The countryside sped by as Elijah Boyer pushed the Duryea Motor Wagon to twenty-five miles an hour. Beside him, Frederick Alexander held his hat with one hand and a stopwatch with the other.
“Will you try for a personal record?” Mr. Alexander called over the rumble of the gasoline engine.
Trees, bushes, and fence posts passed at a dizzying pace as the automobile vibrated under the bench seat. Eli grinned and shifted the tiller stick up to move it into third gear. “If Camille Jenatzy can break the speed record at almost sixty-six miles an hour, surely I can go faster than twenty-eight miles an hour.”
Mr. Alexander looked at Eli with the mischievous grin he was famous for. “Will the Duryea ever reach sixty-six miles an hour?”
“It isn’t capable of such speed.” Eli rotated the tiller handle to go faster. “But with the modifications I’ve made, one day we might get it to forty or fifty.”
The red fence post Eli had painted a year ago when he’d first come to work for Mr. Alexander stood just ahead. From that point, until the second post five miles down the dusty country road, they would calculate his speed.
Mr. Alexander watched the post as it drew near, his stopwatch ready, while Eli gripped the tiller. The automobile became harder to keep steady on the bumpy road, but Eli had hours of experience controlling the buggy-like vehicle.
“Now.” Mr. Alexander started the stopwatch.
The sun beat down and the cloudless blue sky arched overhead, though Eli concentrated on nothing but the road in front of him. He rotated the wooden tiller until it was at full speed and braced himself to stay seated as the vehicle bumped and swayed over the old wagon road.
Neither man said a word as the engine whirled, propelling the automobile forward.
The wind tugged at Eli’s hair and clothes, and his feet felt numb from the constant vibration underfoot. The power beneath his hands gave him incredible energy. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to go even faster. To think Camille Jenatzy had gone almost sixty-six miles an hour in Paris just a few weeks ago seemed unfathomable. Even with all the adjustment in the world, Mr. Alexander’s Duryea would never reach such speed, but maybe Eli’s customized vehicle might.
More than anything, Eli wanted to race his own automobile. He’d been working on the design for over a year, building it in his spare time. He had saved up his earnings for half the year and bought a used carriage for seventy dollars. From there, he had purchased others parts as he found them. He still needed an engine and a few other necessary components, but once he had his automobile ready, he could enter races across the country and earn thousands of dollars. Then he’d start manufacturing automobiles of his own.
The second red post was now in Eli’s line of sight, with the gate to Basswood Hill, Mr. Alexander’s estate, just beyond.
Mr. Alexander hollered in excitement as he shook the stopwatch. “This will be your best time yet!”
Eli bent forward and lowered his head so the wind would slide over him, still thinking of his dream to start an automobile manufacturing company. He was thankful for the job Mr. Alexander had given him, but every time he worked on Mr. Alexander’s 1897 Duryea, he longed for more.
The second post was only a few yards away. They buzzed by the marker and Mr. Alexander clicked the stopwatch.
“Eight and a half minutes, on the nose!” He reached out and slapped Eli’s arm in excitement. “Eight and a half minutes!”
Eli rotated the tiller to the left and the vehicle began to slow. “Thirty-five miles an hour?”
Mr. Alexander clapped Eli on the back and laughed. “Thirty-five miles an hour! Can you believe it?”
Eli’s personal best. He grinned as he drove the Duryea through the gate and into Basswood Hill. But his victory was soon doused with the reality that thirty-five miles an hour still wasn’t good enough to compete in some of the races he’d been eyeing this past year. One of the reasons Mr. Alexander had hired Eli—who had absolutely no training in domestic service—as his footman was that he knew Eli could modify the Duryea for racing. Which meant that, instead of racing for himself, Eli would be racing another man’s automobile.
Eli turned the tiller so they would head down the hill and to the barn where he’d park the Duryea.
“You’re making fine progress, Eli.” Mr. Alexander put the stopwatch in his pocket. “I think you’ll be pleased with some of the races I plan for you to run.”
“I don’t know when the Duryea will be ready.”
“I have every confidence that you’ll have her ready when I need her.”
Eli applied the brake and the vehicle came to a stop outside the barn, though it continued to bounce and rumble.
“I’ll leave you to your work.” Mr. Alexander stepped out of the Duryea and looked at his watch. “Mr. Walker and I have called a meeting of both our house staff in an hour.”
Eli sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to dress in my footman’s garb.”
“It won’t be so bad.” Mr. Alexander laughed. “We’re meeting in the Walker parlor. Don’t be late.”
“I’ll be there,” Eli said begrudgingly.
Mr. Alexander walked away with his hands in his pockets and a whistle on his lips. Until recently he had been known as one of the two White Pine bachelors, heirs to the largest lumber empire in the world and managers of the White Pine Lumber Mill in Little Falls. Now, after Mr. Walker’s marriage a month ago, Mr. Alexander was the lone White Pine bachelor.
The lumber barons had built mansions side by side at Basswood Hill just a year ago. It was rumored that they had built their mansions in a sort of contest to see who could impress Miss Julia Morgan. Their friendly competition was notorious in the state, and though Mr. Walker eventually won the hand of Miss Morgan, their competitions continued in other ways.
Eli drove the Duryea into the barn next to his own automobile—which stood motionless and unfinished—yet it held a wealth of promise to Eli. Mr. Alexander had been kind enough to allow Eli to store it there, and although his employer was eager to see Eli complete it, Eli’s first responsibility was to the Duryea.
Eli tinkered with the Duryea and then closed up the barn to get ready for the meeting. It was a rare occurrence to have the staff from both mansions in the same room. Usually they worked independently of one another, though Eli suspected much gossip and a couple of misguided romances had passed between the houses over the past year. One such couple had married and been forced to leave employment. It was well known that domestic servants must be unmarried to stay employed. Eli didn’t know a woman who would be worth giving up the best job in town for—nay, the best job in the state.
There was little time in Eli’s life for anything other than automobiles.
Lucy Taylor eyed the long mahogany banister, admiring the polished gleam—and had to fight the urge to slide down to the second floor. Instead, like the proper young lady she was raised to be, she straightened her spine, lifted her chin just a notch, and placed her hand on the railing to descend.
“What are you doing?” hissed the housemaid, Pricilla Addams.
Lucy jerked her foot back and almost tumbled down the carpeted stairs. She took a step away from the stairs and put her hand over her racing heart. “I’m going down to the parlor for the meeting. What did you think I was going to do?” Surely she didn’t suspect Lucy’s desire to slide down the banister.
Pricilla stood with a bucket in one hand and a mop in the other. Her scowl revealed crooked teeth. “Not that way, you’re not.”
“Which way should I go?”
“Down the back stairs, same as the rest of us.” Pricilla nodded toward the grand stairway and turned her nose in the air. “Them stairs are reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Walker and their guests—not the likes of you.”
The housemaid ambled past Lucy and made her way to an inconspicuous door tucked among a dozen others in the upper hall. With an emphatic tug, she opened the door to reveal the servants’ stairs. “From now on, you’ll be required to skulk around like the rest o’ the staff. Out o’ sight, out o’ mind.” She paused, a self-satisfied smile on her disagreeable face. “Or had you forgotten you’re a servant now?”
Lucy had only just arrived to begin her work that afternoon. Her black gown itched, her white apron reeked of starch, and the pins holding her maid’s cap in place stuck into her scalp. How could she possibly forget she was now in domestic service? “Of course I haven’t forgotten.”
“Maybe you could use the grand stairs once upon a time,” the other woman sneered, clearly aware of Lucy’s sudden fall from society. “But Mrs. Walker better not catch you on them unless you’re polishing that banister.” She looked Lucy up and down. “Though I doubt you’d know how to use a rag if—”
“Lucy?” Mrs. Walker opened her bedroom door, a smile on her pretty face.
Pricilla clapped her mouth shut and disappeared down the servants’ stairs before Lucy could draw a breath.
“Would you mind terribly?” Mrs. Walker turned her back and pointed at the top button of her gown. “My hair has caught.”
“Of course not.” Lucy crossed the upper hall and entered the impressive sitting room of the master suite. A door to the right led to an indoor bathroom—complete with a marble shower, the door straight ahead went into the bedchamber, and the one on the left revealed a massive dressing room.
“As soon as the meeting is over”—Mrs. Walker said while Lucy unhooked the strand of hair around the button—“would you mind organizing my things?”
“I’d be happy to.” From where Lucy stood she could see the dressing room was strewn with several trunks, hat boxes, and handbags.
“It’s so nice to have a competent lady’s maid.” Mrs. Walker regarded Lucy with a warm smile. “I’ve been home from my honeymoon for a week and I’ve been so busy with household affairs, my dressing room has gone to shambles.”
One of those affairs was hiring a lady’s maid. Dozens of women had applied, but for reasons unknown to Lucy, she had been hired. Her. With no experience to speak of. Applying for the job had seemed almost ridiculous at the time, yet here she stood. She suspected Mrs. Walker had hired her to save Lucy’s family from complete ruin. “I’ll see that you’re properly taken care of from now on.”
“You’re a dear.” Mrs. Walker looked toward the dressing room. “Noah insisted I purchase whatever caught my fancy in Europe, but now I’m afraid all your time will be devoted to caring for my wardrobe.”
Lucy tried to smile at Mrs. Walker’s joke, but inside she wanted to weep. She longed to see Europe, and the wardrobe Mama had commissioned for Lucy’s debut season had been sold after Papa became ill and passed away. He had been one of the lawyers employed by the White Pine Mill, and had been wealthy and respectable, but during his illness their debt had mounted, and they were now destitute. On the one hand, Lucy was thankful for a job that provided a steady income to help her mother and younger sisters—and she assumed it had been given to her as a way for her father’s employers to help—but on the other hand, it was a constant reminder that she no longer belonged in Julia Walker’s world.
“Come.” Mrs. Walker linked her arm through Lucy’s. “Let us go to Noah and Freddie’s meeting, and then we’ll return and tackle this mess.”
Lucy walked stiffly beside Mrs. Walker as they left the master suite. A month ago, she would have felt completely natural linking arms with Julia Walker—after all, they had attended many of the same social engagements before Papa died. Now, however, it didn’t seem right to be so informal with her employer.
When they came to the grand stairs and Mrs. Walker began to descend, Lucy paused.
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Walker asked.
Lucy pulled her arm away and glanced at the closed door to the servants’ stairs. “I will be down in a moment.”
Her employer looked at the servants’ stairs as well. She was a bright woman—she had been raised in the upper echelons of society in New York City before meeting Mr. Walker. Surely she knew the boundaries between them.
“Do what you think best, Lucy.”
Being accepted by her employer was important—but being accepted by the staff was vital. “Thank you.” Lucy dipped a slight curtsy and walked to the servants’ stairway.
The stairwell was narrow and winding, with one small window to light the steps. When Lucy opened the door on the main floor, Pricilla and Mrs. Cash, the cook, were just leaving the kitchen to join the others for the meeting.
Lucy met their haughty looks with a deferential nod, then she closed the door and walked behind them.
Mrs. Walker arrived at the base of the grand stairway as they approached, and she greeted the other two ladies with a polite smile.
“Aw, there’s my beautiful wife.” Mr. Walker’s face lit up when the women entered the parlor, and he held out his hand for his wife to join him.
Mr. Alexander stood on the other side of the impressive fireplace, now cold for the remainder of the summer, and waited until the newlyweds greeted one another before he approached. “Julia.” He bent over her hand in a slight bow. “Marriage becomes you.”
“It’s so nice to see you again, Freddie.” Julia smiled at her neighbor and then moved to her husband’s side.
Mr. Alexander’s staff stood at attention on one side of the parlor, while Mr. Walker’s staff stood on the other side. Lucy had briefly met her coworkers, but had not met the others from the mansion next door.
She took her place beside Pricilla and clasped her hands behind her back, waiting for the meeting to begin. Before her arrival, there had been four staff members in each household, a cook, a butler, a housemaid, and a footman who also served as a driver and man-of-all-work. As the fifth member in the Walker home, she felt that she had somehow made everything unbalanced.
Mr. Alexander’s staff kept their gazes low, yet she noticed a few covert glances in her direction from all but the footman. He seemed preoccupied as he stared at the floor. He was a handsome young man, with golden hair and a stubborn chin. He fidgeted and tugged at the sleeves of his black coat and ran his gloved hand around his collar.
Watching him made her wiggle in her itchy new dress—yet a smile tilted her lips as she observed his continued discomfort. It was obvious he wasn’t used to his uniform and didn’t care who noticed.
“Thank you all for gathering,” Mr. Walker said as he stood between his wife and his business partner. “Mr. Alexander and I have an announcement that may benefit some of you. It concerns the annual community appreciation picnic in four weeks.”
Lucy was familiar with the picnic, having attended it with her family every year for the past eight years, since she was a girl of ten. Most of the town was employed by the White Pine Lumber Company, which held an annual picnic in the middle of June as a way to say thank you. Food, contests, and entertainment were provided. It was a highlight for everyone who attended.
“This year we’re going to do something a little different,” Mr. Alexander said with a roguish smile. “Most of you know I had the distinct pleasure of witnessing the first modern Olympic Games in Athens a few years ago. I plan to attend the games in Paris next year as well. With that in mind, Mr. Walker and I have decided to hold our own version of the Olympics.”
Several staff members glanced at one another, yet the footman across the way only looked at Mr. Alexander. From her vantage point, Lucy could now see the sky-blue color of his eyes. His skin was bronzed, and blond highlights streaked through his hair. He looked as if he spent a great deal of time outdoors.
“Mr. Alexander and I will compile two teams,” Mr. Walker said. “Our teams will compete against each other in running, archery, wrestling, shooting, cycling, horse races, tennis and—”
“An automobile race,” Mr. Alexander interrupted.
The footman looked up sharply, and for the first time since the meeting started, he looked interested in the conversation.
Until he glanced in her direction and noticed her watching him. His brow furrowed and a scowl replaced the look of interest.
What had she done now?