After Myrtle left, Mrs. Wilson’s polite mask was firmly in place as she turned her attention to the gowns. But her wariness and the sideways glances she sent Vivian’s way made it clear that, for some reason, Hattie didn’t like that the delivery girl had been talking to her sister. One hand rose to rub her temples, the other rested for a moment on her belly.
“Must be a relief to have family around during such a difficult time, ma’am,” Vivian said, polite and efficient as she presented the sketches for Mrs. Wilson to examine. “These are the new designs Miss Ethel sent for your approval.”
Hattie gave them a cursory glance, flipping through the pages with her lips pursed. They had just finished discussing a few changes to the designs, and how soon the new clothes would be needed, when a brisk knock heralded the return of the housekeeper.
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Wilson, but there’s a man just arrived to see you. He says it’s about Mr. Wilson’s business concerns?”
Hattie Wilson sighed, then nodded, her expression resigned. “No escaping that. Is he in the study?” As the housekeeper nodded, Hattieglanced at the dresses that were still waiting. “Leave these, please. I’ll try them on and have my girl take care of any final adjustments. Tell Miss Ethel to send me the bill anytime.”
Once she was gone, Vivian gathered up the loose drawings and the remaining boxes she had to deliver, leaving her small handbag on the sofa but out of sight. The housekeeper led the way briskly out of the room. Vivian could hear the sound of Mrs. Wilson’s voice and a man answering from down the hall, but the housekeeper was already heading downstairs. Vivian craned her neck, but though the study door was open, she couldn’t see inside.
She waited until they were nearly at the side entrance before exclaiming over her forgotten bag. The housekeeper sighed with impatience. But instead of allowing Vivian to go back, she stopped a maid who was passing with a mournful array of lilies. “Fetch this girl’s handbag from the ladies’ parlor, and be quick about it.”
Vivian hid a disappointed scowl as she waited, while the foot-tapping housekeeper sent dark glances at her bobbed hair. The maid was quick, as instructed. Within a few minutes Vivian was hustled out the tradesmen’s entrance, the door shut firmly behind her.
Her first plan thwarted, she paused for a moment, pretending to shuffle her boxes into a more comfortable position as she thought rapidly. There was a chestnut seller on the edge of the park, just across the street. That would do.
Vivian purchased a bag of nuts and, deflecting the flirtation of the vendor, settled on a nearby bench.
She ate as slowly as possible while she pretended to watch the passersby, all the while keeping an eye on the front door of the Wilsons’ house. At one point two maids left through the lower door, and she worried that she would be recognized. But they went in the other direction without looking around.
Vivian had to wait nearly half an hour before the front door finally opened and a man came down the steps, tucking a handful of papers inside his coat. Vivian frowned as she watched him. His hat was tilteddown, and he turned up the collar of his coat as he set off, blocking her view of his face even further. She didn’t think it was Roy. But there was still something familiar about the way he moved.
She crumpled the paper chestnut bag, tossing it in a nearby bin and gathering her things while the man headed toward Madison Avenue. She waited until he was halfway down the block before following, sticking to her side of the street. He didn’t look around as he walked, and Vivian trailed him to a crowded streetcar stop before she could get close without catching his attention.
The streetcar rumbled to a halt, and passengers swarmed on and off, the man among them. Vivian hung back, letting the crowd hide her. When he turned just enough for her to see his face as he stepped up, Vivian spun away quickly before he had a chance to notice her.
Her mind raced as she allowed herself to be swept along by the departing crowd.
What business could Leo have to discuss with Wilson’s widow?
TWENTY-TWO
Vivian made her way back to Fifth Avenue, where her last delivery address was located, in a daze.
Leo had been insistent that he didn’t know Wilson, that he had nothing to do with the dead man. So there had to be a good reason for him to be visiting the man’s house.
Maybe he had been sent on an errand related to whatever business his uncle did. Maybe he was still trying to help her out—to find out something that she could take to Honor to finally wrap up the whole shady business. Maybe…
Maybe maybe maybe. Vivian shivered as she walked. Maybe Leo Green was just a damn good liar. Maybe she shouldn’t have anything to do with him again.I wouldn’t say I’m a nice fella.He had admitted as much.
But she had learned to rely on her instincts in the world of the Nightingale, and her instincts had said she could trust him. Didn’t that count for something?
Her thoughts were still crawling in circles when she finally foundthe right address and gave her name absently at the servants’ door. “I’ve got a dress delivery for Mrs. Crawford?”
The maid who had answered the door frowned. “I don’t think she’s expecting any—”
“They’re probably for Miss Crawford,” someone called from inside, and a flustered-looking housekeeper bustled up. “She’s in the gold sitting room right now, run up and tell her the delivery’s here.”
As the maid hurried off, the housekeeper smiled, and the genuine kindness of her expression was so surprising after the coldness of the Wilsons’ staff that it shook Vivian out of her distraction. “Sorry, lovey, we’re all a mess today. The mister and missus have a party tonight, which is probably why Miss Margaret ordered a new frock. You can leave your coat and bag down here, and I’ll show you up.”
Vivian followed the housekeeper upstairs, gaping at the beauty and wealth on display all around her once they left the servants’ domain. Paintings covered the walls, every frame gilded, while old books and older china crowded every shelf. Vases made of actual crystal overflowed with flowers and ferns at regular intervals along the halls. Vivian, after a quick glance to make sure the housekeeper wasn’t looking, couldn’t help burying her nose in a tumble of roses and breathing deeply. It was the most extravagant and beautiful place any of her deliveries had yet taken her.
“Miss Margaret?” The housekeeper stuck her head around an open door; from the glimpse of gleaming upholstery and knickknacks that Vivian caught, the gold sitting room was well named. “The dressmaker is here with your new gown for tonight.”
A perky voice answered from out of sight, the words muffled, and the housekeeper gestured Vivian inside. “Be sure to return to the servants’ entrance when you leave, young lady, rather than using the front door.” She smiled again to take the sting out of her words. Catching sight of something over Vivian’s shoulder, she called out, “Sarah, the Wedgewood vases need to be putawaytonight, remember how many were broken during the last party!” before hurrying off.
Vivian, bolstered by the friendliness, was smiling as she entered. And then both her smile and her feet froze as she stared at a familiar face.
