‘‘My pleasure. Shall I accompany you on a tour of the Ar—’’ He stopped midsentence and stared toward the park.
Olivia followed his gaze. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Charlotte was sitting on one of the park benches—waving. Whatever was she thinking!
Mr. Howard shaded his eyes and took a step forward, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘‘I don’t believe I know that young lady.’’
Olivia clasped his arm. ‘‘She’s signaling me. She’s a friend who accompanied me from England.’’ The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them.
‘‘With you? Is she seeking employment?’’ The moment he’d asked the question, a gust of wind captured Charlotte’s cloak and whisked it aside. Her bulging midsection protruded like a small watermelon. Mr. Howard arched his brows. ‘‘And does your friend have a husband, Miss Mott?’’
‘‘She’s a widow. A dreadful accident.’’
The lies slipped over her tongue like butter. In her haste to prove the validity of her response, Olivia chattered on. Mr. Howard visibly paled as her words flowed with unbridled ease. When she eventually fell silent, he stared at her, mouth agape. She’d woven a masterful story that even the brothers Grimm would have applauded.
Mr. Howard shook his head while he commiserated over Charlotte’s future.
Best to strike when opportunity availed itself, she decided. ‘‘Is there any rule that would prohibit her from residing with me should she so choose? With her small inheritance, she could pay enough that I could afford the house.’’ She offered him a bright smile. ‘‘And my cousin wouldn’t need to make any change in his current living arrangements.’’
‘‘Highly unusual.’’ He massaged his forehead. ‘‘Residents of Pullman are either employees or relatives. Is she related to you, Miss Mott?’’
Did he want her to change her previous comment? Was he encouraging her to lie? She couldn’t be certain.
‘‘Might she be a distant cousin?’’
Olivia bit her lower lip. ‘‘Perhaps.’’ Her voice was no more than a whisper.
‘‘Excellent! Then I see no problem. Why don’t we go and tell your distant cousin the good news?’’ With a conspiratorial wink, he grasped her elbow and began to walk toward the park.
Olivia jerked to a halt. ‘‘No! We don’t want to do that.’’
‘‘We don’t?’’ He appeared dismayed by her behavior.
She wagged her head back and forth. ‘‘No, we don’t. Her loss is so recent that she becomes extremely emotional.’’ Olivia dropped her voice a notch. ‘‘She’s embarrassed by her outbursts—especially in public or with strangers.’’
The company agent’s enthusiasm deflated as quickly as a punctured balloon. ‘‘Having experienced a similar plight, I thought I might be able to lend a word of comfort.’’ He tipped his head to the side and frowned. ‘‘I’m somewhat surprised to see your friend has already given up her mourning attire.’’
Olivia silently chided herself. Why hadn’t she thought of her ladyship’s dress? Any respectable widow would be wearing a black mourning gown rather than a pink and white silk stripe. Mr. Howard awaited her response.
‘‘Questions! Charlotte detests having strangers interrogate her about her husband’s death.’’
When he slowly nodded, Olivia continued. ‘‘Charlotte donned her normal daytime attire at my recommendation. She loathed the idea. However, she soon discovered my plan freed her from a plethora of prying questions.’’
Yet another lie! If she didn’t soon record this entire tale, she’d surely forget one of the details. Worse yet, she must see to it that Lady Charlotte learned every minute facet of her story. Otherwise, they would most certainly be found out. ‘‘If you would permit me a moment alone with my friend, I’ll advise her to wait for me while we tour the house.’’
Mr. Howard glanced in Lady Charlotte’s direction. ‘‘You’re quite sure she wouldn’t like to join us? It might relieve some of her worries, even cheer her a bit to see the fine dwelling where she’ll be living.’’
‘‘No!’’
Mr. Howard startled at her sharp response.
Olivia silently chastised herself for her careless behavior. After a gentle reminder of Charlotte’s fragile emotional state, she said, ‘‘I truly believe it’s best for us to go alone. I’ll return straightaway.’’
Olivia hurried across the grassy expanse and wasted no time issuing her brief instructions to Lady Charlotte. ‘‘You must do as I’ve requested. I’ll explain everything upon my return.’’
She hastened back to Mr. Howard’s side. There was little doubt he’d been carefully watching the exchange, and Olivia forced herself to assume a nonchalant demeanor. ‘‘I was correct in my assumption. Charlotte much prefers to remain in the park and enjoy the fresh air.’’
During their walk and the subsequent tour of the house, Mr. Howard plied her with questions. In order to avoid telling any further lies, she responded with varying and sundry inquiries of her own. For the most part, she was successful. And when she could think of no further questions, she expounded upon the beauty of Pullman, a topic that Mr. Howard was more than willing to dwell upon.
Although Olivia had explained Charlotte’s aversion to visiting with strangers during her time of grief, Mr. Howard remained close at hand as they started toward the park. She must find some way to escape him and speak privately with Charlotte. There was so much to tell her ladyship. ‘‘I would be grateful for assistance with the delivery of our baggage from the train depot to the house,’’ Olivia said. ‘‘If you could direct me to someone who could help?’’
‘‘Please allow me. All of the horses, carriages, and wagons are maintained in the Pullman Stables.’’ He nodded toward the clean and quiet streets. ‘‘Makes for a tidier community. I can stop and make the arrangements before returning to work.’’
‘‘I do appreciate your kindness, especially when I’ve already taken far too much of your time.’’
‘‘My pleasure. As I mentioned earlier, I’ll be at home this evening if you need anything further.’’ He tipped his hat. ‘‘I’m pleased that you’ve joined our community, Miss Mott.’’
Waiting only until he was out of sight, Olivia hiked her skirt and hurried off to meet with Lady Charlotte. Though glad to be free of Mr. Howard, she feared revealing the news of Mr. Morgan’s marriage. What if Lady Charlotte caused a scene and drew unwanted attention? Olivia maintained a steady gaze on her former mistress, suddenly struck by the realization that Charlotte might not want to remain in Pullman any longer. If so, what would she tell Mr. Howard?
Don’t borrow trouble. The words played over and over in her mind as she approached. Lady Charlotte stepped forward with an air of expectancy. ‘‘Well?’’
Olivia forced a smile. ‘‘Chef René has hired me as his assistant. I begin tomorrow, though I fear I’ll be an utter failure. Your letter was much too—’’
‘‘No.’’ Charlotte shook her head and frowned. ‘‘I want to hear about Randolph. Did you secure his address?’’
‘‘Why don’t we go over there?’’ Olivia didn’t wait for Lady Charlotte to protest. Instead, she pointed toward a bench along the far side of the park and marched off. If her ladyship wanted to hear anything further, she’d be required to follow. At least the woman would be somewhat closer to the ground in the event she fainted. Callous thought, perhaps, but Olivia had heard many a story about her ladyship’s petulant behavior. As Charlotte’s lady-in-waiting, Ludie had always taken such conduct in stride, but Olivia wasn’t accustomed to dealing with high-strung women who succumbed to fainting spells and tantrums. Ludie would know how to handle this situation, but Ludie wasn’t in Pullman.
Charlotte panted for breath as she yanked on Olivia’s hand and plopped down. ‘‘This bench will do! Now tell me about Randolph.’’
Olivia hesitated, searching for the proper words, but nothing came to mind.
‘‘Well, come on, girl! Tell me what you’ve discovere
d!’’
It might have been Lady Charlotte’s angry tone, or the fact she’d called her girl, or perchance it was the final realization there would be no easy way to convey the information. For whatever reason and without further thought, Olivia blurted out the dreaded words. ‘‘He’s married.’’
Olivia clenched her fists in expectation of a scream, a denial—some show of emotion. She waited. But only silence reigned. Lady Charlotte merely stared at her as though she hadn’t spoken. Olivia forced her gaze away from the woman and looked down at her scuffed shoes. She should have polished them before going on the interview. But she shouldn’t be thinking about her shoes at this moment.
Giving herself a silent rebuke for her callous behavior, Olivia stole a glance at her former mistress. ‘‘Did you hear me, Lady Charlotte? I said that Mr. Morgan is married—he has children. He and his family live in Chicago, not in Pullman.’’
This time Olivia should have clenched her fists. Lady Charlotte’s tirade was like nothing she had ever witnessed. The woman appeared to experience a state of delayed hysteria as she shrieked, wailed, and accused Olivia of lying. But when the outburst finally concluded, no more than an occasional sob or hiccough escaped Lady Charlotte’s lips. The emotional explosion had taken its toll. Bright red splotches mottled her ladyship’s porcelain complexion, and pillowed half moons slowly formed beneath her azure eyes.
‘‘Your information must be incorrect. Are you certain you asked about Randolph Morgan?’’ A loud hiccough followed the question.
Olivia gave an authoritative nod. They both knew the account was correct, the only difference being Lady Charlotte’s reluctance to accept the truth. ‘‘I know you’re unnerved by this dreadful news. However, you must make some immediate decisions.’’
After one glance at Lady Charlotte’s quivering lower lip, Olivia revealed the housing arrangement she’d made with Mr. Howard. When she’d finished, Charlotte silently looked toward the horizon.
Not knowing what else she should do or say, Olivia added, ‘‘Please don’t feel obliged to remain because of the living accommodations. I can ask my cousin to share the house with me.’’
The comment had the desired effect. Charlotte glanced at her protruding stomach. ‘‘Where else could I go? I certainly cannot go home in this condition. Neither my parents nor I could abide the gossip that would be whispered throughout London. I’d ruin any possibility of a proper marriage.’’ She rested one hand upon her stomach. ‘‘If only I’d taken care of matters earlier.’’ She slumped back against the bench.
Olivia didn’t know if Charlotte meant she should have contacted Mr. Morgan several months ago or she should have done harm to the child before arriving at this stage in her pregnancy. And Olivia truly didn’t want to know. For if it was the latter, she would think far less highly of the woman.
‘‘Why don’t you sit here while I check to see that our luggage is on the way? Then I’ll take you to see our new home.’’ Charlotte didn’t argue. She’d transformed into a docile and submissive companion. How had their roles so quickly changed?
Olivia wished she had given this matter more thought before offering Charlotte a home. But when? There had been no time for well-thought-out decisions. She’d been too busy improvising. Too busy lying. She must commit all she’d said to paper. Otherwise, she would surely forget and become ensnared in that tacky spider’s web of which her aunt had warned.
Crossing the wide street to the stables, she attempted to remember everything she’d told Chef René and Mr. Howard and Mr. Billings. Had she spoken to anyone else? Suddenly she wondered if Charlotte had spoken to any strangers while she shopped in the Arcade. First things first, she warned herself. She had issues of greater concern. What if she couldn’t perform her duties? What if Chef René declared her a fraud and banned her from his kitchen? By this time tomorrow, she and Lady Charlotte could both find themselves dispossessed in this foreign country.
CHAPTER FOUR
As he walked toward home, Samuel Howard briefly glanced over his shoulder at Olivia Mott. A pretty girl with dark brown eyes and curly hair the color of freshly brewed coffee—and exceptional references. He ran his hand along his jaw. Almost too exceptional. His years with Mr. Pullman had made him a fair judge of character, and something seemed amiss in this case. Had Mr. Pullman not sensed a problem?
Instead of passing by the hotel and going home for the noonday meal, he bounded up the steps. Offering Mr. Billings a hasty wave, he continued down the hallway to the kitchen. The hotel dining room had already filled with guests—likely not the best time to visit Chef René .
The rotund chef immersed a wire basket of asparagus spears into a large kettle of boiling water, looking up only long enough to acknowledge Samuel’s presence. Undoubtedly, his primary concern was cooking the asparagus to perfection, not an unexpected interruption by the company agent. Samuel waited, extending the same courtesy he expected from others.
Moments later, the chef motioned an assistant forward. ‘‘You may arrange the plates while I speak to Mr. Howard. Make certain you do it properly, as I will be watching.’’ The chef raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘‘Good help is impossible to find, is it not? How may I be of assistance, Mr. Howard?’’
Samuel motioned the chef out of the assistant’s hearing. ‘‘About Miss Mott.’’
Before he could elaborate, Chef René slapped a hand to his forehead and shouted at the assistant. The asparagus hadn’t been properly positioned atop the toast points. Samuel didn’t understand why it should matter, but placing toast points beneath the asparagus seemed a matter of extreme import to the chef. He stomped across the room and, with a flair normally expected only in a theatrical presentation, rearranged the food.
Taking a step back, he studied the dinner plates. ‘‘Oui! You see how much better that is?’’ The thick ham steaks were centered on the plate. Asparagus spears, aligned on the toast points and topped with a creamy hollandaise sauce, were positioned down one side of the ham steak. Along the opposite side of the plate in a perfect semicircle was a serving of buttered potatoes sprinkled with parsley.
The quaking assistant bobbed her head, loaded the plates onto a serving tray, and beckoned for one of the servers while Chef René returned his attention to Samuel. ‘‘You were asking about Miss Mott?’’
Samuel tilted his head a few inches closer. ‘‘Did you find her letter of recommendation somewhat astounding?’’
The chef shrugged. ‘‘Who can say? Soon enough we shall see if she possesses talent. Let us hope so. As you can see, I am surrounded by people who are better suited to raising asparagus than cooking or serving it.’’ With a hearty laugh, he grasped Samuel’s shoulder. ‘‘However, Mr. Pullman made the decision to hire her, so there is little responsibility on your part—or mine. If it pleases Mr. Pullman to have her work in his hotel kitchen, then it will please me. I would surmise he doesn’t want to offend one of his investors. At least Miss Mott is a pleasant young woman, and she seems bright—unlike some of the others working in this kitchen.’’ The chef winked. ‘‘Attractive also, don’t you agree?’’
A flush of heat rose from Samuel’s tight collar to the top of his head. ‘‘Yes, she is attractive, but my concern is her suitability to work in your kitchen. I want you to inform me of any problems.’’
‘‘If she is inept, it will be my problem. Until Mr. Pullman tells me she is to be dismissed, I will be forced to adjust. We can only hope her recommendation is well founded.’’ He leaned a bit closer. ‘‘Of course, who can trust the judgment of the English? The country has produced few who should hold the title of chef.’’
Chef René waved at his assistant, who had piled another batch of asparagus in the wire basket. ‘‘If there’s nothing further, I must see to my food preparation.’’ Without waiting for a reply, René lunged at the wire basket and rescued the asparagus before it could be immersed in the kettle of boiling water.
Samuel didn’t wait long enough to
hear what was sure to be an upbraiding of the kitchen assistant. He wondered how young Miss Mott would withstand such a tongue-lashing. Then again, if she truly possessed all of the talents described in her letter of recommendation, there would be no need for such a remonstration.
Like Chef René , Samuel thought Miss Mott quite attractive. Yet there was something elusive about her behavior. In any event, he would make it a point to stop by this evening and see if she and the young widow were settling into their living quarters. It was the least he could do—a kind and welcoming gesture, he told himself.
Lady Charlotte stood in front of the brick row houses that lined Watt Avenue. Her lip curled as she peered up the front steps leading to number 341. ‘‘This is it?’’
Olivia forced herself to remain civil. What did Charlotte expect? The woman had already seen a great deal of the town. She knew it consisted of similar brick dwellings, most of them sharing common walls and small front yards. Olivia thought the houses charming. Obviously Lady Charlotte found them objectionable. Had her ladyship expected a fine castle to suddenly appear in the midst of these row houses? Even if it had, such a fine home wouldn’t be offered to the likes of Olivia.
With a true sense of satisfaction, she retrieved the key Mr. Howard had given her and proudly unlocked the front door. Never before had she lived in even a room she could call her own. Now she was the renter of her very own row house— almost. Of course, she couldn’t afford the entire amount of the rent without assistance from Lady Charlotte. But still, the rental agreement bore her name.
‘‘Where is the furniture? Are we to sit on the floor? I trust there are at least beds and linens.’’
The look of disdain was enough to erase Olivia’s excitement. Why hadn’t she considered the absence of furniture when Mr. Howard escorted her through the residence? ‘‘I was concerned only that there would be accommodations adequate for both of us, your ladyship. I didn’t think to ask about furniture.’’
In the Company of Secrets Page 4