In the Company of Secrets (14 page)
After brief consideration, Olivia decided against having Charlotte deliver a message to Mrs. DeVault. Charlotte had already determined Mr. Howard would be the preferable suitor for Olivia. And knowing Charlotte, she would intentionally forget to deliver the message, an embarrassment that would likely terminate any further pursuit by the younger man. Olivia remained uncertain how Charlotte could consider herself an accomplished judge of men. Hadn’t she chosen a true scoundrel for herself? Olivia dared not mention that opinion for fear of igniting the woman’s wrath or sending her into a crying spell that would go on for untold hours.
Instead, she’d send her message through Martha. Though the two women saw little of each other at work, Olivia would make a special effort to go to the upper levels of the hotel and locate her today. She’d explain what had occurred, and perhaps Martha could lend some advice on how to best handle Mr. Howard’s advances in the future.
Although Olivia had little time to think about her conflicting escorts for the band concert, Chef René soon offered the perfect opportunity. Before placing a tray of croissants in the oven, he checked the temperature and beamed at the stove.
‘‘Magnifique!’’
He slid the baking sheet into the Goodwin gas range—the pride of
his
kitchen. ‘‘Georgie is missing, likely hiding out somewhere on the fourth floor. I need you to go and find him.’’
On any other day, his request would have annoyed her. Normally she preferred to be at Chef René ’s side, observing every move, hoping to gain his expertise. But today was different. Today she must make certain Fred knew exactly why she couldn’t accompany him to the band concert. Taking the steps two at a time, she looked down the hallways before proceeding to the next floor. Not seeing Martha on the second or third level, she continued upward. She’d first locate Georgie, a task that should prove rather easy. The fourth floor was occupied by kitchen boys and the servants who accompanied some of the hotel guests, all of whom would be—or should be—out of their small stuffy quarters before dawn. She need not take precautions before flinging open the doors on this floor. The oddly shaped spaces had been wedged into the crannies surrounding the dormers or fitted to the varying slants of the roofline. Little care was given to their size or shape, for they’d not be used by anyone except the lower class.
Nearing the end of the hallway and still having no success, Olivia wondered if the young man had run off without telling anyone. She’d been told that from time to time one or two of the boys would jump a train passing through town. The boys all thought they’d find a pot of gold at the end of their ride on the steel rails. So far, three had returned. They’d found neither their pot of gold nor gainful employment. Chef René was forgiving, saying young men should explore their opportunities before settling on their life’s work. She doubted whether he believed the same about women.
Pushing open the final door, Olivia heaved a sigh. Finally! There was Georgie. He appeared to be asleep. She clapped her hands together and called out his name.
The boy rolled over and groaned.
‘‘Chef René wants you in the kitchen this moment. Are you ill?’’
He held his stomach. ‘‘Yes.’’ He jumped to his feet, waved her away, and then raced down the hall toward the bathroom. Two empty liquor bottles sat in the corner by his bed. Apparently Georgie had been celebrating throughout the night and was paying the consequences this morning. Chef René would not be pleased. Georgie was still holding an arm across his stomach as he staggered back to the room, obviously weakened by constant visits to the bathroom.
‘‘Please don’t tell,’’ he said in a raspy voice and fell back onto the narrow cot. ‘‘I just received word my mum died last month. I didn’t even know she was sick.’’
‘‘Well, you’ll not pay her tribute by falling into a drunken stupor every night. Will you promise this is the last of the drinking?’’
He groaned an affirmative reply.
‘‘I’ll tell Chef René you’ve taken ill, but if he asks about alcohol, I’ll be required to tell the truth. I’ll not lie for you, Georgie.’’
He rolled back toward the wall. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. I won’t ask you to go against your religious convictions.’’
His words burned through her conscience. Though she had lied to protect herself, she was quick to tell Georgie that truth must be spoken when it applied to him.
Self-righteous!
The words echoed in her mind as loudly as if someone had shouted them down the empty fourth-floor hallway. She ran to the staircase and started down, her shoes clattering on the bare oak steps, clinging to the railing for support. At the third-floor landing, she collided with Martha and jerked to a halt.
She clutched Martha’s arm as she gasped for air. ‘‘I’ve been looking for you.’’
Martha’s thin eyebrows lifted and formed two perfectly shaped arches. ‘‘On the fourth floor?’’
‘‘No. I went up there looking for Georgie—at Chef René ’s request.’’ She tugged Martha’s hand and pulled her to an alcove that overlooked the rear of the hotel. After explaining her predicament with Mr. Howard, she leaned against the windowsill and looked into Martha’s hazel eyes. ‘‘What can I do?’’
Martha lowered her voice as one of the maids walked down the hallway. ‘‘You must go to the concert with Mr. Howard.
You’ve already accepted his invitation. It would be impolite to break the engagement in order to attend with Fred.’’
‘‘But what do I say should he extend a future invitation? I’m to be with him both this evening and tomorrow evening, yet I’d rather be with Fred.’’ Her cheeks flushed at the admission.
Martha giggled and looped arms with her. They walked toward the stairs. ‘‘Then tell him no thank you. It’s as simple as that.’’
Olivia shook her head. ‘‘I worry my refusal could jeopardize my position at the hotel.’’
Martha stopped at the head of the stairs. ‘‘Why should it?’’
Olivia couldn’t respond. Outside of another lie, what could she say?
Because I was hired based upon a fraudulent letter of
recommendation, and if I make an enemy of Mr. Howard, he may
delve into my background
? Such a reply wouldn’t endear her to Martha.
‘‘You aren’t still concerned about those ants marching all over the dining room, are you?’’ Martha stifled a giggle.
‘‘No, but I’ve continued to have my share of mishaps in the kitchen, and I know I try Chef René ’s patience from time to time—even though it’s not my intent.’’ She glanced toward the stairs. ‘‘I had best get back to the kitchen, or he’ll be sending someone to fetch me as well as Georgie. You will explain to Fred?’’
Martha nodded. ‘‘I’ll do my best, but he’s bound to be disappointed.’’
Olivia didn’t say so, but she truly hoped he would be. Leaving behind the pine woodwork of the second and third floors, she descended into the main lobby, where rich cherry woodwork and Minton tile gleamed to polished perfection. Mr. Billings stood behind the front desk, guarding the enunciator box, call button board, and registry like a mother hen protecting her chicks.
‘‘Chef René has inquired concerning your whereabouts, Miss Mott.’’ His lips remained in a tight line as he relayed the message.
‘‘Thank you, Mr. Billings.’’ The man’s demeanor remained unchanged. Olivia was convinced he didn’t like her. He’d never warmed to her. She could only assume that being hired without his stamp of approval resulted in the man’s ongoing displeasure. Of course there was no way of being certain. With the exception of Chef René , no one else had been hired to work in the hotel without Mr. Billings’s endorsement—at least that’s what Martha had told her.
‘‘Oh, and Miss Mott . . .’’
She turned and met his austere stare. ‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘I’m told that some liquor has been disappearing from the hotel bar. Two to three bottles a week.’’ His eyes darkened. ‘‘I’m told these occurrences began at approximately the same time you came to—’’
She stepped closer to the smooth marble-topped counter. ‘‘Are you accusing me of—’’
Mr. Billings leaned forward and waved his index finger back and forth. ‘‘Do
not
interrupt me, Miss Mott.’’ He stood back, grasped the hem of his vest, and tugged with such vigor that she thought it might soon reach his knees. ‘‘The only persons who have keys to that room are Chef René and me. Even the barkeep does not have a personal key, and the bottles are counted each evening before closing.’’
Olivia waited until she was sure he’d finished speaking. ‘‘And for that reason you feel you should accuse me of this despicable act?’’
He cleared his throat and looked down his nose as though she were a fly that he was anxious to swat. ‘‘I believe I stated more than one reason, Miss Mott. The keys
and
the timing. In addition, I don’t believe Chef René or Mr. Howard performed a proper check into your background or references.’’
Perspiration dampened her hands and beaded along her upper lip. She swallowed the lump that had begun to form in her throat. Should she mention that Eddie and Georgie had been hired two days after her own employment at the hotel or that Mr. Billings could find two empty bottles in their room at this very moment? Oh, how she wanted to shout that information across the desk and watch Mr. Billings’s arrogant look evaporate. But what right did she have to accuse Georgie or Eddie? She had no proof the bottles had come from the hotel bar. Her accusations would be as tenuous as those of Mr. Billings.
Best to take the offensive. She squared her shoulders and jutted her chin, hoping her deportment somewhat resembled the demeanor she’d seen Charlotte assume from time to time. ‘‘I am
highly
offended.’’ When he glowered, she remained steadfast. ‘‘I plan to report your false accusations to Chef René . He may proceed to investigate further, if he so desires. I believe the chef will confirm that I have never had access to his keys. And I do not imbibe alcoholic beverages.’’ She turned on her heel and marched off, careful to keep her head high and her back as straight as a broomstick.
‘‘I will talk to Chef René myself,’’ Mr. Billings called after her.
Olivia pretended not to hear. She’d see Chef René long before Mr. Billings would. Indeed, the rotund chef now stood in the kitchen doorway with his beefy hands on his hips and a scowl on his face as she approached. Had she not known better, she’d think Mr. Billings had already alerted him.
‘‘Where have you been, Miss Mott? I sent you to locate Georgie, and you finally come back after almost a half hour and’’—he bent back and forth and pretended to look behind her—‘‘I
still
don’t have Georgie in my kitchen.’’
‘‘My apologies, Chef René . Georgie is ill, and I remained long enough to ensure he wasn’t in need of immediate medical care. Then as I returned to the lobby, Mr. Billings detained me.’’ She lowered her voice and leaned closer. ‘‘I must speak to you privately when you have a few moments.’’
All discussion of Georgie was forgotten. Chef René was much more interested in what Mr. Billings had to say. He crooked his finger for her to follow. ‘‘Out here where the staff will not hear.’’ Marching to the side door, he led her outside to a grassy expanse well beyond the kitchen door. ‘‘Well? What did that pompous man say to you?’’
Chef René folded his thick arms across his chest, and a haughty expression slowly took form as she explained Mr. Billings’s accusations.
He raised a finger into the air. ‘‘Ha! Who does that man think he is to question my employees? We shall
see
about this! I will talk to Mr. Howard—to Mr. Pullman, if necessary! Mr. Beelings’s accusations have been directed against Chef René as well as against you, Miss Mott.’’ He shifted his head with a vigor that sent his white hat fluttering to the ground in a graceful landing.
She stooped down and retrieved his hat. ‘‘Mr. Billings said I shouldn’t speak to you about this matter, but I pretended I didn’t hear him.’’
The chef rubbed his sagging jowl. ‘‘
Did
he?’’ He winked and nodded. ‘‘Then I shall be well prepared when he approaches me. Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention, Miss Mott. I knew you were a young lady of integrity—someone I could trust.’’
His praise set her mind awhirl. If he knew the truth, he’d think her far from trustworthy. In fact, he’d likely discharge her that very moment. She dug the toe of her shoe into the grass, her face warm with embarrassment.
With his thickly padded thumb, Chef René lifted her chin until their eyes met in a somber gaze. ‘‘I know your letter wasn’t genuine. Nevertheless, I still believe you are a young lady of integrity.’’
Hot tears began to pool in her eyes. ‘‘How did you know?’’
He laughed. ‘‘I was certain before I hired you, Miss Mott, but it took only two minutes in my kitchen to confirm what I already believed.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘You worked in a kitchen, but you held no position of responsibility. However, you are a good student—how you say? Inspired. Chef René will make you into a fine chef, a true protégée, so long as you stay committed to learning.’’
She enjoyed the way he referred to himself as though he were some distant third party. ‘‘I’m very committed and honored that you consider me talented enough to be your protégé e.’’ She gave him a shamefaced glance. ‘‘But why is it you never said anything about my lack of training?’’ The moment she’d spoken the words, she wondered if he had been setting a trap. Her heart pounded against her chest and her stomach roiled. She hoped she wouldn’t faint.
His lips curved into a wide grin. ‘‘I did the very same thing when I was your age because I knew I was destined to become a great chef.’’ He patted her shoulder. ‘‘We shall survive Mr. Beelings and his accusations. Mr. Howard and Mr. Pullman will prove to be strong allies.’’
She didn’t want Mr. Howard to be her ally—or Mr. Pullman, either. She’d rather they stay out of the matter. Chef René might be willing to accept her forged credentials, but Mr. Howard and Mr. Pullman would be another story altogether. Chef René appeared unconcerned as they walked side by side to the kitchen door, but her worries continued to mount. Now that she’d admitted to one of her lies, he could use it against her at any time. Thoughts of Chef Mallard’s unwanted advances flitted through her mind. Would Chef René expect some favor in return for his silence? She could only hope he would prove trustworthy.
