Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The Read online

  To Archie, the house looked just as it had a month earlier, with its solid oak front door embedded in stone facing. In many respects it was a welcome sight. But Archie was already missing the cooler air that blew around the Bannings’ lake house. He had lived in Chicago his entire life, yet the August heat and humidity wilted him every summer, especially when he was required to wear a full livery.

  Archie swung down from the bench atop the carriage and reached for the door.

  “Every year at the end of the summer, I am amazed at how grateful I am to return home,” Flora Banning said when Archie pulled the door open.

  Archie offered his hand, and she took it to aid her exit.

  “I do wonder if I ought to go directly to my own home.” Violet Newcomb shifted in the seat and leaned toward the door herself.

  “Nonsense,” Flora answered. “It’s Thursday. The entire family makes a point to be home for dinner on Thursdays.”

  “But we’ve been together for a month, Flora, and before that we had all the flurry of Lucy’s wedding. A few quiet days would be welcome.”

  “I insist you come inside,” Flora said. “We’ve been in the carriage for hours. Mrs. Fletcher can prepare some refreshment and you can have a satisfying dinner before Archie takes you home. Tomorrow will be soon enough for your own staff to resume their duties.”

  Archie now offered his hand to Miss Newcomb, who smiled at him as she took it. “Thank you, Archie.”

  Samuel Banning emerged from the carriage and immediately checked his pocket watch. “We’re right on time. Penard should have everything ready. Perhaps I’ll telephone the office.”

  Flora swatted at her husband’s arm. “Samuel, you promised me you’d finish the week on holiday. You can go back to that dreary law office on Monday.”

  “It’s not dreary to me, my dear.”

  Despite Samuel’s gentle rebuff, Archie could see his employer had no serious intent to return to his office prematurely.

  “Why are these people loitering?” Flora wrinkled her nose at the gaggle of onlookers gathered on the corner of Eighteenth and Prairie to climb back into their carriage. “I’m of a mind to tell them all to go home and leave us alone.”

  “Pay them no mind at all, dear.” Samuel took his wife’s arm. “It’s all part of the promotion of the world’s fair. It will be over soon enough.”

  With the family on their way to the front door, where Mr. Penard already stood waiting to attend their wishes, Archie secured the carriage door, climbed to the driver’s seat, and clicked his tongue. He would have to drive around the block to enter the coach house from the most efficient direction, and then he would have to oversee the grooms to ensure the horses were properly cooled and brushed. His recent promotion to head coachman pleased him, though he believed his future was not fixed on the coach house.

  His thoughts strayed to the scene that would greet him when he entered the house again after all these weeks. The slim form of Charlotte Farrow had haunted him the whole time he was away. Her face, sometimes calm but always secretive, was a careful harbor of her mysterious emotions. He had watched her for months, speaking a kind word whenever he had opportunity and noticing the flush it caused in her freckled complexion. Archie hoped she would be at her post in the kitchen when he finally stepped through the servants’ hall.

  Sarah had to admit that dinner preparations in the Banning house were far more complex than she anticipated. The kitchen operated on as strict a routine as the kitchen at St. Andrew’s, all to serve an elaborate dinner for six, rather than an elemental meal for four hundred. The food stores Charlotte had arranged provided all the resources Mrs. Fletcher needed for cold cucumber soup, two kinds of fruit bread, baked trout, roast goose, garlic-seasoned potatoes, fresh garden greens with apricots and walnuts covered in a tangy dressing, and the family’s favorite red velvet cake. The table laid with china, crystal, and sterling silver was as beautiful as anything Sarah had seen in a painting or picture book. When the family gathered, the electric lights would be turned off, and the twin candelabras rising from the floral arrangements would be lit. Polished silver would be luminous in the gleam of candles.

  Sarah had managed to absent herself from much of the fuss during the meal preparation, taking the brat upstairs for an afternoon nap and opting to indulge in one herself. The creature had fussed a bit more than usual, until Sarah relented and changed his diaper. The cloths he had soiled would soon need washing or he wouldn’t have a fresh one. Sarah resolved to mention this to Charlotte as she closed her eyes and dreamed of dinner.

  Charlotte knew from the rhythmic patter that it was Sarah on the narrow back stairs. Besides, she was the only one missing from the assembly in the kitchen, where the servants had gathered for their evening meal. Blowing out her breath, Charlotte willed herself not to turn from the stove to gaze at her son the instant Sarah entered the room with him. Mrs. Fletcher stood next to her at the stove, basting the family’s goose as Charlotte tended the chickens the staff would consume momentarily.

  “What have you done with the tablecloth?” Sarah said brusquely. “I can’t put it . . . him . . . directly on the floor.”

  Charlotte swallowed the impulse to speak sharply and did not turn toward Sarah. “The tablecloth should be right where you left it. I assure you I have not borrowed it.”

  “What have you made for him to eat?”

  “If you mash up some potato, I’m sure he can manage,” Charlotte suggested, “and you’ll find bananas in the larder.”

  Sarah did not bother to smooth the blanket before she plopped the child down with a huff. “I would think his meal preparation was your responsibility.”

  Charlotte felt Mrs. Fletcher’s scrutiny as she lifted a pot lid to stir the potatoes.

  “You may think you are nanny,” Mrs. Fletcher said to Sarah, “but I rather think you have simply been given temporary charge of a distraction. This should be resolved in the morning and the two of you will have nothing to squabble over in my kitchen.”

  Charlotte stifled a moan. Henry might be sent away as soon as the morning. She was not prepared to leave so soon. The thought of making her peace with St. Andrew’s after all turned her stomach.

  Across the table, Archie Shepard was trying to catch her eye. Charlotte recognized the effort but did not surrender to the urge to satisfy him. His eyes would ask for an explanation she could not give.

  After their own meal, the staff moved smoothly into serving the family meal. Mr. Penard and Archie had both changed to white-tie formal wear to serve dinner. Charlotte was so used to seeing Archie serve soup that she no longer wondered why he continued in a footman’s role once he became head coachman. In her newest, crispest white apron, Charlotte took up her post against a wall in the dining room, waiting to quietly move between courses to remove dishes to the butler’s pantry. She willed color into her face as she imagined the devastation the morning could bring if no alternative dawned during the long night.

  The family had finished the meat course and put their forks down. Charlotte stepped forward to remove the meat dishes as Mr. Penard carried in the garlic-seasoned potatoes. As she lifted the plate from in front of Oliver Banning, she noticed Mr. Penard had leaned hard enough against the butler’s pantry door that it remained propped open—surely unintentional. In a year’s time, she had never seen Mr. Penard take a wrong step. The fastidious butler would never abide anyone else’s error in allowing the family to see into the place from which their food appeared. Surely he would quickly and discreetly close the door and hope none of the family had noticed.

  When she moved to Miss Newcomb’s place, Charlotte nearly dropped the china. The butler’s pantry remained wide open to both kitchen and dining room, and toddling into the dining room, upright and independent, was a small boy with a round face, feathery brown hair, and vivid blue eyes.

  His first steps!

  5

  S ilence shrouded the dining room as all heads turned toward the child toddling with uncertain st
eps. Gleeful, he took four small steps into the room, then paused to adjust his balance and pivot toward the spectators. Unsuccessful, he landed on his bottom. Undeterred, he pushed himself upright once again and took a few more steps.

  Charlotte stood immobilized at the table with two meat plates in her hands as the baby’s movements clearly identified her as his intended destination. Mrs. Given had never said Henry was ready to walk! Mr. Penard divested himself of the serving dish at the sideboard and turned rapidly to carry the child out of the room, closing the door to the butler’s pantry behind him.

  Barely breathing, Charlotte moved on to Richard’s place and removed his plate.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand what just happened.” Flora Banning scanned the faces around the dinner table.

  “Penard’s got a secret baby!” Fifteen-year-old Richard twisted his lips up at one end. “Maybe he has a secret wife in the attic!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Richard.” Flora pressed her lips together in a frown.

  “I’m sure there’s a more logical explanation,” Leo said.

  “Penard had better be back shortly to enlighten us.” Oliver scowled in the direction of the butler’s pantry.

  “Yes, I will be most curious to hear what he has to say.” Samuel Banning cleared his throat heavily.

  Violet Newcomb, the boys’ aunt, sighed. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it has to be.”

  “Violet,” Flora said, “you know perfectly well that if such an instance occurred at your house, you would demand an immediate explanation.”

  “But the explanation could be one of any number of things,” Violet said.

  “It really could be a secret wife.” Richard’s eyes lit with the possibility.

  “Hush, Richard,” Flora said. “You’re not being the least bit helpful.”

  Charlotte’s chest tightened. Breathless, she picked up one more plate and carried the stack into the butler’s pantry. Setting the china in the sink, she forced herself to take a deep breath and peered into the kitchen.

  “Miss Cummings!” Penard said sharply, thrusting the child at the girl with a force that made Charlotte flinch. “Have I not been sufficiently clear on your duties and the importance of executing them in a competent manner?”

  Sarah’s faced blanched. “I didn’t know he could walk.”

  “That is irrelevant. If you’d been attentive to him, you would have noticed that he did in fact navigate a considerable distance by whatever means. You have placed me in a most compromised position, and you have not heard the end of this.”

  Penard pivoted, stormed back into the pantry, and paused long enough to straighten the sleeves of his jacket. His poise returned with the gesture. “Charlotte, please finish clearing the meat plates and I will serve the vegetables.”

  “Mr. Penard,” Charlotte said uncertainly, “I’ve heard what they’re saying in there. They’re expecting you to explain.”

  “I intend to, but the meal will proceed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charlotte followed Mr. Penard back into the dining room and stepped around the table to collect the remaining meat plates. Mr. Penard picked up the potato platter. Charlotte disposed of the dishes by putting them in the sink, then peeked through the space where the pantry door met its frame.

  Mr. Penard smoothly offered potatoes to each member of the family, while beginning his explanation. “I regret that your homecoming meal was disturbed in that manner, and I would imagine you have questions. I will do what I can to answer them with the plain facts. On Tuesday afternoon, the maids preparing the house for your arrival discovered a child in the courtyard. He seems to have arrived without any information as to his background and circumstances, though he appears well cared for. It was my immediate belief that his arrival was somehow tied to Mrs. Edwards’s well-known work on the behalf of orphaned children, and that perhaps his being left here was an appeal for her good graces.

  “The no-doubt destitute mother could not have known that Miss Lucy has left for an extended period of time. Against that reality, I did not feel it was my place to discern what Mrs. Edwards would have done. My intention was to leave such a decision to the wisdom of the family, and I have assigned the new scullery maid the task of looking after him until you have opportunity to consider the matter. I had believed, of course, that the matter was not so urgent as to interrupt your meal tonight. I accept full responsibility and beg your forgiveness.”

  Leo pushed a fork into his potatoes. “That’s quite a speech, Penard.”

  Oliver shifted in his chair. “I appreciate your deference to our wishes, Penard, but it seems logical to simply contact St. Andrew’s. Father, if you wish, I’ll attend to the matter in the morning.”

  “Yes, perhaps that would be the simplest disposition,” Samuel agreed.

  “Simplest, but not best.” Violet looked around the table. “I may be sticking my nose in where it does not belong, but it seems to me that Penard has a rightful understanding of the situation.”

  “What are you saying, Violet?” Flora asked.

  “If someone left a child here for the sake of Lucy’s wisdom, then we should endeavor to apply wisdom as well.”

  “But Lucy’s on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic,” Samuel pointed out, “and not due back to US shores for eight weeks or more.”

  “And I am not going to advocate that we interrupt her long-awaited and well-deserved honeymoon with this matter.” Flora was adamant. “I will not entertain discussion of a telegram.”

  “I know we cannot confer with Lucy.” Violet casually moved a fork around her plate. “However, that does not mean we cannot do as she might wish. If this child’s mother meant for him to be at the orphanage, she would have taken him directly there rather than risk being discovered on Prairie Avenue of all places.”

  “Mmm.” Samuel twisted his mouth thoughtfully. “You make a cogent argument.”

  “What would it hurt to take a bit of time to consider what is truly in the best interest of the child,” Violet asked, “or what might please Lucy?”

  Mr. Penard had withdrawn from the table after completing his simple explanation and apology. Now he stood at the sideboard and signaled with a nearly imperceptible tilt of his head that Charlotte should bring in the green salads. Reluctant to miss a single word of the family’s conversation, Charlotte nevertheless went through to the kitchen and began arranging salad greens and fruit on the plates the cook had left to chill in the icebox.

  “What’s going on in there?” Sarah wrestled with a wriggling Henry on her lap.

  “I think he wants to walk some more. Why don’t you go in the hall and let him down?” Charlotte ached to be the one to open her arms and receive the gleeful toddler at the end of his trek.

  “He’ll have his whole life to walk.” Sarah’s arms made a vise for the child now. “You tell me this minute what they’re saying in there. Am I to be sent back to St. Andrew’s?”

  Charlotte clenched her jaw. “Are you always this self-absorbed? They are not even discussing you. It’s the child who matters at the moment.”

  “Are they going to send him to St. Andrew’s?”

  “I don’t think so.” Charlotte relaxed with the relief she heard in her own voice. Her shoulders softened and her hands quickened. “At least, they are going to consider what’s best for him in the long run.”

  “Are you certain they’re not discussing me?”

  “Quite.” Charlotte balanced salad plates along her arms and moved back into the pantry.

  Mr. Penard met her there and relieved some of her load. “You may clear the potato dishes,” he said.

  She slipped into the dining room behind him, anxious to hear the conversation as she laid salad plates on the sideboard.

  “I think that would be an enviable solution to the question,” Flora said conclusively.

  “It would certainly seem to bring great benefit to both parties,” Samuel agreed.

  Charlotte’s mind sc
reamed to discover what she had missed. She glanced at the butler, wondering if he would tell her or consider the discussion none of her business. As she collected empty plates once again, she hardly allowed herself to breathe.

  “How long might that take to accomplish?” Violet inquired.

  Flora tilted her head to one side. “I will have to write a letter, of course, thoroughly explaining the situation. And I suppose they will want to have time to consider, or perhaps even meet the child before deciding whether to adopt him.”

  Adopt him!

  “Perhaps we should try to discern his temperament before making such a proposal,” Leo said. “If he should prove to be a difficult child, Cousin Louisa might harbor ill feelings against you.”

  “That’s a wise suggestion.” Flora nodded. “I have not seen Cousin Louisa since she was a child herself. After all, she is only a second cousin once removed.”

  “I think she may be our third cousin,” Violet said mildly. “Hardly any relation at all, but a good starting point for finding a suitable home for the child.”

  “I have not met her husband. Her mother has made me aware of the delicate issue of her dismay in not being able to bear a child. I certainly do not want to add to her suffering with a difficult baby.”

  Charlotte knew she could stop this unfolding drama only one way—claim Henry as her son and suffer the consequences of a year of duplicity. And then where would Henry be? Her own destitute circumstances would make it even more probable he would end up at the orphanage.

  Plates clinked in her trembling hands as she moved into the pantry again to add them to the sink. How could she possibly think of letting them send Henry away to a stranger? But how could she possibly do better for him? Once again, she moved to the closed door for what she might discern there.