Secrets of Sloane House (15 page)

But Nanci had other plans. “We must go,” she blurted.

“Where now?”

“Wooded Island.”

Rosalind stopped. “Why there?” As far as Rosalind knew, there were only the Japanese buildings and a series of rose gardens there, and
woods and trails that led to nowhere. Rumor had it, many fairgoers went there to escape the crowds. “You’ll find out,” Nanci answered over her shoulder. “But hurry. We are almost late.”

Late for what? Rosalind ached to ask but decided not to press. Nanci’s voice had a thread of anxiety in it now.

Then, just as they turned toward Wooded Island, Rosalind’s heart sank. At last she understood the reason for the tickets. For the dress and hat and the sudden day off work.

There in front of them both stood Douglass Sloane. He was looking at his timepiece, scowling, then abruptly raised his head and stared. Lines of irritation in his forehead smoothed. His stance relaxed, his gaze sharpened. And as he slowly smiled, one dimple appeared.

And Rosalind felt a tinge of fear.

Then her heart raced when she saw who he was standing with. None other than Reid Armstrong.

Mr. Armstrong’s expression was the complete opposite of Mr. Sloane’s, however. Instead of relief, he wore a look of trepidation and worry. Only when their eyes met did another emotion enter his features—reluctant humor.

This time they were not going to have to pretend to meet unexpectedly. They weren’t going to have to scheme to devise a private meeting. No, this time they would stand together in plain sight.

Rosalind didn’t know if that made her feel relieved . . . or even more apprehensive.

CHAPTER 14

“N
anci, how did you know Mr. Sloane and Mr. Armstrong were going to be here?”

“A little bird told me.” She beamed before lowering her voice. “I’m going to tour the fair by Douglass’s side. You may keep company with Mr. Armstrong.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” Rosalind said sarcastically.

As if she finally was aware of Rosalind’s trepidation, Nanci blushed. “I do hope you are not too vexed with me. I didn’t dare tell you what the plans were. Think of how upset both Mrs. Sloane and Mrs. Abrams would be!”

Rosalind imagined that only she would recognize the irony of being worried about both a great society lady
and
her housekeeper.

Then Nanci looked troubled. “Rosalind, will you be all right with being alone with Mr. Armstrong?”

“I suppose I’ll have to do my best.” Secretly, she was thanking her
lucky stars and the Lord’s many blessings. Ever since Jim and Jerome had made snide comments about seeing her with Mr. Armstrong, Rosalind had been harboring many doubts about how she was going to be able to be seen with the man and keep her position in the house.

This occasion was a boon, for sure.

She said nothing else to Nanci as they greeted the men. Douglass seemed to eye her a bit too long, but quickly turned his attention to Nanci. Holding out his arm, he said, “You look fetching.”

“I hope we aren’t too late?”

“It’s not a problem.” Turning to Reid, Douglass said, “I’m going to escort Nanci privately for a while. I’ll meet you here in two hours?”

Reid barely had time to nod before Douglass walked with Nanci toward one of the scenic trails.

Rosalind watched their figures fade into the distance before she walked to Reid’s side. “I’m curious. Did you know Nanci and I were going to be here?”

“I did not.” His voice was harsh.

“I didn’t either. I didn’t know you were going to be here until I saw you standing here with Mr. Sloane.”

Looking vaguely uncomfortable, he looked back at the trail where the other two had now disappeared. “Douglass is intrigued by Nanci.”

“She is a beautiful girl.”

He eyed her closely. “Nothing will come of their liaison. I hope she realizes that.”

Rosalind was worried too, but loyalty to Nanci made her defensive. “I believe she is past the age of being naive about such things, Mr. Armstrong. I don’t know much about being a servant in a large home, but I have come to the conclusion that no maid has delusions of marrying the young master of the house.”

“I pray you are right. I would hate for your friend to get hurt.”

“I think a lot of the shine wears off when one launders another’s clothing, Mr. Armstrong.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

“Well, it seems as if we have two hours to explore. Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”

She shrugged. “The Fine Arts Palace isn’t too far. Shall we go there?”

“That would be fine.” He started in that direction, walking slowly so she could keep up, but otherwise with no concession to her.

At first she worried about what people would think about the two of them being together, but she promptly forgot about her reservations. The other visitors seemed to be far too entranced with the wonders of the fair to give Rosalind and Reid more than the most cursory of glances.

After they walked up the marble steps and into the grand building, Reid guided them to a gallery on the left. Then, as he stood in front of a collection of Italian Renaissance paintings, he asked, “Have you discovered anything new?”

“Well, I met a street vendor, a woman.” Briefly she told him about the flower girl Minerva. She told him she had seemed particularly observant, but, of course, Rosalind didn’t know her well enough to pry for more information. “I’m going to visit her again as soon as I can. Perhaps we can develop a friendship.”

“That is a good idea, Rosalind,” he said as he guided her into another one of the one hundred forty rooms. She looked around with interest, enjoying the sights, but truly unable to think of anything other than their conversation. “There is one other item I should probably mention.”

“What is that?”

She scanned the area around them and saw that most people were
ignoring them. However, one or two ladies were watching her converse with Reid with curious expressions. That made her even more aware of the need to tell Reid about her conversation with Jim as well as relay Jerome’s snide remarks. She did so as quickly as she could.

To her amusement, Reid was incredulous. “I am a gentleman. I would never set my designs upon you.”

“Yes, sir. But unfortunately, my reputation is not quite as stellar. Everyone would believe that I had designs on you.”

“What would you like me to do to repair your reputation?”

“Nothing at all. If you make too much of a fuss about our innocent relationship, it will only cause more speculation.”

“But still, I hate to think of you being subjected to such things.”

“Mr. Armstrong, don’t forget, my sister has gone missing. I fear she’s been subjected to much worse than gossip and speculation.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “We should probably start walking back now. Take my arm.”

Noticing the ladies’ continued interest, she whispered, “Mr. Armstrong, for our affiliation to continue, you mustn’t be so familiar with me.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You need to treat me like a servant, Mr. Armstrong,” she murmured. “People must suspect nothing about our conversations.” She tilted her head toward the ladies in a meaningful way.

He glanced behind him, sent the ladies a decidedly cool appraisal, then turned back to her with yet another glacial stare. She would have giggled if their cover wasn’t so important.

When they walked out into the sun again, Reid smiled at her. “Never has two hours gone by so quickly.”

“I feel the same way.”

“I will be attending a meeting in a home just down the street from
Sloane House. Douglass won’t be there. I thought I would bring up your sister’s name to see if it raises any suspicions.”

“Do you really think someone will remember a maid?”

“It’s worth a try. I feel certain that someone knows something about what happened to Miranda. Sooner or later, we’ll discover who that person is.”

She liked that he used the word
we
. “I hope so.”

As they meandered back toward Wooded Island, they passed a street seller selling glasses of lemonade. Reid purchased two of them. She sipped gratefully, then smiled. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

He smiled softly. “Your enthusiasm is a delight to behold.”

She met his gaze, feeling something special and meaningful between them again. She hated to imagine it was anything other than a mutual need to help another person. But she felt so alone in the world that she was willing to grasp at most anything to keep her spirits alive.

She felt her neck and cheeks heat. Embarrassed about her feelings, she looked toward a trio of benches just on the edge of Wooded Island. “Oh, thank goodness. There’s Nanci,” she said, waving a hand in her direction.

Nanci, however, merely gazed at her with an empty, glassy stare. Mr. Sloane was nowhere near.

“I wonder what happened to Mr. Sloane,” she mused. But as they got closer to Nanci, Rosalind had a dark suspicion that something terrible had transpired with her friend.

Reid followed her gaze, then stiffened and muttered something under his breath.

When they reached Nanci’s side, Rosalind saw that her eyes were tear-filled, her hair was slightly mussed, and her lips were swollen. After catching Reid’s gaze, Nanci tucked her chin in obvious embarrassment.

Reid cleared his throat. “May I escort you ladies back to Sloane house?”

Abruptly, Nanci got to her feet. “Thank you, but I believe we will be more than fine on our own.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Reid flashed a concerned look at Rosalind. “Is that what you want?”

She didn’t know what she wanted, but she felt she needed to follow Nanci’s lead. Nanci needed her—and her trust. “Yes, Mr. Armstrong. Thank you for your company and for the offer, but we will be fine.”

He hesitated, then tipped his hat and walked away.

Standing next to Nanci, Rosalind reached for her hand. “Tell me what you would like to do.”

“Leave here. Leave Chicago.” She raised a brow. “Leave my life?”

“Nanci, what in the world happened? Why are you crying? What happened to Mr. Sloane?”

She swiped at her eyes. “Not here.” She circled her arm through Rosalind’s and tugged. “Let’s go to the Women’s Building.”

“All right,” Rosalind said, though she privately thought that sounded like a terrible idea. “If you are sure that is what you wish to do. Do . . . do you know where Mr. Sloane went?” she asked again.

“Douglass? Oh yes. He went away.” She leveled her gaze on Rosalind. “You see, he only came to explore the island. Now that he has? He couldn’t get away fast enough.”

“Nanci, if he acted inappropriately—”

Nanci turned to her, disdain heavy in her eyes. “What don’t you understand? We are not part of the Michigan Avenue crowd. We will never be part of society. No matter how much we might smile or how attractive the gentlemen might think us, we’re nothing.”

Rosalind flinched. “We are more than that.”

“Not where it counts.” Glancing around them, Nanci’s voice filled with enmity. “At the end of the day, Rosalind, we are merely two girls who bow and scrape to their betters because we are very lucky to have jobs.”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“How can we even seem ungrateful? Haven’t you heard that people are going hungry?”

Anger for the situation, anger for Nanci’s deriding comments, fueled her temper. “So why did you agree to meet Douglass then?” Rosalind asked pointedly. “If you know Douglass will never think of you as more than a servant in his house, why did you spend time alone with him?”

Nanci shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t understand Rosalind’s naïveté. “Because I’m not dead. Yet.”

Nanci’s words shook Rosalind to the core. And they set off a spark of questions. “Is this what happened to Miranda? Did she get too close to Douglass and he abused her?”

Nanci jerked her head to the side. “Why does it always go back to Miranda? Why do you even care?”

“Because someone should.”

Nanci’s eyes flashed fury. Then, little by little, her expression eased, as if she, too, had just realized how wrong it was for a single girl to disappear and no one to lift a finger to find her.

“I don’t know if she was ever with Douglass,” she said finally. “Maybe she was.”

“Do you think he had anything to do with her disappearance? Do you think maybe he made her leave?”

Nanci’s eyes widened as she considered that possibility, and then she shook her head. “No.”

Though they were walking at a fast pace, Rosalind didn’t dare leave their conversation. “Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t work that way. Douglass Sloane is an indolent gentleman. He can be amusing and wicked and great fun. But he knows one thing more than anything else: his legacy is the Sloane name and the home that has housed generations of his ancestors. He knows what he has to do to keep it.”

“And what is that?”

“He must marry a society girl who will increase the family’s wealth and place in society. For him to get one of those debutantes, he must keep his reputation on this side of respectable.”

“In other words, he can be bad, but not too bad.”

“That is exactly it,” Nanci said bitterly. “He can do most anything . . . as long as he doesn’t get caught.”

They were almost at the Women’s Building now. Rosalind knew that once the conversation ended, there would be no opportunity to open it again. Unlike hers, Nanci’s life was destined to be in the grand house. “If he’s so worried about getting a real lady for a wife, I don’t understand why he would treat you so poorly.”

“Why?”

“Well, he must know you could complain to Mrs. Abrams. Or even to his mother.”

Nanci glared at her, then pulled her to a grassy section of lawn on the left of the building. “I’m only going to say this one last time, Rosalind, and I hope you hear what I’m saying at long last. Girls like you and me do not count. If we complain? We will get fired.”

Rosalind felt her skin pale. “And Douglass knows that.”

Nanci sniffed before turning around and stepping up the white steps into the building. “Not just Douglass,” she murmured over her shoulder. “Everyone. Everyone knows this.”