by Jen Turano
“What else?” she asked.
Norman consulted his notepad. “I thought perhaps I should get a few pairs of half hose, as well as some, er . . .”
“Garters?” Beatrix finished for him, earning a nod from Norman in return.
“There’s really nothing to be embarrassed about over purchasing garters, Norman—ah, I mean, Mr. Nesbit. It’s not as if men’s garters are thought of in the same way as ladies’ garters.”
“I could use some new garters,” Theodosia said, causing Beatrix to jump because she’d not realized Theodosia was standing right behind her.
“Those will be found on the fifth floor,” Beatrix told her.
Theodosia frowned. “Why wouldn’t they be found here? Aren’t they along the same lines as Men’s Furnishings?”
“They’re unmentionables, so they need to be treated as such,” Beatrix said, earning another frown from Theodosia.
“I’ll just purchase some in this department,” she said a moment later, giving an airy wave of her hand.
Beatrix shook her head. “Men’s garters and ladies’ garters aren’t interchangeable. Men’s garters are secured below the knee, whereas ladies’ garters are, ah, secured a bit higher up on the—”
“Thigh, yes, I know,” Theodosia said. “But I rarely wear ladies’ stockings. I prefer wearing men’s half hose.” She smiled. “Half hose is far more comfortable than stockings, and it’s not as if anyone can see what I’m wearing since my skirts cover my legs.”
“I did not need to know that about you,” Norman muttered.
“It’s not as if I’ve just disclosed something scandalous,” Theodosia said before she nodded to Beatrix. “I could also use some new half hose too, so you might as well show me the selections you were going to show Norman.”
Realizing it was hardly her place to tell Theodosia that words such as leg and thigh were to be avoided at all costs in mixed company, Beatrix surged into motion again, choosing garters for Norman and Theodosia, as well as a nice selection of half hosiery for both of them.
Dusting her hands together after she’d organized their purchases on a counter, she pulled out her sales pad.
“What’s that for?” Norman asked.
“I need to tally up all of your purchases before you can move on to looking for jackets.”
“Aren’t you going to help me with those?”
“I can’t go to that department with you. The upper floors are only for seasoned salesmen and saleswomen, a rank I’ve yet to achieve. Just tell them you’re interested in Prince Albert jackets and they’ll take it from there.” Beatrix looked over the items and began tallying them.
“You don’t need to do that,” Norman said. “I’ve already totaled my purchases for you.”
“I’ve totaled mine as well,” Theodosia added.
Norman shook his head. “I totaled your half hose and garters in with my total.”
“I don’t want you to buy my garters for me. That could cause all sorts of talk.”
“No one will know they’re for you since they’re men’s garters,” Norman argued before he nodded to Beatrix. “I’m paying for all of it, and the total is—”
“Perhaps you should write it down,” Beatrix said before he could finish. “That way I can know if you’re right after I total everything up as well.”
Even though Norman looked as if he’d like to argue with that, he scribbled down a figure on his notepad, then began drumming his fingers on the counter as she went about the daunting task of adding a very long list of numbers on her notepad, lifting her head and glaring at him when she lost track of a column after he started humming under his breath.
“Stop it. You’re distracting me.”
He sent her an amused look. “You don’t need to add up the purchases. I assure you, the total I came to is not wrong.”
Refusing a sigh, she returned to her task, finishing up a full minute later. After she slid her bill of sale across the counter, Norman glanced over it, his only response being sliding the number he’d written down back to her.
Annoyance was swift when she realized his total did not match hers, being off by twenty-two cents, and unfortunately she had the sneaking suspicion she was the one in error.
Pulling the bill of sale away from him, she scratched out the total she’d written down, replaced it with his, then forced a smile. “And there we have it. Would you care to charge this to your account, or would you like to pay cash?”
“I don’t know if I have credit here.”
“Of course you do,” Theodosia answered. “Your mother arranged it for you years ago after you came into your majority and gained access to the trust fund your grandfather set up for you.”
“You have a trust fund?” Beatrix asked.
“I do, and I apparently have access to credit at Marshall Field’s as well, but I’ll pay cash today.” He smiled. “Are you certain you don’t want to tally up the total again?”
“And have you distract me from getting the proper number by humming again? I think not.”
“I’ve never heard you hum before,” Theodosia said, lifting her head and abandoning a half hose she’d been inspecting. “Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine,” Norman said firmly. “I’m a little fatigued, though, from all this shopping, so I believe I’ll forego looking for jackets today.”
“Then all that’s left to do is tell me whether you’d like to take all this with you or have it delivered to your house, and if that’s the case, you’ll need to provide me with your address.”
Norman got a rather odd look in his eyes. “Are you asking for my address because you’re curious where I live?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She turned to Theodosia and smiled. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Robinson, and I do hope you’ll have fun at that ball. I’m sure Mr. Harvey Cabot is a delightful gentleman, no matter that Mr. Nesbit believes otherwise.”
Norman let out a grunt. “Delightful is not a word anyone would use to describe Harvey. He’s been known to bore people to tears, and you mark my words, once Theo remembers that, she’ll change her mind about going to the ball with me.”
“Considering you almost had Pinkerton men drifting off to sleep when you waxed on and on about your electrical research, you’re quite the pot calling the kettle black,” Beatrix countered.
“Theo enjoys discussing electrical research with me, and that right there is why I know she’ll enjoy attending the ball with me over Harvey.” Norman nodded to Theo. “You know I’m right about that.”
Theodosia shrugged. “You’re right about me enjoying our electrical discussions, but I won’t be changing my mind about the ball. I’ve made a promise to Mr. Cabot, and I intend to honor it.”
“But if you don’t go with me,” Norman began, “I’ll be subjected to the company of either Miss Paulina Dinneen or Miss Caroline Ashburn.”
“Those ladies aren’t your only options,” Theodosia argued.
“They are according to my mother, and—ouch. Have a care, Theo. You just stepped on my foot.”
“I did it on purpose.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because the answer to your problem is right in front of you, but you’re being annoyingly obtuse, something that’s quite unlike you and does suggest you’re soon to come down with some dreadful illness.”
“I’m not becoming ill, nor is the answer to my dilemma right in front of me,” Norman argued, which had Theodosia rolling her eyes before she actually pointed to Beatrix.
“She’s right there. In front of you. Miss Waterbury.”
“Oh dear,” Beatrix muttered as Norman’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he couldn’t decide what reply he should voice regarding Theodosia’s unexpected declaration.
Taking pity on the poor man, Beatrix summoned up another smile. “There’s no need to worry I’m going to take what Miss Robinson just blurted out as an invitation, Mr. Nesbit. And with that settled, I
think it’s time for you to pull out your billfold, pay for your new items, and then get on with your day.”
Norman narrowed his eyes at Theodosia before he pulled out his billfold, counted out the exact amount he owed for his purchases, then pushed the money over the counter.
“I’ll leave it to Theo to arrange for the delivery of my items.” With that, he sent Beatrix a curt nod and stalked out of the department without another word.
“What have you done to him?” Theodosia demanded after Norman disappeared from sight.
“I’m not the one who did something to him,” Beatrix countered. “That, Miss Robinson, falls directly on you.” She pulled out sheets of brown paper and began wrapping up Norman’s purchases, ringing for a delivery and cash boy when she was finished. She then wrote down Norman’s address that Theodosia rattled off to her as she waited for the delivery boy to arrive.
“You might as well send my items to Norman’s house,” Theodosia said. “I’ll just retrieve them later.”
“Which will give you the perfect opportunity to apologize to him,” Beatrix said, handing the address she’d just written down to the young boy who’d shown up by her side, an address she might have already memorized for some peculiar reason.
When the cash boy arrived next, Beatrix handed over the money Norman had given her to pay for his purchases and pretended not to notice the irritated looks one of the salesmen was sending her as she nodded to Theodosia.
“I think that does it for today,” Beatrix said.
Instead of taking her leave, Theodosia frowned. “Why do you think I should apologize to Norman?”
“Because he’s your friend and you just embarrassed him.”
“We’re not friends.”
“You are.”
“The term friend has always seemed frivolous to me.”
“Being friends with a person is not frivolous. In fact, friendship is essential to living a happy life, but now is not the time to discuss this further. I need to return to my department, and you need to go after Norman.”
“I don’t know where he went.”
Beatrix refused a sigh. “I’m going to assume you and Mr. Nesbit came to the store together, which means he’s probably waiting for you outside the front door, unless he decided to abandon you and take a train home, but that doesn’t really seem to me like something he’d do. He’s an annoying man, no question about that, but he’s a gentleman, and a gentleman wouldn’t abandon a lady, no matter the embarrassment that lady caused him.”
“I don’t know how I could have embarrassed him.”
“You’ll have to ask him about that, then.”
“It would be simpler all around if you’d just explain it to me.”
Beatrix chanced a glance to the salesman who’d now moved up beside her, hardly encouraged when he sent her a scowl. Glancing back to Theodosia, Beatrix forced another smile. “I’m afraid I really do need to get back to my department, Miss Robinson. I’ve prevailed on Miss Wheeler’s kind offer to watch over my counter for long enough. I will offer you a small bit of advice, though, since you seem at a loss for how to proceed with Mr. Nesbit. Ask him to explain why he’s upset with you, but do know that it has been my experience with gentlemen that when they’re embarrassed, it’s best to get right down to begging their pardon. That should go far in soothing his offended sensibilities.”
“Norman’s never struck me as a gentleman possessed of sensibilities.”
Beatrix opened her mouth, but before she could say a single word to that, a loud clearing of a throat drew her attention. Turning, she discovered Mrs. Goodman standing a few feet away from her, a look of outrage on her face.
Beatrix rapidly bid Theodosia a good day, which left Theodosia looking somewhat confused, probably because of the abrupt end to their interaction, and then she forced her feet to move in Mrs. Goodman’s direction, knowing the conversation she was about to have with the woman was going to be anything other than pleasant.
Chapter 14
“Explain yourself,” Mrs. Goodman demanded as she stormed down the aisle, Beatrix having no choice but to trot along beside the woman since, clearly, she was in trouble again.
“What would you like to know?” Beatrix asked as they turned a corner that led not to her glove counter but toward the elevator.
“I’d like to know what possessed you to leave your department and go traipsing off to Men’s Furnishings with Mr. Nesbit. This isn’t a marriage mart, Miss Waterbury, and we here at Marshall Field & Company expect our associates to know that.”
Beatrix stopped walking, but since Mrs. Goodman didn’t bother to slow her pace, she charged after the woman, who was now standing in front of the elevator.
“Mr. Nesbit wasn’t here because he’s interested in marrying me,” Beatrix began, ignoring the sniff Mrs. Goodman gave to that explanation. “He was here to find collars but—”
The elevator door opened, Mrs. Goodman gestured her inside, then after telling the elevator operator to take them to the sixth floor, she nodded to Beatrix. “We’re on our way to Mr. Selfridge’s office.”
“Wonderful,” Beatrix muttered, earning another sniff from Mrs. Goodman, which she pretended she didn’t hear.
As the elevator whooshed upward, Beatrix couldn’t help but conclude that her experience as a working woman was quickly turning into a disaster. She never would have thought in a million years that maintaining a position as a salesgirl would be such a daunting feat.
She’d been trying her hardest to do an acceptable job, but at every turn she kept finding herself being taken to task for matters she didn’t believe warranted such chastisement in the first place.
It was a rude awakening to see how working women were treated, and knowing that she was powerless to do anything about that situation because she was determined to keep her job, well, it was downright maddening.
“Sixth floor,” the elevator operator intoned, bringing the elevator to a stop with a pull of a lever before he swung the grate open and gestured them out.
“This way, Miss Waterbury,” Mrs. Goodman said, heading down a narrow hallway that had framed paintings of different renditions of Marshall Field buildings hanging on the walls. Beatrix paused in front of a painting of a building with flames shooting out the windows.
“That depicts the fire of 1871.”
Turning, Beatrix discovered Mr. Selfridge standing a few feet away from her, smiling pleasantly, although his good humor was sure to fade the moment Mrs. Goodman informed him of Beatrix’s latest transgressions.
Wanting to delay that nasty business for as long as possible, Beatrix nodded to the painting. “Marshall Field & Company burned down?”
“It did, and twice at that,” Mr. Selfridge said. “The first time was during the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Marshall Field & Company was known then as Field, Leiter, & Company, and it wasn’t spared.”
Mr. Selfridge gestured to another painting. “After the ’71 fire, State Street was almost completely destroyed, which is why Mr. Field and Mr. Leiter moved into a temporary building well away from the destroyed parts of the city, but they eventually moved back to State Street in a new building that sat on land Mr. Potter Palmer sold to the Singer Sewing Machine Company. Singer paid Mr. Palmer three hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the land, then spent an additional seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars to build a five-story structure that possessed a giant glass dome in the center of its mansard roof.” He nodded to the painting again. “That’s it right there.”
“Impressive.”
“I’m sure it was, given that Singer was charging Mr. Field and Mr. Leiter seventy-five thousand dollars a year in rent.” He gestured to another painting. “That one depicts the building that was used next after fire destroyed the second State Street store in 1877.”
“I had no idea Marshall Field’s suffered so many disasters.”
Mr. Selfridge nodded. “I find it important for our employees to understand the store’s history, as well as to
understand the history between Mr. Field and Mr. Leiter. They were partners for years, but tensions eventually built up between them. Mr. Field finally convinced Mr. Leiter to sell out his shares in the business after they moved to the building we’re currently in, and that’s when Marshall Field & Company was born.”
Beatrix frowned. “Did Mr. Leiter want to sell his shares?”
“Doubtful, but retail is a cutthroat business, Miss Waterbury. Only the strongest survive. But enough of the history lesson,” Mr. Selfridge said. “You must have a reason for being on this floor. Dare I hope you’ve come to tell me you’ve made another spectacular sale today?”
“That’s not why I’ve brought her to speak with you.”
Mr. Selfridge turned. “Mrs. Goodman. I didn’t see you standing there.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were instructing Miss Waterbury on the history of Marshall Field & Company.”
Mr. Selfridge settled a knowing eye on Beatrix. “Have you been disclosing too much information about our products again, Miss Waterbury?”
“She abandoned her post to escort Mr. Norman Nesbit and his companion to Men’s Furnishings,” Mrs. Goodman said before Beatrix could respond. “Poor Miss Wheeler, a young woman who never causes me any trouble, was left with the difficult task of watching not only her counter, but Miss Waterbury’s counter as well.”
“Perhaps we should take this into my office,” Mr. Selfridge said, any sign of the recently cheerful gentleman having disappeared a mere second after Mrs. Goodman’s disclosure.
Having no choice but to follow Mr. Selfridge and Mrs. Goodman down the hall, Beatrix soon found herself in a well-appointed office with a deep mahogany desk that sat in front of two long windows. After gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk, Mr. Selfridge moved behind the desk and took a seat. Leaning back, he nodded to Mrs. Goodman. “I’m listening.” That was all it took for Mrs. Goodman to launch into a long list of Beatrix’s supposed transgressions, ending with, “And while Miss Wheeler was reluctant to disclose where Miss Waterbury was, she finally told me that Miss Waterbury had gone off with Mr. Nesbit to Men’s Furnishings. Miss Wheeler did tell me that she’d encouraged Miss Waterbury to assist Mr. Nesbit, but I’m convinced Miss Wheeler was being gracious and trying to cover for—” She jerked her head Beatrix’s way.