18 

Sarah surveyed the parlor. If she didn’t pay strict attention, she would see only the collection of picture frames, vases, and small statues. None of that really mattered. What was important for the parlor maid to see were the deposits of dust and incipient spider webs. Sarah systematically had pulled her feather duster through the niches and ridges in the room and now hoped she had not missed even one. If she had, Mrs. Banning would be sure to spot it as soon as she entered the room.

“Aren’t you finished in here yet?” Mrs. Fletcher’s voice came from the foyer. “This table needs polishing.”

“I’ll just go get the tin of vegetable soap.” Sarah was too tired to protest the accusing tone the cook’s words carried. She had been up half the night as it was. Between the base ball game with Simon and the restaurant with Brad, Sarah had spent precious little time at home on Wednesday, even though she knew the Bannings were due to arrive on Thursday. She had reasoned Wednesday was her designated day off, so Mrs. Fletcher could not forbid her to go out. But it was true enough that she had left tasks from earlier in the week to the last minute. She had not gotten home from seeing Brad until nearly eleven in the evening, and she had put in several hours of work before finally going to bed well after three in the morning.

Sarah walked through the dining room and the butler’s pantry to the kitchen, where she rummaged around in a cabinet until she came up with the tin of vegetable soap and a clean cotton rag. The rich, round mahogany table in the foyer had to gleam from every angle, or the butler, Mr. Penard, would make her polish it again. Sarah had not missed Penard these last seven weeks. She had grown to tolerate him during the previous three years, because most of the time his threats amounted to little consequence, but the routine was so much easier when he was not there to inspect and criticize at every opportunity.

Life would be more complicated with the family back—that much was certain. Serena Cuthbert would have to make some adjustments.

Rubbing oil into the table in the foyer, Sarah went over the restaurant conversation from the night before. In his note, Brad had promised to explain more, but he hadn’t, not really. He said only that the stock exchange might be closed for some time. The Moore brothers were cooperating with turning over their records for investigation, but the directors of the exchange expected it would take time to sort matters out and they did not intend to be giving public updates. After all, the exchange was a voluntary association of brokers. They did not owe explanations to anyone. Brad had heard some talk of remaining closed until after the presidential election so that the markets would not be subject to the speculation of how either candidate would affect trading.

However, Brad had said all this in a passing manner as if he did not expect Sarah to understand, and he revealed nothing about how the matter affected him personally. She knew he had funds tied up in Diamond Matches stock. How much of his fortune had he risked? Would his holdings be worth anything at all after the election?

The questions that trundled through her mind reminded her of Simon. It was true she did not understand the inner workings of the stock market, or the implications of adopting a silver standard for currency, or why it mattered whom the men of the country elected president. But at least Simon believed her gender was not the reason she did not understand—nor even her status as a domestic.

Sarah scooped out more oil and rubbed harder. The restaurant itself had been exquisite, a setting Sarah could not dream of revisiting except with a man like Bradley Townsend. If she had any hope of bringing an end to her table-polishing days, she had to focus on Brad. Or rather, Serena Cuthbert had to focus on Brad.

Sarah was laying the table for a late lunch—the family was expected home around two—when she heard the commotion in the kitchen.

Penard.

Sarah used a dish towel to rub a smudge off a silver spoon, then slung the towel over her shoulder. As much as she did not want to make one, an appearance in the kitchen was mandatory. She ducked into one corner and stood quietly watching the entourage divest themselves of traveling capes and baskets. Along with Penard, the carriage had carried home Elsie, the ladies’ maid; Mary Catherine, the kitchen maid; and Willard, the footman who also had served as driver for the journey. All of them were in the kitchen now, clamoring for refreshment and competing to tell stories of the weeks at the lake. Karl sauntered in and took up a position beside Sarah, leaning against the wall.

“So much for peace and quiet,” Karl muttered.

“We knew it would happen.” Sarah puffed her cheeks and blew out a breath.

“I suppose this will bring an end to your fancy gallivanting.”

“You’re jealous that I have something to do with my time off.”

Karl shook his head. “You’re going to have a lot less time off now.”

Mr. Penard clapped his hands sharply and the room silenced. “Harry will be only two hours behind us with the family,” he said. “We must be ready. Unload your personal things and put them away promptly. I will inspect the house and be sure everything is in order.”

“We’re ready.” Mrs. Fletcher jabbed a finger at the butler.

“It’s prudent to be sure,” Penard responded. “Mary Catherine, find out what Mrs. Fletcher needs you to do for luncheon. Karl and Willard, make sure the horses are properly cooled. Elsie, lay out a change of clothing for Mrs. Banning. She will want to refresh herself before the meal. Sarah, come with me to be sure everything is as it should be.”

“Why does he think he needs to tell us our jobs?” Karl murmured so that only Sarah could hear.

“Makes him feel important,” she muttered in return.

Mr. Penard clapped his hands again. “The Bannings have a full social calendar beginning immediately, and there is much to do to send off Mr. Richard to Princeton. I expect the household to resume normal disciplines immediately. Is that clear?”

The staff mumbled responses.

“Two hours, people,” Mr. Penard said. “Dismissed!”

Two hours and twelve minutes later, the largest of the Banning carriages clattered to a stop in front of the house on Prairie Avenue. Sarah watched out the dining room window, standing at the edge of the claret velvet curtains under blue swags, as Harry held open the door and offered his hand to Flora Banning. Flora emerged wearing an orange shade from head to toe.

It was a hideous color, Sarah thought. If Flora ever tried to give her that dress, Sarah would burn it.

Behind Flora came Richard Banning. Was it possible he had grown even more in the last seven weeks? At eighteen, Richard threatened to be the tallest of the three Banning brothers, already easily half a head taller than his father. Richard wore a pale blue seersucker suit and a straw boating hat. Politely, he offered his arm to his mother to escort her up the walk to the front door. Samuel Banning trailed a few steps behind them in his chronic black suit, ever the lawyer. As the trio progressed up the walk, Sarah stepped away from the window and took up her position in the foyer, ready for whatever request might arrive with the Bannings. Mr. Penard opened the front door so the family could enter without breaking stride.

“Thank you, Penard,” Flora Banning said. “Hello, Sarah. We’d like some refreshment in the parlor. And make sure Elsie knows I’m home. I shall require her as soon as I’ve had a cold drink.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sarah curtseyed, a gesture that grated every time she supplied it.

“I think I’ll go straight to my room,” Richard said. “You can bring me a tray.”

“Yes, sir,” Sarah answered.

Mr. Penard caught her eye and nodded his head almost imperceptibly, discharging her to fulfill the requests.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Fletcher had a pitcher of lemonade ready and was arranging pastries on a plate. Sarah rolled the tea cart from the corner where it was parked and transferred the refreshments from the counter to the tray atop the cart. On the shelf below, she arranged goblets and small china plates.

“Mr. Richard asked for a tray in his room,” Sarah said.

“I’ll send Mary Catherine up,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “Go on with the cart.”

As Sarah rolled the cart through the dining room and across the foyer, she heard the sounds of another carriage. Penard turned his head toward the sound as well and looked out the narrow window alongside the front door.

“It’s Miss Lucy,” he announced. “You’ll need more dishes.” He pulled the front door open again.

Sarah returned to the kitchen, added a plate and glass for Lucy, and a child’s tin cup for Benny—the same cup they always used when Benny visited the Bannings.

By the time Sarah reached the parlor, Lucy was settled on the settee with Stella on her lap and Ben beside her. Samuel and Flora had taken their favorite side chairs. Sarah rolled the tea cart in and began pouring lemonade.

“Hello, Sarah,” Lucy said. “I hear wonderful things about your class.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Sarah felt Penard’s eyes on her, but as long as a family member had addressed her, she was permitted—even obliged—to respond.

“Class?” Flora queried. Sarah handed her a glass of lemonade and a pastry on a plate.

“While you were gone, Sarah began teaching a sewing class to some of the girls at St. Andrew’s.” Lucy straightened her daughter’s white cotton dress. “She’s doing a wonderful job. I promised Simon I would prevail on you to allow her to continue.”

Flora Banning looked from daughter to maid before setting her refreshments on the side table. “Why do I have the feeling the matter is settled already?”

Lucy laughed.

“May I have some lemonade?” Benny asked.

“Wait your turn, Ben,” Lucy said. “Sarah is pouring as fast as she can.”

Sarah handed a glass to Samuel Banning.

“Seriously, Mother,” Lucy said, removing the baby’s bonnet, “I hope you’ll let Sarah keep up with the class. It meets on Friday afternoons.”

Flora pressed her lips together with an inconsequential huff, then said, “I suppose we can see that it does not interfere with the household routine.”

Sarah served Lucy and made sure Benny had a good grip on his cup before she released hers. Did she not get a vote in this decision, either? No one seemed to consider that she might not wish to keep up with the class.

After offering everyone refreshment, Sarah left the cart in the parlor. Penard was there to pour if anyone wanted another glass. When she pushed through the door to the kitchen, she was surprised to see Charlotte Shepard sitting at the kitchen table with Mrs. Fletcher. Henry looked small in the chair next to her. Clearly bored, he rested his chin in his arms on the table.

“Hello, Sarah,” Charlotte said. “We dropped in with Miss Lucy and I thought I’d chat with Mrs. Fletcher while I waited.”

Sarah only nodded, refusing to say something welcoming when she did not mean it.

“Charlotte just told me something interesting,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “She mentioned a new Prairie Avenue neighbor came by the orphanage yesterday.”

Sarah perked up. “Oh?”

“A Miss Lillie Wagner,” Charlotte said.

“I’ve heard mention of them around the neighborhood,” Sarah said cautiously. “I believe they are down on lower Prairie Avenue.”

“Miss Wagner wants to help at the orphanage,” Charlotte said.

Sarah’s heart nearly stopped, but her conversation did not miss a beat. “I suppose Mrs. Edwards will find something for her to do, then.”

“She’s interested in sewing,” Charlotte said. “Lucy told her about your class. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to help you?”

“That is not necessary.” Sarah picked up a dish towel and flipped it over one shoulder.

“They haven’t made any final arrangements yet,” Charlotte said. “It was just something Lucy mentioned to Miss Wagner.”

“I have the class well in hand.” Sarah absently opened the icebox and peered in. “Is everything ready for lunch?”

“Lunch is something I have well in hand.” Mrs. Fletcher scraped her chair back and rose. “Is the table laid?”

“I was not sure which napkins Mr. Penard would want.”

“I’m sure white linen will be fine. Finish the table, Sarah.”

“There’s time,” Sarah answered. “Mrs. Banning will want to change before she comes to the table.”

“I’m thirsty.” Henry lifted his head off the table.

“There’s more lemonade in the icebox.” Mrs. Fletcher gestured with her head as she picked up a bread knife and began slicing a loaf baked that morning.

Charlotte stood up and moved to a cupboard.

“I just gave Ben the only tin cup,” Sarah said.

Charlotte extracted a squat blue glass. “Henry will have to be careful, then.”

“Perhaps you’d better see if they’re ready for you to clear the parlor,” Mrs. Fletcher suggested.

“Yes, that’s a good idea.” Sarah was glad for the excuse to push out of the kitchen and pause in the solitude of the butler’s pantry.

Lillie at St. Andrew’s. Sarah had to make sure that did not happen again. Ever.