Chapter 1 #2
While Putnam Press focused mostly on smaller print jobs, Arthur’s other shop, now known as Hughes Press, printed a few of the larger periodicals that were in circulation throughout Chicago.
Owning both of these print shops would mean that, between the two, Arthur would have access to every single major variation of printing presses that had been created and sold within the United States over the last forty years.
Except for Linotype machines. Still, surely no other printing house owner in Chicago would be better suited to be part of the World’s Columbian Exposition.
Despite the fact that the fair’s organizers had implied that Arthur’s monetary offer hadn’t been as impressive as some others they’d received (something that Arthur had trouble believing, but tried not to question), he still felt confident that he would be the best choice.
At least, he hoped he was. He wanted to actually earn his social status, as well as a permanent place amongst Chicago’s elite.
“It certainly sounds spectacular,” Mrs. Putnam agreed. “Perhaps we’ll return for it in the summer, as long as we can manage the time away.”
Mr. Putnam smiled. “Yes, it would be interesting to see some of my old machinery up on some stage, being ogled by the public.” He raised his wineglass high. “I sincerely hope Mr. Burnham chooses your print shops to feature, Mr. Hughes.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said with a slight bow of his head. “I hope so as well.”
Arthur subsequently endured one more hour of pretending to eat while making conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Putnam as best as he could.
Hopefully it wasn’t obvious to them that he had no interest in most of it, especially since, with every minute that passed, he could feel Emma becoming more and more frustrated with his tardiness.
By the time Arthur said farewell to his hosts and traveled home to his home on Prairie Avenue, it was seven thirty.
Oh, was he in trouble.
Arthur kept his head high as he made his way into the house, leaving his coachman, Patrick, to handle the horse and carriage.
Since Arthur kept his staff small, he had to let himself inside, for Patrick served as his footman as well.
Hurrying, while trying not to look like he was hurrying, he walked through the vestibule, followed by the reception room, past the staircase, and then turned right into the dining room.
Only to find it empty.
Charlotte’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Only thirty minutes late, hm?”
Arthur turned as Charlotte came up beside him. He sighed.
“Yes. And yet . . .”
He flicked his wrist, gesturing around the empty dining room. Charlotte offered a pitying smile.
“Emma waited a bit,” she said. “If that helps.”
“What, five minutes?”
Charlotte’s brows pinched. “More like three.”
“More like three,” he repeated. “Have you eaten?”
“No, but I told Gertrude to move our food into the library once Emma was finished.” She turned and started toward the hall. “I thought you’d probably prefer to eat in there.”
Arthur followed. “You know me well.”
In the library were two metal serving platters covered with lids. Underneath the lids, there was a feast consisting of roasted chicken with rice and root vegetables. On each of the two rolling carts next to the platters were two full wineglasses as well as some water.
And this was one of the many reasons why Arthur kept his staff to a minimum, his employees consisting of only his maid and cook, Gertrude; his coachman, stable hand, and footman, Patrick; and Charlotte, who was Emma’s tutor.
He hired outside his home for some other tasks, like his household’s laundry.
Arthur hated the thought of other people in his social circle ever finding out about some of his more peculiar habits, like the fact that he preferred to eat on the sofa, oftentimes making a mess of the cushions, and the fact that he was a bit of a lush.
And so, he found it simpler to keep his household small.
Arthur and Charlotte sat on the sofa together, their plates balanced on their laps, their wine on the little serving carts within reach.
Arthur took a bite of chicken and made an obscene-sounding moan that he wouldn’t have dared to make in anyone else’s company.
Charlotte laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I’ve been so hungry,” he explained. “I’ve spent the last few hours taking tiny bites of overcooked beef while my stomach protested. Loudly.” He shoved one more piece into his mouth and reached for the wineglass. “I shut it up with wine, though.”
Charlotte smirked. “I thought you may have had wine earlier.”
“Are my teeth red?” he asked, scrunching up his nose.
“Very.”
“Maybe it’s better that Emma went upstairs, then. I’m sure she’d think that I was out enjoying myself rather than suffering through a meal with someone I’ll probably never see again.”
“Were you really not enjoying yourself? Even a little?”
“Do I ever enjoy talking with anyone in our social circle? Aside from you, I mean.”
“I’m not even in that circle now,” she said, her voice tinged with pain. Shaking her head, she took a sip of wine. “Sorry.”
“I still think that you belong.”
“If I had found this position under other circumstances, then maybe that would be true.”
Arthur pursed his lips, trying to think of a counter.
But Charlotte was right. She hadn’t become a private tutor because her family simply hadn’t been able to afford to keep her home while she was still unmarried, but because she never wanted to marry.
And Charlotte’s parents had not been willing to budge on their expectations for her on that.
Charlotte Fields was meant to have found a nice, respectable man to marry so she could then stay home to raise nice, respectable children and manage a nice, respectable household.
But Charlotte hadn’t been interested in that.
At all. And so, she had left. Against their wishes.
“See? I’m right,” Charlotte said simply, piercing a vegetable with her fork.
Arthur frowned. Perhaps he ought to change the subject. He scooped up another forkful of food, waiting for some time to pass so it would feel less awkward to suddenly launch into a new topic of conversation.
Five seconds passed while they both continued to eat.
Then fifteen more.
Finally, Arthur said, “Did you know they’ll have a women’s building at the fair?”
Charlotte’s eyes went wide. “No! Really?”
“Mm-hmm,” Arthur said. “I’m not sure what will be in there yet, but they’ll have one.”
“Goodness,” Charlotte said, flopping back against the cushion. “How wonderful.”
“I hope you’ll come see it,” Arthur said. “Bring Emma.”
“I bet she’d like it better if you took her instead.”
“Oh, but I’ll be so busy watching after my own exhibit.”
Charlotte smiled wryly. “You’re suddenly very confident in yourself.”
“I kind of am,” Arthur said, chuckling. “I really think that, with this recent purchase, I’m in the best position to showcase the latest in printing technology.”
Charlotte’s smile transformed, blossoming from her small teasing smile into one of genuine warmth and fondness. She raised her wineglass.
“I’m happy for you, Arthur.”
Arthur picked up his wineglass as well. “Thank you.”
Hope swelled in Arthur’s chest as they clinked the glasses together.
“I have a feeling that this fair will really change the world,” he said.
“Or at least your world,” Charlotte said, back to teasing.
Arthur laughed. “Or at least mine.”