“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Anna stood. “It is if my husband is being deprived of his inheritance.”
Maude shook her head then pushed back her father’s chair. “I may be related to half the island, because so many of us are Cadotte descendants. But I can assure you: Greyson Luce is not one of them!”
“And you are?” Anna’s voice came out almost a whisper. “You’re the Cadotte heir—no, you’re the heiress.”
Maude didn’t answer, unsure what Greyson’s wife meant.
Anna’s features altered to a knowing, almost catlike visage. “Well, that’s certainly worth knowing, now—isn’t it?”
A chill coursed through Maude.
“I now understand what Benjamin sees in you.” Anna rose, a sly grin on her face. “Or should I call him Friedrich?”
“How do you know Mr. König?”
“Benjamin and I are old friends.” Smirking, she strode from the room.
The coffee she’d drank rose acid-like in Maude’s gut. No—more like arsenic that this woman had surreptitiously added.
Benjamin? Who was Anna talking about?
Like a genie from Aladdin’s lamp, Bea appeared in the office doorway. “Well, I got rid of one, miss, but now there’s another lady here.”
Maude procured a headache powder from the desk drawer and poured it into her glass of water. “Who now?”
“Mrs. Fox from the Grand Hotel. Say—did she fire you, Maude?” Bea clasped her hands together.
“Bring her in, Bea, and stop your prattle.” Maude gulped the bitter water down. Please work quickly.
Attired in a trim-fitting navy-serge walking suit edged in white grosgrain ribbon with a matching sailor hat, Ada Fox joined her in the room.
“Come in, Mrs. Fox.”
“I heard of Peter’s spell, and I wanted to come see him, but I wished to check with you first.”
“I’ll send one of the men to check on him and let us know if he feels able.” Maude rang the bell on her desk.
As Anna had done, Mrs. Fox took several steps toward the windows and Father’s collections. The woman’s eyes lighted on the Eiffel Tower clock. “Oh, my.”
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Fox beamed. “I’m so glad Peter gave my gift such a prominent spot in which to be displayed.”
The bell slipped from Maude’s hand and clattered onto the desk and then to the floor. She bent to retrieve it and remained bent over, in an effort to recover her shattered nerves. If the clock was as expensive as Anna implied, how had Mrs. Fox afforded one? How might she have come by it? Surely she’d not have stolen in her previous job or the Grand wouldn’t have hired her. Or was it possible Father’s friend was Adelaide Bishop? Was she then the one after the inn? And was that her point of renewing her friendship with Father? Maude exhaled slowly and sat up, trying to squelch her imagination.
Shuffling footfalls announced their flat-footed porter, Russell James. “Miss Welling?”
“Please ask my father if he is up to visiting with Mrs. Fox.”
“Yes, miss.”
With a quarter turn of her chair, Maude faced her former supervisor. The woman’s face as she touched the gilded clock was all expectancy, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide like the children at Al’s Soda Shop when their ice cream was being dipped. But if this was Mrs. Bishop, was her excitement more the thought of obtaining an asset from someone in difficulty, at a fraction of its price? Would Father want to sell out just to get off the island?
“Have a seat.” Maude gestured to the chair.
The woman’s eyes started to tear up. She fumbled with her reticule until she found her handkerchief. “I hate for you to see me like this. And I don’t want to distress you or your father. Perhaps I should come back later.”
Maude ground her teeth together. Perhaps she should.
“I have made such a mess of so many things. But this is something I wanted to do right.” Mrs. Fox sniffed.
“What do you mean?”
The woman shook her head. “You never knew your grandmother Welling, Maude, but the day you walked into my office I knew you were Peter’s daughter. You’re the very image of her.”
“Thank you.” Grandmother’s portrait and tintypes of the family reflected a lovely woman. “Father never said much about his mother.” Other than saying she’d worked herself to death.
“A very charitable woman. I lived next door to your father and his family.” A twitch started near her eye.
“Father misses the countryside and farming life but has said little about growing up in Shepherd.”
“Nor about me, I’m sure.” She gave a curt laugh.
“I’m afraid not.”
When Mrs. Fox’s gaze strayed to the clock, again, Maude corrected herself. “I was wrong.”
She stood and touched the top of the Eiffel Tower effigy. “He shed some tears over this—said his best friend from home had sent it. He was happy the friendship hadn’t been forgotten.”
Mrs. Fox’s eyes brightened. She wiped at the tears rolling down her face. “Did he?”
“Indeed. I’d assumed his pal was a man.”
“We were two peas in a pod.” Mrs. Fox fingered the lace on her handkerchief. “Sometimes I think he saved my life. I owe him.”
Maude wanted to test her hypothesis about the housekeeping manager. “Anna Luce was just here.”
“Oh?” The smile disappeared from Mrs. Fox’s face, and she blew her nose.
“Anna said her father’s friend has an identical clock. She was curious about who’d sent it.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Did she say from whom her father received it?”
Russell tapped on the door frame and then entered. “Mr. Welling will be ready in a few minutes.”
Mrs. Fox rose, her face flushed. “I should come back another time.”
“No, ma’am, he’s very enthused about your visit.”
Enthused? When was the last time Father had been enthused about anything? “Please stay, Mrs. Fox. Let’s not disappoint him.”
The servant departed.
“Well.” Mrs. Fox sighed and shrugged in the puffed shoulders of her jacket. “This inn is lovely, Maude. A gem.”
Maude tapped a finger on top of the ledgers. Was that her motivation? “Have you ever considered running an inn?”
She laughed. “Certainly—especially when someone like Mrs. Stillman is constantly in my shadow, nipping at my heels.”
“Mrs. Stillman?”
“She was in line for my position and never loses a chance to remind me.”
“She’s insufferable.”
They both laughed.
“I don’t understand why you came up to the Grand Hotel, not exactly.”
Maude blew out a breath of frustration. “When you knew him, did my father object to women working outside the home?”
Mrs. Fox’s features dissolved into a face of stony resolve. “Apparently not. I believed he was quite fixated on me attending secretarial school.” Another round of tears coursed down her cheeks. “Forgive me, I’m just overwrought at the idea of finally renewing my friendship with your father and then the thought of him, well …”
What would happen to them if Father died? Mrs. Fox’s display of emotion rattled Maude more than she cared to admit. Obviously, she and Father had been very close. Possibly sweethearts.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the staircase. Maude gasped as her father entered the office, fully dressed, his hair brushed.
“Should you be up?” Mrs. Fox voiced the question running through Maude’s mind.
He made a beeline to the petite, slender-appearing woman and took her hand in his, raising it to his lips. “Just knowing you’d come by is the best medicine I could have had.”
“Oh, Peter, I’m so glad you’re all right.” Ada Fox stood.
For a moment, Maude wondered if the two would embrace.
Father offered his arm. “Let’s go out t
o the garden.”
When the two departed, Maude sat in the chair, blinking. She could imagine everything now—Father selling the inn, possibly remarrying, and leaving the island with Jack. No genie had appeared. But the rest of her future seemed to be going up like a puff of smoke in the air.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Another spectacular lunch at the Grand—served with a generous dollop of gall. Ben had dined with Casey and Marcus and acted as though he was cut from the same cloth as they were. Soon this farce would end.
With what he now knew about Anna and Greyson Luce from islanders and Adelaide, this story would get him not only a promotion but also a substantial raise. And his other piece, on Marcus Edmunds’s pursuit of the society girl from Boston should also sell well. But with Edmunds and Miss Clancy, daughter of a wealthy banker, not from such prominent families, the article would publish more as a novelty piece. Casey was ending up being more of a bootstrap type of fellow than a gold digger. He was a man with lots of business ideas but no capital. Still, Ben could get a story out of Casey and Myra’s romance.
He picked up his shoes, polished to perfection by Zeb, from the stack on the cart around the corner from the shoeshine chair and headed back to his room. His tuxedo would be sent up later, before the theater engagement with Maude. How could Greyson Luce have abandoned such a lovely young lady?
As he strode down the hallway to his room, he observed Mrs. Stillman standing outside at his door.
“Sadie, you need to get your other rooms cleaned.” The supervisor barked these orders into Ben’s room.
The sharp-tongued woman walked inside. “Put down that notebook this instant and straighten the bed linens.”
His throat constricted as he followed the woman. Had Sadie seen his article about Maude, Greyson, and Anna? He pressed his eyes shut and sent up a quick prayer.
“Mr. König is here.”
Ben entered the room. The blond maid reminded him of a press boy who’d fallen asleep on the job and awakened to find papers sliding in all different directions.
His red notebook lay on top of his typewriter, not to the side. Had Sadie been snooping? “Ladies?”
Fire burned in his gut. This woman could ruin it all between him and Maude. Although he’d recorded Maude’s name in all the accounts about Greyson, he’d not intended to directly name her in his article. Sadie wouldn’t know that, but she’d surely wonder why he was writing things up. Had she gone through his drawers and found his business card and his telegrams from the newspaper?
Dear Lord, please guide me.
He needed to prepare and dress to take Maude to the theater. He didn’t have time to address Sadie now. He intended to get right with Maude and be honest.
“Miss Duvall?” He evoked a warning’s cutting edge.
She averted her gaze and fled the room.
Quickly opening his notepad, he found nothing missing. He’d been careless leaving it out, but he’d been so tired. Hopefully, Sadie had only moved his notes to clean. He’d reveal his identity to Maude after the play.
A brisk breeze stirred the leaves of the oaks and birches in the side yard where Maude and her father sat, taking an early afternoon tea.
“I’m glad you were able to see the performance before your episode, Father.”
“Good show.” He tapped his foot against the lush green lawn. “The Gondoliers plays at the Maximillian Theater tonight, too.”
“I wonder if Mr. König remembers.”
“I should think so—he sent flowers for you.”
She set her pink teacup back into its saucer. “Where are they, then?”
“I put them in the hall. You forgot to order a fresh arrangement.”
She feigned mock horror. “You put mine on the lobby stand and didn’t even tell me?”
He laughed. “Correct.”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“I’m a practical businessman.” He shrugged. “No one ordered more flowers, and the others were dead.”
Maude couldn’t help laughing. “Then you owe me another bouquet.”
Jack ran past them as he circled the inn. Father needed to get him off the island and someplace where he could compete with other athletes of his caliber.
“Ada said the guests at the Grand have been raving about the performance.” Father served himself a piece of lemon tart. “I can see why—they were superb.”
She cut herself a wedge of the treat. “Our visitors have praised the show, too.”
Father took a bite of his dessert and Maude followed suit, savoring the lemon tart’s tangy sweetness.
A carriage with the familiar red covering and gold fringe rolled by. She didn’t need to see the initials “GH” on the bonnet to know from where it had come. “No doubt the Grand will employ every single one of their carriages tonight.”
Father sipped his tea. “And require Stan’s help, too, I believe.”
What if someone recognized her? Or worse yet—actually pointed out that she had been a maid there. A tiny flutter began in Maude’s stomach. “I’d rather not be mingling with the crowd from the Grand.”
“You might as well wear the dress your uncle bought—I can only imagine the cost.” Father rubbed a thumb over his chin. “Though I suppose he can afford it.”
The dress, while gorgeous, was far too ostentatious for anything she’d ever wish to attend—and would draw too much attention to herself. The flutter metamorphized into a full-fledged beating of wings in her gut.
“It’s about time you got a taste of what passes for high society around this island every summer.” Father pulled on his shirt collar.
“This isn’t a ball. Just the theater.” And a small-island theater at that. She would be overdressed in the extreme. Although perhaps not—given what she’d observed some of the women wearing to dinner the night she had parlor duty.
“You know, daughter, you’re sounding like an island snob.” Father picked up his paper and began to read.
“I am not….” But he was right.
Jack ran up to them, his orange-and-green-striped shirt a blaze of movement. “Sadie’s here.” Jack bent over and clasped his knees, panting. “Out back.”
At two o’clock in the afternoon? “For me?”
“Yup, she ain’t here for Bea, that’s for sure, ’cause she told her to fetch you, and I said I would.”
“Can you bring her around?”
“Nah, Sadie said it’s private stuff.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“All right.” She rose. “Father, I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
He raised a hand. “I’ll be fine.”
Sadie stood between the back entrance and the laundry building. Still dressed in her maid’s uniform, her complexion appeared flushed.
“I need to talk with you, Maude.”
“Let’s go to my bedroom.” Inside, Maude allowed a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. “Why aren’t you at work?”
They passed a group of guests who were headed toward the parlor. Maude smiled at them.
Sadie kept her head bowed until they were alone again. “I’m not fired, if that’s what you mean. But it’s not because of Stillman’s want of trying.”
“Old battle-ax.”
The two mounted the stairs to the second floor and headed to Maude’s bedroom.
As soon as the door closed, Sadie huffed a sigh. “Mrs. Fox intervened for me. But that isn’t my reason for stopping.”
“What, then?”
Her friend sat on the cushioned wicker seat she’d occupied on a great many afternoons over the years. “Maude, I’m concerned about your Mr. König.”
“He’s not my Mr. anything.” Maude pressed a hand to her chest. She’d like him to be her Mr. König, though.
“His name isn’t even König,” her friend whispered.
“What?” Maude’s throat grew dry, and she poured them each a glass of water from the crystal carafe on her bedside table. “What’s this
about Mr. König?”
“I suspect his name is Steffan. Ben Steffan.”
Ben, just like Anna had said. Maude’s chest squeezed tight.
“And he isn’t an industrialist, either.”
Breathing shallowly, Maude sipped her water and swallowed hard. “Who is he, then?”
Sadie motioned to her hat and hair. “Do you mind if I take it down?”
“No, go ahead.” They’d brushed and dressed each other’s hair so many times over the years. Had giggled over all the places Sadie wished to go when she left the island. Yet here they both were.
Her old friend began to unpin her long golden hair, dropping the pins into her lap slowly, one at a time, her lower teeth working at her upper lip like they did when she was nervous and didn’t want to say something. “Did you know what your family members have been telling him about Greyson?”
“About Greyson?” Maude frowned. Anna’s words rang through her mind.
“I think he’s a reporter for the Detroit Post.”
“You think so?” Was that the real reason he’d shown interest in her?
Sadie slid forward to the end of the cushion. “He’s writing a story about Greyson and Anna.”
“What for? And why are my family members speaking to him about Greyson?”
A dry laugh accompanied a handful of pins that plopped into Sadie’s lap. “They’re giving their version of the truth to him.”
Maude stopped plucking at the embroidered flower on the bedspread, unaware she’d been tormenting the silk-thread daisy. “Which is?”
Her old friend’s huff spoke volumes.
Tossing her head, Sadie’s curls fell free about her shoulders. She rubbed her head. “Oh, my aching head. I wish Mrs. Luce could hire me back. I thought it was because of Anna, but I wonder now if it was because your father’s payments stopped.”
Cold dread settled itself at her feet. Maude kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up beneath her on the bed. “You have to admit it was no longer Father’s responsibility to send Mrs. Luce money.”
Sadie’s pretty lips parted and held there for a moment before pressing firmly closed. She stood, and the scent of ammonia and vinegar announced the amount of cleaning she’d done that day. “So, you did know?”
My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island Page 19