Regaining her air of authority, Lady Charlotte patted Olivia’s shoulder. ‘‘It wasn’t my intent to injure your feelings. This has been a trying day for both of us. Until we can furnish the house, I suggest we check into the hotel. We certainly can’t sleep on the floor.’’
Though Olivia thought she could sleep on the floor without too much difficulty, she didn’t argue the point. ‘‘Mr. Howard mentioned the hotel rooms are costly. I think he would find extravagant spending out of character for a chef ’s assistant and her widowed friend.’’
‘‘Widow?’’
‘‘When your cape flew open and revealed your condition, I had to tell him something.’’
Lady Charlotte continued to glare at her as if a further explanation was expected.
‘‘He asked if you were married.’’ Olivia wanted to add that if Charlotte would have remained in the Arcade as they’d arranged, she wouldn’t have been forced to provide Mr. Howard with a string of lies.
‘‘Since Mr. Howard is so interested in my welfare, perhaps he can suggest where we might locate some furniture.’’ Hands on her hips, Charlotte stared at her.
Did her ladyship truly think she should attempt to locate Mr. Howard? ‘‘My cousin Albert will be home from work before six o’clock. I obtained his address from Mr. Howard. I think he may be a better choice to help us with this dilemma.’’
‘‘We cannot possibly wait until then. What if he can’t help? Nightfall will be upon us, and if the hotel is full for the night, we’ll be forced to remain in this uninhabitable dwelling.’’ Contempt reverberated in Charlotte’s words as clearly as a pealing bell. ‘‘Go and talk to that Mr. Howard again.’’ She motioned toward the door.
Lady Charlotte’s list of priorities differed from Olivia’s in the extreme, with Olivia’s two primary concerns consisting of committing their story to paper—she much preferred to think of their lies as a ‘‘story’’—and reuniting with her cousin. She could ask Albert for assistance, a much more agreeable solution to their problem, to her way of thinking. And if her culinary abilities proved less than what Chef René expected—no doubt they would—the two of them might not be in Pullman long enough to need furniture. That thought was reason enough for her to reestablish control of their situation.
‘‘No. We’re going to wait here. Right now, I’m going to tell you all that we must remember. Once our trunks arrive, I’ll commit our story to paper. While I’m at work tomorrow, you must memorize all of it.’’
Apparently her voice had commanded authority, for Charlotte sat down on one of the steps. Perching an elbow on one knee, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand. ‘‘Well, go ahead then. Set forth your list of lies.’’
Olivia flinched at the remark. Charlotte had worded her comment as easily as though airing an inventory of lies were a daily occurrence. And as if all of the lies belonged solely to her. When had Charlotte surrendered ownership of their deceit? Olivia forced away the thought. She was too deeply enmeshed in this tale to now act the innocent.
A short time later, the sound of an approaching wagon rumbled down the street, and soon a knock sounded at the door. Fortunately, she had told Charlotte most of the story. Olivia hoped she herself would remember everything when she finally had time to commit their lies to paper.
As Olivia rose from the stairway to answer the door, Charlotte tapped her hand. ‘‘Don’t forget the forged letter of recommendation and the pieces of jewelry you stole from my mother. Be certain you put those on your list, too.’’
Olivia’s heart thumped wildly. Each thought of the falsified document she had presented to Mr. Howard caused wild palpitations, but stolen jewelry? Why would Charlotte accuse her of theft? ‘‘You told me it was your jewelry!’’ She ignored the knocking at the front door. Her fear rose like a tidal wave as she waited for Charlotte to affirm the truth of her response.
Instead, Charlotte brushed past her and opened the door. ‘‘Do come in.’’ When the men had deposited the first two trunks in the hallway and turned to retrieve the others, Charlotte blocked their exit and batted her lashes. ‘‘Would you strong men kindly consider carrying our trunks upstairs? As you can imagine, the two of us couldn’t possibly manage such a burden.’’
Both men beamed at Charlotte and nearly knocked each other over in their attempt to do her bidding. Had Olivia not been so angry, she would have laughed at the spectacle. She waited only until the men had lumbered up the stairs before grabbing Charlotte by the hand. Olivia yanked her into the parlor. ‘‘Was the jewelry I sold yours or was it not?’’ She hissed the words like a snake preparing to strike its prey.
Twisting out of her grasp, Charlotte nodded toward the stairs. ‘‘We don’t want our conversation to be overheard. There will be more than ample time for discussion once we’re alone.’’ She smiled demurely as the men returned downstairs. ‘‘You certainly are strong.’’
Had she been a pigeon, Charlotte couldn’t have cooed any better! Olivia merely shook her head in disgust and stepped into the parlor until the men had unloaded the final baggage. They adamantly refused Charlotte’s attempt to pay for their assistance. ‘‘It has been our privilege to help you,’’ they insisted. With a coquettish giggle, she escorted the men outside and waved as they drove off in the wagon.
Charlotte’s flirtatious behavior was truly beyond the pale. Olivia could only hope that the men hadn’t misconstrued the unseemly behavior. Normally, Charlotte’s expectant condition would deter any interest or advances by men. However, in the short time it had taken the Pullman employees to unload their belongings, Charlotte had mentioned her widowhood several times. No doubt she would be offended if one of those men should attempt to come calling on her. Yet Olivia noted her ladyship didn’t hesitate to use her womanly wiles for her own gain.
With a mixture of false bravado and anger, Olivia tapped the toe of her shoe on the hardwood floor. ‘‘Well?’’
‘‘I suppose the jewelry could have been considered jointly owned by me and my mother.’’
‘‘What? But you—’’
Charlotte waved her hand. ‘‘Let me finish. The jewelry has passed through our family from mother to daughter for generations. Since I am her only daughter, the jewels would pass to me at her death. It’s a matter of interpretation and timing.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘No doubt my mother considered the jewelry hers rather than mine.’’
Olivia clutched the newel-post for support. ‘‘And she has no doubt reported the items stolen?’’
‘‘I imagine Father would take care of that. Mother wouldn’t—’’
‘‘Oh, forevermore, Charlotte! I don’t care which one of them might have gone to the authorities. I’m concerned with the fact that they would believe the jewelry has been stolen.’’
Charlotte nonchalantly bobbed her head. ‘‘I would surmise they think of the missing jewelry as stolen rather than my claim to an early inheritance.’’
Olivia nibbled at her lower lip as she sought to unscramble the frightening news. ‘‘When you instructed me to go and sell the items, you specifically told me they belonged to you. If the authorities locate the shop where I sold the jewels, the owner is bound to give my description. I’ll be considered a thief!’’
‘‘Do cease all this fretting. The authorities are not going to travel from London searching for you. Eventually Mother will give up on finding the items and will simply purchase new ones.’’ A faraway look glistened in Charlotte’s eyes. ‘‘I do wish I could be there to help her choose.’’
The remark was so totally ludicrous Olivia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How could the woman even think such a ridiculous thought? ‘‘Forgive me if I don’t lament with you, Lady Charlotte.’’
‘‘No need to be derisive.’’ Charlotte tilted her head and looked down her nose. ‘‘I thought we were getting on rather nicely, and I was beginning to consider you a confidante. In the future, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. Just remember—you need me.’’
Ol
ivia clenched her hands together and forced a grim smile. ‘‘And I hope you will remember that you are in need of my assistance, your ladyship.’’
Charlotte’s hand rested on her bulging midsection. ‘‘Well, then, we need each other, don’t we?’’ Waving Olivia forward as though not a cross word had been exchanged, Charlotte headed up the stairs. ‘‘Come along. Let’s begin memorizing that story of yours.’’
Olivia balanced the tablet of paper on her perched knees while she delineated the items that must be committed to memory. After completing the list, she tucked the pencil behind one ear. ‘‘I do wish I had told Mr. Howard I met you on the ship. Now he’s going to expect me to know about your previous life, and so will everyone else we meet. And that means we’ll have to memorize more lies.’’ She sighed at the remembrance of Aunt Eleanor’s admonition.
Seemingly undeterred, Charlotte pointed to Olivia’s ear. ‘‘Please remove that pencil from behind your ear. It is most unladylike and, even more, unfashionable, I might add.’’ She tapped the writing tablet. ‘‘If you’re uneasy about anything, let’s decide right now. You can annotate the story of my life on our list, and we’ll memorize it along with everything else.’’
For the next half hour, they were storytellers. After one of them suggested an idea, the other would embellish or correct it until they were both satisfied and ready to begin the next thread. Each piece of Charlotte’s recently created life history was added to the page when they were both in agreement.
Cupping her chin in her palm, Charlotte balanced her elbow on one knee. ‘‘Read it to me one last time so I’m sure to remember.’’
‘‘You’ll have all day tomorrow to memorize—’’ Startled by a loud knock at the door, Olivia mashed her lips together. Who could be calling on them? Not giving heed to the time, she jumped to her feet, filled with an expectant joy. ‘‘Perhaps it’s Albert.’’ Her eager smile disappeared when she rushed downstairs and yanked open the door.
The glint in Mr. Howard’s eyes faded. ‘‘You were expecting someone else?’’
Olivia couldn’t tell if Mr. Howard was disillusioned, angry, or merely perplexed by her lack of enthusiasm at his arrival. ‘‘I thought perhaps it was my cousin.’’
‘‘Why, how would he know you’ve even arrived in town?’’ Mr. Howard pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and then shook his head. ‘‘In addition, it’s only two forty-five. I thought I mentioned Albert doesn’t finish his workday until five-thirty.’’ Without waiting for an introduction, he peered around Olivia. ‘‘I’m Samuel Howard, the company agent. And you must be Miss Mott’s friend.’’
Olivia’s throat constricted. Would Charlotte act like a grieving merchant’s widow instead of the flirtatious daughter of English nobility? Olivia sent a prayer winging toward heaven but quickly recanted. Had she actually thought God wanted to help his children promote lies and deceit? She shuddered at her own irreverence and silently requested forgiveness.
CHAPTER FIVE
Olivia wedged herself in the doorway and stared at Mr. Howard. Words failed her. She silently chastised herself. With all their scheming, how had they overlooked selecting a proper name for her ladyship? Mr. Howard raised his brows. ‘‘Yes, this is my friend.’’ She hesitated. ‘‘La—Char—Mrs. Horn . . . Hornsby. My friend Mrs. Hornsby—Widow Hornsby.’’ Olivia raised her voice by at least an octave and hoped Charlotte would heed her prompting.
When she continued to block the doorway, Mr. Howard stared at her as though she’d lost all sense of propriety. She had no choice but to step aside and permit him entry. The moment he crossed the threshold, Charlotte jumped to her feet. Olivia glared, but to no avail. The woman batted her lashes and coyly smiled at Mr. Howard while she explained their dire need of furniture and household goods.
Drastic measures would be needed to gain control of her ladyship’s behavior. Olivia moved to Charlotte’s side and covertly pinched her arm. When Charlotte squealed in pain, Olivia hastened to allay Mr. Howard’s obvious concern. ‘‘She’s fine—merely a stitch. From time to time Charlotte, Mrs. Hornsby, is overcome with an occasional pain that quickly subsides.’’ Olivia directed a warning look at her ladyship. ‘‘The doctor in London remained uncertain if the bouts are caused by her present condition or her profound grief.’’ She virtually hissed the final word.
Sympathy emanated from Mr. Howard’s eyes as he pushed the wave of hair from his forehead. ‘‘You poor woman. So young to have suffered such tragedy. I do admire your bravery—setting sail and coming to a new country so soon after your loss.’’ He briefly glanced at Charlotte’s expanding waistline. ‘‘And in your present condition.’’
Olivia heaved a sigh of relief when she saw recognition spark in Charlotte’s eyes and the smile fade from her lips. Finally!
‘‘I attempt to do my best under the circumstances. Even Olivia can attest to the fact that I force myself to feign cheerfulness. In reality, my grief appears to make those around me uncomfortable. And far be it from me to cause others discomfort.’’
Olivia glanced heavenward at Charlotte’s final remark. ‘‘Mrs. Hornsby finds questions about her husband’s death most distressing.’’
Charlotte bobbed her head up and down. ‘‘Indeed. I find such inquiries intrusive and disquieting—and a breach of proper etiquette.’’
Clasping a hand to his chest, Mr. Howard offered a sympathetic nod. ‘‘I do understand. Perhaps Miss Mott mentioned that I lost my wife to a terrible bout of pneumonia?’’
Olivia gulped. ‘‘No! I didn’t share your personal information with Mrs. Hornsby.’’ Apparently Mr. Howard was grieved by her oversight, for all evidence of his earlier smile vanished. Suddenly, Olivia felt required to absolve herself. ‘‘I try to avoid any talk of death with Mrs. Hornsby.’’ She leaned a tad closer and lowered her voice. ‘‘Upsetting.’’
Her explanation seemed to appease him.
‘‘Yes, of course.’’ He glanced about the house. ‘‘Now, then, I must do something to aid you in locating furniture for this place. Without a proper bed to sleep in, I can’t expect our new chef ’s assistant to arrive prepared for work in the morning, can I?’’
Olivia didn’t know if he expected an answer, but she needn’t have worried. Charlotte immediately seized upon the moment and soon parlayed their situation into a promise of furniture before nightfall. Mr. Howard departed with a purposeful stride, clearly pleased he had come to the aid of two damsels in distress—as Charlotte fancifully described their situation.
Olivia had cringed at the woman’s behavior. Charlotte had used every advantage in her portrayal of a grieving widow. Indeed, she’d taken the role to new heights. Olivia wondered if Charlotte possessed even a smidgen of decency. Was this considered normal conduct for members of the aristocracy or simply a reflection of her ladyship’s ever-indulgent behavior? She wondered if Ludie was pleased to be free of her duties as Charlotte’s lady-in-waiting. Had the maid been assigned a new position or instructed to simply await Charlotte’s return? Olivia hoped it was the latter. After caring for Charlotte all these years, Ludie deserved a good long rest.
Olivia climbed the stairs, anxious to be alone for a few moments. Though her bedroom was the smaller of the two, a narrow bench seat had been fitted beneath the double windows, a feature that pleased her. The men had placed her baggage along the north wall, and she hefted the smaller valise onto the bench. Surprised by a sudden urge to connect with her sparse memories, Olivia unclasped the leather strap and dug inside the suitcase. A euphoric sigh escaped her lips when she touched the smooth wood of the rectangular box. Clutching the keepsake recipe box, she lifted it from the bag and pressed the cool wood to her cheek. A poor substitute for a mother’s love, yet, along with her mother’s Bible, the only reminders she had ever known.
Aunt Eleanor had always said she was much like her mother, but Olivia couldn’t be certain. Her father had never confirmed such facts, but then she’d seen little of him. He’d taken to drinking after h
er mother died—at least that’s what she’d been told. She’d been only two years old and had few memories of him, though he hadn’t died until shortly before her fifteenth birthday.
Lifting the lid, she removed the recipe located at the front of the box. Sunday Scones. Aunt Eleanor said they had been her mother’s favorite. Olivia traced her finger across the exacting script that listed each ingredient as well as the mixing and baking instructions. If only she could step into Aunt Eleanor’s kitchen and mix a batch of the current-laden pastries right now. Instead, she’d been forced into this horrid predicament, wherein she must carefully weigh every word she spoke. Not only did she fear a slipup each time she spoke, she dreaded failure in her position at the hotel. More frightening, what if she should be accused of theft by her former employer? And, of course, the forged letter of recommendation could not be forgotten. Her future hung in a delicate balance. All because of Charlotte!
And what of you? Do you have no responsibility in this maze of deceit and lies? The quiet voice pricked her conscience. Hoping to silence the condemnation, she jumped to her feet. A walk to the Arcade might prove to be just what she needed. Once she began work in the morning, she’d have few opportunities to leisurely browse in the various shops. Retrieving her mother’s recipe from the box, she tucked the paper into her pocket. Perhaps she would purchase the ingredients to bake scones.
She grabbed her cloak from the bench and watched as the writing tablet dropped to the floor with a thud. She couldn’t leave the list in plain sight. There was no way of knowing who might pass through the house delivering furniture. She ripped the pages from the tablet and folded them into a neat rectangle. She stared out the window. Where could she hide them? Suddenly she knew exactly where the list would be safe. She picked up the wooden recipe box and shoved the list inside. With a quick snap, she closed the lid and headed toward the stairway.
In the Company of Secrets Page 5
