In the Company of Secrets (39 page)
Mrs. Barnes wavered, seeming to weigh the possibilities. ‘‘Still . . .’’
Olivia patted the woman’s hand. ‘‘Please tell him I insisted.’’ She retrieved the muff and impulsively kissed the woman’s cheek. ‘‘Thank you for a lovely dinner, Mrs. Barnes.’’
Though the temperature remained cold, the sun was bright and the breeze had diminished. The walk home would be pleasant. Olivia rounded the corner and lengthened her stride, pleased she’d been able to escape before Mr. Howard returned. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes were kind, generous people. Living under their roof would surely prove a blessing. If only Samuel didn’t live next door.
Fred tapped on the front door and waited. No answer. He looked down the street and wondered if Olivia had retreated to the library rather than spend the remainder of her Sunday after- noon alone. A twinge of guilt assaulted him, yet he pushed the feeling aside. He wasn’t the one who had been living a life of lies. Why should he feel remorse if she endured an afternoon of loneliness? Yet deep inside, he knew why. He cared for her. More than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
With a heavy thud, he plopped down on the porch, his feet resting on the front steps. He’d wait. His mother would expect him to do no less. After all, she was the one who had insisted he come. If Olivia didn’t arrive within the hour, he could comfortably report he’d done his best. He rubbed his gloved hands together and watched for any sign of Olivia.
He’d nearly convinced himself he could leave when he spotted Olivia in the distance. She shaded her eyes, and he knew she’d seen him—or at least she’d become aware someone was sitting on the front steps. She waved and quickened her pace. Did she know it was he, or did she think Mr. Howard was awaiting her?
Olivia’s lips curved into a broad smile, and she broke into a near run as she approached him. ‘‘Fred! I’m so pleased to see you. How long have you been sitting out here in the cold?’’
Her pleasure at seeing him appeared genuine. Did she think he’d come to tell her he’d had second thoughts and they could continue on as though nothing had happened? He stood as she reached the porch. ‘‘Not long. I thought perhaps you’d gone to the library, so I decided I’d wait a short while.’’
He followed her glance toward the front windows. Mrs. Rice, the next-door neighbor, stood behind the lace curtains watching them—a reminder that nothing escaped the watchful eyes that inhabited this town.
Olivia fidgeted with her purse. ‘‘Has Mrs. Rice been talking to you? About me? Or Charlotte?’’ she hastened to add.
‘‘No. We haven’t spoken. I didn’t know she was watching me until just now.’’ Olivia appeared relieved yet he wondered why it made any difference.
Olivia dug in her handbag and withdrew her key. ‘‘Why don’t we go inside?’’
He nodded his agreement. ‘‘I can’t stay long. It wouldn’t be proper.’’
She offered to take his coat, but he refused. The sparkle in her eyes faded, and he realized she truly did expect more from this conversation than he was willing to offer. Best get it over with.
‘‘My mother insisted I come and apologize for my rude behavior earlier today.’’ Before he could complete his apology, Olivia gasped.
‘‘You told her?’’
‘‘About the lies?’’ He shook his head. ‘‘No, Olivia. I’ll leave that for you. I told her we have differences that make it impossible for me to consider continuing to see you. She insisted I come here and tell you that you are welcome in our home and she still counts you a friend.’’
Olivia dropped to the settee and buried her face in her palms. He hoped she wouldn’t cry. Discomfort had begun to take hold when she finally lifted her head.
‘‘You never did explain how you found my list, Fred. Since it was located in my recipe box, I can’t imagine how you happened to discover it.’’
Fred wrestled with how much he should tell her. He didn’t want her to think he’d broken into the house and rummaged through all of her possessions. ‘‘I had planned to make a new recipe box for you—a gift. I wasn’t certain what size box would be best, and my mother suggested I measure your old one. She gave me her key to your house and said I’d locate the box somewhere in the kitchen.’’ He inhaled a deep breath. ‘‘I didn’t go through any of your other belongings, if that’s your concern.’’
She shook her head. ‘‘No. There’s nothing else hidden away. Will you please let me explain what occurred and why I developed that list?’’
He raked a hand through his wavy hair. He didn’t want to hear her excuses. Nothing she told him would change his mind about the way she’d deceived him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say so. ‘‘If it will make you feel better to tell me, I’ll listen.’’
He leaned back in the chair and listened carefully. His resolve began to weaken as she told him about her life in Lanshire Hall and the unwelcome advances she’d endured from Chef Mallard. However, he steeled himself against being swayed. Piece by piece, she revealed the detailed web of lies she and Charlotte had orchestrated and their subsequent need for a method to keep their stories coordinated.
She exhaled a deep sigh. ‘‘I know it was wrong—all of it. But in order to protect everyone, it seemed necessary. I’ve already discussed the forged recommendation with Chef René , and he accepted my explanation and apologies.’’
He couldn’t believe she’d confessed her behavior to Chef René yet hadn’t mentioned any of this to him. Now he doubted she would have ever told him if he hadn’t discovered her list. ‘‘Chef René knows everything you’ve told me?’’
‘‘Only about the letter being a forgery. Albert knows none of this.’’ She bowed her head. ‘‘After Charlotte disappeared and the earl and countess claimed custody of Morgan, I convinced myself there was no reason to reveal the past.’’
He leaned forward and rested his forearms across his thighs. She had confirmed his doubts. She had planned to base their possible future on a history of lies. He shivered at the thought.
‘‘I’ve asked God’s forgiveness for my sins. I’m striving to be truthful. I can’t change the past, Fred. I can only tell you that if you’ll give me another chance, I’ll do my best to always be truthful.’’
He remained in his slouched position and slowly shook his head. ‘‘Not now—maybe never. I don’t know if we could build a relationship out of the few truths that remain between us.’’ He inhaled a ragged breath and stood up. ‘‘At present, I don’t even want to try. In fact, I think it’s best if we move on with our lives—separately. I’ll not repeat anything you’ve told me today. You have my word.’’
She stepped closer as he neared the door. ‘‘I had hoped you could find it in your heart to forgive me, Fred.’’ Her voice was no more than a whisper.
‘‘I do forgive you, Olivia, but I want a relationship that’s been built on trust.’’ He buttoned his coat. ‘‘I must go. I’ve remained here far too long.’’
She didn’t attempt to forestall his departure any longer, and for that he was thankful. There was nothing more he could say.
Olivia stood in the doorway a few moments longer. With the back of her hand, she wiped away a single tear that trickled down her cheek. She’d created quite a mess of things with her list of lies. How she longed for a friend in whom she could confide. She could talk with Mrs. DeVault tomorrow evening, but she wondered if such a discussion would be prudent. Fred might think she was overstepping her bounds by confiding in his mother. She had few options. She trusted Mrs. DeVault to maintain her confidence, yet offer wise counsel. To trust anyone else might prove disastrous. Gossip traveled quickly through Pullman. The thought of her name being bandied about town held little appeal.
One thing she knew: being home alone would permit ample time for chores. There would be no need for fancy gowns the remainder of this day. She trudged into her bedroom and removed the green silk dress. With a gentle tug, she pulled her dark blue skirt and an old shirtwaist from the wardrobe.
Before returning to the parlor, she retrieved her sewing basket and several stockings that were in dire need of repair. Dragging the rocker near the window where the late afternoon sun provided excellent light and a bit of added warmth, Olivia threaded her needle and slid the wooden darning egg inside one of the stockings. She deftly moved the needle in and out until the unsightly hole finally disappeared. With a gentle squeeze she popped the wooden egg from deep inside the stocking, surprised when it briefly flew through the air like an overweight bird. She thrust her arm outward, hoping for a midair retrieval. Instead, the needle pricked her finger and the darning egg fell to the floor with a thud. Even her mending had become a disaster. A tear of self-pity slid down her cheek as she reached deep inside her skirt pocket.
Instead of the soft cotton handkerchief, her fingers scrunched around a thick piece of paper. She withdrew the object and stared at the crest in the corner. It was the envelope the earl had left at the hotel before his departure. She had shoved it into her pocket and completely forgotten about it.
Placing it on the table, she pressed her hand across the rumpled edge and smoothed the corner before finally running her finger beneath the seal. Her mending now forgotten, she removed the letter. Inside the folded page lay a business card. She held the finely printed card by one corner while she read the simple directive.
You are to make personal contact with this
man
. The earl’s signature had been affixed beneath the one-line instruction.
The piece of stationery fluttered to her lap. She leaned back in the rocking chair and studied the card.
Montrose J. Ashton,
Esquire
. A Chicago solicitor with an office on LaSalle Street. She shivered. The combination of solicitors and Chicago couldn’t be a good thing, yet the earl’s few words didn’t sound ominous. He had merely directed her to visit with Mr. Ashton. She hoped he hadn’t assumed she visited the city on a frequent basis.
She tucked the business card into her reticule. Perhaps she’d go and visit Mr. Ashton on her next day off work. Then again, navigating the streets of Chicago seemed a daunting mission. Could she muster the courage to make such a journey on her own? If only Fred could accompany her—she’d feel much safer having his strength to rely upon. She sighed. Her reliance would need to be placed in the Lord, for Fred surely wouldn’t be available.
When she was slipping her arms into her heavy woolen coat the next evening after work, Chef René approached. ‘‘You have been gloomy all day, Miss Mott.’’ Using his thumb and forefinger, he pulled his lips downward into an exaggerated frown. ‘‘Is there something I can do to cheer you?’’
For a moment, she considered telling him of Fred’s decision to end their relationship, then decided against it. Chef René would have no answers for her. ‘‘No. Everything is fine, but I truly appreciate your kind offer.’’ His eyes continued to reflect concern, as though he didn’t believe her. She forced a bright smile. ‘‘See? No need to worry.’’
‘‘You are not so convincing, Miss Mott, but I’ll not force the subject further. I am here if you need me.’’
His kindness touched her, and she impulsively kissed his fleshy cheek. ‘‘You’re a kind man, but I promise I won’t tell the rest of the staff.’’
Unaccustomed to receiving any acclaim from his staff, his cheeks colored at her praise. He waved his hand with bravado. ‘‘Off with you now. And if nothing is amiss, I expect to see you happy and vivacious come tomorrow morning.’’
‘‘I’ll do my best.’’ She hurried out the door and toward the DeVaults’. Fred would be at work, and she’d soon discover whether she could remain friends with his mother. She hoped they’d have a few minutes alone before Albert arrived. Not that she minded her cousin’s presence. But Albert’s friendship with Fred ran deep, and he might inadvertently repeat some snippet of conversation.
With her heart thumping an irregular beat, she approached the front door. What if Mrs. DeVault sent her away? She had to anticipate the woman’s allegiance to be with her son. Still, the woman had specifically said that she still considered Olivia a friend. Olivia knocked and waited.
Mrs. DeVault opened the front door, a wide smile curving her lips. The erratic beat of Olivia’s heart immediately settled.
‘‘Olivia! Come in, my dear. What a pleasant surprise.’’
She hesitated on the threshold. ‘‘Has Fred told you of our . . . um . . . circumstances?’’
‘‘A little, but do come in. No need to warm the outdoors.’’ She grinned and pointed at the hall tree. ‘‘Hang your coat and come join me in the kitchen. I need to make certain my rolls haven’t burned.’’
Olivia did as the older woman requested. Soon the aroma of the warm yeasty rolls wafted down the hallway. She inhaled and followed the familiar smell into the kitchen. Mrs. DeVault was lifting two baking pans from the oven. The rolls were browned to perfection. ‘‘If Chef René sees those, he may offer you a position in the pastry kitchen.’’
Mrs. DeVault laughed. ‘‘I’ve no interest, but thank you very much for the compliment. I find it hard enough to keep up with Fred and Albert.’’ She set the pans on a cooling rack and closed the oven door. ‘‘I’m pleased you stopped by, Olivia. I had planned to come see you later this evening, but this is even better. You can join me for supper.’’
