The Pursuit of Lucy Banning (20 page)

“I think I’ll reward myself with a piece of cake,” Lucy announced.

Will was on his feet instantly to pull her chair out. “I could use a bit of refreshment myself.”

He offered his arm and she took it.
How completely natural this feels
, she thought. They walked together to the refreshment table. Charlotte smiled vaguely and nodded at them.

“Cake, Miss Lucy?” Charlotte asked. “Mrs. Fletcher made the red velvet.”

Lucy had not indulged in red velvet cake since the last time she had dinner at the Jules house—the night she broke her engagement. Her eyes flickered at what else the table offered but soon returned to the cake.
I am not going to give up my favorite cake for the rest of my life.

“Yes, Charlotte, a piece of red velvet cake, please,” Lucy said. She picked up a fork, already feeling sweetness melt on her tongue.

Cake in hand, Will lightly took her elbow and together they stepped away from the table.

“Are you all right, Lucy?”

“Why do you ask?”

“A moment ago you said you wanted cake, then you almost turned it down.”

How could he possibly have noticed so brief a hesitation?

“The last time I had this cake was the night I broke my engagement,” she admitted simply and softly.

They ate a few bites without speaking.

“And have you now redeemed your favorite cake?” Will asked.

“I’m working at it.” Lucy took another bite. “Mmm.”

“Do you think of him often?”

“It’s as if he’s always here,” Lucy said, “which of course is frequently true. He still stays the night sometimes during the week. The rest of my family welcomes him. His scent is in every room and does not abate. I sometimes feel that he has me under his thumb somehow, even though I know that’s ridiculous. I feel him near even when I know he is not.”

“Yours is a complicated relationship,” Will observed. “Your families have been entwined for decades.”

Lucy forced a smile. “We must not get too dismal at Leo’s party. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Let’s find a game where we can be partners,” Will suggested.

Leo poked his head out of the parlor. “Lucy, perhaps you would favor us with the results of your long years of study at the piano.”

“I’m not sure I know anything gamey enough for your gang,” she answered.

“Let us be the judge. Get in here and tickle the ivories.”

 21 

J
anuary blustered in as it always did in Chicago—icy temperatures, frigid winds, the menace of snow perpetually in the air.

It was Tuesday. Lucy fastidiously stuck to her routine of being out of the house on Tuesday afternoons, and January 17 was no different. Having pored over the course offerings seeking a class offered on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for the next term, Lucy settled on an Introduction to Philosophy class. Certainly riskier than art history and no doubt unseemly for a woman, it nevertheless appealed. She now held in her hand the confirmation that she had reserved a seat in the lecture hall of a prestigious professor for the term that would start soon. How much longer Daniel would keep her secret she could not know, but she would welcome every class session she could manage.

The coming months would be busy. In addition to the class and her usual Fridays at St. Andrew’s, Mondays largely would be consumed with committee work for the women’s exhibit at the fair. Just the day before, the group she worked with had agreed to meet every Monday until opening day to review thoroughly every detail.

Successfully registered, Lucy turned her attention to her wardrobe. When winter finally relinquished its hold to spring, she would need some lightweight dresses to serve both for classes and the orphanage. Marshall Field’s store was just the place. Choosing something from the rack seemed so much simpler to Lucy than selecting fabric and looking at sketches and going to fittings and acting like every dress was a wedding gown. No, a few ready-made simple suits and dresses would suffice for looking inconspicuous.

Lucy had sent Paddy on his way as soon as he dropped her at the university. Relieved of worrying about Daniel’s disapproval, she had taken to making her way around the city on public transportation more frequently, at least when she felt fairly sure she would not encounter family members. Chicago seemed to be adding streetcar and train lines constantly. The pressure of the world’s fair spurred construction and infrastructure in every direction, which Lucy was eager to take advantage of. Now she wrapped her woolen cloak more tightly around her and hopped on an elevated train to head to the shopping district.

She heard her name almost as soon as she stepped off the train a few minutes later. Turning her head, she adjusted the angle of her hat’s brim to respond.

“Will! Once again our paths cross in a delightful surprise.”

“I’ve just come from presenting a proposal to a new client. I think I’ve got the job!”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Come celebrate with me,” Will said. “Let’s have tea.”

She agreed immediately, and they ducked into the lobby of a hotel well known for its afternoon offering. Lucy was thrilled to be seated close to the heat of the onyx fireplace dominating the room. Will helped Lucy remove her cloak and they slid into their chairs. As soon as they ordered, he launched into an explanation of the project he had just proposed, a new office building.

“It’s the first commission I’ve brought to the firm on my own,” he explained. “They loved my concept of openness and light. I’ll be the one to lead the design team and present every stage to the client. I’ve never supervised a project of this scope before.”

“It’s a wonderful opportunity for you, Will. I’m so pleased.”

“I’m babbling like a little boy.”

He’s blushing!
Lucy realized. “I’ve never seen you look so happy.”

“You were the first person I wanted to tell, Lucy. I can’t believe you were right there, getting off a train.”

Lucy grimaced. “Don’t tell my mother I ride trains. They’re as bad as streetcars in her estimation.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he assured her. “All your secrets will always be safe with me.”

Her breath caught. What other secrets did he know?

When Lucy left Will, she took a streetcar, deliberately going south past her neighborhood. If she hailed a carriage cab on Michigan Avenue and rode north, she would arrive home from the direction of the orphanage, where supposedly she had spent the afternoon. At five-thirty, Michigan Avenue bustled and cabs were plentiful. She had no trouble finding one and giving brief directions to go north and then cut east to Prairie Avenue.

She could see the tower of Second Presbyterian from several blocks away, but it seemed strangely lit for the hour. The sky around it hung thick and eerie in the late afternoon shadows.

A fire! The church had already burned once at its original location, before rebuilding at Michigan and Twentieth. Lucy leaned forward and to the side, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her and trying to remember if Aunt Violet or her mother were supposed to be at the church today. Two blocks short of the church, the carriage stopped, stymied in standstill traffic. Drivers quarreled over street space as they attempted to turn around and seek another route. Both sides of the street began to fill with pedestrians.

Lucy pulled on the handle and got out of the cab. The driver jumped down to attend to her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, the road is blocked. We can’t go any further.”

“That’s all right.” Lucy handed the man a coin. Her eyes stung with the scene raging in front of her—literally. Smoke draped across the sky above an orange inferno.

“The Calumet Club!” a voice shouted. “It’s on fire!”

Lucy gasped. Panic immediately subsumed relief that the church was not burning. Her father belonged to the Calumet Club, across the street from the church, and often dropped in for an hour or two after leaving his office before coming home to dinner. She pressed northward on foot, weaving between the stranded horses and carriages, until she was enmeshed in a growing throng of spectators.

The Calumet Club, one of Chicago’s most exclusive establishments, was a proud structure, an architectural hallmark of Burnham and Root—the same firm responsible for several homes on Prairie Avenue. Barely ten years old, it was supposed to endure for decades, boasting twelve stories and turreted corners. Yet it was crumbling before Lucy’s eyes. Jagged brick walls caved in heaving piles to the sidewalk below. Flames blazed in every direction as the fire crew abandoned their effort to contain the inferno.

Lucy hastened her step, foraging the mob for anyone she knew who might answer questions. Between the darkness and the smoke, she could discern nothing useful. Finally, she resorted to grabbing the sleeve of a stranger and begging for information.

“Is anyone hurt?” she asked. “Did everyone get out?”

One person after another shrugged. It was just too hard to see, too hard to hear, too hard to know. She would have to get closer.

Lucy pressed forward, aching to know if her father had been in the club that afternoon. She squeezed through the smallest openings in the crowd, feeling the heat rise with every step closer to the blaze. And then she saw a form she knew. “George!” Lucy called. “George Glessner!”

His shoulders turned, and she saw his soot-covered face.

“Oh, George, are you all right? Were you inside?”

George shook his head. “The call came through on the telegraph in my old schoolroom,” he said. “I found it printed out on the signal repeater tape and came right over.”

“Is everyone out?”

“A few of the men are trying to save some of the artwork, but I think they’re giving up. It’s burning too fast.”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“One of the maids was taken to the hospital, and another one is missing. They fear she didn’t make it down the stairs.”

“How awful. My father—”

George shook his head, emphatically this time. “No, he wasn’t there today. I saw him get out of his carriage in front of your house with my own eyes, not forty minutes ago. He’s fine.”

Lucy nearly collapsed in relief. “Thank you, George, thank you. I was frantic with worry.”

“He’s fine,” George repeated. “Shall I walk you home?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, that’s not necessary.”

A crash made her jump, and a cry went up from the throng as yet another tower of bricks surrendered to the lack of structure to hold them in place.

“If you don’t feel you need me, I’m going to go see if I can do anything closer in,” George said, and Lucy lost him to the blackness.

Half an hour after the fire started, nothing remained of the Calumet Club but a heap of smoking ruins. Lucy clenched grit in her teeth and coughed against the ashes settled in the weave of her cloak. Tears she had not realized she was producing streaked through the soot on her face and smeared across the back of her hand as she wiped them away.

“It’s a shame about the artwork,” a voice behind her said. “It was quite valuable, you know.”

Lucy wheeled in the darkness. “Daniel?”

“Yes, it’s me. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I was afraid . . . my father . . . but . . . he’s safe.”

Daniel reached out and took her hand. “Let me take you home. We’re just in the way here.”

Lucy nodded and let him thread through the crowd ahead of her, holding her hand tightly. They did not speak again until they were well past the worst of the chaos.

“It was foolish of those men to try to save the artwork at the possible expense of their own lives,” Daniel said. “I can’t imagine what they were thinking.”

“I suppose no one expected a building like that to come down within thirty minutes.” Lucy suddenly realized she was shaking.

“Architects are not the gods they think they are. You would think a brick building would withstand fire more admirably than that.”

Lucy tried to withdraw her hand from Daniel’s, but he tightened his grip.

“Architects are wrong about a great many things. Take your friend Mr. Edwards, for instance. His understanding is quite limited.”

“Daniel, what are you talking about?” Lucy finally managed to ask.

He gave no indication of hearing her. “Mr. Edwards believes he is on the brink of a defining career, and I imagine you find that attractive. However, the truth is it’s unlikely. He doesn’t understand how these things are done.”

Lucy tried again to pull her hand out of his. “Daniel, let me go,” she said softly.

“He doesn’t understand the truth about you, either,” Daniel continued. “When are you going to tell him about your educational shenanigans?”

Lucy stopped abruptly and pulled hard. Her hand came free at last. Plunging both hands into the pockets of her cloak, she looked him full in the face under the radiance of a streetlight. “Daniel, let me go,” she repeated. “Let me go.”

His brown eyes glimmered, and one side of his mouth turned up. “I would have expected more of you, Lucy.” Then he turned and left.

Lucy was still a block away from home, and she could hardly make her feet move below her trembling knees. In horror, she wondered if Daniel had anything to do with the destruction of the Calumet Club. Surely not.

Surely not.