The Shadow Palace

by Jane Steen

  “You’ll be perfectly happy at the Palmer House while you look around you,” said Mrs. Parnell kindly. “And we’re almost there. To answer your first question, Miss O’Dugan, this is indeed State Street, which some call the Great Street. Although if you’ve seen New York, you won’t think it so grand. Chicago is a practical city rather than a beautiful one as yet, I fear. I wonder,” she continued, looking at me, “if you all might not take tea with me at four? In the Grand Parlor—just ask any of the hotel employees to show you the way. I can introduce you to my daughter. Unless, that is, you have other acquaintances in Chicago you are eager to see.”

  “None I think are actually in Chicago at this moment.” My last letter to Martin had gone unanswered, from which I’d surmised he was traveling. Time enough to ascertain his whereabouts once we’d settled in. Truth be told, I was a little nervous about our first meeting on his home ground. Would things have changed between us?

  “I’d be delighted to take tea with you and meet your daughter,” I said to Mrs. Parnell. “You’re kind to take us under your wing.”

  The noises of the street diminished abruptly as the carriage pulled into some sort of sheltered courtyard. Sarah let out a squeak of excitement.

  “Momma! Is this the hotel?”

  “I think it must be.” The other passengers had all begun to look around themselves for belongings in the manner of people who were ending a journey. Mrs. Parnell reached up to ensure her hat was in the right position, and as the carriage came to a halt, she stood, smiling down at Sarah.

  “You’ve reached your new home, young lady. I hope you like it.”

  Sarah hopped nimbly down from the bench and looked Mrs. Parnell in the face for the first time. “I’m sorry I kicked you, ma’am,” she said, making a small curtsey. “I guess I really am just too excited to stay still.”

  “That’s quite understandable,” Mrs. Parnell said. “And now, since fate appears to have put you, as Mrs. Lillington said, under my wing, come with me. I have my preferences among the concierges at the Palmer House and intend to put you in the hands of Mr. Harman. He’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

  It was some twenty minutes before we saw our suite of rooms at the Palmer House, but they were a fruitful twenty minutes. I thanked Providence for Mrs. Parnell. She had, as she’d promised, found us a competent concierge. Observing that we had no maid with us, she suggested one of the hotel’s femmes de chambre to help us unpack and perform any other services we might need. Last but not least, Mrs. Parnell challenged the concierge over the rooms they had designated for us. She insisted that they would receive odors from the kitchen and were quite unsuitable for ladies. The concierge agreed and secured us rooms that, he assured us, were the best to be had.

  Having performed these valuable services, Mrs. Parnell—with her own femme de chambre, with whom she seemed well acquainted, hovering at her elbow—reminded us of our engagement for tea at four o’clock, and took her leave. Our concierge led us to the elevators—still a novelty to the three of us—and thus to the third floor. After a short walk along an ornately decorated corridor, he ushered us into our newly reserved suite.

  “It’s very grand,” said Tess the moment the man had closed the door behind him, promising to send the femme de chambre up immediately.

  “Land sakes, Momma, we’re living in a palace,” Sarah breathed. “Where are the beds?”

  “We have a parlor and two bedrooms,” I explained. “A large one with two beds and a smaller room with one. I thought Tess could have the small room, and you could be with me—” But Sarah had already broken away from me and was running around inspecting the furniture and opening doors.

  In point of fact, our living space had just increased fourfold. At least. Our plainly furnished room in the Eternal Life Seminary was dwarfed by this richly appointed suite, all polished wood and red-and-brown plush upholstery. It cost the unthinkable sum of eight dollars and forty cents a day—precisely two weeks’ worth of our original earnings at the seminary. And from the last accounting Martin had sent me, I knew we could easily afford it. The money I had made through my dressmaking business in Kansas alone would have bought us comfortable rooms and a little time to look about us, but thanks to Martin’s management of my small inheritance, I was back in the world of affluence in which I’d been raised.

  Sarah had disappeared and would presumably soon be back to tell us about the bedrooms. I crossed to the large mirror over the marble fireplace and located my hatpin, carefully separating hat from curls. Tess untied the strings of her hat—her hair was too fine for pins—and lifted it off her head.

  We both jumped as a shriek—an oddly echoing shriek—sounded from somewhere close by.

  “MOMMA! TESS!”

  Tess bustled off in the direction of the shout, and I followed. We found ourselves in a room lined with blue-and-white tiles. My daughter was standing on a chair before a large porcelain basin, turning the faucet on and off. A bathroom with piped water, and only the three of us to use it. My spirits soared.

  “And look at this—much nicer than the ones in the station or the other hotels.” Sarah jumped down from the chair and pulled me into a much smaller room. A gleaming porcelain convenience, decorated in blue and white to match the tiles and surmounted by a sturdy oak seat, sat in splendor.

  Tess grinned. “With a pull chain and everything—no more chamber pots, Sarah! And did you see we have gaslights? We’re very grand now.”

  A knock on the door interrupted our admiration of our new facility, which Sarah had hastily decided she had to use, no doubt as a consequence of playing with the water faucets. The interruption was the femme de chambre, a pleasant Scotswoman named Alice, whom I liked immediately. And, miracle of miracles, Alice was followed by the trunk containing our afternoon dresses, which I had marked as for immediate use. The next forty minutes passed in washing and tidying ourselves and changing into the dresses. By half past three, I was sitting—in my combinations and petticoat so as not to crush my dress—before a mirror watching Alice work wonders with my hair.

  “Such a fine head of hair.” Alice pushed the last pin into the chignon she’d created. “You’ll never need a switch to bulk it out.” Her Scots accent had been a little difficult to understand at first, but I was attuned to it now. “Hold still, Madam.”

  I did as I was told as Alice retrieved the curling iron from the fireplace and persuaded my unruly curls into smooth ringlets that cascaded over my shoulders.

  “Goodness, that’s far more fashionable than anything I can achieve on my own.” I looked up and saw Alice’s mouth twitch as her eyes met mine in the mirror. “We must seem very countrified to you, I suppose.”

  “We get plenty of folks who’ve made a fortune on the frontier, Madam.” Alice held out the skirt of my two-piece dress for me to step into. “Your clothes are lovely; you won’t look out of place among the best in Chicago.” She beamed at Sarah, who was twirling the skirt of her light blue dress, trimmed in white, looking fresh and dainty with a pale blue ribbon in her hair. “You’ll all do fine. Miss O’Dugan, may I clean your spectacles?”

  Tess removed her spectacles and peered at the glass. “I suppose they do need washing.” She looked pretty in her pink and gray. Our dresses were perhaps a little lightweight for Chicago in March, but I’d guessed correctly that the hotel would be well heated. I wasn’t intending to go anywhere else until we’d had a good rest.

  “No, Sarah, you can’t wash Tess’s spectacles. You’ll get your dress wet,” I said, seeing my daughter look hopefully at Alice.

  The task accomplished, I stood still as Alice buttoned the bodice of my silk dress. It was in two shades of blue and quite new, as were all our clothes. I had put a great deal of thought into our first steps in Chicago. We were heading into a completely new life and would undoubtedly make mistakes, but we had nothing to be ashamed of in terms of our manners, dress, or wealth. And money, if I had understood Martin well, counted for a great deal in Chicago. He
had made me wealthy. Whatever happened between us, I would return the favor by making him proud of me.

  3

  Freedom

  Alice gave me precise instructions on how to find the Grand Parlor before she released us, intending to stay behind and await the arrival of the rest of our trunks. So we had leisure to appreciate the sheer size of the Palmer House’s grand hall with its sweeping staircase. Alice had been adamant that we proceed downstairs by way of the staircase so that our dresses would show to best advantage. Below us, well-dressed people scurried between the columns that supported the heavily decorated ceiling.

  “They look like mice in a cage,” Sarah whispered as we began our descent. I was holding her hand fast, not from fear that she would fall—with her shorter skirts, she didn’t have to hold the handrail as we both did—but to prevent her from scampering away from me.

  “When have you seen mice in a cage?” I was often surprised by Sarah’s astuteness. Growing up almost exclusively with people much older than her and being so fond of having books read to her, she had a vocabulary and imagination that would not shame a ten-year-old. She wasn’t good with her hands and showed little talent in the simple drawing and needlework tasks I’d set her, but her thirst for learning was fast outstripping my abilities as a teacher.

  “Mr. Boneham had some, remember? One of them bit my finger.”

  “Ah.” Mr. Boneham had been one of the seminary’s older students by the time we’d left, and his interest in the fauna of the plains consisted of trapping small animals and keeping them imprisoned until they died, no doubt of fear. I had not been fond of Mr. Boneham.

  “The Grand Parlor must be over there.” I looked round to ensure Tess was not left behind. The three of us proceeded unhurriedly in the direction of what turned out to be another excessively large room. This one was lit by many windows trimmed in scarlet drapes that ran from ceiling to floor. Thank heaven, the armchairs and tables were arranged into cozy groups, lending the overpowering room a more homey air.

  “Do you see Mrs. Parnell?” I could see Sarah was itching to run up and down the expanse of figured carpet. I’d have to find a park for her to play in.

  “This room is so big I can’t see anyone,” Tess replied. “The people all jumble up in my head.”

  “I feel the same way too,” I admitted. “It’s hard to become accustomed to so many people all at once. I suppose we should stroll between the tables until we spot her.”

  “I hope it’s soon,” Sarah piped up. “Because I could eat a whole hog. Oh, I wish I had some of Netta’s cornbread and fried-up bacon right now.”

  My stomach agreed with a growl. Traveling involved meals at irregular hours, and our last one had been some time ago. I distracted myself by observing the bobbing hats and flounced skirts of the women seated in chattering groups. I noted new details of dress as I invariably did when my mind wasn’t immediately occupied with something else.

  “Mrs. Lillington?” The voice came from a group of armchairs we had just passed. I turned on my heel, blushing as I realized I’d completely missed seeing my new acquaintance.

  “I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you.” I caught at Sarah’s hand, turning her in the right direction as the two ladies rose gracefully to their feet.

  “No reason why you should, my dear. It’s always hard to spot a recent acquaintance in a crowd, especially when they’ve changed their dress. And talking of dress, you all look charming.” She sounded quite sincere. “Now allow me to present my daughter, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, this is Mrs. Lillington, Sarah Lillington, and Miss O’Dugan, newly arrived from Kansas.”

  I held out my hand toward the younger woman, who was indeed about my age. Elizabeth Parnell had the same sharp blue eyes as her mother, but the resemblance stopped there. Where Mrs. Parnell’s hair was mid-brown and her face and figure on the lean and angular side, Miss Parnell was a robust, buxom young woman with corn-blond hair and softly rounded cheeks. She looked like a pretty farmer’s daughter, albeit one dressed in silk, with her uptilted nose and fresh complexion glowing with healthy color. Her smile was cheerful and open, and she shook my hand with vigor.

  “I’m the unmarried daughter,” she said with emphasis. “I’ll bet Mother has already referred to me as such.”

  “Don’t be vulgar, my love. Ladies never bet.” Mrs. Parnell waved us into the empty chairs, and we all seated ourselves, the Parnell ladies and I taking great care with our skirts.

  “Such an enormous room,” I remarked conventionally, and Miss Parnell took up the theme with gusto.

  “Dreadful place, isn’t it?” she said. “Like a factory for feeding and housing hens and turkey-cocks. I’m always telling Mother it would be better to take a house in Chicago, but she insists that wouldn’t be thrifty. My mother’s still living in the days when she and Father lived in a boardinghouse, I think.” She gave her mother’s arm an affectionate squeeze, at the same time signaling to a passing white-jacketed waiter. “Tea for five, please, with plenty of sandwiches and cakes.”

  “My dear girl,” said Mrs. Parnell to her daughter, “the day you have to arrange to move a household of servants back and forth between one house and another is the day you’ll understand what a bother two houses are. There’s always so much complaining, and things always get lost. Here, I have my favorite femme de chambre at hand and can simply enjoy myself without having to worry about what to order for dinner or fret over two sets of household accounts.”

  Tess’s eyes gleamed. “I would love the accounts. When Nell takes a house, I’m going to be in charge of the ledgers. I know how to do it.”

  “Do you, Miss O’Dugan? How clever of you.” Miss Parnell turned to Tess with a smile. “Don’t you find it a terrible bore?”

  “I’m never bored.” Tess’s brow wrinkled. It was true—discontent was not one of Tess’s failings.

  “Sarah, darling, don’t fidget so.” I helped Sarah into a more comfortable position on her chair since her feet didn’t touch the carpet. “I know you’ve had to sit still all day, but when you’ve eaten, you can go back to our rooms and play. And tomorrow we’ll find a place where you can run around outdoors. Is there a park anywhere nearby?” I asked the ladies.

  “Lake Park is just two blocks away,” said Miss Parnell. “I’m sure Mother can spare me tomorrow morning—why don’t I show you? It’s not particularly pretty, of course.”

  “Chicago,” said Mrs. Parnell in an arch tone, “is woefully devoid of anything but commerce. Such a beautiful blue lake, and what do they put in front of it? A railroad. The Great Fire gave us an excellent opportunity to set things right, but we let the businessmen rebuild as they liked and left out the public buildings altogether. If a few of us hadn’t insisted, Lake Park wouldn’t even exist.”

  “You’ve hit on one of Mother’s hobbyhorses,” said Miss Parnell cheerfully. “She’s on all kinds of committees for providing the people of Chicago with culture and refinement. Of course, it’s the same ladies who have the leisure to sit on committees who will benefit from the culture. I can’t imagine that most of the ordinary people will go to the opera.”

  Tea arrived, and the diversion of cakes and sandwiches—quite good, I was glad to find—headed off what was clearly a well-rehearsed difference of opinion. Sarah hadn’t been wrong in saying she could eat a whole hog; I’d taught her not to load her plate, but her visits to the tiered platters of food were stealthy and frequent. I noticed with amusement that Miss Parnell almost matched her pace.

  “My grandmother lived in Chicago when it was little more than a trading post,” I told the older lady. “She often told me about standing with my mother on her hip, watching the Indians perform their last dance before they left the town forever.”

  Mrs. Parnell’s gaze sharpened. “You have Chicago antecedents? Mrs. Lillington, you’re quite the enigma. Pray explain to me how you came to be in Kansas. Was it because of your husband?”

  A qualm assailed me—was I never going to be rid of the specter of my i
maginary late spouse? But fortunately Sarah was talking to Tess and hadn’t heard.

  “I was brought up in Victory. My grandparents moved there before the war,” I explained. “In ’72 I found myself alone and short of money. We went to Kansas so that I could take up a post as a seamstress in a seminary.” I stared steadily at Mrs. Parnell as I made this admission, hoping she wasn’t going to turn out to be a snob. But it seemed she had other questions on her mind.

  “You must have prospered, to be staying at the Palmer House.” Mrs. Parnell’s brows knitted.

  “I built up a dressmaking business when I wasn’t busy with the seminary’s work, and I did well,” I said. “But mostly—Sarah, darling, it’s rude to interrupt.” A peremptory tug on my sleeve caused me to lose my train of thought.

  “I need to be excused, Momma. And Tess would like to go back to our rooms too. May we?”

  There were some departing courtesies to be got through, but Sarah was in a hurry and they were soon heading—fast—toward the door.

  “I hope they won’t get lost,” said Mrs. Parnell, gazing after them. “Such a sweet little girl, and Miss O’Dugan is quite—well, I don’t wish to sound unflattering, but quite unexpected. Is she a relative of yours?”

  “A friend I met before my mother died,” I said. “She has nobody else in the world, and she’s been a godsend to me. As I was starting to tell you, I owe most of my wealth to an old childhood friend. I inherited a small capital, and he has multiplied it. It was his suggestion that we come to Chicago for a while, to get used to our new life and decide what we’re going to do.” I felt myself blush, just a little, but plowed ahead with determination. “When I went to Kansas, he was just starting out in Chicago as a merchant. Mr. Martin Rutherford, of Rutherford’s store. Do you know it?”

  “Every woman in Chicago knows Rutherford’s,” Miss Parnell said. “Mother prefers her own dressmaker, but she’s kind enough to let me have my dresses made at Rutherford’s. Her dear old Mrs. Chester doesn’t know how to dress a young lady of fashion. And my sister, Frances, is great friends with Mrs. Grace Fairgrieve of New York, who was a schoolgirl friend of Mrs. Rutherford, so we have met Mr. Rutherford. He seems like a nice man, and Mrs. Rutherford is terribly well known in Chicago society. Mr. Rutherford made quite a catch by marrying the Gambarelli heiress.”