Maid to Match (25 page)
What was this doing out where anyone could pick it up? He returned his gaze to her, but she’d busied herself with the list of children.
“This is for a dairy farmer’s son,” she said. “I think perhaps we’ll stick with the pictures of a more daring nature.”
Earl gave a wicked chuckle. “I’d say this one is pretty daring.”
Her blush intensified. “I meant the tightrope walker and the man jumping that chasm.”
“He knew what you meant.” Mack placed the stereoscope on the table and grabbed Earl’s arm. “I’ll be right back, Tillie.”
Mack propelled him through a side door which led to a back poolroom. Smoke hung over the area like a morning fog. A crowd gathered around a billiard table in the corner as a man leaned down, propping a long pool stick against his fingers.
“Right pocket,” he said, followed by the clack of two balls.
Mack released his brother. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Aw, come on, Mack. It was funny. You know, holding up the train?” He laughed again.
Mack caught him by the shirtfront. “I’ve told you to treat her with respect.”
Earl frowned. “You used to think that kind of thing was funny.”
“Well, I don’t anymore. It embarrasses her and I want you to stop.”
They stood toe to toe, each the mirror image of the other.
“Let go of me, Mack, before I lose my temper.”
“I’ll have your word you’ll be nothing less than a gentleman when you’re around her.”
Earl grabbed Mack’s wrists and jerked them down. “And you’ll not get it, big brother.” He curled his lip. “You know, you get more and more like Pa every day. It disgusts me. What would Grandpa say?”
“Hey, Danver? That you?”
They turned as a young man broke away from the crowd and headed toward them.
Earl smiled and released Mack’s wrists. “Hey, Burton. You remember my brother?”
“Sure.” He looked between them. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Mack just gets a little uptight sometimes.”
Mack forced himself to take a deep breath. “You stay here while Tillie finishes up. I’ll come get you when we’re ready to leave.”
Earl nodded. “Sure thing,
Pa
.”
Ignoring him, Mack returned to the shop only to be shooed out of the way while Tillie and the store owner continued down her list.
It seemed to Mack as if she bought one of every toy Louis Blomberg had in stock. Mack remembered when the place had been nothing more than a tobacco emporium and Mr. Blomberg would sleep on the floor behind the counter so he’d be handy at any hour of the day. Since then he’d married, had kids, and expanded his place to include sporting goods, a huge selection of children’s toys, and a pool hall in the back.
Two middle-aged women entered the store and went straight to a Spalding bicycle on display. “Oh, Sally. Twenty-five dollars. I just don’t know.”
Her friend took off a glove and ran it across the saddle. “What if we share the cost?”
“But we’d still need knickerbockers and bicycle boots and a bicycle bell.”
The jingling door interrupted their conversation. Sloop and the chief of police walked through on their way to the billiard room. Mack stepped farther back into the shadows and pulled the bill of his hat down, pretending absorption with a tobacco pouch for sale.
The men tipped their hats to Tillie and the bicycle women, greeted the proprietor, then disappeared into the pool hall, a snatch of laughter and male voices slipping out as the door opened and closed.
One of the bicycle women stared at the closed door. “I do declare, that Mr. Sloop is surely earning jewels in his heavenly crown.”
Her friend looked up. “I know what you mean. Taking care of all those poor indigents day after day. And his wife, too. What a trial it must be.”
“I overheard my Charles say Mr. Sloop was hoping to represent Buncombe County in the state’s legislature come election time.”
Mack stiffened. The state legislature? Sloop was going to run against Leonard Vaughan?
“Well, I shall put in a good word for him to Woodrow. If anyone deserves it, Mr. Sloop does.”
Mr. Blomberg approached the women, asking if they had any questions about the bicycle.
Tamping down his irritation, Mack made his way to Tillie, who was flipping through her list. “You find everything?” he asked.
She angled the pages toward him. “I still need three pull toys, a set of tabletop ninepins, a doll, and a collection of wooden animals. Mr. Blomberg’s all out of them.”
Mack scanned the pages. “I can’t help you with the doll, but I can make those other things. Assuming Mrs. Vanderbilt wouldn’t mind.”
Her eyes lit up. “Can you really?”
“Sure. We’ll have to stop by the lumberyard, though.”
She smiled, her violet eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, a tiny curl of hair teasing her neck. “Thank you, Mack. We’ll go there right after we visit the bookshop.”
The bicycle ladies left and Mr. Blomberg rejoined them.
“I guess we have everything,” Tillie said, looking at the vast collection covering the counter and a table behind it.
Mr. Blomberg nodded. “It’ll take me a little while to pack all this up. Can you come back in a couple of hours?”
“Sure.” Mack took her elbow. “Thanks for your help, Louis. We’ll be back.”
“Happy to do it, Earl. It’s good to see you and your brother.”
Mack touched his hat, not bothering to correct the man, then led Tillie out the door.
“What about Earl?” she asked.
“He saw some friends and is going to wait here until it’s time to go home.”
She didn’t move.
He offered his arm. “Is the bookstore next?”
Sighing, she gave a longing glance at the mercantile, then took his arm. They strolled down the walkway in silence. Outside the barbershop an old-timer sat beside a couple of other gents, his face holding as many lines as the figure he was whittling. Mack gave him a nod, then continued past.
A fancy surrey with
Noland-Brown Mortuary
emblazoned on its door wheeled down the middle of the street. The turned-out driver in black suit and high celluloid collar looked neither left nor right, but kept his eyes trained on his high-stepping bay. Propped up in the rear seat was a distinguished-looking corpse with a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard and a jaunty hat perched atop his head.
Tillie ground to a halt. “Mack!”
“That’s the duke. He’s drumming up some business for the undertaker.”
She stood rooted, staring in shock. “Good heavens.”
He smiled. At least the surprise of the duke had jolted her out of her reserve.
“What were you doing at the orphanage last Sunday?” he asked.
“I’d wanted to see Homer, but he was taking a nap and wasn’t going to be finished until almost dark.” She glanced at him. “Doesn’t that seem like an awfully long nap?”
“My guess is he was wide awake and they just didn’t want you to see him.”
“But why not?”
“They don’t much care for visitors.”
She shook her head. “Oh, Mack. I wish you’d not be so judgmental about them. I’m sure they’re doing the best they can.”
“He beats the girls, Tillie. Why do you defend him?”
She looked up quickly. “You don’t know that.”
“Are you saying my sister is lying?”
She stopped. “She’s said that? She’s said those very words?”
“What? That Sloop beats them? Yes. And not only that, she has firsthand knowledge of it. That’s why she didn’t want to leave her friend. For some reason, he wouldn’t bother Irene while Ora Lou was around. But that won’t be the case now that she’s left.”
Tillie paled. “But it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, he’s gone to such lengths to make a home for the children.”
“I know. But facts are facts, and in my experience, men who abuse their power in one area often abuse it in others. I’m not only worried about Irene. I’m worried about all the rest of them, too.” What he didn’t mention was the concern he held for the older girls. He’d questioned Ora Lou as delicately as he could, and though he was certain the man had left his sister alone, he wasn’t as confident about Irene.
Someone jostled Mack from behind, prompting the two of them to continue toward the bookshop.
“If it’s really true,” she said, “then the police must be notified.”
“They have been. I went to them way back in August before I ever even started working at Biltmore.”
“What’d they say?”
“They didn’t believe me.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t suppose they would. They’ll have to hear it from someone more important than you or me.” She squeezed his arm. “Do you really think he locked that boy in the basement? The one who was supposed to share a room with Homer?”
“I do.”
“I just can’t believe it.” They stopped in front of Bedford’s Books. “We have to do something, Mack. We have to get Homer out of there.”
“I’ve gone over it a thousand times in my head, and I can’t think of a single thing to do for him or Irene.”
“I hate to think of them up there with a monster like that.”
“Me too.” He opened the shop door and waited while Tillie made her selections from the list. They were the only patrons in the shop, so he was able to watch her full-on without pretending he wasn’t. When her purchases were completed, he picked up the wrapped books, and they headed toward the lumberyard.
“You weren’t at the barn gathering,” he said.
They moved to the side to let another couple pass. When she didn’t answer, he tried again. “Was it because of the parlor games?”
“Partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
She looked down. “You know why, Mack.”
Deciding the middle of the walkway was not the best place to pursue the discussion, he let it go. But they were by no means finished with the subject.
Mack strode up a tree-bordered carriage road leading to great granite steps which fronted the home of Buncombe County’s state representative. Mack had not had a chance to stop in on his father’s friend since he’d started at Biltmore. But between the rumor he’d heard about Sloop running for office and the conditions he’d seen at the orphanage, a visit could no longer be put off.
A footman Mack didn’t recognize opened the door. He was fairly young and had a chin which went on forever. He looked Mack up and down. “Deliveries go to the back.”
He started to close the door, but Mack wedged a foot into the opening. “I’m here to see Leonard Vaughan.”
The servant pinched his lips together. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Mack shoved the door open, forcing the servant back, and stepped inside. A corridor with marble busts, a grandfather clock, two side chairs, and a gas chandelier led to the home’s interior.
“You tell him Mackenzie Danver is here. Where do you want me to wait?”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind. Now – ”
Mack squared his shoulders and took a step forward. “You have to the count of five. Then I’ll go find him myself.”
The footman straightened his spine. “Over my dead body.”
“Have it your way.” Mack pushed his way past and followed the sounds of quiet conversation and clinking glasses.
“Here! How dare you!” The footman grabbed his arm.
Mack checked his stride. “I wouldn’t advise it. Valuables will break in the scuffle, and your master will be displeased about you refusing entrance to the son of his best friend.”
They eyeballed each other. The footman let go, then pointed to a chair in the entryway. “There.”
Mack sat. The moment the footman disappeared through a side door, Mack jumped back up and headed down the vast hallway. If he didn’t find Mr. Vaughan fast, the servant would return with more footmen – the biggest and the meanest.
He found the representative and his family in the dining room. It was just as he remembered. Though a tiny fraction of the size of Vanderbilt’s banquet hall, it was no less opulent. Gilded walls, marble fireplace, thronelike chairs, and stuffed footrests he and Earl had used for pillow fights a lifetime ago.
For a split second, everyone in the room stared at Mack. Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan, their two daughters who’d blossomed into young ladies, and three liveried footmen.
Mack whipped off his hat. “Forgive the intrusion, Mr. Vaughan, but I – ”
The footmen sprang to life and immediately caught Mack’s arms. He tried to throw them off but could not.
“Stop!” Mr. Vaughan’s sharp command caused all to freeze as if they were playing a game of Statues in the parlor. “It’s all right. Mr. Danver is a friend.”
The footmen released him and Mack tugged his jacket into place.
“Phillip, bring another plate, please.”
Mack shook his head. “No, sir. I couldn’t intrude. I’ll just wait until you’re done with your meal.”
“Nonsense.”
“I insist.” He nodded to Mrs. Vaughan and the girls. “Please forgive me. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“We won’t be much longer, Mr. Danver.” The lady of the house, with a warm expression, turned to a waiter. “Show him to the smoking room, Phillip.”
Mack stepped into the hallway, anticipation running high at the prospect of entering the smoking room again.
The footman lit three lanterns while Mack stood at the threshold, breathing deeply, enjoying the smell of cigars which clung to the room. A series of images flashed through his mind. His father and Mr. Vaughan surrounded by the leather wall coverings and animal trophies, playing chess at the game table, reclining in the angular armchairs, debating politics over brandy and cigars.
He crossed to the bookshelves to peruse the volumes lined up according to height and color. He’d spent many an hour in this room as a boy – and paid much more attention to the older men’s discussions than they’d realized.
“May I pour you a brandy, sir?”
Mack glanced at the footman. “No, thank you. And I’m sorry about that out there. I know you were just doing your job.”
“Sir.” Remaining expressionless, the footman backed out of the room.
Moments later, Leonard Vaughan joined him, arm outstretched. “What a wonderful surprise.”
Mack clasped his hand. “I’m sorry to have intruded on a Sunday, and in such an abrupt way, but it’s my only day off.”
