In the Company of Secrets

by Judith Miller

  Charlotte remained perched on the step where Olivia had left her only a short time earlier. Edging her way around Charlotte, Olivia offered a slight wave. ‘‘Since you’ve already seen the Arcade, I thought you could wait for Mr. Howard.’’ Without an effort at decorum, Olivia plopped her hat atop her head and turned the doorknob. Once she reached the sidewalk, her escape from Charlotte would be assured, she thought, but then she heard Mr. Howard calling her name. She turned and spotted him. He was a block away, waving his hat back and forth to gain her attention. If only she hadn’t heeded his call, she could have been well on her way to spending a bit of time at the emporium.

  He hurried his pace, his long legs permitting a lengthy stride as he approached her. Panting, he held one hand to his chest. ‘‘It appears I’m not in the same physical condition as the men practicing to compete in the athletic games.’’

  Olivia didn’t know what Mr. Howard was referring to, but she wasn’t interested at the moment. ‘‘I had planned to go and do a bit of shopping at the Arcade. Lady . . . Mrs. Hornsby is inside awaiting your return.’’ Olivia silently chided herself for the near slipup with Charlotte’s name. She must quit thinking of her as Lady Charlotte.

  Mr. Howard moved to one side and blocked her escape. ‘‘I’d be most pleased to escort you. My earlier invitation to show you about the town remains open, and I do hope you’ll accept.’’

  How could she refuse? He was, after all, the company agent. ‘‘What about the household items?’’ She hoped she could still divert him.

  He nodded. ‘‘Taken care of. They’ll be delivered in short order. Mrs. Hornsby can take charge of directing the men. She shouldn’t have any need for my assistance.’’ He offered an apologetic shrug. ‘‘I can’t guarantee it will be everything you need, but the two of you will have beds and linens, along with a divan and several chairs. Perhaps Mrs. Hornsby should plan to take her meals at the hotel until you’ve adequately supplied the kitchen.’’

  Olivia nearly laughed aloud. If only he knew that cooking utensils were the least of Charlotte’s concerns. She wouldn’t care a whit if a carving knife or platter ever made its way into the kitchen, for her ladyship would never use them! ‘‘I’m certain she’ll be delighted to partake of Chef René ’s fine cooking.’’

  ‘‘And yours.’’

  The note of pride in his voice was unsettling. Wait until he discovers that my letter of recommendation consisted mostly of false praise.

  Olivia noted the throng of workers who filled the streets, and she searched their faces for her cousin’s familiar blue eyes and broad smile. Mr. Howard removed his pocket watch and checked the time. ‘‘I believe your cousin should be arriving home about now. Why don’t I escort you to his residence?’’

  With a bob of her head, Olivia accepted his offer. Mr. Howard explained that most of the men working the day shift worked from seven in the morning until five-thirty in the evening with a half hour lunch break. ‘‘There are a few employees who are required to work longer hours, but most work a ten-hour shift.’’

  She wanted to hurry him along but continued at his snail’s pace like a proper lady.

  ‘‘Of course, your hours will be somewhat longer in order to accommodate the dining habits of our guests. However, Chef René will have the final say in that regard.’’ They came to a stop in front of one of the redbrick tenements. ‘‘This is where your cousin resides. I’ll bid you farewell. I’m certain you’ll want time alone with your cousin after your separation.’’

  She thanked him for his kindness and hurried up the front steps. She knocked and waited, her heart fluttering with excitement. The door opened and Olivia jerked back. Instantly she knew she’d made a mistake. In a slow motion ballet, her foot teetered to one side and slipped off the top step. The lurching movement sent her arms flailing about like propellers as she attempted to regain her balance. She stared into the questioning blue eyes of the man whose strong arms now encircled her.

  ‘‘You’re not Albert.’’ She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. What a foolish thing to say—of course he wasn’t Albert.

  He grinned and released his hold. ‘‘No. I’m Fred DeVault. Why is it Albert has all the luck? He already has Martha, and now another lovely young lady has entered his life.’’

  By now her face had likely flushed bright red. ‘‘I’m Albert’s cousin, Olivia Mott.’’

  He brightened and waved her toward the door. ‘‘In that case, do come in. Albert should be home soon.’’ He glanced down the street one final time before leading her inside. ‘‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think Mr. Howard had escorted you to our front door.’’

  ‘‘So he did. With a few simple instructions, I believe I could have found the place myself, but he has been ever so helpful. He’s quite the gentleman.’’

  ‘‘There are those who might argue that point,’’ he muttered. ‘‘Come along and let me introduce you to my mother. She’s the one who’s in charge of keeping Albert and me on a straight and narrow path.’’

  Olivia giggled as he led her down the hallway. ‘‘I didn’t realize Albert had changed so much. His mother will be sad to hear such news.’’

  The blue eyes of the short, stocky woman who was standing in the kitchen sparkled. ‘‘Don’t you go believing Fred. He’s the one who needs watching. Albert’s a fine young man, ready to settle down with his Martha.’’

  ‘‘So Albert has met someone special.’’

  Fred leaned against the kitchen table. ‘‘You could say that. I’m thinking he and Martha Mosher will be married before the year ends if Albert has his way. Are you here for a visit or planning to make your home in Pullman, Miss Mott?’’

  ‘‘Where are your manners, Fred? Offer the lady a chair before you start with your questions.’’

  Mrs. DeVault placed a cup of tea in front of Olivia and continued paring potatoes. Fred plopped down in the chair opposite her. ‘‘Now tell us about yourself, Miss Mott. With that accent, I take it you’re from London, too?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I am. I worked in Lanshire Hall—in the kitchen.’’ She must turn the conversation away from herself. ‘‘I’ve only seen a small portion of your town, but I must say that I am most impressed and pleased that I will be making my home here. Mr. Pullman must be a wonderful man.’’

  Fred leaned across the table. ‘‘Wonderful? Let me tell you a little about the man who founded this town. Like most of the capitalists in Chicago, George Pullman came up from nothing. Unfortunately, once these men begin to make money, greed takes over and they want more and more—they’re consumed with accumulating more wealth. Pullman started out in the house-moving business. When the Chicago city council declared the grade of the city had to be elevated for new sewers and streets, George Pullman arrived on the scene. He and his brother operated a business that elevated buildings like the Tremont Hotel.’’

  Olivia gasped. ‘‘Truly? I can’t imagine such a feat.’’

  He nodded. ‘‘While twelve hundred men turned five thousand jackscrews to raise the building, business went on as usual inside the hotel. And not a pane of glass was broken in the process.’’ ‘‘Mr. Pullman must be quite the innovative man.’’

  Fred hesitated. ‘‘I suppose I’d agree on that point. He went on to Colorado and had good luck in the gold fields. After that is when he expanded upon the idea of the sleeper train car. There are some who think the concept of the sleeper car was all his idea, but it wasn’t. He improved upon the idea by developing better sleeper cars. Now he’s created a monopoly by buying out his competitors.’’

  Olivia didn’t understand the rancor she detected in Fred’s response. ‘‘You don’t find his story inspiring? Look at the good he’s done by building this town for his workers.’’

  He shook his head and laughed. ‘‘This town wasn’t constructed as a kindness, Miss Mott. It was erected for two purposes: to make money and to control the employees. Mr. Pullman expects a minimum six percent profit from this town, and he sets
the rules for how we are to live. Those seeking work with the company agree to rent from him, because those who do not are laid off during lean times—or are not hired at all.’’

  ‘‘Yet you must agree—’’ Olivia stopped midsentence when she spotted her cousin walking down the hallway. The wooden chair clattered to the floor as she jumped forward to greet him. ‘‘Albert!’’ He pulled her into a warm embrace. Their words soon tumbled over top of each other with questions and news from London.

  Finally Albert grasped her hands in his. ‘‘Are you here for a visit, or do you plan to remain in America?’’

  They gathered in the kitchen while Albert inquired about the voyage and her brief visits in New York and Chicago as she journeyed to Pullman. Most importantly, he wanted to know how she’d been able to afford her fine travel arrangements—it had taken him over a year of meager living to save funds for his ticket in steerage. She didn’t want to go into details regarding Charlotte on her first meeting with her cousin. In fact, she hadn’t truly decided how much she wanted to reveal at all. But with two strangers in the room, she decided she had best adhere to the tale she’d given Mr. Howard. Relating only meager details might prevent any possible misstep in the tale and permit an early exit from the topic.

  Several minutes later, with her explanation complete, Olivia pushed away from the table. ‘‘I was hired as an assistant chef at the hotel and will begin work tomorrow.’’ She snugged her hat more firmly atop her brown curls.

  Albert slapped his knee. ‘‘Then you’ll be in good company. Martha works at the Hotel Florence—she supervises the maids.’’ He grinned. ‘‘You’ll like her. I know you will.’’

  Olivia nodded. ‘‘I’m certain you’re correct.’’ She stole a look at the clock. Charlotte would be furious if she didn’t soon return. Besides, she felt as though she might drown in the steady stream of questions. She needed to come up for air. ‘‘Charlotte will be wondering what’s happened to me. Perhaps you could come over this evening for a visit?’’

  The question had been directed at Albert, but the three of them nodded in unison, and it was Mrs. DeVault who answered first. ‘‘We’d love to meet Mrs. Hornsby.’’ She patted Albert’s shoulder. ‘‘And you can bring Martha along and introduce her, too. Olivia will already have a friend at the hotel when she begins work in the morning.’’ She seemed pleased with herself and beamed at Olivia. ‘‘Won’t that be nice?’’

  What could she do but agree? Too late she thought of several responses that might have forestalled the arrival of the extra uninvited guests. She hurried toward home, anxious to add notations to her list of lies—necessary documentation of who had been told what. If she didn’t keep everything straight, this house of cards she’d built would soon tumble around her.

  As expected, Charlotte greeted her with an angry jibe, and although Olivia offered a flowery apology, Charlotte insisted upon detailing every tiny incident that had occurred during her absence. She trailed behind Olivia like a newborn pup fearful of losing its mother. How could she possibly concentrate on her notes while Charlotte continued her incessant jabbering?

  She shook her pencil at Charlotte and furrowed her brows. ‘‘Please give me a few minutes of silence so I may think.’’

  Charlotte dropped onto one of the chairs that had been delivered during Olivia’s absence and assumed a childish sulk.

  So be it. Olivia could deal with Charlotte’s pouting so long as she remained silent.

  When she finished writing, Olivia handed her notes to Charlotte. ‘‘The furniture looks very nice, and you’ve had it arranged in a lovely fashion.’’ She tapped her finger to the paper. ‘‘You have little time to read and memorize what I’ve written. We’re entertaining guests this evening.’’

  CHAPTER SIX

  While Albert raced upstairs to wash and change clothes before supper, Fred remained settled at the table, watching his mother move about the kitchen. She was humming a soft tune as she worked.

  Fred rested his chin in his hand and peered across the room. ‘‘What did you think of Albert’s cousin?’’

  His mother offered a brief glance. ‘‘She’s a beauty, no doubt about that, and she seems nice. The question is, what did you think about her?’’

  Fred laughed. ‘‘Much the same as you, although she seems a poor judge of character. And I thought her quite young to be hired as an assistant chef.’’

  While his mother wanted nothing more than his marriage to a suitable young woman and grandchildren she could spoil, Fred thought ample time remained for such life-altering events. All the same, he considered Olivia an engaging girl with a charming smile. He’d be more than willing to show her about town—unless Mr. Howard had already claimed that opportunity.

  His mother shrugged. ‘‘Martha is near the same age, yet she holds a position of responsibility, even supervises maids older than herself.’’ His mother bent down and peeked in the oven to check the dinner rolls. After opening the oven door, she shifted the tin baking pan and quickly stepped back, her cheeks rosy from the heat. ‘‘And what do you mean she’s a poor judge of character? You’ve only just met Miss Mott.’’

  ‘‘Appears as if she may be keeping company with Mr. Howard. At least he escorted her to our front door.’’ Fred walked to the stove and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Wrapping his large hand around the cup, he ambled back to his chair and sat down. ‘‘If she plans to keep company with the likes of Mr. Howard, then she’s not figured out how to separate the wheat from the chaff.’’

  His mother flapped her hand. ‘‘She’s only just arrived. It’s too early for her to make a judgment on the man’s character. And you’d best keep your voice down. The windows are open. No need giving the neighbors something to talk about.’’

  Though she smiled with the admonition, Fred knew she feared his remarks would be overheard and eventually reach the ears of company officials, which was only one of his many complaints about living in Mr. Pullman’s perfect town. Though no one would ever admit to such behavior, there was little doubt in Fred’s mind that spies lived among them in the row houses—men and women willing to report on their neighbors for an extra favor or an added dollar or two in their pay. Fred found such actions appalling and had proposed moving to Roseland or Kensington on several occasions.

  However, his mother feared moving from Pullman. Too many of her friends’ husbands had been laid off once they moved outside the town. She worried the same would happen to Fred. And though he’d attempted to assure her there was little chance of layoffs in the foreseeable future, she’d been reduced to tears at the very thought of moving. He’d finally given up on the idea—at least for the time being.

  Fred gulped a final swig of his coffee as Albert returned to the kitchen. ‘‘This certainly has been a surprising day! I never imagined I’d come home and be greeted by my cousin Olivia. Difficult to believe!’’ He smoothed his damp hair with the palm of his hand. ‘‘She was here, wasn’t she?’’

  Mrs. DeVault chuckled. ‘‘Indeed she was. And she seemed a very nice young lady. It’s fortunate that she’s located a position so quickly, too. Some of the women in our sewing circle have had their names on the waiting list at the laundry for nearly three months now.’’ Careful to use a folded towel to protect her hand, she pulled the baking tin from the oven and placed it on the wood worktable. ‘‘Of course, Olivia has lots more experience and training, what with her education and skills in cooking.’’

  Fred watched his mother brush melted butter atop the perfectly rounded mounds. He was thankful they had enough income that she wasn’t required to seek work in the huge laundry or sewing departments where some of the town’s women labored. Intermittent income from her midwifery duties provided a bit of money for what she often referred to as her rainy-day fund.

  He’d seen the arrival of carloads of soiled uniforms and linens that needed to be washed and then pressed on the huge mangles and shirt-pressing machines. Occasionally he’d visited Homer Lindsey on the s
econd floor of the laundry, where fifteen hundred pounds of soap were made each day, then piped downstairs and delivered to the huge washers, where the dirty items were restored to snowy white perfection. Homer’s wife worked as a seamstress in the linen department, and they hoped to save enough to buy a house of their own in Roseland one day. Fred doubted they’d ever reach the goal, given their wages, but he didn’t voice his opinion to Homer.

  ‘‘Martha mentioned one of the hotel maids has quit her position to take a job in the knitting mills next week.’’ Albert appeared pleased he’d remembered to pass along the information. ‘‘You might tell some of the ladies they could apply at the hotel.’’

  While most everything required for the building and repair of the Pullman railroad cars had purposefully been incorporated into the multiple buildings that formed the Pullman Car Works, the positions for men far outweighed those available for women. And it seemed Fred’s mother was often searching out prospects for one lady friend or another.

  ‘‘If George Pullman paid a decent wage, the women wouldn’t be required to work in order to make ends meet.’’

  Once again, his mother waved a warning. ‘‘Enough of such talk. Let’s enjoy our supper. I’m anxious to go visit with Albert’s cousin and meet Mrs. Hornsby.’’

  Fred grinned at his mother. ‘‘You win, Mother. I promise I’ll not say another word against Mr. Pullman or the town—at least until after supper.’’

  Charlotte remained sound asleep while Olivia prepared to depart for work the next morning. She was grateful she wouldn’t be forced to listen to her ladyship whine about their poor accommodations or her need for a maid to help fashion her hair. Upon seeing the sparse furnishings in the kitchen last evening, Mrs. DeVault had insisted Charlotte come and take her meals with her the next day.

  After the guests had departed the night before, Olivia had once again shoved her notes at Charlotte. ‘‘Study these again before you go to sleep and before you depart for your visit with Mrs. DeVault.’’