In the Company of Secrets

by Judith Miller

  ‘‘Indeed. But Chef René is accustomed to preparing for royalty. He needs little notice.’’ With a brief wave, he departed using the side door.

  She watched out the window until he passed through the iron gates and onward toward the administrative offices. She would talk to Fred and explain what had occurred. Surely he would understand her dilemma and offer sound advice. Of greater concern was the news that Charlotte’s parents were returning. She had secretly hoped they would change their plans and decide against another visit to Pullman. She’d have to keep to the kitchen once they arrived.

  As soon as Mr. Howard disappeared from sight, she turned away from the window. She must deliver the news to Chef René .

  The chef wasn’t nearly as composed as Mr. Howard had predicted. Moreover, he acted as though the entire idea of the returning nobility was her fault. He banged his pots and pans, barked orders at the staff, and overcooked the fish course, which he then insisted upon re-creating.

  When Olivia could take no more, she yanked on his sleeve. ‘‘I didn’t invite them, you know. I’m only relaying the message from Mr. Howard. The kitchen staff is not to blame, either.’’

  He plopped his ample body onto a nearby chair. ‘‘Oui, I know it is not your fault, but this makes me angry. I have already planned next week’s meals for the hotel guests. With nobility here, the menu will need to be changed. I cannot serve them the normal fare.’’ His heavy jowls wobbled as he shook his head in disgust. ‘‘We will be prepared when they arrive, but it will take extra work. I’ll need your assistance completing the menus, and you’ll go to the Market Building tomorrow to alert the merchants.’’

  While the rest of the kitchen staff prepared to depart, Olivia jotted down notes of the chef ’s preliminary ideas of what he would prepare and what tasks must be completed prior to preparation of the first meal. Of course, neither of them knew exactly when the earl and countess would arrive. They didn’t expect the guests before breakfast on Monday, but they needed to be prepared in any event.

  Though she knew Chef René wanted to continue planning, Fred was likely pacing back and forth outside, wondering when she would appear. ‘‘Please, Chef René , could we continue this in the morning? I must get home to the baby.’’

  He sighed and waved. ‘‘Go on then. I’ll work on this by myself, but be prepared for a full day of work tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘I’ll plan to stop by the Market on my way to work and tell the vendors you must have their full cooperation with fruits, vegetables, and cuts of meat.’’

  ‘‘Non. Wait until later in the morning, after we have decided upon the menus. And you may need to come in on Sunday after your church meeting.’’

  She wanted to shout she couldn’t possibly work on Sunday afternoon, for she would be spending her afternoon with Fred and Morgan, enjoying a stroll in the park if the weather permitted. Instead, she suggested they work in earnest so they could complete their tasks on Saturday. ‘‘That way we can both attend church.’’

  ‘‘The food—that is what is important, Miss Mott.’’

  ‘‘Indeed, I read in the Bible that Jesus is the bread of life. Maybe going to church would be the best thing to help us with this food situation.’’

  He waved her toward the door. ‘‘I don’t need you sending me to church, Miss Mott. As a little boy in France, my mother made sure I lit my share of altar candles. Now off with you, or I’ll put you back to work.’’

  Olivia scurried out the door before he could change his mind. Descending the steps and rounding the corner, she wondered what Chef René had looked like as a little boy lighting church candles. The thought made her grin.

  Fred’s collar was turned up against the cool evening air. ‘‘I was about to come inside and see if you’d left without me.’’

  She laughed and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, enjoying the warmth and safety she always felt when she was near him. ‘‘Problems concerning the arrival of guests next week.’’

  While they walked, she explained about the Earl and Countess of Lanshire and Chef René ’s worries. But she didn’t mention her meeting with Mr. Howard, his marriage proposal, or his invitation to the theater. In spite of her lateness, Fred’s mood was lighthearted, and she didn’t want to spoil their time together. There would be time to talk about Mr. Howard later.

  Suddenly she came to an abrupt halt. ‘‘I nearly forgot to tell you what happened this morning.’’

  Fred listened attentively while she explained the incident with Eddie. She didn’t mention she’d given him money, only that she’d taken pity upon him.

  ‘‘I know what you did was kind, Olivia. But I wonder if Eddie would have been so kind had Mr. Rice not come to your rescue.’’

  She shrugged. ‘‘We’ll never know. But I no longer fear him, and I’ll no longer have to be looking over my shoulder when you’re not around to protect me.’’

  ‘‘Wanting to get rid of me as your evening escort, are you?’’

  ‘‘No. Of course not. I’d find it most pleasing if you continued to meet me after work.’’ Surely he must realize how much she cared for him.

  ‘‘Just the answer I was hoping for.’’ When they reached the front of the house, he stopped and faced her, then cupped her face between his hands and lightly kissed her lips.

  The staff had nearly completed serving breakfast Monday morning when Chef René blustered into the kitchen. ‘‘They’ve arrived! Mr. Beelings informs me they prefer to have their noonday meal in the private dining room. This is good news!’’

  Olivia understood his meaning: they needed to prepare the special dishes only for the earl and countess. Something of a more simple nature would be offered to the remaining hotel guests. As for the staff, the report signaled less drudgery in the kitchen and the probability that their workdays would end on schedule. For Olivia, it decreased the likelihood she would encounter her former employers. She could only hope the earl and countess would continue the practice during their entire stay.

  ‘‘Did Mr. Billings report how long the earl and countess intend to remain in Pullman?’’

  ‘‘Non! They said at least three days, but who can tell with nobility? Unlike us, they can come and go at their pleasure.’’

  She knew that was true enough, but she also recalled that the countess disliked being away from home for long periods. During Olivia’s employment at Lanshire Hall, the couple had always returned from their sojourns within six weeks. She could only hope the countess hadn’t changed her perspective. The sooner they departed, the better for all concerned.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Morgan’s eyelids fluttered and then drooped as he finished his bottle. He was a beautiful child, and Olivia had become much too fond of him. She’d tried hard to remain detached, but it was proving an impossible task. She kissed his soft cheek and settled him in his cradle. She was looking forward to relaxing with a good book after a second day of catering to the demands of the earl and countess.

  Footsteps clattered across the wooden porch just as she was tucking Morgan’s blanket around him. She tensed at the knock but quickly remembered Eddie’s promise.

  Still, the need for caution had been imbedded in her memory, so she peeked through the window of the front door. The countess. Her heart thumped so loudly she wondered if Mr. Rice might hear and bang on the wall. Mr. Rice. If he or his wife saw the countess, he’d be outdoors questioning her at any moment. She had best let the woman inside.

  Her fingers trembled as she opened the door. ‘‘Why, Countess. To what do I owe this honor?’’

  ‘‘May I come in?’’

  Olivia stepped aside and waved her forward. ‘‘Yes, of course.’’ She forced a feeble smile. ‘‘I hope you’ll understand that I was taken aback to see you on my porch.’’

  The countess removed her kid gloves. She glanced at the cradle while she unfastened her cloak and handed it to Olivia. ‘‘I see you have an infant. I wasn’t aware you were married.’’

&n
bsp; ‘‘Oh, I’m not married,’’ Olivia quickly responded. ‘‘Won’t you please sit down?’’

  The countess’s eyebrows arched as she took the seat offered. ‘‘I wouldn’t announce that fact to the world, Miss Mott. It’s certainly not something of which you should be proud.’’

  ‘‘Oh! He’s not my baby. He belongs to a friend.’’ Olivia sat down, as well.

  ‘‘I see. Well, then, let us get to the crux of why I’m here, shall we?’’

  Olivia scooted back in her chair while the countess fumbled in her reticule and then removed a black velvet box. She opened the lid and dangled a necklace from two fingers.

  ‘‘I’m certain you will recognize this, as well as two other pieces I have in my bag.’’

  Olivia wondered if she might lose her supper. She swallowed hard, her stomach churning. Don’t lie! The tiny voice repeated the command several times. ‘‘Yes, I do recognize them. They belong to Lady Charlotte.’’

  The countess narrowed her eyes. ‘‘They belong to me. And I have just purchased them from Mr. Capper, a jeweler in the Arcade. I’m sure you know him quite well.’’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘‘No. I’ve never met the man.’’

  The countess returned the necklace to its case and snapped it shut. ‘‘Your name is on these papers as the person who sold my jewelry, Miss Mott.’’ She tapped the page but snapped it back when Olivia attempted to see exactly what had been written.

  ‘‘I assure you, I never sold the jewelry, Countess. There is a mistake.’’ Tell her the truth! ‘‘If you are willing to listen, I’ll explain exactly what has occurred.’’

  The older woman silently listened while Olivia detailed Charlotte’s forced intrusion into Olivia’s plan to come to America and the many problems the two of them had encountered since departing London. Though the countess appeared anxious to believe her daughter was alive, she frowned and shook her head in disbelief when Olivia revealed Charlotte had stolen and sold the jewelry and that Morgan was her grandchild.

  ‘‘Impossible! You’ve gone too far with this story, young lady. You should be ashamed of yourself. The truth is, you worked at Lanshire Hall, you stole my jewels, and then you sold them to Mr. Capper. You’re attempting to cover your own crimes by accusing my daughter.’’ Anger shining in her eyes, the countess whacked her gloves across the arm of the settee.

  Olivia flinched. ‘‘At Charlotte’s instruction, I did sell two pieces in London to cover our passage. Other than that, I’ve had nothing to do with the sale of the jewelry. I assure you that my claims can be proved.’’

  The countess pursed her lips and nodded. ‘‘I’ll listen, but you had best have some convincing evidence.’’

  ‘‘In order to avoid revealing her true identity, Charlotte took the name of Hornsby. Any of the neighbors can tell you she was pregnant and gave birth to Morgan. If you doubt it was Charlotte, you’ll find many of her gowns hanging in the wardrobes in her bedroom. Should you still doubt my word, you could speak privately with Randolph Morgan—he’s the baby’s father. Charlotte met with him right here in Pullman. Though he’d likely deny paternity, he’d possibly falter under the earl’s questioning.’’

  Suddenly Olivia remembered Charlotte’s letter. She jumped up from her chair. ‘‘I do have something tangible that will prove I’m telling the truth.’’ Without waiting for the countess to object, she hurried to the bedroom and retrieved Charlotte’s letter from the bureau drawer.

  All evidence of composure vanished when the countess read the letter. Her shoulders slumped, her complexion paled, and her hand trembled as she refolded the letter. ‘‘I can’t deny this is Charlotte’s handwriting.’’ She bowed her head. ‘‘With the evidence you’ve produced, I fear I’ve misjudged you.’’

  The countess glanced at the child. ‘‘Morgan? Charlotte named the infant after his father.’’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘‘I do recall that a few weeks after Mr. Morgan visited, Charlotte was ill nearly every morning, unable to partake of the morning meal.’’

  Olivia leaned forward. ‘‘I believe she truly loved him, but—’’

  ‘‘But he is married.’’

  ‘‘Yes. And already has several children.’’

  ‘‘Where is my daughter?’’

  ‘‘That letter is the last I’ve heard from her. As you can see, she didn’t advise me as to where she was going, and I have no idea of her present whereabouts. If you still doubt my word about the jewelry, I’ll accompany you to the shop. The owner can’t possibly identify me as the person who sold the jewels to him. However, I do admit that I benefited from the sale of your jewelry. As I earlier mentioned, Lady Charlotte paid my passage to America, and since our arrival in Pullman she has also paid a portion of the rent and expenses.’’

  The countess remained silent, staring across the room as though she couldn’t believe all she’d heard this day. The baby stirred and she looked his way again. ‘‘May I hold him?’’

  ‘‘Yes, of course.’’ When she hesitated, Olivia lifted Morgan from the tiny bed and placed him in her arms. ‘‘He’s quite a fine little lad, isn’t he?’’ The infant wrinkled his nose and stretched. His eyelids fluttered opened, and he looked up at the countess.

  ‘‘He has Charlotte’s fair complexion and her blue eyes.’’ She settled back on the divan and gently patted the infant. ‘‘What are we to do about you, Morgan? And how are we to find your mother?’’

  With those few words, it seemed the countess had accepted Morgan as a member of her family. Suddenly Olivia realized she would be parted from the child. She tamped down the feeling of panic rising in her chest. ‘‘You don’t have to make a decision tonight, Countess.’’

  ‘‘What? Oh, but we’re leaving in the morning. Decisions must be made immediately. I want you and Morgan to accompany me back to the hotel. We’ll talk to my husband. He’ll know what should be done.’’

  Olivia thought to argue against the plan, but she dared not disagree. She wondered if the woman planned to take custody of Morgan and then accuse her of thievery. Not once had she mentioned absolving Olivia of blame. Guilty or not, she might end up in jail.

  ‘‘Come along. It’s getting late and we haven’t much time. Where are the baby’s wraps?’’

  ‘‘Wraps? He doesn’t have a coat, but his cap is in my room. I bundle him with a blanket if the weather turns cool.’’ She thought it inappropriate to point out that the weather had been quite warm since the infant’s birth. And though it was October, she’d made do with his cap and a blanket when she took him outdoors during the evening. A coat hadn’t fit into her tight budget—especially since she’d been so generous with Eddie Calhoun.

  ‘‘No jacket? What can you be thinking? He might contract a case of pneumonia or the croup.’’

  ‘‘I haven’t had time to purchase his winter necessities, but I had planned to acquire a warm coat by the end of the month.’’ Olivia hurried off to retrieve the baby’s cap while the countess wrapped him in the blankets.

  Olivia wasn’t certain what the woman expected. It wasn’t as though she’d ever been responsible for an infant before. And Morgan had certainly flourished under her attention. Mrs. DeVault had even applauded her care of the baby.

  She pulled back the blankets and tied the cap on Morgan’s head. He was enclosed like sausage in a tight casing. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted his tiny upturned nose. Already he was too warm, but Olivia feared retribution should she attempt to remove even one of the layers.

  Outside, pale grays and charcoal etched long lines across the horizon as nightfall blotted out the final hues of gold and orange from the sky. Olivia fought to keep pace with the countess’s long stride. Her shorter legs and the burden of carrying the baby made the process difficult. Throughout their short journey, she lagged behind.

  ‘‘We can go in through the kitchen. I have a key.’’ Olivia panted to catch her breath.

  The countess stopped and waited until Olivia was beside her. ‘‘Why o
n earth would we go through the kitchen? I am a guest in the hotel.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps to avoid any prattle by the staff?’’ She didn’t want to be seen accompanying the countess. The questions would prove innumerable and the conjecture even worse.

  ‘‘I care not a whit what the staff in this hotel have to say. Do come along.’’

  They entered through the ornate front doors, the ones through which Olivia had entered on her first day in Pullman. Mr. Billings was at the desk. Why was he working so late? She had hoped one of the members of the night staff would be on duty. She refused to look in his direction as she followed the countess to the stairway.

  ‘‘Good evening, Countess. Good evening, Miss Mott.’’ Both of them ignored his greeting. The countess was on a mission, and Olivia wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.

  Fortunately, Olivia was required to climb only one flight of steps. The earl and countess were assigned to the second floor, where the rooms were of the finest quality and reserved for important guests. Going up the flight of stairs, the countess didn’t slow her pace. By the time they entered the sitting room in the suite, Olivia was gasping for breath. She didn’t even curtsy to the earl. Instead, she hastened across the room and, still clutching the baby, dropped to the settee.

  ‘‘Do sit down.’’ The earl’s sarcasm hung in the air like a damp fog. ‘‘What is this about, my dear?’’ he asked his wife.

  Olivia didn’t attempt to rise and show proper English decorum. She was too exhausted. Though a twinge of guilt attacked, she pushed it aside and reminded herself that she was no longer employed by the Earl of Lanshire and was no longer a resident of England.

  The countess sat down in the chair beside her husband. Her quiet murmuring served as a backdrop while Olivia peeled away the layered blankets and freed Morgan from his sweltering cocoon. Perspiration dotted the folds of his chubby arms, and his damp blond hair clung to his head in tiny ringlets. In spite of the heat and bouncing journey in her arms, he offered a tiny smile and cooed when she wiped his clammy face and arms with a cloth. Moments later, she recognized the anger in the earl’s voice as he argued with his wife.