“The place seems to be busy all the time. You must be doing quite well financially.”
Surprised by the comment, she didn’t reply. She would never discuss her family’s finances with someone, even if that someone was her boss and a sort of friend. She glanced at Helene, who studied her nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“That makes a young woman attractive, you know,” John continued, eyeing Alma in a way that made her blush. “A good German girl from a stable family. I bet you have a lot of suitors.”
She stared at him, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “I…uh. No, I don’t have many. There’s no time.” She gave him another forced smile as she waved her hand, indicating the immigration center.
Helene covered her mouth as if to smother a laugh.
“Well now, that’s absurd. A young woman such as yourself would be a prize for any man.”
A prize? Was that what she was? She frowned. “I’m not sure I want to get married.” The words slipped out before Alma could stop them.
He looked taken aback. “I bet Robert would have something to say about that.”
Rather than answer him, she stood. “Well, sir, I’d better be going. Mrs. Keller will be looking for me.”
At that moment, a group of matrons turned down the hallway, and Commissioner Williams walked stridently behind them.
He stopped when he saw the three of them on the bench. “Mr. Lambert,” Williams said curtly, “shouldn’t you be leading the hearing for the Swiss gentleman?”
“That isn’t for another hour, Billy,” John replied without taking his eyes off Alma.
Not amused by the disrespect, Williams changed his tone from curt to razor-blade thin. “That’s William, and I suggest you move along. I’m sure you have more important things to do than charm the staff.”
“Sure thing. Boss.” John stood—taller than Williams. He looked down at the commissioner, a smirk stamped on his face, and ambled off down the hallway, defiantly taking his time.
Mr. Williams ran his fingers over his mustache, arranging the hairs back into place the same way he arranged his papers, the staff, and everything else in his path. “Ladies, get to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded and darted off in the opposite direction as if his feet were on fire.
“What was that all about?” Alma asked as they headed to the baggage room.
Helene shrugged. “Williams is under a lot of pressure from Washington. You didn’t work for Commissioner Fitchie very long before he left, but he was about as crooked as a cow path. Now Williams has to live down the other commissioner’s reputation.” She lowered her voice as they passed a group of inspectors in the hall. “I’ve heard a few of the inspectors are mixed up in extortion, and some may be selling immigrants to the gangs in town.”
Alma’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
Helene shrugged. “I’m not sure if it’s true, but I do know money has been changing hands.”
She couldn’t believe her coworkers would do such a horrible thing, and yet, hadn’t she already seen a few untoward things?
“Well, we should probably check in with Keller,” Alma said at last.
She wondered if John or Jeremy was among those who were engaged in underhanded dealings. Even Mrs. Keller might be involved. Suddenly everything Alma thought she knew about her coworkers, and her work at Ellis Island, was thrown into question.
Perhaps she should be on her guard more. Perhaps she didn’t know anyone here at all.
27
Francesca followed Charles upstairs and through the foyer of the Lancasters’ home. She wondered which dish had offended the mistress. She had taken a risk with the crab-stuffed eggs, but she thought it a good one. Apparently not. Her stomach knotted as they entered the grand dining room, a place where she didn’t belong. Pale light streamed through the windows, making the gauzy drapes appear almost ethereal, and the crystal on the table beamed broken rainbows across the tablecloth. A fire roared on the opposite wall, its crackling and hissing like a conversation in the otherwise silent room. When she caught sight of the Lancasters seated at their elegant table, she carefully concealed her fear.
The matriarch of the house sat at the head of the table, resplendent in a bustled gown of deep jewel-toned silks and a lace collar. Mr. Lancaster sat on her right in an elegant smoking jacket. Though it was only midday, they looked as if they were dressed for the theater, at least to Francesca’s untrained eye.
“Come here,” the woman commanded. “I want to get a good look at you.”
“Yes, madam.” Heart pounding, Francesca walked around the long dining table until she stood only a few feet away. When she met Mrs. Lancaster’s gaze, the woman gasped.
“What on earth!” the woman sputtered. “Is this some sort of joke? Why is that filthy thief in our house! I’ll never forget this…this Italian trying to take our water pitcher.”
If only the mistress knew how accurate her description was, Francesca thought. She’d stolen a lot more than a little water. But she knew Mrs. Lancaster’s issue with her wasn’t just about the water. It was about Francesca being Sicilian, which meant she came from a tribe of nothing but dirty gangsters who didn’t know how to read, stole and practiced violence to survive, professed their sins to a Catholic god, and the worst offense of all: her skin wasn’t lily white.
“Mother, please,” Mr. Lancaster said. “You’re being very rude to our new cook.”
Mrs. Lancaster’s eyes went wide as saucers. “She is the one responsible for this meal?”
Francesca held her breath, trying to remain calm. If the mistress dismissed her, she had options, she told herself. She would throw herself on the mercy of the Brauers another night or two and look for work in their neighborhood. She would survive this, just as she had every other twist and turn.
The footman cleared his throat. “May I introduce Miss Francesca Ricci.”
“I know who she is,” Mrs. Lancaster said, anger lacing her tone. “And I had hoped never to lay eyes on this creature again, but I see my son has thwarted my wishes.”
Mr. Lancaster placed his hand over his mother’s. “I have a charitable heart, Mother. What can I say? I learned it from the very best person I know.” He smiled at her, clearly aiming to defuse the situation. “Now, what was it you were saying about the eggs? How delicious they are, and how gorgeous the meal was last night as well?”
Francesca warmed to the unexpected praise. So the old bag liked her cooking before she knew who had prepared it. Unfortunately, now that Mrs. Lancaster realized who the new cook was, Francesca would have to work extra hard to please the mistress. If Francesca was allowed to stay at all. She refrained from shifting or fidgeting and held her chin up, her hands clasped in front of her while she awaited her sentence.
Mrs. Lancaster’s icy gaze locked onto Francesca’s like a hawk on its prey. “You get one more chance, young lady. One. If it weren’t for my son and this meal, I would throw you out this very instant.”
“Mother, really—”