Although she didn’t say so, Olivia had been satisfied with the town and its accoutrements—except for the library fees, which she deemed unnecessary. Of course, Charlotte said Olivia harbored low expectations, but she didn’t consider Pullman a limited opportunity.
Fred shifted the basket to his other hand and paused to speak to a man walking the other direction with his wife and children. ‘‘That’s John Wilsey,’’ he said after the man moved out of earshot. ‘‘He works in the greenhouse. It’s located near Lake Calumet and supplies the shrubs and trees for the town. He and the other gardeners also raise the cut flowers and bedding plants that are available at the Market.’’
Olivia wished she had known about the greenhouse and cut flowers sold at the town Market before she had picked the infamous peonies a couple months earlier. Since then, she’d purchased many of the beautiful varieties for use in the hotel. And she planned to utilize the greenhouse flowers to decorate the cakes, pastries, and tables for Mrs. Pullman’s gala.
‘‘Poor John got himself in trouble shortly after moving to Pullman,’’ Fred commented. ‘‘He was sitting on his front porch in the middle of summer without his jacket. Mr. Howard happened by and told him that Pullman had parks where the residents could sit and relax and that people of refinement wore their suit jackets outside the confines of their homes. He added that Mr. Pullman expects the same behavior from those who live in his town.’’
Why did Fred have to bring Mr. Howard into the conversation? After all, making certain the rules in Pullman were observed was part of Samuel’s job. She didn’t think Fred should fault another man for performing the work for which he’d been hired. Olivia did agree the prohibition against sitting on porches was ridiculous, but Fred must agree that the parks provided a much more pleasant place to spend free time. As for the suit jackets, she simply assumed Mr. Pullman had good reason for requiring the formality. Perhaps she easily accepted rules because she’d lived with them all her life. She was exceedingly thankful for Chef René ’s kindness, especially after having worked for the lecherous Chef Mallard.
Sometimes Fred sounded like an angry zealot when he argued for the working class, like one of the union organizers she’d heard the hotel laundry workers whisper about. She wondered if he’d been swept into the tide of men who were promoting union shops. Surely he wouldn’t do anything so foolish. Mr. Howard had told her just last week that any such men would be immediately discharged from employment. The company had made it clear that the rule against unions would be enforced and the men promoting such ideas would be dealt with harshly.
As they approached the house, Olivia spied Mrs. DeVault pacing in front of the parlor window. She carried young Morgan in her arms, rocking him back and forth. Charlotte was nowhere to be seen.
‘‘Looks as though my mother hasn’t been able to keep the young lad completely settled.’’
‘‘I’m afraid Charlotte has been taking advantage of her kindness.’’
Fred chuckled. ‘‘She enjoys helping young mothers. That’s why she continues with midwifery.’’ He tilted his head closer. ‘‘However, I do think Mrs. Hornsby has been more of a challenge than most.’’
Olivia couldn’t argue that point. Charlotte had proved to be a challenge even before the baby’s birth. With her selfish attitude, most folks didn’t find her particularly endearing.
As soon as they entered the house, Charlotte grabbed the basket, digging through it and helping herself to the food. Fred and Mrs. DeVault prepared to depart.
The older woman patted Olivia’s shoulder. ‘‘Good luck with Charlotte this evening. You’ll likely be the one caring for little Morgan during the night.’’ Mrs. DeVault tucked the baby into the cradle she’d placed in the parlor. ‘‘I do wish she’d show the child a bit of affection. I know she’s grieving and all, but even for a widow, her behavior’s abnormal.’’
Fred grinned and motioned toward the kitchen table as his mother joined him at the front door. ‘‘Mrs. Hornsby may be indifferent to her young son, but she’s surely interested in the contents of that basket.’’
While Olivia offered her thanks and bid their visitors goodnight, Charlotte remained in the kitchen, already eating from a heaping plateful of food. Olivia hurried to the kitchen, hoping she had put aside enough food for tomorrow’s noonday meal. She’d barely opened her mouth to ask when Morgan burst forth with a lusty wail. Olivia waited, certain Charlotte would hearken to the soulful cries, but she continued eating, acting as though nothing were amiss.
‘‘Can’t you hear the baby crying?’’
Charlotte glanced up from her plate. ‘‘Yes.’’ She looked toward the parlor and frowned. ‘‘And it’s a most annoying sound. You had best pick him up before Mr. Rice from next door starts complaining about the noise.’’
Olivia hastened to the parlor. No sense attempting to win a battle while the child suffered. Lifting him into her arms, she held the baby close and wiped away the beads of perspiration that matted his soft downy hair. How could Charlotte remain so detached? Her heart ached for the boy. Just like her, he’d likely grow up without a mother’s love. She wondered which would be worse: to lose your mother to death or to have her physically present and withhold her love. She decided the latter. For although she’d grown up without a mother, she’d always harbored the belief that her mother had loved her dearly before she died.
She carried the baby to the kitchen, cooing and fussing over him. ‘‘He’s so beautiful, Charlotte. Don’t you want to hold him?’’
‘‘No.’’ Charlotte lifted the napkin and wiped her mouth. ‘‘I’ve told you I don’t intend to care for him. As if it’s not enough that Randolph has denied paternity, now he’s refused my request for financial support, too.’’
‘‘What request for financial support? Have you seen Mr. Morgan?’’
‘‘Of course not. You know I can’t yet leave the house. How could I possibly go and see Randolph?’’ She pushed away from the table. ‘‘I had a letter hand-delivered to his office in Chicago today.’’
Olivia frowned. ‘‘Who do you know that would deliver a personal message to Mr. Morgan?’’
Charlotte laughed. ‘‘As long as you’re willing to pay, you can always find someone to do your bidding.’’ While Olivia continued to hold young Morgan, Charlotte stretched out on the divan. ‘‘There’s a young man who’s been spending time near our building lately. He was outside this morning before Mrs. DeVault arrived, and he was most pleased to ride the train into Chicago and deliver the message. When Randolph discovered the missive was from me, he sent an immediate response.’’ Her lips began to quiver. ‘‘Unfortunately, not the reply that I hoped for.’’
‘‘You ought not invite strangers into the house, Charlotte. Martha says there are hobos that jump the trains, and some of them wander into Pullman when they’re looking for a free handout. They can’t be trusted.’’
‘‘He wasn’t a hobo, but he definitely was in need of a haircut. I’ve never seen such an unruly head of red hair.’’
Panic struck Olivia with a force that pressed her stomach into a tight knot. ‘‘Was he tall and gangly, with a space between his front teeth?’’
Charlotte rested her chin in her palm for a moment and then bobbed her head. ‘‘Yes. He did have a gap between his teeth. Do you know him?’’
Eddie!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Throughout the next week, Olivia maintained a close lookout as she walked about town, constantly expecting Eddie to pop out from behind a tree or lurch at her as she passed by a building. There wasn’t time to dwell on him at work, but when she departed the house each morning or made a trip to the Market for supplies, thoughts of him were at the forefront of her mind.
She had considered asking Chef René for advice, but what possible counsel could he offer? Be careful? Or Advise the bobbies if you see him? She already knew she must maintain a watchful eye, and she certainly planned to alert the authorities if and when she made a sighting. She
couldn’t be absolutely positive it was Eddie who had appeared outside their house; at least that’s what she told herself as she braced to leave the house each morning.
Olivia had been excited when Chef René announced her long workdays had ended, but she would miss having Fred arrive to walk her home each evening. Originally Chef René had said she would work late for one week, but then he’d extended the time period after rejecting a few of her offerings and substituting new recipes. On each of those nights, she’d been pleased to see Fred waiting for her when she exited the kitchen doorway. Now that his mother wouldn’t be spending the evenings with Charlotte, Fred would be going directly to his own home after work, so Olivia decided to walk home with Martha whenever possible. Today, however, she’d be on her own, for Martha had agreed to work a later shift for one of the maids who’d taken ill.
Late in the afternoon Olivia had written out the final menu card, which Chef René would submit for Mrs. Pullman’s approval. Olivia had no idea what would occur if the matron rejected her choices. But the chef was convinced Mrs. Pullman would find the selections delightful, and inspired by his air of confidence, Olivia departed the hotel with a spring in her step.
Still heavy with their summer foliage, the trees rustled in the late afternoon breeze, and the scent of a few lingering roses could be detected in the air. Before long, fall would arrive. She’d been told that the winters could be harsh in northern Illinois, but Olivia was enjoying each new season as it arrived.
‘‘Olivia!’’
Mr. Howard was waving his hat and running toward her. She couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t stopped by the hotel kitchen before she departed. He was panting when he finally reached her side, and she waited until his breathing slowed to a normal rate.
‘‘I have a gift for the baby.’’ He held out a beautifully wrapped package. She assumed he’d had it wrapped at one of the expensive shops in the Arcade.
‘‘That’s very kind of you. I’ll give it to Charlotte.’’ She held out her hand to accept the gift, but he shook his head.
‘‘I’d like to see the baby, if you don’t think Mrs. Hornsby will object.’’
‘‘No. I don’t believe she’ll object. She hasn’t appeared to take much interest in the child, which worries me.’’
‘‘You poor girl. Working late hours preparing for the tea and all this, too.’’ Without warning, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. ‘‘I do wish you’d let me help.’’
At the sound of footsteps behind them, Olivia glanced over her shoulder. ‘‘Fred!’’ She attempted to pull away from Mr. Howard, but he held fast. ‘‘I didn’t expect to see you this evening.’’
He looked at Mr. Howard and then back at her, one eyebrow shooting almost to his hairline. ‘‘Obviously not.’’ He stalked off without another word.
She wanted to run after him and explain Mr. Howard’s presence was no more than an innocent encounter, but she would have to wait to vindicate herself. Right now, Mr. Howard was intent upon keeping her by his side. As they neared the house, she could hear Morgan’s cries, and her anger mounted when they walked inside. Charlotte sat on the divan reading a book, a plate of cookies at her side. She didn’t bother to look up when Olivia entered. The cradle was nowhere in sight.
‘‘Where’s Morgan?’’
‘‘I moved the cradle into the kitchen. I can’t concentrate on my reading when he’s crying in the same room.’’ At the sight of Mr. Howard, her voice dripped with charm. ‘‘Would you care for a cookie, Samuel?’’
Olivia wanted to throttle her. And had the baby not been crying, she might have done so. She didn’t wait to hear Mr. Howard’s reply before heading off to retrieve the baby. His diaper, bedding, and undershirt were soaked—likely he’d not been changed since Mrs. DeVault’s departure earlier in the afternoon. She scooped up Morgan and soon made short order of setting things aright.
‘‘You look like you’ve been caring for babies all of your life.’’ Admiration shone in Mr. Howard’s eyes, and Olivia remembered his having spoken of a deep desire for children on at least two different occasions. She thanked him for the compliment and hoped he would soon bid them good-night.
Instead, he sat down opposite Charlotte. ‘‘You haven’t opened Morgan’s gift. I hope you won’t think me presumptuous.’’
Charlotte looked bored as she offhandedly ripped the paper from the box and lifted the lid. ‘‘Very nice. Thank you.’’
‘‘It’s a christening gown. I thought . . . well, I didn’t know if you had purchased one, but I saw this at a shop in the Arcade, and . . .’’
Why didn’t Charlotte tell him she appreciated his gift rather than allowing him to continue stammering? Olivia moved to the sofa and lifted the tiny dress from the box. ‘‘It is truly exquisite, Mr. Howard. How kind of you to provide such a thoughtful gift—one I know Mrs. Hornsby will cherish once she’s feeling more herself.’’
Charlotte pinned her with an icy stare, clearly annoyed by the reproach. ‘‘Please accept my apology for my lackluster behavior, Mr. Howard.’’ She reached into her pocket and withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. ‘‘Since my dear husband’s death, I haven’t been myself. And now, with the added responsibility of the baby, well, life is sometimes overwhelming for me.’’
‘‘Dear lady. Please don’t feel you need apologize. Having trod the path of bereavement when my beloved wife died, I completely understand. But eventually you must start anew— for yourself and for young Morgan. If you can think of this as a new phase of your life and become excited over the possibilities, it will help.’’ He leaned forward and rested his arms across his thighs. ‘‘I know Olivia has helped me toward making plans and moving on with my life.’’
Olivia gulped. How had she helped him? More than anything, she’d been trying to avoid him. Perhaps he’d misinterpreted something she’d done or said.
‘‘She’s done that for both of us, hasn’t she? I don’t know how I would have survived my grief had I remained in England.’’ Though untrue, Charlotte’s words sounded sweet and sincere. ‘‘And what are you and Olivia planning for your future?’’
The color heightened across Mr. Howard’s cheekbones. ‘‘We’ve not discussed the long term, but I hope she’ll be pleased to learn she will accompany me to Chicago the day after tomorrow.’’
Chicago? The fact that the two of them were discussing her as if she weren’t present was disconcerting enough, but accompany him to Chicago? When had he come up with that idea? He’d certainly not mentioned it to her. She would be at work the day after tomorrow. Obviously he’d overlooked the fact that she couldn’t come and go whenever he took a fancy.
‘‘How delightful! I do wish I could accompany you. Once I’m feeling better, we can all go into the city for some shopping and perhaps the theater.’’
‘‘There’s no better theater than what is on stage here in Pullman, Mrs. Hornsby. However, Chicago does offer a greater variety.’’
‘‘And a change of scenery. I do grow weary of seeing all this red brick, don’t you?’’
Mr. Howard’s brows bowed like two arching cats. There was no doubt Charlotte’s question had offended his sensibilities. ‘‘I find this town a picture of beauty and aesthetic pleasure, Mrs. Hornsby. I can’t say that I find anything about the town tiresome or dull.’’
Never one to concern herself with the opinion of others, Charlotte offered him a placating look. ‘‘Before arriving in this country, I made my home in London and also traveled throughout Europe—Paris, Brussels, Vienna. As a result, I prefer large cities.’’ As she spoke, she took on the air of her noble birth.
Mr. Howard’s brow puckered. ‘‘Upon your arrival in Pullman, Olivia mentioned the two of you met in a dressmaker’s shop, and she told me about the loss of your husband. But she didn’t mention anything further. I’d enjoy learning more about your past. I could almost believe that you were born into nobility.’’
Olivia glared at Charlotte. He
r loose tongue was going to submerge them in a pool of sinking sand from which they’d never escape. Vanity and pride had taken control of Charlotte’s conversation. If they were going to survive, Olivia would need to divert his attention.
‘‘What’s this you said about Chicago? Did you forget I must work on Friday?’’ She felt like a silly imposter fluttering her lashes. However, her remorse quickly faded when the ploy succeeded.
‘‘The trip to Chicago will be both business and pleasure. We’re going to the Pullman residence, where you will meet with Mrs. Pullman and go over the menu for her tea.’’
‘‘You mean in person?’’
‘‘Of course he means in person, Olivia. Did you think you’d talk to her through the back door?’’
Olivia couldn’t tell if she detected sarcasm or disgust in Charlotte’s tone, but she was unwilling to permit the insult to go unanswered. ‘‘Sounds as though you’re reverting to that brusque behavior you spoke of earlier.’’
Without waiting for a rejoinder, she turned her attention back to Mr. Howard. ‘‘Wouldn’t Chef René be the proper person to speak with Mrs. Pullman?’’
Mr. Howard shook his head. ‘‘Of course not. You’re the chef in charge of the tea preparations, and you should be the one to discuss the event with Mrs. Pullman.’’
Whether she was in charge of preparations or not, she would find it surprising if Chef René were to delegate such a meeting to someone of her inexperience. ‘‘You’re certain?’’
‘‘Not to worry. Chef René concurs with the decision. We’ll depart on the one-o’clock train Friday afternoon, meet with Mrs. Pullman at two thirty, and have supper before our return.’’
The baby whimpered and Mr. Howard scooted forward in his chair. ‘‘I’ll leave you ladies to the remainder of your evening. And I do hope to attend young Morgan’s christening once you’ve made the arrangements.’’
In the Company of Secrets Page 15
