The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (4 page)

Nanny Sarah. That might not be terrible—at least until she could figure out another release from this unbearable captivity.

It was soundly sleeping now, breathing deep and regular, thumb in mouth. Sarah made sure not to leave any personal items on the floor. She had no idea how long it would sleep, and she did not like Charlotte telling her what to do, but inevitably she would have to run up and down the stairs to check
on it. She had not yet seen it crawl, but Charlotte seemed to think it would. Certainly she was not going to sit there and stare at it during what might be a long nap. She backed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

Sarah had hoped to simply sneak out to the courtyard and let old Penard think she was upstairs with the creature, but he was there at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her with a cotton rag in one hand and a tin of vegetable oil soap in the other. Sarah recognized it as a basic tool for cleaning tables. Occasionally some church ladies would decide to serve the poor by polishing the tables at St. Andrew's, and the older girls would end up doing the work while the ladies drank tea the cook brewed for them. Sarah did not like the way the soap smelled, nor the memories it evoked.

Keeping conversation to a minimum, Sarah took the supplies and moved through the butler's pantry that separated the kitchen from the dining room. She slowed her steps enough to take in the floor-to-ceiling cabinetry, framed in wood with glass doors, and the deep sink with its own faucet and running water. The black and white floor tiles were a smaller size of the same pattern the kitchen featured.

Sarah had seen little of the house so far, other than the cursory tour Mr. Penard had given on the afternoon she arrived. In addition to the kitchen and workrooms, the downstairs held a spacious dining room, a broad foyer, the parlor, the master bedroom, and Mr. Banning's private study. If the baby had not yet awakened when she finished polishing table, chairs, and sideboard, she was supposed to also do the round mahogany table in the foyer and the side tables in the parlor. The marble staircase off the foyer led to the remainder of the family and guest bedrooms, but Sarah was not to use those stairs.

Sarah pried open the tin, dipped the rag in, and began rubbing haphazardly at the long oak dining room table. Her eyes lifted to the parted drapes adorning the windows looking out on Prairie Avenue. Broad bands of buff-colored taffeta trimmed in gold beads swept back claret-toned velvet from the centers of the wide windows. Mirror image pale blue swags topped the oak-framed windows. Sarah, however, was not looking at the draperies. The rubbing motion slowed as her gaze followed the movements of the strangers outside.

The men in their gray suits and striped vests lacked the bearing of the men Sarah had seen coming and going from Prairie Avenue homes in the last two days, and the women's dresses were closer to her own garb than the latest 1893 fashions the women of Prairie Avenue boasted. Unabashed children stared and pointed—all of them fairgoers lured into creating a spectacle of themselves as they absorbed the spectacle that was Prairie Avenue.

Across the street, a neighbor glided along the short walkway to her waiting carriage, never once turning her head to acknowledge the presence of spectators. Sarah's lips turned up at one end. The woman showed her class with every step. Someday, Sarah thought, she would be the one to show her class. She was not going to spend her life in service.

The Pullman carriage rolled by just then. Mr. Penard had pointed it out to her two days earlier with a caution not to gawk. As if she would ever gawk, as if she would ever accept that she did not deserve to travel in such a carriage herself.

“Sarah, I suspect you may be daydreaming.”

Mr. Penard's voice from his pantry fractured her reverie. Sarah dipped the rag in the tin once again and rubbed the
tabletop more convincingly. Someday she would prove that she was better than this.

“Good morning, Mr. Mason.” Charlotte spoke brightly to the butcher, who was more likely to produce choice cuts if she indulged in conversation.

“Good morning, Miss Farrow. Am I to understand by your presence that the family returns soon?”

Charlotte nodded. “Tomorrow, midday. I have a list of the meats Mrs. Fletcher wants delivered.”

Mr. Mason smiled, set his hands on his hips, and looked at the ceiling. “Let's see. If I know your Mrs. Fletcher, the list asks for two racks of lamb, eight lamb kidneys, three beef roasts with no more than half an inch of fat, calves livers, four chickens, a large goose, and a Virginia ham.”

Charlotte laughed. “She also wonders if you have a wild turkey.”

“She knows it takes an extra day to get one of those, but I'll try to work my magic.”

“So we can expect your delivery by ten in the morning?”

“Nine-thirty.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mason.”

Charlotte returned to the Banning service carriage with the hired driver. It was far from the family's best—hardly more than an enamel-coated work cart complete with scratches—but she was grateful for its efficiencies, and in the summer she appreciated the open top. She shared the space with three empty bushel baskets, which would be filled within minutes at the shop of the only green grocer Mrs. Fletcher would tolerate. Then she could go home again to make the beds. At
least there she might have some notion of whether her son was being properly looked after. She did not care if she did not leave the house again as long as he was there.

Charlotte did not trust Sarah Cummings with a child—anyone's child, but particularly not hers. The fact that the girl could freely take Henry out of her sight and Charlotte could not protest nearly provoked her to sobs. Yet she refused to cry. No one could know Henry was hers. If anyone suspected the truth, she and Henry would be put out on the street summarily. Mr. Penard would no longer feel obliged to discover the will of the Bannings regarding the baby. The household staff was his to deal with as he saw fit, and Charlotte knew perfectly well he would not tolerate a maid with a child. Even after nearly a year of faithful service in the Banning household, Charlotte did not take her position for granted.

As the laden cart rumbled back toward Prairie Avenue, Charlotte sat upright in her seat, determined not to give in to the looming despair that crushed her chest.

 4 

L
ogically Charlotte could tell herself it did not matter how often she checked the time. The hands of the clock did not move any faster. Still, she glanced at the timepiece on the kitchen mantel over and over. The family was due back any minute now, and the house was as ready as it could be. Charlotte and Sarah sat in the spotless kitchen, hesitant to move lest their shifting cause disorder they would not have time to remedy. The baby amused himself on a blanket on the kitchen floor. Charlotte watched him in her peripheral vision, not permitting herself a full-face gaze.

One more night had passed with her son slumbering across the hall, but still Charlotte had no plan for how to withstand the blustering storm when the truth leaped from her heart to the Bannings' faces. And surely a storm was coming if she did not simply take her son and leave. She missed Lucy Banning Edwards keenly. Lucy would have known what to do.

“What was that?” Sarah jumped up from the table and lurched toward the door leading from the kitchen into the servants' hallway.

Charlotte followed. “The servants' carriage must be here. That means the family will be right behind.” Looking past
Sarah through the window, she saw the carriage pull up alongside the servants' entrance. Sarah flounced into the hall without looking back at the baby playing happily on the blanket. Relishing the private moment, Charlotte smiled broadly at her son, who responded by leaning to one side to get to his knees and beginning to crawl toward her. In an expert movement and with a giggle of delight, he left the confines of the blanket.

“Oh no, you don't!” Charlotte swooped in to pick him up. She snuck in a kiss and settled him on her hip just as she heard the voices in the servants' hall. From the sounds, she concluded that Karl, an under-coachman, had driven one of the smaller carriages and brought home the cook, the parlor maid, the ladies' maid, and a groom. Footsteps and chatter filled the hall.

Mrs. Fletcher appeared in the kitchen and stopped in her tracks. “That's a baby!”

“Yes, it is.” Charlotte forced herself not to smile with pride and said the words—technically true—she had carefully rehearsed. “He turned up in the yard on Tuesday.”

“What do you mean, ‘turned up'?”

Sarah pushed her way past the glut of staff still shedding belongings in the hall and burst into the kitchen. “We found him in the laundry basket in the courtyard. I've been put in charge of him.” She reached possessively for the baby and transferred him to her own hip.

Mrs. Fletcher raised an eyebrow at the slender stranger in her kitchen. “I assume you are Sarah Cummings.”

“Yes, and I'm to be the nanny.”

“My understanding is you were to begin as a scullery maid and be of some help with the never-ending work in the kitchen.”

“That was before this situation arose.”

Mrs. Fletcher's gaze sputtered toward Charlotte. “Where is Mr. Penard? I can't have this child underfoot in my kitchen.”

“I'm right here.” Mr. Penard pushed open the door from his butler's pantry. “I'm afraid we have no alternative for the moment. I will of course speak to Mr. and Mrs. Banning as soon as they are settled.”

“Why should they concern themselves with an abandoned child?” Mrs. Fletcher's face bore only confusion at the notion.

Charlotte glanced up and flickered a smile at the familiar faces she had not seen in a month. By now Elsie, the ladies' maid, and Lina, the new parlor maid, had removed their hats. They stood wordlessly with Karl, the under-coachman.

“My suspicion is that the child was left for Mrs. Edwards,” Mr. Penard explained to the onlookers. “It is not our place to decide his disposition. I will speak to the Bannings tomorrow morning after breakfast. In the meantime, none of you will make any reference to his presence within earshot of the family. Is that clear?”

Charlotte scanned the group, seeing nods all around. This was not an edict any of them would want to violate. A few more hours. One more night at best.

“Your arrival can only mean we are to expect the family within the hour,” Mr. Penard said. “I have never known Mr. Banning to be imprecise in his travel arrangements. Please sort yourselves out immediately and take up your posts. This is not a half day off for any of you.”

Mrs. Fletcher sighed, looked back at Sarah, and said flatly, “I'm sure he's a charming child, but the kitchen is a dangerous place for a baby. If you fancy yourself a nanny, then I expect you will keep him out of my way.”

Sarah's eyes flashed. “I grew up at St. Andrew's. I know a thing or two about babies!”

“Then do a thing or two about this one.”

Archie Shepard pulled on the reins to slow the duo of Belgian draft horses as he turned onto Prairie Avenue. The entourage had made good time traveling down from Lake Forest, arriving within a few minutes of the time Mr. Penard expected them. Archie drove the largest Quinby carriage, carrying Samuel and Flora Banning and Mrs. Banning's sister, Violet Newcomb. Behind him was a carriage with the top down, allowing the three Banning brothers—Oliver, Leo, and Richard—to enjoy the open air. Only Richard had spent the entire month in Lake Forest. Though Oliver and Leo had careers and social lives to attend to, all three had spent the final week with their parents and returned together. A third coach carried luggage and household supplies not needed in Lake Forest during the winter. The family might return to the lake for the odd weekend before the weather turned completely, but the summer holiday was ended.

To Archie, the house looked just as it had a month earlier, with its solid oak front door embedded in stone facing. In many respects it was a welcome sight. But Archie was already missing the cooler air that blew around the Bannings' lake house. He had lived in Chicago his entire life, yet the August heat and humidity wilted him every summer, especially when he was required to wear a full livery.

Archie swung down from the bench atop the carriage and reached for the door.

“Every year at the end of the summer, I am amazed at
how grateful I am to return home,” Flora Banning said when Archie pulled the door open.

Archie offered his hand, and she took it to aid her exit.

“I do wonder if I ought to go directly to my own home.” Violet Newcomb shifted in the seat and leaned toward the door herself.

“Nonsense,” Flora answered. “It's Thursday. The entire family makes a point to be home for dinner on Thursdays.”

“But we've been together for a month, Flora, and before that we had all the flurry of Lucy's wedding. A few quiet days would be welcome.”

“I insist you come inside,” Flora said. “We've been in the carriage for hours. Mrs. Fletcher can prepare some refreshment and you can have a satisfying dinner before Archie takes you home. Tomorrow will be soon enough for your own staff to resume their duties.”

Archie now offered his hand to Miss Newcomb, who smiled at him as she took it. “Thank you, Archie.”

Samuel Banning emerged from the carriage and immediately checked his pocket watch. “We're right on time. Penard should have everything ready. Perhaps I'll telephone the office.”

Flora swatted at her husband's arm. “Samuel, you promised me you'd finish the week on holiday. You can go back to that dreary law office on Monday.”

“It's not dreary to me, my dear.”

Despite Samuel's gentle rebuff, Archie could see his employer had no serious intent to return to his office prematurely.

“Why are these people loitering?” Flora wrinkled her nose at the gaggle of onlookers gathered on the corner of Eighteenth and Prairie to climb back into their carriage. “I'm of a mind to tell them all to go home and leave us alone.”

“Pay them no mind at all, dear.” Samuel took his wife's arm. “It's all part of the promotion of the world's fair. It will be over soon enough.”

With the family on their way to the front door, where Mr. Penard already stood waiting to attend their wishes, Archie secured the carriage door, climbed to the driver's seat, and clicked his tongue. He would have to drive around the block to enter the coach house from the most efficient direction, and then he would have to oversee the grooms to ensure the horses were properly cooled and brushed. His recent promotion to head coachman pleased him, though he believed his future was not fixed on the coach house.

His thoughts strayed to the scene that would greet him when he entered the house again after all these weeks. The slim form of Charlotte Farrow had haunted him the whole time he was away. Her face, sometimes calm but always secretive, was a careful harbor of her mysterious emotions. He had watched her for months, speaking a kind word whenever he had opportunity and noticing the flush it caused in her freckled complexion. Archie hoped she would be at her post in the kitchen when he finally stepped through the servants' hall.

Sarah had to admit that dinner preparations in the Banning house were far more complex than she anticipated. The kitchen operated on as strict a routine as the kitchen at St. Andrew's, all to serve an elaborate dinner for six, rather than an elemental meal for four hundred. The food stores Charlotte had arranged provided all the resources Mrs. Fletcher needed for cold cucumber soup, two kinds of fruit bread, baked trout, roast goose, garlic-seasoned potatoes, fresh garden
greens with apricots and walnuts covered in a tangy dressing, and the family's favorite red velvet cake. The table laid with china, crystal, and sterling silver was as beautiful as anything Sarah had seen in a painting or picture book. When the family gathered, the electric lights would be turned off, and the twin candelabras rising from the floral arrangements would be lit. Polished silver would be luminous in the gleam of candles.

Sarah had managed to absent herself from much of the fuss during the meal preparation, taking the brat upstairs for an afternoon nap and opting to indulge in one herself. The creature had fussed a bit more than usual, until Sarah relented and changed his diaper. The cloths he had soiled would soon need washing or he wouldn't have a fresh one. Sarah resolved to mention this to Charlotte as she closed her eyes and dreamed of dinner.