“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.”
“Now, Papsie, you don’t need a grandson to carry on the family name,” said Miss Helen with a petulant pout. “Haven’t I been happily in charge? Don’t I step in whenever Mother is feeling low? I really don’t see why Childs and his possible son get to be the chosen ones.”
Mr. Frick dabbed the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin. “You know you’re the chosen one. I do appreciate all you do for me, Rosebud.”
Lillian glanced over at Mrs. Frick, who stayed focused on her soup as Miss Helen blushed red as a cardinal. “Oh, Papsie.”
As if on cue, the two of them laughed with a forced hilarity, and Mrs. Frick joined in as best she could at the very end. Lillian got the distinct impression they were all performing some kind of peculiar family pantomime due to the presence of a stranger in their midst. If she weren’t here, she was fairly certain Mrs. Frick would’ve taken her meal upstairs, and Miss Helen would do most of the talking as her father sat in a somber silence.
“Miss Lilly, are you enjoying yourself so far?” Mr. Frick’s blue eyes drilled into her.
“Certainly, sir. I’m pleased to be here.”
Quite the understatement. Two nights ago, her bed had been a slatted park bench. Last night, she’d slept under the roof of one of the richest men in America.
“Whom did you work for, prior to joining our household?”
Lillian’s spoon slipped out of her grasp and clattered down on the rim of the soup bowl. Miss Helen had been so self-involved during the interview, she’d never managed to ask the most rudimentary of questions, and Lillian figured she’d avoided any further inquiry. Apparently not. “I worked for the Joneses of Albany,” she ventured, choosing the most generic name she could think of.
Mr. Frick frowned. “I’m not familiar with them.”
“They wouldn’t be part of your circle, I’m sure,” said Lillian. “Although they taught me a great deal.”
“Miss Lilly knows a thing or two about art as well, Father,” said Miss Helen.
“Is that so? Well, in that case, my love, your new hire appears to be a capable choice. You checked the references of Miss Lilly, didn’t you?” He had a twinkle in his eye, but Lillian wasn’t sure if he was teasing his daughter or not.
Miss Helen hesitated. “References?”
Mr. Frick was about to respond when a loud, musical crash sounded. The organist was back at it, and Lillian gave a silent thanks for the timing, as for the rest of the meal they ate in silence as the solemn strains of choral music reverberated around them.
The music and the meal ended, and Lillian braced herself for further discussion of her unseen, nonexistent references. But the conversation was forgotten as a young man bounded through the door to the dining room, a sheaf of papers tucked under his arm. He was in his early twenties, she guessed, with a boyishly beautiful face topped by a thick mop of unruly curls. He wore round spectacles under eyebrows that curved into imperious arches.
Lillian marveled at the gall of such an entrance, and expected Mr. Frick to roar at the impertinence, but instead, a huge smile crossed his face, transforming his gruffness into sheer delight.
“Archer, you fill our home with the sounds of the angels.” Mr. Frick took the man’s hand in his, giving it a good shake.