Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The

by Olivia Newport

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Then I’ll tell Mr. Penard you’ll bring him down.” Lina turned toward the door. “But Miss Brewster is expecting a happy child.”

  He was a happy child—when he was looked after properly. Charlotte gathered her wits. “I’ll need twenty minutes to feed him and find some fresh clothing. You make sure Mr. Penard understands that Sarah is the one who left her post!”

  Twenty minutes later, Archie hung his uniform jacket on a hook in the servants’ hallway off the kitchen and went in search of the pot of strong tea he hoped was on the back of the stove. His day was already almost six hours old, and more hours than he wanted to calculate still stretched ahead of him. It seemed like a justifiable opportunity to demonstrate his conviction for reasonable working conditions.

  Mr. Penard had other ideas. “Find Sarah,” the butler snapped.

  Archie looked at him, his eyes seeking more information.

  “She’s gone missing. If she is not standing in this kitchen in the next ten minutes, I will advise Mrs. Banning to send her back to St. Andrew’s.”

  Frankly, Archie had no idea where the girl would be, and if she were sent back to the orphanage, he would feel no great loss.

  “If you have to, take the market carriage out,” Mr. Penard said, “and circle the neighborhood.”

  Once Mr. Penard turned his back, Archie sighed and reached for his jacket again, sliding his arms into the sleeves even as he stepped back into the hall. In the dimness of the hall, he did not see Charlotte step off the bottom step and nearly knocked her over.

  “I’m sorry.” He reached out to catch the stumble he had caused. Her arms were full of the baby. Taking her elbow, he walked with her back to the kitchen. He had his instructions from the butler, but he was not inclined to save Sarah’s skin at the expense of Charlotte.

  “What’s going on?” He placed a hand gently on the head of the child in her arms.

  “I found him screaming in his crib. No one knows where Sarah is, and Miss Brewster has asked to see the child.”

  “Why does she want to see him in the middle of the morning? Why does she want to see him so much at all?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I can’t stand here and try to sort it out. She’s waiting. I have to go.”

  She pushed through the butler’s pantry and out of his sight.

  Charlotte grew more pale each day, Archie believed. And the grip the child had on her was, well, curious. She was hiding something from him—he had known that for a long time—but Archie had not quite reasoned his way through why the child’s presence made her secret so urgent.

  13

  C harlotte carried the baby through the dining room and across the foyer, pausing under the arched parlor doors to curtsy with him in her arms.

  “Oh, Charlotte, you’ve brought him!” Miss Brewster settled onto the settee and opened her arms to receive the boy.

  Charlotte put him in the eager arms, then stepped back an appropriate distance. She would not leave the room—at any moment Miss Brewster might require assistance—but she withdrew to stand against the wall next to the door, allowing the guest to interact freely with the boy.

  It did not take long for Henry to wriggle off Miss Brewster’s lap and stand independently next to the settee. With one little fist he gathered a handful of blue silk skirt. Charlotte stoically stifled the grimace that came with the vision of the damage he might do to the fabric, but Miss Brewster seemed amused. When he tried to step away from the settee and pointed at a porcelain statue on a table, though, Miss Brewster restrained him.

  “Oh no, we mustn’t touch Flora’s things!” Miss Brewster laughed lightly. She looked up at Charlotte. “I was expecting Sarah would bring him down.”

  “She was not available,” Charlotte responded quietly.

  “I hope she’ll be ready when it’s time to air the baby this afternoon. Of course, I still want to take him out. It’s just that I couldn’t wait another minute to see him.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “I do believe he’s become quite comfortable with me.” Miss Brewster laid a hand on the baby’s cheek and smiled broadly. “He seems as happy to see me as I am to see him.”

  Charlotte could not argue. The little boy did seem to accept Miss Brewster’s attentions amiably. The words Charlotte had overheard rang in her ears. Someone with an attachment to the child has come forward.

  Sarah stopped in her tracks. The baby was not there.

  She spun around, the air sucked out of her chest, and scanned the day nursery. He could not have climbed out of the crib, she was sure of that. Running over to the hat shop on Michigan Avenue had taken longer than she anticipated. She would not always wear the cap of a nanny. The day would come when she would need a silk hat suitable for the symphony. Why should she not become familiar with the latest fashions during the baby’s nap? It had seemed harmless enough, and it was not the first trip she had made to Michigan Avenue.

  But now the brat was not in the nursery.

  The call button jangled, and she scrambled to answer it. “Yes?”

  “Ah, the wandering Miss Cummings has come home.” Mr. Penard’s voice was steel. “Perhaps you would deign to grace me with your presence in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Sarah blew out her breath and rolled her eyes, but she had no choice but to present herself to the butler in the kitchen as quickly as she could.

  Mrs. Fletcher stood at the butcher block, breading pork chops, but Sarah ignored her and stood beside the table where Mr. Penard sat.

  “To be fair, I will give you the opportunity to explain yourself,” Mr. Penard said simply, “although I doubt that even you can construe a reasonable justification for this behavior.”

  “He sleeps soundly,” Sarah said bluntly. “I didn’t see the harm in taking a bit of air on my own.”

  “You are young and inexperienced, but I would have thought you understood the parameters of your responsibilities sufficiently to exercise better judgment than this.”

  Sarah held her silence, refusing to let the butler humiliate her.

  “However the child came to this household, he has become important to Mrs. Banning because of her Greenville cousin.” Mr. Penard stood and put his face so close to Sarah’s that she wanted to back up. “I will not tolerate further neglect. I’m sure other arrangements could be made for the child.”

  “That won’t be necessary, sir,” Sarah said through her teeth. His dark eyes were wild this close up, but her feet held firm.

  “If Mrs. Edwards did not expect you to be here upon her return, I would send you back to St. Andrew’s immediately,” Penard said. “At the very least, I propose to assign responsibility for the child to Charlotte, while you return to the kitchen until your judgment has matured.”

  Mrs. Fletcher let a meat cleaver drop so hard it nearly made Sarah laugh.

  Penard turned toward the cook and cleared his throat. “Do you wish to say something, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  “Charlotte has become quite capable in the kitchen. I cannot spare her.”

  The butler’s eyes moved from cook to maid. “You have one more chance, Sarah. If I discover that you have infringed in such a manner again, you will find yourself in the scullery without discussion. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sarah seethed. “Where is the child now?”

  “Miss Brewster asked for him. Charlotte has taken him to the parlor.”

  “Then I’ll go and relieve her.”

  “That would be appropriate.”

  Sarah stepped sharply across the kitchen, her shoulders back and her hands held proudly in front of her. The kitchen maid was in the parlor with her charge. That must never happen again.

  Dinner was a smaller group that evening. Oliver was out with Pamela Troutman, and Emmaline Brewster was dining at Violet’s, so it was just Flora, Samuel, Leo, and Richard. The menu was as rich as ever: curry soup and rolls, breaded pork chops, noodles, parsnip fritter
s, tomato pie, stuffed cucumbers, and German chocolate cake. Because of the relative simplicity of serving a meal for only four, Mr. Penard had taken a rare evening off, leaving Archie and Charlotte to attend the family with quiet efficiency.

  Archie ladled the curry soup from the porcelain tureen with a hand-painted floral pattern into the four gold-rimmed china bowls. Its yellow cream swirled into placidity in each basin. When everyone had been served, Flora picked up her spoon, and the others followed her cue.

  “I can’t understand why I haven’t heard from Cousin Louisa,” Flora said. “I sent her our telephone number in my last note and encouraged her to call as soon as she had word when they could come. I welcomed them to stay with us while they visit Chicago.”

  “Perhaps they just haven’t made any arrangements yet.” Samuel spread butter on his roll. “The fair continues for another six weeks.”

  “But in her note she sounded most eager to meet the child as soon as possible. She’s even excited that he’s not a newborn and thinks it will be amusing to have a toddler around the house.”

  “I’m sure she’ll contact you soon enough.”

  Charlotte stood at the sideboard against the wall, watching for the first possible signal that the diners were finished with their soup.

  Someone with an attachment to the child has come forward.

  If Charlotte was right about what she suspected, the family entertained no conjecture about Emmaline Brewster. Although the family was not always around when Emmaline took the baby outside, she made no secret of her growing affection for him. Considering the way Emmaline felt about the baby, Charlotte found it implausible that she had meant anyone but herself when she said someone with an attachment had come forward. But how could she justify her attachment? It was not as if she had a real claim any more than Louisa did.

  Archie gently nudged her. “The soup bowls,” he whispered.

  Charlotte moved into action, quickly stacking the four bowls and making room for Archie to come around with the meat platter.

  “If we can believe the girl’s reports, the boy has made a comfortable adjustment here,” Flora observed. “That makes me hopeful he will make a smooth adjustment to Louisa’s home as well.”

  “I still wish we could find his mother,” Leo mused. “I hate the thought that she may be experiencing regret over having abandoned him and be unable to claim him.”

  A shiver shot up Charlotte’s spine, and she reached a hand out to the sideboard for balance.

  “Perhaps we could help her,” Leo continued, “if only we could find her. Lucy might want that.”

  “Lucy is on her honeymoon.” Flora left no room for argument. “I have not yet forgiven you for sending her a telegram that may cause her distress.”

  “She doesn’t seem to have received it, so no harm done.” Leo picked up a knife and cut a bite of pork. “Maybe she didn’t mean to give him away. Maybe she was asking for something else when she left him here.”

  “I’m not a mystery detective,” Samuel said. “I’m a lawyer, and you’re a mechanical engineer. We do what makes sense for the most advantage.”

  “The only mystery here is why Louisa has not telephoned or written.” Flora tore a roll in half with particular vigor. “I’ll give her one more week. Then I’m going to write to her again.”

  Charlotte dared to put her feet up on a small padded stool as she sat in a chair under the kitchen window.

  “You look bone tired.” Archie pulled another chair from the table and positioned it next to her. “How many hours have you been up today?”

  She yawned. “If I tell you, you won’t like it.”

  “Yet you refuse to see that you deserve better.”

  “I suppose you have more propaganda.”

  He nudged the footrest. “I don’t need propaganda to know what makes sense.”

  “This is the only job I have, Archie,” Charlotte said. “It’s not a bad place to live, and I eat well.”

  “Yet you’re more thin and pale by the day.”

  “Miss Brewster will be home soon. As soon as I help her out of her gown, I can go to bed myself. You can make sure the carriage gets put away properly and get some rest too.”

  “I’m going to make sure you sit here with your feet up until you absolutely have to get up.” Sitting beside her, Archie weighted one shoulder toward Charlotte.

  In the silence, Charlotte thought about closing her eyes. The conversation over dinner reprised relentlessly in her head.

  “What are you thinking about?” Archie asked.

  Charlotte shrugged and leaned away from him. “Mrs. Banning seemed quite upset at dinner.”

  Archie nodded.

  Charlotte debated. If she told him what was on her mind, it would be harder than ever to resist those brown eyes. Archie cared for her. She knew that.

  “Are you concerned about Mrs. Banning?” Archie asked.

  She decided to plunge in but looked away. “If someone on the household staff knows a piece of information that someone in the family might want, does that member of the staff have an obligation to disclose it?”

  “What are you talking about, Charlotte?” He leaned closer still. “Do you know something?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I guess not.”

  “That clearly resolves the dilemma.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Never mind. It’s nothing, really. Mr. Banning would call it hearsay and inadmissible in a court of law.”

  They both lurched off their chairs when the front door thudded closed, the sound echoing through unoccupied rooms.

  “There she is,” Charlotte said. “I’ll meet her in the suite to get her settled, then my day will be over.”

  Archie reached for her hand, and to her own surprise she let him take it. Hold it. Warm it.

  “Charlotte, I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t be. Miss Brewster won’t be here much longer, and things will ease up.”

  “And the baby?”

  What did he mean?

  “The baby, Charlotte,” he said softly. “I know you found him in the laundry basket, but something about his being here has changed you.”

  She broke the gaze and his grip. “I have to go.”

  14

  C risp white linens generously graced the dining room table under delicate blue lace. Charlotte carried the first of the hand-painted blue china from the cabinetry in the butler’s pantry, preparing to lay the table for the family’s dinner. Completing the daily midafternoon chore meant that she would be free to help in the kitchen as the evening mealtime approached. After nearly a year in the Banning household, Charlotte could set a table with china and crystal in her sleep. Sighing, she stepped to the window and looked out at what was really on her mind.

  Emmaline Brewster was settling Henry in the buggy in front of the house, and the little boy grinned with pleasure and reached for her cheery face. Behind Miss Brewster, Sarah stood idle and made no effort to conceal her displeasure at the way the Bannings’ houseguest had taken over with the child. Anyone could see that Sarah’s presence on these afternoon outings was perfunctory. Miss Brewster was competent and comfortable in handling the baby without assistance. The entire staff had endured repeated grievances from the girl about what she perceived to be unreasonable intrusion. More than once, Charlotte had bitten her tongue and stifled the urge to voice the observation that Miss Brewster seemed to genuinely like the baby, which was more than could be said about Sarah.

  But he was her baby.

  Charlotte’s throat thickened at the thought of the choices that lay ahead. Her stomach responded by surging upward, a sensation that had become all too familiar in the last month. More than once in the middle of the night she resolved to claim her son first thing in the morning. She could not bear another day of overhearing plans for him to be adopted or suspecting what Emmaline Brewster planned to do. Then dawn would break, and with it the fear that overwhelmed resolve and produced visions of Henry in a workhouse. No matt
er how many times she told herself Lucy Banning Edwards would never stand for that, Charlotte could not be sure. By breakfast, she was not willing to take the chance.

  And for another day she would endure the tension between two women over the care of her child while she could not even call him by his name.

  Forcing breath from her pent-up lungs, Charlotte turned back to the table and began arranging plates. This was not much of a birthday, but it was better than last year.

  Archie stuck his head around the corner from the pantry. “Are you ready to do the marketing?”

  “I thought Karl was going to take me.” Charlotte swiftly laid three crisp linen napkins at three place settings.

  Archie grinned. “I have some say with the coachmen now, and I find myself at your disposal for the rest of the afternoon.”

  Charlotte smiled against her will. “I still have to finish the table first.”

  Archie cajoled Charlotte into sharing the driver’s seat with him. “It will be easier to talk,” he reasoned.

  “Who said I want to talk to you?”

  “I’m an irresistible conversationalist.” He leaned toward her and nudged her shoulder slightly with his, a gesture that had become familiar whenever he was beside her. He was determined to make her smile as much as possible this afternoon. Dissolving the gray dusk that seemed to envelop her was no easy feat, but Archie Shepard was no quitter.

  He let the horse carry them north along Prairie Avenue, intending to cut over to State Street in a few blocks.

  “There they are with the baby.” Charlotte sat alert.

  Rather than follow her line of sight, Archie chose to watch her face. Her chin twitched to one side and her lips pressed closed, as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. The expression in her eyes was not that of a detached maid.

  “Sarah is more unhappy by the day,” Charlotte said.