* * *
Lillian gave a tiny sigh as she let herself into Miss Helen’s sitting room. Although Mr. Danforth had pushed her into it, she’d done the right thing by telling him about her past, as it made it clear exactly where she stood with him. There would be no running away to Boston, no long walks along the Charles River. She’d forgotten all of Kitty’s words of warning when it came to men and been carried away with visions of love. Lillian’s na?veté when it came to courtship was about equal to Miss Helen’s, if she was being honest.
“Are you listening to me at all?” Miss Helen sat at her desk, the folder she’d been clutching in her father’s bedroom open to reveal several bright white envelopes, sealed with red wax. “I’ve been going through my father’s things, since he’s been indisposed.”
“Sorry, what can I help you with? And how is your father feeling?”
“Much better. Even the doctor says he’s improved.”
That was good news.
Miss Helen shifted in the chair, her eyes narrowing. “Did you talk to Mr. Danforth?”
“Yes. He knows your father is ill.” Lillian doubted he’d ever be back, but Miss Helen didn’t have to know that right now.
A shard of worry cut into her. Maybe she’d made a mistake. What if Mr. Danforth told the Fricks the truth? No. He wouldn’t. Rumors of the engagement had already shown up in the gossip columns, and his association with the family was a matter of public record. Anything he did to bring them down would tar his reputation as well. The information she’d unexpectedly divulged was hopefully enough to put him off, but not take them all down.
“I know what you did.”
Only now did she notice that Miss Helen’s fists were clenched. A vein in her forehead throbbed.
Lillian glanced at the window. Could Miss Helen have seen the argument, Mr. Danforth trying to kneel before her private secretary, and recognized it as a lovers’ quarrel? Lillian was sure they’d been hidden from view. But perhaps the sound had traveled up. The window was closed, but if she’d opened it—
“Don’t lie to me. I know everything.”
Lillian tried to stay calm, focus on Miss Helen. “What is this ‘everything’？”
“You have a horse in this race. One that you didn’t let on about.”
“Please, Miss Helen, I really don’t understand.”
Miss Helen snatched one of the envelopes off the desk. Unlike the others, the seal on it was broken. “Papsie said that he wanted to take care of his debts, and the correspondence that I was to distribute included his art dealer, his tailor, his barber.” She held the envelope at its very corner with her index finger and thumb, as if it were infectious. “This one had your name on it, which made no sense. I pay you from the household accounts, not his professional one. Why was he settling a debt with you?”
Lillian knew better than to answer.
“I opened it and read the note. It appears you and Papsie had some kind of arrangement to do with me and Mr. Danforth.” She pulled out the note and unfolded it. “He wrote that he was certain you’d be able to see the marriage through even if he wasn’t around to be there himself, and so he was enclosing a check for the one thousand dollars he’d promised, as he wanted to be remembered as a man of his word.”
Lillian raced to come up with an excuse. At least Miss Helen didn’t know about Mr. Danforth’s interest in her. There was that to be thankful for. Still, this note struck at the very core of Miss Helen’s vulnerability: That her father would control her every move, even beyond the grave. That she was always to be a daddy’s girl with no independence, even after he was gone. No wonder she was angry. Lillian didn’t blame her. “It wasn’t like that.”
“You both thought that I couldn’t handle it on my own? How could you?”
“Please, let me explain.”
Lillian took a seat in one of the chairs near the fireplace, an attempt to de-escalate the tension in the room. For a moment, it seemed that Miss Helen wouldn’t budge, but then she finally relented and joined her, avoiding Lillian’s eyes, instead glaring up at the stern portrait of Mr. Frick on the far wall, as if he were present in the room as well.
“When I first started working here,” Lillian began, “your father mentioned his desire that you and Mr. Danforth get married. He asked that I facilitate the arrangement.”
“Facilitate?”
“It was nothing more than what I was already doing. Remember the letters? How I helped you write them when you asked?”