The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper (9 page)

It sounded just awful.

She sighted down her pistol. Sometimes what a person wishes for is neither what they really want nor what they need.

Sometimes, it’s the wishing that’s the best part.

And right now, with her target coming into range, Mae wished for Henry.

Gennie perched on the edge of the buggy’s seat as much to get a better look at the scene unfolding before her as to be ready to jump and run if need be. Several seemingly upstanding citizens and two officers of the law had vouched for the identity of the man who called himself Elias Howe and the urchin known as Charlie Beck.

As to her identity, Gennie was not proud to admit she’d allowed them to believe she was the newest McTaggart in the household. There would be time enough to tell the truth, but Daniel Beck must be informed first. He could tell the child and his staff members. This, after all, was his purview, not hers.

Glancing to her left, Gennie noted the child’s pout and decided that whoever was in charge of the imp would have to form an immunity to the expression, lest she be taken in. Wide eyes and a tiny, upturned nose completed the profile of what could have been an angel had Gennie not known the truth.

She moved her attention to the straight back of the older man in odd clothing. A dress coat that appeared to be a neatly pressed yet greatly patched Confederate uniform offered an interesting contrast to the formal hat perched atop gray curls. Were he not seated next to the driver in a coach of some expense, Gennie might have pegged Elias Howe for one without a home or means of his own.

As if he felt her gaze on him, Elias Howe swiveled in his seat. “This here’s Lawrence Street, Miss McTaggart,” he said. “It’s not New York City, but we’ve got plenty of modern conveniences.”

Gennie noted such illustrious establishments as the Denver Fur Company and Joslin’s Dry Goods wedged among the numerous storefronts of the mud-filled thoroughfare. “Are those telegraph poles?” She resisted the urge to point. “And there, are those streetlights?”

Mr. Howe chuckled. “You sound surprised we have such a thing.” He winked. “Been ten years almost since that was news.”

“I see.”

Before her was a scene that could have taken place in any city. A solid-looking bank dominated the block, competing for space among the other surprisingly civilized establishments. Women and men wearing clothing that could have come from the better stores in Manhattan strolled along sidewalks and picked their way across the wide street. Coming and going on both sides of the street were horse-drawn streetcars filled to capacity with well-dressed city folk.

Mae Winslow would stick out like a sore thumb on these civilized streets. It was terribly disheartening.

“Won’t be long now,” Elias said over his shoulder. “I reckon you’ll find Mr. Beck’s place comfortable enough.”

Gennie bit back a quip about how short her stay would be and settled for a curt nod. Soon the true nanny would arrive and she’d be free to roam the wilderness, such as it was. Surely someone could offer insight into how she might find whatever remained of Mae Winslow’s Wild West before Gennie had to board the train for her return trip to New York.

“You smell funny.”

She looked down to see the child staring up from beneath the brim of her hat, two grimy fingers pinching her nose. Gennie likely did smell, given that she’d donned this outfit in the privacy of her dressing room back in Manhattan.

The girl awaited her response, but Gennie decided to let the moment pass. Correcting the child would be best left to the poor woman who would take on the permanent job of raising her.

The carriage veered to the right, and the commercial buildings gave way to broad lawns tucked behind tall iron fences. Homes of the latest fashion sat among gardens that rivaled anything she’d seen in her travels. The driver pulled at the reins, and the carriage slowed in front of an oversized Italianate villa.

Gennie shook her head. This wasn’t the Wild West at all.

“Deep in thought, miss?”

She looked up to find Elias Howe watching her.

“We’re here,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “This is the home of Mr. Beck and Charlotte.”

Gennie held tight to the side of the carriage as it turned through the massive gates and headed toward the Beck mansion. Elias and the girl piled out, but Gennie waited for the groomsman to assist her from the carriage. Before her feet could touch the ground, the child was tugging her coattails.

“I told my papa I didn’t need a governess, and I surely don’t want you.”

“Enough of that,” Elias said as he stepped behind the girl and tugged on her hat. “You’ll apologize at once, Charlotte Beck, or I’ll know the reason why.”

As the hat came off, golden curls fell about the child’s shoulders. In an instant, the urchin became quite a fetching girl. Except for the scowl, which left Gennie wondering whether it might be a permanent fixture on an otherwise lovely face.

When she refused to speak, Elias placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders and turned her toward what appeared to be a back entrance to the home. “ To your room, Charlotte Beck. And you’ll stay there until you can tell Miss McTaggart you’re sorry.” He glanced up at Gennie. “Forgive the child’s inhospitable nature. She misses her papa.”

“Do not,” the girl said, trudging toward the back of the house. “He’s gone all the time, anyway.”

The oddly dressed man shifted positions but did not move away from the carriage. Elias Howe seemed in need of further conversation but in want of words.

“A lovely child,” Gennie offered, unsure as to any other topic that might be appropriate. “With proper instruction, she will likely grow into quite a young woman.”

“And many prayers too.” Mr. Howe let out a long breath. “She’s a good girl,” he said in a tone that made Gennie wonder whom he was trying to convince.

“I’m sure she is,” Gennie said. “Perhaps a bit misguided?”

“Misguided.” The old man’s chuckle held no humor. “Indeed she is. Imagine a child with all this wanting to steal money off a governess. Then there’s the incident down at the saloon, and at the post office. Well, I never did confirm that one, but…”

As his voice trailed off, his look implored a response. Gennie found none to offer. She clutched her reticule and pondered her options. The gate had not yet shut on her adventure at Beck Mansion. Though it would mean compromising her upbringing, Gennie had no doubt she could pick up her soot-covered skirts and run away faster than the old man could possibly catch her.

She sighed. Any governess who would contemplate such audacious behavior was not fit to tame a child.

Gennie looked up at the second floor, where an oddly shaped white curtain blew through an open window. On second glance, she realized the object was not a curtain at all.

“Sir?” She diverted her eyes and gestured toward the home. “Might that be someone’s unmentionables?”

Elias Howe turned in time to see what was likely, from the size of it, his own union suit go flying from the window and land in a pine tree. Rather than chase after the garment or the child now laughing with great vigor, he turned his back on the scene to address Gennie.

“Miss, there are more good reasons than I can count for you to demand a return trip to Union Station without ever stepping through the door of Mr. Beck’s house. Chief among them being the child herself.” He paused to remove his hat, revealing a wild mass of curls that darted in all directions. “I can offer only one reason for you staying put and sticking it out with her. With us.”

Gennie watched the girl disappear inside the window, her giggles a soft song carried by the brisk north wind. With difficulty, she removed her attention from the pine tree and its unusual decoration.

“And what would that be, Mr. Howe?”

“We need you.”

Somehow that simple three-word phrase silenced every objection but one.

“Time is short,” Gennie said, though she knew Elias Howe had no idea how very short her visit would be.

“It is,” he said, nodding toward the house. “Perhaps you’d like to get settled before meeting the staff. Not that there’s many of us.”

In a home this size? What might her duties be, then? She caught him staring and elected not to ask.

“Just Tova and me in the house.” He gestured to the fair-haired driver. “And Tova’s boy, Isak, who drove us. He also takes care of the handiwork and the gardening.”

“I see.” She paused, unsure of the protocol in situations such as this. “Might I inquire as to my accommodations? I need to freshen up, though I fear I’m a bit meagerly prepared. Until I can purchase suitable attire, I’ve only what I’m wearing.”

Elias looked her over and shrugged. “You’re no bigger than a minute. We can fetch something that’ll make do until Tova can wash that getup of yours. She’s the day help. Cleans and such.”

“I see.” Gennie followed Elias to the rear entrance, where a tall, sturdy, and stern-looking woman of obvious Scandinavian descent stood, arms crossed.

“Tova, this is the new girl. She needs a tub of hot water and something to put on,” Elias said as he skittered past the fair-haired woman with the agility of a much younger man.

Tova stepped between Gennie and the door. For a moment, nothing happened.

“Pleased to meet you,” Gennie said as she stared into blue eyes that seemed unable to blink. “Thank you for your kindness in helping me settle in.”

Again, nothing.

“Tova?” Mr. Howe called from somewhere inside. “I’d be obliged if
you’d go on over to the Fisher’s Dry Goods Store and fetch the lady a new dress and whatever she needs to go along with it.” He appeared beside Tova and looked Gennie over. “Appears she’ll need everything, head to toe.”

At the housekeeper’s raised eyebrows, Mr. Howe scrambled to explain. “What I mean to say is, likely she’s got road dust on every layer.” A brisk red climbed into his cheeks. “That didn’t come out right. See—oh, never mind.”

Elias mumbled something about womenfolk and the Confederacy and disappeared inside. With him gone, Gennie was left in Tova’s sights. It was, to say the least, an uncomfortable feeling.

But she was not unaccustomed to dealing with the help. She needed to diffuse the situation with a gesture. A grand gesture.

Gennie fumbled with the strings of her reticule. “Here,” she said as her fingers wrapped around the wad of cash she’d nearly lost. “I can pay.” As soon as she made the offer, Gennie realized she had no idea what the price of such a purchase would be. “How much would a dress and some underthings cost?”

The housekeeper didn’t respond, nor did she move.

“I’m sorry,” Gennie said as she peeled off a few bills, then, when Tova lifted a pale brow, added a few more. “Generally I have my dresses made by this wonderful seamstress in a shop near the Seine, so I’ve no idea what size I wear. That is, I’ve never purchased a dress from a department store before.”

The brow went higher.

Two more bills went into the stack, and then, for good measure, Gennie added one more. A glance at the remaining funds told her she’d spent half at least, possibly more. The remainder she would count in the privacy of her chambers.

“Please, take it,” she said, thrusting her hand toward the imperious woman. “I’m ever so tired and grateful for your kindness.” Gennie paused. “You’re a true blessing and an answer to prayer.”

At this, both brows went up. “You pray?” Tova asked in surprisingly unaccented English.

“Yes, of course,” Gennie said. “More so, lately.”

Tova relaxed her expression but not her posture. “Then we shall have an understanding, you and I.”

“All right,” Gennie said, lowering her hand to her side, the money still tight in her fist.

“You shall look after the child,” Tova said, “and you will leave the care of Mr. Howe and Mr. Beck to me. When you are not looking after the child, you’re mine, and I will use you to help with the cleaning. Is that understood?”

As Gennie nodded, another type of understanding dawned. No wonder the former governess left in such a hurry to become a bride. This Scandinavian housekeeper had a territory to protect, and young unmarried women were obviously not welcome.

Gennie thought back to the last time she’d encountered such a woman. Before her came the image of Mrs. Vanowen in all her glory, wearing a frown not unlike the one on Tova’s face. Gennie had taken the old dowager into her confidence by offering up a choice tidbit on a favorite but quite exclusive dressmaker in Paris, one Mrs. Vanowen would surely want to share with her friends on their upcoming visit to the Continent. Perhaps that tactic, applied in a slightly different manner, might work now.

Gennie cast a glance to the right and then to the left before leaning toward the housekeeper. “I’ve a secret.”

“Oh?” Tova’s stoic expression remained in place, though Gennie
thought she saw the beginnings of a spark of interest. A woman was a woman, whether in Manhattan or Denver.

“Yes,” she said in a loud whisper. “You see, there’s a fellow back home who I think will soon be declaring his intentions to my father.”

“Is that so?” Tova’s mouth relaxed slightly, her lips turned up a bit at the edges. “Then why are you here?”