In the Company of Secrets (13 page)

She wanted to object, for one of the kitchen boys could check on the cards while she continued stirring the hollandaise sauce. But her objection would only cause disruption in the kitchen, and that wasn’t needed during the final moments of meal preparation. She marched down the hall, her shoes slapping heavily upon the tiles—in case Chef René hadn’t noted her level of agitation.

As she rounded the corner, the sound of loud angry voices drifted in through the open windows along the veranda. A tall Negro waiter, his white jacket as stiff as the menu cards, stood sentry outside the dining room door. He moved aside as Olivia approached. If he heard the shouts outside the hotel, it wasn’t reflected in his stoic expression. While she quickly surveyed the room, the heated argument escalated. She exited the dining room and stopped in her tracks, straining to listen.
Charlotte!

She cast a look toward the front desk. Mr. Billings, who normally would have hastened to arrest any commotion, was away from his usual post. Fear gripped Olivia’s heart as she raced to the front door. She weakened at the sight that greeted her. Stomach bulging, hair flying in total disarray, and blue eyes darkened with fury, Charlotte looked like a woman gone mad. She was clinging to Randolph Morgan’s arm, obviously intent upon forcing him to listen to her. Olivia glanced at the clock. The other guests would soon be arriving.

Chef René would expect her hasty return to the kitchen, but she couldn’t ignore the unfolding spectacle. Throwing caution to the wind, she hurried down the front steps of the hotel and looped arms with Charlotte. ‘‘Why don’t we go home? I believe Mr. Morgan is expected inside.’’

Charlotte turned a wild-eyed stare at Olivia while still maintaining a fierce grip on Mr. Morgan’s arm. ‘‘He’s denying his own child, Olivia. What kind of man would do such a thing?’’

Olivia leveled a steady bead on the man. ‘‘One who is both married and a coward, your ladyship. One who cares only about himself, I would assume.’’

‘‘How can you possibly expect me to think this child you’re carrying is mine, Charlotte?’’ He leaned a bit closer. ‘‘I’m certain you were as free with other men as you were with me.’’

Charlotte broke loose of Olivia’s hold and swung her arm. A gust of air passed Olivia’s face as Charlotte landed a perfectly aimed blow across Mr. Morgan’s cheekbone. Shock registered in his eyes, and he slowly rubbed his face. When he lowered his hand moments later, red streaks emblazoned his cheek. Charlotte took another menacing step toward him. ‘‘How
dare
you speak such an outrageous lie! You know this is your child I’m carrying.’’

He shook his head and smirked. ‘‘I know nothing of the kind. And should anyone inquire, I would be forced to tell the truth: the only time I’ve been in your presence is while dining at the home of your parents in London.’’

Charlotte gasped and lunged at him while Olivia attempted to wedge herself in front of Mr. Morgan. ‘‘Please, Charlotte, don’t!’’

He tilted his head to one side. ‘‘You should listen to your maid, Lady Charlotte.’’

Olivia glared at him. Couldn’t he see her uniform? She longed to tell him she wasn’t Charlotte’s maid and if he considered himself marginally intelligent, he would discontinue his argumentative remarks and go inside. However, she dared not say anything to a man of Mr. Morgan’s stature. Olivia inwardly groaned when Charlotte’s chin jutted forward.

‘‘I do wonder what
Mrs
. Morgan would think about her husband’s behavior—or Mr. Pullman.’’ Charlotte tapped the toe of her shoe and pursed her lips. ‘‘Indeed, you might find yourself unemployed should the London shareholders begin withdrawing their investments with Mr. Pullman’s company. You surely recall that my father carries a great deal of influence with the overseas investors, Mr. Morgan.’’

‘‘You can’t prove your allegations.’’ He smirked and sidestepped her advance.

A gust of wind swept across the expanse, and Charlotte’s unfettered curls spilled over her shoulders in wild abandon. ‘‘Don’t be so certain, Randolph. I have an item in my possession proving we were
much
more than acquaintances who met over supper in my parents’ dining room.’’

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened into an ominous line. ‘‘How
dare
you continue with these threats! You stay away from me and my family. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from Mr. Pullman, too.’’

Obviously undeterred, Charlotte pressed on. ‘‘It sounds as though
you
are the one making threats. But you have no control over me, Randolph. If I decide to write a letter or two, you’ll have no control over that, either.’’

He yanked Charlotte close, whispered into her ear, and then shoved her away. With anger still shining in his eyes, he turned toward Olivia. ‘‘I suggest you see that your mistress returns to wherever it is she lives.’’ He stomped away without a backward glance.

Olivia grasped Charlotte’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘‘I
must
get back to the kitchen. Please promise me you’ll go home.’’

Charlotte’s lips trembled and her complexion paled several shades. ‘‘Randolph said he’d see me dead if I said anything further about the baby.’’ Her eyes clouded. ‘‘I believe he meant it.’’

Olivia folded her into an embrace. ‘‘He’s angry.’’ She leaned back and forced a reassuring smile. ‘‘You caught him unaware and confronted him with unwanted information. Besides, you were making idle threats. There’s no need to worry.’’ She turned Charlotte toward home as though she were a small child and then raced to the kitchen. No doubt she was the one who needed to be frightened of retribution. Chef René would likely greet her waving a wooden spoon and venting his anger.

Fortunately for Olivia, Chef René had been too busy scolding the headwaiter, who hadn’t made a timely appearance to confer over details of serving the meal. René didn’t even notice when she entered and reestablished her position at the stove.

The remainder of the day passed in a flurry, and she had little time to dwell upon the earlier scene. It wasn’t until she was packing one of the meringues into her basket that she recalled Charlotte’s frightened words.

Lost in her own thoughts, Olivia picked up the basket and left the kitchen. If nothing else, the food should help calm Charlotte’s mood.

She hadn’t heard the sound of approaching footsteps and started when Mr. Howard approached.

‘‘May I carry your basket for you, Miss Mott?’’

‘‘I can manage, thank you.’’ Instinctively, she grasped the basket handle a bit tighter. Mr. Howard’s unanticipated appearance was unsettling. It seemed as if he had a way of appearing when least expected. Had someone mentioned her involvement in the skirmish outside the hotel? Though she hoped the confrontation had gone undetected, she realized the three of them had been standing in full view of many of the hotel’s windows— including those in Mr. Pullman’s office. He could have observed the entire incident without difficulty.

She wondered if Mr. Morgan had already departed for Chicago. If not, perhaps he had sent Mr. Howard to elicit information. Or had Mr. Pullman sent him to inquire about the confrontation? She now wished she had checked the hotel registry to see if Mr. Morgan had registered as an overnight guest, though with Mr. Billings standing guard over the leather-bound tome, it would have proved awkward, if not impossible. The hotel manager guarded the book as though it held the world’s greatest secrets.

‘‘I wondered if you might enjoy a stroll through the Arcade or a visit to the library with me this evening,’’ Mr. Howard said.

A stroll? Her feet ached, and he was inviting her to accompany him on a walk through the Arcade. Obviously he had little idea what her work entailed. ‘‘I’m rather weary this evening.’’ She tapped a finger on the basket handle. ‘‘Charlotte and I haven’t yet eaten our supper.’’

‘‘How thoughtless of me. I wasn’t thinking about the busy day you’ve had. What about tomorrow evening?’’

Even his enthusiasm couldn’t erase her memories of the wearisome day. Between Chef René ’s ongoing demands and the encounter with Charlotte and Mr. Morgan, Olivia was exhausted. She truly didn’t want to think about tomorrow evening, but the question remained open between them.

‘‘Tomorrow evening would suit,’’ she finally said, ‘‘after seven o’clock.’’

He glanced at the basket swinging from her arm. ‘‘Right. You’ll need time to have supper with Mrs. Hornsby.’’

‘‘Who?’’ She quickly caught his look of surprise. ‘‘Oh yes. Charlotte. I seldom think of her as Mrs. Hornsby.’’ Without missing a beat, she turned their conversation to the weather and the beautifully maintained flower gardens and lawns they passed by.

He glowed at her remarks, as though his personal touch had produced the blooms. ‘‘I’ve purchased tickets for the band performance on Saturday night in hopes you’ll attend with me.’’ He patted the breast pocket of his suit jacket and grinned. ‘‘I’m asking now so you won’t make plans to go with someone else.’’

She’d heard Albert and Martha mention the band concert, but nothing more had been said. Likely both Albert and Fred would have cricket or baseball practice on Saturday evening. Unless there would be no practice due to the concert. The thoughts jumbled about in her mind while Mr. Howard continued to peer at her.

‘‘May I look forward to enjoying your company at the concert?’’

‘‘Yes, I suppose that would be agreeable.’’ She bid him goodnight, wondering why she felt obligated to accept his offers. He was a nice enough man, but it was Fred who had truly captured her interest. Fred, with his spirited laughter, could lift anyone’s mood—especially hers—in the wink of an eye. Perhaps that was it. Mr. Howard was somber and serious, a more thoughtful man. Though he wasn’t much older than Fred, he seemed more the fatherly type. However, she should at least get to know him a bit more before judging him as stodgy and boring.

‘‘Finally! I thought you’d never get here. I’m starving.’’ Before Olivia cleared the threshold, Charlotte’s assault of words reached her.

No matter how much Olivia’s feet ached, Charlotte’s attitude was enough to make Olivia want to turn on her heel and run back to the hotel. She sailed past the door to the parlor and headed directly for the dining room. No need stopping to argue or defend herself. She’d tried that tack often enough, to no avail. She could only hope Charlotte’s mood would improve once she set eyes upon the chocolate meringues.

Grasping her back with one hand as she lumbered into the dining room, Charlotte surveyed the table. Her eyes appeared to glaze at the sight. Food seemed to be her only pleasure in life. Olivia couldn’t be certain, but she thought Charlotte had gained at least twenty pounds since their departure from England back in April.

‘‘Mrs. DeVault came over this afternoon.’’ Charlotte dipped her finger into the center of a meringue and licked the whipped cream.

Olivia shook her head and moved the dessert aside. ‘‘This is for after you eat your meal.’’ With each passing day, Charlotte acted more like a two-year-old. ‘‘What has happened to your manners, your ladyship?’’ She hoped referring to Charlotte’s position and title would give the young woman pause.

Charlotte shrugged. ‘‘No need for formalities in this place. I’m just another nobody living in a rented tenement. Randolph made my station in life abundantly clear this morning. Wouldn’t you agree?’’ She jabbed her fork into a piece of the creamed quail with chestnuts.

Olivia helped herself to a serving of the grilled mushrooms and puréed potatoes while Charlotte stuffed a bite of quail into her mouth. ‘‘Well, don’t you agree?’’

Now her ladyship had taken to speaking with her mouth full! What next? Would she soon give up bathing? ‘‘Your station in life is whatever you choose to make of it, I suppose. You’re not treated as anyone special in this country, but if you made it known that you are Lady Charlotte, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Lanshire, you would undoubtedly receive a great deal of attention.’’

Her cheeks now swollen with far too many grilled mushrooms, Charlotte bobbed her head. Her neck extended a few inches as she swallowed the mouthful. ‘‘Exactly my point.’’ She aimed the tines of her fork in Olivia’s direction. ‘‘We both know I can’t reveal who I am, yet I detest this boring existence.’’

With her swollen feet and aching shoulders, Olivia didn’t want to hear Charlotte’s complaints, so she attempted to change the subject. ‘‘You said Mrs. DeVault stopped by. Did you have a pleasant visit?’’

Charlotte reached across the table and heaped the remaining potatoes onto her plate. ‘‘I accompanied her to the Arcade, thinking I would borrow a library book, but they said you hadn’t paid the fee.’’ Her lips formed a slight pout.

‘‘You could have paid it, Charlotte. I don’t have money for library fees, nor do I have time to read.’’

‘‘I found the librarian rather rude. I chose to leave the book and walk out.’’ She raised her nose into the air.

Olivia shrugged. There would be no making the woman happy this evening. While Charlotte finished the second meringue, Olivia cleared the dishes. Once she’d finished in the kitchen, she would retire for the night and leave Charlotte to complain to the walls.

‘‘Oh yes. Mrs. DeVault said to tell you that Albert and Martha have tickets for the band concert on Saturday.’’

Olivia popped her head around the corner. ‘‘Is that all she said?’’

‘‘No. Fred purchased tickets, also. He’s hoping you’ll go with him.’’ Charlotte licked her fingers. ‘‘I told her I was sure you’d be more than pleased to leave me alone for yet another night.’’

With a sigh, Olivia plunged her hands back in the soapy dishwater. Two escorts for the band concert. She hoped Mrs. DeVault wouldn’t take Charlotte’s word and relay an acceptance to Fred. What would she do with two gentlemen callers arriving at her front door on Saturday night?