Chapter 7

“I insist you set my niece down at once, sir, and also insist you explain to me why you’re trying to hustle dear Beatrix out of my home when she’s only just arrived.”

A tingle began creeping up Beatrix’s spine when Norman, instead of setting her down, tightened his hold on her and continued for the door.

It was unexpected, the tingle, as well as confusing, because he’d proven himself time and again to be one of the most irritating men she’d ever encountered. Still, irritating or not, he was currently being downright chivalrous as he tried to protect her from her aunt. And while she was perfectly capable of looking out for herself, his chivalry was making her feel all sorts of curious things.

“What do you want me to do?” Norman asked, his breath tickling her ear.

“She wants you to put her down so she can properly greet her favorite aunt,” Aunt Gladys called out before Beatrix could respond.

Norman caught Beatrix’s eye. “Miss Huttleston is your favorite aunt?”

“She’s my only aunt.”

“Ah well, that explains much.” He frowned. “Frankly, though, I got the distinct impression that you don’t think of her as being one of your favorite—”

Beatrix placed her hand firmly over Norman’s mouth, muffling the rest of his words, right as the sound of footsteps drew her attention. Those footsteps apparently drew Norman’s attention as well because he slowly turned around, drawing her closer when Aunt Gladys came into view.

Unfortunately, Aunt Gladys’s appearance was less than reassuring the closer she got to them.

A red substance that did look like blood was dripping from her face and onto her billowing shirt, but Aunt Gladys ignored that as she smiled at Beatrix, which was rather frightening because the red smeared all over her face was in sharp contrast to the whiteness of her teeth.

“Ah, there’s that face I haven’t seen in far too many years,” Aunt Gladys began. “Why, you’ve turned into a most beautiful young lady, something I always worried about because you were rather homely as a child. How delightful to see that you’ve grown out of that stage.”

“Good thing you’re accomplished with chitchat because I wouldn’t know how to respond to a statement like that,” Norman muttered.

“I’m afraid I’m at a loss as well,” Beatrix muttered back. “But you may set me down now, Mr. Nesbit. It’s beginning to feel rather peculiar being held in your arms this long.”

“I believe, given the adventure we’ve shared today, that it’s perfectly fine to address me as Norman,” he said, right as Aunt Gladys took another step toward them.

“On my word, you’re Norman Nesbit,” Aunt Gladys exclaimed.

Instead of setting her down, Norman drew Beatrix closer to him. “I am Norman Nesbit, but I must admit I’m taken aback that you’re familiar with who I am.”

Aunt Gladys gave a wave of her hand. “Your mother, Mary, and I share a delightful disdain for each other—which is why I’ve taken it upon myself to learn everything I can about the Nesbit family.” She winked. “I always find it best to gather pertinent information about one’s nemesis because you never know when such information might be useful.”

Norman bent his head closer to Beatrix. “I’m confident I can outrun your aunt as well as Lurch—er, I mean Edgar. Just say the word.”

Aunt Gladys let out a huff. “There’s no need for that, Mr. Nesbit. I assure you there’s nothing to flee from.”

“I beg to differ, unless you have a reasonable explanation for whatever madness was responsible for . . .” He waved a hand in her general direction.

Aunt Gladys exchanged a look with Edgar, who was still standing in the hallway. “Whatever is he talking about?”

Edgar winced. “I believe he’s referring to your face, one that currently looks as if you’ve recently participated in something concerning.”

A booming laugh was Aunt Gladys’s response to that. “Oh my, I completely forgot. I must look a fright right now. Why, it’s little wonder poor Mr. Nesbit is trying to whisk Beatrix away from me.” She laughed again, hardly an encouraging sound since her laughter echoed around the hallway, eliciting a rousing round of howls from the cats still sitting in a perfectly straight line.

With a last chuckle, Aunt Gladys nodded to Norman. “No need to fret you’re about to deliver my niece into the hands of a madwoman, Mr. Nesbit. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. The condition of my face is a direct result of a new beauty regime I’m testing out.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Huttleston,” Norman began, “but I’ve got two sisters, neither of whom would ever embrace a beauty regime that leaves them looking as if they’ve been in a brawl.”

“A most excellent point, and one I’ll be certain to pass on to Miss Blanche Bell, the inventor of this beauty product, which is, if you’re curious, made out of clay.” Aunt Gladys patted her face, albeit gingerly. “We, as in myself and the women who are currently waiting for me in the parlor, decided the original color of the clay was less than appealing, which is why we added a smidgen of red paint to the mix, hoping that the brighter color would appeal to women with whimsical natures.”

Norman’s brows drew together. “Begging your pardon yet again, Miss Huttleston, but I have to believe that what you’re currently wearing on your face would repulse whimsical women, although it might appeal to women possessed of bloodthirsty natures.”

“Duly noted,” Aunt Gladys said cheerfully. “Perhaps we’ll try a nice shade of yellow next.”

“Which is a color that tends to make one appear sallow,” Norman pointed out. “In my humble opinion, lavender would be the wisest choice because scientific studies suggest that people find lavender a most relaxing color, which should, at least in theory, encourage consumers to purchase such a beauty product, if it does, in fact, result in any beneficial beauty results.”

Aunt Gladys tapped a finger against her chin. “A worthy consideration to be sure. However, because Blanche is convinced that this particular beauty remedy must remain on a woman’s face for at least thirty minutes to ascertain whether or not it will draw out impurities, there’s no point in mixing up a new color until we know if it works.”

Norman nodded. “A logical decision.”

“I’m nothing if not logical,” Aunt Gladys returned before frowning. “But speaking of logic, is there any logic in continuing to hold on to my niece? Surely both of you have determined that I don’t present a threat to Beatrix, unless . . .” She smiled. “Could it be that the two of you have formed an attraction to each other, and you’re using this most unusual situation as a way to enjoy unexpected closeness?”

Beatrix found herself back on her feet a split second later, the rapidity of her return to the ground causing her to lose her balance and stumble into Norman, who steadied her and winced.

“Sorry about that.”

“As you should be. Was there a reason you just dropped me like a hot potato?”

“Of course there was. I’ve often been the victim of many an aunt, sister, mother, grandmother, or random stranger who’ve set their sights on me as a potential suitor for one young lady or another. A bachelor gentleman is evidently difficult to ignore for women with matchmaking on their minds, even though I’ve been able to steer relatively clear of that because of my work. I don’t have time for romantic nonsense.” He shot a glance to Aunt Gladys. “Thought it best to nip any thoughts of matchmaking your aunt may be harboring in the bud before they got out of hand.”

Aunt Gladys laughed. “My dear boy, while I’m sure you would make Beatrix an admirable suitor, even with your reputation of being an eccentric, I’ve got plans for her that don’t include gentlemen . . . yet. But do know that I’ve now taken your reluctance about matters of courtship into account, and with that settled, what say we repair to the parlor for some refreshments? We were just about to enjoy some lemonade before we partake in some dancing.”

“See if he’ll agree to a few turns around the parlor with us,” a voice called out from behind Aunt Gladys. “It would be awfully nice to have a strapping young man to dance with for a change—not that we mind dancing with Edgar or Hubert, but Edgar tends to get winded after a while and Hubert is missing a leg.”

Beatrix directed her attention past Aunt Gladys and found they’d been joined by at least ten women, all of whom had faces smeared with red and all of whom were wearing unusual ensembles of clothing, quite as if they’d rummaged through old trunks and thrown on anything that wouldn’t be missed if it was ruined.

The woman who’d just invited Norman to join them in a dance waggled her fingers Norman’s way.

Aunt Gladys blew out a breath. “Honestly, Mamie, how many times must we go over this? It’s not appropriate for you to blurt out observations about strapping young men.” She turned to Beatrix. “Mamie’s only recently come to us from a dance hall off of Twenty-second Street. She spent almost three years there playing the piano, but now she’s given up that life and is determined to improve her circumstances.”

“How’s she determined to do that?” Norman asked. His obvious determination to avoid addressing the flirtatious batting of the lashes from Mamie made Beatrix’s lips curve.

“By improving her knowledge of proper etiquette and behavior, which will hopefully then see her achieving some success with obtaining employment with a reputable orchestra. Truly, her skill with the piano is something that cannot be denied.”

Norman glanced to Mamie and then quickly back to Aunt Gladys after Mamie blew him a kiss. “Have you been meeting with much success?”

“She’s still a work in progress.” Aunt Gladys sent Mamie a fond smile before she nodded to Norman. “Do say you’ll join us for some refreshments.”

“And dancing,” Mamie called over her shoulder before she followed the rest of the women out of the room.

Norman shuddered before he shook his head. “Regrettably, I must decline, Miss Huttleston. I’ve been away from home for a few weeks and have matters that I need to attend to this evening.” He tilted his head. “I am curious, though, about what was said regarding a man named Hubert. Does he really dance with only one leg, and how does a person go about that?”

Aunt Gladys leaned to the right and gestured someone forward. The sound of uneven clomping rang out, and then a man appeared through the dimness of the hall, walking over to Norman with a distinct limp. Bending over, he rolled up his pants, revealing a peg leg that had been painted a bright yellow.

“Hubert Barrett, sir,” Hubert said while Norman bent over to get a closer look at the man’s leg. “As you can see, I do have a leg of sorts, one that allows me to enjoy a few turns around a room. Mind you, I’m not capable of doing a full polka because that vigorous dance leaves the stub right below my knee throbbing something fierce.”

Norman dropped to a knee and peered at the wooden apparatus attached to Hubert’s knee. “Did the physician who fit you with this wooden leg take his time measuring you? It seems to me as if the cup that goes over your knee and keeps the leg attached is not fitting properly.”

“They don’t make them individual-like. I was simply shown a room where they had a few legs, picked one out, and the good doctor showed me how to pull it on and keep it on with suspenders attached to my belt.”

“Seems a bit antiquated,” Norman said as he straightened. A loud clock began clanging as it marked the time, which set the cats to scattering, one of which slunk across the floor to snatch the dead mouse Phantom had left behind, disappearing with it down a hallway.

“And here’s where it’s time for me to take my leave,” Norman said firmly, turning from where he’d been watching the cats to nod at Beatrix. “You’re sure you’ll be all right if I leave you here?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Then this is where we part ways.” Norman took Beatrix’s hand, surprising her when he brought it to his lips and kissed it. “You’re an unusual woman, Beatrix Waterbury, and even though you’ve annoyed me more than any woman I’ve ever known—and that’s with us only spending a day together—it’s been a very interesting day and one that, oddly enough, was somewhat enjoyable at times.” He caught Beatrix’s eye. “Do try to not unintentionally shoot anyone else while you’re in Chicago.”

“Can’t make any promises,” she said, to which he might have actually smiled before he turned to Aunt Gladys, inclined his head, then turned on his heel and strode down the hallway, disappearing through the front door without another word.

Aunt Gladys moved to stand beside Beatrix. “I must admit that the last person I expected to show up at Hyde Hall with you was Mr. Norman Nesbit, but he’s not nearly as odd in person as I always assumed he’d be. Do you imagine he’ll visit you often while you’re in Chicago?”

“As he mentioned, I frequently annoy him, and he definitely annoys me, which does suggest he’ll not be paying us a call anytime soon, if ever.”

“How disappointing, but enough about Mr. Nesbit for now. We need to discuss the plans I have for you, ones I came up with after your mother asked if I’d be willing to have you come for an extended stay.”

“She said I’m here for an extended stay?”

“Did Annie not tell you that?”

“I’m afraid she didn’t.”

Aunt Gladys took hold of Beatrix’s arm. “I’m afraid you’ve finally pushed poor Annie too far, my dear, what with your propensity for havoc and becoming embroiled in the most unlikely of situations. She must be at her wits’ end to resort to sending you here, which will see you missing the New York Season.”

“I’ve been wondering if Mother might have done me a favor by banishing me for the Season, since word has certainly gotten around about Mr. Thomas Hamersley getting engaged to someone who isn’t me. He’s been shielding me for years from being pursued by other gentlemen, but with him out of the picture . . .” She smiled. “Perhaps it’s good I’m here for an extended stay after all.”

Aunt Gladys returned the smile, looking more terrifying than ever. “It is indeed, and frankly I don’t know how you managed to get through six Seasons when I couldn’t make it through one.” She pulled Beatrix into motion. “My father—your grandfather—moved to New York after my mother died. I was eighteen and decided I wanted nothing to do with living in a big city like New York after having only been there a month. I returned to Chicago even though Father stayed in New York, where he met and married your grandmother, Erma, and they had your mother a year later.”

Aunt Gladys drew Beatrix toward a room where she could hear the tinkling of piano music. “Your grandmother was a lovely woman, but she was firmly of the social set. She invited me back to New York, which I agreed to, but only because I knew my father expected that of me. However, after I made my debut, I knew that that life was not for me. Father then set up an account for me that allowed me to build Hyde Hall, and I’ve not had a reason to regret my decision to stay in Chicago.”

Beatrix stepped with Aunt Gladys into a room where the women covered in red clay were waiting for them.

“Ladies, you’ll be amused to learn that Mr. Norman Nesbit has all but fled from our presence.”

“There’s nothin’ amusing about having a fine-looking gentleman like that get away from us,” a woman wearing a bright purple turban on her head declared. “We don’t get many gentleman callers as it is, and that we’ve apparently caused one of them to flee, well, it’s cause for concern.”

Aunt Gladys leaned closer to Beatrix. “Della used to work for one of the big houses over on Prairie Avenue. She got dismissed because she set a friendly eye on her employer’s twenty-two-year-old son.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little flirting, and me and George were the same age, and . . .” Della released a huff. “It’s not like we would have gotten married or anything, but his mother found out about the flirting and sent me packin’.”

“Della’s now trying to learn how to operate a typewriter, but I’m not certain that’s the best option for her since she does seem to have an eye for the men, and men are usually the ones hiring women proficient in using a typewriter,” Aunt Gladys said before she launched into introductions.

Fifteen minutes later, Beatrix had not only been introduced to Blanche Bell, Mamie Stewart, Della Hayes, Nancy Collins, Arwen Daugherty, Colette Balley, Roberta Shaw, Clara Davis, Susan Morris, and Dorothy Brown, but she’d also been divested of her clothing, given a pair of short trousers and a billowing shirt, and had red clay pressed to her face.

“And now that you’ve met everyone and heard a bit about what they do,” Aunt Gladys said, “tell us something about yourself.”

Not knowing what to say about herself after hearing how all of the women gathered in the room had overcome great odds and horrible circumstances—those being abusive relationships, repugnant bosses, horrible working conditions, and the list went on and on—Beatrix caught her aunt’s eye.

“I’d rather hear how it came to be that you became involved with all these women.”

“Your aunt’s a well-known supporter of the suffragist movement,” Blanche Bell said before Aunt Gladys could speak. “Many of us became acquainted with her while participating in marches and listening to speeches. Then, after she heard our stories, she took it upon herself to assist us when no one else would, even offering us rooms in this house until we got on our feet.”

Beatrix’s brows drew together, a tricky feat since the clay on her face was already beginning to dry. She looked at her aunt. “You’re a suffragist?”

“Been one since 1872—the election year when Susan B. Anthony took a stand and insisted on being allowed the right to register to vote in her hometown of Rochester, New York. She was forced to read aloud the Fourteenth Amendment to the inspector overseeing the registration, which then had him, albeit reluctantly, allowing Susan and her sisters to register. Word soon got out about that and women began showing up in other wards in that part of the state to register, but after Susan actually cast a vote a few days later in the election, she was arrested. She was then charged with voting without having the lawful right to do such a thing.” Aunt Gladys nodded as the women around her began tsking. “I thought that was a most grave miscarriage of justice, and from that moment on, it’s been my goal to further the advancement of women and the right to vote.”

“Does my mother know you’re a suffragist?”

“Hard to say. With me being so much older than Annie, we don’t actually have that much contact with each other.”

“But I thought Mother sent me here to keep me well away from anything related to the suffragist movement.”

“And that very well could be, but by sending you here, she’s clearly expecting me to use my own judgment as to how your time should be spent.”

“And how do you want me to spend my time?” Beatrix asked slowly.

“I’d like for you to find your true purpose in life because, what with all the shenanigans Annie told me you’ve been involved with over the years, I’ve concluded that you’re floundering.”

“Floundering?”

“Indeed. You lack true commitment to any cause.”

“I most certainly do not lack commitment,” Beatrix argued. “I assist at numerous missions, support the suffragist movement, help out my friends, and I even volunteer at Grace Church, teaching lessons of faith to the children.”

“All very commendable acts, my dear, and I don’t want you to believe that I find any of that objectionable. However . . .”

“Why do I get the distinct impression I’m not going to enjoy hearing what you’re about to say next?”

“Because it’s occasionally painful to have truths pointed out to us. And your truth is this—while you’ve thrown yourself into philanthropic endeavors, your privileged life has left you at a distinct disadvantage. So in regard to the suffrage movement, I don’t believe you truly grasp the reason why women are so desperate to obtain the vote, no matter that you want to support the movement by attending rallies and marches.”

“I understand why women want the right to vote.”

Aunt Gladys inclined her head. “In theory perhaps, but you don’t know what it’s like to be at the mercy of an employer who can level abuse on you at his whim, and you have no alternative but to take it because you have mouths to feed or rent to pay. That right there is why I’ve decided that the best way for you to spend your time in Chicago is to take up a position.”

“A position, as in . . . a position of employment?”

“Quite right.” Aunt Gladys gave Beatrix’s arm a pat. “I’m sure you’ll be delighted to learn that I’ve arranged for you to have an interview with Mr. Bailer at Marshall Field & Company. He’s expecting you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp.”