by Jen Turano
Taking a moment to check in with Agent Cochran, who’d been lingering in the doorway, Norman felt relief flow over him when the Pinkerton man assured him there’d been no further trouble, and that his parents’ entire property was now sufficiently guarded and would continue to be guarded until the culprits behind the burglary were apprehended.
After thanking Agent Cochran for the update, Norman returned to Stanley’s office, finding Theo staring off into space before she evidently realized he’d returned, which had her turning to him.
“What’s wrong with Stanley?” were the first words out of her mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“He took my arm to escort me all of five feet and has begun calling me Theodosia when he normally calls me Miss Robinson. Now he just went off to fetch us coffee. It’s very unusual behavior for him.” She tilted her head. “Do you suppose he’s recently taken to studying etiquette books as well?”
“Why would he do that?”
“Perhaps he’s sweet on a lady and has decided, as you have, that he needs to improve the way he interacts with ladies.” Theo shrugged. “Maybe he’s practicing his charm on me since I’m the only woman around.”
“Why do you seem disappointed about that?”
“Who said I’m disappointed?”
“Your face says you’re disappointed.”
“I’m sure my face isn’t saying any such thing.”
“I’ll be happy to fetch a mirror so you can see that disappointment for yourself.”
“Theo doesn’t need a mirror,” Stanley said, reappearing through the door. “She looks lovely today, as she always does.”
Norman’s world shifted once again because, clearly, Stanley was not practicing being charming. He was, without a doubt, fond of Theo. And Theo, if Norman wasn’t mistaken, was fond of Stanley, which explained why she’d looked so disappointed when she’d been considering that Stanley was sweet on someone else.
Sitting back in his chair, Norman looked at Theo for a few seconds, then switched his attention to Stanley, then back to Theo, then Stanley, then . . .
“Why’s he doing that?” Stanley asked, taking a seat directly beside Theo, who smiled a smile that one could almost consider flirtatious—if it wasn’t coming from Theo, that is.
“He’s thinking, and apparently, very strenuously. He often stops talking when he thinks like that.”
“Do you find it as disconcerting as I do?”
“You get used to it after a while,” Theo said right as Stanley’s secretary, Mr. George Lennox, entered the room, carrying a tray that held a battered coffeepot and mismatched cups. Placing the tray on top of some of the paperwork on Stanley’s desk, he inclined his head and quit the room.
Theo moved to the coffeepot and poured out three cups. She added two cubes of sugar to the cup she handed to Stanley, one cube to the cup she handed to Norman, then took the last cup for herself, not adding a single cube because she always preferred her coffee black.
The notion that Theo knew how many cubes of sugar Stanley took in his coffee was telling in and of itself, and it suggested she’d been observing Stanley far more closely than Norman had realized over the years.
Retaking her seat, Theo took a sip of her coffee. “What were the two of you discussing before I arrived?”
Stanley smiled. “We were discussing Mort, an animal Norman told me you were responsible for badgering him into purchasing.”
Theo released a snort. “I didn’t badger him to buy Mort. I chose a magnificent black stallion that I thought warranted the name of noble steed. However, when I turned to point that stallion out to Norman, he wasn’t there. I found him talking to Mort, and before I could formulate a suitable argument against the mule, Norman had already bought the creature.”
Norman released a snort of his own. “I then bought you that stallion because you were so put out with me, so I’ll thank you to discontinue making disparaging remarks about Mort, something I’m certain must hurt his tender mule feelings.”
Theo nodded to Stanley. “I don’t say disparaging things about Mort. Norman’s exaggerating because he got annoyed with me earlier when I happened to mention that Mort seems to have only two speeds—slow and stop.” She smiled. “But Sebastian, my new stallion, suits the term noble steed most admirably because he’s fast and beautiful, although he does have a slightly questionable nature.”
“There’s nothing slightly questionable about Sebastian’s nature,” Norman argued. “He’s a nasty beast that scares both Mort and me half to death. That’s why I insisted you attach Rosie, your pony that is certainly feeling dejected by your acquiring of Sebastian, to your wagon today to spare Mort and me heart palpitations.”
Theo narrowed her eyes. “I’ve yet to find a single instance in any of our research books, fashion magazines, or even novels where anyone has been impressed by the sight of a man riding a mule.”
“Mules are a dependable mode of transportation.”
“If you don’t need to arrive at your destination in a timely fashion.”
Ignoring that remark, Norman turned to Stanley. “Weren’t you going to explain to me why you’ve taken to being out on the factory floor so much?”
Stanley grinned. “I think I’d rather continue listening to you and Theodosia discuss Mort.”
“There’s nothing more to discuss. Mort is a reliable mule, and that’s all I have to say about him. But returning to the factory?”
Stanley’s grin faded. “We’re experiencing some labor issues at the moment, mostly because the men are clamoring for an eight- or, at the very least, ten-hour workday. There’s been talk of a strike, which is why I’m now spending so much time on the factory floor.”
Theo sat forward. “My father’s been concerned about strikes at the Pullman company ever since the Haymarket Riot this past spring.”
Stanley sat forward as well, the action leaving him inches from Theo, who was now turning rather pink in the face again. “The Haymarket incident was troubling. Even though the men responsible for throwing those bombs in the midst of the policemen who’d come to disperse the rally were apprehended, there’s still an undercurrent of unrest brewing in the city.”
Norman’s brow furrowed. “The Haymarket Riot happened last May. This is October. I would think, given the time that’s elapsed, that any lingering resentment caused by that unfortunate event has dissipated.”
“The only way that resentment is going to dissipate is if all the owners and investors in our Chicago factories agree to abandon the twelve-hour workday.”
“Wouldn’t it be prudent to at least consider reducing the weekly hours required to avoid potential strikes and additional riots?” Norman asked.
Stanley shook his head. “Demand for steel and iron always fluctuates. When demand is high, we need our workers to work twelve-hour days in order to earn as much profit as we can so that when demand decreases, we can continue on without having to close any of our factories.”
“I could help increase the efficiency of the factories by updating the machinery,” Norman offered. “That might allow you some negotiation room when it comes to reducing hours.”
“That would take you months, if not years, to complete.”
Norman shrugged. “I am a Nesbit, Stanley. It’s past time I begin acting like one and take an interest in the family business.”
Stanley narrowed his eyes. “What about your inventions and your scientific research?”
“It’ll be there for me when I have a spare moment.”
Stanley’s eyes narrowed another fraction. “But what about becoming the first scientist to perfect different ways of harnessing electricity?”
Norman waved that aside. “If we’re actually able to improve the efficiency of our many factories, that would be considered an important achievement as well. It could benefit other factories throughout the country, thus improving people’s lives much more than any electric vehicle I may eventually invent.”
“I believe I�
��m going to like Miss Beatrix Waterbury,” Stanley surprised him by saying. “She’s obviously responsible for this new-and-improved you. Even without having met her, I know she’ll be a woman I can appreciate.”
“Beatrix does seem to have had a marked influence on him,” Theo agreed, exchanging smiles with Stanley that almost seemed sappy. “Just imagine the influence she could have on him if they continue their association.”
“He might become an entirely different person altogether.”
“I am sitting right here,” Norman muttered. “But if the two of you are done with whatever this is you’re doing, which looks like a spot of flirtation if you ask me, I’d like to know, Stanley, if the offer I just made to take an interest in the family business is one you’re going to accept.”
“We weren’t flirting,” Theo and Stanley said in unison, before they smiled at each other, smiles that were sappier than ever.
Norman lifted his hand to rake it through his hair, until he remembered he didn’t have much hair left on his head these days. “Fine, you weren’t flirting. But returning to my offer?”
Stanley stared at Theo for another ten seconds before he finally pulled his gaze from her and nodded to Norman. “Of course I accept your offer, Norman, as well as greatly appreciate it. And if you are successful with improving our efficiency, Father and I will certainly be able to discuss decreasing the hourly workday, something that may very well help save our factories in the end.” He shook his head. “You’re going to have to broach this idea with Father, though.”
“You don’t think he will approve?”
“Oh, he’ll approve. I just don’t think he’ll believe me if I tell him about your unexpected offer.”
Even though Norman wanted to argue that point, he knew Stanley was right. He’d never shown an interest in the family business before, which meant their father would be skeptical about the offer unless it came directly from Norman.
Rising to his feet, Norman strode over to Stanley, extending his hand to his brother. As Stanley stood and took the hand, giving it an unexpected squeeze, Norman realized in that moment that he was finally, and after far too many years, taking the first step to truly becoming a part of his family. Curiously enough, he knew he had Beatrix to thank for that.
Chapter 23
“Any plans for this evening?”
Beatrix looked up from the box of table linens she’d been unpacking and smiled at Miss Joan Caton, a woman who worked beside her in the Bargain Basement, the department where Beatrix now found herself since she’d been relieved of her duties at the coat check.
“I’m having dinner with my aunt,” she replied. “What about you?”
“I’m off to enjoy a show at the Columbia Theater with some other Marshall Field & Company girls. You’re more than welcome to join us if you’re not looking forward to spending the evening with your aunt.”
“How kind of you to offer. And while an evening at the theater sounds lovely, I don’t want to disappoint my aunt, and dinner with her, odd as this may seem, is always an adventure.”
“Perhaps next time,” Miss Caton said before she took a step closer to Beatrix and lowered her voice. “Everyone is appalled about you getting yanked out of the coat check and sent to the Bargain Basement. Why, if you ask me, you should have been promoted for having the gumption to reprimand Mrs. Sturgis. She’s a nightmare every time she comes into the store, and it’s unacceptable that she injured you and then complained when you brought the injury to her attention. I suppose, though, that you must have been relieved to have been sent here instead of getting dismissed. It’s most unusual for management to be so forgiving when an employee offends a customer, even if that customer is wrong.”
Beatrix knew full well that the only reason she’d not been dismissed was because Mr. Selfridge had been in New York when she’d had her encounter with Mrs. Sturgis, which had left Mr. Bailer responsible for disciplining her.
After arriving in his office, Beatrix had found Mr. Bailer in a most agitated frame of mind, his agitation a direct result of the dilemma he found himself in. He was quick to inform her that her behavior was cause for immediate dismissal, but he wasn’t going to dismiss her because Miss Gladys Huttleston had personally requested he consider hiring Beatrix in the first place. Aunt Gladys apparently terrified poor Mr. Bailer, although he hadn’t seemed aware of the relationship Beatrix shared with her aunt.
Mr. Bailer had then proceeded to hem and haw about what should be done with Beatrix, finally settling on sending her to the Bargain Basement, stating that Mrs. Sturgis had demanded that she never see Beatrix again. Reassigning Beatrix to the Bargain Basement would evidently assure that never happened because apparently Mrs. Sturgis never stepped foot in the part of the store that offered customers goods at an inexpensive price.
Beatrix had been beyond put out over the notion she was being disciplined because an insufferable customer had all but accosted her. However, she’d been downright dumbfounded to learn she was going to suffer yet another reduction in pay.
In all honesty, she was beginning to think, what with how often she was suffering demotions, that there might come a day when she was paying the store for the privilege of working there.
Her dumbfounded state had only increased when, after Mr. Bailer had informed her of her reduced circumstances, he’d handed her another copy of the Marshall Field & Company handbook, insisting she read it cover to cover right there in his office. That demand had made it impossible to see Norman again because she didn’t finish the book until the store had closed for the day. Norman, unfortunately, was nowhere to be found once she left the store and took to the street.
She’d actually considered taking the train to Prairie Avenue and seeking him out at his house—what with how she’d memorized his address—because she’d felt the strongest urge to tell him all about the grievances she’d suffered that day, until she’d realized it would hardly be acceptable for her to seek out a gentleman at his house, no matter the reason.
That she’d felt compelled to seek Norman out in the first place was telling in and of itself.
“After you finish unpacking that box, Miss Waterbury, you may leave for the day, as may you, Miss Caton.”
Shaking aside her thoughts and sending Mrs. Hartford, the supervisor of the linen department, a smile, Beatrix quickly finished her task. She then walked through the Bargain Basement with Miss Caton and up the stairs to the employee room, where she’d left her coat. After bidding Miss Caton good-bye, she headed for the stairs.
“Miss Waterbury, wait up,” Miss Dixon, her former co-worker from the coat check, called from behind Beatrix, catching up with her a moment later. “I’ve been hoping to run into you. How’s the Bargain Basement? I’ve heard it’s a madhouse down there at times.”
“Oh it is, but the customers who shop in the basement are far more pleasant than the ones who shop on the main floors, so I’m not upset at all about my recent demotion.”
“Mrs. Sturgis was in the store yesterday, probably to make sure you weren’t still manning the coat check counter.” Miss Dixon shook her head. “She’s a nasty piece of work, but that wasn’t why I was hoping to run into you. It’s about Mr. Norman Nesbit. He came looking for you three days ago after you’d been called to Mr. Bailer’s office. He then came to the store yesterday as well and seemed most concerned when I told him you no longer worked in the coat check but had been reassigned.”
“Norman was at the store yesterday?”
Miss Dixon smiled. “Looking for you.” Her smile dimmed. “I’m afraid I was unable to fully explain what had happened to you because Mrs. Goodman came skulking about. But”—she leaned closer to Beatrix—“I heard him tell Miss Robinson, the lady who was accompanying him again, that he wouldn’t be able to track you down after work yesterday because he had a commitment with his niece. I wanted to tell you all that so you would know he’s been asking about you. In my humble opinion, I believe that suggests that Mr. Nesbit is sweet on you.�
�
Beatrix tripped over the bottom step. Regaining her balance, she headed for the employee exit. “He’s not sweet on me.”
Miss Dixon stepped with Beatrix through the door and began walking down the sidewalk beside her, pulling Beatrix to a stop a few seconds later as she grinned and nodded to something across the street.
“You’re wrong about that because Mr. Nesbit’s right over there. . . . But is he sitting on a donkey?”
Beatrix spun around and peered across the street, blinking when she spotted Norman, who was, indeed, sitting on top of an animal. She turned back to Miss Dixon. “I think that may be a mule.”
“An odd choice to be sure, but he’s waving at you.”
Turning again, Beatrix discovered that Miss Dixon was right, and that Norman was waving at her, although Theodosia, who was standing beside a pony attached to a wagon, was, curiously enough, leafing through a book.
“I should see what Norman wants,” she said, which earned her another grin from Miss Dixon.
“I believe I’ve already stated what he wants—and that would be you.”
Returning the grin even though she was fairly certain Miss Dixon was wrong in her conclusions, Beatrix told her to enjoy her Sunday off, then headed for the street.
Waiting for an open buggy to pass, Beatrix began making her way through traffic, coming to an abrupt stop right before she reached the sidewalk when she saw three men on horses charging directly for Norman.
That they were all wearing kerchiefs over their faces was not an encouraging sight.
“Norman, watch out!” she yelled, charging forward.
Before she could reach him, though, the mule he was sitting on surged into motion, carrying Norman down the street at a most rapid rate of speed, the hat on his head being left behind as he struggled to get control of his mule.
“Whoa, Mort, whoa!” she heard him yell, apparently still unaware that he was coming under attack, two of the riders now in hot pursuit. The third rider, however, had run afoul of Theodosia, who’d taken a swing at him with the book she’d been leafing through, knocking that man off his horse.
