In the Company of Secrets

by Judith Miller

  Olivia removed Charlotte’s gloves from her reticule and slid her hands inside. She fastened the small buttons at the wrist and straightened her shoulders. ‘‘I couldn’t permit you to spend so much. Furthermore, your mother is spending too many hours already caring for Morgan. It would be unfair to ask more of her. After Charlotte returns—’’

  ‘‘Yes. We’ll come to the city and have supper during the holidays. Chicago is quite festive then. The stores are richly decorated to entice the shoppers, and more of the buildings for the Columbian Exposition will have been completed by then, too. When the Exposition opens, you must promise to attend with me.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I would very much enjoy that. I’ve been hearing bits and pieces of information from hotel visitors about the plans and expectations. It all sounds so grand and exciting.’’ She placed her hand in the crook of Fred’s arm, and they entered the lobby.

  Though the outside of the enormous auditorium was of a simplistic design, Olivia gasped as a formally attired attendant led them into the extravagantly decorated theater and directed them to their seats. Her attention was immediately drawn to the ceiling, where majestic arches, highlighted with gold leaf, and plaster reliefs, inlaid with carbon-filament lamps, gleamed like mellow gold and gave the entire theater a luminescent glow.

  ‘‘What do you think? This is quite a place, isn’t it?’’

  ‘‘Oh, Fred. I thought Mr. Pullman’s theater was magnificent. But it pales in comparison.’’ She quickly placed her gloved fingers to her lips. ‘‘I hope nobody heard me say that.’’

  Fred laughed. ‘‘I doubt we’ll see anyone we know, and if they dislike our remarks about George Pullman, let them tell him. He won’t suspect they came from us. He wouldn’t believe any of his factory workers could afford such a fine place as this.’’

  She patted his arm. ‘‘Do give him credit for providing the town with a wonderful theater, Fred.’’

  ‘‘I’ll agree the theater is very nice, but we’re not going to discuss work or Mr. Pullman any further this evening. Agreed?’’ He grinned and then pointed out the elliptical arches situated throughout the theater. ‘‘Those arches are beautiful, but would you believe there are ducts concealed inside that carry steam heat in the winter and cool air in the summer so the theater always remains comfortable?’’

  Olivia thought he must be teasing her. ‘‘Surely not. How could they possibly cool such a place as this?’’

  ‘‘It’s true. The ducts carry cooled air that has been passed across blocks of ice that are sprayed with water. Rather ingenious and much more comfortable than sitting in a stifling, overheated building in midsummer.’’

  Fred was impressed with the construction and mechanics of the vast building while Olivia marveled at the intricate architectural design. On the back of their programs, Olivia discovered a reprinting of the newspaper article that had been published regarding the opening night at the theater on October 2, 1889.

  While fastidiously attired couples made their way into the theater, Olivia pointed to a sentence midway down the page. ‘‘Look at this, Fred. It says that on opening night the sidewalks around the building were carpeted, gaslit, and covered with a canopy for the over five thousand guests in attendance. Even President Harrison was in the audience.’’ She looked about the theater in wonder. ‘‘Just imagine. I’m attending the same theater as did the president of the United States.’’

  He chuckled and tapped the program. ‘‘And don’t forget the mayor, the governor, and the vice-president. From the sound of it, this place is nearly fine enough for the two of us.’’

  The lights dimmed and voices hushed as the curtain opened and the play began. Even from their seats in the upper gallery, Fred and Olivia could hear the performers’ voices with perfect clarity. The acting was magnificent and the costumes delightful. Olivia was enthralled and sat with rapt attention. Never before had she seen such a brilliant performance.

  During the intermission, Fred purchased coffee, and they sat at a small table in the lobby, discussing the first acts of the presentation and watching the many theater attendees milling about and purchasing refreshments.

  When the play had ended and the final applause quieted, the crowd slowly migrated toward the exits with murmurs of approval on their lips. As they descended the wide staircase to the lobby, Olivia took Fred’s arm. She considered the evening a complete success in every aspect.

  However, her mood altered when they reached the last stair and she saw Mr. Howard waving from across the lobby. He approached with a determined step. ‘‘Why, Olivia, how wonderful to see you. I thought I captured a glimpse of you from my box shortly after the intermission.’’ Formally attired in black tie and tails, Mr. Howard seemed to assess Fred’s dark blue suit before turning his full attention back to Olivia.

  ‘‘I’d like the two of you to join me for a late evening dessert and coffee at the Grand Pacific Hotel dining room.’’ He tipped his head closer as though he planned to tell them a secret. ‘‘Sometimes the actors come to the hotel dining room after their performances and visit. I believe you’d find it most enjoyable.’’

  Before consulting with her, Fred offered regrets and mentioned their need to get home due to Morgan. But Mr. Howard didn’t give up easily. He offered to arrange for their transportation home at his expense, but Fred adamantly refused to hear of it.

  Once they were settled on the train, Fred grew quiet.

  ‘‘Is something amiss, Fred?’’ Olivia asked.

  He rubbed his thick, callused fingers across the back of her hand. ‘‘Mr. Howard is a better choice for you, Olivia. He can give you the things you deserve: a life filled with beautiful gowns, the opportunity to meet famous people and attend fine parties, and a better future than I ever could.’’ He studied their entwined fingers.

  His words pierced her. ‘‘Is that what you think of me? That I’m no more than a shallow woman interested only in pretty dresses and parties?’’

  Intensity darkened his blue eyes, and he released her hand. ‘‘I never said you were shallow. But it makes sense that most any woman would be interested in making a better marriage than what a Pullman factory worker can offer.’’

  ‘‘Well, I’m not ‘most any woman,’ Fred. If and when I marry, it will be a marriage based upon love and respect, not upon how much finery my husband can heap upon me throughout my life.’’

  He bowed his head for a moment. ‘‘I like that—love and respect. And truthfulness. That’s important, too, don’t you agree?’’

  Truth. Couldn’t love and respect have been enough? Why did he have to add truth? It was almost as though he knew she was hiding something. Or was it her guilt that caused her to question his motives?

  She agreed. ‘‘Yes. Truth is very important.’’ She understood that fact more than most. After all, her lies were constantly popping up to wreak havoc in her life. What would Fred do if he knew her truth? If she told him all her secrets, would he consider her a fraud and never want to see her again? Tell him. Better sooner than later. But the tiny voice of encouragement wasn’t quite loud enough. She didn’t want to lose Fred. Should he declare his love for her, she’d tell him then. But doing so now would only complicate matters. It might terminate their relationship completely. A most disturbing thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Nearly a week had passed since Fred escorted her to the theater, but the images were still vivid in Olivia’s memory as she locked the front door on Friday morning and stood near the railing watching for Martha’s familiar face in the predawn light. The rustling of leaves drew her attention and a trickle of fear inched through her belly. She scanned the nearby foliage but couldn’t see anyone there. Most likely just the wind, she told herself.

  She peered down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of Martha. There was no one in sight, yet Martha hadn’t mentioned any change in her work schedule. If she waited any longer, she would be late for work.

  The snap of a branch captured her attent
ion, and then a squirrel scampered nearby, as if to ease her fears. After gulping a quick breath, she descended the porch steps and crossed the street. She’d taken only a few strides when fallen leaves and twigs crackled behind her. Before she could turn, an arm wrapped around her body and a hand grabbed for her purse. She clung to the handle, unwilling to turn loose of the handbag or its contents. Only yesterday she’d withdrawn five dollars from the bank to make several purchases at the market after work. She would not easily hand over her hard-earned money.

  In a swift, jarring move, she tilted sideways and screamed while fighting to wrest herself from the bruising hold. After several more yelps, she heard the clopping of heavy footsteps and a loud shout. Before she could catch her breath, both she and her assailant toppled to the ground. When she looked over her shoulder, her neighbor Mr. Rice held the fellow in a chokehold.

  Olivia scooted away from the two men and squinted. Even in early morning shadows, she could make out the thatch of red hair. ‘‘Eddie!’’

  Mr. Rice pulled the young man to his feet. ‘‘What do you think you’re doing, young man? I think I best take you over to the stationhouse in Kensington.’’

  Eddie twisted around. ‘‘No, please don’t do that. I’m sorry, Miss Mott. Truly I am. I was just trying to get back at you for losing my job.’’

  Olivia detected the fear and anguish in his plea. ‘‘Let me have a few minutes alone with him, Mr. Rice.’’

  ‘‘Are ya sure?’’

  Olivia bobbed her head.

  ‘‘I’ll watch from across the street, but you holler out if he makes one move toward you.’’

  Olivia waited until Mr. Rice was out of earshot. ‘‘You nearly scared me to death, Eddie. And if Mr. Rice hadn’t come out when he did, you would have run off with my purse. Isn’t that the truth?’’

  His hair waved in wild abandon as he readily agreed. ‘‘Yes. But I don’t have a job because of you.’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t the reason you were fired, Eddie. You’re the one who stole the liquor.’’

  ‘‘I know.’’ He bowed his head. ‘‘And I’m paying for what I did. I know I shouldn’t be mad at you. Trouble is, when I apply for a job, they always ask where I worked before. Then they want a recommendation. Of course I don’t have one, since I was fired.’’

  Eddie’s need for a recommendation struck a chord that reminded Olivia of the forged letter she’d used to gain employment. God had forgiven her, yet a renewed guilt washed over her. ‘‘I can’t help you in that regard, Eddie, but I’ll agree to let you go if you promise you’ll quit stalking me. Give me your word that you’ll stay away from me and out of Pullman.’’

  ‘‘You’ve got my word, Miss Mott. You won’t see me around town again.’’ He scratched his head. ‘‘I know I got to suffer the consequences of my wrongdoing. I’m lucky I ain’t in jail.’’

  Olivia didn’t know if it was his comment about consequences, the sadness in his eyes, or her own guilty conscience, but she opened her reticule and handed him a dollar. ‘‘It’s not much, but it’s the most I can spare.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, Miss Mott.’’ He appeared embarrassed, but he tucked the money into his frayed pocket and then glanced across the street. ‘‘I’ll be on my way, if it’s all right.’’

  ‘‘You go on. I’ll explain to Mr. Rice.’’

  Several hours later Olivia was bent over one of the chopping tables slicing onions, with thoughts of her talk with Eddie still fresh in her mind. While Eddie suffered the consequences of his wrongdoings, she continued her life of lies without the slightest penalty. Even Chef René had been willing to overlook her deceitful behavior. The pungent smell of the onions drifted upward, and she blinked several times to ease the stinging in her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them on the sleeve of her white jacket.

  Without warning, a hand grasped her shoulder. Startled, she lost her grip on the knife and jumped backward as it spiraled to the floor. Mr. Howard stood by her side with the knife lying beside his foot. She gasped. The blade had barely missed plunging into his shiny black shoe.

  Heart racing, she leaned down and picked up the knife. ‘‘I’m so sorry. I could have wounded you.’’

  ‘‘You’ve already wounded me, Olivia.’’ He whispered the words into her ear. Then, speaking loud enough for all to hear, he instructed her to join him in Chef René ’s office for a meeting. Why today? Hadn’t the incident with Eddie been enough to set her nerves on edge? Now a meeting with Mr. Howard.

  She followed along, wondering how she had possibly wounded Mr. Howard. Granted, the knife had come close, but it hadn’t done any more than touch the sole of his shoe. Once he closed the door, she again offered an apology, but he held up his hand.

  He beckoned her toward one of the chairs. ‘‘Please, no more. You’ve already apologized, and I’m not injured in the least.’’

  She removed her toque and sat down. ‘‘But you said I’d wounded you.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps I should have spoken more plainly. You’ve wounded my heart, Olivia, not my foot.’’

  She swallowed hard. Was he going to speak of his earlier marriage proposal? From beneath an errant curl that had come to rest above her left eye, she peeked at the door. How she wished she could bolt down the hallway and back to the kitchen. But she couldn’t—not without Mr. Howard’s permission. So she clutched the chair arms and waited to hear what he had to say.

  ‘‘I was disappointed when I saw you in Chicago with Mr. DeVault.’’ He leaned back into the thick padding of Chef René ’s chair. ‘‘Especially since you’ve declined my invitations to dinner and the theater. Every day I’ve hoped you would suggest we meet and continue our earlier conversation. Am I such poor company, Olivia?’’

  His eyes clouded with sadness, and she considered how lonely he must be without his wife to keep him company each evening. Much like her own, his life had changed without warning. She preferred to spend her free time with Fred, but she hadn’t intended to hurt the man.

  She picked at the frayed edge of her cuff. ‘‘You are a fine escort, Mr. Howard. A gentleman in all respects. My refusals were always truthful.’’

  He rested his elbows on René ’s desk. ‘‘Then how is it you were able to overcome all obstacles and accompany Mr. DeVault to Chicago?’’

  ‘‘Fred took care of all the details. He arranged for his mother to care for Morgan and made certain my work schedule didn’t conflict with our departure—all things that made it possible for me to easily accept his offer.’’ She didn’t add that Chef René had given her permission to leave work earlier than usual.

  ‘‘I see. So will you attend the theater with me if I do the same?’’

  She now found herself boxed into a tight corner of her own making. How was she to escape? ‘‘I doubt whether Mrs. DeVault would be agreeable to such an arrangement, and except for Charlotte and me, she’s the only person who has cared for the baby.’’

  His brows puckered, and he appeared deep in thought for a moment. ‘‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but shortly after Mrs. Hornsby’s unexpected departure, I believe you mentioned the baby was left in Mrs. Rice’s care. If Mrs. DeVault isn’t willing or is unavailable, perhaps Mrs. Rice would be an acceptable alternate. The woman has children of her own, does she not?’’

  Olivia thought of Mr. Rice’s angry voice as he hollered at his own children and his impatience when Morgan would cry. ‘‘Possibly. Though I don’t think Mr. Rice likes the idea of extra children in the house. Mrs. Rice only agreed to help when her husband was at work.’’

  ‘‘Well, I suppose I had best put on my thinking cap and locate a suitable person to care for the lad. I didn’t plan to press you for an answer regarding my marriage proposal, but I do hope you are keeping it under consideration.’’

  He said he wasn’t pushing for a response, but she heard the insistent question in his voice. She couldn’t bear to look at him, for his words were filled with a pleading despair that she’d likely see reflec
ted in his eyes. She didn’t want to hurt him any further, yet she couldn’t agree. The silence in the room was deafening. When he finally spoke, it startled her.

  ‘‘My dear Olivia, you’ll be hard pressed to continue renting the row house with your income. And I doubt if Mrs. DeVault plans to continue caring for Morgan indefinitely.’’ He leaned forward and stretched his arms across the desk. ‘‘Surely you’ve accepted the fact that Mrs. Hornsby is not going to return. She’s abandoned the child and she’s abandoned you. I’m offering you and the child a wonderful future.’’ He sighed. ‘‘Would it be so difficult to love me?’’

  She stared at her folded hands and shrugged. ‘‘I’m not an expert in matters of the heart, Mr. Howard, but I would never marry a man unless I truly loved him.’’

  ‘‘The only way you can discover your feelings is if you and I become better acquainted. And the only way for that to occur is for you to agree to spend time with me. I’m certain I can locate a suitable person to care for Morgan.’’ Mr. Howard pressed his open hands atop the desk and stood.

  Olivia considered his statement. ‘‘Please understand that I won’t leave Morgan with anyone I don’t consider capable of offering excellent care. I’d have to be acquainted with the person.’’

  She stepped toward the door, surprised when he casually grasped her hand. He turned the knob and escorted her into the hallway.

  ‘‘Of course. And I admire your commitment to the child.’’ Before releasing her, he brushed a kiss on the back of her hand. ‘‘You might advise Chef René that the Earl and Countess of Lanshire are expected to return on Monday. He may want to make some special dishes during their stay.’’

  His news erased the vexation that she’d experienced when he had kissed her hand. ‘‘That’s only a few days away.’’ Her voice sounded like a croaking bullfrog.