In the Company of Secrets

by Judith Miller

  He continued to read until he finally realized what he held in his hands. This was a list of lies the women had committed to memory and spoon-fed to everyone they met. Charlotte and Olivia had woven together a web of lies that were memorialized on these pages. He didn’t want to continue reading, yet he couldn’t look away. When he’d read the final page, he folded the pages and put them back in the box. Fingers trembling, he slowly closed the recipe box with a sense of revulsion.

  Who was Olivia? What about her was true, and what was false? There was no doubt that she was Albert’s cousin. She obviously was an expert liar, for even Albert had believed all she’d told him. When had the lies begun, and who, exactly, was Mrs. Hornsby? She obviously was a woman of wealth and class if she had been Lady Charlotte. He couldn’t sort it out. Not here. Not now. He needed to get out of this house.

  He shoved the box back into place and hurried out the front door. Too late, he remembered his plan to speak with Mrs. Rice but pushed the thought aside. If Olivia questioned him, he’d merely say her neighbor had been mistaken. He’d see if his lies were as believable as hers had been.

  His mother turned from her dusting when he entered the house. He shrugged out of his jacket and waved when she peeked around the doorjamb. ‘‘That was a hasty trip. Where is the wood?’’ She stepped into the hallway and scanned the area.

  He shook his head. ‘‘I decided the recipe box wasn’t such a good idea. I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll go upstairs and get some sleep. I wouldn’t want to be sick my first day on the new shift. Mr. Howard would probably consider my absence a protest to the change in hours and fire me.’’

  ‘‘Is it your stomach or head that’s bothering you? I can go to the druggist and request something to help, or I can make you some soup from the leftover chicken.’’

  He continued up the stairs, the truth of what he’d seen weighing down upon his chest. ‘‘Don’t go to the pharmacy. If you want to make soup, I’ll eat some before I go to work.’’ He looked over his shoulder and noted his mother’s frown as she peered up the staircase. ‘‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I merely need to rest.’’

  He sat on the edge of his bed and covered his face with his palms. Only last night he had thought of Olivia as someone extraordinary and special. This morning’s revelations had proved his belief to be true, but not in the way he’d thought. The fact remained that he had no idea who she was or what was truth and what was deceit. Right now, he didn’t even want to attempt to sort out fact from fiction.

  So far as he was concerned, she was no more than a chimera, a fleeting illusion of the woman he had hoped to one day marry. In the time it had taken to read those few pages, the young woman he’d grown so fond of had disappeared. He fell back across the bed and stared out the window. Instead of moping, he should be thankful he’d discovered the truth before he’d fallen in love with her. Unfortunately, that thought didn’t heal his intense sorrow, for deep within he knew he’d already committed his heart to Olivia.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Mr. Howard waited outside the kitchen door, holding his felt derby in one hand and a single yellow rose in the other.

  Chef René glanced up and arched his bushy brows. ‘‘A rose?’’ His question was no more than a whisper.

  Olivia removed her toque and white jacket, then stepped closer. ‘‘That’s a yellow rose, not red. Yellow means friendship.’’

  Chef René bent over a cookbook and traced his finger down the page. ‘‘It may be yellow to you, but to him it is red.’’

  Olivia shook her head in denial, but she feared the chef ’s assessment was correct. Mr. Howard’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, a look she longed to receive from Fred, but not from the company agent.

  She thanked him for the rose and suggested a small vase in the kitchen would keep it fresh until tomorrow. She didn’t want to walk about town carrying a rose in her hand. What if someone saw her and mentioned it to Fred?

  Furthermore, she didn’t want Mr. Howard to consider this search for new living quarters as anything more than one friend helping another. Of course, he wasn’t really her friend, but he wasn’t a beau, either. He waited patiently while she poured water into the vase and placed the rose inside.

  The moment they walked outdoors, he offered his arm. She wanted to refuse, but her courage waned. He patted her hand as she tucked it into the crook of his arm, a much too possessive action. First the flower and now patting her hand as though they were a couple. She didn’t want to encourage his affectionate behavior.

  ‘‘Did you bring the list?’’ Perhaps she could break this arm-in-arm arrangement by perusing his inventory of available apartments.

  ‘‘No need for a paper. I have them all up here.’’ He tapped his head.

  Nearing the far corner of the hotel, he made a sharp turn. She tugged on his arm. ‘‘I can’t afford to rent rooms on this street.’’ Though she didn’t mention it, she doubted any of the well-paid supervisors who lived on 111th Street would even consider renting out rooms.

  ‘‘My next-door neighbor, Mrs. Barnes, mentioned she would be delighted to have you as a boarder, and I thought you’d like to look there first.’’ He continued walking. ‘‘Her daughter recently married. Only last night she mentioned being lonely for another woman in the house. Needless to say, I thought of you, and she was delighted with the idea.’’

  ‘‘That’s kind, but I’m on a strict budget, Mr. Howard.’’

  Once again he patted her hand. ‘‘Samuel. I insist you quit addressing me so formally when we’re alone. As for the room and board, she’s not in need of funds. Unlike the other women who rent out rooms, she is willing to take a lesser amount.’’ He tipped his head close. ‘‘One I know you can afford.’’

  Certainly he was well aware of her wages. He’d hired her. Still, she thought him presumptuous to assume he knew what she could or couldn’t afford. He had no idea what other obligations she might have. She feared he was already persuaded she’d take the room. And though she didn’t want to live next door to him, she worried his preplanned arrangements would make it difficult to refuse without a credible excuse.

  ‘‘Here we are.’’ He escorted her up the front steps and knocked. Mrs. Barnes had obviously been awaiting their arrival, for she immediately opened the door. A pleasantly plump woman, she greeted them with a welcoming smile. The woman’s soft brown eyes reminded Olivia of Aunt Eleanor. Tucking a strand of her graying auburn hair behind one ear, the woman invited them inside. Despite the fact that Mrs. Barnes was evaluating her suitability as a tenant, Olivia was drawn by the woman’s comforting air of kindness and gentility. She appeared genuinely pleased to have them come calling.

  ‘‘I do hope you’ll forgive my husband’s absence. He had some additional work to complete in his office.’’ She smiled and shook her head. ‘‘Horace can’t sleep unless his books are reconciled each night. I’m sure you understand, Mr. Howard.’’

  ‘‘Of course. Horace is a dedicated and valued employee.’’

  Mrs. Barnes beamed at the compliment. ‘‘Why, thank you.’’

  She directed them into the parlor. Unlike Olivia’s flat, the stairway and woodwork were a lustrous cherry that had been finished in its natural color, and the double parlor they entered was extravagantly appointed and spacious.

  ‘‘Would you prefer to see the rest of the house before we visit?’’

  Olivia didn’t have an opportunity to voice her opinion, for Mr. Howard immediately agreed to the offer. Mrs. Barnes waved them forward, and they entered the dining room, situated directly off the parlor. Four sizeable china closets and pantries were located in the kitchen and dining room, and Olivia nearly gasped aloud when she saw the laundry room. Three stationary washtubs lined the wall and were supplied with hot and cold water. In the basement, she viewed additional shelves lined with canned goods, cupboards for additional storage, and the room that contained the steam coils for warming the house. Steam heat—yet another benefit of roomin
g with a supervisor who lived across the street from the factories.

  ‘‘Let me take you to the third floor, where you can inspect the three rooms my daughter occupied before . . .’’ Her voice trailed off, and she dabbed her eyes. There was no doubt Mrs. Barnes missed her daughter terribly. When they arrived at the second-floor landing, she hesitated in the large front alcove room. ‘‘This is one of my favorite places. I sit here and read most afternoons.’’ She motioned to the rear of the house. ‘‘There are two bedrooms on this floor—and the bath, of course.’’

  The walls throughout the house were papered in small floral patterns, and the ceilings had been tinted in harmonious shades to match the paper in each room. Venetian blinds were topped with sumptuous draperies and lacy curtains. On the third floor, the three large rooms had been converted into a dressing room, bedroom, and sitting room. To say the rooms were lovely wouldn’t do them justice. Olivia couldn’t believe she’d been presented with an opportunity to reside in these exquisite surroundings.

  ‘‘My daughter chose the wallpaper and furnishings for these rooms.’’ Mrs. Barnes surveyed the area one final time before leading them downstairs. Once they’d returned to the parlor, Mrs. Barnes sat down beside Olivia. ‘‘Mr. Howard tells me you’re the assistant chef at the hotel. Mr. Barnes and I enjoy partaking of a meal in the hotel dining room from time to time.’’ She tipped her head toward Olivia. ‘‘The food is excellent. I’m afraid you won’t find our meals nearly so fancy. Mr. Barnes says I should hire a housekeeper like the other supervisors’ wives. I do have occasional help, but mostly I prefer to keep my own house in order—just like Mrs. Howard always—’’ She stopped short and covered her mouth with her hand. ‘‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Howard.’’

  ‘‘No need to apologize, Mrs. Barnes. You’re absolutely correct. My wife enjoyed cooking meals and managing on her own. And she performed admirably until her illness.’’

  ‘‘Indeed, she did. And a finer neighbor couldn’t be found in all of Pullman.’’ Mrs. Barnes straightened the edge of a crocheted doily on the side table. ‘‘When did you arrive in Pullman, Olivia?’’

  ‘‘A little over five months ago. This will be my first winter in Pullman. I’m told to expect a lot of snow and cold weather.’’

  Mrs. Barnes nodded. ‘‘True enough. But working in the hotel, you don’t have to concern yourself with the cold. And if you decide to reside with us, you’ll be plenty warm without the worry of coal or wood.’’

  ‘‘The rooms are lovely, Mrs. Barnes. I’m certain you’re aware of the rental rates in Pullman. Your rooms far surpass anything I could afford. I do appreciate seeing them, however.’’

  The older woman waved her hand. ‘‘The rent we charge for these rooms is between you and us.’’ Mrs. Barnes went on to explain how much she missed her daughter. ‘‘Having you in the house would ease my pain. I do hope you’ll agree. We’d not accept anything over seven dollars a month.’’

  Seven dollars? Too late, Olivia realized she couldn’t say no to this kind woman. She shouldn’t have agreed to visit the house and meet Mrs. Barnes. Why hadn’t she simply said she wanted to look elsewhere? But surely Fred would understand. She could meet him elsewhere if he didn’t want to call on her at a supervisor’s house.

  Mrs. Barnes cast a pleading look in her direction. ‘‘Do say you’ll agree, Olivia.’’

  ‘‘I’d be pleased to accept, but only if you’ll agree to let me cook for you and your husband several times a week.’’

  The older woman grasped her hand. ‘‘Oh, we’re going to have a fine time. I can tell.’’

  Mr. Howard leaned forward and rested his arms across his thighs. ‘‘You must remember that, unlike your daughter, Olivia works long hours each day. And she’ll be busy with her own social life part of the time.’’ He grinned broadly. ‘‘At least I hope she will.’’

  ‘‘Oh, absolutely. You would have freedom to come and go as needed. In fact, I’ll have a key made for you tomorrow morning. When would you like to move in?’’

  ‘‘I believe the second week in November would be best for me. Is that agreeable?’’

  Mrs. Barnes clapped her hands together like a delighted schoolgirl. ‘‘I can hardly wait. It will be much more lively having another woman in the house.’’ She glanced at Mr. Howard. ‘‘As Olivia’s time permits, of course.’’

  Despite the fact that she argued against it, Mr. Howard insisted upon escorting Olivia home. ‘‘I thought we’d stop at the Arcade restaurant. Surely you must be hungry.’’ He placed his palm on his stomach. ‘‘I know my supper is long overdue.’’

  She would have preferred to hurry home unescorted, eat something light, and gather her thoughts. She’d need to carefully explain this move to Fred, or he’d once again accuse her of putting her job first. But this hadn’t been about her job. It was an opportunity to live cheaply in the best possible accommodations. And the house was only half a block from the hotel, a true blessing for her when the snow began to fall. However, she doubted whether any of those assets would erase the fact that the apartment was located next door to Mr. Howard. Fred’s mistrust of the Pullman supervisors ran so deep that he’d likely accuse Mr. Howard of marrying off the Barnes’s daughter in order to provide Olivia with the apartment.

  Olivia was thankful the restaurant wasn’t crowded and even more pleased when the waiter led them to a table away from the windows where passersby would see them. Not that many people knew her, but all the residents in Pullman were acquainted with Mr. Howard, and talk traveled quickly through the town.

  While they waited for their supper, Olivia searched for the proper way to broach the subject of Fred’s job. Perhaps a general question about the workers would let her ease into the topic. ‘‘If a person applies for a specific position with the company, do you hire the person for only that position?’’

  He furrowed his brows. ‘‘I’m not certain I understand your question. You were hired to work as an assistant chef, and that’s the position you were given.’’

  She agreed. Obviously he’d thought she was preparing to offer a complaint about her job in the hotel. ‘‘I was thinking of factory positions. If I had applied to work as a seamstress, would I be sure to receive a position as a seamstress? Or if a laundry worker was needed, would you simply send me to work in the laundry?’’

  ‘‘I suppose it would depend on the circumstances, such as the rate of pay and whether you would be willing to accept the position. Why all these questions about job placement? Has this something to do with your cousin Albert?’’

  Without realizing it, Mr. Howard had given her the perfect opening. ‘‘Yes, it’s about both Albert and Fred. They mentioned having been hired for specific positions with the company, but when they actually began work, they were assigned to lesser jobs that didn’t make use of their skills.’’

  They stopped talking while the waiter placed a plate in front of each of them. ‘‘That sometimes occurs,’’ Mr. Howard said, ‘‘but I’ll look into it and see if I can’t find something that would allow Albert to utilize his skills. I’ll review his application. I’m sure I can locate something.’’

  She clenched her napkin between her hands. ‘‘And Fred?’’

  His features tightened into a frown at the mention of Fred’s name. ‘‘I believe Mr. DeVault is in electroplating.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘For some reason, Mr. Pullman recently requested shift changes in that department. I wouldn’t be able to do anything for him.’’

  ‘‘I see. Well, thank you for offering to help Albert. I know he’ll be grateful.’’ He was watching her closely, so she forced a tepid smile. She didn’t want him to see her disappointment. ‘‘Albert is quite fond of Martha Mosher, who’s with housekeeping at the hotel. I think they may decide to marry soon.’’

  ‘‘Truly? Martha is a fine young woman. Mr. Billings tells me she’s a good worker. If Albert’s planning to marry, I’ll need to find him a position that offers higher pay.’’ He took the fina
l bite of his supper and wiped his mouth with the linen napkin. ‘‘I’m going to have a slice of pie. Would you like some dessert?’’

  Olivia shook her head. She didn’t want dessert; she wanted to go home. But she would be required to remain until Mr. Howard finished his pie and coffee. This evening certainly hadn’t accomplished what she’d intended. Granted, she’d arranged for a lovely place to live, and it looked as though Albert would be considered for a new position at a higher rate of pay, but she’d done nothing to help Fred. In fact, she wondered if mentioning his name had been ill-advised. Mr. Howard had been blatantly annoyed. Olivia could only hope her inquiry wouldn’t cause any further problems for Fred. Too late she realized she should have considered the possible ramifications of speaking out before plunging headfirst into company business.

  ‘‘Oh, Mademoiselle Mott, would you be my friend?’’ Chef René ’s heavy French accent rolled off his tongue the next morning in a lilting tune. He stood framed in the kitchen doorway, holding the stem of the yellow rose between his folded hands.

  ‘‘You are most humorous, Chef René .’’ Olivia was forced to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

  ‘‘Does that mean you will be my friend?’’ He grinned and thrust the rose at her. ‘‘Please.’’

  ‘‘Stop! What do you want to hear? That you’re right and he is interested in more than friendship?’’

  The chef shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘‘There is no doubt of that. I merely wanted to make you laugh.’’

  ‘‘Then you accomplished your intent.’’ She shoved her arms into her white jacket. ‘‘I did find a perfect place to live. At the very first place I looked.’’

  ‘‘And the only one, I would guess. You are to become Mrs. Barnes’s tenant?’’ He lifted a large crock from one of the shelves.

  ‘‘How did you know?’’