10 

The parlor was pleasant enough, in Emmaline Brewster’s opinion. Charming small art pieces and illustrated books created interest around the room, and a perfectly pitched grand piano beckoned anyone who would like to play. However, Emmaline thought Flora might think about adding more tolerable wing chairs. She was getting a little weary of always sitting on the slightly overstuffed settee because the other chairs looked less appealing.

After more than a week under the Banning roof, Emmaline was settling in well. Lucy’s suite had every amenity she could imagine needing for the next few weeks, and the ladies’ maid seemed to be competent and efficient with laying out gowns and suggesting accessories. Emmaline had first arrived in Chicago just days before Lucy’s wedding in mid-June, and at the time she had stayed with Violet. The Banning house had seemed in uproar with the hastily planned wedding. After a scant two months of engagement, Lucy had married Will Edwards on a Friday morning in the presence of barely fifty witnesses at Second Presbyterian Church. The affair was hardly the society wedding her parents must have envisaged for their only daughter.

Still, Lucy had a wedding and she was only twenty-two. Emmaline was thirty-three years old—actually closer to thirty-four—and well aware that her prospects for marriage had diminished rapidly long ago. The truth was, she hardly thought of a husband anymore, but every glimpse of a friend’s child opened up the gaping hole in her own life. She had never expected true love, but she had hoped that a dutiful marriage would lead to motherhood.

Emmaline looked up as Flora Banning glided through the arched doorway of the parlor.

“Emmie, dear, what are you doing in here?” Flora asked. “Hasn’t Violet arranged something for you today? Shouldn’t you be changing your gown for tea?”

“We’ve only just finished luncheon,” Emmaline answered. “I can’t think about tea.”

Emmaline felt her hostess’s stare as Flora lowered herself into a favorite side chair. Flora rummaged through a basket of needlework and selected a pillowcase she was embroidering for Lucy.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were reluctant to go out this afternoon,” Flora said.

“Violet has some mesmerizing acquaintances,” Emmaline conceded, “but I am getting a bit weary. Every day is a party, it seems.”

Flora scoffed. “I’m not sure you can call that affair at the Kimballs’ a party. Mr. Henderson seemed quite deranged, if you ask me, and Mr. Pullman shook my hand as if it were a dead fish. I don’t know when I’ve been so insulted.”

“At least you were not seated with a man who is vulgar on one side and one who dreams too much on the other.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Flora said. “I never should have accepted the invitation on your behalf. But your tea this afternoon is with Violet. Surely it will not be so distressing.”

“Perhaps not, but I rather think I will stay home and do something else today.” Emmaline lifted a slender volume of poetry from the end table and ran a finger down its spine.

Flora’s eyes flashed with curiosity. “I’m afraid there’s not much to interest you around here.”

“I plan to take some air,” Emmaline said. “I thought I would ask for the baby to be brought down and take him for a stroll.”

Flora dropped both pillowcase and needle. “The baby? My goodness, Emmie, what has gotten into you?”

“It’s a fine day, and you feed me rather more richly than I am accustomed to on my own. A bit of a constitutional would do me good.”

“Of course, dear, but I don’t understand what part the baby has in your plan.”

“Your butler reports that the girl takes him out every afternoon for an airing. I simply thought I would take him today.” Emmaline flipped several pages in the book.

“By yourself?”

“The girl may come, of course, or I’ll take Charlotte.”

“I hardly think you need to trouble yourself with the child, Emmie, dear.” Flora’s wide eyes clouded with disbelief. “Penard has ably arranged for the child’s care while he’s here, and I’ve written to Cousin Louisa to inquire of her interest. I’m sure your time in Chicago could be put to much better use.”

Emmaline sighed. If only Flora had not written to Louisa. If Louisa responded with interest—well, Emmaline was not going to think about that.

“Flora,” Emmaline said, “you and Violet must face facts. If you invited me for an extended visit in hopes of finding me a husband in Chicago because I have exhausted the possibilities of New England, I think perhaps it is your time that could be put to better use.”

Flora pushed aside the entire needlework basket and stood up. “We only want you to enjoy your time here. You haven’t been to Chicago in over ten years. The city has so much more to offer now.”

“Yes, such as a population of over one million people. Only a small percentage are eligible bachelors who might be suitable matches, but somehow Violet seems to march more than her share of them into my view.”

“Emmaline, you speak harshly of our intent.”

“I’m sorry, Flora. I realize you mean well.” Emmaline returned the poetry book to the table. “Violet never married, and she seems quite happy with her life. Why should I not have the same hope? The two of you have conspired to have me socially engaged every night for a week. Perhaps I’d simply like a quiet afternoon.”

“Of course, dear, but the child!”

“Humor me, Flora.” Emmaline met Flora’s green eyes and held them. “Call for the child and let me take him for a stroll. Then we’ll see about tea at Violet’s.”

Flora sighed, but she reached for the annuciator button.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” Archie sank into a kitchen chair when the flurry of getting the baby ready for his daily airing had cleared. Archie had pushed the buggy around to the front of the house, while Penard sternly admonished Sarah about her comportment while accompanying Miss Brewster for the outing.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” Charlotte answered. “Miss Brewster seems pleasant enough, and she could be far more demanding than she has been. But why is she interested in the baby?”

Archie watched the wave of anxiety splash across Charlotte’s face even as she tried to turn from his view. Neither did the catch in her voice escape him.

Mr. Penard pushed open the door from the butler’s pantry and strode across the black and white tiles of the kitchen. “They’re off. That girl had better behave herself.”

Archie said nothing. Sarah Cummings had not mastered her tongue around the kitchen in her few weeks in the Banning house. It might be only a matter of time before she stepped out of place in front of a family member—or visiting relative.

“Archie, Mr. Leo has asked for you,” Penard said. “Bring the open wicker carriage around immediately. He has decided not to return to his office this afternoon but to look after some personal business. You are to be at his disposal until dinner if necessary.”

“Yes, sir.” Archie stood up, straightened his jacket, and paced across the kitchen to the servants’ hall.

A few minutes later, Archie stood beside the wicker carriage in front of the Banning house, watching Leo Banning step up and settle on the seat.

“St. Andrew’s, please,” Leo said. “I have some questions for Mr. Emmett.”

“Yes, sir.”

Archie knew the route well. Leo’s sister, now honeymooning, had used it often. Deftly he swung himself up onto his seat, picked up the reins, and clicked his tongue. At the corner of Eighteenth Street, Archie steered the horse to the west, allowing it to trot to Michigan Avenue before turning south. Archie had a rough idea of how Lucy Banning Edwards spent her time at the orphanage, but he was uncertain what Leo’s business was there.

Outside the orphanage a few minutes later, Archie once again stood at attention beside the carriage.

“Find a place to tie up the horse,” Leo instructed as he exited the wicker transport. “No sense leaving you standing here in the sun. You might be of some assistance.”

“Yes, sir.”

Though he could not imagine what good he would be inside the orphanage office, Archie led the horse to a post. He knotted the reins around it, then hurried his steps to reach St. Andrew’s red front door a short distance behind Leo.

Inside the hall, Leo explained his request to a young girl, who struck Archie as being only a year or two younger than Sarah. Most likely the girls would know each other, he speculated. Perhaps it was just a matter of time before this girl went into service. He scanned the wide hallway and the doors that opened off of it, imagining Sarah moving among them and wondering if she’d always had the cocky attitude she paraded around the Bannings.

“Please wait here, sir,” the girl said meekly, and left them.

Quite quickly a youngish man stepped out of the offices at the back of the building and advanced toward them, straightening his jacket as he moved.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Banning,” he said. “I am Simon Tewell, the assistant director of St. Andrew’s. It’s a privilege to have you here.”

“I had hoped I might speak with Mr. Emmett,” Leo said. “Perhaps the girl misunderstood.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Simon said. “Our director is away on leave. I will do my best to be of assistance to you in any way possible. Perhaps you would like to come to my office to help me understand what brings you here today.”

“Of course.” Leo nodded. “It’s good of you to see me.”

“I understand Miss Sarah Cummings is in the service of your family. I hope she is proving satisfactory.”

“As far as I know, yes.”

Archie looked away. Leo did not see Sarah Cummings often enough to know whether she was satisfactory or not, but Archie could not hold that against him.

Leo followed Simon Tewell, and at Leo’s gesture, Archie followed Leo. In the simple office, Leo sat across the pine desk from the young assistant director, and Archie stood rigidly against the wall.

“My question is theoretical at this point.” Leo put his hands on his knees and leaned forward slightly. “If a small child were to be abandoned or surrendered, what kind of placement options might you arrange?”

“We would offer immediate shelter, of course.” Simon Tewell’s chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “Depending on the age of the child, he might be placed in the nursery or perhaps one of the dormitories. Most children seem to adjust quickly to the daily structure we provide, and we operate a first-rate school.”

“I’m sure you do,” Leo said. “What about a very young child, less than two years of age?”

“Occasionally Mr. Emmett has placed very young children in private settings.” Simon pressed the pads of his fingers together. “But those opportunities are limited. As you can imagine, private care is more costly than caring for a group of children together.”

Archie saw Leo’s posture straighten. “Do you keep records of such children, Mr. Tewell?”

Tewell smiled absently and gestured. “We have a room full of records. No doubt you are aware that your sister oversees them. It’s perhaps the most valuable work she does for us—other than the fact that the children adore both her and Mr. Edwards.”

Leo leaned back in his chair. “So if you had a child in a private care setting, you would in fact have records. Might I ask you to show me records you have for these children? Perhaps boys around one year of age?”

Tewell’s smile faded slightly. “I’m afraid we leave the records in the capable hands of Mrs. Edwards and her army of volunteers. At the moment I don’t believe any of them are here. Mrs. Jamison left only a few minutes ago. I’m not at all sure I could be of any practical assistance locating a specific case. Perhaps when your sister returns—”

“Mrs. Edwards will be away for several months. The issue is more urgent than that. Would you mind if I had a look for myself?”

Archie’s eyebrows raised involuntarily. It seemed Mr. Leo had brought him inside St. Andrew’s to look at files about infant boys. Perhaps they would stumble on one infant boy in particular.

Sarah did not like the blush of pleasure on Emmaline Brewster’s face as she carried the child up the front steps and back into the house. She wanted to snatch him away. This stranger was going to ruin everything.

She threw her shoulders back, held up her head, and lifted her skirts as she followed Miss Brewster through the front door. As long as she was tending to the child with Miss Brewster, there seemed to be no objection to Sarah’s using the front door. They had been outdoors for an hour and a half. Miss Brewster had insisted on finding a bench in a grassy park with some shade. She actually lifted the brat out of the buggy and held him on her lap and played with him. Sitting on a bench several yards off, Sarah had been helpless to interfere with the indulgence. They had stayed out twice as long as usual. Now she was the one who would be left to manage a fussy coddled baby who only needed fresh air, not smiles and embraces.

“I think we’ve quite worn him out,” Miss Brewster said once they were in the foyer. “I imagine he will nap soundly now.”

“Yes, miss. Shall I take him now?”

“He might need something to eat first.” Emmaline showed no sign of releasing the child. “You did say he eats at four in the afternoon, didn’t you?”

“He sometimes likes a bottle.” Sarah had been looking forward to putting the child directly to bed and having an undisturbed cup of tea.

“You’ve been very helpful, Sarah.” Miss Brewster smiled in a way that unnerved Sarah. “I’ll speak to Penard and make sure you are available to help with an outing every afternoon—though of course I could ask Charlotte if you are not available.”

“Yes, miss.” Sarah barely moved her lips. She did not need supervision in airing the child.

Finally Miss Brewster kissed the baby’s head and handed him back to Sarah. “Perhaps when I have an opportunity, I’ll see if he needs anything in the nursery. I would enjoy seeing him in the setting he’s most familiar with.”

“Yes, miss.” Would she really come to the nursery? Surely old Penard would not approve.

Sarah adjusted the child in her arms as she watched Emmaline, smiling with pleasure, gracefully raise the hem of her dress just enough to glide up the marble staircase.

“Sarah, please come with me,” a man’s voice said behind her.

She turned to see Penard at the dining room door. Sarah exhaled and followed the butler to the kitchen.

“There’s nothing here.” Leo slapped a stack of papers back into the drawer they had come from. “Thank you for helping me look, Archie, but it seems like we’ve come to a dead end.”

“Yes, sir, it would seem so.”

They had looked through four filing cabinets before encountering any papers that related to infants placed in private settings. Archie was not sure exactly what they were looking for, but after nearly an hour, they had stumbled upon a drawer full of files on “placements.”

“Everything we found has been resolved.” Leo flipped through some loose pages. “A few babies are with wet nurses in the country, and a handful here in the city with women who have sheltered several children over the years. A woman named Mary Given looked after twins until recently, but they were graduated to the toddler dormitory here at St. Andrew’s three months ago. She doesn’t seem to have any others.”

“No, sir,” Archie said.

Leo tossed the papers on a desk. “I don’t see anything that matches the boy who showed up at our house. If he were somehow connected to St. Andrew’s, there would be a file on him. A caretaker should have been in touch with the orphanage to report him missing by now.”

“Yes, sir,”

“So we have to conclude that a poor, desperate mother was at the end of her rope and thought my sister could help.”

“I’m sure she would want to, sir.”

“You’re absolutely right, Archie.” A fresh gleam lit in Leo’s eyes. “I don’t see what harm it can do to send her a telegram at the hotel in Paris. Our family always stays at the same place. If she’s not there, she will have left a forwarding address at the front desk.”