Secrets of Sloane House (3 page)

“Beauty where there was none,” Cook interjected.

“I worked on several of the buildings, I tell you that. The Agricultural Building, Fisheries, even the Gov’ment one too.”

“They got carrier pigeons and a redwood in that one,” Cook interjected importantly. “I saw them meself.”

“I even helped with fourteen of the state buildings,” Jim continued, his voice sounding prouder than punch. “Maybe I even worked on yours. Where are you from, Rosalind?”

“Wisconsin.”

Jim frowned. “Sorry, can’t say’s I worked on that one.”

“Oh.” She was starting to realize Wisconsin sounded as foreign to these Chicagoans as Japan or Russia sounded to her.

“But I’m sure it’s there. Somewhere. You’ll have to see it, all the same.”

“The fair does sound special,” Rosalind murmured. “It’s hard to believe such a big event is taking place right here in Chicago.”

“We live in a wondrous age, for sure. And our city is plumb in the middle of it! You be sure you go and see the sights, if you dare,” Jim said as he stood up.

Rosalind was about to smile when he lowered his voice dramatically. “But if you do go, don’t forget to be careful, now. The city can be a dangerous place. For a young woman likes yerself, there’s trouble around almost every corner.”

In a flash, the cozy atmosphere of the kitchen darkened.

Cook scowled as she used a paring knife to cut the squash into long yellow ribbons. “Jim, there ain’t no reason for you to be bringing things like that up.”

For the first time, Jim looked embarrassed. “Martha always tells me to watch my tongue. Guess I should start listening. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be scaring you.”

Feeling apprehensive, but for the first time slightly hopeful, Rosalind struggled to keep her voice tempered. “No, no, I want to hear what you mean.”

“I was only thinking of another pretty maid, that’s all.”

“Jim’s speaking of Miranda,” Tilly, the scullery maid, whispered.

Rosalind’s heart slammed into her chest. “Miranda?”

She had to be careful. Because she went by Rosalind Pettit instead of Perry, which was her real last name, no one at Sloane House knew she was Miranda’s sister. And so far she’d been afraid to start asking questions. Now that the subject of Miranda had unexpectedly come up, she had to make the most of it.

Cook left her position and ponderously approached the table. After a second’s pause, she said with obvious reluctance, “Miranda was a maid who worked here.”

“But she didn’t last long, though,” Tilly said with a troubled expression. “Barely a couple of months.”

“Why such a short time?”

“She was real pretty,” Jim continued, ignoring her question. “She was about your age, now that I think of it.” He snapped his fingers. “And from Wisconsin just like you.” Eyeing her a bit more closely, he murmured, “Did you know her?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Go on with you, Jim,” Cook scoffed before Rosalind could utter a lie. “Even though Wisconsin is no Illinois, there’s still a fair number of folks living there!”

While another of the maids snickered, Rosalind stared at Jim. “Wh–what about Miranda? What happened to her?”

“No one really knows.” Looking at her a bit more closely, he added, “She was here one day, gone the next.”

“Left without so much as a by-your-leave, she did,” Cook added. “I was good to that girl too.”

But Rosalind noticed that Cook’s voice wasn’t bitter. No, it sounded worried.

“Where do you think Miranda went in such a hurry?” Remembering some of the dark things Miranda had written, about being frightened by someone in the house, she swallowed hard. “Do you think she got hurt or something?”

Cook shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Feeling slightly sick, Rosalind attempted to sound more hopeful. “Maybe she fell in love and ran away to get hitched or something?”

“Not a chance. She left without her clothes and paycheck,” Tilly said.

Cook glared. “Tilly!”

“Well, I’m sorry, but love can only get a girl so far, you know,” Tilly said with a lift of her chin. “Takes money to eat.”

After sending a dark look to the cheeky girl, Cook answered.
“Miranda’s leaving was a sudden thing. Too sudden, if you ask me.” After a furtive glance at the door to the hallway, she lowered her voice. “I, for one, don’t believe she left the house on her own will. By all accounts, she seemed happy enough here—at least until the last few days or so.”

“Always had a smile for us all, she did,” Stanley, valet to Mr. Sloane and Douglass, said.

Cook continued. She shivered dramatically. “No one leaves a good job like this without giving notice first. I fear somethin’ terrible happened to her.”

“Like what?” Rosalind asked, fearing the answer. She could feel tears wanting to fill her eyes. With effort, she blinked them away. No one could know how affected she was by this news.

“You could choose any number of things,” Jim said. “She could have been abducted, murdered. Maybe even fallen onto the train tracks.”

“Or maybe even something worse,” Tilly whispered. “Maybe someone she
knew
did her in.”

“What do you mean by that?” Rosalind asked. Vivid pictures of her sister in terrible situations came to mind. Each one ended with her being beaten and bleeding. Broken and alone. Maybe even dead.

After glancing at Cook, Tilly flushed. “Nothing.”

What was Tilly not saying? Why didn’t Cook want Tilly to tell what she knew? And why did Cook sound like Miranda wasn’t happy just before she left?

“Her going missing has been a real mystery, for sure. It’s affected us all, and that is the truth,” Cook stated after the briefest of pauses. “We read about girls getting snatched all over Chicago all the time in the
Tribune
. But bad things feel different when they happen to you. Know what I mean?”

Rosalind nodded. She knew exactly what Cook meant. It was one
thing to hear about a nameless woman getting injured or killed. But if it were a sister? Well, there were no words.

“Mrs. Sloane was in a state about it too.” A line formed in between Cook’s brows. “She still kind of is, if you want to know the truth.” Wagging her finger, she said, “If you know what’s good for you, don’t ever bring up Miranda’s name. It sets Mrs. Sloane off something awful.”

“Rosalind?” Tilly called out. “You’re looking as white as a sheet.”

Cook narrowed her eyes. “Are you all right?”

No. No, she was not. But that hardly mattered.

Lifting her chin, Rosalind tried to think of her mission and not her worst fears. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I never would have imagined something horrible happening to a girl working in a grand house like this. And, uh, I would have thought she would have been more protected.”

“Protected? Well now. No one can promise you that you’ll always be safe.” Cook wagged a finger again. “But I can promise that our lady makes sure she knows just about everything that happens. And what she doesn’t know Mrs. Abrams does,” she said, speaking of the housekeeper who hired Rosalind.

Rosalind didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. Struggling to keep her expression neutral, she murmured, “I’ll be sure to remember that. And keep my eyes open.”

“Good. But remember, child, whatever you do . . . Rosalind, don’t you get it in your head to start asking about poor Miranda. As far as you are concerned, young Miranda never existed.”

The lump that had formed in her throat was threatening to choke her. She bent down to her stew, attempting to concentrate on it instead of her broken heart.

“Like I said, I hope I didn’t scare you none. Just wanted you to be aware of things, you know.” Jim tipped his hat again. “A fetching girl
like you can’t be too careful, by my way of thinking. Now I best be gettin’ back to work or I won’t get paid.”

She stared at him, almost woodenly. What had happened to Miranda? What did people know that they weren’t saying? Her mind awhirl, she barely heard Stanley approach. “If I were you, I’d forget this whole conversation, Rosalind,” he murmured. “We get paid to mind our own business, not to speculate on others’ affairs. It’s best for us all if you remember that.”

“Yes, of course.”

Rosalind tried to concentrate on her stew again, but her mind was churning. Could that be what had happened? Her sister had gone walking in the streets one day and simply never returned? Had disappeared against her will?

Or was it intentional? But if that had been the case, where had she taken off to? Why had she never written home?

Her plan to get hired on at Sloane House and discover what had really happened during Miranda’s stay had seemed so logical back on the farm. She’d assumed a new name, made up a story about always wanting to work for a prestigious family like the Sloanes, and somehow convinced the clerk at the employment agency to send her for an interview. When she’d gotten the job after a brief meeting with Mrs. Abrams, Rosalind had been sure that the Lord had wanted her to find out what, exactly, had happened to her sister.

Now she realized that wasn’t the case. She’d been woefully ignorant of the things she was expected to do. Of the hard, hidden life of a servant in a big, prominent house. Of the gap that divided the Sloane family and the people who served them.

Most of all, she realized that she’d never imagined that so many people could live together and still keep so many secrets. Furthermore, it was becoming obvious that there were things no one in the house
wanted to talk about. The more Rosalind learned about the people who lived inside Sloane House, the more she was sure Miranda’s fear had been real. If only she could determine what, exactly, her sister had been so afraid of.

After finishing her meal, Rosalind walked quietly out of the kitchen. Never had she felt so alone.

CHAPTER 3

“I
do love it when you make time to talk with me when you’re home,” his mother announced when Reid entered the drawing room shortly after six. “It’s a bit lonely with your sister away. But the opportunity to travel in Europe with her schoolmate’s family was too special to keep her here, even with your father being ill.”

After lunching with the Sloane siblings, Reid had taken his leave and gone to his father’s offices, where he continued work on the incoming reports and updates from the family’s silver mining holdings in Colorado.

After that, he completed correspondence for his own company, the fledgling Armstrong Construction. Since he’d always had an interest in building things, he’d begun a small company with a band of twenty workers. Each of his men had worked on the construction of the Exposition buildings. Now he was actively bidding on work in other parts of the city.

No, they weren’t making much money as of yet, but he had dreams. One day, he wanted the Armstrong name to mean something. He hoped his children and grandchildren would be able to take pride in the Armstrong name the way Douglass and Veronica did being Sloanes.

Currently, the Armstrong name meant very little to most of Chicago’s upper crust. If it was noticed at all, it was probably only coupled with luck, which meant little to the pillars of their society.

Many of Chicago’s great men, such as Field and Pullman, cemented their reputations through ingenuity, hard work, and esteemed bloodlines. A fortune gained from a windfall at the silver mine was not impressive.

But Reid knew the truth. His father was a great man too. He was burly and strong and full of good humor. However, math and education had never been his strong points, which was why he’d sent Reid to fancy boarding schools and to Harvard for his education.

Now that his father’s health was failing, it was Reid’s responsibility to make sure the fortune his father had uncovered stayed solvent and to do everything he possibly could to make the Armstrong name one to respect.

However, at the moment it was his mother whose interests he focused on. “I miss Beth too, but I’m very glad she is having such a good time in London and Paris. Did you have many callers today, Mama?”

Her slim shoulders slumped. “Only a few, and those were my lady friends from church.” Gesturing to her most recent acquisition, the black walnut Louis XV desk, she added, “No matter how hard I try, I’m afraid our neighbors will never see me as someone with whom they should associate. Only the Sloanes have welcomed me among the best circles, and that is, I think, merely because of your association with Douglass and Veronica.”

In many ways, Reid deemed it no great loss. So far, the society ladies his mother had tried to impress seemed a particularly rigid and unforgiving lot. They spoke of their temperance and high moral standards with pride, yet preferred to ignore the mass of citizens who toiled at the slaughterhouses and other factories for barely enough to feed their families.

He’d watched them practically shun women for wearing outmoded dresses or socializing at the wrong homes. And the men weren’t much better. However, it was from this very group his father ached for acceptance for their family. And since his mother constantly ached for her husband’s praise and approval, she continually strived to win the society matrons’ regard.

He gently squeezed her shoulders, thinking that though elegantly encased in copper taffeta, they looked a little frail. “Who did stop by?”

“Eloisa Carstairs, briefly. It’s lovely that she visits, though her mother seems reluctant to do so.”

“Eloisa has told me that her mother is determined she make a good match. We might not be quite high enough in the instep for Mrs. Carstairs.”

His mother smiled softly. “You may be right about that.” Smoothing a wrinkle from her sleeve, she added, “However, Millicent Arnold and her daughter, Louise, came calling. Millicent is a member of the women’s temperance society, you know.”

“I do know.” She’d also been one of the few who’d made an effort to befriend his mother.

“Louise mentioned that she is very glad that you joined the choir.”

Reid felt his cheeks heat. “I see.” He liked to sing. Unfortunately, his baritone had been discovered during one especially rousing church service. Soon after, he’d been pressed into the choir.

Though it definitely was not the most masculine of pursuits, it did
have its benefits. The bulk of the choir members were available young ladies—some of them in the upper classes, like Louise Arnold—each one eager and amiable to his regard. His parents had made no secret that they hoped he would form an alliance with a woman who was both of his social stature and a Christian.