“I suppose you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “We should probably start walking back now. Take my arm.”
Noticing the ladies’ continued interest, she whispered, “Mr. Armstrong, for our affiliation to continue, you mustn’t be so familiar with me.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You need to treat me like a servant, Mr. Armstrong,” she murmured. “People must suspect nothing about our conversations.” She tilted her head toward the ladies in a meaningful way.
He glanced behind him, sent the ladies a decidedly cool appraisal, then turned back to her with yet another glacial stare. She would have giggled if their cover wasn’t so important.
When they walked out into the sun again, Reid smiled at her. “Never has two hours gone by so quickly.”
“I feel the same way.”
“I will be attending a meeting in a home just down the street from Sloane House. Douglass won’t be there. I thought I would bring up your sister’s name to see if it raises any suspicions.”
“Do you really think someone will remember a maid?”
“It’s worth a try. I feel certain that someone knows something about what happened to Miranda. Sooner or later, we’ll discover who that person is.”
She liked that he used the word we. “I hope so.”
As they meandered back toward Wooded Island, they passed a street seller selling glasses of lemonade. Reid purchased two of them. She sipped gratefully, then smiled. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
He smiled softly. “Your enthusiasm is a delight to behold.”
She met his gaze, feeling something special and meaningful between them again. She hated to imagine it was anything other than a mutual need to help another person. But she felt so alone in the world that she was willing to grasp at most anything to keep her spirits alive.
She felt her neck and cheeks heat. Embarrassed about her feelings, she looked toward a trio of benches just on the edge of Wooded Island. “Oh, thank goodness. There’s Nanci,” she said, waving a hand in her direction.
Nanci, however, merely gazed at her with an empty, glassy stare. Mr. Sloane was nowhere near.
“I wonder what happened to Mr. Sloane,” she mused. But as they got closer to Nanci, Rosalind had a dark suspicion that something terrible had transpired with her friend.
Reid followed her gaze, then stiffened and muttered something under his breath.
When they reached Nanci’s side, Rosalind saw that her eyes were tear-filled, her hair was slightly mussed, and her lips were swollen. After catching Reid’s gaze, Nanci tucked her chin in obvious embarrassment.
Reid cleared his throat. “May I escort you ladies back to Sloane house?”
Abruptly, Nanci got to her feet. “Thank you, but I believe we will be more than fine on our own.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Reid flashed a concerned look at Rosalind. “Is that what you want?”
She didn’t know what she wanted, but she felt she needed to follow Nanci’s lead. Nanci needed her—and her trust. “Yes, Mr. Armstrong. Thank you for your company and for the offer, but we will be fine.”
He hesitated, then tipped his hat and walked away.
Standing next to Nanci, Rosalind reached for her hand. “Tell me what you would like to do.”
“Leave here. Leave Chicago.” She raised a brow. “Leave my life?”
“Nanci, what in the world happened? Why are you crying? What happened to Mr. Sloane?”
She swiped at her eyes. “Not here.” She circled her arm through Rosalind’s and tugged. “Let’s go to the Women’s Building.”
“All right,” Rosalind said, though she privately thought that sounded like a terrible idea. “If you are sure that is what you wish to do. Do . . . do you know where Mr. Sloane went?” she asked again.
“Douglass? Oh yes. He went away.” She leveled her gaze on Rosalind. “You see, he only came to explore the island. Now that he has? He couldn’t get away fast enough.”
“Nanci, if he acted inappropriately—”
Nanci turned to her, disdain heavy in her eyes. “What don’t you understand? We are not part of the Michigan Avenue crowd. We will never be part of society. No matter how much we might smile or how attractive the gentlemen might think us, we’re nothing.”
Rosalind flinched. “We are more than that.”
“Not where it counts.” Glancing around them, Nanci’s voice filled with enmity. “At the end of the day, Rosalind, we are merely two girls who bow and scrape to their betters because we are very lucky to have jobs.”
“Yes, of course, but—”