by Jane Steen
“How on earth did you—” She glared at Canavan. “Did you send somebody to tell them?”
Victor Canavan had risen to his feet, his expression one of surprise but not of alarm. His face was still painted with cosmetics, giving him an odd, artificial appearance, although he didn’t need much in the way of enhancement to his thick dark eyebrows and well-marked lips, or the large, straight nose that gave his countenance an arresting manliness.
“My dear young lady, you didn’t even tell me their names. I could not have fetched them.” His voice hung somewhere between hilarity and astonishment as he addressed me. “You find me at a disadvantage, madam. What a peculiar evening this is turning out to be. We have met, I remember, but I do not know your name, and I cannot account for your presence.”
It was time to take matters in hand. “Eleanor Rutherford.” I held out a hand to the actor. “I found you by the merest chance. We came to inquire if they had seen Miss Lombardi here, and I heard her voice.”
“Not the Eleanor Rutherford of the department store? The couturière?” He grasped my hand and held it for a long moment, looking into my eyes.
“The same.” I darted a glance at Thea that was not as forbearing as I would have liked. “Miss Lombardi is our guest.”
Mr. Canavan raised his eyes to the ceiling, let go of my hand, and clapped his palms together. “A perfect rain of fortunate coincidences.” He smiled at me, and I almost smiled back—there was something irresistible about the man, an air of confidence and gaiety and assurance and ease that few men possessed. “I was planning to come to your store to commission some gowns for my ladies.”
“Your ladies?” Did he keep a harem?
“My actresses. I don’t like my seamstress. One cannot sell a dream with such dresses.”
“Then I’m sorry to meet in such circumstances.” I regarded Thea severely and spoke directly to her. “You can’t take up any more of Mr. Canavan’s time. I can’t force you to return to the hotel with us, but it’s either that or we take you to Teddy. You can’t wander the streets. The police will make the worst assumptions.”
“You won’t be too harsh on the young lady, will you?” Mr. Canavan said. “Youth is a season of excessive emotion, as I’m sure you remember.”
“She threw a glass gasolier cover at my daughter’s governess,” I said as steadily as I was able.
“She told me. It was foolish of her—not the least because she’s burned her lovely hands.” Mr. Canavan gestured toward Thea, and I realized her palms were bandaged. “We have applied soothing ointments. Don’t worry, it’s just blisters.”
I closed my eyes for a second. I was utterly exhausted, starving, and drained of all emotion except an overwhelming sense of relief that we had found Thea and this endless day might come to a close. “I won’t punish her.”
“You are a generous soul.” Mr. Canavan put his fingertips on Thea’s shoulders, steering her toward me. “And if you’re a very good girl,” he informed her, “I will arrange for you to attend the dress rehearsal of our new piece. You’ll like it—it’s called The Parrot, and it’s very funny.”
Thea swept past me without looking at me, and I turned to Mr. Canavan. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
“Not at all.” His expression changed, softening beneath the thick greasepaint. “Miss Lombardi told me she is fifteen and has recently lost her parents, and I felt a bond between us. Circumstances were very hard for me at fifteen—harder than you can imagine. Friends of the family helped me to forge a new life amid the ashes of the old. Let’s say I am repaying a debt.”
“So am I.” I held out my hand to shake his. “To her mother.”
“Then we are allies.” To my surprise, he lifted my hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “I look forward to meeting you again—in more businesslike circumstances.”
“I hope Miss Baker didn’t get to bed too late,” I murmured to Martin as he closed the door of our Palmer House parlor. “And I hope Tess is all right.”
“She’d have had a wonderful supper with Billy, and I doubt Miss Baker would tell her about the business with Thea. Talking of whom—she’s in her room, I presume?”
Martin had left me and Thea to return to our suite while he arranged for food to be sent up. I was by now so tired that I barely had the energy to move my legs and would have gone straight to bed myself if Martin hadn’t insisted I eat too.
“Yes, she didn’t want anything to eat.” I yawned, trying to get comfortable in my armchair and wishing I could undress and go to bed. “I imagine she’s under the covers by now.” I glanced at the door, under which a narrow strip of light showed. “But not asleep—her lamp’s still on.”
“Good.” Martin headed toward the door in question.
“Oh no, darling.” I threw out a hand to stop my husband. “You’re not going to—can’t we do this tomorrow?”
“No,” Martin said curtly. He knocked, not as quietly as I would have liked.
“But Sarah and Tess—”
“I don’t care.” Martin knocked again.
“What do you want?” Thea’s voice, none too friendly, sounded from within.
“I’d like to talk to you.” Martin’s tone was the sort that did not brook argument. It always worked far more efficiently with Sarah than any remonstrations on my part.
There was silence. Thea had been nicer to Martin than to any of us, and I wondered if she was weighing the alternatives of withstanding the oncoming lecture—knowing his bark to be far worse than his bite—or refusing to talk to him and breaking the one relationship she seemed eager to cultivate.
I had my answer when the door opened. Thea had donned a salmon-pink Japanese kimono I had chosen for her out of a gorgeous shipment from San Francisco; it hung open over her pintucked and ruffled nightdress, from beneath which peeked satin slippers of deep plum. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders almost to her waist, each section ending in a twist of pretty curls. From the way she was running her fingers through one side of her locks, I surmised that she had been braiding them for bed but had decided to present us with a less childlike image of herself. Against the paleness of her face, her thickly lashed eyes looked huge. Her delicately tinted lips were arranged into a neutrally pleasant expression.
But she didn’t know Martin’s moods as I did—had not seen my husband when he was deprived of food for too long after a truly exasperating day. I would not intervene, I decided. I curled my fingers around the plush velvet armrests of my chair and waited.
“That is the last time you ever speak to my daughter about the subject you broached.” Martin’s voice was quiet, but it held an edge of steel.
Thea’s mouth straightened into an entirely different expression, but she held her nerve. “She’s not your daughter.”
If she’d been a man, Martin would have hit her; I saw that from the curling of his fist. Thea was very fortunate that Martin would never lay a finger on a woman. “She is my daughter in the eyes of the law.” The fingers straightened and clenched again. “I have adopted her, and she is my daughter in my eyes and in every sense of the word. You will not speak to her in that way again. You will not attack any member of my household—family or staff.” His back was rigid. “You will speak to my wife with courtesy and gratitude for her generosity. You will remember that she was the one who urged me to take you in.”
“But you offered me a home.” A little dismay crept into Thea’s expression.
“I did, but I would have left you to your own devices had Nell not so wanted to help you. I was of the opinion that Teddy could look after you perfectly well by yourself.”
“I don’t need looking after.” The child showed from behind the woman’s façade. “I had to look after everybody else and everything else at the mission—Lucy and the house and those snot-nosed, lice-ridden brats those women kept bringing to us to teach. Women who didn’t have a husband, and half of them never had one in their lives. Women that Mamma should have turned away, except she was too busy being
a saint.” She glared at me; I realized that only Martin’s glowering presence kept her from saying, “Women like her,” but the thought was plain on her face.
“Never mind that.” Martin’s voice became harsher. “Your actions today show that you not only need looking after, you need correction. That man Canavan is a stranger to us, and he might have been anything but the gentleman he showed himself to be this evening. Although even then he might not have been a gentleman if you’d stayed much longer. Don’t you understand?” Martin’s voice rose in exasperation. “I suppose your mother never warned you.”
“About men?” Thea laughed. “Or about the things women and men do? Do you think I didn’t see things and hear things out there in that coarse, ugly country? And you needn’t worry about my wanting to do those things with anyone. I’m not ending up like her.” This time she did directly address the words to me, spitting the last one out with bitter vehemence.
“You will not—” Martin roared, taking a step forward.
“Martin, please.” I was at his side in an instant, not even knowing how I’d gotten there so fast. I sank my fingers into the cloth of his jacket, but the anger that had propelled him forward was held in check, and he stopped. I could feel his arm trembling.
“She’s right.” I looked up into the darkness in Martin’s eyes and then at Thea, who had held her ground. “I don’t understand why she hates me so much, but I can at least be an example to her of where wrongdoing leads. I was a foolish girl who didn’t think about what I was doing,” I said to Thea. “I wronged myself and others, including Sarah. I’ve repented ever since—and never done such a thing again. You’re right to despise me, but it’s not Sarah’s fault. How can you hate such a little girl so?”
“Because she’s had everything. Your little princess.” Thea’s face was perfectly white. “You’ve had everything, and you don’t deserve it. And we lived like paupers and darned and scraped and never had enough to eat because Pa was always giving our food to some dirty half-breed—” She stopped, sucking in a deep, ragged breath.
“I would have happily shared my money with your family,” I said as steadily as I could. “I offered your parents help more than once.”
Thea let out a sound like a half-smothered scream, and at last I saw the tears come to her eyes. “Just a little longer. Just a little longer. That’s all they ever said when I begged to leave—to go home. We’re stronger together as a family, they said. But it wasn’t true.” Tears slid down her smooth cheeks and ran into her gritted teeth. “We were the laughingstock of the whole stupid territory with its stupid farms and silly, dough-faced girls with enormous arms and fat bottoms.”
She ran into her bedroom, throwing herself onto the bed and pulling a pillow over her head. I shook my head at Martin, mutely begging him to stay outside, and followed her in.
“I’m so sorry.” I bent down so she could hear me. “I know what it’s like to lose your parents when you’re young—and I lost a little brother too when he was born. I understand that you hurt, but time will help you. I’ll help you, however I can. I want to be a friend to you, Thea—and I want to help you honor your parents’ memory.”
The pillow lifted, and a pair of bloodshot eyes stared at me from behind a screen of shining auburn hair. The lashes were wet and stuck together, looking even darker and longer than usual.
“I don’t want to honor their memory. I hate them.”
“You know that’s not true.” I put out a hand to stroke the beautiful hair. “You can’t hate your parents.”
“Oh yes, you can.” Thea’s voice was raw and hoarse. “When they take everything away from you. I had a happy life, a pleasant home, Nonna to take care of us, and they took it all away. I had friends, and I lost all of them. We were something, and now I’m nothing—just a nobody who doesn’t belong here. I had a sister—I didn’t hate her.” She snuffled. “She was always sweet to me, however cross I got. But I was losing her every day because she was going to die out there. I begged them to take us home. And now they’re dead, and all I’m left with is you, and I won’t like you however nice you try to be. Mamma loved stupid fallen women like you more than she loved us. She was as hateful as Pa because they thought being saints was more important than us.”
“Oh, Thea.” I sat on the bed and put an arm around her trembling shoulders. “I’m so, so sorry.” There were tears in my voice. “It breaks my heart to see you like this. But I promise you, I won’t desert you however cross you get with me. I know you think right now that you’ll never be happy again, but you will find happiness.” I caressed her shoulder. “Whatever I can do for you, I will do. I swear it.”
Thea moved, and for a moment I thought I was going to be able to gather her into my arms. But with a swift movement she twisted away from me, so quickly that she left some strands of long, silky hair in my fingers. She retreated as far away as she could and aimed a kick at me with one small foot.
“Go away. Just go away. If you want to make me happy, just do that. Leave me alone. You’re. Not. My. Mother.”
17
Inspiration
“She can’t possibly stay, you know.” Martin shucked off his jacket and threw it onto a chair before turning to close the door of our bedroom.
My back stiffened, but I waited for the door to close before I turned toward my husband. We’d eaten in silence, all too aware of the muffled sound of Thea’s sobbing before she eventually continued her preparations to go to bed.
“How can we send her away?” Exhaustion roughened my voice. “I just promised her I won’t desert her. It will get better.”
“But she’s tearing our family apart.” Martin took off his collar and massaged his neck where a faint red line showed. “How can we allow her to destroy our peace and happiness?”
I was silent as I reached for my buttonhook and sat down to remove my boots. Martin would have to help me take off my dress—we generally found this procedure most gratifying, but we were both too tired to derive pleasure from it after the emotions of the day. I could hear him removing his shoes, sock garters, and socks as I concentrated on my own task, allowing myself a little time to think. Martin was right, of course—Thea was destroying the harmony of our household. We had made a mistake in inviting her to stay; but how would we rectify it?
“Perhaps she’ll be happier once we’re in our new home,” I said once I’d finished taking off my boots and had reached up to remove my garters and roll my stockings down my legs. “She’ll have more space. It must be hard living so close to people who are almost strangers to her.”
But I wasn’t convinced by what I was saying, and my tone reflected my doubts. I straightened up to see Martin laying his cufflinks, watch, tiepin, and the contents of his pockets on the dressing table and caught the wry look that said he had little hope of improvement either.
“I forgot to tell you,” Martin said as he pulled me to my feet, ready to help with the various strings, buttons, lacings, and layers of fabric that lay beneath my day dress. “There’s been another burglary. At Field & Leiter’s—they broke in through the wall and blew the lock off the safe. The principal item stolen was a ruby necklace ordered for Mrs. Robson De Luca. They were keeping it for her until she returned from London next month.”
His eyes narrowed in reflection, and he paused in the act of undoing my bodice, fingering the faint stubble on his chin. “I’m going to take Marshall Field out for lunch and ask him some questions. He rarely deals in such expensive jewelry, and I find it odd that a burglary happened just when he was storing such a piece. I want to tell him about my vault too.”
“You might regret your plans to sell better jewelry.” I hid an enormous yawn behind my hand.
“Ah, but I have a safe room.” Martin gave me a tired grin. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I will be making lists. We’re moving to a new house in less than a month and moving the atelier to the new store shortly after, and I simply must start organizing. And if we’re to hold a
Thanksgiving dinner—with a new staff—I can’t leave anything to chance, not even for the simple affair I have in mind. Maybe I could involve Thea in the planning.”
“You never give up, do you?” Martin kissed both of my cheeks, then my mouth.
“I’m not given to despair.” I turned my face into his shoulder to hide another yawn. “I will find a solution to the problem of Thea.”
“I’ve had an idea,” I announced when Martin came to my office late the next afternoon. “Let’s start walking—we promised Sarah we’d be home early, and after yesterday she must be anxious. I’ll tell you once we’re in the street.”
Five minutes later, we were heading north toward the Palmer House. The light was already fading, and there was a distinct nip in the air.
“I always enjoy being alone with you.” Martin drew my arm a little farther through his.
“If you call this ‘alone,’ you are a true citizen of Chicago.” I surveyed the crowded sidewalk, from which people were spilling out onto the pavement. “Listen, I’m dying to get your opinion of my idea for Thea. I started off by remembering myself seven years ago. I concede I wasn’t perhaps the best-behaved of young women.”
“You were a paragon of politeness and good temper compared with Miss Lombardi.”
“Don’t interrupt and stop grinning like that. What, in the end, was the making of me?”
Martin frowned, slowing his steps as he tried to puzzle out my riddle. “Sarah?” He lowered his voice. “The Poor Farm?”
“You’re partly right, but not in the way you’re thinking. The Poor Farm was a salutary experience, and Sarah changed my life—but I had begun to change before Sarah was born.”
“How?”
“The work. It was having work to do that changed me, Martin. I went from being a spoiled girl to having genuine responsibilities—work that I liked.”