In the Company of Secrets (23 page)
Olivia held fast to Mr. Howard’s arm, but as he moved toward the front steps, she jerked back. ‘‘No need to come inside. I can make it on my own. I’m going to go and lie down the minute I’m inside the house.’’ She loosened her hold on his arm. ‘‘I’m sorry for the change in plans.’’
He looked longingly at the front door, and for a moment, Olivia thought he might actually dart inside. Instead, he patted her hand like a doctor comforting an ill patient.
‘‘I’ll check on you tomorrow. And don’t forget your promise.’’
Before he could say anything further about their next trip to Chicago, Olivia waved and retreated indoors. She was leaning against the front door when Mrs. DeVault hurried into the hallway with Morgan in her arms and a look of surprise on her face.
‘‘Charlotte said you wouldn’t be home until at least eight or nine o’clock. Did she misunderstand?’’ She drew closer and frowned. ‘‘You’re pale, child. Are you ill?’’
‘‘Yes. We came home directly after the meeting with Mrs. Pullman.’’
‘‘Let me make you a nice cup of hot tea. I say a cup of tea is always the first remedy for illness.’’ She hoisted Morgan over her shoulder and patted his back as she made her way to the kitchen. A gusty burp soon followed. ‘‘There’s the good boy. No tummy ache for you.’’
Olivia wished it would take no more than a hefty belch to relieve
her
upset stomach. ‘‘Where’s Charlotte?’’
Mrs. DeVault placed Morgan in his cradle. ‘‘She’s resting. Said the boy kept her awake all night. I brought his cradle in here so he could keep me company while I prepare supper.’’ She grinned at the cooing baby and placed the kettle on the stove. ‘‘I’m looking forward to the day when Fred will marry and give me some grandchildren to love. In the meantime, this little fellow is a nice substitute.’’
‘‘He is a sweet little boy, and I do appreciate all your help. I don’t know how we would have managed without you, Mrs. DeVault.’’
‘‘When faced with a challenge, God’s there to provide an answer. This time it was me.’’ She pulled two cups and saucers from the shelf.
‘‘Do you truly believe that, Mrs. DeVault?’’
‘‘Well, of course I do. You’re a believer, Olivia. You know the first place to go when there’s a problem is down on your knees. I’m not saying God has always given me the answer I wanted, but He always provides a way.’’
She supposed that was true enough for Mrs. DeVault. She was a woman of faith, a woman who lived what she professed. God was on call for people like Mrs. DeVault. But she doubted He was sitting up in heaven anxious to hear her problems. With all her lies and deceit, He knew she’d helped create the mess she was in. No, she wasn’t like Mrs. DeVault. Sometimes she wondered if God would even claim her, much less help her solve her countless problems. Mrs. DeVault had called her a believer, but sometimes Olivia wondered exactly what that term meant. No one had ever explained what made a person a believer. Didn’t everyone believe in God? So wouldn’t that make everyone a believer?
She’d heard Mrs. DeVault talk about Jesus as if He was a personal friend one Sunday when a group of them had been sitting around the dinner table. Olivia had wanted to ask more, but she had been embarrassed. Everyone else seemed to know what the older woman was talking about, so Olivia had remained silent. After all, she didn’t want to appear foolish.
Mrs. DeVault poured tea for both of them and settled in a chair beside her. ‘‘There now. Try that and see if you don’t feel better.’’
Olivia took a sip.
Ask her
. She ignored the nagging voice and stirred a dollop of cream into the tea.
Ask her
. Her eyelashes fanned across her cheek as she stared into the cup and continued to stir. Without looking up, she gathered her courage. ‘‘What does it mean to be a believer, Mrs. DeVault? I mean, I know God is up in heaven and all, but is
that
what makes me a believer?’’
Mrs. DeVault reached across the table and placed her work-worn hand beneath Olivia’s chin. ‘‘Look at me, child.’’
‘‘I’ve asked a foolish question, haven’t I?’’
‘‘Of course not. You’ve asked the most important question of your life, and I’m pleased you chose me to ask.’’
Olivia didn’t know who else she would have asked. Nobody else had ever mentioned the subject before, at least not that she recalled. Her father had had more interest in visiting the pub and tipping a mug than talking to her. And although Aunt Eleanor went to church and talked about praying, she’d never said anything about being a believer. Maybe it was a term that was used only in America.
‘‘Being a believer means that you’ve accepted Jesus as your personal Savior, Olivia. It means you believe He’s the Son of God, that He died and rose from the dead just for you. When you invite Jesus into your heart, He’s more than your Savior: He’s the best friend you can ever have. Someone you can go to with all your troubles and cares, and He’ll never betray your confidence like some folks are prone to do.’’ She grinned at the last comment. ‘‘Do you have a Bible, child?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ Olivia did have the Bible that had belonged to her mother, though she seldom looked inside.
‘‘When you have some time alone, I want you to read some special verses. I’ll write them down for you.’’ She ripped off the end of Olivia’s grocery list. ‘‘You read these and then we’ll talk.’’ She pushed the page across the table.
Olivia glanced at the list. She folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket. ‘‘I’ll read them after I go to my room for the night.’’
Mrs. DeVault sipped her tea. ‘‘I believe your color is improving. Are you feeling better?’’
Olivia grinned. ‘‘I am. You’re right about the tea. It seems to have—’’
Before Olivia could complete her reply, Charlotte bounded into the room. ‘‘Olivia! I thought I heard voices in here. What are you doing home so early?’’
After explaining her unexpected bout of illness, Olivia lifted her teacup and tilted her head toward Mrs. DeVault. ‘‘However, Mrs. DeVault’s tea has done the trick. I’m feeling much better. I think we can finish supper preparations on our own and let Mrs. DeVault have a quiet evening at home.’’ Without giving either of the ladies the opportunity to object, Olivia gathered the older woman’s belongings and escorted her to the door.
‘‘I’ll be certain to read the verses tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’’
Mrs. DeVault chuckled. ‘‘If you don’t appear, I’ll send Fred to fetch you.’’
Obviously Mrs. DeVault didn’t realize Olivia regarded that as pleasure rather than punishment, but she didn’t correct the woman as she bid her good-bye.
When Olivia returned to the kitchen, Charlotte pointed an accusing finger. ‘‘Tell me the truth. Why are you home? You feigned illness hoping to discourage Mr. Howard’s amorous interests, didn’t you?’’ When Olivia didn’t immediately reply, Charlotte sat at the table, crossed her arms across her waist, and insisted upon hearing a complete account.
Olivia inhaled a deep breath before she began her explanation. She had hoped for more time to formulate a prudent response. Though she attempted to choose her words carefully, the woman interrupted at every turn. Discombobulated by Charlotte’s rude behavior, Olivia blurted out the unwelcome news in one impulsive burst.
Charlotte jumped from her chair and sent it crashing to the floor. The baby immediately squalled in protest from the cradle. ‘‘I find nothing humorous in your silly story, and I think it was downright cruel of you to say such things.’’
‘‘I am not jesting with you. I have the guest list provided by Mrs. Pullman.’’ She pulled the list from her purse and handed it to Charlotte. ‘‘See for yourself.’’
After scanning the paper, Charlotte grasped the edge of the table and fell into another chair. Olivia grabbed a damp towel and applied it to Charlotte’s forehead before she could swoon and drop to the floor. She had expected a dramatic reaction. Charlotte hadn’t disappointed.
She looked like a frightened animal snared in a trap. ‘‘What am I going to do?’’
‘‘It may not be as serious as you think. On the train ride, I considered the matter, and so long as you remain indoors, there’s no reason your mother will know you’re in Pullman. You’ve used a different name, so no one would assume you have a connection to the Earl and Countess of Lanshire.’’ Olivia forced an air of bravado as she completed her explanation.
Charlotte bobbed her head, obviously wanting to believe all would be well. ‘‘But Mr. Howard knows of your connection to Lanshire Hall.’’
‘‘Mr. Howard mentioned my previous employment to Mrs. Pullman, but I doubt that topic will be revived. By the time your parents arrive, I think Mrs. Pullman will have completely forgotten me and any connection to your parents.’’
Charlotte stood and paced back and forth as she considered Olivia’s response. ‘‘Perhaps you’re correct, but even the slightest comment could cause a remembrance.’’
‘‘Why don’t we eat supper and sleep on the matter. There’s no sense fretting about it tonight.’’
Charlotte agreed more easily than Olivia imagined possible and made no further mention of her parents throughout the remainder of the evening. Apparently Olivia had misjudged Charlotte and her ability to deal with this latest predicament.
Later that night when Olivia retreated to the quiet of her room, she reviewed the Scriptures Mrs. DeVault had listed. Digging into her satchel stored beneath the bed, she retrieved her mother’s Bible and fanned the whisper-thin pages until she located the book of Romans. She noticed that there were numerous underlined verses, and the corners of some of the pages had been turned down. Turning to the third chapter, she traced her finger to the twenty-third verse.
‘‘ ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’ ’’ She murmured the words and then exhaled a deep sigh. She probably shouldn’t take pleasure in discovering the world was filled with sinners, but it eased her mind to know she wasn’t the only one failing God.
After checking Mrs. DeVault’s list, Olivia moved ahead to Romans 6:23. ‘‘ ‘For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ ’’ The first sentence caused her to quiver—she didn’t like to think of death. But the second portion that mentioned eternal life was most encouraging. She flipped to Romans 10:9 and 10:13 and then backward to Romans 5:1.
Fortunately, Mrs. DeVault’s listed Scriptures weren’t scattered throughout the entire Bible, for although many young women her age were familiar with the Bible and its contents, such education had never been a priority in her father’s house. When she finished reading the verses, Olivia slowly closed the cover and rubbed her palm across the leather cover. Had her mother studied the Bible? If she had lived, would she have taught her about eternal life? If her mother had truly believed these verses, they would meet in eternity. The thought was comforting—something she’d never before considered.
Olivia placed the Bible on her bedside table and wondered if
she
could possibly discover peace through Jesus Christ. Peace would be a wonderful thing, for she had never experienced absolute tranquillity in her life. Surely receiving a gift of such magnitude must be difficult. There had to be more to this issue of forgiveness and eternal life than what was contained in those verses. It sounded wonderful, but it seemed too simple to be true. She’d ask Mrs. DeVault.
With his white hat fluttering in the morning breeze, Chef René waved Olivia onward as she neared the kitchen door, then stepped forward to meet her. ‘‘So? I am anxious to hear a report of your meeting with Mrs. Pullman. Come along and tell me.’’
Olivia followed him into his office. Once they were seated, she spoke of Mrs. Pullman’s pleasure with the menu. Chef René beamed and encouraged her to tell him more. She had nearly concluded her report, but then remembered Mrs. Pullman’s request regarding a theme for the decorations.
Chef René ’s pleasant countenance faded to a frown. ‘‘You discouraged such an idea, did you not? Elegance is the key to beauty—not some ghastly
theme
.’’ Disgust oozed from his final word.
Olivia squirmed in her chair. ‘‘I suggested flowers and candles, but she became insistent. I didn’t believe I had the right to argue with her choice. So I made several suggestions.’’ She muttered her final remark and bowed her head.
‘‘Never, never suggest ideas for a theme!’’ He dislodged himself from the chair and edged around his desk. Lifting her chin with one finger, he stared into her eyes. ‘‘I am not angry with you, Miss Mott. You did not know. We may still be able to save Mrs. Pullman from herself. I will contact her and
suggest
she discard such a notion.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Men compete in sports. Unfortunately, women do the same with their teas and dinner parties. Take charge of the kitchen, Miss Mott. I must think.’’
She scampered down the hallway and set to work, but when the chef hadn’t reappeared by midafternoon, her fears mounted. Several discreet inquiries revealed that none of the staff had seen Chef René , and he wasn’t in his office. Though he’d instructed her to take charge, she hadn’t expected him to disappear for the entire day. Had Mrs. Pullman’s request for a theme distressed him so much he had taken to his bed? Surely not!
