The Magnolia Palace(72)

“Do you love your job, Mr. Graham?” she asked. “Playing music all day?”

“There are aspects I love, yes. Some not so much. But it’s a privilege to live a life that’s full of music. I try to remember that when things get difficult.”

“I live a life of menial tasks performed to please others.”

“I suppose that must be difficult, even in a home that’s brimming with beautiful art around every corner.”

She thought of the Vermeer hanging not twenty feet away in the hall, the one of the laughing girl that she loved so much. “That does help. And I admit not all of my work is menial.”

“What is it you like about it?”

“When Miss Helen allows me to help out with her library research, I’m in my element.”

Mr. Graham’s eyes lit up. “A library?”

“An art reference library,” she said. “The Frick Art Reference Library.” Miss Helen had settled on that name just a few days ago.

“Now, that’s a surprise.” Mr. Graham tapped his chin. “Miss Helen, never to be underestimated, that one. What a splendid idea.”

A tiny barb of jealousy rose up in Lillian. “It was my idea, actually.”

“A brilliant one, Miss Lilly. Nothing like that exists in the States, as far as I know. A library for art.”

“You think so?”

“Sure. Say, my cousin works at the art and architecture division at the New York Public Library, and this would be right up her alley. When Miss Helen starts looking for head librarians, do let me know.”

Head librarian. A distinguished title. What did one have to do to become a head librarian? Or any sort of librarian? If Lillian was going to be stuck working for the Fricks, she might as well aim for a more professional role than head toilet-paper-orderer. Before she could ask Mr. Graham more about his cousin’s job, Miss Winnie’s voice rang out, calling her name.

Lillian slid off the organ bench and looked up to find her leaning over the banister.

“Where on earth have you been? Miss Helen needs you at once. She’s with Mr. Frick in his bedroom.”

“On my way.”

Upstairs in the hallway, she gently knocked on Mr. Frick’s door before entering.

Mr. Frick was asleep in his bed, snoring slightly. Miss Helen sat beside him, a folder in her lap.

“How is he?” asked Lillian, quietly.

“He’s finally sleeping. I’m thinking of finding another doctor to see him. I don’t like the new one.”

Lillian doubted a third doctor would be able to give them a more hopeful prognosis, but she knew better than to say so. “Would you like me to call for one?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”

Lillian waited. “Can I take those papers for you?” she asked.

Miss Helen looked down at the folder, as if she didn’t recognize it. “These are some old debts my father wanted taken care of. He thinks it’s the end. I told him he’s a silly goose, that he’s perfectly fine. I mean, he’s not yet seventy. It’s simply indigestion, right?”

“I’m sure that’s all it is.” Lillian laid a hand on Miss Helen’s shoulder. At that, Miss Helen burst into tears, much in the way that Lillian almost had with Mr. Graham. Neither of them was used to kindness, to gentleness. Which meant when someone reached out, softly and with care, it was enough to bring the walls of defiance and defensiveness crashing down.

She stood there, rubbing Miss Helen’s bony shoulder for a couple of minutes until she had composed herself.

“Thank you, Miss Lilly.” Miss Helen took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her nose. “I can count on you, like no one else.”

If she only knew. A knock sounded on the door, and Miss Winnie stuck her head in. “Mr. Danforth is here to see you, Miss Helen.”

“Goodness, no. I can’t see him at the moment.” She looked up at Lillian. “Will you go down and explain, tell him about Papsie? I can’t leave his side.”

“Perhaps it’s better if I stay with you,” countered Lillian. “Miss Winnie can relay the message.”

“No. Better it come from you. Go on. Tell him I shall reach out when I’m ready to receive visitors.”

As Lillian descended the stairs, Mr. Graham was in the midst of a dangerous-sounding fugue. Mr. Danforth had his hat in his hands and looked up at her. His face was pale.

“Miss Helen can’t see you right now.” Lillian found herself speaking too loudly, both to compensate for the music and as a warning to Mr. Danforth to be careful what he said. “Her father is ill. She’ll send word when she’s receiving visitors again.”

He moved closer to her. “What happened?” He wasn’t referring to Miss Helen.

“Not here.”

Lillian led the way outside, where a slight rain fell. They stood in a corner of the porte-cochère farthest from the front door, out of sight of anyone lurking in the foyer.

“Why did you send that note, breaking it off?” he said.

“I couldn’t do that to Miss Helen. She doesn’t deserve to be mistreated in that way.”

“I went to the castle hoping you’d changed your mind and would come anyway.”

“It wouldn’t have been fair to elope with you, and I’m sorry for misleading you earlier. I’m not who you think I am.”