Chapter 3

 

Jefferson Dane awoke to someone knocking at his hotel-room door. “What is it?”

‘‘Mr. Dane, sir? It’s Josh. The hall boy?”

Sighing, Jeff sat up, disoriented. He could distinguish the light curtains fluttering in the breeze from the opened window but that was all. It was enough, though, to lead him to the door.

He jerked it open. “If this is the way your hotel treats its guests, I’ll be pulling out in the morning.”

Seeing the hall boy blinking at him in alarm, Jeff moderated his tone. “What’s up, Josh?”

“Please, Mr. Dane, sir, Mr. Dilworthy sent me up, sir. He’s in an awful stew, sir.”

“If he’s drunk it’s no reason to wake up half the hotel. Tell him to sleep it off. Or pour a gallon of coffee down his gullet. It’s nothing to do with me.”

The image of the austere desk clerk stewed to the gills brought an impudent smile to the hall boy’s round face, as Jeff had meant it to. “I wish he was tight—I shore do. But that’s not what’s the matter. It’s this crazy girl.”

“What girl?”

“She’s down at the desk. And, boy, she’s something. Looks like she was dragged around some, and her hat’s on backwards, smuts and soot all over her, and . . . oh, yeah . . . she’s got a canary in a cage. Keeps asking for you.”

“What time is it?” Jeff yawned, glancing over the boy’s head at the flickering gas jets that illuminated the hall.

“‘Bout half-past twelve. I was just about to get some shut-eye myself. So, you going to come on down, sir? Mr. Dilworthy says . . .”

“I can guess,” Jeff answered, having taken the desk clerk’s measure when he’d checked in. Officious, nosy, and suspicious, Dilworthy would be just the fellow to take care of a drunk or a lunatic. The hour was late, and he could feel sleep tugging at him like an impatient woman.

“Tell Dilworthy to slip the gal a couple of dollars. She’ll probably take it and go. I’ll give it back to him tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Josh said with a nod. “He was getting ready to call the police but he figured maybe you knew her.”

“Doesn’t sound like it. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.” The boy, absurd in his tight waistcoat and too-long pants, headed down the hall.

“Hey, Josh? Don’t wake me up again for anything less than a war or an election, okay?”

Closing the door, Jeff stretched for a moment before padding back to bed. The talk about the Texas cattle fever had gone on since lunch, his fellow Missouri cattlemen ranting and raving about the general cussedness of the Texan in general. He himself had always run a clean herd, mostly by keeping the Texans out of whatever means necessary, even with a gun on occasion. He thanked providence and his parents once again for putting his ranch halfway between Sedalia and St. Louis. It didn’t often pay the Texas men to come that far out of their route—not yet.

Jeff lay his long body down on the bed, his arms flung wide. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t find a comfortable spot. He’d slept better in the woods, with the owls hooting and the nightjars rattling. There’d been that time he’d awakened in the peace of a perfect, dew-moist morning, only to have a rising crow shoot a stream of foul . . .

Turning onto his side, Jeff wondered why he couldn’t stop thinking about birds. Where had he heard a canary today? A canary in a cage. He couldn’t recall, but it probably wasn’t important anyhow. Not as important as sleep.

Five minutes later, fully dressed, Jeff stepped into the small lobby. “Where’s the girl?”

“Really, Mr. Dane, I must protest. We are a respectable hotel with a high-class clientele. Asking me to pay off a . . .”

His words were cut off by a brown fist suddenly tightening his skinny tie. “Where did she go?” Jeff asked, spacing each word out.

“Over there,” the man gasped, his hands flopping like dying fish.

Dropped none too gently, Mr. Dilworthy said, rubbing his throat, “Really, Mr. Dane! Roughhousing is not admired at this hotel. And as for your lady ‘friend,’ she really can’t stay in the lobby all night. You’ll have to ask her to go elsewhere.”

But Jeff was already looking down the lobby. Miss Parker had her back turned, but he recognized the covered birdcage. Something had driven her out of her boardinghouse and into the night to call on a man. Jeff knew it had to be something big.

“Miss Parker?” he asked, coming up behind her. “What’s the . . .”

He almost bit his tongue. When the girl turned, he beheld a wide pair of eyes the color of twilight in a spiritual face that could haunt a hardheaded man’s dreams. As for the rest, she was pale and thin in her gray dress with the ugly pattern, her dark auburn hair pulled ruthlessly into a low tight bun. A few strands of hair had escaped and trailed in her reddened eyes. One small hand held the birdcage by the ring in the top.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, backing up. “I thought .  .  .”

“Oh, Mr. Dane!” She flung out her hand as though in supplication, her voice rough. When she closed her eyes, Jeff could tell she was struggling to regain some composure.

“Here now,” he said, catching her hand and chafing it gently. “You come over here and sit down.”

She let him lead her to a plush sofa before she pulled her hand away. “I mustn’t. My dress . . .”

“What is all that?”

“Soot, I think.”

Jeff saw that what he’d thought was a pattern on the gray stuff of her dress was in fact a scattering of tiny holes burned into the fabric.

“Never mind the damn sofa,” he said. “What’s happened to you?”

As calmly as though she were discussing ancient history, she said, “My boardinghouse has burned down. Orpheus awakened me in time. I don’t really remember how I got . . . out.”

“My Lord,” he said, shocked, urging her once more to seat herself. “Hey, Dilworthy,” he called, turning his head to glare at the desk clerk. “Bring me a shot of something strong. Whiskey, brandy, whatever you’ve got. Hurry up.”

Mr. Dilworthy pursed his lips as though quelling thoughts he dared not utter. However, he brought out a bottle from beneath the counter and poured a liberal dose into a clean glass. “Not a saloon,” he muttered as he put the tray down on the table.

“Here, now, Miss Parker. Get that down.”

“Oh, no, sir. I promised my aunt I’d never touch spirits.”

“It’ll do you good.” He held the glass out.

Edith took a taste, then licked her lips like a cat. “It’s dreadful!” she said in surprise. “I always thought it must be marvelous, so many people indulge in it to excess.”

“It’s only nasty going down. On the inside, it’s fine.”

Screwing up her face, Edith tossed back the liquid in a single, burning gulp. She strangled, coughed, and wiped her burning eyes. After a moment, she became conscious of a glow like a hot coal in her interior.

“I do feel warmer. When the fire engines came, I got sprayed and I thought I’d taken a chill.”

“Tell me what happened. How did your home burn down?”

Edith felt oddly moved by his concern. She had not even dared to hope that Mr. Dane would receive her kindly. But there had been no other place to go. “Evvie—my landlord’s sister—said it was a grease fire in the kitchen. It started so quickly she didn’t have a chance to ring the alarm bell. The firemen think everyone escaped.”

“When was this?”

“About ten o’clock.”

“Wasn’t that kind of late to be cooking?”

“She said her brother liked to eat fried potatoes in bed.” Edith shuddered delicately.

Jeff saw her reaction and hid a grin. “But you’re not hurt. You must be born lucky, Miss Parker.”

“I don’t feel lucky,” she said, catching back a hiccup that was nearly a sob. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she looked at him in alarm. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured.

“Never mind. I guess most of your stuff is ... gone?”

To her shame, tears came into her eyes. All the letters, everything she had of her aunt’s, even her attempts to write down her daydreams, all gone in the roaring inferno that carelessness had made of a decrepit building.

Edith thrust her chin out and said resolutely, “If your offer is still open, Mr. Dane, I’d like to accept that job.”

“That’s very good of you. But we’ll talk it over in the morning.” He stood up. His legs seemed to go on forever, the tall boots he wore extending almost to his knees.

Edith didn’t move. After one quick glimpse up the length of his body, she looked down at her clasped hands. “I’d prefer to discuss our business now.”

“It’s late, and you’ve been through a year’s worth of trouble. I’ll get you a room and. . . .”

It would be so easy to let him be masterful, to give all her troubles over to him. But she couldn’t possibly allow him to take on her as a responsibility. She must stand for her own.

“I don’t wish to be stubborn, Mr. Dane. But I would prefer to discuss our business now.”

Jeff smiled, though she didn’t see. The little thing was as nervous as a bird at a convention of cats on reducing diets. She was pretty, far prettier and much younger than he’d guessed at their first meeting. Her thickly lashed eyes were slightly slanted, wider at the edge than near her nose, giving her a startled look.

He studied her. Surprising himself, he found a gradual anger washing over him, getting worse by the second. What had the girl been doing to herself?

She was not naturally this thin. Her skin was stretched too tightly over her cheekbones, and he’d seen wrist bones that stuck out like hers before. She couldn’t be more than twenty. The desiccation he’d assumed to be the natural look of a dried-up spinster was plain ordinary starvation. If Miss Parker had eaten a square meal within the last week, he would breakfast tomorrow on his plainsman’s hat, without gravy.

“All right,” he said gently. “You’re going to come to Richey with me. I reckon we’ll say you’re my distant cousin, come out to look after the girls.”

“I don’t care for subterfuge,” she began. When he started to explain it was to save her reputation, she said, “I appreciate that. In this instance, I will agree to mislead people.”

“Good. ‘Course, once I ask the girl to marry me, you can head on back here. I’ll pay your fare both ways, naturally.”

“That seems acceptable,” she said, surprising him by not arguing the point. Jeff saw her sway, worn to the bone no doubt. He wanted to pick her up—she plainly weighed less than an orphan calf—and carry her away to a place of safety and comfort. His hands fairly twitched with the yearning.

Then she seemed to snap to attention, driving exhaustion back by an effort of will. He had to admire her, even while he deplored her stubbornness. Any other woman would have fallen apart by now. He almost wished she would crumble. It would be much easier to sweep up the pieces than tiptoe around the cracks.

“I wonder . . .” She hesitated, and flicked her eyes up to glance at his face. “It is a great imposition, Mr. Dane, and I apologize for the necessity. Might I have an advance on my compensation, do you think? I have no clothes now.”

“My pleasure, Miss Parker. But that’ll have to wait ‘til the bank opens.”

“Oh, dear, I didn’t think of that. And tomorrow’s Sunday.” She glanced down at her spoiled dress, and Jeff leaned forward, certain her tears were about to flow at last. Instead she glanced up with something like bravery and said, “What cannot be cured must be endured, eh, Mr. Dane?”

She swayed again and blinked rapidly. “Alcohol is very curious. I’m glad I had the chance . . .” Without changing expression Edith slid slowly off the sofa.

* * * *

The sun was on the wrong side. Edith wondered if she had somehow turned herself completely around so that her head now lay at the foot of her narrow bed. But how she could have managed it without falling off and waking herself up was a mystery that she could not solve.

Orpheus sang in the sunny window with a merry abandon that Edith did not recall ever hearing from him before. She turned her head to see him. The pillowcase beneath her cheek did not scratch, or smell like the raw yellow soap Evvie Maginn used for the tenants’ laundry. In the window was a rosy red lamp, the edge of the shade alive with hanging prisms that sent rainbows dancing and dodging around the cheerfully papered walls.

Edith lay still and stared in wonder. An angel must have transported her from a dingy boardinghouse room to a chamber straight out of a fantasy. “If this is a dream,” she said out loud, “the next thing I hope to smell is bacon, eggs and coffee. And if there should be strawberry preserves for the toast, I shall know that I have died and gone to Heaven.”

It could not have been more than a moment later that a rap sounded on her door. When it opened, the first thing that entered was the soft smell of eggs and the stronger, exotic fragrance of China tea. The bacon was there too, still sizzling.

“Over by the window, then, miss?” asked the bright-eyed boy carrying the tray.

“Thank you,” Edith answered. She’d never expected her angel to have freckles. Before she could ask any questions or even sit up, the boy opened the wardrobe. Edith could see a brown dress hanging there.

“I hope the clothes are going to be okay,” he said. “I borrowed ‘em from my sister and she’s barmaid at the General Washington. They pick their barmaids by the pound down there.” He grinned, showing a gap where his eyetooth ought to be, as he sauntered toward the door.

Before he vanished, he said, “Mr. Dane said I’m to take care of you personal. So, you need anything, just holler down the hall for Josh and I’ll be right ‘long.”

“Thank you, Josh,” Edith said, but he was gone.

As she pushed back the covers, she realized it was a good thing she’d not sat up. The only item between her and the bedclothes was the petticoat she wore next to her skin. She had no memory of where her other two might be, though she hoped they might be with her dress. She also noticed that she was clean, all the ashes and soot washed away.

Though she knew she should solve the mysteries of this wonderland, Edith counseled herself that she could just as well puzzle out the answer while she ate. The bed seemed reluctant to allow her to leave the solace of its softness, for she must have been caught back three times before she finally freed herself.

It was not the fire or her losses that she recalled first. Rather it was the remembrance of considerate hands, male hands. They had been beautiful and long fingered, like a prince’s. But a prince who had come down in the world and been forced to make his own way: they’d been rough with calluses and marked by scars. Edith remembered vague images of kissing those hands in gratitude as her tears splashed on the brown skin. But no ... that had to be part of a dream.

After eating everything but the design on the china, Edith washed her face and hands with the water in a rosebud-pink ewer and basin. The towel was as soft as the bed linen. She realized this was a very good hotel, dedicated to their guests’ comfort. There was even groundsel and clean water in Orpheus’ cage.

Tired out from dressing, Edith sat again on the deep armchair near the window. Her head felt light, and she lay back to watch the crystals dance in the sunlight.

“Hey now, are you asleep?”

Mr. Dane stood over her. Edith started, and sat up. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I stood outside and knocked for what must of been five minutes. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thanks to you.” He looked away as though to refuse her thanks, but Edith persisted. “If you hadn’t been so kind last night, I don’t know what would have become of me. You must have guessed that I had fallen into rather dire straits.”

“You mean your boardinghouse burning down? That might have happened to anybody.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“Besides, you thanked me plenty last night.” He tugged on his earlobe as he smiled sideways out the window. “There were some complaints about it.”

“Complaints? You are joking, of course.”

“Nope. You see, it was kind of late and you were singing. A few folks stuck their heads out and asked me to ask you to . . .”

“Singing?” Edith stared up at him, astonished. “You must be joking, Mr. Dane. I don’t sing.”

“I don’t know much about music, but you sounded all right to me.” Jeff looked down and saw she was seriously distressed. “It’s all right. Everybody understood.”

“Understood what? That I was intoxicated?” Edith stood up and stared straight into his amused brown eyes. “I never touched liquor before last night, Mr. Dane. I trust that is clearly understood. I would never have tasted it at all if not that in my distress I drank it without realizing what I was doing.”

Though she was still far too thin, Jeff was amazed at the difference a good night’s rest and a little food made in her. Her cheeks were naturally meant to be as rosy as they were now with the flags flying in them. Her eyes had snap and sparkle that lent a new dimension of charm to the deep blue. And her voice was not actually a meek whisper but full of mellow, well-rounded music. Any other woman might have made her lightest word an invitation with such a voice, but Jeff couldn’t imagine Miss Parker leading a man on with it. She probably didn’t know how.

“I know you don’t drink, Miss Parker. And you didn’t do anything under the influence that could be called into question. You thanked me for my help and went right off to sleep.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, her eyes cast down. “How did I ... this morning I awoke wearing nothing but . . .”

“I helped you out of your things,” Jeff said. “And wiped you down with a damp towel. You didn’t seem to have any burns. You were lucky.”

Her eyes flashed up again. In them, he could read doubt and alarm, the same expression they’d worn during his first interview with her. Remembering, however, the emotions that he’d known when seeing her patched undergarments, he had no qualms about saying, “Don’t worry, Miss Parker. I’d have done as much for a sunburned cowhand. Besides, I’ve been married.”

“I haven’t been.” Edith was mollified by his comparing her to a cowboy, until she thought about it for a moment. Though she knew she was no beauty, she didn’t appreciate being likened to a saddle tramp. A little stifled enthusiasm on Mr. Dane’s part would at least salvage her pride.

“What song?” she asked suddenly.

“I’m sorry?”

“What song did I sing?”

“I don’t know,” he said, lifting his broad shoulders. “It was in some foreign language. The only word I got was ‘amore’ ‘cause you kept on repeating it.”

“Amore?”

‘That means ‘love,’ doesn’t it?” At her thoughtful nod, he said, “You were singing pretty loud. I liked it, though, no matter what those ladies had to say about it.”

“Ladies? Never mind,” she said, holding up her hand. “I don’t really want to know. It’s just odd that . . .”

“What is?”

“I’ve been told I cannot sing. My aunt loved music and thought . . . she even sent me for lessons. But I have no voice.”

“Sounds all right to me.”

She shook her head. “No singing voice. No magic. That’s what the teacher said. No magic.”

For weeks after that insult, Edith had busied herself with dreams of standing on a stage, bowing to the plaudits of an enraptured audience, and then tossing her flowers into the lap of an ancient Mr. Fowler. He would have to admit at last that he was wrong. But he had been right.

“Whiskey does strange things, Miss Parker.”

“I never intend to find out more than I have already. So tell me,” she said suddenly, finding this conversation to have become unpleasantly personal, “what are your plans now?”

“Well, I think the first thing should be to get you some new clothes. Then, we’ll get on to Richey in a day or two.”

“A day or two? We’re not leaving at once?”

“I still have some business to get through. I would also say that you need a rest.”

“I?” she asked. Jeff tried not to let her see how much it tickled him when she drew herself up to her full height. No more than five foot five in the barmaid’s shoes, she only came up to the buttonhole in his lapel. “I assure you I’m perfectly well.”

“Maybe. But I’ve seen people through something shocking like a fire before. You may find out you get out of sorts and tired easily.”

Recalling how much dressing had tired her, Edith closed her lips tightly over the protest she was on the point of making. With a half-smile, she admitted, “To be perfectly frank, all I really want to do is tumble into bed again.”

Even that, Jeff noted, had been said in perfect innocence. She hadn’t flirted with her eyes, making more of the words than a simple declaration of fact. She wanted to get into bed and never hinted that he might be welcome to join her.

“Go right ahead,” he said. “I’ve got a few things to do yet this morning. What do you say I come back around eleven? There’s got to be a store open someplace, even on Sunday.”

“I’m afraid there won’t be. The laws . . . These clothes will do me until mine are laundered.”

For the first time, Mr. Dane looked embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck under the sharp edge of his blond hair. “I’m afraid your dress . . . fell apart when Mr. Dilworthy took it to be washed. Your other stuff . . . petticoats and stuff . . . will be ready later today.”

“I see. Well, it was rather old.” Inwardly, Edith found herself rejoicing. Never to have to see that old gray dress again! Never to have to take it in or let it out! Never to have to make it over and over so that the dingiest places were hidden!

She had worn it for seven years and hadn’t liked it when her aunt had paid to have it made up. Gray was serviceable, and always appropriate, she said. The fact that it drained all the color from Edith’s eyes and gave her hair a greenish cast was a plus rather than a minus in the elder lady’s view.

Even as she sighed in relief, Edith knew her aunt’s wisdom would prevail. At the department store tomorrow she might look with longing at dashing silks and brilliant satins, and think of herself arrayed in a velvet gown, a long train sweeping behind her. In the end, though, she would undoubtedly find herself once more with a gray poplin dress, with neither ribbons nor frills to soften its hard lines. After all, she would have to spend only what Mr. Dane agreed to advance her.

She was bringing up this subject when he glanced at the gold railroad watch he’d hauled up from his vest pocket. “I’d better be getting on,” he said.

Edith held out her hand. “I want to thank you again for your kindness to me.”

“Pshaw,” he muttered, looking down at the little fingers resting in his rough paw. “I’ll see you for lunch, all right?”

“I’ll be ready.”

“I bet you’re always punctual. I’m usually late, so don’t bother coming down. I’ll call for you.” He paused in the doorway. “Get some rest. Miss Parker.”

She nodded brightly, her figure in the too large dress appearing even thinner than it was. The color had already faded from her cheeks, though the shadows under her eyes had lessened with the morning. Jeff went out and closed the door. For a moment, he remained there, his hand still on the doorknob.

He remembered with what radiant eyes she’d looked at him last night, her silky hair fanned out across her pillow. Maybe it was the whiskey that had turned her blue eyes to fire. She’d murmured something about not minding his being a white slaver, words that conjured up images he tried to forget.

His self-control and his scruples had held strong while he undid the row of buttons that ran over her front. He’d given her petticoat-muffled body no more than an idle glance, yet the look in her eyes, the softness of her full-lipped mouth, had nearly overmastered him. It had been worse when he’d run a wet washcloth over her limbs and face.

Miss Parker, spinster, had not known she was all suggestion as she lay there, but Jeff had known it. His long-celibate body had urged him to act. He had fought that impulse with cold water once in the safety of his room.

He’d do his best to forget the way she looked then. Yet, as he walked down the stairs, he knew he’d relive in his dreams the moment when he’d felt her soft lips moving on his hand. It tingled even now. He thrust it deep into his coat pocket as though that could extinguish the memory.