After they walked up the marble steps and into the grand building, Reid guided them to a gallery on the left. Then, as he stood in front of a collection of Italian Renaissance paintings, he asked, “Have you discovered anything new?”
“Well, I met a street vendor, a woman.” Briefly she told him about the flower girl Minerva. She told him she had seemed particularly observant, but, of course, Rosalind didn’t know her well enough to pry for more information. “I’m going to visit her again as soon as I can. Perhaps we can develop a friendship.”
“That is a good idea, Rosalind,” he said as he guided her into another one of the one hundred forty rooms. She looked around with interest, enjoying the sights, but truly unable to think of anything other than their conversation. “There is one other item I should probably mention.”
“What is that?”
She scanned the area around them and saw that most people were ignoring them. However, one or two ladies were watching her converse with Reid with curious expressions. That made her even more aware of the need to tell Reid about her conversation with Jim as well as relay Jerome’s snide remarks. She did so as quickly as she could.
To her amusement, Reid was incredulous. “I am a gentleman. I would never set my designs upon you.”
“Yes, sir. But unfortunately, my reputation is not quite as stellar. Everyone would believe that I had designs on you.”
“What would you like me to do to repair your reputation?”
“Nothing at all. If you make too much of a fuss about our innocent relationship, it will only cause more speculation.”
“But still, I hate to think of you being subjected to such things.”
“Mr. Armstrong, don’t forget, my sister has gone missing. I fear she’s been subjected to much worse than gossip and speculation.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “We should probably start walking back now. Take my arm.”
Noticing the ladies’ continued interest, she whispered, “Mr. Armstrong, for our affiliation to continue, you mustn’t be so familiar with me.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You need to treat me like a servant, Mr. Armstrong,” she murmured. “People must suspect nothing about our conversations.” She tilted her head toward the ladies in a meaningful way.
He glanced behind him, sent the ladies a decidedly cool appraisal, then turned back to her with yet another glacial stare. She would have giggled if their cover wasn’t so important.
When they walked out into the sun again, Reid smiled at her. “Never has two hours gone by so quickly.”
“I feel the same way.”
“I will be attending a meeting in a home just down the street from Sloane House. Douglass won’t be there. I thought I would bring up your sister’s name to see if it raises any suspicions.”
“Do you really think someone will remember a maid?”
“It’s worth a try. I feel certain that someone knows something about what happened to Miranda. Sooner or later, we’ll discover who that person is.”
She liked that he used the word we. “I hope so.”
As they meandered back toward Wooded Island, they passed a street seller selling glasses of lemonade. Reid purchased two of them. She sipped gratefully, then smiled. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
He smiled softly. “Your enthusiasm is a delight to behold.”
She met his gaze, feeling something special and meaningful between them again. She hated to imagine it was anything other than a mutual need to help another person. But she felt so alone in the world that she was willing to grasp at most anything to keep her spirits alive.
She felt her neck and cheeks heat. Embarrassed about her feelings, she looked toward a trio of benches just on the edge of Wooded Island. “Oh, thank goodness. There’s Nanci,” she said, waving a hand in her direction.
Nanci, however, merely gazed at her with an empty, glassy stare. Mr. Sloane was nowhere near.
“I wonder what happened to Mr. Sloane,” she mused. But as they got closer to Nanci, Rosalind had a dark suspicion that something terrible had transpired with her friend.
Reid followed her gaze, then stiffened and muttered something under his breath.
When they reached Nanci’s side, Rosalind saw that her eyes were tear-filled, her hair was slightly mussed, and her lips were swollen. After catching Reid’s gaze, Nanci tucked her chin in obvious embarrassment.
Reid cleared his throat. “May I escort you ladies back to Sloane house?”
Abruptly, Nanci got to her feet. “Thank you, but I believe we will be more than fine on our own.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Reid flashed a concerned look at Rosalind. “Is that what you want?”
She didn’t know what she wanted, but she felt she needed to follow Nanci’s lead. Nanci needed her—and her trust. “Yes, Mr. Armstrong. Thank you for your company and for the offer, but we will be fine.”
He hesitated, then tipped his hat and walked away.
Standing next to Nanci, Rosalind reached for her hand. “Tell me what you would like to do.”
“Leave here. Leave Chicago.” She raised a brow. “Leave my life?”
“Nanci, what in the world happened? Why are you crying? What happened to Mr. Sloane?”
She swiped at her eyes. “Not here.” She circled her arm through Rosalind’s and tugged. “Let’s go to the Women’s Building.”
“All right,” Rosalind said, though she privately thought that sounded like a terrible idea. “If you are sure that is what you wish to do. Do . . . do you know where Mr. Sloane went?” she asked again.
“Douglass? Oh yes. He went away.” She leveled her gaze on Rosalind. “You see, he only came to explore the island. Now that he has? He couldn’t get away fast enough.”
“Nanci, if he acted inappropriately—”
Nanci turned to her, disdain heavy in her eyes. “What don’t you understand? We are not part of the Michigan Avenue crowd. We will never be part of society. No matter how much we might smile or how attractive the gentlemen might think us, we’re nothing.”
Rosalind flinched. “We are more than that.”
“Not where it counts.” Glancing around them, Nanci’s voice filled with enmity. “At the end of the day, Rosalind, we are merely two girls who bow and scrape to their betters because we are very lucky to have jobs.”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“How can we even seem ungrateful? Haven’t you heard that people are going hungry?”
Anger for the situation, anger for Nanci’s deriding comments, fueled her temper. “So why did you agree to meet Douglass then?” Rosalind asked pointedly. “If you know Douglass will never think of you as more than a servant in his house, why did you spend time alone with him?”
Nanci shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t understand Rosalind’s naïveté. “Because I’m not dead. Yet.”
Nanci’s words shook Rosalind to the core. And they set off a spark of questions. “Is this what happened to Miranda? Did she get too close to Douglass and he abused her?”
Nanci jerked her head to the side. “Why does it always go back to Miranda? Why do you even care?”
“Because someone should.”
Nanci’s eyes flashed fury. Then, little by little, her expression eased, as if she, too, had just realized how wrong it was for a single girl to disappear and no one to lift a finger to find her.
“I don’t know if she was ever with Douglass,” she said finally. “Maybe she was.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with her disappearance? Do you think maybe he made her leave?”
Nanci’s eyes widened as she considered that possibility, and then she shook her head. “No.”
Though they were walking at a fast pace, Rosalind didn’t dare leave their conversation. “Why not?”
“Because he doesn’t work that way. Douglass Sloane is an indolent gentleman. He can be amusing and wicked and gre
at fun. But he knows one thing more than anything else: his legacy is the Sloane name and the home that has housed generations of his ancestors. He knows what he has to do to keep it.”
“And what is that?”
“He must marry a society girl who will increase the family’s wealth and place in society. For him to get one of those debutantes, he must keep his reputation on this side of respectable.”
“In other words, he can be bad, but not too bad.”
“That is exactly it,” Nanci said bitterly. “He can do most anything . . . as long as he doesn’t get caught.”
They were almost at the Women’s Building now. Rosalind knew that once the conversation ended, there would be no opportunity to open it again. Unlike hers, Nanci’s life was destined to be in the grand house. “If he’s so worried about getting a real lady for a wife, I don’t understand why he would treat you so poorly.”
“Why?”
“Well, he must know you could complain to Mrs. Abrams. Or even to his mother.”
Nanci glared at her, then pulled her to a grassy section of lawn on the left of the building. “I’m only going to say this one last time, Rosalind, and I hope you hear what I’m saying at long last. Girls like you and me do not count. If we complain? We will get fired.”
Rosalind felt her skin pale. “And Douglass knows that.”
Nanci sniffed before turning around and stepping up the white steps into the building. “Not just Douglass,” she murmured over her shoulder. “Everyone. Everyone knows this.”
“Don’t say a word about this to anyone, do you hear me? If I ever hear that you did? I promise, I will never forgive you.”
Rosalind nodded. Then, feeling miserable, she followed Nanci into the Women’s Building.
She had a feeling she had just lost her only real woman friend in Chicago.
CHAPTER 15
Four days later, Rosalind was still worrying about Nanci. Her friend and roommate was having trouble sleeping. More than once Rosalind had been awakened by Nanci’s crying out in her sleep.
The mornings, however, were a different story. Every time Rosalind tried to talk to Nanci about her nightmares, Nanci would deny that anything was wrong. Even though she now had dark smudges under her eyes and little appetite, she refused to discuss what had happened with her and Douglass during the two hours they were alone.
Coming from a large family, Rosalind was a firm believer in discussing problems. Keeping secrets was never a good idea, especially if they festered over days and weeks. And now, other people were starting to notice Nanci’s short temper and lackluster spirit.
Finally Rosalind couldn’t take it anymore. They were in Mrs. Abrams’ sitting room mending stockings and sheets. When Rosalind looked over and saw Nanci’s large, uneven stitches, she knew she was going to have to redo them.
“Nanci, why don’t you close your eyes and rest for a few minutes while I redo that seam?”
“There is no need to redo anything. My work is fine.”
Rosalind pointed out the obvious. The material around the seam was gathered in an odd spot. In the condition it was in, not even the lowest scullery maid would wear the stocking. Certainly Mrs. Sloane would not.
“You know this isn’t good enough.”
“Well, now. Aren’t you just the perfect lady? What have you decided? That because you have struck up a conversation with Mr. Armstrong, you now have every right to boss me about?”
Rosalind was completely taken aback. “I’m trying to help you. Can’t you see that?”
“I was doing just fine before you entered the house. I will be that way long after you leave too.”
“Why would you think I’d be leaving?”
A true wariness entered her eyes. “No reason.”
Setting the stocking she was darning to one side, Rosalind said, “What really happened between you and Mr. Sloane at the fair?”
Nanci paled. “That is none of your concern.”
“I think it might be. You’re making mistakes that I could be blamed for.”
Nanci sniffed. “Everything that goes on in this house is not your business. In fact, it would be better if you kept your nose out of other people’s business entirely. The sooner, the better.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, you might just find yourself out of a job. Or gone.”
“Gone?”
The flicker of unease Rosalind had started to feel grew stronger. To stop her hands from shaking, she clenched them into tight fists. “Nanci, you know a lot more about Miranda’s disappearance than you’ve let on, don’t you?”
“Why are you so fixated on that girl? She isn’t the first girl in Chicago to have gone missing. You hardly batted an eye when Tilly left.”
“I cared about Tilly. Besides, we all discovered Tilly got married.”
“Then care about Miranda enough to stop mentioning her name.”
“I can’t.”
Nanci jumped to her feet. “Why on earth not? You didn’t even know her.”
Rosalind bit her lip. Though everything inside of her warned her to keep silent, her heart couldn’t seem to do that anymore. “I did,” she finally said. “I do know Miranda.”
Nanci slowly turned back to her. “What are you talking about?”
“Miranda is my sister,” she whispered.
“What?” The last bit of color tingeing her cheeks faded to white. “Is that why you came here? To Sloane House?”
Rosalind nodded. “I have to figure out what happened to her. When she first got here, she wrote us all kinds of stories about the house. About the Sloanes.” She waved a hand. “About all of you. But then her letters got shorter, her stories more evasive.”
Nanci’s shoulders tightened. “And then?”
“And then we heard nothing. One week passed. Then two. Three. Then we were all so concerned, my father traveled out here and talked to the police.”
“What did they say?”
Remembering the haunted expression on her father’s face when he came home after that painful trip made her want to cry too. “They laughed at him. They said that she’d probably run off with some man. Or that she didn’t want to be found. They disparaged her character, making my older sister sound like no better than an adventuress.” Picking up another stocking, she wrapped it around her opposite hand. Tightened it until it hurt. “Don’t you understand why I’m here, Nanci? Don’t you understand why I can’t simply give up and walk away? I know in my heart that something happened to her. I feel it.”
“It would be better if you gave up. You . . . you might find out things you don’t want to know.”
“I don’t know that I would.”
“I do. Miranda . . . she was no saint, Rosalind.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I have my reasons.”
“What are they?” Impulsively, Rosalind reached out for her. “Nanci, what do you know?”
For a moment, Nanci looked like she was about to divulge a secret, but then only shook off Rosalind’s touch. “Now that I know why you’ve been asking, I’m going to tell you something that you need to never forget.”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
“Accept that there are some things you’ll never know. Accept that she is gone. Stop asking questions and accept it.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You’re going to have to. There are things happening in this house that you are either too oblivious to notice or refuse to see.”
“Like what? And who are you referring to? Do you mean someone on staff . . . or someone in the family?” Thinking quickly, she said, “Did Miranda hurt someone’s feelings or something? Or did someone suspect her of something worse? Nanci, some of her last letters hinted that she’d begun to be afraid. Who do you think she was afraid of?”
“I don’t want to be cruel, but perhaps it would be best to simply accept the fact that your sister is gone. There’s nothing you can do to bring her back. Trust me, somet
imes you have to simply forget.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t simply forget my sister.”
Nanci glanced at the stocking she still held, then tossed it on the floor with a look of disgust. “If you refuse to listen to reason, I hope and pray you will keep me out of it from now on.”
“Why? What are you so afraid of?” Grasping at straws, she said, “Are you afraid of someone here finding out who I am and that I haven’t given up? Are you afraid of Douglass finding out?” When Nanci closed her eyes, Rosalind pushed further. “Are . . . are you afraid of Douglass?”
“Leave Mr. Sloane out of this. And while you’re at it, you should probably never speak to Mr. Armstrong again either.”
“Reid is going to help me. We’ve become friends.”
“I promise you, he is not your friend.” After peeking out the doorway, she said, “Besides, Veronica has her sights set on him, even if her mother prefers Mr. Newhouse. If Veronica even thinks that you could be a rival, she will make your life miserable. She enjoys that.”
“I could never be a rival. And besides, how would she ever know I was talking to him? Are you going to tell her?”
“Don’t be so naive. I’m not the only person who has eyes and ears, Rosalind. And I’m sure not the only person in this house who has noticed that you are way too curious for your own good.”
With one last disparaging look, she walked out of the room.
Feeling as if she’d just run for blocks, Rosalind breathed heavily as she watched Nanci’s departure. She felt uneasy and afraid. And, unfortunately, as if there were now even more questions to answer and worry about.
Every time she thought she had gone two steps forward, it seemed that she was destined to take another four steps back. Picking up the pair of scissors, she carefully started removing Nanci’s stitches. Maybe if she found some control, things would start to get easier. Maybe if she could begin to trust herself, she could actually do something that would help Miranda.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Abrams popped her head in the room while walking by. “Rosalind, I thought Nanci was going to help you with the mending. Where is she?”
Secrets of Sloane House Page 12