Olivia agreed and continued to survey the room. Everywhere she looked, there were gold statuettes and ornate pieces of delicate glassware, tapestry-covered tables, and windows of stained glass. If what she saw in this room bespoke the rest of the house, the opulence surpassed the furnishings of Lanshire Hall. Before she had further time to take inventory of the room, Mrs. Pullman entered. An elegant woman, she crossed the room and bid them good afternoon. Her gown of pale green silk whispered like rustling leaves in a gentle wind.
Stepping forward, Mr. Howard signaled for Olivia. ‘‘Mrs. Pullman, may I introduce Miss Olivia Mott, our latest addition to the culinary staff at the hotel. Chef René has charged her with the preparations for your gala.’’
Mrs. Pullman glanced toward the hallway. ‘‘And Chef René is not in attendance today?’’
Extracting a handkerchief from his pocket, Mr. Howard dabbed the beads of perspiration from his forehead. ‘‘His duties keep him in Pullman, but he has every confidence in Miss Mott.’’
Mrs. Pullman arched her brows. ‘‘Does he? I’m surprised he didn’t personally advise me of this change in plans. He didn’t mention Miss Mott when we last corresponded.’’
Although they were discussing her, Olivia felt like an intruder in a private conversation. Apparently Mr. Howard hadn’t considered the possibility that Mrs. Pullman might disapprove of his change in plans.
‘‘I believe you’re going to find Miss Mott’s menu much to your liking. She has excellent credentials.’’
Mrs. Pullman waved them toward one of the divans. ‘‘Do sit down.’’ She patted her perfectly coiffed hair as she sat down opposite Mr. Howard. ‘‘I don’t doubt Miss Mott’s qualifications. I know Chef René would never hire an assistant without superb qualifications. I’m merely surprised he didn’t advise me in advance that he wouldn’t be at this meeting.’’ She turned to look at Olivia. ‘‘Do you have a menu card prepared for my review, Miss Mott?’’
Olivia withdrew the card from her purse. ‘‘I’ll be pleased to discuss any changes you wish, Mrs. Pullman. Chef René has personally tested all of the recipes and given them his approval.’’
Mrs. Pullman scanned the card. ‘‘I think you’ve made some excellent choices, and if Chef René has approved the items, I’m confident they won’t disappoint.’’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘‘Now, what did you have in mind as a theme for the decorations?’’
Olivia gulped. ‘‘Theme?’’
‘‘I much prefer decorations that convey a focused idea rather than a few floral arrangements scattered about. Don’t you agree?’’
‘‘Yes, of course.’’ How could she not agree? However, no one had mentioned the need of a theme for the decorations, and she’d planned exactly what Mrs. Pullman didn’t want—flowers, candles, crisp white linens, and no focus. Mrs. Pullman was staring, obviously waiting for her to make a suitable suggestion. ‘‘No flowers or candles,’’ she muttered.
‘‘Absolutely not.’’
‘‘What about a sailing theme since your guests will be attending the regatta during their visit? Does that hold any appeal?’’
Mrs. Pullman was still looking heavenward as though contemplating the idea when Olivia suddenly suggested a musical theme. ‘‘The tea is to raise funds for the symphony, isn’t it? We could have musical notes on the menu cards, and if you would approve the use of a few flowers, we could arrange them around musical instruments. Perhaps we could borrow instruments from the Pullman band and orchestra members.’’
Mrs. Pullman’s features softened while she contemplated the suggestion. ‘‘Yes. I do like that idea. Much more sophisticated than the sailing theme. If you would like some assistance with the decorations, I can have Regina come and help.’’
Mr. Howard leaned forward. ‘‘I don’t think that’s necess—’’
Before he could say anything further, Olivia interrupted. ‘‘I would be most appreciative, Mrs. Pullman. The more elegant the event, the more funds you’re likely to receive.’’ Olivia didn’t know who Regina was, but if the woman knew how to decorate and carry out a theme, Olivia wanted her at the hotel.
‘‘Good for you, my dear. I’m pleased with your idea and the fact that you’re willing to accept Regina’s assistance. She’s quite talented. I’ll tell her I’m charging her with the responsibility of making the hotel’s dining rooms and ladies’ reading room into a veritable musical wonderland.’’ She clapped her hands. ‘‘This is going to be delightful. I do want you to have one of the hotel staff see to the guest list and registry. I have the list of invited guests right here.’’ She picked up several sheets of paper from the side table. ‘‘You may take it with you.’’ She folded the sheets, handed them to Olivia, and then leaned back in her chair. ‘‘Based upon your accent, I would surmise you’re from London?’’
‘‘Indeed she is. Olivia was an assistant chef at Lanshire Hall.’’ Mr. Howard’s chest swelled.
‘‘Do tell? Now isn’t that a coincidence. The Earl and Countess of Lanshire will be attending the regatta and athletic games. Of course, the countess will be in attendance at the tea, also. Won’t she be surprised to see that we were fortunate enough to hire her assistant chef?’’ She chuckled. ‘‘Her loss is our gain, isn’t it?’’
Olivia watched Mrs. Pullman’s lips continue to move, but she didn’t hear anything further. Her mind was working overtime, attempting to digest what she’d just heard while wondering how this could possibly be happening to her. Had the earl and countess discovered Charlotte was in Pullman? No, surely not. If so, they wouldn’t be planning to attend the regatta and a tea. Instead, they’d swoop into the city unannounced and take their daughter home to London.
The remainder of the meeting was a blur to Olivia. Before they’d even departed, her hands were shaking and her stomach roiling. The startling news settled around her in an oppressive haze, and she thought she might throw up in the carriage. Not until she extended her quaking hand to steady herself in the rocking carriage did Mr. Howard become aware of her overwhelming anxiety.
‘‘You’re trembling, my dear. Is it the excitement of meeting with Mrs. Pullman?’’
She shook her head. ‘‘I’m unwell and wonder if we could immediately return home.’’
Mr. Howard’s disappointment was palpable. ‘‘Perhaps once you’ve had something to eat, you’ll feel revived.’’
At the mention of food, she swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn’t retch. She would never live down such humiliation. ‘‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry to spoil your plans, but I truly must go home.’’
‘‘Then you must promise we’ll come back to the city sometime so that I can show you some of the many sights I know you’ll enjoy.’’
She murmured her agreement, thankful he’d not mentioned food again or forced her to set a date to visit the city with him. Their journey to Pullman seemed endless. Mr. Howard likely thought he was entertaining her with his ongoing monologue regarding the festive dedication ceremonies for the Columbian Exposition that were scheduled to take place in late October. Apparently Mr. Pullman and other wealthy men of Chicago had played a large role in ensuring the World’s Fair would be hosted in their city. She did her best to appear impressed, but her roiling stomach prohibited much enthusiasm.
When the train finally pulled into the Pullman station, Olivia sighed with relief. She attempted to discourage him from accompanying her home, but Mr. Howard insisted upon escorting her. Certainly Charlotte and Mrs. DeVault would be surprised by her early return. What would Charlotte think when she heard the news about her mother and father? There was bound to be a hysterical scene, not that Olivia could fault Charlotte for any emotional outburst. After all, she’d nearly collapsed herself.
Olivia held fast to Mr. Howard’s arm, but as he moved toward the front steps, she jerked back. ‘‘No need to come inside. I can make it on my own. I’m going to go and lie down the minute I’m inside the house.’’ She loosened her hold on his arm. ‘‘I’m sorry for the change in plans.’�
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He looked longingly at the front door, and for a moment, Olivia thought he might actually dart inside. Instead, he patted her hand like a doctor comforting an ill patient.
‘‘I’ll check on you tomorrow. And don’t forget your promise.’’
Before he could say anything further about their next trip to Chicago, Olivia waved and retreated indoors. She was leaning against the front door when Mrs. DeVault hurried into the hallway with Morgan in her arms and a look of surprise on her face.
‘‘Charlotte said you wouldn’t be home until at least eight or nine o’clock. Did she misunderstand?’’ She drew closer and frowned. ‘‘You’re pale, child. Are you ill?’’
‘‘Yes. We came home directly after the meeting with Mrs. Pullman.’’
‘‘Let me make you a nice cup of hot tea. I say a cup of tea is always the first remedy for illness.’’ She hoisted Morgan over her shoulder and patted his back as she made her way to the kitchen. A gusty burp soon followed. ‘‘There’s the good boy. No tummy ache for you.’’
Olivia wished it would take no more than a hefty belch to relieve her upset stomach. ‘‘Where’s Charlotte?’’
Mrs. DeVault placed Morgan in his cradle. ‘‘She’s resting. Said the boy kept her awake all night. I brought his cradle in here so he could keep me company while I prepare supper.’’ She grinned at the cooing baby and placed the kettle on the stove. ‘‘I’m looking forward to the day when Fred will marry and give me some grandchildren to love. In the meantime, this little fellow is a nice substitute.’’
‘‘He is a sweet little boy, and I do appreciate all your help. I don’t know how we would have managed without you, Mrs. DeVault.’’
‘‘When faced with a challenge, God’s there to provide an answer. This time it was me.’’ She pulled two cups and saucers from the shelf.
‘‘Do you truly believe that, Mrs. DeVault?’’
‘‘Well, of course I do. You’re a believer, Olivia. You know the first place to go when there’s a problem is down on your knees. I’m not saying God has always given me the answer I wanted, but He always provides a way.’’
She supposed that was true enough for Mrs. DeVault. She was a woman of faith, a woman who lived what she professed. God was on call for people like Mrs. DeVault. But she doubted He was sitting up in heaven anxious to hear her problems. With all her lies and deceit, He knew she’d helped create the mess she was in. No, she wasn’t like Mrs. DeVault. Sometimes she wondered if God would even claim her, much less help her solve her countless problems. Mrs. DeVault had called her a believer, but sometimes Olivia wondered exactly what that term meant. No one had ever explained what made a person a believer. Didn’t everyone believe in God? So wouldn’t that make everyone a believer?
She’d heard Mrs. DeVault talk about Jesus as if He was a personal friend one Sunday when a group of them had been sitting around the dinner table. Olivia had wanted to ask more, but she had been embarrassed. Everyone else seemed to know what the older woman was talking about, so Olivia had remained silent. After all, she didn’t want to appear foolish.
Mrs. DeVault poured tea for both of them and settled in a chair beside her. ‘‘There now. Try that and see if you don’t feel better.’’
Olivia took a sip. Ask her. She ignored the nagging voice and stirred a dollop of cream into the tea. Ask her. Her eyelashes fanned across her cheek as she stared into the cup and continued to stir. Without looking up, she gathered her courage. ‘‘What does it mean to be a believer, Mrs. DeVault? I mean, I know God is up in heaven and all, but is that what makes me a believer?’’
Mrs. DeVault reached across the table and placed her work-worn hand beneath Olivia’s chin. ‘‘Look at me, child.’’
‘‘I’ve asked a foolish question, haven’t I?’’
‘‘Of course not. You’ve asked the most important question of your life, and I’m pleased you chose me to ask.’’
Olivia didn’t know who else she would have asked. Nobody else had ever mentioned the subject before, at least not that she recalled. Her father had had more interest in visiting the pub and tipping a mug than talking to her. And although Aunt Eleanor went to church and talked about praying, she’d never said anything about being a believer. Maybe it was a term that was used only in America.
‘‘Being a believer means that you’ve accepted Jesus as your personal Savior, Olivia. It means you believe He’s the Son of God, that He died and rose from the dead just for you. When you invite Jesus into your heart, He’s more than your Savior: He’s the best friend you can ever have. Someone you can go to with all your troubles and cares, and He’ll never betray your confidence like some folks are prone to do.’’ She grinned at the last comment. ‘‘Do you have a Bible, child?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ Olivia did have the Bible that had belonged to her mother, though she seldom looked inside.
‘‘When you have some time alone, I want you to read some special verses. I’ll write them down for you.’’ She ripped off the end of Olivia’s grocery list. ‘‘You read these and then we’ll talk.’’ She pushed the page across the table.
Olivia glanced at the list. She folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket. ‘‘I’ll read them after I go to my room for the night.’’
Mrs. DeVault sipped her tea. ‘‘I believe your color is improving. Are you feeling better?’’
Olivia grinned. ‘‘I am. You’re right about the tea. It seems to have—’’
Before Olivia could complete her reply, Charlotte bounded into the room. ‘‘Olivia! I thought I heard voices in here. What are you doing home so early?’’
After explaining her unexpected bout of illness, Olivia lifted her teacup and tilted her head toward Mrs. DeVault. ‘‘However, Mrs. DeVault’s tea has done the trick. I’m feeling much better. I think we can finish supper preparations on our own and let Mrs. DeVault have a quiet evening at home.’’ Without giving either of the ladies the opportunity to object, Olivia gathered the older woman’s belongings and escorted her to the door.
‘‘I’ll be certain to read the verses tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’’
Mrs. DeVault chuckled. ‘‘If you don’t appear, I’ll send Fred to fetch you.’’
Obviously Mrs. DeVault didn’t realize Olivia regarded that as pleasure rather than punishment, but she didn’t correct the woman as she bid her good-bye.
When Olivia returned to the kitchen, Charlotte pointed an accusing finger. ‘‘Tell me the truth. Why are you home? You feigned illness hoping to discourage Mr. Howard’s amorous interests, didn’t you?’’ When Olivia didn’t immediately reply, Charlotte sat at the table, crossed her arms across her waist, and insisted upon hearing a complete account.
Olivia inhaled a deep breath before she began her explanation. She had hoped for more time to formulate a prudent response. Though she attempted to choose her words carefully, the woman interrupted at every turn. Discombobulated by Charlotte’s rude behavior, Olivia blurted out the unwelcome news in one impulsive burst.
Charlotte jumped from her chair and sent it crashing to the floor. The baby immediately squalled in protest from the cradle. ‘‘I find nothing humorous in your silly story, and I think it was downright cruel of you to say such things.’’
‘‘I am not jesting with you. I have the guest list provided by Mrs. Pullman.’’ She pulled the list from her purse and handed it to Charlotte. ‘‘See for yourself.’’
After scanning the paper, Charlotte grasped the edge of the table and fell into another chair. Olivia grabbed a damp towel and applied it to Charlotte’s forehead before she could swoon and drop to the floor. She had expected a dramatic reaction. Charlotte hadn’t disappointed.
She looked like a frightened animal snared in a trap. ‘‘What am I going to do?’’
‘‘It may not be as serious as you think. On the train ride, I considered the matter, and so long as you remain indoors, there’s no reason your mother will know you’re in Pullman. You’ve used a diffe
rent name, so no one would assume you have a connection to the Earl and Countess of Lanshire.’’ Olivia forced an air of bravado as she completed her explanation.
Charlotte bobbed her head, obviously wanting to believe all would be well. ‘‘But Mr. Howard knows of your connection to Lanshire Hall.’’
‘‘Mr. Howard mentioned my previous employment to Mrs. Pullman, but I doubt that topic will be revived. By the time your parents arrive, I think Mrs. Pullman will have completely forgotten me and any connection to your parents.’’
Charlotte stood and paced back and forth as she considered Olivia’s response. ‘‘Perhaps you’re correct, but even the slightest comment could cause a remembrance.’’
‘‘Why don’t we eat supper and sleep on the matter. There’s no sense fretting about it tonight.’’
Charlotte agreed more easily than Olivia imagined possible and made no further mention of her parents throughout the remainder of the evening. Apparently Olivia had misjudged Charlotte and her ability to deal with this latest predicament.
Later that night when Olivia retreated to the quiet of her room, she reviewed the Scriptures Mrs. DeVault had listed. Digging into her satchel stored beneath the bed, she retrieved her mother’s Bible and fanned the whisper-thin pages until she located the book of Romans. She noticed that there were numerous underlined verses, and the corners of some of the pages had been turned down. Turning to the third chapter, she traced her finger to the twenty-third verse.
‘‘ ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’ ’’ She murmured the words and then exhaled a deep sigh. She probably shouldn’t take pleasure in discovering the world was filled with sinners, but it eased her mind to know she wasn’t the only one failing God.
After checking Mrs. DeVault’s list, Olivia moved ahead to Romans 6:23. ‘‘ ‘For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ ’’ The first sentence caused her to quiver—she didn’t like to think of death. But the second portion that mentioned eternal life was most encouraging. She flipped to Romans 10:9 and 10:13 and then backward to Romans 5:1.
In the Company of Secrets Page 17
