Either Miranda had decided to move on and forget about them all . . . or something dire had happened to her.
Sometimes, in the dark of night, Rosalind admitted that she wasn’t sure which scenario would be easier to bear.
CHAPTER 2
“Mrs. Sloane just changed the numbers for dinner. Now we’re going to have twenty people instead of ten,” Cook announced grumpily when Rosalind arrived in the perpetually steamy kitchens for a bite of lunch. “That means not a one of you is going to be taking a break anytime soon. I need you, Rosalind, to run to the market and pick up another batch of squash for the soup.”
Still feeling off-kilter after her run-in with Douglass and Veronica, Rosalind blinked. “Do you mean the farmer’s market?”
Mrs. Martha Russell—“Cook” to everyone in the house—folded her arms over an ample bosom and glared. “None other.”
Rosalind’s heart dipped. She barely knew her way around the two blocks surrounding the mansion. Chicago streets were crowded and winding, difficult to traverse in the best of circumstances.
Now, with the World’s Fair in full swing and thousands of visitors swarming along the sidewalks, it was near impossible to navigate the streets with any expediency. She feared that there was a very good chance she’d become lost and ruin Cook’s schedule.
But that was the least of her worries. Never a moment passed when she wasn’t completely aware of the dangers that lurked in the city and that, somehow, her sister had vanished in them.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. But I’m not sure if I’m the right—”
Cook cut her off with a stern expression brewing in her toffee-colored eyes. “I can’t be sparin’ no one else. I need that squash.” Pulling away the bowl Rosalind had just picked up, she snapped, “You’ve got no time to eat! Go now.”
Only Cook’s reputation of being all bark and no bite prevented Rosalind from shaking in her shoes. “Yes, ma’am. Um, where is the market?”
With exaggerated patience, Cook said, “Take a grip car and be quick about it. When you get there, look for Tom. He’s the head grocer, and Sloane House has an account with him.”
“Tom,” she repeated.
“He’s youngish. Has a red beard, and he knows all about Mrs. Sloane’s wants and particulars. He’ll help you find what you need.”
It sounded as if finding Tom might not be too much of a problem, but she dreaded taking the grip car. The only time she’d been on it alone she’d worried she’d miss her stop, get off too early—or worse, too late—far from the neighborhood she was just starting to become accustomed to.
Traveling in the large city was excruciatingly nerve-racking and scary. Especially after Miranda had mentioned time and time again in her letters how dangerous the streets were. Just the descriptions alone made Rosalind wish for eyes in the back of her head. Yes, there were multiple dangers on the streets of Chicago, and a woman alone was always at risk.
But perhaps there were dangers most anywhere? Once again, she found her mind drifting back to Douglass and his piercing gaze . . .
A pair of saucepans clanged together. “Rosalind, what more do you need for me to say? Go on with ya, now.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, yes, I’m off to the market right now.”
Now that she was getting her way, Cook’s voice gentled. “Take some coins from housekeeping just in case you don’t be seein’ Tom. Go on, now. There’s a good girl.”
Nanci, her one good friend in the house, smiled sweetly at Rosalind as their paths crossed in the doorway. “You can do it. It’ll be just like the time we took the trolley to the park. Just take it again, but head south, toward the market. If you get lost, ask for help. Most people in Chicago are honest folk. Most will help you.”
Most. That one word made all the difference between comfort and wariness. Not everyone was honest. Or helpful. Some, it seemed, were much worse.
Once again, Rosalind recalled Miranda’s letters. She’d written stories of women coming to the fair and getting pulled into brothels, never to be heard from again.
Like a newsboy calling out the day’s headlines, Cook’s voice rang down the hall. “Don’t you be comin’ back without my squash, Rosalind. You do, and I’ll have you be the one to tell the missus herself why her dinner party will be ruined, and you know what will be happenin’ then!”
She’d be let go, that was what would be happening.
Rosalind didn’t doubt Cook’s threat in the slightest. From her first day, she realized the whole staff lived in fear of the mercurial moods of the family. Mrs. Sloane could be at once exceptionally benevolent and malicious. Stories abounded of servants being fired for the slightest offense while others were paid while recuperating from the influenza.