Lillian spent a good minute oohing and aahing over the puppy before Miss Helen was satisfied. All the while, Mr. Danforth stood uncomfortably off to one side.
“We came home a day early because Papsie wasn’t feeling better,” Miss Helen said. “The sea air only made him congested.”
“Miss Helen,” said Mr. Danforth, “I must confess, I’m afraid I didn’t make it through the entire scavenger hunt.”
“I should be quite cross with you, but you’ve caught me on a good day. Maybe once you’re living here I’ll force you to finish it. In the meantime, we must get this boy settled.”
After all of their hard work following clue after clue, Miss Helen had already moved on to the next thing.
Lillian hadn’t realized until then just how wrapped up in the hunt she’d become, partly because of Mr. Danforth’s company, and partly because it had brought the house alive for her. She had enjoyed conquering each new riddle, no matter how badly composed. The clues remained where Mr. Danforth had left them, balanced on a wooden bracket between the organ pipes. She should go back and retrieve them, but before she could do so, Miss Helen dumped the dog in her arms. “Take him to my sitting room and call down for some water. Then oversee Bertha as she unpacks my trunk, make sure everything is put away properly. She has an annoying tendency to arrange my shoes backwards, with the left one on the right side and vice versa.” She threw Mr. Danforth a coquettish smile. “I swear she does so on purpose, just to goad me.” Her smile vanished as she turned back to Lillian. “Once that’s settled, I’d like to go over the week’s correspondence with you. I hope you managed to categorize things correctly in my absence.”
Lillian stood there dumbly for a moment. Mr. Danforth avoided her gaze. “Of course, Miss Helen.”
Upstairs, Lillian’s thoughts swirled as Bertha absentmindedly unpacked Miss Helen’s trunk and chattered on about the fun she’d had gallivanting about town with a Park Avenue chauffeur during her afternoons off. “I think I’ve met my man,” she said, wrenching a lid off a hatbox as Lillian lifted out art books from a trunk and placed them in a corner, to be brought back down later to the bowling alley. “Roddy’s smart as a whip, and he can dance like no one’s business. Perfect, right?”
“Right.” Lillian was still recovering from Miss Helen’s interruption of her first kiss and couldn’t quite follow the thread of Bertha’s story.
“What’s the matter with you, Lilly?”
“Sorry, nothing. I’m happy to hear it.” And she was. Bertha worked so hard for the Frick family, she deserved some fun in her life. A chance to have a family.
“How about you? I’ve noticed our dashing organist giving you longing looks whenever you pass by. Might be fun to be with someone with some musical chops.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Mr. Graham. Boy, that hair. I’d love to run my fingers through his mane.”
In spite of herself, Lillian laughed. “You are utterly ridiculous. You know that, don’t you?”
“Go on, tell me you don’t think he’s a looker.”
He was certainly the most dashing man she’d ever seen, but she’d never admit that to anyone, even Bertha. Her mother’s advice rang in Lillian’s ears as if Kitty were hovering over her even now: Steer clear of sentimental crushes; do not rely on a man.
But Mr. Danforth, if he went to medical school and became a doctor, might offer her a different kind of life. She shook off the thought. Lillian was not “Miss Lilly,” not really. She was Angelica, and she would always drag the weight of that legacy behind her. For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to be a normal girl like Bertha and find a nice boy, settle down. But that wasn’t in the cards. Even before the scandal with her landlord, Lillian’s unorthodox past gave her two choices: she could make the move from muse to film actress, be in charge of her own life, or become mistress to a wealthy man who wanted to possess Angelica as a plaything until he tired of her. Even if she’d been interested in family life, no upstanding suitor would tolerate her past. Not even the kindhearted Mr. Danforth.
* * *
Three days later, Mr. Frick summoned Lillian to the library, where the family was gathered in front of a roaring fire. He sat in a wingback chair, his stout belly protruding between widely spread legs, while Mrs. Frick perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, her corset preventing any sort of similar relaxation. Helen took up the other armchair.