The Pursuit of Lucy Banning,A Novel (Avenue of Dreams) Read online

  Mrs. Fletcher’s eyes widened, and in one swift motion she pushed open the door to the butler’s pantry. “You’ll want to see this, Mr. Penard.”

  When he saw the collection on the table, he looked sternly from Bessie to Charlotte. “I presume one of you has an explanation.”

  Charlotte’s head pounded as she listened to Bessie’s explanation. Bessie had been in the Banning household far longer than she had. If there were a question of trust, Charlotte had little to stand on.

  “Bessie, are you certain this is the first time you’ve seen these items?”

  “Yes, sir. I know how unhappy Mr. Banning has been. I never would have kept this to myself if I had any idea.”

  “And Charlotte, you deny knowledge as well?”

  “Yes, sir. I am in Miss Lucy’s room regularly and I never found anything in that drawer that didn’t belong there—until I saw Bessie today.”

  “I am not a thief!” Bessie’s voice rose.

  “Neither am I!” Charlotte matched Bessie pitch for pitch.

  Penard exhaled. “If I am to believe both of you, then you would have me suspect Miss Lucy.”

  “Perhaps she was hiding the things somewhere else,” Bessie suggested. “Perhaps she just moved them this afternoon while she was alone.”

  “Miss Lucy is innocent!” Charlotte protested. “I am sure of it.”

  “And what is your explanation?” Penard asked.

  Charlotte had no response.

  “I will return these items to Mr. Banning immediately,” Penard said, arranging the items on a tray lined with a linen napkin. “I can make no guarantee as to his reaction, but it would be unconscionable to withhold information for a moment longer.”

  Charlotte put her face in her hands as he left the room.

  “There’s still dinner to serve,” Mrs. Fletcher reminded her. “You both know what you should be doing.”

  Charlotte scrubbed pots and sliced vegetables and laid the table, listening with every motion for the sound of a carriage and the opening of the front door. When the door finally opened, Lucy glanced into the dining room without focusing on anything and said loudly, “Charlotte, please come and help me change for dinner.” Charlotte quickly folded the last of the napkins, then ran up the back stairs.

  Lucy sank onto the bed. “Will is in serious trouble, Charlotte, and I can’t think of anything I can do to help.”

  “I’m sure he’s comforted just knowing how concerned you are,” Charlotte responded.

  “The owner of the property where the office building is to be constructed is furious. The plans are nearly a week late, and he didn’t believe Will when he said he sent them by special messenger days ago. Will handed them to a boy on a bicycle, the same boy who always comes to his firm, but the message company has no record of it, and the plans have completely disappeared. Will’s employer is livid! Will doesn’t know if he even has a position to go back to on Monday. I have to find out if Daniel had something to do with this.”

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Lucy.”

  Lucy sat up straight. “Archie won’t tell anyone, will he? I went to Will’s rooms looking for him. If my parents find out—”

  “I’ll speak to Archie,” Charlotte said. “I’m so sorry about Mr. Will, and I’m sorry to add to your burden.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s your father’s things.” Charlotte quickly recounted Bessie’s claim to have found the items in the drawer.

  Lucy’s face reddened. “Penard can’t seriously be accusing you.”

  “Not directly, miss.”

  Realization crossed Lucy’s face. “Not me! He doesn’t think I took my own father’s things!”

  “I don’t know, miss.”

  “Bessie has been here almost two years and has never given him cause to raise his voice,” Lucy said. “What does he think is the explanation?”

  “He spoke to your father, miss. I don’t know what he said. Your father hasn’t come out of his study this whole time.”

  Lucy pushed out her breath and put a hand over her eyes. “Dinner is sure to be eventful tonight.”

  24

  I’m not much in the mood for a dinner party,” Lucy said as Charlotte fastened pearls around her neck a week later. “I don’t know why I ever agreed to this.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “I don’t recall that Mrs. Banning gave you much choice.”

  “I don’t want to meet men!” Lucy dropped a fist on her vanity table. “She still thinks I might change my mind about Daniel, but if she opened her eyes at how odd he has become, she would give up. Or perhaps she has, and that’s why she insists on giving dinner parties for my benefit.” The shoulder seams in her gown made Lucy itch, and she could tell already that she would be stepping on the hem all night. In Lucy’s mood, the pearls felt like rough street stones against her skin.

  Charlotte began to pin up Lucy’s hair. “Mrs. Banning doesn’t understand about Mr. Edwards.”

  “And she never will. I don’t understand why she thinks a banker is a fine catch, but an architect—a talented one—is humdrum. After all, she hired an architect to design this house and paid him well. But when I suggested inviting Will tonight, I thought she would pass out from the shock.”

  “Sometimes a person just gets something in her head.”

  “I wish she’d get it out! I’m worried sick about Will, and I have to go downstairs and bat my eyes at men I’ve never met and have no interest in.”

  “Has Will heard anything new?” Charlotte gave Lucy’s hair a firm tug and twist.

  “The firm’s owner said they are going to be watching him closely. He’s been working around the clock to replace the plans, but the client may not accept them.”

  “Maybe he’ll hear good news on Monday.”

  Lucy sighed. “And then there’s my father. He’s hardly spoken to me all week after Penard went to him with the missing things.”

  “Do you think he believes Bessie—that she found those things in your drawer?”

  “He doesn’t know what to make of the way they turned up, but he’s not letting any of us off the hook yet. He doesn’t dare publicly say he believes Bessie over me, but she insists everything happened just the way she told it.”

  “And that leaves me.”

  Lucy shook her head vigorously. “I refuse to let him think that. If he tries to have you dismissed, I will insist that I want you for my ladies’ maid.”

  “I did not take your father’s things.”

  Charlotte’s deliberate cadence was not lost on Lucy.

  “I know that,” Lucy said, “and his lawyer’s mind knows that some of those things were missing before you got here. Perhaps it will be enough that he has everything back as long as nothing else disappears.” Lucy pinched her cheeks pink. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s Henry?”

  Charlotte smiled. “He can almost sit up by himself. Mrs. Given says he’s the sweetest baby she’s ever taken in. Tomorrow’s my half Sunday off. I’ll see him again.”

  “He must be so big,” Lucy said. “I’m glad to hear he seems happy and well.” She paused to examine her reflection. “I suppose I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. It’s time to turn on the finishing school charm!”

  “And Mrs. Fletcher will be wondering what became of me. She’s expecting me to help serve.”

  Lucy descended the marble stairs with shoulders back and chin up, gracefully, at a restrained pace. As she heard voices wafting from the parlor, she mentally reviewed the names of the dinner guests. Leo had invited a woman named Tamara Davies. Old friends of her parents, Patricia and Thomas Truman. Louis Stewart, the son of her father’s law partner. Louis’s friend Graham something or other. And Aunt Violet. Her aunt would be the saving grace of the evening. Lucy hadn’t seen Louis Stewart in seven or eight years. Their fathers’ partnership had brought them together occasionally during childhood, but he was older than she was—closer to Oliver’s age—and she never paid too much attention to him, beca
use of course she was going to marry Daniel Jules. However, she remembered Louis as companionable with a good sense of humor. As she hit the last step, she convinced herself it would be possible to pass a pleasant evening.

  “Here she is now,” Flora said as Lucy entered the parlor, “my daughter, Lucy. Come and greet our guests, dear. You remember Louis, I’m sure, and this is his friend Graham Pryor. Mr. Pryor’s family is heavily invested in railroads.”

  Why do I need to know that? Lucy thought.

  She offered her hand and said aloud, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pryor.”

  “The pleasure is mine.”

  Lucy turned to Louis and smiled broadly. “How lovely to see you, Louis.” She offered a cheek, which he kissed. He did cut an attractive figure. Louis had grown into his adolescent gangly limbs after all—quite tall, but considerably more filled out than the last time she’d seen him and sporting a handsome dark beard.

  “Louis is getting ready to join our firm,” Samuel explained. “He has prepared himself well, and we’re delighted to take him in.”

  “How wonderful for you, Louis.”

  Flora steered Lucy to the Trumans and Tamara Davies. Lucy exchanged pleasantries, waiting for the opportunity to enthusiastically greet Aunt Violet.

  “Do you think we have the makings of a party here?” Violet asked.

  Lucy laughed. “As I recall, Louis has a story for every occasion.”

  Penard appeared then and announced dinner was served.

  Will walked up Prairie Avenue toward the Banning house. Leo had mentioned he was having dinner at home, which was peculiar for Leo on a Saturday night. An impulse had moved Will’s feet toward the streetcar that would take him up Michigan Avenue and into the Bannings’ neighborhood. He was wrung out from a week of trying to prove himself to the firm’s president and sleeping three hours a night while he re-created the valuable plans that had gone missing.

  Bile rose through his chest as he thought of the moment a week ago when he realized the plans had disappeared. He held them to the last minute on Tuesday to make sure they were perfect, checking and rechecking every line and letter. Then he rolled them up and gave the tube to the messenger boy, Jacob, making sure Jacob knew the address where they were to be delivered. He saw the boy hang the bag around his neck and get on his bicycle headed in the right direction. Will shouted the name of the building after him for good measure. For the next three days he busied himself with other projects, trying not to become anxious about how the client felt about the drawings. They were to meet on Saturday morning to review them together, and Will would answer any questions.

  On Friday afternoon the letter came. The irate client no longer wished to do business with Will’s firm because the plans had not been delivered in the manner and at the time of their agreement.

  From the office, Will telephoned the messenger company and inquired about the delivery. The clerk reported no entry in their log for that delivery, no record that it had been picked up, much less delivered. When Will asked about Jacob, the boy who had been serving them well for months, he learned only that Jacob had decided to take a position in a factory. No, they did not know which of the many Chicago factories it was. No, they could not give Will a home address for the boy. He had not even come around to collect his final pay packet.

  Although he could not account for what happened to the first set of drawings, Will pleaded with the clients for the opportunity to redraw them, hoping that when the businessmen saw the fastidious attention to detail and everything they wished for in their new building, what they considered to be a breach of contract would become inconsequential. If he did not successfully redeem the situation, his future with his own firm was bleak. He had personally delivered the new plans to the client four hours ago and would no doubt be restless and in need of distraction while waiting for a response to come on Monday.

  In the meantime, Will intuitively went to the Bannings’, a house where he was not particularly welcomed by Flora and Samuel, but a home that sheltered the two people who mattered most to him, Lucy and Leo. If he could just have a few minutes with either of them, he was sure he’d feel more settled.

  He walked past a line of carriages, vaguely thinking that someone on the block must be entertaining, and ascended the steps to the Banning front door. When the footman opened the door, surprised to see him, Will realized what he had done.

  Leo was having dinner at home—that much was true—but he hadn’t mentioned it was a formal dinner party with a guest list. Looking through the foyer to the dining room, Will saw the way Leo looked at the young woman seated at his side and smiled slightly. He’d have to rib Leo about that later. Then his gaze went to Lucy.

  Smiling—laughing, in fact. Touching the arm of a man Will did not recognize seated next to her. Nodding at Charlotte as the maid removed a soup bowl. Turning to speak to another man on the other side of her. Gracefully lifting her face to speak to someone across the table. At ease.

  And the table—laid densely with every china dish, sterling cutlery, and crystal vessel the mind could imagine in the course of a meal. As Charlotte removed bowls, Penard followed her around the table to serve heaping portions of meat. Will could only imagine what was to follow—potatoes, three kinds of vegetables, salads, desserts. He could eat for a month on what would be placed on that table for one meal.

  Lucy looked happy. She looked as if she fit. This was how she and Leo had grown up. She didn’t have to think twice about how to behave at such a sumptuous feast. When Will was with Lucy, she seemed restless, unsettled, as if she didn’t want to fit in an extravagant dining room, as if she would rather move into a room at St. Andrew’s. She had broken an engagement that would have assured her of a life of ease. When she came running to him a week ago as soon as she heard about the vanishing plans, he had taken her into his arms and received her comfort.

  Could this be the same woman who appeared so well matched to her surroundings in the dining room?

  Perhaps she did belong there. Most certainly he did not. Lucy deserved a carriage. He could barely offer a streetcar.

  “Did you wish to speak to Mr. Banning?” the footman asked.

  “I can see I’ve come at an inconvenient time,” Will muttered. “No message.”

  Will turned and trod slowly back toward Michigan Avenue.

  Charlotte unfastened the fifteen pearl buttons down the back of Lucy’s silver gown and helped her step out of its billowing mounds of silk. She handed Lucy a robe and carried the gown to the closet to put it on its hook.

  “I’m exhausted,” Lucy said. “I think I’m too tired to wash my face.”

  “I’ll help you,” Charlotte offered, moving toward the small bathroom off the anteroom.

  “No, please, Charlotte, you’ve done enough. Just sit and talk to me.”

  “Yes, miss.” Charlotte sat erect on the edge of the chaise lounge and Lucy relaxed in an armchair.

  “How did I do tonight?” Lucy asked. “You were there most of the time.”

  “Anyone looking in would think you were happy.”

  “Then my mother should be pleased,” Lucy said, “and perhaps I’ll have some peace tomorrow.”

  “Won’t she want to know what you thought of the gentlemen?”

  “Oh, probably.” Lucy waved a hand. “I’ll think of something to say without committing myself. The truth is, the only thing I could think about all evening was Will. I wish he had a telephone. I want to know if he got the plans finished. I want to know if he’s going to be able to sleep properly tonight. I want to know if he’s hopeful. I want to know everything he’s thinking.”

  “And I’m sure he wants to tell you.”

  Lucy smiled. “That was the perfect thing to say, Charlotte. Have you ever felt that way about a man?”

  “No, miss, I haven’t.” Charlotte’s answer was barely audible.

  Lucy held her breath for a beat then asked, “Not even Henry’s father?” In all these months of what Lucy hoped was a
growing friendship, Charlotte never once mentioned Henry’s father.

  Charlotte stood up. “I’m weary myself. If you don’t need anything else tonight, I think I’d like to turn in.”

  She was gone before Lucy could apologize. Now you’ve gone and done it. She’ll never trust you again. Lucy turned off the lamp on the table next to her chair and sat in the darkness.

  25

  Lucy stood outside the gallery, dreaming of spring. The winter had been bitter harsh—even for Chicago—but at last the first week in March arrived, the time of year when whimsical memories of spring emerged from shadow and feet began to believe warmth still existed.

  Free of her engagement to Daniel, Lucy had eagerly agreed to visit a new art gallery with Will on this Tuesday afternoon. They made the decision to celebrate sending off the drawings of Will’s first commission before everything had gone so wrong. Standing outside the gallery, braced against the wind, Lucy wasn’t sure Will was even coming—but she wanted to be there if he did. She had not heard from him all weekend, despite her anxiety on his behalf on Saturday night and all day Sunday.

  Monday was consumed with meetings and work related to the women’s exhibit for the fair. It hardly seemed possible that the World’s Columbian Exposition would open to the public in less than two months. The women’s building was finished, while many others were not, and the committee was busy arranging exhibit items Lucy had carefully catalogued. Every week closer to opening day seemed more demanding than the last, but Lucy was confident the exhibit would be ready.

  The weekend was agonizing and Monday exhausting, but now it was Tuesday and she hoped to see Will.

  Lucy nodded politely at people who passed her on the sidewalk. She tried strolling nonchalantly up and down the block, always careful to keep the gallery within a glance. She loitered on a corner and monitored the direction from which she thought Will might come—if he were coming from his office, if he were still employed. Nearly an hour passed, and Lucy reluctantly surrendered to the reality that Will was not coming.