“Explain yourself,” Mrs. Goodman demanded as she stormed down the aisle, Beatrix having no choice but to trot along beside the woman since, clearly, she was in trouble again.
“What would you like to know?” Beatrix asked as they turned a corner that led not to her glove counter but toward the elevator.
“I’d like to know what possessed you to leave your department and go traipsing off to Men’s Furnishings with Mr. Nesbit. This isn’t a marriage mart, Miss Waterbury, and we here at Marshall Field & Company expect our associates to know that.”
Beatrix stopped walking, but since Mrs. Goodman didn’t bother to slow her pace, she charged after the woman, who was now standing in front of the elevator.
“Mr. Nesbit wasn’t here because he’s interested in marrying me,” Beatrix began, ignoring the sniff Mrs. Goodman gave to that explanation. “He was here to find collars but—”
The elevator door opened, Mrs. Goodman gestured her inside, then after telling the elevator operator to take them to the sixth floor, she nodded to Beatrix. “We’re on our way to Mr. Selfridge’s office.”
“Wonderful,” Beatrix muttered, earning another sniff from Mrs. Goodman, which she pretended she didn’t hear.
As the elevator whooshed upward, Beatrix couldn’t help but conclude that her experience as a working woman was quickly turning into a disaster. She never would have thought in a million years that maintaining a position as a salesgirl would be such a daunting feat.
She’d been trying her hardest to do an acceptable job, but at every turn she kept finding herself being taken to task for matters she didn’t believe warranted such chastisement in the first place.
It was a rude awakening to see how working women were treated, and knowing that she was powerless to do anything about that situation because she was determined to keep her job, well, it was downright maddening.
“Sixth floor,” the elevator operator intoned, bringing the elevator to a stop with a pull of a lever before he swung the grate open and gestured them out.
“This way, Miss Waterbury,” Mrs. Goodman said, heading down a narrow hallway that had framed paintings of different renditions of Marshall Field buildings hanging on the walls. Beatrix paused in front of a painting of a building with flames shooting out the windows.
“That depicts the fire of 1871.”
Turning, Beatrix discovered Mr. Selfridge standing a few feet away from her, smiling pleasantly, although his good humor was sure to fade the moment Mrs. Goodman informed him of Beatrix’s latest transgressions.
Wanting to delay that nasty business for as long as possible, Beatrix nodded to the painting. “Marshall Field & Company burned down?”
“It did, and twice at that,” Mr. Selfridge said. “The first time was during the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Marshall Field & Company was known then as Field, Leiter, & Company, and it wasn’t spared.”
Mr. Selfridge gestured to another painting. “After the ’71 fire, State Street was almost completely destroyed, which is why Mr. Field and Mr. Leiter moved into a temporary building well away from the destroyed parts of the city, but they eventually moved back to State Street in a new building that sat on land Mr. Potter Palmer sold to the Singer Sewing Machine Company. Singer paid Mr. Palmer three hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the land, then spent an additional seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars to build a five-story structure that possessed a giant glass dome in the center of its mansard roof.” He nodded to the painting again. “That’s it right there.”
“Impressive.”
“I’m sure it was, given that Singer was charging Mr. Field and Mr. Leiter seventy-five thousand dollars a year in rent.” He gestured to another painting. “That one depicts the building that was used next after fire destroyed the second State Street store in 1877.”
“I had no idea Marshall Field’s suffered so many disasters.”
Mr. Selfridge nodded. “I find it important for our employees to understand the store’s history, as well as to understand the history between Mr. Field and Mr. Leiter. They were partners for years, but tensions eventually built up between them. Mr. Field finally convinced Mr. Leiter to sell out his shares in the business after they moved to the building we’re currently in, and that’s when Marshall Field & Company was born.”
Beatrix frowned. “Did Mr. Leiter want to sell his shares?”
“Doubtful, but retail is a cutthroat business, Miss Waterbury. Only the strongest survive. But enough of the history lesson,” Mr. Selfridge said. “You must have a reason for being on this floor. Dare I hope you’ve come to tell me you’ve made another spectacular sale today?”
“That’s not why I’ve brought her to speak with you.”
Mr. Selfridge turned. “Mrs. Goodman. I didn’t see you standing there.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were instructing Miss Waterbury on the history of Marshall Field & Company.”
Mr. Selfridge settled a knowing eye on Beatrix. “Have you been disclosing too much information about our products again, Miss Waterbury?”
“She abandoned her post to escort Mr. Norman Nesbit and his companion to Men’s Furnishings,” Mrs. Goodman said before Beatrix could respond. “Poor Miss Wheeler, a young woman who never causes me any trouble, was left with the difficult task of watching not only her counter, but Miss Waterbury’s counter as well.”
“Perhaps we should take this into my office,” Mr. Selfridge said, any sign of the recently cheerful gentleman having disappeared a mere second after Mrs. Goodman’s disclosure.
Having no choice but to follow Mr. Selfridge and Mrs. Goodman down the hall, Beatrix soon found herself in a well-appointed office with a deep mahogany desk that sat in front of two long windows. After gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk, Mr. Selfridge moved behind the desk and took a seat. Leaning back, he nodded to Mrs. Goodman. “I’m listening.” That was all it took for Mrs. Goodman to launch into a long list of Beatrix’s supposed transgressions, ending with, “And while Miss Wheeler was reluctant to disclose where Miss Waterbury was, she finally told me that Miss Waterbury had gone off
