She stared at him, almost woodenly. What had happened to Miranda? What did people know that they weren’t saying? Her mind awhirl, she barely heard Stanley approach. “If I were you, I’d forget this whole conversation, Rosalind,” he murmured. “We get paid to mind our own business, not to speculate on others’ affairs. It’s best for us all if you remember that.”
“Yes, of course.”
Rosalind tried to concentrate on her stew again, but her mind was churning. Could that be what had happened? Her sister had gone walking in the streets one day and simply never returned? Had disappeared against her will?
Or was it intentional? But if that had been the case, where had she taken off to? Why had she never written home?
Her plan to get hired on at Sloane House and discover what had really happened during Miranda’s stay had seemed so logical back on the farm. She’d assumed a new name, made up a story about always wanting to work for a prestigious family like the Sloanes, and somehow convinced the clerk at the employment agency to send her for an interview. When she’d gotten the job after a brief meeting with Mrs. Abrams, Rosalind had been sure that the Lord had wanted her to find out what, exactly, had happened to her sister.
Now she realized that wasn’t the case. She’d been woefully ignorant of the things she was expected to do. Of the hard, hidden life of a servant in a big, prominent house. Of the gap that divided the Sloane family and the people who served them.
Most of all, she realized that she’d never imagined that so many people could live together and still keep so many secrets. Furthermore, it was becoming obvious that there were things no one in the house wanted to talk about. The more Rosalind learned about the people who lived inside Sloane House, the more she was sure Miranda’s fear had been real. If only she could determine what, exactly, her sister had been so afraid of.
After finishing her meal, Rosalind walked quietly out of the kitchen. Never had she felt so alone.
CHAPTER 3
“I do love it when you make time to talk with me when you’re home,” his mother announced when Reid entered the drawing room shortly after six. “It’s a bit lonely with your sister away. But the opportunity to travel in Europe with her schoolmate’s family was too special to keep her here, even with your father being ill.”
After lunching with the Sloane siblings, Reid had taken his leave and gone to his father’s offices, where he continued work on the incoming reports and updates from the family’s silver mining holdings in Colorado.
After that, he completed correspondence for his own company, the fledgling Armstrong Construction. Since he’d always had an interest in building things, he’d begun a small company with a band of twenty workers. Each of his men had worked on the construction of the Exposition buildings. Now he was actively bidding on work in other parts of the city.
No, they weren’t making much money as of yet, but he had dreams. One day, he wanted the Armstrong name to mean something. He hoped his children and grandchildren would be able to take pride in the Armstrong name the way Douglass and Veronica did being Sloanes.
Currently, the Armstrong name meant very little to most of Chicago’s upper crust. If it was noticed at all, it was probably only coupled with luck, which meant little to the pillars of their society.
Many of Chicago’s great men, such as Field and Pullman, cemented their reputations through ingenuity, hard work, and esteemed bloodlines. A fortune gained from a windfall at the silver mine was not impressive.
But Reid knew the truth. His father was a great man too. He was burly and strong and full of good humor. However, math and education had never been his strong points, which was why he’d sent Reid to fancy boarding schools and to Harvard for his education.
Now that his father’s health was failing, it was Reid’s responsibility to make sure the fortune his father had uncovered stayed solvent and to do everything he possibly could to make the Armstrong name one to respect.
However, at the moment it was his mother whose interests he focused on. “I miss Beth too, but I’m very glad she is having such a good time in London and Paris. Did you have many callers today, Mama?”
Her slim shoulders slumped. “Only a few, and those were my lady friends from church.” Gesturing to her most recent acquisition, the black walnut Louis XV desk, she added, “No matter how hard I try, I’m afraid our neighbors will never see me as someone with whom they should associate. Only the Sloanes have welcomed me among the best circles, and that is, I think, merely because of your association with Douglass and Veronica.”
In many ways, Reid deemed it no great loss. So far, the society ladies his mother had tried to impress seemed a particularly rigid and unforgiving lot. They spoke of their temperance and high moral standards with pride, yet preferred to ignore the mass of citizens who toiled at the slaughterhouses and other factories for barely enough to feed their families.