The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (12 page)

 13 

C
harlotte carried the baby through the dining room and across the foyer, pausing under the arched parlor doors to curtsy with him in her arms.

“Oh, Charlotte, you've brought him!” Miss Brewster settled onto the settee and opened her arms to receive the boy.

Charlotte put him in the eager arms, then stepped back an appropriate distance. She would not leave the room—at any moment Miss Brewster might require assistance—but she withdrew to stand against the wall next to the door, allowing the guest to interact freely with the boy.

It did not take long for Henry to wriggle off Miss Brewster's lap and stand independently next to the settee. With one little fist he gathered a handful of blue silk skirt. Charlotte stoically stifled the grimace that came with the vision of the damage he might do to the fabric, but Miss Brewster seemed amused. When he tried to step away from the settee and pointed at a porcelain statue on a table, though, Miss Brewster restrained him.

“Oh no, we mustn't touch Flora's things!” Miss Brewster laughed lightly. She looked up at Charlotte. “I was expecting Sarah would bring him down.”

“She was not available,” Charlotte responded quietly.

“I hope she'll be ready when it's time to air the baby this afternoon. Of course, I still want to take him out. It's just that I couldn't wait another minute to see him.”

“Yes, miss.”

“I do believe he's become quite comfortable with me.” Miss Brewster laid a hand on the baby's cheek and smiled broadly. “He seems as happy to see me as I am to see him.”

Charlotte could not argue. The little boy did seem to accept Miss Brewster's attentions amiably. The words Charlotte had overheard rang in her ears.
Someone with an attachment to the child has come forward.

Sarah stopped in her tracks. The baby was not there.

She spun around, the air sucked out of her chest, and scanned the day nursery. He could not have climbed out of the crib, she was sure of that. Running over to the hat shop on Michigan Avenue had taken longer than she anticipated. She would not always wear the cap of a nanny. The day would come when she would need a silk hat suitable for the symphony. Why should she not become familiar with the latest fashions during the baby's nap? It had seemed harmless enough, and it was not the first trip she had made to Michigan Avenue.

But now the brat was not in the nursery.

The call button jangled, and she scrambled to answer it. “Yes?”

“Ah, the wandering Miss Cummings has come home.” Mr. Penard's voice was steel. “Perhaps you would deign to grace me with your presence in the kitchen.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

Sarah blew out her breath and rolled her eyes, but she had no choice but to present herself to the butler in the kitchen as quickly as she could.

Mrs. Fletcher stood at the butcher block, breading pork chops, but Sarah ignored her and stood beside the table where Mr. Penard sat.

“To be fair, I will give you the opportunity to explain yourself,” Mr. Penard said simply, “although I doubt that even you can construe a reasonable justification for this behavior.”

“He sleeps soundly,” Sarah said bluntly. “I didn't see the harm in taking a bit of air on my own.”

“You are young and inexperienced, but I would have thought you understood the parameters of your responsibilities sufficiently to exercise better judgment than this.”

Sarah held her silence, refusing to let the butler humiliate her.

“However the child came to this household, he has become important to Mrs. Banning because of her Greenville cousin.” Mr. Penard stood and put his face so close to Sarah's that she wanted to back up. “I will not tolerate further neglect. I'm sure other arrangements could be made for the child.”

“That won't be necessary, sir,” Sarah said through her teeth. His dark eyes were wild this close up, but her feet held firm.

“If Mrs. Edwards did not expect you to be here upon her return, I would send you back to St. Andrew's immediately,” Penard said. “At the very least, I propose to assign responsibility for the child to Charlotte, while you return to the kitchen until your judgment has matured.”

Mrs. Fletcher let a meat cleaver drop so hard it nearly made Sarah laugh.

Penard turned toward the cook and cleared his throat. “Do you wish to say something, Mrs. Fletcher?”

“Charlotte has become quite capable in the kitchen. I cannot spare her.”

The butler's eyes moved from cook to maid. “You have one more chance, Sarah. If I discover that you have infringed in such a manner again, you will find yourself in the scullery without discussion. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Sarah seethed. “Where is the child now?”

“Miss Brewster asked for him. Charlotte has taken him to the parlor.”

“Then I'll go and relieve her.”

“That would be appropriate.”

Sarah stepped sharply across the kitchen, her shoulders back and her hands held proudly in front of her. The kitchen maid was in the parlor with her charge. That must never happen again.

Dinner was a smaller group that evening. Oliver was out with Pamela Troutman, and Emmaline Brewster was dining at Violet's, so it was just Flora, Samuel, Leo, and Richard. The menu was as rich as ever: curry soup and rolls, breaded pork chops, noodles, parsnip fritters, tomato pie, stuffed cucumbers, and German chocolate cake. Because of the relative simplicity of serving a meal for only four, Mr. Penard had taken a rare evening off, leaving Archie and Charlotte to attend the family with quiet efficiency.

Archie ladled the curry soup from the porcelain tureen with a hand-painted floral pattern into the four gold-rimmed china bowls. Its yellow cream swirled into placidity in each
basin. When everyone had been served, Flora picked up her spoon, and the others followed her cue.

“I can't understand why I haven't heard from Cousin Louisa,” Flora said. “I sent her our telephone number in my last note and encouraged her to call as soon as she had word when they could come. I welcomed them to stay with us while they visit Chicago.”

“Perhaps they just haven't made any arrangements yet.” Samuel spread butter on his roll. “The fair continues for another six weeks.”

“But in her note she sounded most eager to meet the child as soon as possible. She's even excited that he's not a newborn and thinks it will be amusing to have a toddler around the house.”

“I'm sure she'll contact you soon enough.”

Charlotte stood at the sideboard against the wall, watching for the first possible signal that the diners were finished with their soup.

Someone with an attachment to the child has come forward.

If Charlotte was right about what she suspected, the family entertained no conjecture about Emmaline Brewster. Although the family was not always around when Emmaline took the baby outside, she made no secret of her growing affection for him. Considering the way Emmaline felt about the baby, Charlotte found it implausible that she had meant anyone but herself when she said someone with an attachment had come forward. But how could she justify her attachment? It was not as if she had a real claim any more than Louisa did.

Archie gently nudged her. “The soup bowls,” he whispered.

Charlotte moved into action, quickly stacking the four
bowls and making room for Archie to come around with the meat platter.

“If we can believe the girl's reports, the boy has made a comfortable adjustment here,” Flora observed. “That makes me hopeful he will make a smooth adjustment to Louisa's home as well.”

“I still wish we could find his mother,” Leo mused. “I hate the thought that she may be experiencing regret over having abandoned him and be unable to claim him.”

A shiver shot up Charlotte's spine, and she reached a hand out to the sideboard for balance.

“Perhaps we could help her,” Leo continued, “if only we could find her. Lucy might want that.”

“Lucy is on her honeymoon.” Flora left no room for argument. “I have not yet forgiven you for sending her a telegram that may cause her distress.”

“She doesn't seem to have received it, so no harm done.” Leo picked up a knife and cut a bite of pork. “Maybe she didn't mean to give him away. Maybe she was asking for something else when she left him here.”

“I'm not a mystery detective,” Samuel said. “I'm a lawyer, and you're a mechanical engineer. We do what makes sense for the most advantage.”

“The only mystery here is why Louisa has not telephoned or written.” Flora tore a roll in half with particular vigor. “I'll give her one more week. Then I'm going to write to her again.”

Charlotte dared to put her feet up on a small padded stool as she sat in a chair under the kitchen window.

“You look bone tired.” Archie pulled another chair from the table and positioned it next to her. “How many hours have you been up today?”

She yawned. “If I tell you, you won't like it.”

“Yet you refuse to see that you deserve better.”

“I suppose you have more propaganda.”