In the Company of Secrets

by Judith Miller

  Olivia remembered Mr. Morgan well. He’d visited Lanshire Hall on several occasions during the past few years and had been instrumental in hiring many young men who had come to work in Pullman. Artisans who gilded the coaches with gold leaf or etched perfect designs into the mirrors and interior glasswork—her cousin Albert among them. What would the Earl of Lanshire think of Mr. Morgan once he realized all that had occurred on the man’s visits to London? The entire matter caused Olivia’s head to ache.

  Looking down on the street below, Olivia considered what would happen to her should she be unable to locate a culinary position in Pullman. What if there was no need for additional kitchen staff at the hotel restaurant? She didn’t want to work in one of the factories, nor did she want to accept a position in the frightening chaos of Chicago.

  Lady Charlotte entered their opulent sitting room and waved two tickets in the air. ‘‘I secured passage on tomorrow’s nine-o’clock train to Pullman. The hotel clerk was most helpful.’’

  After tucking the tickets inside her reticule, she dropped it atop a decorative mahogany table and gracefully stepped across the room. Olivia wondered how much longer Lady Charlotte could hide the fact that she carried a child. Already she was required to wear a long cape when in public. Soon the mistress would develop the sway and posture of an expectant mother, and a cape would no longer hide her condition. Hopefully she would be Mrs. Randolph Morgan when that time arrived.

  After removing her cape and dropping it onto one of the heavily padded brocade chairs, Charlotte sat and folded her hands in her lap. ‘‘I also elicited a great deal of information regarding the town. Would you like to hear?’’

  Suddenly Lady Charlotte was an authority on Pullman, Illinois. Olivia found the idea utterly annoying. Only a short time earlier, her ladyship had sniffed at the idea of making a home in the small town. She avowed Randolph would be easily con- vinced to live in London once their wedding plans had been arranged. Why, then, had she taken time to discover details about the town?

  Olivia offered a tight smile. ‘‘I’d be delighted to hear whatever information you’d care to share with me.’’

  Charlotte arched her perfectly shaped brows. ‘‘My, you seem rather stuffy and abrupt this evening. I thought you would be delighted to hear about the town. I even obtained information regarding the hotel where you hope to work.’’ She assumed a quick pout before hastening to continue. ‘‘It’s called the Hotel Florence, and the clerk tells me it was named after Mr. Pullman’s eldest daughter. He says Mr. Pullman hosts huge parties for his business associates, and there’s a full-time chef on staff. According to the clerk, he’s French and highly acclaimed.’’

  Olivia sighed. Most chefs were arrogant—especially the French. She wondered if he could rival the Mallard, or if she’d even have an opportunity to find out. She doubted he would consider hiring her to do anything more than scrub pots and pans. Once again, a mere scullery maid. Olivia shuddered at the thought. But perhaps her letter of recommendation from Chef Mallard would help her avoid such a fate.

  ‘‘All this talk of the hotel reminds me that you’ve not yet furnished me with Chef Mallard’s recommendation.’’

  Charlotte nibbled her bottom lip and glanced toward the window.

  When her ladyship failed to reply, Olivia’s stomach muscles tightened. ‘‘Did he refuse you?’’

  Charlotte arched her back and assumed a regal pose. ‘‘He wouldn’t dare refuse me. However, I was fearful he would consider my request peculiar and consult my parents.’’ Her lips tightened. ‘‘I couldn’t have him arouse suspicion. He could have ruined my plans.’’

  Olivia immediately pictured herself scrubbing dirty pots or, worse yet, spending her days toiling in a dreary factory. Though she longed to voice her anger, she remained silent. She’d spent far too many years in servitude to actually say what she was thinking. Besides, she should have known better than to take Lady Charlotte at her word. Hadn’t she spent a lifetime doing that very thing? Trusting in what other people said, believing they would tell the truth and honor their word. She’d been duped once again. Aunt Eleanor always referred to her as a trusting little soul. Cousin Albert considered her naïve.

  ‘‘Without a letter of recommendation, I won’t be considered for any position other than scullery maid or factory worker.’’ Olivia’s words were as frosty as a winter wind.

  ‘‘Oh, I didn’t forget my promise to you, Olivia.’’ Charlotte hurried to one of her trunks, dug deep inside, and retrieved her stationery box. ‘‘Look here!’’ She waved a piece of paper overhead like a parade banner. ‘‘I managed to appropriate several pieces of the official Lanshire stationery.’’ She winked and placed the sheet of paper in front of Olivia. ‘‘I’ll pen your letter of recommendation and sign my mother’s name, and no one will be the wiser. Besides, a letter from the Countess of Lanshire will carry much more influence than that of Chef Mallard.’’ With a look of triumph, Charlotte sat down opposite Olivia.

  A large red and gold L emblazoned the top of the page. Directly beneath, ‘‘Earl and Countess of Lanshire’’ had been printed in a delicate script. Olivia feasted her eyes upon the sight. What would Aunt Eleanor say? What would Cousin Albert do? What would God think? She forced the nagging questions from her mind and traced her index finger across the raised lettering. With a degree of fear and trepidation, she pushed the sheet of paper toward Lady Charlotte. She needed the reference.

  Lady Charlotte beamed. ‘‘I’ll see to it before I retire for the night.’’

  When Olivia arose the next morning, the letter was sealed in an envelope and propped against a vase of flowers. Forcing herself to ignore the impropriety, she carefully tucked the letter into her purse before departing their rooms. By now she was becoming quite practiced at overlooking prevarication. Perhaps she would finally outgrow the naïveté of which her cousin so frequently spoke.

  The short journey to the Illinois Central Depot proved as harrowing as their carriage ride the previous day, though by now Olivia was somewhat prepared for the onslaught of noise and mayhem. Their trunks had already been delivered to the train station, thanks to the desk clerk Lady Charlotte had befriended the previous afternoon. Once the train departed the station, Olivia settled into her seat. She peered out the window, pleased to leave Chicago behind her. For the first few miles, the train skirted the shoreline, a magnificent park, and several rows of fashionable homes. Even Charlotte perked to attention at the sight of the opulent mansions.

  Shortly thereafter, the railroad tracks turned away from the lake front and entered the open prairie. Lady Charlotte tapped Olivia on the arm. ‘‘I’ve decided it would be best if you referred to me as your friend Charlotte, from this point forward. Do not address me as ‘your ladyship’ or ‘Lady Charlotte.’ Do you understand?’’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘‘I couldn’t possibly, your ladyship. I don’t understand why you would ask me to do such a thing.’’

  Lady Charlotte sighed. ‘‘Because I want to surprise Randolph. If others know that a member of the English nobility has arrived in Pullman, Randolph will hear and my surprise will be ruined.’’ She pointed her gloved finger toward Olivia’s purse. ‘‘In addition, I might be expected to answer questions about you and your cooking abilities, which would never do. Our stories would likely conflict, and then where would you be?’’

  Obviously Lady Charlotte didn’t expect a response, for before Olivia could reply, she spouted off a list of additional directives that made Olivia’s head swim. She wished she could write down at least a few of the details, but a glance out the train window revealed they had traversed the fourteen miles and were nearing Pullman. One matter was certain: Lady Charlotte had given a great deal of thought to her reunion with Randolph Morgan, as well as to any possible obstacles.

  Well, if her ladyship wanted to surprise Mr. Morgan, so be it. Personally, Olivia thought the expected child would be surprise enough for the man. Nevertheless, Olivia did agree her future employ
ment in the Pullman hotel could be jeopardized if Lady Charlotte was questioned regarding Olivia’s suitability. After all, Lady Charlotte had barely spoken to Olivia prior to the formation of their alliance to leave England. Their stories would undoubtedly differ.

  Hat pulled low on his forehead, the conductor navigated his way through their coach. ‘‘Next stop, Pullman!’’ His announcement was as crisp as his navy blue Pullman uniform.

  Olivia immediately pressed her nose to the train window. A sparkling lake with an ornamental waterfall spread in front of the Pullman factories. Olivia motioned to the conductor.

  He stepped to her side. ‘‘Ma’am?’’

  ‘‘What’s the name of that lake, sir?’’

  He leaned down and peered through the window. ‘‘That’s Lake Vista. Mr. Pullman had the land excavated to create a lake that would collect the condensation water from his Corliss engine.’’ Olivia’s eyes widened as the train slowly inched forward and the conductor pointed to the huge glass window. ‘‘That’s the Corliss, sitting right out there in plain view for all to see. It powers all these factories and produces 350,000 gallons of condensation water a day. Sure does keep that lake full.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Hard to believe, but I reckon it’s true, or Mr. Pullman would set the record straight.’’

  Her cousin Albert had written Aunt Eleanor about the Corliss engine shortly after his arrival in Pullman. Now she, too, had the opportunity to see the magnificent machine. A huge water tower sat to the rear of the factory buildings, along with another attractive building. Rather than depressing, Olivia thought the acres of brick factories looked gracious and inviting.

  As the train slowly rolled forward, she pulled away from the window and turned. ‘‘Look! I believe that must be the hotel.’’

  Charlotte grasped her arm. ‘‘Do sit down, Olivia. We can see the town once we’ve made arrangements for our baggage. I’ll inquire about securing the trunks here at the train station until we’ve made definite arrangements.’’

  Olivia hadn’t even considered their baggage. Of course, her belongings didn’t require several trunks, a variety of Gladstone bags, and three or more leather valises. She could manage her own two valises, but she didn’t argue. The moment the train jerked to a halt, Olivia jumped to her feet and hurried Charlotte off the train. Once inside the station, Charlotte again took command, and Olivia patiently waited while her mistress spoke to the stationmaster. The man quickly agreed to keep a vigilant watch over their belongings. Olivia wondered if he would have been so pleased to help had she been the one to request his assistance. While Lady Charlotte’s appearance spoke of wealth and status, Olivia’s plain taupe gown clearly proclaimed her to be a member of the working class.

  The stationmaster raced ahead of them to open the door. With an air of authority, Lady Charlotte turned toward Olivia. ‘‘I believe we are now ready to depart.’’

  The town was even more appealing than Cousin Albert had told them in his occasional letters. Of course, most men didn’t concern themselves overly much with the beauty that surrounded them. It soon became evident, though, that Mr. Pullman had given a great deal of thought to the details of his town. The small square yards that fronted the brick houses were evenly shorn, and the shade trees that lined the wide macadam streets were pruned to perfection.

  From the depot, Olivia could glimpse the grandeur of Hotel Florence. A landscaped park sat to the front of the redbrick-and-stone hotel, which had been designed in the popular Queen Anne style. The magnificent four-story structure spread across an acre of ground. Rows of elm trees lined the paved boulevard. Unlike the pandemonium of Chicago, Pullman evoked a quiet perfection that beckoned her forward.

  Olivia directed her steps toward the hotel but was suddenly stopped short when Charlotte grasped her arm and pulled her to a halt. ‘‘I believe that building straight ahead is the Arcade. The clerk at the Grand Pacific Hotel stated it would be a perfect place to spend several hours shopping or enjoying a cup of tea. Once you’ve been accepted for your new position, you can come and join me there.’’

  ‘‘But, Lady—’’

  ‘‘Do not refer to me as Lady Charlotte. Have you forgotten my instructions so quickly?’’

  ‘‘No, your ladyship—I mean . . . no, Charlotte.’’ Olivia shook her head. ‘‘Please understand that it feels quite unnatural to address you in this informal manner.’’ Olivia straightened her shoulders when she saw the beginnings of a pout on Lady Charlotte’s lips. ‘‘But I shall do my very best.’’

  ‘‘Excellent. And don’t forget to inquire about Randolph— Mr. Morgan.’’ Lady Charlotte raised her parasol, turned, and sashayed toward the Arcade as though she’d lived in the town for years. Olivia watched for several moments and then a sudden jab of panic attacked her. ‘‘Charlotte! Wait!’’

  The loud command brought her ladyship to an immediate halt, and Olivia slapped one hand to her mouth. What had she been thinking to screech out Lady Charlotte’s name in such a manner? She stood motionless as her companion walked toward her.

  ‘‘Olivia, I am pleased that you addressed me as Charlotte, but you must also remember that ladies do not shout in public. Now, what is it you wish to ask?’’

  A gust of wind whipped at her cloak and Olivia shivered. The weather seemed uncomfortably cool for late May. However, she had little idea of the weather patterns in the area. Perhaps the warmth of springtime didn’t arrive until June in Illinois. ‘‘How am I to locate you inside that huge building? I could wander around forever without setting eyes upon you.’’

  ‘‘Dear me, it isn’t all that large. But I’ll make an effort to remain on the first floor. However, if the shops are upstairs, you’ll likely find me there.’’ Lady Charlotte reached inside her reticule, pulled out an extra pair of gloves, and handed them to Olivia. ‘‘And do wear these for your interview. We don’t want these Americans thinking we’ve lost our English civility.’’

  ‘‘But the chef at the hotel is French, not American.’’

  Lady Charlotte’s eyebrows raised a notch, and Olivia obediently donned the gloves. Murmuring her thanks, she marched off toward the hotel. As she neared the picturesque building, her pace slowed considerably. Perhaps she should wait until she’d had an opportunity to seek her cousin’s advice. What if there was a specific method or protocol one used when applying for a position? She didn’t want to embarrass herself and possibly ruin her chances of employment. She had mentioned her concerns to Charlotte, and the mistress thought her worries ludicrous. But then, how could she trust Lady Charlotte’s judgment? What did her ladyship know about securing employment?

  Olivia’s legs weakened as she halted in front of the hotel. She wanted to run, yet worried her knees would buckle if she tried. Instead, she lifted her trembling fingers and adjusted her hat, straightened Lady Charlotte’s lace gloves, and climbed the three steps leading to the enormous wraparound porch. Olivia forced one foot ahead of the other until she reached the hotel’s main entrance. She glanced over her shoulder, worried someone might approach and shoo her away from the premises before she could enter. That thought propelled her forward. Taking a deep breath, she twisted the fluted brass doorknob and stepped inside.

  A tight-lipped graying man stood behind a highly polished front desk and peered across the wood expanse that divided them. Wire-rimmed spectacles balanced upon the tip of his thick nose, and an involuntary shiver coursed through Olivia when the man settled his austere stare upon her. He had obviously judged her as someone who didn’t belong in these opulent surroundings. Though she attempted to bid him good morning, a warbling squeak was all that passed her lips.

  The man scanned the registry book before he once again focused his attention upon Olivia. ‘‘May I be of some assistance, miss?’’

  She bobbed her head. ‘‘I’ve come to apply for a position in the hotel kitchen. As a chef ’s assistant.’’ She bravely added the final words.

  ‘‘I didn’t realize either our chef or Mr. Howard had adve
rtised such a position. I’m the hotel supervisor, and I know nothing of such a vacancy.’’ Brows furrowed, he came from behind the counter. ‘‘You may wait here. I’ll return shortly.’’

  Though Olivia wanted to explain she hadn’t arrived in answer to an advertisement, she remained silent. The man was much too forbidding. He’d likely throw her out on her ear if he knew she’d boldly entered the hotel without any knowledge of a possible opening. Once he talked to the chef, she suspected that’s exactly what would happen.

  Catching sight of her reflection in the huge gilded mirror that hung across the room, Olivia tucked a stray curl behind her ear. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she turned and straightened her shoulders. Walking alongside the hotel supervisor was a rotund man whose puffy jowls, sagging eyelids, and wrinkled forehead reminded her of a bulldog. She detected a slight smile as he neared.

  He dipped his head ever so slightly. ‘‘Chef René .’’

  Uncertain what was expected, Olivia gave a brief curtsy and then realized her behavior was likely inappropriate in this country. ‘‘Pleased to meet you. I am Olivia Mott of London, England.’’

  His smile broadened and he winked. ‘‘I would not make that confession when applying for a cooking position, Miss Mott. We Frenchmen do not believe any Englishman can cook well enough to be considered a chef.’’

  In spite of her fear, Olivia giggled in response. Chef Mallard would be appalled by such a remark.