edged with delicate cream-colored lace, she ran her fingers over the smooth fabric before folding them and placing them on the chair she had just vacated.

  “No, you don’t,” she said when she found her voice again. “You wouldn’t enjoy being dirt poor at all. It would mean you never knew what it was like to wear lingerie like this. It would mean you getting up about the time you usually arrive home in the morning.”

  She picked up the matching camisole and folded it, too.

  “In summer you would stumble out of bed into the pre-dawn to check the stock and milk the cows. When dawn broke, you would have enough light to see to collect the eggs and at sunrise, you would be making breakfast and getting as much done as you could before it got too hot to work. And in winter…, well, I bet you’ve never had to run a rope from your front deck to the barn so you wouldn’t lose your way in a blizzard, or gone out to break the ice on the water troughs, or eaten oatmeal for days because your pantry was almost bare. There would be no champagne and canapés, no fancy clothes, just clothes that would, if you were lucky, mostly keep you warm.”

  Burma slowly sat up, her eyes widening. “Were things really
that bad for you?”

  “Yes. At times, they were.” Tilly set the folded camisole on top of the knickers. “So don’t talk that nonsense about being poor to me. Tell me about Freddy instead. I thought he was quite wealthy.”

  “As did everyone else.” Burma slumped back onto the sofa. “I did too. We met here last year and had a wonderful time together. When we went back to New York we kept bumping into each other at parties and dinners and continued to see each other. We got engaged at Christmas and it was Freddy’s idea for us to get married here, where we first met. I thought it all so romantic. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

  Not knowing what to say, Tilly kept quiet.

  “Once the ring was on my finger, Freddy began to change.” For a moment Burma’s voice quavered and she bit her lip. “It was subtle at first. Little things, but always about money.”

  “And then you started arguing?”

  “Bitterly and frequently.” Burma took another turn around the room, chewing on the side of her finger. “And Papa was no help. According to him he’d spent vast amounts of money on my education and expected to me to pay attention to my fiancée as I’d been trained to do.”

  “What did he mean by that?” Tilly picked up and folded more clothes.

  “After boarding school, I was packed off to finishing school in Lausanne. I really liked it there. All those lovely, narrow streets where the houses crowd in on each other and you wander for hours until you suddenly find yourself in a quaint, cobbled square with a Gothic church at one end and a cafe at the other. But the whole point of finishing school is to learn social etiquette and how to behave in society. One must not let one’s life partner down over the lobster bisque.”

  Burma pulled a face as Tilly burst out laughing. “You may well laugh, but it truly was a lesson. Maybe not in those exact words, but that was the core of it. You see, the whole point of finishing school is to learn how to attract a husband, preferably a wealthy one, and support all his endeavours. And, because Freddy and I were now engaged, Papa expected me to do as my husband-to-be told me.”

  Tilly couldn’t imagine anything less romantic. “That sounds perfectly dreadful.”

  “Oh, wait, it gets worse.” Burma started pacing again. “At Easter, one of my girlfriends swore she’d seen Freddy with another woman.” Tilly refrained from repeating what Fliss had told her. “He denied it, of course, and was as sweet and loving as he’d been last year, but then he started to hurry our wedding plans along. Instead of discussing it with me, he took it all to Papa and they arranged everything together. The only thing I insisted on, and managed to get my way with, was my wedding gown.”

  “Is it here?”

  Burma shook her head. “That is coming with Papa and the rest of the wedding paraphernalia.”

  “You haven’t told him yet?” Tilly couldn’t help but wonder how Mr. Evans would take the news.

  “Every time I’ve picked up the phone I haven’t gone as far as putting the call through,” Burma admitted. “Papa really likes Freddy and I’m not sure if he’ll believe me. I don’t exactly have a brilliant relationship with my father. Did you get on with yours?”

  Burma’s question took Tilly by surprise.

  “Yes, I did,” she said slowly, and after giving the question some thought, added, “In fact, we got on very well. Although, when he was alive, I never thought about it much.”

  “When did he die?”

  Tilly took a breath and briefly closed her eyes. The pain of losing him was still too fresh and a lump rose in her throat as she whispered, “February.”

  “What happened to the farm?”

  “The bank foreclosed. They had to.” Tilly shrugged in resignation. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh, Tilly. I’m so sorry.” Burma patted the sofa beside her. “Come and sit down and tell me about it.”

  Tilly hesitated and then sat down. She wasn’t sure why she felt so drawn to Burma. They were as far apart on the social scale as they could possibly be and yet she felt closer to her than Fliss. She considered their differences and decided it could only be that she more understood Burma’s vulnerability than Fliss’ in-the-moment flippancy.

  “Was it very bad?” Burma asked, bringing Tilly back to the present.

  “At times it was dreadful,” Tilly said with a sigh. “At least our well never quite ran dry and I kept chickens and carried on working Mom’s garden, so we had vegetables which a neighbour taught me how to can. At least we could keep food on the table.”

  “How old were you when your mom died?”

  Tilly looked away and held on to the stab of pain that thinking of her mother produced. “I was seven.”

  “Seven?” Burma’s eyes opened wide in shock. “Seven years old and you were growing a garden? Couldn’t your father have done that?”

  “Not with everything else that had to be done.”

  “What about school?”

  “Oh, I mostly went to school.” Tilly smiled. “On days that I didn’t, Dad would sit down at the kitchen table with me in the evening after supper and we’d talk about history or geography or whatever we were working on in school, and he always made sure I had plenty of books to read.”

  “My mother left us when I was ten,” Burma confided, “but I didn’t have to do anything. We had a chef and a housekeeper and maids. I had a nanny up until my mother left and then Papa sent me to boarding school.”

  “Did you like that?”

  Burma pulled a face. “Not really. The teachers were very strict and didn’t much like me. I wasn’t a gracious pupil, you see. They were glad to see the back of me when I was old enough to go to finishing school. Switzerland was more fun anyway, especially when we were allowed out and met up with some of the local people. It gave us an opportunity to practise our social skills.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must be like to travel to another country.” Tilly looked beyond the mountains outside the window and let her imagination run riot with visions of Balinese temples, grand palaces, and steaming jungles.

  “It depends which country as to whether it’s fun or not.”

  Tilly pulled herself out of her daydreaming and stared at Burma. “How many countries have you travelled to?”

  Burma thought for a moment. “Well, after Switzerland, Papa took me on something of a Grand Tour through Europe. Papa, of course, was more interested in the railway systems in each country rather than the scenery. Damn railways. He wouldn’t even come to Sundance Canyon with me last year because there wasn’t train service there. He tried to make it a joke and I know I was lucky to have done all that travelling, so I didn’t really mind, but I should still like to go there.”

  Tilly couldn’t imagine where she would go first if all her expenses were paid and laughed at the idea. “Coming to Banff is the furthest I’ve ever been,” she admitted, “and I don’t know that I will ever go anywhere else.”

  “What, you won’t go south with the rest of the staff when the season ends?”

  Tilly shook her head. “Not likely. I think I’ll stay in Banff and see what work I can pick up until the hotel reopens next year. And, if I don’t get back to work now, I might not have a job to come back to.”

  She got to her feet and smoothed out the wrinkles in her apron, hoping that no one had been looking for her.

  “Thanks for talking to me,” Burma said softly.

  “I enjoyed your company,” Tilly answered honestly as she walked to the door. She hesitated before she added, “Take care of those bruises. If you want anything, let me know. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Tilly let herself out and closed the door quietly. Had she done the right thing in offering aid to Burma? She knew the hotel management, while demanding that guests’ every need and whim was satisfied, did not approve of the staff forming friendships with them. It was too late for that now.

  She took care of the ashtrays and dusting cloth and decided to use the stairs instead of the elevator. As she reached the first landing a prickle of
awareness across the back of her neck made her stop. It was not the same as the sensation that Frederic Vanderoosten’s presence raised in her, but she looked back up the stairs just to be sure that he was not there.

  The stair well was empty except, yet it seemed to shimmer and vibrate with an unseen energy. The lights dimmed, as if winking at her then returned to full power. She tried to take another step but found she could not move. Her breathing became ragged and heavy as ice-cold, unseen hands took hers and drew her towards the stairs. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. Panic rose in her. Her vision blurred and faded to black.

  Chapter Twelve

  Someone was patting her cheek. She swatted the hand away. It wasn’t time to get up. It couldn’t be for she had only just gone to sleep. The bed seemed more uncomfortable than usual so she turned and settled more comfortably on her side.

  There was that dratted hand again. Couldn’t she be left alone?

  “Tilly! Tilly, wake up.” Now somebody was shaking her.

  Gradually her senses returned and she slowly opened her eyes to see Fliss crouched beside her.

  “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, blinking sleepily up at Fliss.

  “You tell me.” Fliss managed to get her arm behind Tilly’s back and hauled her into a sitting position. “If a guest had found you they would have thought you were dead drunk. How long have you been here?”

  Tilly covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “But what happened? Did you fall?” Fliss helped her to her feet. Tilly swayed a little and grabbed the banister rail for support.

  Fliss frowned at her and sniffed her breath. “Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Tilly pushed her away. “Just let me catch my breath a minute.”

  When her pulse returned to normal, Tilly took a deep breath and blew it out slowly between her pursed lips. “Well, that was odd.”

  “Odd?” Fliss fell into step beside her as Tilly started down the stairs. “How do you mean, odd?”