by Bess McBride
Annie, her mouth hanging open in awe of the furnishings, watched Rory peek into the bedroom. She followed him to the door. Two single brass beds dominated one wall, their coverlets of white satin and lace. Ornate Victorian-globed lamps perched atop the gleaming cherry wood end tables between the beds and on either side. A large wardrobe propped up another wall opposite the large window. A gleaming dresser in the same cherry wood took up the final wall, the large mirror above it reflecting the lace curtains at the window. The colorful wallpaper and carpets were repeated in the bedroom. A bathroom adjoined the bedroom.
“Would you look at this?” Marie breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“Then you approve of the accommodations?” Rory asked—rather deferentially, Annie thought.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “This is stunning. It must be very expensive.”
Rory clucked and frowned. “Let us not discuss money again so soon, Miss Marie. I am happy that you are pleased.” He addressed himself to both of them. “I must leave now and procure some salesgirls to deliver clothing for you, or you will be trapped in this room indefinitely given your current attire. Do you require the services of a maid? I believe you will need to dress your hair, as most adult women in Seattle do not wear their hair down.” His face reddened and he looked away. “Forgive me, ladies. It is not my intent to offend you. I realize the subject of a woman’s clothing and hair are intensely personal matters, but I would be remiss if I did not make clear that you will continue to be an object of curiosity if you do not attempt to conform in some small way to the customs of Seattle. I understand that your manner of dress and hairstyle are different where you come from, but I feel certain you would feel happier if you blended in, so to speak. Am I incorrect in my assumptions?”
Annie shook her head. “No, you’re right. We don’t want to stand out, but I don’t think we need a maid. I can put Marie’s hair up and she can do mine.” She thought she could do something with their hair and the elastic.
Rory bowed. “As you wish. On my way out, I will stop by the desk and ask them to deliver some tea and pastries for you.” Rory turned and walked toward the door. Annie followed, strangely reluctant to let him out of her sight. Over her shoulder, she saw Marie head for the bathroom.
“Mr. O’Rourke,” she called out as he moved down the hall. He stopped and turned. His vivid blue eyes watched her with a guarded expression.
“Yes, Miss St. John.”
“I just wanted to thank you again.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but she didn’t want him to go.
“And you wish to reassure me you will recompense me, is that correct, Miss St. John?” A twinkle in his eyes charmed her.
Annie grinned. “You betcha!”
Rory nodded and turned.
“Mr. O’Rourke!”
He turned again with patience.
“Yes, Miss St. John.”
“Are you coming back?” Annie hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so…desperate.
Finally, finally, Rory smiled—that beautiful, wide, bright smile she had fallen for on the train.
“But of course, Miss St. John. I had every intention of taking you and your sister to dinner in the hotel this evening.”
Chapter Four
“I will see you at eight o’clock. The salesgirls will guide you in the proper clothing for evening.” Rory relaxed into his smile, feeling not a little fatigued at having to control his features for the majority of the day. He couldn’t even remember why he had felt the need. Oh, yes, Miss Annie St. John had scoffed at him and told him she would not “fall for” his smile. She had been right, of course. He had attempted to use his smile to advantage—a habit of long standing. It had seemed to have wondrous effects with his nanny, his governess, and later on as an adult, with women—but not with his mother, and apparently not with Miss Annie St. John.
He bowed again in her direction and turned away, wondering if she would call him back yet again. To his regret, though, he heard the door close behind him. Rory made his way down to the front desk and ordered tea and scones for the sisters before returning to the back of the building and the carriage. He directed Joseph to a nearby well-known women’s clothing store—one that his mother frequented.
He entered the shop and asked for the manager. A tall, thin man approached.
“Mr. Becker,” the man introduced himself. “How may we be of service today?”
Rory surveyed the shop. Several women, seated on velvet benches, watched him curiously. Presumably, they awaited other customers in fitting rooms? He could not say.
“Could we speak in private, Mr. Becker?”
Mr. Becker, appearing to be in his mid-forties, nodded, too professional to raise an eyebrow.
“Certainly, sir. This way, if you please.” He led the way behind a curtain to a small, unassuming office and indicated a chair facing a desk. “Would you care for some tea, Mr…?”
“Harold O’Rourke. No, thank you, Mr. Becker. I am pressed for time, and so will you be if you can help me; therefore, I think it prudent I begin.”
Mr. Becker sat down behind the desk and listened.
“I have two young cousins staying at the Hotel Seattle who are from…out of town. The railroad has apparently lost their luggage, and we are forced to find suitable clothing for them at short notice—preferably ready-to-wear. I hope you have some things in stock. They will need the usual women’s clothing—day dresses, several evening dresses, hats, shoes and handbags, as well as whatever else you deem necessary for a modern, well-bred lady in Seattle. Perhaps a coat for the wet weather. Umbrellas. I leave that to you. I am not familiar with their measurements, so I think it best you have your staff deliver several sizes of clothing. Spare no expense. I would expect your salesgirls to assist them in dressing, as they are not familiar with our Seattle styles. Additionally, they will at least need dinner dresses for this evening.” Rory pulled money from his wallet. Mr. Becker’s eyes widened at the amount. “I am paying you, Mr. Becker, not only for your immediate and prompt service, but for your discretion. I do not wish to hear of my cousins’ affairs discussed in public. I admit the situation is quite unusual, but I hope I can count on you.”
Mr. Becker rose. “Certainly, sir. You may count on me. With your permission, I shall assemble some of my staff and send them on their way. If you could leave your cousins’ address with me, we will gather whatever we have ready and hurry over there. That is, my salesgirls will. Do you have any idea as to their…em…figures, Mr. O’Rourke?”
Rory smiled at Mr. Becker’s red cheeks. Oh, yes, he certainly had an idea.
“Miss Annie St. John, the smaller of the two, is petite and shapely. She is about five feet two inches tall. Her sister, Miss Marie St. John, is taller, about five feet eight inches, and more slender.” Rory took the paper and pen offered and wrote down their address.
“Thank you, sir. That is a good beginning. We shall work miracles.”
“Thank you, Mr. Becker. If I have not given you enough money, please send a bill to me at this address. Do not discuss payment with my cousins. This is my gift to them.”
Mr. Becker eyed the address. “Oh, Mr. O’Rourke. You would be Mrs. O’Rourke’s son. I apologize for not recognizing the name. Your mother is one of our favorite customers, most particular in her selections. She always knows exactly what she wants.”
“Yes, I know of your service to her. That is why I chose your shop. However, my mother is not to know of this matter, Mr. Becker. My cousins’ arrival will be a great surprise for her.” Rory did not know when or how, but his mother would likely meet the Misses St. John.
“Certainly, sir.”
Rory left the shop and directed Joseph home. They arrived at his residence on Queen Anne Hill, a large two-story brick home in the Queen Anne style with a large wraparound porch, which he had purchased some years ago in a moment of weakness. Though the house was far too large for an unmarried man, he determined he must have it though he’d had no staff and
no family to fill it. In fact, he was hardly ever at home, traveling the world as he did on photographic assignments. The large inheritance from his maternal grandfather which subsidized his comfortable lifestyle had gone wanting for an investment, and when he had seen the house, he knew it to be a sound purchase, if a sentimental one. An image of a loving wife and several children had somehow tantalized him of late, but they had not been included in the house purchase, and had not, to date, materialized.
Not that he had pursued the option of marriage with any great degree of enthusiasm, he thought as he stepped down from the carriage and gave Joseph instructions for collecting him in the evening. Rory was not unaware that the catalyst for his home purchase should be the wedding of his university friend, Stephen Sadler, to the delightful, if unusual, Dani—but he preferred not to examine that theory with any great depth. Marriages such as that of Stephen and Dani were hardly usual, and he did not think he would be so fortunate to form such an attachment for any one woman. The image of his philandering father’s face came to mind, but he banished it from his thoughts. His mother did not seem overly concerned, so why should he?
Rory traversed his walkway and entered the house, where his housekeeper held open the door with a greeting.
“Good day, Mrs. Sanford. Is all well?” He removed his hat and handed it to Mrs. Sanford, a tall, slender woman with graying hair, who nodded.
“Yes, sir. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanford. I have an engagement this evening, so I will not have dinner at home. Is there any mail?” Rory lingered a moment in the foyer.
“On your desk in the library, Mr. O’Rourke.” She shut the front door behind him. “Your mother sent a message around this morning asking that you visit her upon your return at your convenience. I have included the note with your mail.”
Rory sighed. Although his mother seemed omniscient, she could not possibly know of the Misses St. John yet, could she?
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanford.”
“Yes, sir.” She moved to turn away.
“Mrs. Sanford?” Rory had not yet formed his thoughts or his words. He did not know Mrs. Sanford well, as he was rarely at home, but he suspected he should know more about her. His intent had always been to familiarize himself with her in a more friendly capacity, but it seemed he never had time.
“Yes, sir?” She turned hazel eyes on him.
“Is your employment here satisfactory?”
Her eyes widened for a minute before she relaxed her expression.
“Yes, sir, perfectly satisfactory. You are a very undemanding employer.”
“Thank you,” Rory said with a smile. “I will take that as a compliment.”
Mrs. Sanford smiled, a warm smile he had heretofore not seen from her, as she normally kept her expression carefully neutral.
“You may, sir.”
“I apologize that I have not inquired after your comfort. It seems that I run from one train to the next with my suitcase in hand with little time spent here in this big house. I wish you to know though that I value your services here and depend entirely upon you to run the house during my absences.”
A dot of pink appeared in both of Mrs. Sanford’s normally pale cheeks.
“Thank you, sir. I try to do my best.”
“I can see that you do.” Rory smile again and turned to see Joseph entering with his luggage. He turned to make his way to the library but hesitated.
“Mrs. Sanford? Do you have family?”
“A sister and several nieces who are grown up and at university now. But I do not have children of my own, and I never married.”
“At university?” Rory raised an eyebrow. “You must be proud.”
“I am, thank you. They are brilliant girls.”
“Women have come so far today, have they not?” The image of Annie’s face came unbidden.
“Only to a certain point, sir,” Mrs. Sanford replied. “While my nieces may avail themselves of a college education, they are still destined to become teachers or nurses, and that is only before they marry. They are still expected for to marry and have children.”
“Is that not a goal of every woman?” Rory contemplated the numerous young ladies of his acquaintance who seemed perfectly happy—in fact, eager—to make marriages. So eager that he’d had to restrict himself to flirtations with mature women his own age who sought nothing more than delightful banter at an occasional dinner party. The younger women often misinterpreted his smile as one of encouragement, and more than once, he’d had to distance himself from figurative, if not literal, clutching fingers.
He was too well bred to toy with the vulnerable aspirations of young unmarried ladies hoping to make good marriages. At least, he was too well bred by his mother. His father was a reprehensible rake, in his opinion, who had only demonstrated his contempt for his marriage vows.
Mrs. Sanford shook her head decisively. “No, Mr. O’Rourke, marriage is most certainly not the goal of every young woman in today’s society. Not for my nieces, at any rate, and not for many of their classmates. While marriage seems a desirable situation for many of the young women, some do not wish to give up careers to care for a husband and a home but would prefer to have both careers and marriage.”
Rory blinked at the vehemence in Mrs. Sanford’s voice. “A lofty goal, Mrs. Sanford, and a subject about which you seem very passionate.”
The housekeeper smiled and smoothed her hands on her apron. “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Rourke. I do get on my soapbox occasionally. Forgive me.”
Rory smiled. “No need for forgiveness. I appreciate your frankness. It has given me much to think about.”
“Can I bring you some tea while you read your mail?”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Sanford. And thank you again for speaking with me.”
She bowed her head and turned toward the back of the house.
Rory entered his library—a mahogany-paneled room of luxurious furnishings which made him feel at home. Brown plush chairs and a sofa fronted the fireplace, and from his desk in the corner, he could see out the floor-to-ceiling windows over the city and the waters of Lake Union. The view at night was especially delightful when the lights of the city twinkled on the water.
He shed his jacket and settled into the chair at his desk to read his mother’s note.
Dear Rory,
I am so pleased that you are at last home for a few days. Please come to see me today before you busy yourself with engagements this evening. I have some news for you, though I am not certain how you shall feel once you hear it.
Mother
Rory wondered what news his mother had to impart. Hopefully, she had not found him an “eligible young lady” to marry, as she had often threatened to do. She mourned his frequent absences and had noted more than once that she believed he would settle down if he found a wife. Rory could not imagine such a fate.
“But if you marry, Rory, you must give up this hobby of yours,” his mother had said more than once before.
Rory had shaken his head and responded patiently, as he always did. “My work is not a hobby, Mother. I enjoy documenting the world in photographs. The newspapers and magazines that carry my work need the photographs for their articles, and I love traveling. I cannot imagine meeting an ‘eligible young lady’ who would be content to stay at home while I traveled so extensively, nor could I imagine wanting to marry such a creature if she were indeed so content with my absence.”
He would smile, and his mother would relent and forget the matter for the moment.
Mrs. Sanford entered with a tea tray and poured him a cup of tea.
“Mrs. Sanford, I wonder if I might discuss a matter of some sensitivity with you that requires discretion. Given our earlier discussion, I feel you might be just the person who could provide me with some advice in this matter.”
“Of course, Mr. O’Rourke.” She clasped her hands in front of her and waited.
“Could you sit for a moment?”
The housekeeper
look at the brown velvet chair near the desk uncertainly and perched on the edge of the seat.
“On my journey back from Montana, I met two young women on the train who seemed to be in need of assistance—the kind of assistance neither a conductor nor a porter could render.” He took a sip of tea while he contemplated his next words.
“They seemed to be confused about their origins. In fact, they seem to be lost. They state they are from Chicago, but not the Chicago that you and I might be familiar with.”
Mrs. Sanford furrowed her brow and shook her head with apparent confusion. He did not blame her, as he was botching the matter.
“I am sorry. I am not explaining this well. The young women appeared with no luggage, no money and no personal possessions except the clothes on their backs. They seem to be well bred and well educated.” He hesitated. “But they believe that they come from the future.”
At Mrs. Sanford’s expression of incredulity, he raised a hand. “I believe I understand your expression, Mrs. Sanford. I share your skepticism, I do, but the ladies were in dire straits, and I could not abandon them on the train.”
“You did not bring them here, did you, Mr. O’Rourke? That would cause quite a scandal.” Mrs. Sanford scanned the corners of the room as if he had hidden them behind the furniture.
Rory sighed. “It would, wouldn’t it? I was certain of it, but I did want to verify that with you. I can state most emphatically that I have never contemplated bringing a woman home to my house, much less two women, but I could not leave them on the train. They are not from Seattle and do genuinely appear to be distressed at their circumstances.”
“Are they…deranged, Mr. O’Rourke?”
Rory laughed out loud. “I admit I have often thought so over the past few hours, but no, they do not exhibit any qualities, other than their concept of time, which would lead me to believe they are not in possession of their faculties. They do, however, have strange mannerisms, forms of speech and clothing. They do not cover their lower limbs as ladies do in our time, nor do they seem interested in dressing their hair as adult women.”