In the Company of Secrets (2 page)

Olivia remained silent, waiting for words of wisdom to pour from the older woman’s lips.

‘‘What about your aunt Eleanor Mott? Could you go and stay with her? You’d be safe from Chef Mallard.’’

Olivia slumped in her chair. She didn’t want to go live with Cousin Albert’s mother. She’d be required to work in one of the local shops or, worse yet, take a dreary job in a factory to support herself. Not that she didn’t love Aunt Eleanor, but Olivia had expected a more resourceful solution from Ludie. Though Olivia’s dream seemed outlandish to most, Ludie had encouraged her to pursue training as a chef from the first day she’d arrived at Lanshire Hall.

Suddenly Ludie’s shoulders squared. ‘‘Didn’t your cousin Albert move to America? Perhaps you could follow him there. Chef Mallard’s malevolent threats to ruin your future can’t follow you all the way to another country.’’ She beamed at Olivia. ‘‘What do you think, luv?’’

Olivia’s heart pounded with a mixture of fear and excitement. Could she possibly do such a thing? She’d never even seen all of her native England, or even London for that matter. How could she consider such a journey on her own? Her heartbeat slowed as she remembered how many months Albert had saved for his voyage to America. Even if she could garner the courage, she didn’t have money to purchase her passage.

Ludie jumped up and adjusted her bodice. ‘‘I’m late. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be the object of Lady Charlotte’s wrath. I know her sharp tongue all too well.’’ She stopped when she reached the door. ‘‘We’ll keep thinking. There is a solution; we’ve just got to find it.’’ After one final embrace and a warning to remain upstairs, where she would be safe from Chef Mallard, Ludie disappeared down the hallway.

Olivia slouched in her chair, settling her gaze on the scuffed toes of her black work shoes. One thing was certain: she would be a resident of Lanshire Hall for only two more days. Instead of staring at her shoes, she must pack her belongings. With a sigh, she pushed herself up from the chair and pulled open the wardrobe. She would be greatly relieved to never again see Chef Mallard, but she would surely miss living and working at Lanshire Hall. Even more, she would miss the woman whom she’d grown to love like the mother she’d never known. Tears threatened at the thought of leaving Ludie. Saying good-bye would be difficult.

Olivia’s starched white cap wobbled precariously above her left eyebrow. She gaped at the formidable Lady Charlotte Spencer. Perhaps Olivia wasn’t quite awake yet and hadn’t heard correctly. ‘‘You want me to
what
?’’ Olivia blurted the words without so much as adding a polite ‘‘your ladyship’’ to the question.

The only daughter of the Earl and Countess of Lanshire Hall, Lady Charlotte was twenty-three, older than Olivia by two years. More often than not, however, she acted like a spoiled ten-year-old. Shoving her hat back toward the center of her head, Olivia prayed she’d misunderstood the young mistress.

With a hefty yank, Lady Charlotte pulled Olivia into the darkness of the linen closet and bid her remain quiet. She squeezed Olivia’s arm in a viselike grip while she whispered a detailed and upsetting plan. When she’d hissed the final words, Lady Charlotte nudged Olivia toward the door and back into the hallway. Trembling, Olivia hurried off to the kitchen. She pinched herself as she descended the steps. Perhaps this was merely a dream. Unfortunately, the painful pinch revealed she was wide-awake.

She should never have confided in Ludie! The older woman meant well, but she chattered constantly. Even now, Olivia could picture the scene: Ludie serenely brushing Lady Charlotte’s hair in long flowing strokes while regaling her ladyship with the daily gossip that circulated throughout Lanshire Hall. Unfortunately, this day’s tittle-tattle had included the possibility of Olivia sailing for America once she accumulated funds enough to pay her passage.

Instead of dealing with Chef Mallard, she must now submit to Lady Charlotte’s threats and demands. And this time, she couldn’t ask for Ludie’s help.

CHAPTER TWO

From the time she was a little girl, Olivia had hearkened to her aunt Eleanor’s admonitions against lying. Now she found herself trapped in the mire she’d been warned against during those formative years. Thus far, her journey with Lady Charlotte had been filled with deceit and a host of lies. So many that she remained uncertain whether she could remember all of them. What had her aunt called lies? The scourge of mankind! Yes, that was it—a scourge that entangles man like a sticky spider’s web.

‘‘Tell one lie, and you’ll need two or more to cover the last.’’
She couldn’t count the number of times Aunt Eleanor had repeated those words to Olivia and her cousin Albert. Olivia had never quite understood the saying. Until now. To this point, she’d followed along in her usual submissive manner, doing Lady Charlotte’s bidding without question. However, once they reached Pullman, Illinois, Olivia intended to free herself from the clutches of the young mistress.

Not that Lady Charlotte technically remained her mistress any longer. Nevertheless, she did maintain a hold on Olivia. A very strong hold. After all, she had paid for her passage from London to New York and then to Chicago, and she had offered to force the Mallard to write a letter praising her abilities and culinary expertise. Knowing that such a letter would open doors for her, Olivia had accepted the offer, an act she took no pride in admitting. But she did intend to use the letter once they arrived in Pullman. If all went according to plan, Olivia’s future would be secured in the celebrated community that George Pullman had built for his employees. And so far as she was concerned, she couldn’t reach her destination quickly enough.

As with everything since their departure, all things would happen according to Lady Charlotte’s schedule. They would spend one night at the Grand Pacific Hotel on LaSalle Street before departing the next morning. Olivia’s attempts to hold sway over Lady Charlotte’s decision to remain in Chicago overnight had, as with all of her other suggestions, gone unheeded. Lady Charlotte declared they must be refreshed and rested before their departure for Pullman.

Exiting the glass-domed carriage rotunda at the Van Buren Street Station, Olivia gasped at the surrounding sights and immediately gave thanks for the safety the carriage provided. Monstrous buildings towered heavenward as a mere sliver of sunlight fought its way through to the ground below. Inside the carriage, they were assaulted by the noise of pounding steam hammers, clanging gongs, and teams of screaming horses frightened by the cable cars that nosed through the streets at breakneck speed. A cacophony bombarded them on every side. Olivia had never been in such a place as this. And she wasn’t at all sure she ever wished to return.

She sighed with relief when the coachman reined the horses to a stop in front of the hotel. A uniformed young man hastened to assist them inside, and soon they were escorted to rooms that rivaled the opulence of Lanshire Hall. Once settled amidst the elegance, Olivia quickly pushed aside all thoughts of the treacherous carriage ride. Before embarking on this journey, never before had she been privy to such luxury and elegance. For throughout their trip, she had traveled as Lady Charlotte’s equal, enjoying the same privilege and luxury as that afforded her companion. But tomorrow all of that would change. And tomorrow she must remember all of the lies.

Though she would never broach the topic, Olivia secretly wondered what Lady Charlotte planned to do if Randolph Morgan refused to marry her. Would she return to Lanshire Hall in her condition? This had been yet another of Lady Charlotte’s lies. She had never planned to visit for only a few weeks and then return to England. Once they were well at sea, the mistress had confided she was going to have a child—Randolph Morgan’s child. The news had been unnerving. It still was. Lady Charlotte didn’t even know the man’s address, though searching for him in the town of Pullman shouldn’t prove overly difficult. Mr. Morgan was, after all, one of Mr. Pullman’s most valued employees, if she could believe what Lady Charlotte had told her during their voyage.

Olivia remembered Mr. Morgan well. He’d visited Lanshire Hall on several occasions during the past few years and had been instrumental in hiring many young men who had come to work in Pullman. Artisans who gilded the coaches with gold leaf or etched perfect designs into the mirrors and interior glasswork—her cousin Albert among them. What would the Earl of Lanshire think of Mr. Morgan once he realized
all
that had occurred on the man’s visits to London? The entire matter caused Olivia’s head to ache.

Looking down on the street below, Olivia considered what would happen to her should she be unable to locate a culinary position in Pullman. What if there was no need for additional kitchen staff at the hotel restaurant? She didn’t want to work in one of the factories, nor did she want to accept a position in the frightening chaos of Chicago.

Lady Charlotte entered their opulent sitting room and waved two tickets in the air. ‘‘I secured passage on tomorrow’s nine-o’clock train to Pullman. The hotel clerk was most helpful.’’

After tucking the tickets inside her reticule, she dropped it atop a decorative mahogany table and gracefully stepped across the room. Olivia wondered how much longer Lady Charlotte could hide the fact that she carried a child. Already she was required to wear a long cape when in public. Soon the mistress would develop the sway and posture of an expectant mother, and a cape would no longer hide her condition. Hopefully she would be Mrs. Randolph Morgan when that time arrived.

After removing her cape and dropping it onto one of the heavily padded brocade chairs, Charlotte sat and folded her hands in her lap. ‘‘I also elicited a great deal of information regarding the town. Would you like to hear?’’

Suddenly Lady Charlotte was an authority on Pullman, Illinois. Olivia found the idea utterly annoying. Only a short time earlier, her ladyship had sniffed at the idea of making a home in the small town. She avowed Randolph would be easily con- vinced to live in London once their wedding plans had been arranged. Why, then, had she taken time to discover details about the town?

Olivia offered a tight smile. ‘‘I’d be delighted to hear whatever information you’d care to share with me.’’

Charlotte arched her perfectly shaped brows. ‘‘My, you seem rather stuffy and abrupt this evening. I thought you would be delighted to hear about the town. I even obtained information regarding the hotel where you hope to work.’’ She assumed a quick pout before hastening to continue. ‘‘It’s called the Hotel Florence, and the clerk tells me it was named after Mr. Pullman’s eldest daughter. He says Mr. Pullman hosts huge parties for his business associates, and there’s a full-time chef on staff. According to the clerk, he’s French and highly acclaimed.’’

Olivia sighed. Most chefs were arrogant—especially the French. She wondered if he could rival the Mallard, or if she’d even have an opportunity to find out. She doubted he would consider hiring her to do anything more than scrub pots and pans. Once again, a mere scullery maid. Olivia shuddered at the thought. But perhaps her letter of recommendation from Chef Mallard would help her avoid such a fate.

‘‘All this talk of the hotel reminds me that you’ve not yet furnished me with Chef Mallard’s recommendation.’’

Charlotte nibbled her bottom lip and glanced toward the window.

When her ladyship failed to reply, Olivia’s stomach muscles tightened. ‘‘Did he refuse you?’’

Charlotte arched her back and assumed a regal pose. ‘‘He wouldn’t
dare
refuse me. However, I was fearful he would consider my request peculiar and consult my parents.’’ Her lips tightened. ‘‘I couldn’t have him arouse suspicion. He could have ruined
my
plans.’’

Olivia immediately pictured herself scrubbing dirty pots or, worse yet, spending her days toiling in a dreary factory. Though she longed to voice her anger, she remained silent. She’d spent far too many years in servitude to actually say what she was thinking. Besides, she should have known better than to take Lady Charlotte at her word. Hadn’t she spent a lifetime doing that very thing? Trusting in what other people said, believing they would tell the truth and honor their word. She’d been duped once again. Aunt Eleanor always referred to her as a trusting little soul. Cousin Albert considered her naïve.

‘‘Without a letter of recommendation, I won’t be considered for any position other than scullery maid or factory worker.’’ Olivia’s words were as frosty as a winter wind.

‘‘Oh, I didn’t forget my promise to you, Olivia.’’ Charlotte hurried to one of her trunks, dug deep inside, and retrieved her stationery box. ‘‘Look here!’’ She waved a piece of paper overhead like a parade banner. ‘‘I managed to
appropriate
several pieces of the
official
Lanshire stationery.’’ She winked and placed the sheet of paper in front of Olivia. ‘‘I’ll pen your letter of recommendation and sign my mother’s name, and no one will be the wiser. Besides, a letter from the Countess of Lanshire will carry
much
more influence than that of Chef Mallard.’’ With a look of triumph, Charlotte sat down opposite Olivia.