He pulled a shapeless cotton towel from his waist and wrung it between his thick fingers. There was little doubt she had tried his patience to the extreme. ‘‘The cake will be presented at the proper time.’’ His tone resonated in a low, even timbre that precluded further discussion.
The man was downright exasperating! Why didn’t he answer her with a simple yes or no, instead of leaving her to worry? The moment an opportunity presented itself, she’d ask one of the waiters.
Unfortunately, when the waiter drew near to serve the fruit cups, Mr. Howard thwarted her chance. With his shoulder pressed against her, he leaned close and whispered, ‘‘Who is that attractive woman sitting beside Fred? I don’t believe I’ve seen her before.’’
Mr. Howard’s breath tickled her ear. His propinquity disturbed her, and she shifted in her chair. Her change of position produced a hairsbreadth of space between them. People were watching, and she didn’t want to give an appearance of intimacy with the company agent. If she could believe Fred’s comments, talk was already circulating about town, and she didn’t want to give wings to such rumors. Local tittle-tattle was one thing Mr. Pullman and the company agent couldn’t control. They might be able to enforce regulations regarding wallpaper choices, the manner and location for hanging one’s laundry, or the proper attire for strolling in the park, but whispered rumors were beyond their reach. And if there was one topic the locals enjoyed more than any other, it was discussing the superiors who enforced Mr. Pullman’s countless rules.
His question prompted Olivia to cast a fleeting glace to her right, where Fred and Ellen were deep in conversation. A knot of jealousy welled in her chest. Their fruit cups remained uneaten, with the decorative mint leaves still resting at perfect angles atop the pineapple wedges. There was little doubt that Ellen had piqued Fred’s interest.
Mr. Howard’s lips grazed her ear. ‘‘Are you going to tell me who is sitting beside Fred, or must I go and introduce myself?’’
‘‘Ellen Ashton.’’
Mr. Howard’s spoon slipped from his fingers and clanked as it hit the table. ‘‘Did you say Ashton?’’
Why did everyone request clarification of Ellen’s surname?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fred couldn’t believe his good fortune. Ellen Ashton, the daughter of Montrose Ashton, had been assigned a seat beside him. But he was annoyed that Samuel Howard had somehow managed to obtain a seat at the bride and groom’s table—alongside Olivia, of course.
No matter what the occasion, Mr. Howard consistently used his power and influence to insert himself whenever and wherever it served his purpose—even the wedding reception of a hotel maid and skilled laborer from the electroplating division. Mr. Howard wasn’t in attendance today because he wanted to celebrate the nuptials of valued employees. Rather, his presence was based upon his own desire to control Olivia. At least that’s what Fred had concluded the moment he saw the company agent walk into the church.
On the other hand, there was the possibility that Olivia desired Mr. Howard’s presence and had requested this seating arrangement. Either way, Fred was pleased to be seated next to Miss Ashton. She could provide a rare insight into her father’s determination to help unionize the workingmen of Chicago. He wondered if Mr. Howard had any idea that the daughter of Montrose Ashton was sitting only a short distance away from him. If so, he’d masked his vexation. At the moment, Mr. Howard and Olivia were engrossed in a rather one-sided conversation. Perhaps he was warning her against associating with the young woman.
From all appearances Olivia’s attention would likely be solely directed at Mr. Howard this day. Fred’s mother had suggested he offer Olivia an opportunity to detail her working affiliation with Mr. Howard. But each time he attempted to speak to her, her interest was directed toward Mr. Howard. After several endeavors, he gave up and turned his complete attention to Miss Ashton. Fred could now honestly inform his mother that his failure to communicate with Olivia hadn’t been entirely his fault.
Ellen Ashton proved to be a most interesting young woman. Well traveled and educated, she had little difficulty entertaining him in an unaffected manner with tales of her journeys abroad. But it was her father’s law practice and reputation for aiding the unions that truly interested Fred. When Ellen inquired about his work in Pullman, he used the opportunity to advantage. After a brief explanation of his tiresome duties, he lowered his voice. ‘‘How much do you assist your father with his unionization work, Miss Ashton?’’
Her hazel eyes sparkled with a hint of surprise. She tilted her head and met his gaze. ‘‘Why is it you inquire, Mr. De-Vault?’’
He leaned closer. ‘‘May I trust your ability to keep our discussion confidential?’’
She peered over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘‘By all means.’’
‘‘There are a number of workers who are interested in unionizing. As you likely know, we’d lose our jobs if anyone heard us even mention our intentions. I had hoped your father might help us in our efforts.’’
She leaned back in her chair as though she found the conversation tedious, but once the waiter had removed her plate, she lowered her shoulder and leaned in. ‘‘I don’t believe this is the proper place to discuss strikes and unionization. If an opportunity arises where we can visit privately, I’d be pleased to answer your questions.’’
Fred exhaled, pleasantly relieved that he hadn’t misjudged Miss Ashton. He’d make certain they had an opportunity to speak privately before she departed. There were many questions he’d like to pose. Perhaps she’d have the answers; perhaps she wouldn’t. Either way, he was now a step closer to Mr. Ashton and other union supporters who could help their cause.
Glancing at the bridegroom, he wondered if Albert would continue to support the local effort now that he was married. Most of the union support came from the single men, workers who didn’t have others relying upon their wages. Fred considered his own position. He didn’t have a wife and children depending upon him, yet he supported his mother. A sobering fact that was never far from his mind. If something happened to him, she’d be left in dire straits. If they owned a home in nearby Kensington or Roseland, she could take in boarders and support herself. But like most Pullman employees, he rented from the company. And if he were terminated, he would lose the right to live in Pullman.
Truth be told, his involvement in the union movement jeopardized her well-being more than his own. He could find work and support his mother outside of Pullman, but if he were to disappear or meet with an unexpected accident, she would suffer dearly. And shocking disasters occurred all too frequently among the laborers who attempted to organize. Only last week he’d heard of three deaths—all men who’d been actively working to unionize Marshall Field’s employees in Chicago.
Since the Chicago Haymarket Square bombing in 1886, when workers had rallied and gone on strike demanding an eight-hour workday at the McCormick Works, men like Pullman, Armour, McCormick, and Field had donated large sums of money to stamp out what they considered subversive movements by their workers. And woe to the man who spoke of collective bargaining to these powerful men. George Pullman was reported by the Knights of Labor to be the most persistent and malignant of the capitalists. An enemy determined to eradicate unionization at any cost. After dealing with both the threat of strikes and actual walkouts on several previous occasions, George Pullman had been clear: he would take a hard line against his workers.
While ignoring the needs of the men who labored to make them wealthy, these bastions of capitalism salved their consciences by aiding in the construction of the cultural centers that would bear their names. All in an effort to maintain their own fame and to prove Chicago the equal of any eastern city. These men had more money than they could ever spend in a lifetime, yet they refused to even discuss the possibility of wage increases or proper hiring practices. The very idea caused a smoldering fire to burn in Fred’s belly. The workers and their families deserved better. These were the issues he longed to one day
discuss with Montrose Ashton.
————
When Olivia confirmed that Ashton was Ellen’s last name, Mr. Howard appeared shaken. Olivia studied his pasty complexion. ‘‘Are you ill? If you need to leave, please don’t feel obligated to remain on my account.’’ Frankly, she longed to have him depart. She still didn’t know how he’d managed to obtain a seat next to her at the bride and groom’s table.
‘‘No, I’m fine.’’ As if to prove the validity of his response, he picked up his spoon and ate a piece of fruit. He swallowed the chunk of apple before continuing his inquiry. ‘‘How do you happen to know Miss Ashton?’’
The intensity of his dark-eyed stare was disconcerting, and Olivia shifted in her chair. She thought his question intrusive yet felt compelled to respond. ‘‘I met her several months ago in Chicago.’’
He waited, his mahogany eyes turning a shade darker. ‘‘And?’’
‘‘And I enjoy her company.’’ Perhaps her curt response would call a halt to his unwelcome interrogation.
Undeterred, he continued to hold her in his brooding stare. ‘‘And her father, Montrose Ashton, you know him, as well?’’ He didn’t wait for her response. ‘‘I believe you dropped one of his business cards in my office some time ago.’’
Olivia hesitated and then recalled the incident. She’d gone to Mr. Howard’s office in November of last year to discuss her new position with the company. She had dropped the business card while removing a handkerchief from her pocket. Mr. Howard had picked up the card and returned it to her. When she had avoided his questions as to how she happened to have Mr. Ashton’s card in her possession, Mr. Howard had become quite agitated. Moreover, his present behavior was similar to what he’d exhibited back then. Strange that both Fred and Mr. Howard would mention Montrose Ashton. As in England, she supposed solicitors were considered public figures of a sort, but there were many solicitors and barristers in a city the size of Chicago. Why the interest in this particular one?
Whether Mr. Howard knew Mr. Ashton or not, she disliked his intrusion into her personal affairs. The fact that the Earl of Lanshire had selected Mr. Ashton as his solicitor prior to leaving the country and had directed Olivia to contact Mr. Ashton was none of Mr. Howard’s business. Not that she had anything to hide, but she considered the matter private.
Mr. Howard cleared his throat, still waiting for an answer. Olivia rearranged the napkin that lay across her skirt. ‘‘I have met Mr. Ashton on one or two occasions, but my friendship is with Ellen. Our association has nothing to do with any sort of business. We enjoy visiting museums, chatting over a cup of tea, or visiting with friends.’’
Surely that should be enough explanation for her inquisitive employer. And she’d managed to tell the truth. She didn’t mention that Ellen sometimes assisted in her father’s law office. Ellen likely knew of Lady Charlotte’s disappearance and Morgan’s birth, although the two of them had never discussed the matter.
The two of them had met and formed their unlikely friendship when Olivia had followed the instructions contained in the Earl of Lanshire’s missive. A simple command that had directed her to make contact with Mr. Ashton. She and Ellen were as different as night and day. While Ellen was educated, worldly, and certainly wasn’t required to work to support herself, Olivia was the exact opposite. But for some reason, they had been drawn to each other. After Olivia had completed her first meeting with Montrose Ashton, she and Ellen had gone to tea at a small shop near the law office.
When Ellen discovered Olivia’s discomfort in getting about the city, she had taken it upon herself to become Olivia’s tour guide of sorts, introducing her to the variety of stores, museums, and a host of her friends and acquaintances. She had enjoyed their ventures to visit Jane Addams at her settlement house, where she offered a variety of assistance to the impoverished immigrants flocking into the city. A challenging conversation could always be found at Hull House. Truth be told, Olivia wouldn’t mind escaping to Chicago or Hull House right now—anyplace where she could avoid Mr. Howard’s piercing stare.
Glancing down the table, she motioned for a waiter who was removing the empty fruit dishes. ‘‘Could you tell me if the wedding cake has been delivered from the hotel?’’
The waiter nodded toward the door. One of the kitchen boys from Hotel Florence was inching his way across the room in a single-handed attempt to carry Olivia’s culinary creation to the serving table. Olivia inhaled a giant breath. Her gaze darted across the room to Chef René. He had spotted the lad and was signaling him to wait.
The chef lumbered across the room like an ominous thundercloud. Scowling at the kitchen boy, the chef carefully grasped one side of the cake board, and together they gently placed it upon the table. The moment the cake was in place and surrounded by greenery and a few yellow roses, Chef René motioned the boy to one side of the table and grasped the young man’s ear in a tight pinch. The lad danced on tiptoe as he accompanied the chef toward the kitchen. Along with a painful ear, the young man would suffer a good dose of the chef ’s ire, for the kitchen boy hadn’t followed the prescribed serving procedures for employees of Hotel Florence.
Olivia relaxed in her chair, certain that nothing more could go amiss this day. By early afternoon, her positive outlook began to fade. Plans to resolve her misunderstandings with Fred during their time together at the reception now appeared doomed to failure. Instead, she’d been forced to respond to Mr. Howard’s insistent questions while Fred and Ellen sat with their heads tipped close together, talking continually. Olivia wondered if they had even tasted their food. Several times she’d heard them laughing, as though they’d shared some fanciful story. She had expected Ellen to leap from her chair and leave at the first opportunity. Surprisingly, she had stayed, appearing engrossed in conversation and oblivious to the departing guests.
Olivia was about to interrupt the two of them when Chef René strode toward her, mopping his brow. ‘‘This is the first opportunity I have had to offer my apologies. All your hard work and then we nearly have the cake . . .’’ He pointed toward the floor. ‘‘I did not realize the boy had taken your creation from the kitchen. You know we have procedures in place to avoid such occurrences.’’
Olivia held up her palm to halt his apology. ‘‘It is forgotten. The lad was attempting to help. I’m sure he’ll follow procedures in the future.’’ She touched a finger to her ear. ‘‘His tender ear will help him remember.’’
The chef heaved a sigh. ‘‘I don’t know if I would be quite so forgiving, but I suppose all is well . . .’’ He massaged his forehead as though the process would help him recall the rest of the saying.
‘‘That ends well?’’ Olivia grinned as she completed the sentence.
‘‘Oui! All is well that ends well. I had best get back and oversee the workers before some other misguided soul attempts to assist me.’’ The chef turned and marched off, his toque bouncing side to side in rhythm with his footsteps.
Mr. Howard lightly grasped her elbow. ‘‘It appears most of the guests are preparing to depart. I do hope you’ll permit me to escort you home.’’
Olivia shook her head. ‘‘Thank you for your offer, but I plan to spend the remainder of the day with Ellen.’’
‘‘Really?’’ He arched his brows. ‘‘Miss Ashton is otherwise occupied, and I’m sure Mr. DeVault will be more than pleased to see her to the train depot.’’
Olivia stepped to one side and freed her elbow from his hold. ‘‘Ellen is here at my invitation, not Mr. DeVault’s. I wouldn’t consider such an idea.’’
‘‘No? Well, it appears Miss Ashton isn’t of the same mind.’’ He looked toward the door. Olivia turned in time to catch a glimpse of Fred and Ellen walking arm in arm toward the stairway. She wanted to run after them or, at the very least, call out Ellen’s name. But she didn’t want to appear unladylike and cause a spectacle.
‘‘There you are!’’ Martha wended her way through several remaining guests and clutched Olivia’s ar
m. ‘‘Come and bid me good-bye.’’ She pulled Olivia alongside her and turned her back toward Mr. Howard. ‘‘Ellen asked me to tell you that once you’ve changed out of your dress, you should meet her at the restaurant in the Arcade.’’
‘‘And Fred?’’
Martha’s face wrinkled into a slight frown. ‘‘Oh! You thought . . .’’ She giggled. ‘‘Fred offered to escort her to the restaurant on his way home.’’
Though it seemed somewhat odd Ellen hadn’t waited, perhaps she’d wanted to avoid interrupting Olivia’s conversations with Chef René and Mr. Howard. A million questions came to mind, but Martha certainly wouldn’t have the answers. ‘‘Are you and Albert departing for your overnight in Chicago?’’
‘‘As soon as I’ve changed into my traveling suit and we’ve picked up our bags. Albert tells me he managed to purchase two tickets to the theater this evening. And we’re going to dine at the Palmer House restaurant.’’
Olivia had been so busy worrying about Fred and Ellen that she’d completely forgotten her duties as Martha’s wedding attendant. ‘‘Come along. I’ll help you change so you can be on your way.’’
‘‘No need. I have someone to assist me.’’ Martha glanced over her shoulder toward Albert.
‘‘Oh, of course! What a ninny I am—already forgetting you now have a husband to help you with such matters.’’ Olivia’s cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. The sight of Albert unfastening the row of pearl buttons on Martha’s gown was more than Olivia cared to imagine.
Martha chuckled and gathered Olivia into a warm embrace. ‘‘Thank you for all your hard work. I couldn’t have managed without you. I’ll contact you as soon as we return home.’’
The two young women bid each other farewell, and Olivia remained at the far end of the reception hall, watching as Martha returned to Albert’s side. She secretly hoped Mr. Howard had located someone else to visit with during her brief absence. She glanced over her shoulder and sighed as she saw him approach.
Whispers Along the Rails Page 11