In the Company of Secrets Page 16

  For a moment, Charlotte appeared to not understand. ‘‘Oh yes, the christening. I’ll be certain to notify you. By all means.’’

  Olivia escorted him to the front door. He waved when he reached the sidewalk and then ambled off toward home. She leaned against the doorjamb, wondering when he and the chef had discussed this meeting in Chicago. It had been late in the afternoon when she had completed the menu card for Mrs. Pullman’s perusal. Strange that Chef René hadn’t mentioned it to her at that time.

  A flash of movement across the street captured her attention, and she stood transfixed for a moment. Likely her imagination. As she pushed away from the door, she saw it again—a shuffling motion. It appeared someone might be hiding behind the row of hedges. She gathered her skirts to the side to avoid being seen and continued to peek out the door.

  There! The hedge moved, and she could see something crawling behind in the shadows. A dog, perhaps. Suddenly realizing she’d been holding her breath, she inhaled a gulp of air. She strained to make out the figure rising from behind the bushes and clasped a hand to her chest when she recognized the lanky body and shock of red hair. Eddie! What was he doing watching their apartment? Was he hoping to earn more money from Charlotte, or was he lying in wait for her? In spite of the heat, she closed the heavy wooden door while the sound of her racing heart pounded in her ears.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Olivia had been up most of the night, fearful as she listened for unusual sounds at the doors or windows. On the few occasions when she’d dozed off, the baby’s cries had awakened her. She’d written a note to Charlotte that they must develop a story about her ‘‘marriage’’ and her ‘‘deceased husband.’’ Last night’s near debacle was proof enough the issue must be resolved. Her head and body ached as she completed the note and then prepared for work.

  No doubt she’d not be at her best today. Watching through the front curtain, she waited until she saw Martha coming down the street before she left the house. No need taking chances. For all she knew, Eddie could still be lurking nearby, and the sun remained hidden below the horizon until after she arrived at work each morning. After last night’s sighting, her fear remained palpable.

  ‘‘Good morning, Olivia!’’

  Martha’s greeting was cheery—she’d obviously had a good night’s sleep. Olivia fell in step, and the two of them headed off.

  ‘‘I hear you had a visitor last evening.’’ She looped arms with Olivia. ‘‘Fred was in a terrible mood at baseball practice last evening. Albert thought it a good thing, for Fred scored two runs. He says that if you’re trying to make Fred jealous, you’re doing a fine job of it.’’

  ‘‘But that’s just it: I’m not trying to make him jealous. Mr. Howard appeared out of nowhere.’’

  Martha giggled. ‘‘And you obviously didn’t know Fred was going to show up.’’

  Olivia frowned. ‘‘No. And I don’t know how to discourage Mr. Howard. I’ve tried—truly I have. And each time things are going well with Fred and me, something like the incident last night happens.’’

  Martha tilted her head. ‘‘It’s because you’re pretty, Olivia, and a little inexperienced with men.’’

  ‘‘But it’s a difficult situation. Even though Chef René manages the kitchen, Mr. Howard is the one who hires and discharges employees. He’s an important man in this town, and I don’t want to risk losing my job.’’ A squirrel raced in front of them and skittered to a nearby tree. ‘‘I’m happy working at the hotel, and Chef René is a wonderful teacher—I’ve learned so much from him. But I don’t know what to do about Mr. Howard’s advances. What would you do?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know, Olivia. I’d be happy to quit my job and marry Albert tomorrow.’’ They circled around the hotel to the side door. ‘‘Have you considered asking God to direct you? He’s the one who knows what’s best for us and usually the last one we go to for help.’’ She giggled nervously. ‘‘Well, I shouldn’t speak for others, only myself.’’

  Olivia offered her feeble thanks. She couldn’t tell Martha the truth, that God didn’t want to hear from the likes of her, for she was a liar of the worst kind. If she asked God to forgive her or help her, He’d expect her to confess to others, as well. She couldn’t possibly tell Mr. Howard her letter of recommendation was a forgery and her employment was based on lies; moreover, Fred would never speak to her again if he knew the truth about her. He wouldn’t want to court a woman he couldn’t trust. No, she couldn’t ask for God’s help. He might forgive her, but the cost would be too great.

  I died for you, Olivia. The words quietly blew into her mind like a gentle breeze, and she hurried into the hotel kitchen, where she could force them from her thoughts.

  Chef René already had the ovens heated and was measuring out flour when she donned her toque. ‘‘We need to talk after the breakfast hour is complete, Miss Mott.’’ He whisked the eggs and poured them into the dry ingredients. ‘‘In my office.’’

  There was little doubt Chef René was unhappy. Now what had she done?

  They worked through the early morning hours. When the breakfast preparations had been completed and the meal served to the many hotel guests, Chef René signaled for her to follow him. She didn’t know which would prove worse—anticipating or discovering the cause of Chef René ’s discontent. One thing was certain: she didn’t like these visits to his office.

  As was their growing custom, he directed her into the office and then wedged himself into his chair. Hands folded, he leaned across the desk. ‘‘So! I am told by Mr. Howard that you will accompany him to Chicago and present your menu to Mrs. Pullman on Friday.’’

  ‘‘I told him you would be the better choice, but he said you were in agreement. I’m afraid I’ll make a fool of myself. Surely Mrs. Pullman will expect you to attend the meeting.’’ She nibbled at her lip, frightened by the mere idea of the meeting.

  ‘‘Interesting.’’ The chef frowned. ‘‘When did Mr. Howard tell you of our agreement?’’

  ‘‘He stopped me as I was walking home from work last evening. He’d purchased a gift for Mrs. Hornsby’s baby. During the course of our conversation, he told me of the arrangements.’’

  Chef René tapped his folded hands on the desktop. ‘‘And what time did he leave your home last night?’’

  This meeting was more like an interrogation. She was giving out much more information than she was receiving. ‘‘I’m not certain. I believe it was shortly before nine o’clock.’’

  ‘‘Just as I thought.’’

  She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. ‘‘You and Mr. Howard did agree I should make the presentation to Mrs. Pullman, didn’t you?’’

  ‘‘Oui. He came to see me last night shortly after nine o’clock and told me he planned to take you with him. I offered no objection.’’

  The usual gleam was absent from his eyes. Mr. Howard had neither asked the chef ’s permission nor sought his opinion. He’d merely announced she would be making the presentation, and Chef René had been forced to accept the decision. ‘‘I’ll go straightaway and tell him that I cannot go with him tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘Non.’’ He shook his finger. ‘‘You will go, and you will make a fine presentation. I will practice with you so that you know exactly what you must do. You are my protégée, and you will make me proud.’’

  Relief washed over her in a flood of emotion. The chef ’s generosity was more than she could have imagined. She jumped up and hugged him as he came around the desk. ‘‘Thank you.’’ Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

  He waved his hand, obviously embarrassed by her show of emotion. ‘‘You will be a fine chef one day. When that time arrives, you tell people Chef René taught you everything you know about cooking. That will be thanks enough.’’

  She wouldn’t ask God to help or forgive her, but she did offer a prayer of thanks as she went back to the kitchen.

  Chef René dismissed Olivia from her duties at noon on Friday. With his charming Fr
ench accent, he bid her good luck and instructed her to remain poised and calm. ‘‘Be certain you enunciate your words so there is no misunderstanding.’’

  Olivia grinned at his final remark and wondered if his French accent had been the source of some confusion in the past. ‘‘I’ll do my best to make you proud.’’

  She raced toward home with little time to change into another dress, arrange her hair, and meet Mr. Howard at the train station. Though Mrs. Pullman might expect Chef René to appear in his chef ’s jacket and toque, Mr. Howard suggested a dress would be more appropriate attire for her presentation. Still unable to fit into her dresses, Charlotte had recommended her pink-and-gray-plaid day dress. One of these days, Charlotte would doubtless cease her continual eating and regain her figure. When that happened, Olivia would be without a proper wardrobe. The thought was somewhat disheartening. She’d become accustomed to wearing Charlotte’s pretty dresses and would miss the luxury.

  The sound of Morgan’s cries greeted her as she entered the house. Charlotte was sitting in the kitchen eating a piece of the leftover blueberry pie. Olivia scurried down the hallway. ‘‘Charlotte! Don’t you hear your son crying?’’

  Charlotte licked her lips and pointed her fork at the pie. ‘‘This is excellent. Did you make it?’’

  ‘‘Yes. Now will you see to Morgan?’’

  ‘‘You could at least thank me for the compliment.’’ Her lips tightened into her usual childish pout. ‘‘And for your information, there is nothing wrong with that baby. He’s eaten and his diaper is dry. Mrs. DeVault has spoiled him, and he wants to be held all the time. Eventually he’ll cry himself back to sleep.’’

  From all appearances, it seemed Charlotte would never develop any motherly instincts. Normally Olivia would have seen to Morgan’s needs, but today there wasn’t time. If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss the train. She carefully pulled on the dark silk stockings Charlotte insisted she wear and slipped her feet into a pair of Charlotte’s gray kid shoes. After donning the plaid dress, she arranged her hair.

  Charlotte strolled into the room and assessed her attire. She returned moments later with a wide gray-and-pink silk sash. ‘‘This goes around the waist and ties in the back.’’ She circled the ribbon around Olivia’s waist and tied a faultless double bow. ‘‘There! You look wonderful. Don’t forget the hat.’’

  Olivia turned her back to the mirror and peered over her shoulder. The sash set off the dress to perfection. She adjusted the pink flowers that curved around the wide-brimmed gray hat before placing it on her head. ‘‘I believe I’m ready.’’ Lifting her purse from the bedside table, she thanked Charlotte for her assistance. ‘‘Please don’t be angry with me, but I do wish you’d show Morgan as much attention as you’ve given me these past few minutes.’’

  Charlotte shrugged. ‘‘He can’t walk or talk. All he does is cry. And look at my figure. Having a baby has made me fat.’’

  Olivia hurried down the hallway with Charlotte at her heels. When they reached the front door, Olivia stopped. ‘‘Did you ever consider that your constant eating, rather than your pregnancy, is what has caused you to gain weight? The baby isn’t to blame for any of this, Charlotte. And he doesn’t deserve to be punished because you’re angry with his father. It’s time you thought of someone other than yourself.’’

  Charlotte didn’t respond, and Olivia didn’t have time for further discussion. She could only hope Charlotte would take heed and little Morgan would receive the affection he deserved. A train whistle hooted in the distance, and Olivia left the house, quickening her pace as she crossed Pullman Avenue. She scanned the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Howard. Like her, he may have first stopped at home. She glanced back at 111th Street. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted a lanky young man with red hair race toward the railroad tracks. This had to be more than coincidence. Her hands trembled. Was Eddie keeping her in his sights at all times? Would he wait to see which train she boarded and where she would go? She should have reminded Charlotte to lock the doors.

  Silly! Eddie wasn’t interested in Charlotte or the baby. At the very least, he wanted to frighten her. Hadn’t he said as much? She should have mentioned the earlier sightings to Chef René . At least someone would know about Eddie’s behavior if something should happen to her.

  The train slowed, squealing and hissing as it neared the station.

  ‘‘There you are!’’

  Olivia startled and then breathed a quick sigh of relief when she saw Mr. Howard standing in the doorway of the station. ‘‘I was beginning to worry. Come along. I’ve already purchased our tickets.’’

  Once they’d boarded the train, she peeked out the window and looked for any sign of Eddie. Should she mention her fears to Mr. Howard? She glanced in his direction and decided against the idea. Chef René would be the better choice. After giving him a report of her meeting with Mrs. Pullman, she’d tell him about Eddie.

  ‘‘No need to be frightened. You’ll find Mrs. Pullman very kind. And I have no doubt you are well prepared for the meeting.’’

  Mr. Howard was staring at her trembling hands. She folded them together in a futile attempt to stop the shaking. ‘‘Chef René was most helpful.’’

  He relaxed his shoulders against the leather upholstery. ‘‘Not many employees have the opportunity to visit the Pullman residence. You’re a fortunate young lady.’’ He tilted his head a bit closer. ‘‘I’ve a lovely supper planned. There is a fine restaurant in the Tremont Hotel, where I thought we would dine.’’

  ‘‘Or if we finish early, we could simply return to Pullman.’’ She hoped he would concur. Fred knew of this meeting with Mrs. Pullman and had asked what time she would be back. Though he’d acted as though he was merely inquiring how late his mother might be needed to help Charlotte with young Morgan, she suspected that he wondered much more.

  Mr. Howard’s eager smile faded at her suggestion. ‘‘I thought you’d be pleased by my invitation.’’

  ‘‘Oh, it is most generous of you. But I worry about taking advantage of Mrs. DeVault and thought we could come back . . .’’ Her words trailed off like a vapor.

  He patted her hand. ‘‘You are such a kind young lady . . . always thinking of others. I shall pay Mrs. DeVault for her services this evening. You’ll have no reason to feel guilty, and she’ll be thankful for the unexpected funds. A few extra coins will mean a great deal to her.’’

  Olivia agreed Mrs. DeVault could use the additional income, but his solution would do nothing to solve her problem with Fred. While Mr. Howard chattered about the wonders of Chicago, her mind flitted back and forth between Eddie’s reappearance at the train station and the possibility of a confrontation with Fred. She couldn’t decide which was more harrowing. By the time the train arrived in Chicago, she’d decided she would more easily resolve her problem with Eddie than with Fred. A most distressing thought.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The carriage ride through the streets of Chicago proved as nerve-racking as her earlier trips to and from the train station with Charlotte. She was thankful for Mr. Howard’s presence, for she couldn’t have remained calm in the hubbub of activity otherwise. If anything, the city seemed even more formidable than she remembered. Everything, including carriages, streetcars, trains, buildings, and people, vied for space, and she never knew at any given moment who or what would win the battle. ‘‘This is a frightening city, don’t you think?’’

  ‘‘There are those who say Chicago is much like Pittsburgh: hell with the lid let off. Of course, I tend to disagree.’’

  Olivia wasn’t certain where the city of Pittsburgh was located, but if it was similar to Chicago, it wouldn’t be a place she’d soon want to visit. Once their carriage entered the posh residential area, the clamor of noise and incessant activity settled. Olivia peered out the window at the magnificent mansions of stone and brick, with their ornate roofs and fancy ironwork fences, and compared them to Lanshire Hall. Surprisingly, these houses appeare
d as stately and glorious as some of those belonging to members of the English nobility. Certainly as lovely as the home where she’d previously worked.

  ‘‘This is the Pullman house.’’ The carriage turned into a semicircular driveway that led to a three-story home of stone and brick. Connected to the east side of the house was what looked like a Grecian amphitheater she’d seen in one of Lady Charlotte’s books. She could only imagine what the interior of the house must look like.

  A Negro servant hurried to the coach. As she stepped down, Olivia stared at the huge portico that led to the front door. ‘‘Shouldn’t we go around to the rear of the house?’’

  Mr. Howard adjusted his tie. ‘‘No. I am not a servant, and we are here by invitation. Mrs. Pullman is expecting us, Olivia.’’

  She lowered her voice. ‘‘In England, I would be expected to use the rear door whether I was expected or not.’’

  He grasped her elbow and moved her along. ‘‘This isn’t England.’’

  Of course, he was correct. The maid who took Mr. Howard’s hat certainly welcomed them as though they belonged. Olivia tried to avoid gawking, but from what she’d seen thus far, the Pullman mansion was much grander than anything she’d expected.

  From the entry, she viewed the twin-arched stairway of rich cherrywood winding upward to the second floor. Her heels clicked on the marble floor and echoed through the foyer as the maid led them into a room with thick Brussels carpet and velvet embossed wallpaper. Beautifully tufted gold brocade chairs flanked a marble-topped table, and a plush-cushioned divan was covered in a rich burgundy velvet that matched the wallpaper. Silk pillows rested in the corners of the divan, and a large oil painting of Mr. Pullman and a stately woman hung above the carved mantel. She leaned close to Mr. Howard. ‘‘Is that Mrs. Pullman?’’

  ‘‘Yes. She’s quite a handsome woman, don’t you think?’’