Read Hall of Secrets (A Benedict Hall Novel) for Free Online Page A

him, and though Tommy Fellowes couldn’t know it, that was the highest recommendation he could receive.
    Using her free hand, Allison unwound his fingers from hers and smoothed her sweat-stained glove. “Allison Benedict,” she said, dropping a mock curtsy. Then, laughing, “Newly freed from the First Class Lounge.”
    “Golly!” her new acquaintance cried. He clapped his hand to his starched breast. “Too posh! I’ll bet they’re all wearing tails up there!”
    “Of course they are. And gloves, too.”
    He was utterly unabashed by this. “Got too hot!” he declared. “But I promise, I wore them at dinner.” He pulled a pair out of his pocket and waved them at her before jamming them back in and seizing her hand again. “Come on, old thing,” he cried. “Let’s cut a rug!”
    A quartet of young dancers, still struggling for balance on the dance floor, called Tommy’s name, beckoning to him. He tugged Allison toward them. The jazz band had found its beat again, and the music struck up more loudly than before. It was all irresistible.
    Allison, her silk wrap trailing behind her, followed Tommy, and in moments was trying to dance the Black Bottom in her too-long skirt. Berengaria rolled from time to time, and she found herself holding on to whoever was nearest, sometimes Tommy, sometimes one of the other men, once even one of the girls, a plump, red-cheeked brunette wearing a short beaded dress. When one song ended, the band went straight on to another. Allison, caught up in the moment, stripped her own gloves off and tossed them on one of the upholstered chairs, along with her silk scarf. When the musicians finally took a break, the dancers collapsed into chairs, calling for drinks and grinning at one another. Allison was perspiring, out of breath, and happier than she had been in weeks. In months.
    And, she thought now, disconsolately staring out at the drab landscape beyond the train’s windows, if she had stopped then, returned to the suite and to her mother, she would probably be safely at home in San Francisco. She might even be choosing her clothes, packing up her tennis racket, and buying books for her frosh year at Mills. She most certainly wouldn’t be on this train, imprisoned by a turncoat maid and a warden in the form of a Pullman porter, chugging her way toward the most boring winter ever.
    Yes, it was her own fault. She should have left brash Tommy Fellowes and the rest of his gay group in Second Class and trudged back up the stairs to the stiff confines of First. Where she belonged. Where, as her papa reminded her endlessly, her future was. Where, her mother would say, she would associate with people of her own class.
    She couldn’t make them understand, Papa and Mother and all the other parents who meant to mold their children into younger versions of themselves, that the world was changing. The lines were blurring, not only between social classes but between men and women. Women could vote! Women could serve in Congress! She had been born in the twentieth century, a new world of opportunities! Why, look at Cousin Margot!
    But that was a thought she didn’t want to pursue. She was still nursing her resentment of Cousin Margot for suggesting this whole stupid scheme.
    In some ways, she envied Ruby. There were many advantages Ruby didn’t have, but Ruby, at least, could change jobs if she wanted to, live where she wanted to, choose her own life’s path. She was limited only by her ability.
    Of course, Allison thought, casting her maid a guilty glance, Ruby’s abilities were unremarkable. She knew that.
    But what was she supposed to do in Seattle? Was she supposed to play the role of companion, solace to her poor bereaved aunt Edith? Not that she didn’t care! It must be awful to lose a son, such a handsome and charming one, especially after having him come home safe from the Great War. Still, she didn’t want to be trapped in a sprawling big house with a woman who by all accounts barely