“Ohhhh!” was Patsy’s awestruck reply.
The two proceeded into the store dining room. They were offered menus by a solicitous waiter dressed in black with a napkin slung over his arm. “And what would the ladies have?”
Evangeline was scanning the menu when she looked up and noticed Patsy blushing furiously. The girl stammered, “Miss... Miss Engie...”
Evangeline said to the waiter, “Give us a few more minutes, please.”
“Certainly, madame.” He bowed and scurried off to wait on another table.
“What is it, Patsy?”
The girl refused to look up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t read.” Her voice was filled with embarrassment.
“Ah, I see. It’s no great matter. Reading is a skill that can easily be acquired, and for the present moment... ,” she reached across the table to tilt the girl’s chin upward so their eyes met, “I’ll order for you.”
Patsy smiled shyly, apparently trying to overcome her discomfort.
When the waiter returned, Evangeline took command of the situation. “I’ll have the chicken pot pie. The young lady will have a roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy. Isn’t that what you wanted, Patsy?”
“Roast beef... ,” the girl exhaled the words reverently. Catching herself, she added, “Oh yes, that’s right. I’ll have that.”
“Very good,” said the waiter, “and to drink?”
“I’ll have tea, preferably Darjeeling, and the young lady will have a glass of milk.”
The waiter hastened back to the kitchen to place the order.
After he left, Evangeline asked in a low voice, “Why didn’t you learn to read, Patsy? I’m sure Elsa would have taught you. I know that she taught herself with a little help from Mast House.”
“She tried to teach me once.” The girl seemed disturbed after she let the words escape. “Ma caught us one night working over the alphabet, and she threw the copybook into the stove. She said she didn’t want me ruining my eyes over letters like Elsa had done. She said I should save them for the sewing work because I get paid for that.”
“I see.” Evangeline sighed dejectedly. “And just how long have you been working in a factory, Patsy?”
“Since I was seven. Before that, I used to do piece work at the kitchen table on the sewing that the neighbor ladies brought home each day. I would pull out the bad stitching, and ma would get paid for each piece that could be resewed the next day.”
“How young were you when that started?”
“I can’t remember.” Patsy sounded puzzled. “It seems like it was that way from the start, but I think I was about four.” She smiled uncertainly. “I guess you can’t hold a pair of scissors until you’re that old, can you?”
“No, I guess not,” Evangeline agreed half-heartedly. “I don’t suppose there’s any likelihood your mama would allow you to go to school?”
The girl’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t get paid if I go to school.”
“Perhaps there’s a way in which you could.” Evangeline smiled mysteriously.
“How?” Patsy’s face remained bleak.
Evangeline shook out her napkin and resettled it decisively. “I’ll speak to your mother and offer her a greater incentive to send you to school than to keep you at the factory. I can be very persuasive when I need to be. My bank book can be even more so.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You may tell your mama I will call on her later in the week to collect Elsa’s belongings and to discuss a few other matters of importance.”
“But...” Patsy seemed on the verge of asking several more questions when their order arrived. Evangeline took some temporary satisfaction in seeing Patsy devour the sandwich filled with thick slabs of roast beef.
“But Miss Engie, why...” Patsy took another mouthful. “Why did we come here if we were supposed to have a secret meeting?”
Evangeline smiled. “Patsy, look around you.”
The girl obeyed, still chewing happily. Her eyes wandered toward the couples and families and society matrons all chattering away at nearby tables. She then gave Evangeline a quizzical look.
“The best place to be private, Patsy, is in public. All the people in this room are preoccupied with their own concerns. Have you seen anyone, aside from the waiter, who has taken any notice of us since we walked in?”
“Well, no. I guess not.”
“In this store, all classes of society mingle without anyone commenting about it. If you and I were seen together anyplace else, it might draw some attention, but not here—never here.”
“Oh, I see.” Patsy glanced down self-consciously at the patched sleeve of her frock. “I guess that makes a deal of sense.”
“Of course it does, my young friend. And now to the matter at hand. What can you tell me about Elsa?”
Patsy had finished eating but was picking up every crumb on her plate, intent on leaving nothing behind. “Well... ,” she began, “I know she had a gentleman friend.”
“Did she, indeed?” Evangeline raised an eyebrow. “And who was this fine fellow?”
“I never knew that, miss.” Patsy shook her head emphatically. “She never told me. But, I know she went with him to the World’s Fair, because he sent her a flower to wear that day—a red silk rose. She showed it to me, and it was the finest piece of silk work I ever saw... with flowers, I mean.”
“But surely, Patsy, she had no time for gentlemen. I know she only went to work, to church, and to Mast House.”
“Oh, but that’s where she met him, Miss Engie, at Mast House.”
“What?” Evangeline gasped. Her voice echoed through the room so loudly that other diners turned to regard her with curiosity. Recovering herself, she moderated her pitch. “What on earth do you mean, Patsy?”
“Just what I said. I never lie. It’s a sin to lie. Elsa told me she met a gentleman at Mast House who asked her to go to the Fair with him.”
“Was this one of the local people who come for classes?”
“No, miss. I don’t think so because she said he was a res... a res...”
“A resident... ,” Evangeline exhaled the word in amazement. “You mean one of the men who volunteer their time to live and work at the settlement?”
“Yes, that was it! He was a resident.”
Evangeline sank into deep concentration. “Well, this is certainly a new turn of events.”
“Did I say something wrong, Miss Engie?”
“No, my dear.” Evangeline reached over to pat the girl’s hand reassuringly. “It’s just the last thing I would have expected, that’s all. Can you remember anything else? Did Elsa describe the man to you?”
“No.” Patsy frowned, trying to recollect. “She said she didn’t want to say any more because it was supposed to be a secret. The gentleman asked Elsa to keep it a secret.”
“Well, at least that’s no surprise.”
“Miss?” Patsy looked for further explanation.
“It’s of no consequence.” Evangeline smiled consolingly. “Do you remember when this rendezvous at the Fair took place?”
“It was before the summer heat set in. I remember because it was so hot by June that people were sleeping out on the sidewalk. It was before that, maybe right after the Fair opened in May.”
“And she never told you anything about the man after her excursion?”
Patsy pondered the question. “No, miss, I’m sorry. That’s all Elsa ever told me.”
“Never mind, dear. You’ve done very well and I’m grateful for your assistance.” Evangeline opened her handbag and dug around, searching for something. Finally she withdrew a silver coin and gave it to Patsy.
“I’m sorry you can’t spend this. You must promise to keep it until your next payday and add it to your usual earnings, for your overtime this Saturday. Otherwise your mama may start to ask questions you won’t be able to answer. Will you remember that?”
Patsy nodded solemnly as she took the money.
“Please make sure to
put it somewhere your mother won’t find it until payday.”
The girl thought for a moment, then slipped it into the top of her boot.
“I’ll put it under the lining of the sole later, when I get home.”
Evangeline chuckled. “You are a clever girl at that, Patsy. And now I’d like to show my appreciation in a less monetary form for the risk you’ve taken in coming here today.”
With a quick gesture, Evangeline beckoned the waiter who had been hovering anxiously out of earshot. She motioned him closer and whispered something in his ear.
“Very good, madame.” He smiled and glanced at Patsy before bustling back to the kitchen.
“Unfortunately, any other material expression of gratitude might be discovered by your mother and put you in the way of bodily harm.”
Patsy waited, silent.
“Therefore, I think this is the best I can do for the time being. It’s a pleasure that your mama won’t be able to take away from you.”
“Miss?”
“Shhhhh.” Evangeline put a finger to her lips. “No more questions.”
After a few minutes, the waiter returned bearing an enormous dessert and, with a ceremonial flourish, placed the dish before Patsy.
“Thank you,” Evangeline said to the waiter. “I believe that’s all we’ll require.” He bowed and disappeared to calculate the bill.
Patsy eyed the dish with a mixture of longing and suspicion. “Miss Engie,” she whispered so as not to proclaim her ignorance to the entire room. “What is it?”
“It’s an ice cream parfait, child, and your next alphabet lesson. The word is spelled p-a-r-f-a-i-t. Try it. Most young people your age find it quite delightful.”
The girl picked up her spoon hesitantly and tried the concoction. After the first mouthful there was no holding her back. She didn’t raise her head from the dish until the entire mountainous confection had been consumed.
Evangeline watched in silence until this gustatory revel was over. Finally, she asked, “I assume you’ll tell your mother you’ve worked without lunch today?”
“Ohhh,” the girl moaned. “I’ll have to tell her the truth. That I have a stomachache and don’t want any dinner.”
Evangeline smiled benevolently. “However you arrange matters with your conscience is no concern of mine.”
She rose. “And now, my dear, it’s two o’clock, and Jack should have managed to travel the two additional blocks to meet us. Time to drop you back at the gates of the honorable Mr. Van Ryn.”
Patsy’s eyes were shining. “Thank you, Miss Engie. I’ll never forget today. It’s the finest thing that ever happened to me.”
Evangeline looked down at the girl, smiling a bit sadly. “I shall hope, Patsy, that before long many finer things than this will happen to you. But, I’m sorry to say, today’s adventure is at an end.”
Chapter 6—The Mast House Inquisition
“Evening, Martha,” Evangeline said pleasantly as she entered the old Mast mansion on Monday evening.
She was greeted in turn by one of the neighborhood girls who presided over the reception desk. “Hello, Miss LeClair.”
Evangeline cast a glance around the foyer and found it devoid of its usual chaotic activity of running children and anxious volunteers. “Where is everybody?”
“I think it’s just a lull.” Martha put down the book she had been reading. “Everything will be back to organized confusion by the time evening classes start. Are you looking for anyone in particular, Miss LeClair?”
“No, not really. I just had a bit more free time than usual before my class begins and I thought I’d stop by to chat with whoever was around.”
Martha consulted the clock on the wall. “Well, by this time I expect most of them have wandered off toward the residents’ dining hall. I just saw Miss Archwick headed that way. I’m not sure where Miss Eaves is. I think she had a late appointment at the mayor’s office.”
“Oh, never mind about that, Martha. I don’t need to find Miss Eaves. I’ll just go and see who’s around. Thank you.”
The girl nodded and turned back to her book.
The Mast House settlement was an oddity among Chicago’s charities. It was started by two genteel ladies of independent means named Jane Eaves and Ellen Archwick. They had purchased a moldering mansion in the heart of a slum, moved in, and invited their immigrant neighbors to visit. The mansion soon became the site of meetings and classes that attracted not only the local inhabitants but Chicago’s intellectuals as well. Evangeline, equipped with an education many considered excessive for a female, took to the settlement like a swan to water. In addition to attending lectures there, she taught classes in English and literature. On this particular evening, she came not only to teach but to learn whatever she could about Elsa Bauer’s gentleman, a resident at the settlement. She struck off across the courtyard in the direction of the dining hall hoping to find her colleagues there in a talkative mood.
When she walked into the open dining room, she saw two ladies seated at one of the trestle tables that ran down the length of the room. They were both listening to an animated monologue conducted by a middle-aged woman wearing a pince-nez. As Evangeline approached the table, she realized the speaker was Ellen Archwick who had founded the settlement along with Jane Eaves. While Jane Eaves battled for the rights of the poor with quiet determination, Ellen Archwick was a more colorful figure. If the former was the strategist, the latter was the field marshal. Her directness of speech sometimes even gave Evangeline pause—a rare occurrence.
“... and so I found the whole approach entirely disgusting,” Miss Archwick concluded as Evangeline walked up to the table. The speaker looked over her pince-nez at the newcomer. “Evangeline, quite a surprise to see you here. Sit down and join us.” The words sounded more like a command than a request.
Evangeline complied, smiling a greeting in the direction of the other two ladies.
Miss Archwick returned to her previous train of thought. “As I was just saying, that last newspaper article about Mast House was utterly ridiculous!”
“Oh? I must have missed it.”
“Yes, it was an article in the Daily Courier written by that new woman reporter they just hired. It made us all sound like a bunch of vapid creatures who have no more idea of what we are about than... than... a bricklayer in a hen house!”
“Really?” Evangeline laughed. “I suppose we all came off as a dithering group of society ladies determined to help the poor by handing out picture postcards of the Louvre.”
Miss Archwick folded her arms truculently across her chest. “It was something along those lines—entirely revolting! I can’t imagine what it will do to our credibility in this city.”
“I shouldn’t worry about it too much.” Evangeline’s tone was uncharacteristically conciliatory. “I’m sure anyone remotely acquainted with the settlement knows better, and those are the people who support our efforts through their wealthy connections.”
“That’s all very well, but what about the people out of town who subscribe to Chicago papers? In the eyes of the wider world, we’ll still appear as foolish do-gooders who are going to waltz off to another more fashionable charity next year. I can’t tell you how that sort of misrepresentation sickens me.”
“It’s just one article, Ellen.” Evangeline looked across the table and noticed faint smiles on the faces of the two listeners who shared her view that Miss Archwick sometimes defended the public image of Mast House a bit too fiercely.
“What are you doing here anyway?” Miss Archwick peered at Evangeline over her lenses.
“Am I not to be allowed the luxury of a harmless social visit before my class starts?” Evangeline countered in mock surprise.
“Why yes, of course.” Miss Archwick backed away from outright rudeness. “It just seems out of your ordinary routine, that’s all.”
“Ah, I see. I’m to be held to a standard of consistency. What was it Emerson said about consistency and hobgoblins...?”
Evangeline knew the quotation by heart but refrained from being offensive enough to repeat it.
Miss DeWitt from across the table offered helpfully, “I believe it was ‘A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds’—”
“Thank you, dear,” Miss Archwick cut in sarcastically. “I can remember my Emerson well enough.”
“Ohhh,” the young lady quavered, belatedly realizing her faux pas.
Miss Archwick abruptly stood up to go. “I have matters that require my attention, so I’ll leave you ladies to your coffee and quotations.”
Evangeline laughed. “Another time perhaps, you and I can brandish Thoreau at one another.”
Miss Archwick finally allowed one corner of her mouth to tilt upward in a half-smile suggesting that, despite her apparent harshness, she actually liked Evangeline. “In that case, I’d better start reviewing the transcendentalist volumes in the library. Good-bye, all.” She nodded to the group and turned to march out of the room.
Miss DeWitt adopted a confidential tone after she was gone. “I don’t know what it is about Miss Archwick, but I always feel as if I should salute when she enters or leaves a room.”
“Your reaction isn’t unique, Adele. She has that effect on most people.”
“But not on you, Engie.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. You would indeed.” Intent on a way to turn the conversation, and at the same time uncover a possible suspect, Evangeline looked around the room. “I see none of the gentlemen have elected to join us.”
“There aren’t that many on duty this evening,” replied Miss Burroughs, the other lady seated at the table, “just Mr. Johnston who’s to teach the art class, but he hasn’t arrived yet. And then there’s Mr. DiStefano who’s doing some research in the library. But I think he’s taking tea in the study tonight instead.”
“Oh, how disappointing. I don’t know either gentleman well.” Evangeline hoped to lead the discussion to that most favored feminine topic—the dissection of the male psyche.
Miss DeWitt leaped into the trap. “Mr. Johnston is quite the ladies’ man, or at least he fancies himself to be.”
The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) Page 6
