The Magnolia Palace(71)
She enjoyed making him laugh. When she’d first seen him, standing in the doorway of the room with the beautiful panels, he’d radiated a mixture of concern and authority that most guys his age doing a part-time job might not have managed. He’d been brought up to cherish art and was personally invested in the care of these beautiful objects.
She fingered the hard stone that lay in her pocket. It would not only help her with Polly’s care; it might help Joshua with the tuition for grad school at Columbia. She slowly started to draw it out.
“Joshua, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
Her response was stopped by a loud slam downstairs.
“Was that the wind?” She sat up and began to put on her shoes, as did Joshua.
“The wind’s died down.” Large flakes made leisurely loop-de-loops on the other side of the windows. Joshua extricated an iron from the fireplace tool set. “Someone else is inside. Stay here and lock the door behind me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We should hide, not go down there and confront them.”
“What if someone is stealing something?”
“Or what if it’s the police, checking on things?” she said hopefully, before remembering their earlier discussion of how it would look if the police showed up. “Maybe I should go down.”
“Definitely not.”
“Then we go together.”
They took the front stairs, creeping as quietly as they could.
Another noise, another bang. “It’s in the direction of the garden court,” said Joshua.
He’d shown her the enclosed courtyard, which consisted mainly of plants arrayed around a fountain, during her tour. It had been added later, after the Fricks had moved out, as a serene spot for visitors to rest and gather their thoughts.
They ventured in, Joshua first. The first dabs of morning light peeked in through the arched skylights in uneven patches, wherever the snow had become too heavy and slid off. To the left was a line of French doors that ran along the main-floor hallway.
A strange muttering floated across the room, but Veronica couldn’t figure out where it came from. A cackle followed, like a witch might make. Veronica’s heart rose to her throat. “What was that?” she whispered.
Joshua stepped forward. She grabbed at his shirt to pull him back, but the fabric slipped through her fingers.
Slowly, she stepped out as well.
There was nothing there. Only the plants and the quiet gurgle of the fountain.
Maybe it was just the sound of the snow falling off the roof. She looked at Joshua, and was about to tell him that, when a shadowy apparition appeared on the steps at the opposite end from them.
In the dim light, Veronica could make out a woman, dressed in black. Her mouth was clenched in fury, her hands like claws. They weren’t alone, possibly hadn’t been this entire time.
And now she was barreling toward them, screaming.
Chapter Fifteen
1919
Lillian replayed the meeting with Mr. Broderick in her mind as she hurried up Fifth Avenue. How stupid to think that a film producer could solve all of her problems, save her from ruin. The hours she’d spent in the sculptors’ studios had been for the sake of art; this was something else entirely. What Mr. Broderick had in mind for Angelica the actress was far from the comedic genius of former model Mabel Normand or the spunky sweetness of Mary Pickford. He wanted her to debase herself for a chance at stardom.
Back at the Frick mansion, Lillian tucked herself into the ladies’ dressing room just off the foyer to collect herself. It was tiny, a place for female visitors to shed their coats and hats and check their reflection in the mirror before being received by the hosts. The family had hardly seen any guests since Mr. Frick had fallen ill, so the room was a forgotten hideaway for Lillian to recover her composure. She needed time to think before having to transform from failed starlet into Miss Helen’s private secretary.
She took the pins out of her hat and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup looked garish in the afternoon light, and she pulled a handkerchief out of her handbag and wiped it off, cleaning herself up as best she could.
Lillian had no one but herself to blame. She’d burned both bridges, with Mr. Danforth—no longer “Richard,” not after he’d received her note of rejection—and with Mr. Broderick. Which only left her job as private secretary, and the threat of exposure if anyone recognized her. An avalanche of tears threatened, but she swallowed hard. There was no time to mourn her lost dream.
She walked out of the room to find Mr. Graham setting up at the organ.
“Good day, Miss Lilly.” She hoped he would turn back to his music, but instead, he paused and studied her. “Is everything all right?”
To her horror, her face crumpled.
“Please, sit down, take a moment.” He gestured to the organ bench.
It was imperative she collect herself, fast.
Lillian slid onto the bench, grateful to not have to make eye contact. She placed her hands gently on the lower keyboard and let her breathing settle down. How soothing it must be, to run one’s fingers over the keys and become the conduit of beautiful music.
“Is it Mr. Frick?” Mr. Graham asked.
She shook her head. In the span of one hour, she’d turned down a marriage offer as well as a chance to be in the motion pictures. Now it was back to placating Miss Helen. The ludicrousness of her morning made her laugh out loud, the sound echoing under the arched niche, and she didn’t care that she came across like a madwoman.