Chapter 8
Norman had the uncanny feeling someone was watching him.
Lowering the newspaper he’d been reading in the breakfast nook of his mother’s grand house, he discovered a young boy gazing back at him from across the table.
Norman set the paper aside, took a sip of coffee, and frowned.
“Do I know you?”
The boy nodded, a less-than-helpful response if there ever was one.
“We’re not related to each other, are we?”
“Of course you’re not related to him, Norman. That’s Oscar Weinhart.”
Looking past Oscar, Norman found one of his sisters, Constance Nesbit Michelson, bustling into the room, dressed in a gown of green, paired with an enormous hat that had four birds with different colored feathers attached to it.
“Am I going to suffer a lecture if I admit I still don’t know who he is?” Norman asked, which earned him an eye roll from Constance as she helped herself to a cup of coffee from the silver pot resting on the buffet table.
“He’s Marian’s son.”
“Still don’t know who he is.”
“Do not tell me you’ve forgotten that Marian is my best friend, have you?”
“I’ve not forgotten that you’re friends with a Marian, but that Marian’s last name is Shaw and you stated this boy’s name is Oscar Weinhart.”
“Because Weinhart is Marian’s married name. Surely you must remember her getting married twelve years ago because you were present at her wedding.”
Norman raked a hand through hair that was longer than ever, him having neglected to make time to visit his barber since he’d returned from New York, unsurprised that his sister was watching him as if she were afraid he was suffering from some dastardly illness.
He couldn’t say he blamed her because he wasn’t one to forget events he attended, but he’d obviously forgotten all about Marian’s wedding. The only explanation for that curious lapse was that he was apparently still suffering from the effects of his encounter with Beatrix Waterbury, even though it had been seven days since he’d parted ways with her, a sufficient time to recover, but . . .
“What’s wrong with you today?”
Shaking himself from his musings, Norman found that Constance had abandoned her coffee and was advancing his way, determination in her every step. Norman summoned up a smile. “There’s nothing wrong with me, and of course I remember attending Marian’s wedding.” He turned and nodded to Oscar. “I’m sure I just didn’t recognize you because it’s been ages since I’ve seen you, but you must be friends with my nephew Christopher.”
Oscar immediately looked disgruntled. “Christopher’s only four, Mr. Nesbit. I’m eight and friends with Gemma—your niece, if you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten who Gemma is, but she’s a girl.”
Constance released a snort. “Of course Gemma’s a girl, Norman, but I don’t understand why you find it surprising that Oscar and Gemma are friends. You’re friends with Theodosia Robinson, and she’s a girl, or rather, a woman.”
“I wouldn’t say Theo and I are friends. We’re colleagues who share an interest in science.”
“And because I have no desire to spend the morning arguing with you about whether or not you’re friends with a woman you spend an inordinate amount of time with, let us move on to why I’m visiting Mother today.” Constance nodded to Oscar. “Gemma and Oscar have been pestering me for over two weeks to bring them here, which is why I’ve stopped in for the past seven days once I heard you’d returned from New York, but you’ve not been here until today.” She caught Norman’s eye. “Where have you been?”
Because he wasn’t comfortable telling his incredibly nosy sister that he’d been taking the train the short distance to Hyde Park every day, and then had spent hours running through the streets, doubling back time and time again to run past Hyde Hall, Norman ignored the question. Instead, he returned to his eggs and bacon in the hopes that his sister would grow tired of waiting for an answer and move on to a different subject.
It was disruptive, this preoccupation he had with Beatrix. Every time he tried to settle into a relaxing bout of mathematical equations or attempt to draw a diagram of an improved electrical motor, thoughts of Beatrix interrupted his work.
He’d never had thoughts of a lady disrupt his work before, which was why he’d decided that to cure those disruptive thoughts once and for all he needed to travel to Hyde Park to make sure she was not suffering mistreatment at the hands of an aunt who was certainly odd and who could also be slightly mad.
The problem with that decision, though, had been that after he’d run past Hyde Hall three times on the first day, approaching the house from different vantage points and then peering through the slats of the iron fence that encompassed it, he’d not gotten a single glimpse of Beatrix. That had left him more concerned than ever, which was why he’d traveled to Hyde Park for the next five consecutive days, choosing different times each day to improve his chances, but even with being so diligent, he’d never caught sight of her.
Unfortunately, while he’d been running past her aunt’s house yesterday, he’d almost run over Edgar, who’d stepped directly into Norman’s path right as Norman had been craning his neck as he ran, hoping to see Beatrix roaming around her aunt’s extensive grounds.
It soon became clear that Edgar had taken note of how often Norman had been running past the house. And even though Norman had tried to convince Edgar that he’d been running the streets of Hyde Park for a change of scenery, the amusement in Edgar’s eyes had suggested he didn’t believe Norman’s story.
Edgar had then proclaimed in a voice that held a trace of laughter that Miss Beatrix was currently not at home, having taken up a position at Marshall Field & Company.
Instead of alleviating Norman’s concerns, learning Beatrix had evidently been forced to seek out employment had left him reeling.
Everyone in Chicago knew that Miss Gladys Huttleston was a woman of means. The notion that she’d insisted her niece, who was obviously a woman of limited means, take up a position suggested that Miss Huttleston was a stingy woman, unwilling to extend even a small bit of her fortune to the niece who’d come to stay with her.
It was disturbing, Beatrix’s unfortunate situation, but what he could actually do about rectifying her situation was a puzzle he’d yet to figure out.
“I hope you realize that the longer you take to answer what I originally thought was a fairly easy question is only going to increase my curiosity about the matter.”
Norman polished off the last of his eggs, took a swig of coffee, and elected to continue ignoring his sister. He turned to Oscar instead. “Do forgive me, Oscar,” he began, earning a blink from Oscar in return, “I’ve neglected you most dreadfully. To rectify that, tell me why you’re spending your time sitting across from me when you could be doing something vastly more amusing. Where’s Gemma?”
Oscar shifted in his chair. “She’s off seeing a new doll her grandmother purchased for her.”
Norman smiled. “Ah well, I can see why you chose to sit at the table with me instead of accompanying Gemma to retrieve a new doll. I was never one to care for dolls even though Alice, my oldest sister, used to try to get me to play with hers.”
“Gemma doesn’t like dolls,” Oscar muttered.
“Gemma doesn’t like dolls?” Norman repeated, glancing to Constance, who was taking a seat beside Oscar.
“Not really. She prefers her chemistry set,” Constance said.
“Gemma has a chemistry set?”
“I bought it for her on her last birthday.”
“You bought your daughter a chemistry set?”
Constance shrugged. “I always enjoyed playing with chemistry sets when I was her age, so when she asked for one, I saw no harm in getting it for her.”
“You never had a chemistry set when you were young.”
“Well, I didn’t have my own set, but I freely admit that I took liberties with yours whenever you were away from the house.”
“No wonder my supplies were always dwindling more rapidly than they should have.” Norman frowned. “I distinctly remember you telling Mother that I was careless with my supplies when I complained to her about the situation.”
“I couldn’t admit that I was the culprit, not with how adamant Mother always was about how unacceptable it was for girls to be interested in science.” Constance shook her head. “She became suspicious of me after I invented this soap that I tried out in the washing machine. I obviously used too much sulfate because, before I knew it, the washroom was filled with bubbles. Mother found me standing in the midst of those bubbles, and while she never outright accused me of anything, she did begin buying me doll after doll, evidently hoping I’d abandon my interest in science and adopt a love of doll collecting.”
“You do have an impressive doll collection,” Norman pointed out.
“One that is currently collecting dust in my attic.” Constance smiled. “However, when I realized that Gemma was fascinated with science, I decided that instead of hindering her interest, I’d encourage it.”
Norman set aside his napkin. “Aren’t you afraid you’re allowing her false hope because there are limited opportunities for girls in science?”
“I’m hopeful that by the time Gemma is old enough to seek a higher education, there’ll be more colleges and universities admitting women.”
Norman frowned. “Don’t let Mother hear you speaking that way because you know she’ll conclude you’re sympathetic to the suffrage movement, and I can’t even imagine the drama we’ll be forced to endure if she comes to that conclusion.”
“I am a supporter of the suffrage movement, something Mother is well aware of but chooses to ignore.”
“You support the suffrage movement?” Norman asked weakly, feeling as if his world truly was turning topsy-turvy and not only because of Miss Beatrix Waterbury.
Constance merely smiled before she quirked a brow and got a far-too-familiar look on her face. “Returning to why you’ve been absent from the house this week . . .”
“Your brother is clearly in the middle of trying to puzzle out some new invention or mathematical equation, which is why he’s been going off to Hyde Park to run, evidently needing a change of scenery to do his thinking.”
Relief was swift as Norman watched his mother, Mary Elizabeth Dupee Nesbit, breeze into the room, dressed to perfection in a walking gown of blue. His relief disappeared in a flash, though, as a troubling thought sprang to mind.
“How do you know I’ve been running in Hyde Park?”
Mary sent him an indulgent smile. “The Pinkerton men I hired to keep you safe until the miscreants from the train are caught have been keeping me apprised of your movements.”
Norman pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “You hired Pinkerton men to follow me?”
Mary raised a hand to her throat. “Do not tell me you have yet to notice them. They’ve been at it for almost a week, taking shifts.”
The next thing Norman knew, he was pushed back into his chair. His mother wasted no time in placing her hand on his forehead while his sister smacked both of her hands against his cheeks, ignoring the wince her smacking caused.
It didn’t take a genius, which he most certainly was, to conclude that both ladies were now convinced that he was certainly suffering from some type of dreadful illness. What they didn’t know, however, was that what he was suffering from was actually far worse, and it had a name.
Miss Beatrix Waterbury, to be exact.