In the Company of Secrets (27 page)

Specific members of the kitchen staff and the wait staff had been assigned to assist Olivia, and loaded wagons had transported many of the amenities that would be needed for the party. In addition, Chef René had recruited a host of young men to carry the items up the sweeping staircases to the third floor— for a fee, of course.

Like all of the formal buildings in Pullman, the lodge rooms were luxurious. Once decorated, they provided an excellent ambiance. Olivia checked the clock. The guests would arrive in less than an hour. Chef René had promised that the ice sculptures, surrounded by linen towels and wrapped in hay, would depart the hotel kitchen a half hour before the first guests were due to arrive.
‘‘This will allow sufficient time for delivery and
proper placement on the tables,’’
he’d said. She would have preferred an earlier arrival, but from the set of his jaw, she knew he would brook no argument.

The waiters in their starched white shirts, freshly pressed jackets, and creased pants were lined up in readiness while the kitchen staff flurried in the Moose Lodge room at the far end of the hall—Olivia’s choice for a makeshift storage and preparation room. The ornate chairs and furnishings had been moved into the other rooms to provide additional seating.

Now she could only hope the staff had remembered all of the utensils and supplies needed. Should an emergency arise, she would keep two boys, Walter and John, at the ready to fetch anything needed.

‘‘Here come the ice sculptures. Hey, Thomas! Up here.’’ Walter was leaning out of a third-floor window while hollering to one of his friends on the wagon. Olivia hoped none of the elegant guests who were arriving for the festivities had observed Walter’s unceremonious behavior.

She yanked the stripling’s shirt and motioned him back inside. ‘‘The town is awash with distinguished guests, Walter. Do
not
hang out the windows and yell at your friends like a young ruffian.’’

With a hearty laugh, Walter moved away from the window. ‘‘If I can’t holler at my friends, can I at least toss some water on my enemies?’’ He slapped his leg and guffawed.

Chef René appeared just then and pinched the boy’s ear between his finger and thumb. ‘‘Whom do you think you are speaking to, Walter? Miss Mott is my assistant, and you will treat her with proper respect. Do you understand?’’

Walter squirmed and wriggled as he lifted onto his toes, likely hoping to relieve the pressure on his right ear. ‘‘Yes, Chef René .’’

The chef released the boy and pointed toward the door. ‘‘Now go and help carry the ice sculptures. And don’t stumble. If you drop them, there will be no pay for you!’’

The bug-eyed boy raced from the room with Chef René ’s ominous warning following him out the door.

‘‘You’ve become quite the tyrant,’’ Olivia observed with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘‘I didn’t even know you were in the room until I heard you bellowing at young Walter. He must be frightened out of his wits.’’

‘‘Ha! It would take more than a pinched ear and a stern warning to alarm him. The boy needs a father’s direction to guide him. Unfortunately, his father is no longer living, and his mother is busy trying to earn a living for the family.’’ He waved his hand. ‘‘We don’t have time to discuss Walter Young’s troubles. I can’t stay long, but I wanted to ensure everything is in order.’’

Olivia knew why he’d truly arrived: he wanted to make certain she’d properly placed the mirrors that would reflect light on his ice sculptures. And, of course, he wanted to be the one to position the creations on the tables. Not that she faulted him. He accompanied her throughout the rooms, and when he’d finished the tour, he took hold of her shoulders and placed a fleeting kiss on each cheek.

‘‘
Formidable!
You have surpassed my expectations, Miss Mott. You have created elegance.’’ As the boys carried the first of the carvings up the steps, he glowed with satisfaction. ‘‘After the ice sculptures are in place, Mrs. Pullman will never again mention the idea of themes for her social events.’’

The young men had received their instructions before departing the hotel, and all remnants of hay had been removed from Chef René ’s creations before they ascended the stairs. Olivia remained in the background while he orchestrated the final maneuvers and strategically positioned each of the swans on the smaller tables. When the final sculpture was ready to be unveiled, he motioned her forward.

Slowly he removed the toweling. Olivia gasped. In the center of the large serving table sat a perfect ice replica of Hotel Florence. She grasped the older man’s arm. ‘‘It’s beautiful, Chef René ! Mrs. Pullman will be delighted.’’

‘‘Oui!’’ He stepped back to take in the entire setting. He pointed to the far end of the hallway. ‘‘Even with that awful sign that says
Moose Lodge
, we have managed to create elegance, Miss Mott.’’

With an admonition to keep the trays filled and the tea hot, he bid her good-bye and lumbered off to prepare an elegant supper for the many guests and dignitaries visiting Pullman for the several days of festivities. Mrs. Randolph Morgan had been among the guests slated to attend today’s tea, and Olivia wondered if both she and her husband would be in Pullman for the entire weekend. Would Mr. Morgan chat and exchange pleasantries with the earl and countess? Would he mention Charlotte’s presence in Pullman? The thought all but knocked her to her knees. Before this moment, she’d not considered the idea. Had Charlotte feared Randolph might reveal her presence in Pullman and avow she had wrongfully accused him?

‘‘Miss Mott.
Miss Mott!
’’ One of the waiters tapped her shoulder and pulled her from her introspection. ‘‘Mrs. Pullman is arriving.’’ All thoughts of Randolph Morgan vanished from her mind, and Olivia assumed her position beside the polished cherry balustrade at the top of the wide staircase to await Mrs. Pullman’s appearance.

The staff stood at attention, their eyes fixed upon the stairway. Moments later, attired in a plum gown accented with crystal beads and a stand-up collar, Mrs. Pullman appeared with her husband at her side. With wrist flounces and a jabot of ecru lace, Mrs. Pullman was the epitome of beauty and grace. Then, before Olivia had completed her assessment of the ensemble, she caught sight of an aristocratic couple following Mr. and Mrs. Pullman. It was the Earl and Countess of Lanshire. Olivia clutched the cool wood of the banister and inhaled deeply. She didn’t want to faint. How she wished Chef René hadn’t departed. She wanted nothing more than to escape into the recesses of the back room and hide. Without thinking, she uttered a silent prayer.
I know I don’t deserve it, but could you
help me through this? Please?

Not one of the foursome acknowledged Olivia’s presence as they passed by. Perhaps God had heard her prayer. The thought comforted her. She followed at a distance while the group made their way around the rooms, surveying the tables and occasionally murmuring a comment. When they had finished their rounds, Mrs. Pullman turned to speak with the countess. Olivia held her breath, fearful the woman would disapprove of the décor, for the countess was renowned for her impeccable taste. One word of censure could signify disaster for the chosen design.

The countess scanned the room one final time. ‘‘Exquisite!’’

Mrs. Pullman beamed at the praise.

‘‘The ice carving of the hotel is a superb focal point for this event,’’ the countess continued, gesturing with her gloved hand. ‘‘I couldn’t have suggested anything more perfect. I’m pleased you didn’t choose to use some tedious theme like so many of your American counterparts. The practice never was completely embraced in European social circles and is utterly
taboo
this season.’’ Mrs. Pullman flushed at the praise. ‘‘But, of course, you already knew that, didn’t you, for your tables are exquisite. The crystallized flowers add a perfect touch.’’

Mrs. Pullman waved Olivia forward. Both the earl and Mr. Pullman had stepped to the other side of the hall and were engrossed in conversation, obviously uninterested in conversing further about the décor. Olivia momentarily gave thought to retreating from the building. Both Mrs. Pullman and the countess were staring at her, but she couldn’t force her feet to move any more rapidly.

With charming grace, Mrs. Pullman grasped Olivia’s hand. ‘‘I believe you may remember this talented young woman?’’

The countess frowned as her gaze traveled from the tip of Olivia’s white toque to the shine on her black leather shoes and then returned. She peered into Olivia’s eyes. How Olivia wanted to turn away, yet she dared not.

The older woman slowly shook her head. ‘‘I’m sorry, girl. I don’t believe I recognize you. Your name?’’

‘‘Olivia Mott. I was employed in your kitchens at Lanshire Hall.’’ Olivia curtsied and forced a smile. ‘‘Of course, Chef Mallard conducted all meetings with you, so we never actually met.’’

From all appearances, Olivia determined the countess was pleased she didn’t have to think further on the matter. And Olivia was thankful to have the situation so easily resolved. At least it
had
been resolved until Mr. Pullman strode across the room, the earl at his side.

‘‘I’d wager you were sorry to lose this fine young lady as a chef in your kitchen,’’ Mr. Pullman commented. ‘‘However, she’s a testament to the fine training given at Lanshire Hall. I hired her based upon your excellent letter of recommendation, Countess.’’

At a loss for words, the countess glanced at her husband.

The earl shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘Mr. Pullman has asked me to join him for a meeting with some other investors,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll join you back in our rooms before supper?’’

Olivia took the opportunity to slip away while the foursome discussed their plans. The guests were ascending the staircase as she scurried down the hallway and into the preparation room, where she finally exhaled a sigh. After a final review of the serving trays, she dispatched the waiters. One thing was certain: for the rest of the day, she would remain with the kitchen staff in the Moose Lodge meeting room.

Olivia dropped into bed exhausted. She shifted positions, but sleep wouldn’t come. Too many thoughts cluttered her mind. The remainder of the day had passed in a whirlwind, but there had been no further dealings with the countess.

She stared at the ceiling, remembering Mrs. Pullman’s grand entrance into the preparation room at the conclusion of the tea. The older woman’s effusive compliments had embarrassed Olivia. In order to divert attention away from herself, she had eloquently praised the staff. After hearing her acclaim for the workers, Mrs. Pullman promised each of them that a small bonus would be added to their pay the following week. The staff had offered her a hearty cheer once the guests had departed. Olivia grinned, remembering how Walter, using flowers from the table decorations, had fashioned a daisy chain, placed it atop her toque, and declared her their champion.

She drifted into a restless sleep after reminding herself she must keep to the kitchen tomorrow. Although most of the guests would be attending the regatta and athletic games, a few might linger behind. She would take no chance of further contact with the countess.

Fred had hoped Olivia could be in the grandstands or along the waterfront cheering him on during the sculling or the baseball game, but he knew she would be hard at work in the kitchen. There would be no time off for those employees required to take care of preparations and accommodations for the guests. However, the men participating in the games were excused from work all day on Saturday.

The oarsmen had been at the island since early morning and now were anxious to begin the first sprint of the day. The contestants held their boats steady at the starting line. Mr. Pullman, Mr. Howard, and a number of other dignitaries stood together near the water’s edge. Though the race could be observed from the grandstands, most spectators enjoyed cheering their favorite teams from the waterfront.

Mr. Pullman made it a point to station his group near the finish line so that he could congratulate and hand out medals to the winning team. His guests and a few of the company supervisors, all clad in look-alike dark suits, white shirts, and ties, circled around their host. Mr. Pullman’s expectations were high. He predicted the Pullman teams would win or place in the top three of every race or game this day.

Fred cared little if he pleased Mr. Pullman, but he did harbor concern for his teammates, for jobs could be affected when losses occurred. Right or wrong, some of the participating employees had been hired solely based upon their athletic prowess, and George Pullman expected to be rewarded. As with everything else, the town’s namesake left little to chance.

The gun sounded. Fred hoped for a cohesive start that would allow their team to quickly build momentum. They completed six partial strokes in a three-quarter slide followed by a quick cadence of half, half, three-quarters, three-quarters, and then a full-length stroke. The moment the full-length stroke had been completed, they moved into their high ten before settling into a slower stroke tempo. As they neared the finish, the Pullman team remained slightly ahead of a team that had traveled from St. Louis to participate.

In a desperate voice, the coxswain of the St. Louis team called for a flutter. Instead of boosting the men to a win, the demanding strokes further exhausted his team, and the Pullman team stroked to a relatively easy win. Once on shore, they were greeted with cheers and jubilation, along with the presentation of their medals by Mr. Pullman.

Although many of the supervisors participated in the games, Fred had never seen Mr. Howard take to the playing field or join the oarsmen or sailors on the water. He encouraged the workers and often spoke of his own desire to participate, but thus far he’d not done so, often stating his work kept him from practice. Fred wondered how he managed to eke out time to escort Olivia when he didn’t have sufficient time to take to the practice field.

Fred moved down the line, and Mr. Howard extended his hand in congratulations. ‘‘Good job, Fred. Let’s hope you do as well in the baseball game this afternoon.’’

Fred accompanied Albert to the athletic field and wondered if Mr. Howard’s comment had carried an ominous message. Perhaps he was overreacting, yet why had the comment been directed solely at him? Fred slapped Albert on the shoulder as they ambled along. ‘‘Our team worked well today, don’t you think?’’