The Magnolia Palace(24)

It was all Lillian could do not to take the letter opener and jab it into Miss Helen’s neck. Could she last a month under this fussy tutelage?

Over the next three hours, subjects ran from the elaborate filing system for said letters, the preferred method for adding appointments into the daily calendar, and the inner workings of the accounting ledger. Miss Helen had just opened up the checkbook to show Lillian how to prepare a check for her father’s signature when a slight knock at the door interrupted them.

Mrs. Frick opened the door and stood in the entryway, one hand to her forehead. In a soft voice, she told her daughter that she couldn’t possibly make it to lunch today. “I have a terrible headache.”

“But you promised, Mother. Papsie wants us all to be together, including Miss Lilly. We can discuss his birthday dinner.”

“That’s ages away.” She nodded at Lillian and brightened. “Besides, now you have a helper, you don’t need me.”

“I have a private secretary, Mother. Not a helper.” She turned to Lillian. “This is Miss Lilly, Mother.”

Mrs. Frick gave a wincing, brief smile, as if lifting the corners of her mouth caused her pain. “Nice to see you again, Miss Lilly.”

Before Lillian could respond in kind, Miss Helen jabbered on. “The birthday dinner, Miss Lilly, is an important one with important people. We don’t entertain often, which means when we do, it’s written about in all the gossip columns. You’ll be in charge of menus, seating, all that kind of thing. I assume you’ve done that before, in your previous employment?”

Lillian gulped. “Of course. Many times. When is the dinner scheduled for?”

“The nineteenth of December.”

She would be long gone, and mentally filed it under Ignore.

As Miss Helen and her mother conversed further about the intricacies of whether Mrs. Frick ought to attend today’s lunch, Lillian studied the checkbook. On the left-hand side of each check was a drawing of a young girl in a white ruffled shirt. Miss Helen’s features were unmistakable. Even though the woman in front of Lillian had to be nearing thirty, her infantilized portrait was everywhere. No wonder she’d grown up to be such a spoiled creature.

Lillian looked at Miss Helen, studying her, then back down at the drawing.

“What?” Miss Helen’s tone was sharp.

“Sorry. I was noticing your likeness to the girl on the checkbook. Such a beautiful child.” A little false flattery couldn’t hurt. “Your father must enjoy seeing your image very much.”

Mrs. Frick gripped the frame of the door. “I must go.” She looked slightly yellow, like she might be sick, and glided away.

Miss Helen grabbed the checkbook and closed it. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“What have I done?”

“It’s time for luncheon. Papsie wants to meet you, and insisted you join us. But thanks to you, we probably won’t see Mother for a couple of days.”

“Why is that? What did I say that was wrong?” She truly didn’t understand.

But Miss Helen had moved on, and Lillian knew better than to inquire any further.



* * *





A surprisingly small mahogany table sat dead center of the generously dimensioned Frick dining hall. A dozen couples could waltz around the empty space if they wanted. Supposedly the table could be elongated for a dinner party, but right now, with only four places set, the airiness of the room felt cold and off-putting. Miss Helen had warned Lillian that her dining with the family was a rarity not to be taken for granted. “Since it’s your first day, though, Papsie insisted.”

Mrs. Frick, to Lillian’s surprise and relief, joined them as well, and was greeted heartily by her daughter. Mr. Frick entered just as the footmen brought out a creamy bisque soup for the first course.

The paintings and photographs scattered about the residence didn’t do the man justice. At nearly seventy, he was both imposing and magnetic, with fierce blue eyes, a neatly trimmed beard, and a massive torso. He walked with the energy of a much younger man, his eyes darting around the room, taking in a footman’s jacket that was improperly buttoned and resting briefly on Lillian when Miss Helen made introductions.

“I hear you’ve lasted a half a day under my daughter’s employ,” he said. “Congratulations are in order.”

Lillian had no idea how to answer him, but luckily didn’t have to, as he’d already turned his attention to his wife and daughter. “Where’s Childs?” he demanded.

“He stayed in Long Island, with Dixie.” Miss Helen turned to Lillian. “That’s my elder brother and his wife. She has three children and is expecting the fourth next month. They don’t tend to visit often, as my brother’s interests are very different from those of me and Papsie.”

“Fossils,” said Mr. Frick. “My boy likes fossils.” He gestured about the room with his spoon. “Here we are surrounded by the most beautiful works of art from the past, and he prefers grubby old bones.”

“He’s quite brilliant in the sciences,” offered Mrs. Frick, so quietly Lillian barely heard her. No one else seemed to, so Lillian gave her a quiet nod of acknowledgment.

“Are the grandchildren girls or boys?” Lillian asked.

“Three girls, so far,” Mr. Frick answered. “Let’s hope this next one is a boy. If so, they’ve promised to name him after me.”