In Good Company

by Jen Turano

  © 2015 by Jennifer L. Turano

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6959-1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Paul Higdon

  Cover photography by Brandon Hill Photos

  For Jeb, Madison, and Morgan Turner

  Love you!

  Jennifer

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books by Jen Turano

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  1

  LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK—JULY 1882

  Consider yourself dismissed. Effective . . . immediately.”

  Miss Millie Longfellow squinted against the bright light that suddenly filled the cluttered broom closet she was standing in, resisting a sigh when Mrs. Cutling loomed into view. Swallowing past the lump that had formed in her throat, she took a hesitant step forward. “Forgive me, ma’am, but did you just say dismissed?”

  “Indeed.”

  “But . . . why?”

  Planting a hand against a fashionably clad hip, Mrs. Cutling, Millie’s employer for all of one week, narrowed her eyes. “I would think the reasoning behind your immediate dismissal is obvious.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Mrs. Cutling’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Did I, or did I not, hire you to watch after the children?”

  “Yes, of course, but . . .”

  “And you believe you’re doing an adequate job of that watching as you lurk in the dark depths of this broom closet?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t lurking, Mrs. Cutling. I was simply biding some time in a location that was certain to keep the children out of view.”

  “Should that make me feel more disposed to keep you on?”

  “I don’t exactly understand what disposed means, ma’am, but since I was only keeping out of sight so that the children wouldn’t think I was cheating as we go about playing a rousing game of hide-and-seek, then yes, I do think you should allow me to keep my position.” Millie smiled. “While it might seem as if we’re only playing, we’re actually working on mathematical skills. You’ll be pleased to learn that little James, being only five, was the one who suggested I, currently being the seeker, count all the way to one thousand before I start looking for him and Edith.”

  Mrs. Cutling’s lips thinned. “I’m sure James has no concept of how long it would take for you to count to one thousand. Furthermore, you should have known it was hardly wise to leave the children to their own devices for that extended amount of time.”

  “They wanted to be sure I’d be out of the way long enough for them to find a proper hiding place.”

  “And find one they did.” Mrs. Cutling moved closer to Millie and took a viselike grip on her arm.

  Millie didn’t so much as flinch. Through her many years of service she’d had cheeks slapped, hair pulled, and once, a warming pan tossed directly her way. She’d been lucky to dodge the hot coals on that particular occasion, but in all fairness, she hadn’t truly blamed her employer for throwing the pan, since Millie had unintentionally set the lady’s bed on fire with it.

  What she had learned, though, through all the violence she’d suffered over the years, was that the slightest reaction seemed to bring some of the high-society ladies she worked for great satisfaction. That satisfaction was normally followed by more violence, which was why she was very careful to keep her emotions in check these days.

  Fighting the urge to dig in her heels when Mrs. Cutling began tugging her away from the broom closet, Millie soon found herself hustled through a series of dark and narrow passageways. To her surprise, instead of escorting her through the kitchen—a place that was certain to bring Millie unwanted speculation from the cook and scullery maids—Mrs. Cutling pulled Millie down a bright hallway that had numerous crystal chandeliers hanging from the thirty-foot ceiling.

  Before Millie had a chance to remark on the beautiful paintings lining the wall, she was marched through French doors that led to the back garden. Heat immediately began traveling up her neck when she stepped out onto the tiled courtyard and found herself pinned under the disapproving stares of at least ten society ladies. All of ladies were dressed in the first state of fashion, their day dresses cut to perfection, while stylish hats embellished with ornamental feathers and large brims lent delicate skin protection from the summer sun.

  “As you can see,” Mrs. Cutling began, “my friends have come to call.”

  “How lovely,” was all Millie could think to respond.

  “It should have been lovely,” Mrs. Cutling countered. “However, I don’t believe any of my friends expected to encounter such an execrable display when they accepted my invitation to lunch.”

  Biting her lip, Millie reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the small, tattered dictionary she always kept handy. The sight of that dictionary evidently took Mrs. Cutling by such surprise that she actually took a step away from her.

  “Is that a dictionary?”

  Leafing through the E’s, Millie nodded as she scanned the page.

  “What are you doing with it?”

  “Since I don’t know what execrable means, I thought I should look it up so I’ll be better equipped to deal with whatever I’m about to see.” Ignoring the ladies’ tittering, Millie continued perusing the pages until she found the word she was looking for. Lifting her head after she read the definition, she glanced around. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Cutling, but I don’t see anything out here of a wretched or”—she returned her attention to the dictionary—“abominable nature. Although”—she flipped the pages to the A’s—“I don’t know what that means either.”

  “That will be quite enough, Miss Longfellow. I’m not going to stand around twiddling my thumbs while you scour that dictionary.” Mrs. Cutling crossed her arms over her chest. “Besides, girls of your station don’t need a vast vocabulary at their disposal, since no employer wants to hire a girl who puts on airs. If you ask me, your time would be better served learning how to be a proper nanny rather than wasting that time on such a trivial pursuit.”

  Millie lowered the dictionary. “Begging your pardon yet again, Mrs. Cutling, but the pursuit of knowledge can never be overrated. Why, Mrs. Charles Hart firmly believes that all ladies, whether they be society or working, should endeavor to improve themselves through know
ledge on a daily basis.”

  Mrs. Cutling’s nostrils flared. “I don’t pay you, Miss Longfellow, to argue with me. But tell me—may I assume you used to be in service to Mrs. Hart?”

  “I’m not certain that posing as a maid while at one of Mrs. Hart’s balls can be considered being in her employ, but . . . getting back to the children . . . ?”

  “Why in the world would you have been posing as a maid—a situation that almost suggests you were up to something . . . reprehensible?”

  Millie lowered her hand. “I’m sure you’ll be rather surprised to learn I know what reprehensible means, but there was nothing wicked whatsoever about me posing as a maid. Truth be told, Mrs. Hart has graciously offered me her hand in friendship, and with that friendship comes an inexhaustible amount of advice that Mrs. Hart enjoys imparting to me.”

  Mrs. Cutling nodded to her friends. “Did you hear that, ladies? This girl would like us to believe she’s friends with none other than Abigail Hart, one of the city’s most intimidating society matrons.”

  “It’s a good thing you’ve decided to dismiss her,” a lady wearing what appeared to be an entire bowl of fruit on her head proclaimed. “It’s obvious that, besides being negligent in her duties, the girl’s a liar. Such inclinations could have been detrimental to the children.”

  Millie itched to look up the meaning of detrimental but put aside that desire when she noticed Mrs. Cutling’s friends were now advancing her way. Not caring to become the recipient of razor-sharp tongues belonging to bored society matrons, she caught Mrs. Cutling’s eye. “Perhaps now would be a good time to show me what mischief the children have gotten into.”

  Mrs. Cutling blinked. “I almost forgot about the children.” She turned her attention to the far side of the courtyard and nodded at an elaborate fountain.

  With apprehension tickling her spine, Millie moved forward, her steps dragging the closer she got to her destination. She came to a complete stop when she realized that the fountain, one that sported stone mermaids spouting water out of their mouths, seemed to have acquired additional statues. These statues, however, did not fit in with the mermaids but instead seemed to be mud-covered blobs with lily pads stuck all over them. When one of the blobs suddenly raised a hand and rubbed what surely had to be a nose, Millie moved forward again as amusement bubbled up inside her.

  “How absolutely brilliant!” she exclaimed as she stopped right next to the fountain, earning a smile from little James, his teeth looking remarkably bright against the mud he’d used to cover his face.

  The blob next to him, six-year-old Edith, rose to her feet and let out a dramatic sigh. “Mother ruined everything by pointing us out to you.” She pulled a lily pad from her arm and dropped it into the shallow water pooling in the bottom of the fountain.

  “It’s a good thing she did point me in the right direction, or I could have been searching for the two of you for hours.” Millie grinned. “I’ve played many a game of hide-and-seek, and yet I’ve never seen children use such inventive means to disguise themselves. It was completely ingenious—which means clever, by the way—to choose the fountain to hide in.”

  “It was nothing of the sort,” Mrs. Cutling argued, marching up to join them, apparently unimpressed with Millie’s attempt at broadening the children’s vocabulary. She leveled a stern look at her children before turning her disapproval on Millie. “I’m holding you responsible for their current condition.”

  “It wasn’t Miss Longfellow’s fault, Mother,” James hurried to say. “It was my idea to hide here, so you shouldn’t be cross with her.”

  “And it’s been great fun,” Edith added.

  Mrs. Cutling drew herself up. “I see nothing fun about this, Edith. In fact, you and your brother have embarrassed me no small amount this afternoon. Because of that, the two of you will be spending the rest of your day in your rooms—after you bathe, of course—contemplating the ridiculousness of your actions.” She pointed a finger to the dry courtyard. “Both of you . . . out . . . now.”

  Millie watched as the two children scrambled out of the fountain, lily pads and slime dripping off them, which earned them a thinning of the lips from their mother. They sent Millie pitiful looks that clearly begged for help, but then two sets of little shoulders sagged when it evidently became clear Millie had no help to offer them.

  A maid appeared from behind Mrs. Cutling, and without speaking a word, she took hold of the children’s filthy hands and led them away.

  An ache formed in Millie’s heart as the children were marched toward the back entrance, their small feet leaving muddy footprints against the tiles. When they disappeared from sight, she forced herself to face Mrs. Cutling. “Since I’m sure you don’t want me to keep you from your friends any longer, I’ll just be on my way.”

  “Not so fast, Miss Longfellow,” Mrs. Cutling said, reaching out a hand to stop Millie from making a speedy escape. “Before you leave, I must insist you apologize—not only to me, but to my friends, whom you’ve distressed today.”

  A trace of stubbornness—something Millie had thought she’d put behind her long ago—took that moment to resurface. “I truly do not understand how seeing two sweet children being children could possibly distress anyone.”

  “They were filthy.”

  “Children can be expected to be filthy upon occasion, especially when they’re playing.”

  “My children are not permitted to be anything other than clean and tidy and, more importantly, free of slime.”

  “A little slime never hurt anyone.”

  A distinct touch of frost entered Mrs. Cutling’s eyes. “My dear, your parents may have allowed you to participate in unacceptable childhood amusements that allowed you to get slimy on a regular basis. But, in my world, children are expected to behave properly at all times, no matter their tender ages.”

  “I grew up in an orphanage, Mrs. Cutling, and that experience led me to believe that all children deserve to enjoy a true childhood, one that occasionally comes with dirt, fun, and quite often, slime.”

  “Good heavens!” another one of the ladies exclaimed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a nanny with such radical ideas.” The lady sent a sniff Millie’s way. “For your information, dear, Mrs. Cutling’s father is a Patriarch. Because of the exclusiveness of that particular honor, Mrs. Cutling’s children will always be held to a higher standard.”

  Mrs. Cutling rolled her eyes. “I hardly imagine Miss Longfellow knows what a Patriarch is.”

  Not appreciating the whole rolling of the eyes business, Millie threw caution to the wind as she stuffed her dictionary back into her pocket, clasped her hands in front of her, and cleared her throat. “The term Patriarch was coined by Mr. Ward McAllister, the social arbiter of New York society. He, along with the assistance of Mrs. William Astor, in an obvious attempt at keeping the newly rich from entering their sacred inner social circles, devised a list that consisted of twenty-five names of gentlemen whom they considered . . . worthy. These twenty-five men were then each given the daunting task of choosing four of their worthy gentlemen friends, along with five appropriate ladies, all of whom were then included on Mrs. Astor’s invitation list to her annual Patriarch Balls.”

  Millie wrinkled her nose. “Although, if you ask me, I don’t really understand why everyone puts so much stock in what this Mr. McAllister thinks. It’s clear he’s a somewhat pompous and overly ambition sort who has entirely too much time on his hands, since he has nothing better to do than devise questionable lists.”

  Dead silence settled over the courtyard. All of the ladies were staring back at Millie with their mouths gaping open, although a few of them were beginning to turn a little pink, and Millie didn’t think that was because of the sun.

  “You’ve evidently misunderstood some of that information you claim Mrs. Hart has given you, Miss Longfellow,” Mrs. Cutling finally said.

  “Mrs. Hart didn’t tell me about Patriarchs. Miss Harriet Peabody did. Though, in all fairness, she
might have gotten her information from Mrs. Hart.”

  “Do not even tell me you’re now going to try and convince me you’re acquainted with Lady Harriet.”

  Forcing a smile, Millie began edging away from Mrs. Cutling. “Harriet and I have been friends for years, but . . . she doesn’t really care to be addressed as Lady Harriet, just plain Harriet. Although . . . since she’ll probably be married by the time she returns to the states, I suppose everyone will begin addressing her as Mrs. Oliver Addleshaw.”

  For a second, Mrs. Cutling appeared a little taken aback, but only for a second. “I highly doubt you share an intimate relationship with Lady Harriet, but enough about that nonsense. Since I have yet to hear a single word of apology come out of your mouth, do know that I will not be sending you off with a reference letter. I will also not be giving you any of the wages I’m sure you feel you’re due because I believe you put my children in grave danger. We’re lucky they didn’t drown in that fountain.”

  Looking down at the water, Millie frowned. “There’s barely any water in there, Mrs. Cutling, and forgive me for saying so, but if you were truly concerned over your children drowning, one would think you would have seen them safely out of the fountain before running me down and spending precious time taking me to task.”

  That pronouncement earned Millie barely five minutes to pack up her belongings after Mrs. Cutling proclaimed her to be insubordinate. There were no fond farewells to give the children, no pristine letter stating how wonderful Millie was as a nanny, and not a single penny offered to see her back to New York City.

  Before she knew it, she’d been deposited at the train station, where she purchased a ticket using funds she’d stashed away for emergencies. Unfortunately, the train was delayed due to a mechanical problem, and by the time Millie reached the wharf, the last ferry had departed from Long Island for the day. To her relief, a crusty yet completely delightful captain of a weathered fishing boat offered her a spot on his vessel, even going so far as to haul her heavy traveling bag up the plank himself when she accepted his offer.

  The crossing proved to be memorable. Strong winds sprang up out of nowhere, and by the time they docked at the New York City harbor, she knew she was definitely looking the worse for wear. Her clothing was soaked, she was missing her cap, and she was absolutely sure that the neat and tidy bun she’d started the day out with was nowhere to be found, especially since a few strands of her brown, curly hair kept blowing around her face.