————
A week later the letter to her parents had been written and posted, but a visit to Mr. Ashton had yet to occur. Charlotte had used every excuse she could think of to forestall an appointment with the lawyer, and then Mrs. Priddle had taken the matter in hand. She arranged a date for the appointment, carefully scheduling a time late in the day in order to avoid any excuses from Charlotte. Mrs. Priddle had even insisted she would accompany Charlotte. Though the matriarch had stated she merely wanted to provide additional strength, Charlotte knew the woman’s true intent. She was going to ensure the visit to the lawyer occurred as scheduled.
Only a slight rearrangement of her work hours would be necessary, and Mrs. Priddle had personally contacted Mr. Field with the request. She hadn’t mentioned where they were going, only that Charlotte’s presence was necessary at an important meeting that affected Priddle House. After receiving the request, Mr. Field had called Charlotte to his office. His curiosity had been evident. Before he granted permission for an early departure, his questions had skirted the fringes of an outright inquiry. Thankfully he’d stopped short of asking for exact details. She didn’t want Mr. Field scouting about for her replacement when she’d not yet decided whether she would return to London.
As she passed the ladies’ salon, Charlotte glanced into one of the full-length walnut-framed mirrors. She hesitated for a moment, pressed a few strands of hair into place, and proceeded downstairs to the State Street entrance.
‘‘There you are! I thought perhaps I was going to have to come upstairs and fetch you.’’ Mrs. Priddle grasped Charlotte’s arm and tugged her forward. ‘‘Hurry along. I have a carriage waiting to take us to Mr. Ashton’s office.’’
‘‘You don’t need to accompany me, Mrs. Priddle. Surely there are matters of greater importance requiring your attention.’’
‘‘Nonsense!’’ Mrs. Priddle thumped the tip of her ancient parasol on the sidewalk. ‘‘Come along now, or the driver will think I’ve deserted him.’’
There was little use in arguing. Mrs. Priddle was determined, and there would be no changing her mind. With forced resignation, Charlotte settled onto the worn leather carriage seat and stared straight ahead.
‘‘No use getting yourself in a snit, young lady. You’ve been dragging your feet about meeting with Mr. Ashton ever since you returned from Pullman. You can’t make a wise decision until you have all the facts.’’ She wrapped her weathered hand around the parasol handle. ‘‘I don’t look forward to having you leave us, but let’s find out what arrangements your father made with this man.’’
Mrs. Priddle was correct. If Charlotte could have avoided this meeting, she would have. She’d been praying over her decision, hoping for a quick and precise response, something resembling a bolt of lightning. Thus far, that hadn’t occurred. Mrs. Priddle said an answer to prayer didn’t usually rain down like manna from heaven. Sometimes God expected folks to do a little of the legwork on their own. No doubt Mrs. Priddle considered this appointment some of Charlotte’s necessary legwork.
‘‘Finally!’’ Mrs. Priddle shook her head. ‘‘That carriage driver must have taken the long way around. I thought we’d never get here.’’
Charlotte thought the carriage ride hadn’t taken nearly long enough, but she wouldn’t argue. She pulled a coin from her reticule and handed it to the driver. ‘‘You may as well go on. I believe we’ll be a while.’’
He tipped his hat, offered a clipped thank-you, and flicked the reins.
Charlotte forced aside the foreboding that weighed heavily on her chest. An instant decision wasn’t required just because she’d come here today. Simply speaking with Mr. Ashton wouldn’t necessitate her immediate return to London.
Mrs. Priddle marched ahead of her and pushed open the front door of the lawyer’s office. A bell jingled, announcing their arrival. An attractive young lady sat at a large mahogany desk and was reading from a thick leather-bound volume. She looked up and glanced back and forth between the two of them. ‘‘You must be Mrs. Priddle and Miss Spencer.’’ She smiled warmly. ‘‘My father is expecting you.’’ She pushed away from the desk. ‘‘I’m Ellen Ashton. Olivia’s friend.’’
‘‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Ashton.’’ A clock in the far corner struck the half hour, and Mrs. Priddle snapped to attention. ‘‘We’re on a rather limited time schedule.’’
A slight blush rose in Miss Ashton’s cheeks, and she stepped from behind the desk. ‘‘Oh, indeed. Right this way.’’ She led them into the adjacent office and stepped to one side. ‘‘Father, Miss Spencer and Mrs. Priddle.’’
The broad-shouldered, white-haired attorney jumped to his feet when they entered the room. Unlike Mr. Field, this man would be considered well groomed yet somewhat disheveled at the same time. He offered a slight bow and made a sweeping gesture toward the chairs opposite his desk. ‘‘Do sit down, ladies. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance—especially you, Miss Spencer.’’ He waited until they were seated and then dropped into his large brown leather chair. ‘‘Your parents will be overjoyed to hear that you are alive and well.’’
‘‘I’ve already written to my parents, Mr. Ashton. They should receive my letter any day now.’’ His bushy eyebrows knotted, and she wondered if he had planned to take credit for locating her whereabouts. ‘‘You find that information distressing?’’
His thick white hair remained firmly in place when he shook his head. ‘‘Not at all. I’m merely surprised that you wrote to your parents but didn’t immediately come to my office once you learned your father had contacted me.’’
Apparently when she’d made this appointment, Mrs. Priddle had provided considerable detail. ‘‘I’m not certain when I will return to London. I plan to wait for a response from my parents first.’’
Mr. Ashton tented his fingers and rested them beneath his chin. ‘‘Nevertheless, your father did leave instructions with me and money to pay for your return voyage. Is that why you’ve come, Miss Spencer? For the money? If so, let me advise you that I have strict instructions regarding use of the funds.’’
Silly man! Did he think she wouldn’t know that her father would place stipulations on his money? ‘‘I have no doubt my father gave you explicit guidelines, Mr. Ashton. He guards his money well.’’
‘‘Better than his daughter, I fear.’’ Mr. Ashton frowned and lowered his eyelids to half-mast.
‘‘I didn’t come here to discuss my father’s attributes or failings, Mr. Ashton. Exactly what instructions did he give you?’’
Mr. Ashton turned the key of a bronze-and-silver humidor and removed a fat cigar from the wood-inlaid depths of the box. He passed the length of rolled tobacco beneath his nose and inhaled deeply. Still holding the cigar in one hand, he pushed back and opened the center drawer of his desk.
He withdrew a long envelope, closed the drawer, and leaned forward, waving the sealed envelope. ‘‘He asked that if and when we met, I should first have you read this letter.’’
Charlotte picked up the letter opener lying on his desk and slid it beneath the seal. From the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw Mrs. Priddle inch forward on her chair.
The older woman pointed a finger toward Mr. Ashton. ‘‘I hope you aren’t planning on lighting that smelly wad of tobacco in my presence, sir.’’
Mr. Ashton laughed and shook his head. ‘‘My daughter doesn’t permit smoking in the office. I’ve given up the habit, but I still enjoy the smell of fine tobacco.’’
While Mr. Ashton and Mrs. Priddle continued their discussion of cigars, Charlotte scanned her father’s letter. He’d made arrangements with Mr. Ashton to purchase first-class passage for her return voyage home. The letter didn’t state if her father had turned over the funds prior to his own departure or if he arranged to reimburse the lawyer once Charlotte boarded a ship. She needed to speak with him alone.
‘‘I don’t think we’ll be much longer, Mrs. Priddle. Perhaps Miss Ashton could assist you with s
ecuring a carriage while I finish my business with Mr. Ashton.’’
Mrs. Priddle pursed her thin lips. ‘‘If you want to speak privately with the man, just say so, Charlotte. I won’t be offended.’’
Charlotte laughed. ‘‘I’d like to speak to him privately, Mrs. Priddle.’’
She pushed up from her chair. ‘‘You see? That wasn’t so difficult.’’ She circled around the chair and departed to the outer office, careful to close the door behind her.
Mr. Ashton leaned back in the leather chair and locked his fingers behind his thick cap of hair. ‘‘Your father read the letter to me before he sealed it in that envelope, Miss Spencer. What questions do you have?’’
‘‘Did my father leave the funds with you, or did he arrange for your reimbursement at a later date?’’
The lawyer unlocked his fingers and dropped forward in his chair. ‘‘So long as you have a ticket, what difference should it make to you, Miss Spencer?’’
‘‘I trust our conversation will be held in confidence?’’
‘‘Of course. I’m an attorney, Miss Spencer.’’
‘‘I understand. That’s why I inquired.’’ She didn’t permit him to defend his fellow solicitors, but she knew whereof she spoke. She’d met enough of them in England, and many could be bought for a small price. ‘‘I’ve already informed my father that I will not leave until I am certain there are adequate finances for the operation of Priddle House during my absence.’’
‘‘During your absence? You plan a return to Chicago?’’
‘‘I’m not certain what my future holds, but one thing is certain: I will not leave Chicago until proper funding arrangements are in place for Priddle House. The loss of my wages will place great financial strains upon Mrs. Priddle, and providing monetary aid is the least I can do.’’
Mr. Ashton rubbed his forehead. ‘‘Your wages? You work, Miss Spencer?’’
‘‘Yes. I am employed by Marshall Field.’’
The lawyer paled. Indeed, his complexion virtually matched his white hair. ‘‘I do hope you didn’t tell anyone at work that you were coming to my office, Miss Spencer. If so, you’ll not have a job come morning. Mr. Field considers me an enemy. My daughter and I are not permitted inside his establishment. You see, I represent some of the unions and their members. Men like Marshall Field and George Pullman consider me a traitor and a pariah of the upper class.’’ He grinned. ‘‘I doubt your father realized that fact when he took me into his confidence.’’
Charlotte had heard rumors of employees being fired because of union affiliation. She also knew that the doormen had a list of people who were banned from the store, but she’d heard nothing concerning lawyers. Perhaps she could sneak a look at the names tomorrow morning and see if Mr. Ashton was actually listed. She had her doubts, for Mr. Ashton’s office didn’t reflect a man of power or means, certainly not someone that Marshall Field or George Pullman would fear.
‘‘Since my father conducts business with Mr. Pullman’s company, I would think you should have told him.’’
Mr. Ashton shrugged. ‘‘If this had anything to do with your father’s interest in Mr. Pullman’s company, I would have sent him elsewhere, but your parents had already scheduled their departure and had little time to spare. As to your question regarding payment of your passage, your father will reimburse me for the costs. Since your whereabouts were unknown, we agreed reimbursement would be the best method. As set forth in the letter, I am not to furnish money that will help you remain in this country.’’
Charlotte nodded. ‘‘Yet it doesn’t prohibit the disbursement of additional funds that would permit my departure.’’
Mr. Ashton laughed. ‘‘Perhaps you should consider becoming a lawyer, Miss Spencer. You appear to have a knack for turning disadvantage into advantage, but we both know that the extra money you’re requesting isn’t truly necessary for your passage.’’
‘‘No, but it is necessary before I will board a ship. As I stated earlier, Mr. Ashton, I’ve written to my father and advised him of my whereabouts and my concern for Priddle House should I leave.’’ She slipped her hands into her lace gloves. ‘‘I’ll simply await his reply. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ashton.’’
————
After returning to Priddle House the previous evening, Charlotte had prayed and wrestled with her decision. Though she didn’t realize that she’d finally fallen asleep, sometime near the break of day she had awakened with a clear thought of what she must do. She waited until Mr. Field completed his morning rounds before approaching his office. Before she knocked on the door, she uttered a silent prayer.
Mr. Sturgeon bid her come in and immediately ran a finger down the page of his leather-bound appointment book before he looked up. ‘‘I don’t see your name on my list, Miss Spencer.’’ The clerk turned his head toward the door as if she’d been dismissed. Did he truly believe his simple comment would send her rushing from the room?
‘‘If Mr. Field is not currently occupied, would you please inquire if he has a moment to speak with me?’’ She crossed the room, sat down, and folded her arms across her waist. Charlotte was well aware Mr. Field was alone. She had seen him return to his office, and no one had entered since that time. She pretended not to notice the clerk’s glare as he passed by her and tapped on Mr. Field’s door.
Moments later, he stood in the doorway, staring above her head. ‘‘You may go in.’’ As she stepped beside the clerk, he bowed his head. ‘‘Mr. Field has a scheduled appointment in twenty minutes.’’
Good! Their discussion would be brief. Mr. Field wouldn’t have sufficient time for one of his infamous interrogations.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
August 20, 1893
Carrying a loaded tray, Martha entered the hotel kitchen, her lips tightened into a perfect seam. Since their wedding, Olivia had spent little time with Martha and Albert. With her schedule riding the rails, and the newly married couple enjoying their evenings alone, the only time Olivia seemed to see Martha was at the hotel. Martha tapped the silver-domed serving tray and gave a fleeting heavenward glance. ‘‘Mr. Pullman’s in a terrible mood. Didn’t eat a thing and said to take the tray out of his office.’’
Olivia shrugged. ‘‘Perhaps he ate breakfast before he left Chicago this morning.’’ She took the tray and signaled for one of the kitchen boys.
Martha nudged Olivia’s arm. ‘‘There’s quite a row going on upstairs. Did you know Mr. Howard came running over here about ten minutes ago?’’
With an exaggerated wave, Olivia motioned several of the kitchen boys toward the dining room. ‘‘You’d think those young fellows would routinely perform their work without my forcing them from task to task each day, wouldn’t you?’’ She waited until the boys departed the kitchen. ‘‘I’d guess there are some mechanical problems over at the car works and Mr. Pullman arrived to resolve the matter.’’
Martha shook her head. ‘‘No. I heard Mr. Pullman shouting about an—’’
‘‘Olivia! I need to talk to you in Chef René’s office—immediately,’’ Mr. Howard interrupted in a loud voice, then turned and stalked out of the kitchen.
The combination of Mr. Howard’s clenched jaw, creased forehead, narrowed eyes, and angry command caused Olivia’s stomach to roil. She cast a questioning glance in Martha’s direction before scurrying from the kitchen. Mr. Howard stood just inside the door of Chef René’s office with a newspaper tucked under his right arm. The moment she crossed the threshold, Mr. Howard closed the door with a decisive bang. He stormed around the desk and, with a resounding whack, slapped the newspaper onto Chef René’s desk.
Resting his hands on the desk, Mr. Howard arched forward until they were nearly nose to nose. His jaw twitched. ‘‘Well! What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Mott?’’
She took one step backward. ‘‘About what?’’
The newspaper snapped beneath his palm. ‘‘About this!’’ He pointed to the bold-print typeface looming abo
ve a lengthy article on the first page.
From the headline, the article clearly had something to do with Mr. Pullman and his unfair treatment of porters and dining car employees. She reached for the newspaper. ‘‘I know nothing about this article. If you give me a moment to read, I’ll be better able to answer your questions.’’ With trembling hands, she sat down and focused her attention upon the column.
The article carried Matthew Clayborn’s byline. A wave of nausea washed over her. Mr. Howard paced around the office in wide circles, finally dropping into the chair beside her. He leaned across the narrow expanse between them. ‘‘Please don’t insult me by feigning ignorance, Olivia.’’
She folded the paper and laid it on the desk. ‘‘I can only tell you the truth. I had nothing to do with the publication of this piece. I have no idea why you would even think I had any involvement.’’
His eyes darkened. ‘‘Did you read the article? I’d have to be a complete fool not to realize you supplied information for this piece. And you have been observed keeping company with Matthew Clayborn.’’
‘‘Truly? And when might that have happened?’’
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the wooden chair. ‘‘If memory serves me correctly, you were seen with him on at least one occasion here in Pullman and on another occasion in Chicago. I don’t have time for this pointless deception. Mr. Pullman is a busy man, and he wants answers.’’
‘‘You have jumped to conclusions, Mr. Howard. I won’t deny that I know Matthew Clayborn, but I did not supply him with information for his news article.’’
‘‘News?’’ He thumped his index finger atop the paper. ‘‘That isn’t news. It’s garbage! A smear campaign of the worst sort. Clayborn is an activist who inevitably sides with the unions. He uses this sort of tactic at every turn. The man is a critic of the worst sort, always filling his so-called news articles with inaccuracies. And you’ve allied yourself with him.’’
Whispers Along the Rails Page 29
