10 

Nearly three weeks and not a word out of Mr. Bradley Townsend. Sarah mopped her frustration into the floors of the Banning house. She scrubbed her agitation into the pots, stitched her irritation into the household mending. She folded her resolve into the sheets and towels, pounded her aggravation into innocent cuts of meat. She snatched up Leo’s newspapers from the abandoned breakfast table so she could read the political articles before Mrs. Fletcher used the paper to wrap meat scraps, and gradually her understanding of the party platforms came into focus. Samuel Banning spent three days sleeping in his own bed, eating at his own dining room table, and going back and forth from his office. Sarah tended to his routine needs, making the poached eggs he preferred and freshening his room, but her mind thought of nothing but Brad.

And Serena Cuthbert. Sarah began to have internal conversations with Serena in which the young woman revealed a great deal about herself. Serena had traveled, Sarah discovered, and would rather be with people every minute of the day than at home with a book. She disliked potatoes and preferred her vegetables to be green. Earl Grey was her favorite tea. She thought Theodore Thomas was a brilliant conductor for the Chicago Orchestra and Susan B. Anthony made too much fuss about women’s rights. But what did it matter what Serena thought if no one else knew?

The first time Kenny handed Sarah an envelope addressed in florid script, she looked him straight in the eye and thanked him for collecting Miss Cuthbert’s mail. The second time, he looked sheepish and she did nothing to take the edge off her contempt. Kenny had gone out of his way to imply Serena Cuthbert would not receive mail at the Lexington, and Sarah had no sympathy for his embarrassment now. Sarah waited until she was safely outside the hotel to open the envelopes—a note from Lillie about how sorry she was that they had not seen each other recently, and later an invitation to a dinner party Lillie was giving. Sarah breathed relief when she saw the invitation was for a Wednesday night. She would not even have to connive to be away from the house.

When Sarah arrived at the Wagner home on the final Wednesday in July, the housekeeper let her in, and immediately the ladies’ maid collected Serena’s silk shawl and inquired whether the guest would like to freshen up before dinner. Sarah had seen the protocol many times when the Bannings welcomed guests and Elsie, the ladies’ maid, offered assistance to all the women. Lillie’s maid led her to a room down the hall, where Sarah removed her hat and allowed the young woman to rearrange a few hair pins. Then she was ready for her entrance in the parlor. A pale seafoam moiré dress fitted to her form with darts and tucks and drew the eye to the ruffles floating about her shoulders. Although the fabric was several years old, a cast-off length Flora Banning had never had made up by her own dressmaker, Sarah had patterned the gown after an illustration she’d seen in Harper’s Bazaar only six months ago.

There he was.

She had been sure without asking that Lillie would invite Bradley Townsend. It could well be that the occasion for the dinner was to bring Serena and Brad together. But Sarah could not have been sure he would accept, and Lillie could hardly cancel the entire engagement because one guest declined.

But there he was. Tall. A trim beard. A dark suit. Standing at the end of the room with one hand on the back of the sofa.

Sarah paused in the doorway and smiled. Paul and Lillie were there, as well as two other couples she had not met before. She was sure—fairly sure, at least—none of them were from Prairie Avenue families.

“The Colts seem to be in for a winning season. I do love a good base ball game.” Brad thumped the back of the sofa.

Sarah moved into the room, hoping to capture his gaze.

“They certainly ought to rout the St. Louis Browns next week.” Paul, standing behind the side chair where Lillie sat, twisted his torso slightly toward Brad.

“Still, several teams are ahead of the Colts in the standings. I’d love to see them at least catch the Boston Beaneaters, or Cincinnati.”

Sarah delicately cleared her throat.

Brad looked up and straightened his posture. “Oh, Miss Cuthbert, forgive my lack of manners. There you are, a countenance of beauty, and I’m mumbling on about base ball.”

Sarah stepped into the room. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mr. Townsend.” She moved toward him and held out a gloved hand. Brad took it, catching her eye as he let her hand rest in his palm.

Lillie jumped up from the side chair and latched on to Sarah’s arm. “Serena! I’m so glad you could come. Why has it been so difficult for us to find a time to see each other? We’ll have to rectify that in the near future.”

“I hope so.” Sarah glanced at the other guests. “Hello. I’m Serena Cuthbert. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“My etiquette teacher would be dismayed.” Lillie laughed. “I’m delighted to present my friend, Miss Serena Cuthbert. This is Mr. David Butler, Miss Laura Anderson, Mr. Christopher Trapp, and Miss Diana Prescott.”

The group exchanged nods and handshakes around the room. Sarah was pleased to see everyone paired off. Clearly Lillie had intended that Brad attend to Serena tonight.

“So Mr. Townsend,” Sarah said, “you’re an avid base ball fan, I gather.”

He nodded. “I try to get out to West Side Park to see the Colts whenever I can. Are you a fan, Miss Cuthbert?”

“An afternoon at the ball park does make a pleasant outing.” Sarah had never been to a base ball game, but it seemed like something Serena would find adventure in.

“Perhaps we can take in a game together sometime,” Brad suggested.

“I would be delighted.” Would he really call for her, or was he just being polite? Just in case, she would have to discover what Karl knew about the game.

The housekeeper announced that dinner was served. Brad offered his arm and Sarah took it as the group ambled toward the dining room.

“Lillie,” Brad said, “are your parents not joining us tonight?”

“They’re out for the evening.” Lillie’s hand waved through the air in a relaxed gesture.

Sarah saw the pleasure Lillie took in hosting her own dinner party rather than merely adding a friend or two to her parents’ table. The place cards assigned Mr. Bradley Townsend to the left of Miss Serena Cuthbert. He held her chair while she arranged the drape of her dress, then he took his own seat.

Conversation flowed easily, and Sarah soaked up the information about Lillie’s guests—whom Lillie did not know well, either. David Butler’s family had come to Chicago from Philadelphia when he was a boy. While he had returned to Philadelphia for his college years, he considered Chicago home. Anyone could see in his face that it was Laura Anderson who had pulled him back to Chicago. Their eyes met frequently and lingered, although both were careful to speak in a manner that included everyone. David had recently passed the bar and joined a Chicago law firm. A few casual questions assured Sarah he had never met Samuel Banning in the legal circles, so he would have no reason to recognize a maid from the Banning house. Diana Prescott had made her European tour at age eighteen and decided to stay for an extended time, choosing the unlikely Madrid, Spain, as her favorite locale. The Spanish phrases that slipped off her tongue sounded authentic to Sarah.

“Miss Cuthbert, did you work on your French while you were in France?” Diana asked Sarah.

Sarah shook her head without missing a beat. “One learns enough to order coquille Saint-Jacques or filet aux deux poivres, of course,” she said, “but my circle of friends were Americans or citizens of the British Empire. I’m afraid I was not a very devoted student to my French lessons. I rather regret that I did not make a better effort.” Mrs. Fletcher had a cookbook featuring French dishes, the only reason Sarah knew any French food labels. The French class at St. Andrew’s did little more than teach students to count in the language.

“Perhaps when you return to France,” Diana suggested, “you will find time to study the language.”

“Serena’s parents are in France right now,” Lillie said.

“Ask your mother to write to you in French,” Diana said.

Sarah smiled at Diana, then turned her attention to the man on her right. “What do you do, Mr. Trapp?” If Sarah changed the subject often enough, Serena would not have to answer so many questions.

Christopher Trapp launched into more explanation than anyone was interested in about his structural engineering work and the soil qualifications for bridge supports. Sarah nodded and smiled her way through the meat and vegetable courses.

“Have you traveled in the East, Miss Cuthbert?” Brad asked when the salad came.

Sarah nodded. “We had an estate in New Hampshire when I was young.” Flora Banning’s persistent envy of John and Frances Glessners’ property in New Hampshire had provided ample fodder over the last three years. Mrs. Banning came home from ladies’ luncheons with stories of how the Glessners had entertained themselves through the summer months on their estate—croquet on the rolling lawns, picnics, walks along the bluffs. The older Banning sons, Oliver and Leo, had plenty of stories from their years in Princeton, New Jersey, and Lucy’s husband was from New Jersey as well. Meal after meal, for three years, Sarah had stood by, mute, listening, and now she found the details flooded her mind and tripped off her tongue. She had little trouble mentioning the right locations and train lines to be credible. No one around the table could doubt the travel experience of Serena Cuthbert.

The group took dessert and coffee in the parlor, where Lillie begged Diana to play the piano and Laura to grace them with her trained soprano voice. Sarah felt Brad’s eyes on her repeatedly, though for the most part she managed to avoid staring at him and outwardly absorbed herself in the music. Nevertheless, she was aware of his every movement, and when he stood to stretch his long legs during a break in the music, Sarah followed the impulse. With unspoken agreement, they drifted to the same corner of the parlor.

“I’ve been hoping for a private moment,” Brad said at last. “You have been much on my mind, despite my neglect since our last meeting.” “I imagine your time has been consumed with politics and your business interests,” Sarah said offhandedly, as if she had not begun to harbor resentment at his lack of attention.

“Yes, the presidential election is causing a stir,” he said. “I’m resolved to do my part to make sure William McKinley is elected. Mr. Bryan would be an unsuitable president and cause an economic crisis of a scale this country has never seen. He’s far too concerned about the ‘masses’ for his own good—or anyone’s.”

“I’m glad you have confidence in Mr. McKinley.” If Sarah accomplished her goal, she would not have to be among the masses any longer.

“There is more to life than politics, Miss Cuthbert, and I promise to make up for my neglect. I have been invited to a ball at the Palmer House on Saturday evening, and it would give me great pleasure to escort you.”

A ball!

“May I call for you at the Lexington at eight o’clock?” Brad asked.

“I would be delighted,” Sarah said.

“I apologize for the short notice,” Brad said. “Your dressmaker may scowl at you.”

Sarah smiled. “My dressmaker is most agreeable, I assure you.”