“Miss Helen,” said Mr. Danforth, “I must confess, I’m afraid I didn’t make it through the entire scavenger hunt.”
“I should be quite cross with you, but you’ve caught me on a good day. Maybe once you’re living here I’ll force you to finish it. In the meantime, we must get this boy settled.”
After all of their hard work following clue after clue, Miss Helen had already moved on to the next thing.
Lillian hadn’t realized until then just how wrapped up in the hunt she’d become, partly because of Mr. Danforth’s company, and partly because it had brought the house alive for her. She had enjoyed conquering each new riddle, no matter how badly composed. The clues remained where Mr. Danforth had left them, balanced on a wooden bracket between the organ pipes. She should go back and retrieve them, but before she could do so, Miss Helen dumped the dog in her arms. “Take him to my sitting room and call down for some water. Then oversee Bertha as she unpacks my trunk, make sure everything is put away properly. She has an annoying tendency to arrange my shoes backwards, with the left one on the right side and vice versa.” She threw Mr. Danforth a coquettish smile. “I swear she does so on purpose, just to goad me.” Her smile vanished as she turned back to Lillian. “Once that’s settled, I’d like to go over the week’s correspondence with you. I hope you managed to categorize things correctly in my absence.”
Lillian stood there dumbly for a moment. Mr. Danforth avoided her gaze. “Of course, Miss Helen.”
Upstairs, Lillian’s thoughts swirled as Bertha absentmindedly unpacked Miss Helen’s trunk and chattered on about the fun she’d had gallivanting about town with a Park Avenue chauffeur during her afternoons off. “I think I’ve met my man,” she said, wrenching a lid off a hatbox as Lillian lifted out art books from a trunk and placed them in a corner, to be brought back down later to the bowling alley. “Roddy’s smart as a whip, and he can dance like no one’s business. Perfect, right?”
“Right.” Lillian was still recovering from Miss Helen’s interruption of her first kiss and couldn’t quite follow the thread of Bertha’s story.
“What’s the matter with you, Lilly?”
“Sorry, nothing. I’m happy to hear it.” And she was. Bertha worked so hard for the Frick family, she deserved some fun in her life. A chance to have a family.
“How about you? I’ve noticed our dashing organist giving you longing looks whenever you pass by. Might be fun to be with someone with some musical chops.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Mr. Graham. Boy, that hair. I’d love to run my fingers through his mane.”
In spite of herself, Lillian laughed. “You are utterly ridiculous. You know that, don’t you?”
“Go on, tell me you don’t think he’s a looker.”
He was certainly the most dashing man she’d ever seen, but she’d never admit that to anyone, even Bertha. Her mother’s advice rang in Lillian’s ears as if Kitty were hovering over her even now: Steer clear of sentimental crushes; do not rely on a man.
But Mr. Danforth, if he went to medical school and became a doctor, might offer her a different kind of life. She shook off the thought. Lillian was not “Miss Lilly,” not really. She was Angelica, and she would always drag the weight of that legacy behind her. For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to be a normal girl like Bertha and find a nice boy, settle down. But that wasn’t in the cards. Even before the scandal with her landlord, Lillian’s unorthodox past gave her two choices: she could make the move from muse to film actress, be in charge of her own life, or become mistress to a wealthy man who wanted to possess Angelica as a plaything until he tired of her. Even if she’d been interested in family life, no upstanding suitor would tolerate her past. Not even the kindhearted Mr. Danforth.
Three days later, Mr. Frick summoned Lillian to the library, where the family was gathered in front of a roaring fire. He sat in a wingback chair, his stout belly protruding between widely spread legs, while Mrs. Frick perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, her corset preventing any sort of similar relaxation. Helen took up the other armchair.
“Miss Lilly, my daughter says that she has not received a note or telephone call from Mr. Danforth since we returned from Eagle Rock,” said Mr. Frick. “Is that correct?”
He looked over at Miss Helen, who shrank miserably into the velvet upholstery. Miss Helen hadn’t had any correspondence; that was true.
But Lillian had. Three letters a day, all delivered to the servants’ entrance, each one more passionate than the next, the romantic words like dynamite. He’d written that the moment together among the organ pipes had been an unexpected, utter delight, and that their ease of conversation was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Miss Winnie had caught the footman handing one to Lillian that very morning, and when asked about it, Lillian had quickly explained that she was advising Mr. Danforth on the setting for the engagement ring. Miss Winnie had nodded and gone about her business.
Lillian hadn’t responded to his entreaties. He thought she was a proper young lady, and he wouldn’t understand her past. He probably thought that her wish to become a movie starlet was a silly girl’s dream, not a true goal close to being realized. They couldn’t be more different. Not to mention that if Mr. Frick found out she’d diverted Mr. Danforth’s attention from Miss Helen, she’d be subject to his wrath and retribution. No one crossed Mr. Frick. No one.
She fully intended to burn the letters—it was stupid to leave them lying about—but each night before bed, the very sight of them set the blood rushing in her veins, as she relived the kiss and the way Mr. Danforth had looked at her, like she meant everything in the world to him. So far she hadn’t gotten up the courage to light the match.
Mr. Frick was staring at her, waiting for an answer.
“That is true, yes. Mr. Danforth has not reached out to Miss Helen, as far as I know.”
“We had planned for the engagement to be announced over Thanksgiving. I worry that my daughter has said or done something foolish to dash our hopes. Can you enlighten us?”
How could he talk like that in front of his own daughter? An unexpected surge of pity took Lillian by surprise. She wanted to kneel down before her and explain that she didn’t deserve her father’s harsh words. That she was deserving of love, and Mr. Danforth’s retreat wasn’t her fault. “Miss Helen, I am sure, has done nothing untoward.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
The stupidity of Lillian’s actions during the scavenger hunt hit her full force. She’d gotten caught up in the moment, in the lush surroundings, in the grand isolation of the week, acting as if the mansion and its artifacts were hers, acting as if Miss Helen’s beau was hers as well. She must make this right.
“I’ve been privy to some questions from Mr. Danforth, regarding the ring setting, the proposal, and so forth.” She looked over at Miss Helen, who had brightened considerably. “I’m sorry to have kept this from you, but he wants it to be a surprise. I assure you, all is well.”
Mrs. Frick clapped her tiny hands together, and relief flooded Miss Helen’s features. Mr. Frick, however, didn’t change his visage at all, his blue eyes never leaving Lillian’s. “Well then, I suppose that’s good news.”
“Father, why don’t we send Miss Lilly to him tomorrow? That way she can answer his questions and report back. But, Miss Lilly, you won’t tell him we’re in on the secret, will you?”
Even if it would be painful for Lillian, it was the best course of action. “I won’t let him know that you know. Don’t worry.”
The next day, she found herself standing again in front of Mr. Danforth’s townhouse, holding a note from Miss Helen in her hand—one that Miss Helen had insisted Lillian write, of course. It was time for Lillian to put a stop to Mr. Danforth’s wrongheaded idea that they were a match. It simply couldn’t happen. She’d placed all of her hard work from the last two months at great risk.