In the Company of Secrets (6 page)

Olivia wished she had given this matter more thought before offering Charlotte a home. But when? There had been no time for well-thought-out decisions. She’d been too busy improvising. Too busy
lying
. She must commit all she’d said to paper. Otherwise, she would surely forget and become ensnared in that tacky spider’s web of which her aunt had warned.

Crossing the wide street to the stables, she attempted to remember everything she’d told Chef René and Mr. Howard and Mr. Billings. Had she spoken to anyone else? Suddenly she wondered if Charlotte had spoken to any strangers while she shopped in the Arcade.
First things first
, she warned herself. She had issues of greater concern. What if she couldn’t perform her duties? What if Chef René declared her a fraud and banned her from his kitchen? By this time tomorrow, she and Lady Charlotte could both find themselves dispossessed in this foreign country.

CHAPTER FOUR

As he walked toward home, Samuel Howard briefly glanced over his shoulder at Olivia Mott. A pretty girl with dark brown eyes and curly hair the color of freshly brewed coffee—
and
exceptional references. He ran his hand along his jaw. Almost too exceptional. His years with Mr. Pullman had made him a fair judge of character, and something seemed amiss in this case. Had Mr. Pullman not sensed a problem?

Instead of passing by the hotel and going home for the noonday meal, he bounded up the steps. Offering Mr. Billings a hasty wave, he continued down the hallway to the kitchen. The hotel dining room had already filled with guests—likely not the best time to visit Chef René .

The rotund chef immersed a wire basket of asparagus spears into a large kettle of boiling water, looking up only long enough to acknowledge Samuel’s presence. Undoubtedly, his primary concern was cooking the asparagus to perfection, not an unexpected interruption by the company agent. Samuel waited, extending the same courtesy he expected from others.

Moments later, the chef motioned an assistant forward. ‘‘You may arrange the plates while I speak to Mr. Howard. Make certain you do it properly, as I will be watching.’’ The chef raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘‘Good help is impossible to find, is it not? How may I be of assistance, Mr. Howard?’’

Samuel motioned the chef out of the assistant’s hearing. ‘‘About Miss Mott.’’

Before he could elaborate, Chef René slapped a hand to his forehead and shouted at the assistant. The asparagus hadn’t been properly positioned atop the toast points. Samuel didn’t understand why it should matter, but placing toast points beneath the asparagus seemed a matter of extreme import to the chef. He stomped across the room and, with a flair normally expected only in a theatrical presentation, rearranged the food.

Taking a step back, he studied the dinner plates. ‘‘Oui! You see how much better that is?’’ The thick ham steaks were centered on the plate. Asparagus spears, aligned on the toast points and topped with a creamy hollandaise sauce, were positioned down one side of the ham steak. Along the opposite side of the plate in a perfect semicircle was a serving of buttered potatoes sprinkled with parsley.

The quaking assistant bobbed her head, loaded the plates onto a serving tray, and beckoned for one of the servers while Chef René returned his attention to Samuel. ‘‘You were asking about Miss Mott?’’

Samuel tilted his head a few inches closer. ‘‘Did you find her letter of recommendation somewhat astounding?’’

The chef shrugged. ‘‘Who can say? Soon enough we shall see if she possesses talent. Let us hope so. As you can see, I am surrounded by people who are better suited to raising asparagus than cooking or serving it.’’ With a hearty laugh, he grasped Samuel’s shoulder. ‘‘However, Mr. Pullman made the decision to hire her, so there is little responsibility on your part—or mine. If it pleases Mr. Pullman to have her work in his hotel kitchen, then it will please me. I would surmise he doesn’t want to offend one of his investors. At least Miss Mott is a pleasant young woman, and she seems bright—unlike some of the others working in this kitchen.’’ The chef winked. ‘‘Attractive also, don’t you agree?’’

A flush of heat rose from Samuel’s tight collar to the top of his head. ‘‘Yes, she is attractive, but my concern is her suitability to work in your kitchen. I want you to inform me of any problems.’’

‘‘If she is inept, it will be
my
problem. Until Mr. Pullman tells me she is to be dismissed, I will be forced to adjust. We can only hope her recommendation is well founded.’’ He leaned a bit closer. ‘‘Of course, who can trust the judgment of the English? The country has produced few who should hold the title of chef.’’

Chef René waved at his assistant, who had piled another batch of asparagus in the wire basket. ‘‘If there’s nothing further, I must see to my food preparation.’’ Without waiting for a reply, René lunged at the wire basket and rescued the asparagus before it could be immersed in the kettle of boiling water.

Samuel didn’t wait long enough to hear what was sure to be an upbraiding of the kitchen assistant. He wondered how young Miss Mott would withstand such a tongue-lashing. Then again, if she truly possessed all of the talents described in her letter of recommendation, there would be no need for such a remonstration.

Like Chef René , Samuel thought Miss Mott quite attractive. Yet there was something elusive about her behavior. In any event, he would make it a point to stop by this evening and see if she and the young widow were settling into their living quarters. It was the least he could do—a kind and welcoming gesture, he told himself.

Lady Charlotte stood in front of the brick row houses that lined Watt Avenue. Her lip curled as she peered up the front steps leading to number 341. ‘‘This is it?’’

Olivia forced herself to remain civil. What did Charlotte expect? The woman had already seen a great deal of the town. She knew it consisted of similar brick dwellings, most of them sharing common walls and small front yards. Olivia thought the houses charming. Obviously Lady Charlotte found them objectionable. Had her ladyship expected a fine castle to suddenly appear in the midst of these row houses? Even if it had, such a fine home wouldn’t be offered to the likes of Olivia.

With a true sense of satisfaction, she retrieved the key Mr. Howard had given her and proudly unlocked the front door. Never before had she lived in even a room she could call her own. Now she was the renter of her very own row house— almost. Of course, she couldn’t afford the entire amount of the rent without assistance from Lady Charlotte. But still, the rental agreement bore
her
name.

‘‘Where is the furniture? Are we to sit on the floor? I trust there are at least beds and linens.’’

The look of disdain was enough to erase Olivia’s excitement. Why hadn’t she considered the absence of furniture when Mr. Howard escorted her through the residence? ‘‘I was concerned only that there would be accommodations adequate for both of us, your ladyship. I didn’t think to ask about furniture.’’

Regaining her air of authority, Lady Charlotte patted Olivia’s shoulder. ‘‘It wasn’t my intent to injure your feelings. This has been a trying day for both of us. Until we can furnish the house, I suggest we check into the hotel. We certainly can’t sleep on the floor.’’

Though Olivia thought she could sleep on the floor without too much difficulty, she didn’t argue the point. ‘‘Mr. Howard mentioned the hotel rooms are costly. I think he would find extravagant spending out of character for a chef ’s assistant and her widowed friend.’’

‘‘Widow?’’

‘‘When your cape flew open and revealed your condition, I had to tell him something.’’

Lady Charlotte continued to glare at her as if a further explanation was expected.

‘‘He asked if you were married.’’ Olivia wanted to add that if Charlotte would have remained in the Arcade as they’d arranged, she wouldn’t have been forced to provide Mr. Howard with a string of lies.

‘‘Since Mr. Howard is so interested in my welfare, perhaps
he
can suggest where we might locate some furniture.’’ Hands on her hips, Charlotte stared at her.

Did her ladyship truly think she should attempt to locate Mr. Howard? ‘‘My cousin Albert will be home from work before six o’clock. I obtained his address from Mr. Howard. I think he may be a better choice to help us with this dilemma.’’

‘‘We cannot possibly wait until then. What if he can’t help? Nightfall will be upon us, and if the hotel is full for the night, we’ll be forced to remain in this uninhabitable dwelling.’’ Contempt reverberated in Charlotte’s words as clearly as a pealing bell. ‘‘Go and talk to that Mr. Howard again.’’ She motioned toward the door.

Lady Charlotte’s list of priorities differed from Olivia’s in the extreme, with Olivia’s two primary concerns consisting of committing their story to paper—she much preferred to think of their lies as a ‘‘story’’—and reuniting with her cousin. She could ask Albert for assistance, a much more agreeable solution to their problem, to her way of thinking. And if her culinary abilities proved less than what Chef René expected—no doubt they would—the two of them might not be in Pullman long enough to need furniture. That thought was reason enough for her to reestablish control of their situation.

‘‘No. We’re going to wait here. Right now, I’m going to tell you all that we must remember. Once our trunks arrive, I’ll commit our story to paper. While I’m at work tomorrow, you must memorize
all
of it.’’

Apparently her voice had commanded authority, for Charlotte sat down on one of the steps. Perching an elbow on one knee, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand. ‘‘Well, go ahead then. Set forth your list of lies.’’

Olivia flinched at the remark. Charlotte had worded her comment as easily as though airing an inventory of lies were a daily occurrence. And as if all of the lies belonged solely to her. When had Charlotte surrendered ownership of their deceit? Olivia forced away the thought. She was too deeply enmeshed in this tale to now act the innocent.

A short time later, the sound of an approaching wagon rumbled down the street, and soon a knock sounded at the door. Fortunately, she had told Charlotte most of the story. Olivia hoped she herself would remember everything when she finally had time to commit their lies to paper.

As Olivia rose from the stairway to answer the door, Charlotte tapped her hand. ‘‘Don’t forget the forged letter of recommendation and the pieces of jewelry you stole from my mother. Be certain you put those on your list, too.’’

Olivia’s heart thumped wildly. Each thought of the falsified document she had presented to Mr. Howard caused wild palpitations, but
stolen
jewelry? Why would Charlotte accuse her of theft? ‘‘You told me it was
your
jewelry!’’ She ignored the knocking at the front door. Her fear rose like a tidal wave as she waited for Charlotte to affirm the truth of her response.

Instead, Charlotte brushed past her and opened the door. ‘‘Do come in.’’ When the men had deposited the first two trunks in the hallway and turned to retrieve the others, Charlotte blocked their exit and batted her lashes. ‘‘Would you strong men kindly consider carrying our trunks upstairs? As you can imagine, the two of us couldn’t possibly manage such a burden.’’

Both men beamed at Charlotte and nearly knocked each other over in their attempt to do her bidding. Had Olivia not been so angry, she would have laughed at the spectacle. She waited only until the men had lumbered up the stairs before grabbing Charlotte by the hand. Olivia yanked her into the parlor. ‘‘Was the jewelry I sold yours or was it not?’’ She hissed the words like a snake preparing to strike its prey.

Twisting out of her grasp, Charlotte nodded toward the stairs. ‘‘We don’t want our conversation to be overheard. There will be more than ample time for discussion once we’re alone.’’ She smiled demurely as the men returned downstairs. ‘‘You certainly are strong.’’

Had she been a pigeon, Charlotte couldn’t have cooed any better! Olivia merely shook her head in disgust and stepped into the parlor until the men had unloaded the final baggage. They adamantly refused Charlotte’s attempt to pay for their assistance. ‘‘It has been our privilege to help you,’’ they insisted. With a coquettish giggle, she escorted the men outside and waved as they drove off in the wagon.

Charlotte’s flirtatious behavior was truly beyond the pale. Olivia could only hope that the men hadn’t misconstrued the unseemly behavior. Normally, Charlotte’s expectant condition would deter any interest or advances by men. However, in the short time it had taken the Pullman employees to unload their belongings, Charlotte had mentioned her widowhood several times. No doubt she would be offended if one of those men should attempt to come calling on her. Yet Olivia noted her ladyship didn’t hesitate to use her womanly wiles for her own gain.

With a mixture of false bravado and anger, Olivia tapped the toe of her shoe on the hardwood floor. ‘‘Well?’’

‘‘I suppose the jewelry could have been considered jointly owned by me and my mother.’’

‘‘
What?
But you—’’

Charlotte waved her hand. ‘‘Let me finish. The jewelry has passed through our family from mother to daughter for generations. Since I am her only daughter, the jewels would pass to me at her death. It’s a matter of interpretation and timing.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘No doubt my mother considered the jewelry hers rather than mine.’’