16 

Sarah checked the tilt of her hat in the mirror on Monday afternoon, then gracefully descended the servants’ stairs.

“Where are you off to this time?” Mrs. Fletcher made no effort to disguise her irritation.

Looking at the cook sitting in the chair under the kitchen window, her feet up on a stool, Sarah felt no compunction about going out. The slower pace of work during the family’s absence benefited everyone.

“A friend asked me to tea,” Sarah said.

“Did you mend the linens?”

“Mended, ironed, and put away.”

“You’re dressed in rather a fine manner.”

“I’m meeting rather a fine friend.”

“Just be back in time to serve. Leo will be home for dinner tonight.”

Sarah slipped out the female servants’ entrance, put her shoulders back and her chin high, and walked elegantly toward Michigan Avenue. Her eyes remained focused on her path, not turning to catch the glances of a scattering of other Prairie Avenue servants outside.

At the Lexington Hotel a few minutes later, Sarah hesitated long enough for the doorman to perform his responsibilities. She had her eye on the chair that she had decided would become her usual place to wait for Brad. From this position, she could easily see out the front of the hotel. However, she had barely settled in when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Sarah turned to see Kenny standing just behind her.

“Hello, Sarah,” Kenny said.

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Oh, pardon me, Miss Cuthbert.” Kenny bowed slightly and rolled his eyes. “I had not heard that you had arrived in Chicago.”

“Oh, all right,” Sarah said. “What do you want, Kenny?”

He held out a silver tray, on which was laid a thick envelope. “This arrived a few minutes ago. The messenger said it was urgent Miss Cuthbert receive it immediately.”

Sarah picked up the envelope and quickly ripped open one end.

Kenny chuckled. “Sarah, are you sure you should be reading Miss Cuthbert’s mail?”

“I do what Miss Cuthbert asks me to do.”

“I know there’s no Miss Cuthbert.”

“Mind your own business, Kenny.” A card unfolded in Sarah’s hands, and a small pin slipped into her palm. Still she scowled.

“What’s the matter?” Kenny asked.

“He’s not coming,” Sarah muttered.

“Who is not coming?”

“Oh, never mind, Kenny.”

“What fell out of the card?”

Sarah clutched the pin in a closed hand. “You did your job and delivered the message. Thank you. I’m sure they need you back at the desk.”

“Sarah, if something—”

“Thank you, Kenny.” Sarah gathered her skirts and walked back out to the sidewalk before reading the note again, more carefully.

My dearest Serena,

With deep regret I must inform you that urgent business matters have interfered with our plans for today. I am uncertain when the issue will be resolved. In the meantime, I hope you will accept this offering of my attentions.

Kindly yours,
Bradley Townsend

Brad had been so confident about this business deal with Diamond Matches. What could have gone so wrong that he could not take time for a cup of tea to celebrate? Sarah opened her fingers and inspected the pin, a slender silver rose. She had polished enough silver around the Banning house to know this piece was genuine silver through and through.

She would wear it the next time she saw Brad, and she would never forget the first gift from him. Sarah closed her hand around the pin again.

The next morning, Sarah laid the dining room table for Leo’s breakfast and positioned the newspaper to the right of his place setting, where he would reach for it out of habit. She routinely extracted the business section and placed it on top.

There it was. The headline in the business section.

The Chicago Stock Exchange was closed. Indefinitely.

This explained why Brad had broken their date. Sarah scanned the article, recognizing key words. Diamond Matches. Moore brothers. Wealthy investors. She picked up the paper to read more carefully.

As far as she could make out, the article conjectured that W. H. and J. H. Moore had been involved in speculative deals related to the stock of Diamond Matches. The moment had come when they could no longer meet the margin call, and their brokerage firm collapsed. Members of the exchange voted to close down trading out of the belief that an open market would only result in sharp decline in the value of stocks across the board and bring harm to many members of the board of trade. The Moore brothers had risked their own funds as well as money from investors. Both brothers were officers in Diamond Matches. The stock had been trading at extremely high levels, and the brothers were thought to be engaging in short-selling to maximize their profits.

Sarah puzzled over the paper. What was short-selling? Why would it lead to collapse? What did it mean when a firm could not meet the margin call? She did not understand most of it, but she understood that the collapse of this deal would hit the pocket of Bradley Townsend.

When she heard Leo’s footsteps progressing across the foyer, Sarah straightened the paper and determined to go back to the Lexington in search of another message from Brad that afternoon. She could put up with Kenny mocking her if only she would hear from Brad.

Sarah heard nothing from Brad on Tuesday. Nothing on Wednesday. Nothing on Thursday. She followed the scandal in the newspaper as best she could. George Pullman and John Doane, both of whom lived in the same block of Prairie Avenue as the Bannings, were expected to become involved in sorting out the failure of the Moore brothers’ firm. Both were large lenders on the stock exchange and were expected to underwrite the Diamond Matches stock being held in escrow by the exchange.

Sarah blew out her breath when she read of George Pullman’s arrival. No doubt he would find a way to get even richer out of this fiasco. He was not known for his compassion. But what about Brad? Would he survive?

“The girls are excited about starting their skirts,” Simon said. He hoped someday he would think of a way to greet Sarah Cummings that would spark her interest, but for now he seemed unable not to utter whatever trivia sprang to his mind. He reached into a desk drawer. “Let me get the key and we’ll open the door.”

“I wanted to speak to you about a related matter,” Sarah said, “before the girls interrupt.”

Simon gestured that she should sit opposite his desk. If Sarah Cummings wanted to speak to him rather than find the fastest way out of the room, he would certainly give his attention. “What can I help you with?”

“It’s more how I can help you,” Sarah replied. “I have a friend interested in sewing some clothes for a few of the children.”

“If she’s half as talented as you are, it will be a wonderful gift.”

“Actually, we’ll be working together. I don’t have a lot of time of course, with my duties for the Bannings, but my friend has more time. Obviously we can’t help all of the children, so we wonder where the greatest need is.”

Simon nodded. This was a side of Sarah he had always hoped to see more of. The wall around her began to come down the day she agreed to teach a class. Perhaps being back at the orphanage had kindled hidden compassion. He refused to believe she was as thoughtless as she often seemed. “The older girls are learning for themselves, thanks to you,” he said. “The littlest girls outgrow things before the clothes wear out.”

“Then the girls in between need new things,” Sarah said. “That makes sense.”

The way she tilted her head. The gesture she made with her hand as she spoke. The smoothness of her voice. The sheen of her hair. How could she not know how appealing she was? And now—to see her willing to use her time and skill to help other girls. Simon had hoped the sewing class would penetrate the fortress around Sarah’s heart, but this was more—and sooner—than he had expected.

“Will you draw the patterns yourself?” Simon found his lapsed composure.

“Something simple.” Sarah smoothed her skirt. “My friend will want it to be pretty, but I realize it must also be sturdy.”

“Do you need anything from me?” Simon asked.

“I’ll bring the clothes here as we finish them.” Sarah crossed her ankles and held her hands together in her lap. “We would be most appreciative if you could be sure they go to the girls who need them most.”

“Of course.” Simon leaned forward in his desk chair. “Thank you for your generosity, and I hope to be able to express my gratitude to your friend as well.”

“And she would love to meet you. However, her schedule is complicated, so that may not be possible. That’s one of the reasons I offered to be in touch with you about the project.”

“Then perhaps at some point in the future.” Simon took a breath, deciding whether to proceed. “As long as you’re here, Sarah, I wonder if I might ask you something as well.”

“What is it?”

“A kind donor has given us a batch of tickets for the Chicago Colts game next Wednesday. I need help chaperoning a couple dozen children. I would love to have you come with us.”

“To a base ball game?”

“Have you ever been to a base ball game?”

“No, never.”

She was thinking about it, Simon could see. He said, “Here’s your first chance! It will be an adventure.”

“I’ve never been a chaperone before, either,” Sarah pointed out.

“Another first. You just have to keep an eye on them and use your good sense. Please come. You did mention that Wednesday was your day off.”

At last she nodded, and Simon breathed relief.

“Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to chat a bit,” he said. “I would welcome the chance to get to know you better.”

Her face seemed to change color. Simon swallowed hard.

Jane missed the sewing class.

Normally she was one of the most enthusiastic students, so Sarah found it odd that she was not there and none of the other girls seemed to know why. As the girls took turns selecting fabric and finding matching threads in the basket, Sarah’s thoughts were on Jane. Sarah managed to slide the green crepe to the back of the cupboard, knowing that if Jane were there she would select that length of fabric. Sarah had drawn a pattern for a loose-fitting skirt that would suit all the girls. All they had to do was gather the top edge under a waistband cut to their own measurement. The girls chattered while they took turns laying their fabric on the table, smoothing the pattern on top of it, and cutting out the pieces of their skirts. The more Sarah watched them, the more she thought it peculiar that Jane would miss class. Of all the girls, Jane had been the most eager to sew her first garment.

They would begin sewing next week, Sarah assured the girls. When everything was put away securely and the room empty, she pulled the door locked behind her.

Sarah hesitated. She ought to walk out the front door and mind her own business. Jane was old enough to decide if she wanted to come to a sewing class. Why should it matter to Sarah?

Then she remembered. She remembered what it felt like to have two parents one moment and none the next. She remembered the intense little girl Jane had always been.

She walked down the hall, away from the front door, to the foot of the back stairs. From what Jane had described in the last few weeks, Sarah was fairly certain where the girl’s bed was. It was next to impossible to find a private moment at St. Andrew’s. Sarah had not been the only girl to retreat to her bed and pull the covers up over her head in search of solitude.

But would Jane do that now, when she loved the class so much?

Sarah began to climb the stairs and continued to the fourth floor. A smattering of children scampered past her going up or down but seemed not to find her presence of concern. Sarah did not see a single member of the staff as she stepped softly down the hall to the room where the fourteen-year-old girls had always slept.

There she was, on the third bed from the window. Sarah had occupied that spot herself before she captured the coveted corner under the window. Jane did have the covers pulled up over her face, but enough of her hair hung out that Sarah was sure it was Jane. Sarah let her weight sink into the end of the thin mattress and waited for Jane to respond to her presence.

The blanket came down soon and Jane bolted up. “Sarah! What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” Sarah answered. “We cut out our skirts today.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come.” Jane’s voice was barely audible.

She had been crying. That was clear. Sarah did not allow herself tears, and she did not know what to do for Jane’s.

“I saved the green crepe for you.” Sarah said the only thing she thought might make Jane happy.

“Thank you.” Jane wiped one eye with the back of her hand.

“Jane, what’s wrong?” Sarah reached over and put a tentative hand on the knob she supposed was Jane’s knee under the blanket. “You can tell me.”

Jane’s dark eyes met Sarah’s, and the girl seemed to make several attempts to speak. Finally sobbing overwhelmed her.

Sarah scooted up on the bed and put her arms around Jane—hardly believing her own actions. How long had it been since anyone had done that for her? Years.

“I lost it,” Jane finally mumbled.

“Lost what?”

“My . . . book.”

“I’ll help you look,” Sarah offered. “It can’t have gone far. What’s it called?”

“I’ve looked everywhere!” Jane wailed. “It has been gone for more than a week. Someone took it.”

Sarah chewed on a lip. Petty thievery was endemic to orphanage life. As soon as you had a morsel of happiness to call your own, it was gone. Sarah once built up her collection of hair ribbons to five different colors, and one afternoon they disappeared. Her fury had done nothing to turn them up.

“I’m sorry about your book.” Sarah resolved at that moment to have the girls in her class mark the insides of their new waistbands with their names so there could be no question. Sarah smoothed Jane’s dark hair, a nervous pulse she had not expected running through her as she did so.

Jane pulled away. “I just want to sleep now.”

Sarah had left the girl with the blanket over her face once again. Whether she was actually sleeping, Sarah could not say.

She hopped off the streetcar in front of the Lexington, and only then was she able to push Jane out of her mind. A carriage down the block stopped, and the driver lowered himself from his bench to the sidewalk.

That’s Brad’s driver! Sarah stopped her mindless forward progress and tilted her hat down to hide her face. She never wore her maid’s uniform to St. Andrew’s, but she certainly did not put on her finest clothes. Turning her back to the carriage, Sarah reached to lower the brim of her hat even farther. The driver went inside the hotel but returned a moment later, hoisted himself up in the driver’s seat, and nudged the horse away from the curb.

Sarah waited until he was two blocks away before she entered the lobby and went directly to the desk.

“Good morning, Miss Cummings,” Kenny said, “or should I say Miss Cuthbert?”

“Knock it off, Kenny,” Sarah said.

“You’ve been in here every day this week.”

“You must have a note for me.”

He had it in his hand and now waved it in the air. “Haven’t even had a chance to put it away yet. You’re not stalking the driver, are you?”

Sarah snatched the envelope from Kenny and moved to a secluded seat before tearing it open.

My dear Serena,

How rude of me to break our date on Monday and keep you waiting. I’m afraid my business concerns have been particularly demanding this week, and it may be some time before matters are resolved. Can you meet me next Wednesday at six o’clock? I’ll explain in more detail at that time.

Yours,
Bradley Townsend

In a postscript, he named a restaurant. Sarah knew where it was but had never been inside.

She had promised Simon she would go with him to the base ball game that afternoon—primarily because the experience might prove useful in discussing the sport with Brad at a later opportunity. How long did a base ball game last, she wondered. She had to get Karl to sit down and explain this game and make sure it would finish in time to dress for the evening.