The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (10 page)

Leo leaned back in his chair. “So if you had a child in a private care setting, you would in fact have records. Might I ask you to show me records you have for these children? Perhaps boys around one year of age?”

Tewell's smile faded slightly. “I'm afraid we leave the records in the capable hands of Mrs. Edwards and her army of volunteers. At the moment I don't believe any of them are here. Mrs. Jamison left only a few minutes ago. I'm not at all sure I could be of any practical assistance locating a specific case. Perhaps when your sister returns—”

“Mrs. Edwards will be away for several months. The issue is more urgent than that. Would you mind if I had a look for myself?”

Archie's eyebrows raised involuntarily. It seemed Mr. Leo had brought him inside St. Andrew's to look at files about infant boys. Perhaps they would stumble on one infant boy in particular.

Sarah did not like the blush of pleasure on Emmaline Brewster's face as she carried the child up the front steps and back
into the house. She wanted to snatch him away. This stranger was going to ruin everything.

She threw her shoulders back, held up her head, and lifted her skirts as she followed Miss Brewster through the front door. As long as she was tending to the child with Miss Brewster, there seemed to be no objection to Sarah's using the front door. They had been outdoors for an hour and a half. Miss Brewster had insisted on finding a bench in a grassy park with some shade. She actually lifted the brat out of the buggy and held him on her lap and played with him. Sitting on a bench several yards off, Sarah had been helpless to interfere with the indulgence. They had stayed out twice as long as usual. Now she was the one who would be left to manage a fussy coddled baby who only needed fresh air, not smiles and embraces.

“I think we've quite worn him out,” Miss Brewster said once they were in the foyer. “I imagine he will nap soundly now.”

“Yes, miss. Shall I take him now?”

“He might need something to eat first.” Emmaline showed no sign of releasing the child. “You did say he eats at four in the afternoon, didn't you?”

“He sometimes likes a bottle.” Sarah had been looking forward to putting the child directly to bed and having an undisturbed cup of tea.

“You've been very helpful, Sarah.” Miss Brewster smiled in a way that unnerved Sarah. “I'll speak to Penard and make sure you are available to help with an outing every afternoon—though of course I could ask Charlotte if you are not available.”

“Yes, miss.” Sarah barely moved her lips. She did not need supervision in airing the child.

Finally Miss Brewster kissed the baby's head and handed him back to Sarah. “Perhaps when I have an opportunity, I'll see if he needs anything in the nursery. I would enjoy seeing him in the setting he's most familiar with.”

“Yes, miss.” Would she really come to the nursery? Surely old Penard would not approve.

Sarah adjusted the child in her arms as she watched Emmaline, smiling with pleasure, gracefully raise the hem of her dress just enough to glide up the marble staircase.

“Sarah, please come with me,” a man's voice said behind her.

She turned to see Penard at the dining room door. Sarah exhaled and followed the butler to the kitchen.

“There's nothing here.” Leo slapped a stack of papers back into the drawer they had come from. “Thank you for helping me look, Archie, but it seems like we've come to a dead end.”

“Yes, sir, it would seem so.”

They had looked through four filing cabinets before encountering any papers that related to infants placed in private settings. Archie was not sure exactly what they were looking for, but after nearly an hour, they had stumbled upon a drawer full of files on “placements.”

“Everything we found has been resolved.” Leo flipped through some loose pages. “A few babies are with wet nurses in the country, and a handful here in the city with women who have sheltered several children over the years. A woman named Mary Given looked after twins until recently, but they were graduated to the toddler dormitory here at St. Andrew's three months ago. She doesn't seem to have any others.”

“No, sir,” Archie said.

Leo tossed the papers on a desk. “I don't see anything that matches the boy who showed up at our house. If he were somehow connected to St. Andrew's, there would be a file on him. A caretaker should have been in touch with the orphanage to report him missing by now.”

“Yes, sir,”

“So we have to conclude that a poor, desperate mother was at the end of her rope and thought my sister could help.”

“I'm sure she would want to, sir.”

“You're absolutely right, Archie.” A fresh gleam lit in Leo's eyes. “I don't see what harm it can do to send her a telegram at the hotel in Paris. Our family always stays at the same place. If she's not there, she will have left a forwarding address at the front desk.”

 11 

S
ummer waned at last. Charlotte propped both elbows behind her on the ledge and leaned back into one of the curved stone walls in the courtyard. Letting her arms dangle, she lifted her face to the afternoon sun. Not nearly as strong as even a week ago, nevertheless the streaming rays soothed her. Behind her closed eyes, she felt the breeze off the creek where she used to take refuge more than a mile from the old farmhouse. As a girl, especially after her grandmother died, she used to scurry across the fields to be out of shouting distance as quickly as possible, then slow her pace to snoop along the gurgling water spilling over the rocks. For a few prized moments, she could be away. Just away.

Rarely could she afford to indulge such a thought now.

A shadow blocked the sun's warmth, and she allowed her eyes to quiver open. “Hello, Archie.”

He scowled playfully, crossing his arms and leaning one shoulder against the wall, his body angled toward her. “It's Thursday.”

“I know what day of the week it is.”

“So why are you here? Thursday is your afternoon and evening off, but you don't seem to be taking it lately.”

Charlotte shrugged. “There's too much to do.”

“There's always too much to do, and the more you're here to do it, the more you'll be taken advantage of.”

“You sound like one of those people with the leaflets again.”

“I happen to agree with them on that point. You deserve regular time off. We all do, with the impossible hours we keep.”

“I don't really have any place to go,” Charlotte said. Henry was here now. Why should she go anywhere else?

“Jump on a streetcar and go where it takes you,” Archie suggested.

“And then what?”

“And then . . . whatever appeals, wherever you end up.”

She laughed. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“What if I could finagle the evening off? Would you come out with me?”

She allowed herself a brief look into his brown eyes. It was tempting. But it could not be. “Who would serve the soup?”

“The new footman,” Archie answered. “Remember, I'm coachman now. It's time I reminded Mr. Penard of the distinction.”

“I doubt you have to remind Mr. Penard of anything,” Charlotte said. “Besides, I already promised Mrs. Fletcher I would be here. She's acting rather put out these days.”

“She has reason to be. She was counting on a new scullery maid, and she didn't get her. But it's not fair that you have to take up the slack. I haven't noticed Mrs. Fletcher giving up her days off.”

“There you go, sounding like those labor protesters.”

“I'm just looking for what's fair.” Archie unfolded an arm and teased Charlotte's fingers as they hung from the ledge. “It's only two-thirty. What if I promised to have you back by five? Would you come out with me then?”

Charlotte collected both her hands and busied them in her apron. Whether she wanted to go with Archie was irrelevant. She simply couldn't, so it did no good to look in his eyes. “That doesn't seem practical. I'm sorry, Archie. I should go back inside.”

Coachman or not, Archie served the soup in the Banning dining room as he had for three years. Charlotte never lifted her eyes to check for his gaze, but if she had, she was sure she would have found his eyes lowered in the demeanor Mr. Penard insisted on and which was required in every house along Prairie Avenue. Nevertheless, he followed her every move, and Charlotte knew it. She suspected that being near her was the only reason he still served at meals. Gripping dishes with more intention than usual, she resisted the sensation his gaze caused in her. After she cleared the meat plates, Charlotte stacked them carefully in the sink in the butler's pantry. By the time she returned to the dining room, the family's conversation had drifted away from the weather and the world's fair and Samuel's latest legal challenge.

“I thought perhaps Mr. Emmett would have something helpful,” Leo was saying. “I know Lucy has his ear on a number of matters around the orphanage. If this child were somehow connected to St. Andrew's, he would know.”

Violet toyed with her sweet potatoes à l'allemande. “Was Mr. Emmett helpful?”

Leo shook his head. “Apparently he is on leave, and his assistant did not seem overly familiar with the filing system. Archie and I had a look for ourselves.”

Charlotte's stomach pinched. She hated to think what they might have found. Immediately she reminded herself that more than a week had passed since the day Leo whisked Archie out on errands. Archie had not said a suspicious word the whole week. Surely they found nothing worth mentioning.

“And what did you discover?” Violet asked.

Leo shrugged. “As it turns out, not much of anything. Obviously if an infant had gone missing from the orphanage, Mr. Tewell would have informed me when he heard the nature of my inquiry. He said nothing, and I found no record of a child matching the description of the one who turned up here. The child doesn't seem to have any connection with the orphanage at all.”

“Well, of course not,” Flora Banning said. “That's why he's here. Honestly, Leo, I'm not sure why you felt it was necessary to trouble yourself. The entire situation is under control. The child is being well cared for.”

“Yes, clearly he is.” Leo spread his hands in front of him. “However, I thought we might find his mother. She may be suffering regrets. I've only glimpsed the boy a time or two, but I left the best description I could with Mr. Tewell. If the mother should turn up looking for him, he will contact us.”

“Why have you waited an entire week to say anything?” Flora pressed.

Leo hesitated. “I've sent a telegram to Lucy. I thought it might catch up with her in Paris and she could send a reply if she has some insight into the matter. I had hoped to have some word from her before speaking to you on the matter.”

Flora dropped her fork. “But I've already written to Cousin Louisa! I've told her all about the child's charms, and she has sent word that she is most eager to meet the boy. I am only awaiting the details of when her husband can manage to be away from his pressing business matters. In any event, they hope to come to Chicago to visit the fair, so it would be simple enough to spend some time with the child as well.”

Charlotte noticed that Emmaline Brewster had stopped eating altogether, having not even touched her sweet potato. She looked pale. Her hands were in her lap, so if Charlotte did not soon step forward and remove Miss Brewster's plate, Mr. Penard would chastise her with his eyes—and his words later. Charlotte herself was barely breathing and feared her knees would buckle if she had to hear one more word about her son's future with strangers.

“Journeying from St. Louis will take some time,” Samuel observed.

“The train is efficient,” Leo said.

“I only just learned that they bought a new home in a country setting,” Flora said. “They hope to move in within six weeks. Greenville, I think.”

Greenville!

Charlotte removed Miss Brewster's plate swiftly and took it immediately to the butler's pantry.

Archie eyed the table, flashed a glance at Mr. Penard, then somberly and quietly stepped into the butler's pantry.

“Charlotte, are you unwell?” he whispered. Bent over the sink, she looked as if her own evening meal might find its way up.

She did not speak, but Archie saw the tremor in her hands.

“Charlotte?” Archie said more urgently. He moved toward her, taking her chin in his hand and inspecting her face. “You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

She would not meet his eyes.

“I'm going to tell Mr. Penard you've taken ill.” He turned her around at the shoulders. “I want you to go up to bed immediately.”

“But—”

“Go, Charlotte.”

On Sunday morning after breakfast, Charlotte carried dishes from the dining room. Archie was finishing a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

“Shouldn't you be pulling the carriage around for the family to go to church?” Charlotte asked. He was watching her too closely since finding her ill in the butler's pantry. She moved briskly as if to prove she was untroubled.

“Come with me.” Archie locked his eyes onto hers.

“Don't be silly, Archie.” Charlotte tossed a dish towel at him.

“You've only been to church one time since you got here,” he said, “and that was Christmas Eve.”

“I have work to do on Sunday mornings.” Charlotte swished a hand in the dishwater, fishing for a rag. “The family will be expecting luncheon when they get home from church.”

“What if I talk to Mrs. Fletcher?” Archie asked. “What if she says you can go?”

“She won't.”

“What if she does?”

Charlotte shrugged. “Okay. I would go. But she won't.”

Archie blew out of the room to find Mrs. Fletcher, and a few minutes later triumphantly announced that Charlotte should go upstairs and change her dress. She was going to church. Charlotte could not help wondering what Archie had to promise Mrs. Fletcher to get her consent, but she could not back out of her own agreement.