Chapter 19
“Miss O’Halloran.”
Mrs. Attlebury’s frosty tones reverberated through the whole second floor of Field’s as Maggie’s step faltered on her way to the millinery department on a Monday morning in September.
Her supervisor was standing at the department’s entrance, her hands folded piously at her waist, her frown of disapproval in direct contrast with an unsettlingly triumphant light in her pale blue eyes.
“Yes, Mrs. Attlebury?” Maggie asked in as composed a manner as she could manage.
It had been over a month since she’d had dinner with Theo, and she’d had no further word from him about whether he’d talked to his mother.
She had not seen or heard from him at all, a fact that felt as humiliating as it was dispiriting.
Clearly, he’d been trifling with her, which should not have come as a surprise.
She never, Maggie thought, should have let her hopes rise the way she had, all over a few glasses of champagne and a plate of oysters she hadn’t even enjoyed.
It was now the beginning of September, and the sweltering heat had finally broken, replaced by a relentless wind that rolled off the lake, and a welcome crispness to the air.
All through August, Maggie had struggled not to give in to despondency as she’d gone to work and waited to hear from Mrs. Stein—or her son.
Once again, her life seemed to be waiting, always waiting, for something more to happen, or even to begin, not even knowing if it ever would.
It hadn’t helped, of course, that her whole boarding house had been shocked by her late arrival the night Theo had taken her out to dinner. He’d insisted on accompanying her in the hansom all the way to Englewood, and Maggie had had to insist right back that he not walk her to the door.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he’d exclaimed with a laugh, and she’d shaken her head resolutely, knowing the sight of Theo Stein, looking like the dilettante he was, at Mrs. O’Malley’s door would only bring her more trouble. Coming in at such an hour was bad enough.
“It will do my reputation no good if you do,” she told him.
She did not—could not—confess that this was especially true, considering she was meant to be a married woman.
In any case, Mrs. O’Malley had been icily disapproving when Maggie had crept in after ten o’clock, and she’d had to stammer her explanation—that she’d stayed late at Field’s to conduct an inventory for their fall line—hoping that her landlady would believe her.
It was a plausible explanation; employees of Field’s had been known to stay late before, and fortunately Mrs. O’Malley thawed somewhat after Maggie stumbled through her explanation.
Brendan, however, did not.
“Perhaps you’ll tell me where you really were,” he’d said later that night when Maggie was tucked up in bed and he was lying on his blankets on the floor, a wash of moonlight over his face as he stared grimly up at the ceiling, his hands pillowed behind his head.
“I told you—” she’d begun, and he’d cut her off wearily.
“I went to Field’s, Maggie, and it was shut up tight. I was worried when you didn’t come home at the usual hour, so I took the streetcar there.”
“Oh.” Maggie had drawn the covers up to her chin as she stared straight ahead, unable to bear looking at him. She had not known what to say. It had touched and annoyed her in equal measure that Brendan had been so concerned.
“Since you came home smelling of champagne and cigars,” he’d continued, a spiky edge entering his voice, “I can imagine the sort of place you’ve been, as well as the sort of person you’ve been with. But since we’re not really married, I don’t suppose you have to tell me, either.”
And then he’d rolled onto his side, his broad back to her, while Maggie had gritted her teeth, caught between an uneasy guilt and a deep frustration, because Brendan was right, she didn’t have to tell him, and yet she’d felt as if she did.
She felt as if she’d betrayed him, even though they had to both know, especially since that painful conversation when Brendan had made it clear he wasn’t interested in her anymore, that she hadn’t.
The next morning, he’d left for work before she’d woken, and he’d avoided her in the evening, and so they’d continued their tense truce of silence in the month since, save for a few inane pleasantries over dinner, in the company of others.
In this way, the summer had gone on, while Maggie had prayed for word from Mrs. Stein, and none had come.
And now Mrs. Attlebury looked as if she was about to scold her—or worse.
“It has come to my attention,” her supervisor stated in imperious tones, “that you have been working in opposition to Field’s.”
“P-pardon?” Maggie stammered, her mind racing as she tried to think of some excuse, and Mrs. Attlebury’s mouth curved triumphantly.
Clearly her supervisor had been waiting for an opportunity to dismiss her, and if she’d found out she’d made a hat for Mrs. Stein, it would be as good a reason as any.
Yet how would she have discovered such a thing?
“A customer came in here yesterday asking Mr. Selfridge himself for the young woman in the millinery department who designed a hat for a Mrs. Stein, newly arrived to the city,” Mrs. Attlebury told her, her tone equal parts enjoyment and derision.
“He told her, of course, that we had no such person in our employ, for, as I’m sure you know, Miss O’Halloran, to work in competition with your employer is surely a dismissible offense.
” Her supervisor’s smile was cold, her pale eyes sparking with triumph.
Maggie stared at her in growing dread—and also hope. If someone was asking for her personally, then Mrs. Stein had remembered. Either Theo had spoken to her, or she’d recalled it on her own, but either way… the opportunity Maggie had been waiting for had finally, maybe come.
And yet… she did not want to be dismissed, not until she was sure.
“I was helping an old acquaintance from New York,” she told Mrs. Attlebury, trying to sound as if it was a trifling matter.
“She hadn’t been able to find anything she liked in the stores, and so I designed a hat for her, a very simple thing.
It didn’t even occur to me that such a small favor would be seen as competition.
” She raised her eyebrows as she gave Mrs. Attlebury what she hoped was an innocently incredulous look.
How could she, a lowly shopgirl, compete with the grandest store from here to the Pacific?
Her supervisor looked uneasy for a moment, as well as reassuringly unsettled by Maggie’s innocent remarks. Maggie decided she needed to be bold enough to press the point.
“If I’d known how it would be seen, I would never have agreed, Mrs. Attlebury,” she told her supervisor earnestly. “I said to Mrs. Stein that she was sure to find something she liked here at Field’s, especially once our new stock came in.”
“And yet her friend was asking for you,” Mrs. Attlebury remarked after a moment, her tone still icy. “She seemed convinced that you took commissions.”
“Commissions!” Maggie exclaimed, shaking her head in seeming wonder.
She would have felt guilty for her deception, save that Mrs. Attlebury had been looking for a way to dismiss her since she’d first started at Field’s.
She’d made her working life a misery in a dozen different ways, all of them small but cutting, and in return Maggie had only sought to please…
and, she acknowledged fairly, find a way to get out of this place.
And now that she was close to finding it, she couldn’t bear to be dismissed out of hand. Not until her future was secure.
“You needn’t take it up with me, Miss O’Halloran,” her supervisor finally stated in a sniffy tone. “It’s Mr. Selfridge who first heard about it. He’s the one you need to explain yourself to.” She twitched her dark skirts as she turned away. “He’s waiting for you in his office.”
With an even deeper sense of dread, Maggie headed upstairs to the offices for the senior staff of Field’s, including Mr. Selfridge and Mr. Marshall Field himself.
It was one thing to say a great deal of blather to Mrs. Attlebury, she realized, and quite another to say it to Mr. Selfridge, whom she feared would see right through her wide-eyed excuses.
Of course, she’d known, or at least feared, this day would come.
She’d made Mrs. Stein’s hat knowing full well it would be seen as competition to the store if it came to light, and it had been a risk she’d chosen to take.
She just hoped it would be worthwhile.
In any case, Maggie knew, now she would simply have to face the consequences—and accept them. Stiffening her spine and throwing her shoulders back, she knocked on Mr. Selfridge’s door.
“Come in.” His voice was the mixture of affability and terseness she’d come to expect from the man whose aspirations she suspected were greater than Field’s, or even all of Chicago.
Mr. Selfridge, Maggie knew, had transformed Field’s since he’d been there, but his restless energy, the way he always walked as if he were bouncing on his heels, his quick wit and even quicker manner, made her wonder if he would be satisfied as second in command.
Carefully, she opened the door and stepped inside. “Mrs. Attlebury said you wished to see me, sir,” she said in as briskly professional a tone as she could manage without seeming too bold.
Mr. Selfridge looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing underneath his carefully pomaded hair. “Ah, Miss O’Halloran. I have heard great things about you as of late.” He sat back, his hands folded on his desk, his expression appraising.
Maggie had no idea what to make of his remark. “You… have?” she asked cautiously.
“Yes, I have,” he confirmed in the same friendly and solicitous tone that she didn’t quite feel she could trust. “Great things about the lovely hat you designed for one of our best customers, a lady who had promised to procure all her hats from Field’s, as it happens, and in your hearing, I believe.
” He smiled, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
Maggie’s heart sank. She didn’t trust that smile. She didn’t trust it at all.
“I presume you mean Mrs. Stein, sir?” she asked, her voice wavering a little.
“I do indeed.” He folded his hands on the desk in front of him, looking relaxed, save for the gleam in his narrowed eyes. “How did it come to pass,” he mused, sounding mystified, “that such a fine and loyal customer of ours decided to procure a hat elsewhere?”
“She… she couldn’t find anything here that suited her, sir,” Maggie explained as humbly as she could. “I tried. I’m sorry—”
“You did not try, Miss O’Halloran,” Mr. Selfridge stated, his voice like the crack of a whip, making Maggie fall instantly silent.
“Or at least you did not try hard enough. Any customer should be able to find what they desire at Field’s.
” He leaned forward, his eyes bright. “We give the lady what she wants, Miss O’Halloran. Or did you forget that?”
“I…” Maggie stared at him in helpless misery.
She had no excuse, she knew, and, in truth, she did not want to dissemble any longer.
“Mrs. Stein is a former employer of mine,” she told him, lifting her chin a little.
“And I had designed her a hat back in New York. I felt it perfectly acceptable to design her another, since she had not been able to find what she liked at Field’s. ”
“Perfectly acceptable,” Mr. Selfridge repeated, mimicking her voice in a way that made Maggie cringe. “Perfectly acceptable, is that right?”
She forced herself to meet his mocking gaze squarely, even though everything in her trembled.
Mrs. Wentworth had once told her how kind Mr. Selfridge could be with his employees, and she’d been honest with him about her ambitions from the start, but right now none of that seemed to matter.
Her loyalty was meant to be to the store, and she had betrayed Field’s by making a hat for Mrs. Stein.
“I believed it to be so, sir,” she said quietly. “I told you my aspirations when you hired me—”
“An aspiration I believed in good faith that you would transfer to your employer,” he snapped.
“As you surely know, Miss O’Halloran. Do you know how many of our customers heard Mrs. Wyatt gushing about the hat she simply had to have?
A hat that was not available here at Field’s.
” He sat back in his chair, shaking his head, seeming as satisfied as he was angry.
“Perhaps if you’d come to me beforehand, we could have come to some sort of arrangement.
The hats you designed could have been featured at Field’s. ”
He gave her a taunting look, while Maggie pressed her lips together and determinedly said nothing.
The idea that her hats might have graced the stands of the millinery department seemed ludicrous to her.
Mrs. Attlebury had scolded her for so much as making a suggestion!
Maggie was quite certain that Mr. Selfridge was only offering that now to make her regret her decision to make Mrs. Stein’s hat at all.
“Well, Miss O’Halloran?” Mr. Selfridge demanded. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Nothing that I have not already said, Mr. Selfridge,” Maggie replied with dignity.
He sat up straight, his gaze dark and penetrating. “Then, in that case, Miss O’Halloran, you are dismissed.”