Behind a Lady's Smile (15 page)

Genny looked up, no doubt surprised that he’d noticed. He noticed everything, from her flushed cheeks to the slightest wince when she stood too quickly.

“I have the most delightful news,” Madeline said. “I’ve found you a maid.”

Mitch loved his mother, but he also knew her well enough to know that the slight tingling of unease he was feeling was completely justified. “Where did you find her, Mother?”

“Oh, stop looking at me like that. Do you really think I’d hire one of my girls to be her maid? Really, Mitchell, have more faith in your dear mother.”

“I apologize,” Mitch said, not meaning a single syllable. “Who is she?”

“She works at the Niblo in the costume department.” Madeline threw up a hand to stop him from protesting. “She’s a genius with hair, she can dress Miss Hayes in a trice, and she’s an aspiring actress.”

Mitch had to admit the girl sounded as if she could do the job, at least until Genny’s grandparents got her a real lady’s maid. But something about his mother’s demeanor was still making him nervous. “There’s more. Tell me, Mother.”

“You can imagine a young girl doesn’t want to be away from home. She is doing me a huge favor. She wants one hundred dollars.”

Mitch felt a slight sick twist in his stomach. When he returned to New York, he’d be dead broke at this rate. “One hundred. For a maid? That’s more than a year’s salary.”

“For a woman
pretending
to be a maid. That’s much more difficult to find.”

“Then I’ll just hire a
real
maid,” Mitch said.

“I don’t need a maid,” Genny said.

“Yes, you do,” Mitch and his mother said in unison.

“Darling, you’d never find a real maid on such short notice, not one willing to move to England, for goodness’ sake. Tillie is perfect. She knows it’s a short-term role and she’s excited about seeing London. She has an adventurous spirit and is perfect to play the part.”

Mitch took a deep breath. “It’s not a part, Mother, it’s a job.”

Madeline waved her hand as if it didn’t matter, and Mitch was starting to believe it wouldn’t.

“I’ll introduce you to her tomorrow. She wants half now and half when she’s in England. And you have to pay her passage, of course.”

“I know.” Mitch wasn’t much a praying man, but he was starting to pray that Genny’s grandparents were very grateful to see their granddaughter delivered safe and sound.

 

Mitch sat at the piano, pounding out a polka as Madeline attempted to teach Genny the basics of the dance. As a child, he’d often played the piano while his mother’s friends danced, so even though he hadn’t played in years, his skills came back quickly.

The two women stumbled across the makeshift dance floor, Genny’s face full of determination, Madeline’s full of amusement. Finally, Madeline stopped, her face a bit red.

“It’s no use, Mitchell. I don’t know how to lead and I’m already tired. I’m not used to this type of activity, you know. I’ve become a lady of leisure. You’re going to have to take over. I don’t understand why you didn’t dance in the first place.”

Mitch folded his arms over his chest and looked at his mother skeptically. “Because I’m a better piano player,” Mitch said. Though it was a true statement, it was nowhere near the real reason he’d sat behind the piano rather than dance. His mother was either completely oblivious to his feelings toward Genny or, worse, was trying to foster them. Either way, it would be painful to dance with Genny, knowing he would never truly have the privilege. That would go to men with “lord” before their names. And that’s the way it should be, he reminded himself brutally.

“Shoo. I’ll play,” Madeline said, waving her hands at him.

Mitch reluctantly stood and stared at Genny, who looked at him expectantly. God help him, he just couldn’t stop his heart from picking up a beat every time he looked at her. What would it be like to hold her in his arms?

“The polka simply requires you to keep up with your partner,” Mitch explained. “It’s one and two and one and two.” He demonstrated by taking a step with his left foot, then bringing his right foot even with the left, and taking another step with his right.

“See? It’s almost like skipping.”

Genny watched, a small furrow between her brows. She looked positively adorable as she gazed up at him as if he’d just shown her something terribly complicated. She wore one of her simplest new gowns, a high-necked soft blue muslin that fastened up the front with mother-of-pearl buttons. Madame Brunelle was a genius, for even this simple and chaste creation showed off Genny’s figure to perfection, making her waist seem even tinier and her small breasts somehow larger. He tried not to let his thoughts go in that particular direction, but it was nearly impossible, especially when he laid his hand at her waist and instructed her to place her left hand on his shoulder.

“Go on and play, Mother.”

What Madeline lacked in skill, she made up with enthusiasm, and the two were soon dancing across the large living room where they’d pushed aside the furniture to create a makeshift dance floor. Genny stumbled, his firm hand on her back keeping her steady, but before long, she was dancing rather than being dragged around the floor.

“Oh, this is fun,” she exclaimed, bouncing along with him as if she’d been dancing all her life. He twirled around the floor, and she kept up with him easily, her right hand gripping his tightly. And then she started laughing, so hard, she could no longer continue to dance. He couldn’t help it; he started laughing too, even though he didn’t know why the two of them were laughing like a couple of people gone mad. Madeline sat back with a bemused expression as Genny wiped at a tear, still trying to control her mirth.

“A much better reason to cry,” Mitch said softly, dropping his hands. “What did you find so funny?”

“It wasn’t that something was amusing. It’s difficult to explain. I’ve never danced in my life and there I was, dancing across the floor as if it were nothing. It just made me so happy it bubbled out as laughter.”

“All the dances won’t be nearly as easy,” Mitch said.

“The waltz is next, I think,” Madeline said. “Coming from America, she can decline to dance the quadrille or some of the more complex dances; no one will think badly of her if she doesn’t know them. But she must know the waltz and perhaps a reel. A
schottische
?”

“Not a
schottische
. It’s too complicated. If we have time and she’s mastered the others, we can move on to that.”

“Oh, posh. Look how quickly she took to the polka.”

 

Genny adored the waltz. She’d never felt so feminine in her life as she did in Mitch’s arms as they moved around the small dance floor. The way he made her go in the direction he wanted by applying the slightest amount of pressure to the small of her back was thrilling.

“When you waltz, you are expected to have some sort of conversation,” Madeline called out. “Something to draw a man’s interest. I played a part once where I had to speak dialogue the entire time I was dancing. Do you remember that, Mitchell? He was just twelve years old and I made him practice and practice so that I could get my lines in before the song ended.”

Mitch smiled at his mother while continuing to lead Genny around. “I remember how frustrated you were. ‘Mr. Browne, please tell me how you like our fair town?’”

Madeline laughed, and ceased playing, shaking her hands out as if they were sore. Mitch stopped dancing and immediately dropped his hands and stepped back.

“You remember that play?” Madeline asked.

“I do believe I could recite not only your lines but Mr. Browne’s as well. Perhaps Genny could memorize a play to help her along.” He gave her a wink, but that did nothing to allay a new worry. She moved off the dance floor and sat down, twisting her hands together. She was going to have to talk to these men while she danced? Wasn’t dancing difficult enough? Now she’d have to be interesting and witty. What on earth should she say to them?

“What sorts of things does one talk about?” she asked Madeline.

“Ask them about themselves. Men adore discussing anything that has to do with their lives. Watch.” Madeline moved in front of Mitch. “Tell me about your country home, Lord Campbell.”

Mitch smiled slightly. “Why, it’s ten million acres of the finest farmland in the world,” Mitch said grandly, putting on a cultured English accent. “My home, or should I say, my palace, has five hundred bedrooms and my stable houses one hundred of the finest steeds in all of Britain.”

“My goodness, Lord Campbell. How on earth do you manage such an estate? Quite impressive.”

“I daresay, I cannot do it alone. My one thousand servants do help out a bit.”

Madeline dissolved into laughter, clearly delighted with her son’s banter. Genny laughed too, but she was not finding their play nearly as amusing as they did. The closer she got to actually making the trip to England, the more nervous she felt. Lately, she would lie in bed at night and try to recall anything her mother had said about her life before America, but all Genny had were vague memories of stories that might not even be true.

As a child, Genny had adored tales of princesses, and her mother would indulge her nearly every night. It was one of the few strong memories she had of her mother, of those drowsy moments before sleep when her mother would read to her or make up stories as she went. The made-up ones had been her favorites, for she liked to think they weren’t just stories, but adventures that had actually happened. She knew that sometimes her mother would talk about people she’d known, as well as her parents, but now Genny couldn’t separate the stories from the true tales of her mother’s youth. All she did remember was that her grandparents lived on a large estate in Cumberland with a big lake where black swans swam during the summer. She remembered this only because her mother had been afraid of the swans and Genny had thought a black swan was such an exotic creature. All the swans she had ever seen had been white as snow. After her mother had died, Genny had tried to get her father to tell her more about England, but the conversations always left him so sad, she stopped asking after a time.

Genny could hardly bring herself to smile; their banter only showcased how little she knew of what was to be her new life. She walked over to one of the couches pushed up against the wall and sat, chin on her hands, the fun of dancing suddenly gone. It was almost as if the realization of why she was learning to dance suddenly hit her. It wasn’t for fun, it was so that she would not embarrass herself or her grandparents when she was living in England. Though Genny knew and accepted the why of it, she was suddenly and inexplicably sad. For the first time, she wished her father hadn’t made her promise to go home to England. Home was her little cabin, not some palace in England, not with two people she had never met whom she might not even like. She knew Mitch was exaggerating, but just how much she didn’t know.

“Does everyone in England have more than one home?” she asked.

“Only the men you’ll be meeting,” Mitch said, sounding far too jovial to Genny’s ears.

Madeline walked over to where Genny sat and dropped down next to her. “A lady doesn’t rest her chin on her hands,” Madeline said gently, making Genny feel even more miserable.

“I know it’s a wonderful thing that my grandparents want to see me. And I know my father did the right thing making me go to England, but it’s all getting a bit overwhelming.” She looked down at her dress and lifted the material slightly. “This doesn’t feel as if it’s mine. I feel like I’m a little girl playing dress up.”

“Oh, posh,” Madeline said. “In no time you’ll feel completely yourself.”

Genny forced a smile. “I know I sound ungrateful, but I’m not. I truly appreciate everything that you both are doing to help me.” She
did
sound ungrateful, she realized. Here she was, wearing a pretty dress Mitch had purchased for her, practicing dancing, learning comportment, and all she could do was complain. Genny gave herself a strong mental shake. “From now on, I shall take this as the adventure it is. I shall charm everyone I meet in England.”

“Including all those lords?” Madeline said, obviously teasing her.

“Why, especially the lords. If I’m to marry a prince, I shall have to charm them, won’t I?” Genny looked up at Mitch, hoping she might see some sign that the idea of her marrying a prince was disagreeable to him, but he was smiling down at her as if he thought it the best of ideas.

“Are we done with our dance lesson for the day?”

“I know I’m done,” Madeline said, rubbing the knuckles of her right hand. “Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to your new maid, Tillie. You two will get along famously, I’m sure.”

T
he next day after breakfast, Tillie arrived, smiling brightly as she walked into the main parlor, as if she were walking into a party being held in her honor. She had the blondest hair Genny had ever seen in her life, like sheep’s wool, though her brows were considerably darker. Oddly, she wore a shapeless dull brown dress, which didn’t seem to match the rest of her at all, for even at first glance she seemed far livelier than the clothing she had on.

“Oh,” she breathed as she looked around, brown eyes wide. “This is the prettiest room I’ve ever seen.” She turned quickly to face Genny. “And you must be Miss Hayes. Such a pleasure to meet you. My goodness, how pretty you are.”

Genny had to smile, for the girl was a whirlwind of enthusiasm, her face animated, her smile bright.

She spun to face Madeline, and it seemed to Genny that this girl was incapable of moving slowly. “Madeline, I know I thanked you before, but I want to thank you again for this opportunity. England. Goodness, I never thought I’d be traveling across an ocean. I wrote my dear mother as soon as I got the role.”

“Position,” Mitch corrected.

Her smile faltered a bit. “Yes, position,” she said with slightly less spirit. Then, she smiled again, so abruptly Genny was taken slightly aback. “Look at your hair,” she exclaimed, coming up to Genny and circling around her. “You were right, Madeline. I can’t wait to get my hands in it.” She laughed, and Genny joined her, though a bit uncertainly. “Not like mine,” she said, and to Genny’s shock, she removed her hair and held it up like a prize. Where her hair had been was a tightly pinned mass of dark brown hair. Seeing Genny’s expression, she laughed again, rather a braying sort of laugh that made one cringe. “It’s a wig, you silly girl. Ha! I do believe she thought I’d just scalped myself. I decided I would wear this ugly brown dress but I fear I didn’t want to part with my lovely hair just yet.”

Genny looked from Mitch to Madeline, uncertain how to react to this strange creature claiming to be her maid. She had no experience of how a maid should act, but she was fairly certain this was not it.

“Mother,” Mitch said, softly but with an authority that Genny had come to recognize. It was his “tone of steel,” the one he used when he was very upset but not willing to let it show. “May I have a word with you?”

Madeline simply waved a hand at him. “Tillie, do please get into character.
Really
, child.”

Instantly, Tillie changed. It was fascinating; almost as if another person had entered the room, a girl who looked like Tillie but . . . wasn’t.

“Yes, ma’am. If there’s nothing else, I’ll go and mend your stockings,” Tillie said, adding a deferential little curtsey.

Madeline clapped her hands in appreciation. “Marvelous, marvelous.” Tillie made a deep curtsey, accepting the accolades with grace.

Mitch actually let out a sound that reminded Genny of a large dog’s growl. “It is
not
marvelous, Mother. If she doesn’t stay in character, it could be disastrous. These English, they’re sticklers for such things and staying in character every day all day is more than I could ask of even the best actress.”

“I can do it,” Tillie said, full of affront. “Besides, how do you know how the English are?”

A tick showed just below Mitch’s left eye, a sure sign he was about to lose his temper. Genny had only seen it one other time, the night she’d been thrown from Delmonico’s. “I don’t know,” Mitch said through gritted teeth. “But I do know that maids do not take off their very blonde wigs and hold them up like some sort of prize.”

Tillie stuck her tongue out at Mitch, and it was all Genny could do not to laugh. He gave Madeline a withering look, then threw up his hands in apparent surrender. “Wonderful. She has a bad actress for a maid, a bastard for a guardian, and a madam for a mentor. This is all fine. Just fine.”

“Who’s calling me a bad actress?” Tillie said, fisting her hands and jutting out her chin. The mood changes this girl made were dizzying.

Madeline held up her hand again, and Tillie instantly became subdued. Perhaps his mother should have been a director, not a madam.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Mitch,” Madeline said. “Everything will be fine if we all remember our parts.”

“Parts?” Then Mitch, who had been doing quite well about not swearing, let out a rather foul curse. And didn’t apologize.

“Pardon me,” Genny said to Tillie. “I don’t mean to be critical, but how do you know the way a maid acts? Having never seen a maid, I wouldn’t even know if you were doing it wrong.”

Tillie shrugged. “I’ve seen enough plays with maids to know how to act like one. Basically, you act real polite, do as you’re told without any complaint, and keep everyone happy.”

“See?” Madeline said. “It’s settled.”

Genny looked at Mitch, who seemed to have turned to stone. Nothing moved. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t twitch. He just stood there for a good ten seconds before stalking from the room, muttering under his breath. Genny couldn’t make out what he was saying, but she was fairly certain it was curses.

 

The next few days went by far more quickly than Mitch would have liked. Though he had his doubts about Tillie, he had to admit she knew how to dress hair and, when she bothered, could actually sound and act like a maid. Every day when Genny appeared, her hair was in a style more intricate than the day before—and every style looked stunning on her. Between the new gowns and her hair, Genny looked like a completely different woman from the one he’d met in Yosemite. It hurt to look at her, she was that beautiful. And he never wanted to forget her, never wanted to wake up one morning struggling to recall the shape of her mouth. He might forget the soft lilt of her voice, but he’d be damned if he forgot her face.

 

Genny arrived at the breakfast table wearing one of her old dresses, her hair in a simple braid down her back. Tillie liked to sleep in in the morning, and Genny could think of no reason not to let her. She could dress herself and braid her own hair just as she’d been doing for more than a decade.

Like her, Mitch was an early riser, and there were many mornings they shared a quiet breakfast. Madeline often didn’t make an appearance until very late morning or early afternoon. Mitch wasn’t much of a talker, but that suited Genny just fine in the morning. Her mind was always a bit foggy before she had her nice strong cup of coffee. Madeline had urged her to try tea because apparently the English were mad for the stuff, but Genny had been drinking strong black coffee since she was fourteen and nothing else could replace it.

“I have a surprise for you today,” Mitch said, setting down his own mug. “After breakfast, have Tillie do your hair all fancy and put on your ball gown.”

“Are we practicing dancing?”

“Something far better. At least as far as I’m concerned.”

Genny laughed. “I can’t imagine what could be better than dancing.” She finished her breakfast and dashed toward the bedrooms in a way she knew was completely unladylike, but she didn’t care. She could be ladylike for the rest of her life, but today Mitch had a surprise for her and she couldn’t wait to see what it was.

She went to Tillie’s room, which was across from hers, and knocked on the door. She thought she detected some movement, but when there was no answer, she knocked again.

“Go away.”

Lady’s maids likely didn’t tell their employers to “go away” and Genny had to smile. What a pair they made, trying to fool everyone around them into thinking they were a fine lady and her maid. She pushed open the door and Tillie pulled the covers over her head.

“What time is it?” Tillie asked, clearly disgruntled.

“Just past seven.”

“Has the sun even come up yet? Why on earth are you in here?”

“I’ve been up for more than an hour already,” Genny said, sitting at the foot of the bed and tugging at Tillie’s feet. “I do believe servants are supposed to be up before their employers.”

“And employers are supposed to sleep until noon. That’s what I heard,” came the muffled reply. Tillie dropped the blankets and glared at Genny, revealing dark brown hair falling out of its braid. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Mr. Campbell said he wanted my hair done up pretty and said for me to wear my ball gown. He has a surprise for me.”

Tillie immediately sat up. “The green one with the pearls?”

Genny nodded, and Tillie whipped off the covers. “I’ll be dressed in a few seconds and we can get started. I have the most wonderful idea for your hair just for that dress.” As if she’d never complained about being awoken, Tillie smiled and began rushing about.

“I’ll get the dress ready,” Genny said, rising and moving toward the door.

“And take out that hideous braid.”

Genny’s hand flew to the offending braid, but she grinned before closing the door behind her.

 

Mitch carefully set up his camera and tripod, positioning it to face a leather wingback chair. The light in the morning was bright and perfect for the photograph he had in mind. He’d used some of his quickly dwindling savings to purchase new chemicals and plates so he could produce the photo he wanted. In one corner of the room, he’d set up a dark room where he would prepare his glass plates. He’d learned the hard way that the plates had to be prepared right before taking the picture or they were useless. Out in the field, plates tended to dry out quickly. He remembered several occasions early on when his pictures failed as a result of improper preparation. Will had groused for weeks about those wasted plates and chemicals.

Just setting up his camera equipment again after so many weeks served to remind him of his dream of opening up his own studio. With funds so low, he was glad he’d decided to take his studio camera from Will’s studio when they’d stopped in Omaha. He certainly couldn’t afford to buy a camera now.

The smell of the collodion never ceased to transport him back to the field or to Will Jackson’s photography studio. To some, the smell might offend—two of the ingredients in collodion were alcohol and ether—but to Mitch it was the sweetest perfume. He’d douse himself with collodion if it would make him forget Genny and remember the original reason he’d agreed to bring her to England. Somehow he’d forgotten about the money, money he now needed more than ever. He wasn’t certain how he’d allowed himself to go all soft on a woman, but he had. And taking a picture of her just so that he could look at her face when she was gone sure as heck wasn’t going to help.

He was giving the chair another small adjustment, when Tillie rushed into the room.

“Presenting Miss Genevieve Hayes,” she said with a flourish and then pretended to play a trumpet fanfare. Genny entered the room, head held high, as if floating on a cloud. Somehow, the ball gown he’d first seen her in back at Madame Brunelle’s looked even more beautiful on her now. Perhaps it was her hair, upswept and curled, with one long bit artistically flowing down and resting upon the creamy expanse of her upper chest. She nodded serenely to Tillie, then dissolved into laughter—stopping abruptly when she saw the camera equipment.

“You’re taking my picture?”

“I thought I might. I want to stay in practice.”

“I’ve never had my picture taken,” she breathed, going over to his camera. “How long before I see it?”

“Later this very morning. Now, when I’m ready, you have to stay still for twenty seconds.” He walked over to the window and peered out, smiling when he saw a pure blue sky and no danger of clouds ruining his light. “We’ve nice bright light, so it shouldn’t take too long. Do you think you can stay still for that long?”

“I believe so. Should I smile?” She pulled a rather maniacal-looking happy expression. “Or look dour.” She frowned. “It seems every picture I see of people, they look miserable. I shouldn’t like to look miserable.”

“Then smile. It’s what I had in mind. Now, come here and stand by this window.” Genny walked over, followed by Tillie. “Rest your left hand like so.” He took her gloved hand and draped it over the back of the chair. “Turn a bit, so that you are facing the window, now without turning your body, look at the camera.” He stepped behind the camera and focused the lens, then placed the lens cap back on. “Perfect. I’m off to prepare the first plate, so you can relax a bit, but don’t move.”

He rushed back to a side table near his dark tent, and held the spotlessly clean glass up to the light just to make certain it was free from dust. “This is where your image is going to be,” he said, showing Genny the glass. “I’m going to put some chemicals on it”—he held up a bottle of Mawson’s Collodion—“then let it soak for a bit in silver nitrate and we’ll be all set.”

He gently poured the collodion over the glass so that it flowed to all four corners. Then he lifted the plate and let the excess pour back into the bottle; no use wasting perfectly good chemical. Ducking beneath the tent, he placed the plate in a container of silver nitrate, then returned to where Tillie was fussing with Genny’s hair.

“Just a few minutes and I’ll be ready to take your picture.”

“I’m so nervous. Can I blink?”

“It’d be better if you didn’t.”

Several minutes later, Mitch returned carrying a case from which dripped a bit of silver nitrate. As he looked around the room, he noticed that Tillie had disappeared. “Where’s Tillie?”

“She said she was bored. I don’t think she’s going to fool anyone into thinking she’s a maid.”

“Probably not,” Mitch said, slipping the holder into his camera. “We have to take the picture while it’s still wet. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then, look beautiful.”

Genny immediately made her face go completely slack, so she looked rather like a simpleton.

“Very funny. Smile please or at least try to look like you have a thought in your head.”

She did, but she crossed her eyes at the same time, just enough to be noticeable.