The Magnolia Palace(26)

“I’m fine.” He walked by Mrs. Frick without an acknowledgment, ignoring the weak wave of her hand.

Miss Helen turned to Lillian. “Quick, ask the butler for his coat. Bring it to the front entry at once.”

At Lillian’s urging, the butler, Kearns, was waiting by the front door with a black wool jacket slung over his arm by the time Mr. Frick was ready to go, with Miss Helen hovering right behind him.

“I don’t need that. It’s a hundred degrees out,” said Mr. Frick.

Miss Helen took it from Kearns and held it out, speaking to her father as if he were a recalcitrant child. “Now then, you must listen to me. I can’t have you falling ill, can I?”

Mr. Frick’s earlier indulgence of his daughter at the dining room table was gone. “Enough. Keep it. I don’t want to wear it.”

Outside, the chauffeur held open the door to a sleek Pierce-Arrow motorcar. Mr. Frick stepped inside the vehicle without giving Miss Helen a second look.

Lillian retreated a few steps, not wanting to get caught up in whatever strangeness was going on between the two.

As the chauffeur took to the driver’s seat, Miss Helen suddenly dashed forward and tossed the jacket through the open window of the back seat. “At least keep it in the automobile, you might want it later.”

“For God’s sake, woman. Leave me the hell alone.”

As the car pulled out, Miss Helen looked over at Lillian with a triumphant smile on her face. “There. That’s taken care of.” But as the car turned into Seventy-First Street, Mr. Frick’s arm shot out and tossed the coat out the window, where it landed in the gutter.

Miss Helen’s cheeks puffed out in anger; she looked like she was about to explode. “Get the coat,” she demanded of Lillian, pointing. “Go get it at once.”

Lillian half walked, half ran to the street and gathered it up. It had landed in a puddle, and she held it away from her as she turned back to the house so as not to muddy her dress. A beautiful coat, tossed like it was a piece of newspaper. She thought of the laundresses downstairs who would now be tasked with cleaning it, knowing that they’d be reprimanded if the master found it dirty the next time he called for it.

By the time she got to the front entry and handed the coat over to the doleful Kearns, Miss Helen was nowhere to be found.



* * *





Late that afternoon, Miss Helen was in a desultory mood, snapping at Lillian for not paying proper attention to whatever inane protocol she was teaching her, or suddenly collapsing on her chaise longue like a fainting maiden, complete with breathy sighs. Lillian didn’t mention the incident with the coat, and Miss Helen didn’t bring it up.

“God, this is so boring,” said Miss Helen from the chaise longue.

Lillian couldn’t have agreed more. While the residence no doubt appeared magical from the outside, the actual running of it was as mundane as that of any household: ordering toilet paper and laundry soap, making sure everyone was fed. Luckily, Miss Helen received very few invitations, and those she did receive, she preferred to decline, which meant Lillian wouldn’t have to deal with mountains of correspondence.

“Is this what you do every day?” asked Lillian as the clock neared the time for supper. Part of her hoped there was some other aspect of the job of private secretary that she might enjoy. Something, anything, to make the paperwork even slightly interesting.

“It is. Why? Is it not to your liking?”

She’d spoken out of turn. “It is to my liking, Miss Helen.”

“No, it’s a complete bore. The only thing that gets me through the day now is a secret project I’ve been working on.”

Lillian perked up. “Secret project? What’s that?”

In spite of it being “secret,” Miss Helen didn’t need any urging. She rose and led Lillian down the back stairs, past the closed door to Mr. Frick’s office. They’d both heard the automobile pulling into the driveway a little over an hour ago. Miss Helen had run to the window as if her beau were returning from the war, then sat back down at the desk with an inscrutable expression on her face.

Now, though, she was brimming with excitement. They kept on down to the basement, where a door led to a game room with a handsome billiard table. Beyond that was a long hallway of some sort. Lillian laughed with excitement when Miss Helen turned on a light switch and she realized what it was.

“You have a bowling alley?”

“We do.” Miss Helen gestured around. “Hardly anyone uses it.”

With its red-tiled floors, paneled walls, and vaulted ceilings, this was like no bowling alley Lillian had ever encountered.

“Would you like to see how it works?” said Miss Helen. “The balls are terribly heavy.”

Using two hands, she lifted a ball from a curved stand at the top of the lane, readied herself like a cat about to pounce, and then stepped forward, the bowling ball clunking clumsily onto the lane of gleaming maple and pine. Three pins fell in a loud clatter. Lillian clapped appreciatively.

“Usually there’s a boy down the end to send it back. You’ll have to do so. Go on.”

Lillian walked alongside the lane, then carefully lifted the ball from where it lay in a shallow groove. She started to walk back, holding it close to her belly, when Miss Helen stopped her.

“There’s a gravity-driven return system. See that ramp? Place it on that and watch.”