Belle glanced toward the street. “I will, but first, I have a carriage and driver waiting, and it’s got my trunk and—”
“You’ve come to stay? Wonderful! Have your driver bring your luggage in.” Mrs. Hollister took Belle’s hands in hers. “Oh, my dear, it’s so good to see you again. You must catch me up on what happened and why you’re here.”
As might be expected, the inside of Mrs. Hollister’s house was beautifully furnished with plush carpets and elaborate French-style furniture. Belle expected to be led to the drawing room, but instead, Mrs. Hollister invited her into what appeared to be the back parlor. The minute they sat down, a little snub-nosed dog with long ears and dark melting eyes jumped on the older woman’s lap. “This is Tippet, my toy spaniel.” She raised him up and snuggled her face against his silky coat. “Isn’t he darling?”
“He certainly is.” Was this the same old lady she’d met on the train? Belle could never have imagined she could be this warm and friendly.
Mrs. Hollister settled back in her chair, Tippet snuggled on her lap. “You must tell me what happened. I suspect it’s something bad or you wouldn’t be here.”
Belle told her everything, starting with her dismay that Roberto hadn’t met her when she arrived, and how everything got worse from there. When she indignantly remarked, “If I’d married him, he would have had me down at the wharf gutting fish,” Mrs. Hollister couldn’t hide her smile. Seeing the humor, Belle smiled, too, and before long began to look at the bright side of things, as much as she could, anyway. Losing Yancy had left a giant-sized hole in her heart that would never go away, but she may as well go on with her life and make the best of it. She described her escape from Roberto and how a homeless boy named Luther came to her rescue. Her listener’s mouth dropped open when she said, “Then he took me to an opium den where I spent the night.” She finished by explaining how Yancy had taken her in but was careful to give the impression they’d been just friends, and she didn’t want to impose on him any longer.
“So that’s what happened. I want to go home to Savannah but need to earn some money first. So when I remembered you asking me to be your companion, I was hoping…?”
“I’m so glad you came to me.” Mrs. Hollister smiled thoughtfully. “As of right now, you’re hired. Would twenty dollars a week be satisfactory?”
A vast wave of relief swept through her. In four weeks she’d have earned enough to go home. “That would be fine, as long as you know it’s only temporary. What does a companion do?”
“Well, let’s see. I hope you like dogs.”
“I love dogs.”
“Then you will walk Tippet for me, and see that he’s fed properly. We have a maid, but she’s overworked, to say the least. I also have a son and daughter-in-law, but they don’t like Tippet, which is fine with me. I wouldn’t trust them anyway. Other than that… I’m so glad you’re here, Belle. I do get lonely sometimes. I’d like someone to talk to.”
“I’d get lonely, too, living by myself in a place as big as this.”
Mrs. Hollister’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “Unfortunately, I don’t live alone. My son, Malcolm, and his wife live here, too. They moved in after my husband died. That was ten years ago, and they’ve been here ever since.”
Belle made no further comment on the subject. It was easy to see her new employer wasn’t happy with her son and daughter-in-law, but she wouldn’t pry. “When will I meet them?”
“They’re both out at the moment. I usually have dinner in my room, but tonight we shall dine with Malcolm and Eugenia.”
So why didn’t Mrs. Hollister dine with them every night? It seemed a bit strange, but she wasn’t about to say so. “I shall look forward to meeting them.”
The older woman stood, Tippet wrapped tightly in her arms. “It’s time for my nap. I’ll have the maid show you around and help you get settled. She complains a lot and is quite the gossip, but pay no attention. Bertha’s been with me for years, and we get along fine.”
“Will I sleep in the servants’ quarters?” Belle asked.
“Certainly not. Bertha will show you the bedrooms. Choose any one you want that’s not occupied. You’ll like the house. When my husband was alive, he was always making improvements. If he heard of some new modern convenience, he had to have it.”
Bertha turned out to be the unfriendly maid who’d opened the front door, and was none too pleased when asked to show Belle around the house. “All right, but I’ve got more than enough work to do,” she complained to Mrs. Hollister. “You know how they are about their room.”
Belle soon learned “they” referred to Malcolm and his wife. As Bertha showed Belle around the house, she further revealed her pent-up hostility. “Those two are always asking for extras,” she grumbled. “Eugenia likes the sheets changed every day, and the bed made just so. She claims she’s a humble servant, doing the work of the Lord. Material things don’t matter, she says, but she spends money on herself like it was water. So does he, and it’s all his mother’s money. Of course, it’s not my business. I only work here. You’ll soon find out for yourself.”
Belle kept her mouth shut. As she followed Bertha on the tour of the house, she marveled at all the modern conveniences. She had always believed her home in Savannah couldn’t have been more up to date, but it paled in comparison to Mrs. Hollister’s. Hot and cold running water in the kitchen and bathrooms, gas lighting in all the chandeliers and wall sconces. The place had so many bedrooms, two of them for children, that Belle lost count. “Mrs. Hollister keeps the children’s rooms exactly like they were,” Bertha said. “No one’s allowed to change a thing.” In one room, she pointed to an elaborate, perfectly preserved dollhouse. “If you look closer, you’ll see it’s an exact copy of this house, even down to the drapes, linens, and furniture.”
“What happened to the little girl who lived here?” Belle asked.
“Little Charlotte died of diphtheria when she was ten. So did Dane, the younger boy, when he was six. Now poor Mrs. Hollister is left with Malcolm, who, in my opinion…” Bertha compressed her lips. “I’ll say no more. It’s not my place.”
Belle didn’t urge her to go on. Not her place to gossip either, but she couldn’t help feeling sad for a woman who’d gone through so much sorrow in her life. After Bertha had shown her all the available bedrooms, she settled on a large room with a fireplace on the second floor. It overlooked the street and even provided a fine view of the bay. Furnished with a canopied bed, a French-style bureau, and thick carpeting, the room couldn’t have been more charming, yet after Bertha left, Belle sank to the side of the bed and stared gloomily at the walls. She’d done all the right things. In a few weeks she’d be back with her family where she’d never have to worry about food, shelter, and worldly comforts again. But her heart ached for Yancy. What was he doing? Was he thinking about her? Had he simply put her out of his mind and forgotten her? But she’d walked out on him, and with good reason. What did it matter whether Yancy thought of her or not? They came from two different worlds and had nothing in common. She’d be crazy to think they could ever be together.
She must get him off her mind. At least, she’d have a distraction tonight when she’d meet Malcolm and his wife at dinner. She wasn’t looking forward to it, though. Since she’d stepped through the door of this house, she’d sensed enmity and resentment in the air. Somehow she wasn’t expecting a merry evening.
* * * *
That night, dinner was a formal affair, served by the cook in a dining room that could best be described as magnificent with its sparkling crystal chandelier, hand-carved Italian table, and walnut-and-marble sideboard that stood at least eight feet tall. Malcolm Hollister sat at the head of the table. In his late forties, of short stature, he carried an air of preciseness about him, from the meticulous trim of his goatee to his velvet-trimmed tailcoat that fit to perfection. When his mother introduced him to
Belle, he gave her a perfunctory, “Delighted to meet you, Miss Ainsworth.”
He didn’t seem that delighted, but she returned a pleasant, “And I’m delighted to meet you.”
“I understand you’re to be my mother’s companion?”
After Belle answered that she was, he proceeded to ignore her and launched into a description of his very important day, wherein he’d had pressing matters to attend to, something about investments and finances that he’d cleverly handled, all of it exceedingly boring.
Malcolm’s wife, Eugenia, gave her even less of a friendly greeting, not much more than a nod and a grunt. Short, with a matronly figure, she wore a plain black dress, had a pudgy face, and thin, salt-and-pepper hair pulled straight back from her high, shiny forehead. Awful, Belle thought. The woman would look far better if she covered that forehead with bangs or ringlets. Eugenia didn’t appear to care much what she looked like. She hardly said a word and seemed utterly absorbed in listening to her husband’s description of his fascinating day. Only when he finally stopped talking did she address Belle. “Do you go to church, Miss Ainsworth?”
Surprised by the question, Belle took an extra moment before she replied, “Not lately.” She could have explained she’d been a faithful member of Savannah’s Trinity Methodist Church for as long as she could remember, but such an abrupt question was a bit off-putting and didn’t deserve a detailed answer.
Eugenia pressed her lips together. “There are many churches in our city. Perhaps you’ll try one, but if not…” She flicked a glance upward. “Proverbs 15:3: ‘The eyes of the Lord are in every place, keeping watch on the evil and the good.’”
Belle had just taken a sip of water and nearly choked. “Well, I’ll certainly remember that.” After what she’d gone through, she wasn’t too concerned about the eyes of the Lord. And finding a church hadn’t been of the upmost importance in her mind, not nearly as essential as simply trying to survive.
Eugenia continued on, “I hold a prayer group in the drawing room every Tuesday afternoon. On Thursday, I host the ladies of the Total Temperance Union. You’re welcome to attend.” Her brows pulled together in an affronted frown. “Of course you’ll have to come alone. It appears Mother Hollister is always too busy to come to either one.”
Eugenia said no more, and went back to listening to Malcolm as he resumed his tedious discussion of the events of his day. Belle’s mind soon wandered. Not until the cook was clearing the dessert plates did she feel Malcolm’s sharp eyes upon her, and she focused on where she was again.
“So Miss Ainsworth, you’re from Savannah?”
“Yes, I am, Mr. Hollister.”
“And what brings you to our fair city?”
Ordinarily, she would have taken Malcolm’s question as nothing more than a friendly inquiry, but the cold edge of his voice told her otherwise. “I came for a visit.” She wasn’t about to describe her disaster with Roberto.
“Hmm. So now you’re my mother’s companion?”
“That’s correct.”
“And she’s paying you twenty dollars a week?”
“Yes.” She was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“For how long?”
“Malcolm!” Mrs. Hollister glared at her son. “That was a rude question.”
A dark, angry expression flitted across his face. “I’m trying to save you some money, Mother. You’re not helping.”
Here came an unpleasant scene, Belle was sure of it. She braced herself for Edith Hollister’s wrath. Surely she’d put her son in his place.
The older woman took her time answering. With a tremulous smile, she began, “My goodness, Malcolm, such a big to-do about nothing. You’re right, of course, and I mustn’t be so extravagant, but Belle is here only temporarily, and I do hope you don’t mind.”
“If it’s only temporary.” He gave his mother a condescending smile, as if he were talking to a child. “We shall make Miss Ainsworth welcome, but next time you want a companion, consult me first.”
“Of course, dear.”
An awkward silence followed, finally broken when Eugenia began to discuss her activities involving the church that day. Apparently, religion was her life, and she seemed to have no other topic of conversation. Belle breathed a sigh of relief when dinner was finally over. Pleading it was a long day and she was tired, she rose from the table and headed straight for the refuge of her room. She needed to be alone for a while, if for no other reason than to adjust her thinking. She didn’t care for Eugenia at all. Had the woman even the slightest sense of humor? As for Malcolm, after his insolence and barely concealed hostility, she heartily wished she could tell him how disgusting she found him and march out the door, never to return. But that wouldn’t be very practical. What a mess she’d gotten herself into. She would stay, of course. At this point, she had no choice but to put up with Malcolm and his equally obnoxious wife. She would ignore them as best she could, and, more importantly, be as good a companion as she could possibly be.
Poor Mrs. Hollister. Belle shook her head in surprise at discovering the strong, independent, imperious woman on the train had a spine that turned to jelly in the presence of her son.
* * * *
In the morning, Belle arose early and had hardly dressed when Bertha knocked on her door. “Come to make your bed.” She wore her usual sour expression.
“I already made it, and will continue to do so. You don’t have to bother.”
Bertha’s face brightened. “I wish they all felt like that. So I’ll come in and dust a little.” She entered and went to work with a feather duster. “So what do you think of the family?” she asked.
Belle recognized an invitation to gossip, but she wasn’t interested. “It’s too early to say, and besides, it’s not my place to pass judgment on anyone.”
“Maybe not, but you’ll soon get your fill of Malcolm, if you haven’t already. Eugenia, too.” Bertha stopped her dusting and sniffed with indignation. “Makes my blood boil, the way he treats his mother. He’s stealing her money, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
Bertha bobbed her head firmly. “He’s taken over her finances. Wormed his way in, from what I hear. Convinced her she was too old and senile to know what she’s doing, and out of the kindness of his heart, he’s handling her money for her. She loves him of course, but she’s afraid of him, too. He dominates her completely, what with all that talk about what a big, important man he is. Well, he’s not. He’s crooked as they come. I’d wager that’s why she takes all those trips to New York. She wants to get away from him.”
“That’s terrible.” Despite herself, Belle couldn’t help but be interested. “You said he’s stealing her money?”
“Ha! By the fistful.” Bertha put down her feather duster, came close, and spoke softly. “Malcolm plays the part of the successful entrepreneur. Thinks he’s one of the robber barons like Charles Crocker or Mark Hopkins. Well, he isn’t. He’s a swindler. Cons innocent people with his crooked deals, all of them financed with his mother’s money.”
Belle had heard enough. Mrs. Hollister wouldn’t appreciate her listening to such personal gossip, even if it was true. “I appreciate you telling me all this, Bertha, but it’s not my business, and if you don’t mind, I don’t want to hear any more.”
“That’s your choice.” The maid didn’t appear offended. “But if you’re smart, you’d better watch out for the both of them. They don’t want you here. Eugenia’s as bad as he is, what with all that religion she’s always spouting. According to her, we’re all going to hell if we don’t get to church each Sunday. But believe you me, she’s no saint herself. She’s greedy as they come. If she and Malcolm had their way, they’d keep his poor mother locked in her room. I don’t like saying it, but they’re just waiting for her to die so they can get their hands on this house and the rest of her fortune. She doesn’t have any friends
anymore, and they like it that way. I’d wager they weren’t too happy when they found out she’d hired a companion. Am I right?”
She was indeed right, but it was definitely time to end this kind of conversation. “It’s not my place to say. What time is breakfast?”
The glum maid got the hint. “Eight o’clock. Mrs. Hollister likes to have breakfast alone, before the two of them get up. It’ll be nice she has someone to eat with.”
* * * *
In the dining room, Belle’s new employer greeted her with a smile. “Malcolm and Eugenia sleep late most of the time, so I’ve taken to eating by myself. Did you sleep well?”
Belle said she had. They chatted pleasantly, and had nearly finished breakfast before her employer sighed and remarked, “About last night. Malcolm can be a bit abrupt sometimes, but you mustn’t mind it.”
Belle hastened to say she hadn’t minded in the least and hardly noticed. Sometimes a small white lie couldn’t be avoided.
Mrs. Hollister wasn’t finished. “Perhaps I coddle Malcolm too much, but I can’t help it. He had a terrible childhood. He was a frail child, and sickly. When he was five, he got whooping cough and nearly died. Then scarlet fever, and again I thought I’d lost him. If that wasn’t bad enough, he lost his brother and sister to diphtheria. I admit he’s a bit spoiled, and I know he’s helped himself to some of my money, but I truly believe he has my best interests at heart. Perhaps I should be more stern with him, but try as I might, I can’t seem to deny him anything.”
Belle recognized the earnest plea behind her employer’s words: Please try to put up with my son, even though he’s a rude, sarcastic bully and a thief. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hollister, I’ll be here for only a short while, but while I am here, my only concern will be that I can be of service, and in some way brighten your day.” She chuckled and added, “I want you to feel I’m worth that twenty dollars a week.”
Mrs. Hollister looked relieved and gave her a delighted smile. “I’m sure you will be, Belle. Are you through with breakfast? If you are, I’d like for you to walk the dog. Come to think of it, my rheumatism isn’t too bad today, so I’ll come along.”
Bay City Belle Page 18