They walked in silence, with Olivia secretly wishing she’d been forceful enough to stand her ground and Mr. Howard clutching her arm as though he feared she might bolt and run. The prospect had actually crossed her mind several times before they reached the Barnes’s residence, and she wondered if she had enough energy remaining to put on a cheerful face in front of the couple. Or if she even wanted to.
When they approached the house, Mr. Howard faced Olivia. ‘‘Please promise you’ll address me as Samuel. I’d greatly appreciate this one concession.’’
‘‘I’ll do my best.’’
He stared at her, waiting.
‘‘Samuel.’’
‘‘There, you see. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’’ He beamed as though she’d achieved a major accomplishment.
She shivered, uncertain whether Mr. Howard’s annoying insistence or the weather had been the cause. ‘‘I’m quite cold. May we go in now?’’
‘‘Yes, of course.’’ He patted her hand and rang the doorbell. ‘‘Remember now—you’re to address me as Samuel.’’
‘‘I’ll do my best, Samuel.’’
Mrs. Barnes opened the door and greeted them warmly, then quickly ushered them inside. Her amiable chatter continued while she led Olivia into the parlor.
‘‘Horace, this is our boarder, Miss Olivia Mott.’’
The tall, thin man jumped to his feet and patted down the fringe of hair that circled his balding pate. ‘‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Mott. I want to add my hearty welcome to our house.’’ He affectionately patted his wife’s hand. ‘‘Luella’s been far too lonely since our daughter, Lucinda, married and moved back East. You’re going to add a ray of sunshine to our lives, Miss Mott.’’
Mr. Barnes’s words were kind, yet Olivia thought them somewhat disconcerting. If the man was seeking a companion for his wife, Olivia feared she would prove to be a disappointment. ‘‘Thank you, Mr. Barnes. I, too, am looking forward to the arrangement. However, I do spend long hours at the hotel . . .’’
He bobbed his head. ‘‘Of course, of course. But many’s the evening I return to my office and Luella is left to her own devices. Occasionally the two of you might want to visit the Arcade for some shopping or enjoy a cup of tea together. With the holidays approaching, I’m afraid my wife will be experiencing the loneliness even more.’’
At the mention of the holidays, a glistening tear shone in the woman’s eye. Olivia hastened to respond. ‘‘Yes, of course, shopping and preparing for the holidays would be lovely.’’ Mrs. Barnes sniffled, and Olivia decided a change of topic was in order. She motioned toward the rear of the house. ‘‘Is there some way I could assist you with today’s meal preparations?’’
Mrs. Barnes pulled a lace hankie from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. ‘‘Oh, but you’re our guest. I couldn’t impose.’’
Olivia looped arms with the woman. ‘‘Nonsense. Nothing pleases me more than working in a kitchen. How may I help?’’
Mrs. Barnes sauntered toward the kitchen with Olivia in tow. ‘‘Horace says I should hire a maid when I’m having guests for dinner, but I don’t agree. I think it’s much more hospitable to prepare the meal and serve the guests myself.’’
‘‘There are certainly excellent points for both sides. I enjoy cooking and believe it has a more personal touch if I prepare and serve the food. However, it does take you away from the pleasure of visiting with your guests.’’ Olivia hoped her answer had been diplomatic. She didn’t want to be accused of taking sides with either member of the family on her first visit.
The older woman offered Olivia an apron. ‘‘I suppose you’re correct. There are generally two sides to everything—even this serving platter.’’ She giggled as she turned over the plate in an exaggerated motion and emphasized her point.
Olivia made an effort to join in her laughter and slipped the apron over her head. ‘‘How may I help?’’ She tied the strings around her waist and stepped farther into the kitchen.
‘‘Would you consider making the gravy while I mash the potatoes?’’
‘‘I’d be delighted.’’ Secretly glad to have a task on which to focus her attention, Olivia immediately set to work while Mrs. Barnes drained the potatoes.
‘‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am that Samuel suggested inviting you to dinner today. Most Sundays it’s just the three of us. This is much more enjoyable.’’
Olivia ceased stirring and turned from the stove. ‘‘Mr. Howard suggested you invite me to dinner today?’’
Mrs. Barnes glanced at Olivia while she continued to mash the potatoes. ‘‘Yes. I do believe he’s taken a genuine liking to you, my dear, but don’t tell him I said so. It’s flattering he would go to such lengths in order to spend time with you, don’t you think?’’
A light flush colored the older woman’s cheeks, either from the heat in the kitchen or her careless remark. Olivia couldn’t be certain which. But she was certain she didn’t like Mr. Howard’s tactics. Yet she dared not tell Mrs. Barnes, for the woman thought his behavior totally charming.
Well-intentioned or not, the man hadn’t been forthright with her regarding the dinner invitation or renting rooms from his neighbors. Though Mrs. Barnes might find Samuel’s behavior flattering, Olivia did not necessarily agree. His honesty would be preferred. Odd she would feel so strongly about the issue after her own behavior with Fred. With a pang, she realized Fred had likely felt much more deceived when he’d read her lengthy list than she did now.
After they were all settled at the table, Mr. Barnes offered thanks for their meal and then carved the roasted beef while his wife encouraged all of them to eat their fill. ‘‘Otherwise, my husband will have little variety for his noonday meals next week.’’
Samuel lifted his plate to receive a thick slice of the beef from Mr. Barnes. ‘‘You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve arranged for several young fellows to move your belongings, Olivia.’’
Mrs. Barnes gave Samuel an approving look as she passed the squash to Olivia. ‘‘How thoughtful of you, Samuel! Isn’t he the most thoughtful man you’ve ever met, Olivia? We’ve found him to be the best neighbor we could ever hope for, and I’m sure you’ll feel the same once you’ve moved into your rooms.’’
Olivia glanced at Mr. Howard as she handed him the vegetable dish. ‘‘He obviously takes great pleasure in planning for others.’’
Mr. Howard’s brow furrowed. She’d likely annoyed him. Nevertheless, he remained cordial throughout the meal.
After dinner, Olivia insisted upon helping with the dishes while the men excused themselves to investigate a problem with Mr. Barnes’s accounts. Slipping into their overcoats, they promised to be at the company offices for only a few minutes.
‘‘You see what I put up with? Even on a Sunday afternoon, he can’t set aside his concerns.’’ Once the dishes had been washed and put away, Olivia removed her apron and followed Mrs. Barnes to the front room. She’d been surprised the men would work on Sunday, but it obviously wasn’t an unusual occurrence for either of them. The two men had been gone for nearly an hour when Olivia decided Mr. Howard’s absence provided a perfect opportunity to depart.
‘‘I do hope you won’t be offended if I hurry off. I must be at work early tomorrow, and I’ve a number of matters needing my attention—not the least of which is packing my belongings so that I may move into your house.’’ She detected the disappointment in her hostess’s eyes.
‘‘I know you’re a busy young lady, and though I’d very much enjoy your company, I won’t attempt to dissuade you.’’ She retrieved Olivia’s coat and hat. ‘‘I do hope Samuel won’t be displeased with me for permitting your departure. I know he’d insist upon escorting you home.’’
Mrs. Barnes held her black wool muff while Olivia peered into the hall mirror and arranged her hat. ‘‘I don’t need an escort, Mrs. Barnes. It would be a poor use of his time to walk me home when he lives next door and has other important matters that require his attention.’’
Mrs. Barnes wavered, seeming to weigh the possibilities. ‘‘Still . . .’’
Olivia patted the woman’s hand. ‘‘Please tell him I insisted.’’ She retrieved the muff and impulsively kissed the woman’s cheek. ‘‘Thank you for a lovely dinner, Mrs. Barnes.’’
Though the temperature remained cold, the sun was bright and the breeze had diminished. The walk home would be pleasant. Olivia rounded the corner and lengthened her stride, pleased she’d been able to escape before Mr. Howard returned. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes were kind, generous people. Living under their roof would surely prove a blessing. If only Samuel didn’t live next door.
Fred tapped on the front door and waited. No answer. He looked down the street and wondered if Olivia had retreated to the library rather than spend the remainder of her Sunday after- noon alone. A twinge of guilt assaulted him, yet he pushed the feeling aside. He wasn’t the one who had been living a life of lies. Why should he feel remorse if she endured an afternoon of loneliness? Yet deep inside, he knew why. He cared for her. More than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
With a heavy thud, he plopped down on the porch, his feet resting on the front steps. He’d wait. His mother would expect him to do no less. After all, she was the one who had insisted he come. If Olivia didn’t arrive within the hour, he could comfortably report he’d done his best. He rubbed his gloved hands together and watched for any sign of Olivia.
He’d nearly convinced himself he could leave when he spotted Olivia in the distance. She shaded her eyes, and he knew she’d seen him—or at least she’d become aware someone was sitting on the front steps. She waved and quickened her pace. Did she know it was he, or did she think Mr. Howard was awaiting her?
Olivia’s lips curved into a broad smile, and she broke into a near run as she approached him. ‘‘Fred! I’m so pleased to see you. How long have you been sitting out here in the cold?’’
Her pleasure at seeing him appeared genuine. Did she think he’d come to tell her he’d had second thoughts and they could continue on as though nothing had happened? He stood as she reached the porch. ‘‘Not long. I thought perhaps you’d gone to the library, so I decided I’d wait a short while.’’
He followed her glance toward the front windows. Mrs. Rice, the next-door neighbor, stood behind the lace curtains watching them—a reminder that nothing escaped the watchful eyes that inhabited this town.
Olivia fidgeted with her purse. ‘‘Has Mrs. Rice been talking to you? About me? Or Charlotte?’’ she hastened to add.
‘‘No. We haven’t spoken. I didn’t know she was watching me until just now.’’ Olivia appeared relieved yet he wondered why it made any difference.
Olivia dug in her handbag and withdrew her key. ‘‘Why don’t we go inside?’’
He nodded his agreement. ‘‘I can’t stay long. It wouldn’t be proper.’’
She offered to take his coat, but he refused. The sparkle in her eyes faded, and he realized she truly did expect more from this conversation than he was willing to offer. Best get it over with.
‘‘My mother insisted I come and apologize for my rude behavior earlier today.’’ Before he could complete his apology, Olivia gasped.
‘‘You told her?’’
‘‘About the lies?’’ He shook his head. ‘‘No, Olivia. I’ll leave that for you. I told her we have differences that make it impossible for me to consider continuing to see you. She insisted I come here and tell you that you are welcome in our home and she still counts you a friend.’’
Olivia dropped to the settee and buried her face in her palms. He hoped she wouldn’t cry. Discomfort had begun to take hold when she finally lifted her head.
‘‘You never did explain how you found my list, Fred. Since it was located in my recipe box, I can’t imagine how you happened to discover it.’’
Fred wrestled with how much he should tell her. He didn’t want her to think he’d broken into the house and rummaged through all of her possessions. ‘‘I had planned to make a new recipe box for you—a gift. I wasn’t certain what size box would be best, and my mother suggested I measure your old one. She gave me her key to your house and said I’d locate the box somewhere in the kitchen.’’ He inhaled a deep breath. ‘‘I didn’t go through any of your other belongings, if that’s your concern.’’
She shook her head. ‘‘No. There’s nothing else hidden away. Will you please let me explain what occurred and why I developed that list?’’
He raked a hand through his wavy hair. He didn’t want to hear her excuses. Nothing she told him would change his mind about the way she’d deceived him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say so. ‘‘If it will make you feel better to tell me, I’ll listen.’’
He leaned back in the chair and listened carefully. His resolve began to weaken as she told him about her life in Lanshire Hall and the unwelcome advances she’d endured from Chef Mallard. However, he steeled himself against being swayed. Piece by piece, she revealed the detailed web of lies she and Charlotte had orchestrated and their subsequent need for a method to keep their stories coordinated.
She exhaled a deep sigh. ‘‘I know it was wrong—all of it. But in order to protect everyone, it seemed necessary. I’ve already discussed the forged recommendation with Chef René , and he accepted my explanation and apologies.’’
He couldn’t believe she’d confessed her behavior to Chef René yet hadn’t mentioned any of this to him. Now he doubted she would have ever told him if he hadn’t discovered her list. ‘‘Chef René knows everything you’ve told me?’’
‘‘Only about the letter being a forgery. Albert knows none of this.’’ She bowed her head. ‘‘After Charlotte disappeared and the earl and countess claimed custody of Morgan, I convinced myself there was no reason to reveal the past.’’
He leaned forward and rested his forearms across his thighs. She had confirmed his doubts. She had planned to base their possible future on a history of lies. He shivered at the thought.
‘‘I’ve asked God’s forgiveness for my sins. I’m striving to be truthful. I can’t change the past, Fred. I can only tell you that if you’ll give me another chance, I’ll do my best to always be truthful.’’
He remained in his slouched position and slowly shook his head. ‘‘Not now—maybe never. I don’t know if we could build a relationship out of the few truths that remain between us.’’ He inhaled a ragged breath and stood up. ‘‘At present, I don’t even want to try. In fact, I think it’s best if we move on with our lives—separately. I’ll not repeat anything you’ve told me today. You have my word.’’
She stepped closer as he neared the door. ‘‘I had hoped you could find it in your heart to forgive me, Fred.’’ Her voice was no more than a whisper.
‘‘I do forgive you, Olivia, but I want a relationship that’s been built on trust.’’ He buttoned his coat. ‘‘I must go. I’ve remained here far too long.’’
She didn’t attempt to forestall his departure any longer, and for that he was thankful. There was nothing more he could say.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Olivia stood in the doorway a few moments longer. With the back of her hand, she wiped away a single tear that trickled down her cheek. She’d created quite a mess of things with her list of lies. How she longed for a friend in whom she could confide. She could talk with Mrs. DeVault tomorrow evening, but she wondered if such a discussion would be prudent. Fred might think she was overstepping her bounds by confiding in his mother. She had few options. She trusted Mrs. DeVault to maintain her confidence, yet offer wise counsel. To trust anyone else might prove disastrous. Gossip traveled quickly through Pullman. The thought of her name being bandied about town held little appeal.
One thing she knew: being home alone would permit ample time for chores. There would be no need for fancy gowns the remainder of this day. She trudged into her bedroom and removed the green silk dress. With a gentle tug, she pulled her dark blue skirt and an old shirtwaist from the wa
rdrobe.
Before returning to the parlor, she retrieved her sewing basket and several stockings that were in dire need of repair. Dragging the rocker near the window where the late afternoon sun provided excellent light and a bit of added warmth, Olivia threaded her needle and slid the wooden darning egg inside one of the stockings. She deftly moved the needle in and out until the unsightly hole finally disappeared. With a gentle squeeze she popped the wooden egg from deep inside the stocking, surprised when it briefly flew through the air like an overweight bird. She thrust her arm outward, hoping for a midair retrieval. Instead, the needle pricked her finger and the darning egg fell to the floor with a thud. Even her mending had become a disaster. A tear of self-pity slid down her cheek as she reached deep inside her skirt pocket.
Instead of the soft cotton handkerchief, her fingers scrunched around a thick piece of paper. She withdrew the object and stared at the crest in the corner. It was the envelope the earl had left at the hotel before his departure. She had shoved it into her pocket and completely forgotten about it.
Placing it on the table, she pressed her hand across the rumpled edge and smoothed the corner before finally running her finger beneath the seal. Her mending now forgotten, she removed the letter. Inside the folded page lay a business card. She held the finely printed card by one corner while she read the simple directive. You are to make personal contact with this man. The earl’s signature had been affixed beneath the one-line instruction.
The piece of stationery fluttered to her lap. She leaned back in the rocking chair and studied the card. Montrose J. Ashton, Esquire. A Chicago solicitor with an office on LaSalle Street. She shivered. The combination of solicitors and Chicago couldn’t be a good thing, yet the earl’s few words didn’t sound ominous. He had merely directed her to visit with Mr. Ashton. She hoped he hadn’t assumed she visited the city on a frequent basis.
In the Company of Secrets Page 29
