Opening the door, she heard an argument upstairs. Removing her hat, she climbed the stairs, stopping outside Deborah’s room.
“If you’re my wife, you do as I say,” Binky hollered.
“But I’m not your wife!”
“But you will be. I will make money. There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” he shouted.
“Binky, don’t be a fool. We have it good here. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to work my fingers to the bone, even if it’s for my own business. This is good work. In time, I will consider what comes next.”
“I come next.”
“You have no trade. Your idea of money is to turn in a runaway slave, and let me tell you, Binky Watson, if you do that you will not live to see another dawn.”
This had never occurred to the besotted youth. “Kill me? Who would kill me?”
“Any slave in Richmond. Don’t be a damned fool.”
“I’m free.”
“So you may be, but you ought to have the sense to know who your people are. I’ve heard enough of this. It’s time for midday meal.”
“You don’t work midday.” He pouted.
“I will today. It feels like spring. The men will be in here like rutting rams. And this weekend, the money will roll in.”
Georgina stepped back, a slight smile on her face. Deborah was no silly whore. The woman had brains as well as compelling allure. She could use Deborah in better fashion than she had. Quietly she descended the stairs.
A door opened as she reached the halfway mark. Lolo Thompson, fully dressed but barefoot, opened her door, peeked out, saw it was the boss, hurried down the steps.
“Miss Georgina.”
“You look good in lavender, dear.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I have a rash.”
“For how long?”
“A week. I thought it would go away.” Her blue eyes implored forgiveness.
Forgiveness did not enter the equation. Profit did.
“I’ll send a message to Dr. Foster. It may just be fabric is irritating you or something you’re eating, but let’s be sure.”
“Shall I work the midday meal?”
“Of course. If someone wishes for you,” she paused, “after dessert, surely you can find ways to please him without a full-scale assault.” She smiled broadly.
As Georgina repaired to her office, Lolo dashed back upstairs to finish her hair, a simpler coiffure for daylight. For nighttime she’d have her lady’s maid weave in gold thread or tiny stars. The candlelight reflected especially on the tiny stars.
While officially spring, the temperature nudged into the low fifties but would drop tonight, turning to a light frost. Her fireplace kept the room warm. Georgina prided herself on the rug in her office, a purchase from a faltering French count six months ago. She felt it would not have been out of place at Versailles although she would be, then again perhaps not.
A knock on her door brought forth a sigh. She had hoped to read a bit before customers arrived for their twelve-o’clock meal.
“Come in.”
Deborah, ravishing in a rose dress perfect for the day, too simple for the night. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“Come in. Sit down.” She reached for her enamel snuffbox, a small pretty thing that could be slipped into a pocket or bodice.
Deborah shook her head as Georgina offered her a pinch. “Binky shouldn’t cause us trouble.”
“I’m glad to hear that, but I doubt he has lost his passion for you.”
Deborah waved her hand. “That. No. But I told him he wouldn’t live if he turned in runaways. You know, he never thought of that. He’s a dear boy but dim-witted.”
“Why did you ever take up with him?”
“He’s a pretty thing.” She shrugged. “And he can make me laugh, or he used to be able to make me laugh before he started babbling about love.”
“Ah.” Georgina closed her eyes for a moment as the delight of the nicotine hit her.
“You said I should marry him if I have to keep him quiet. If I do, I’ll be the one that kills him.” She laughed.
Eyes wide open now, Georgina responded. “Tell me, do you believe in love?”
“No” came the instant forthright reply.
“Neither do I. What do you believe in?”
“Freedom” came even faster than the “No.”
“Mmm, one always wishes to do as one pleases but,” Georgina shrugged, “it is rare, is it not?”
“Still better than answering master.”
“No doubt.” Georgina studied the beauty before her.
“I’ll do my best with Binky for now.”
“And I appreciate it. Deborah, you drive the men wild, which I’m sure you know. These are uncertain times, and the best way to deal with uncertainty is to be well funded.”
A broad smile crossed Deborah’s perfect face. “Yes.”
“Listen. Listen,” she said in a softer voice. “They may speak to you or perhaps you can ask a question, innocent enough. For instance, should you be in Sam Udall’s company, perhaps he will reveal where he invests the money. How much business does he do in England? What are they buying over there? Just a thought. He is uncommonly shrewd.”
“As are you,” Deborah complimented her.
“I will, of course, reward you, especially if the information proves profitable.”
“Thank you.” Deborah rose, leaned toward Georgina slightly. “Money rules the world. I look at some of the girls and I think they are fools who will wind up in the gutter or in some shanty with four kids hanging on their apron strings. Most of them think they will eventually be kept by one of the rich white men.” She dropped her voice. “Never. Never. They don’t realize that much of this business is novelty, the new girl.”
This surprised the boss. “Well, there is some truth to that. But you need never fear, not with your presence and manners.”
“The years will catch me out. Not one of us escapes Father Time, but Miss Georgina, I make you a promise, I will never be poor. Never.”
Georgina looked at her girl steadily, then replied, “I have made myself that same promise.”
—
As Deborah left the office, Mignon finished reading the first page of a book Eudes had brought for her. On the right-hand side of the book a drawing of a lion, a thorn being pulled from its paw by a human, complemented the text, which she read haltingly.
“Good.” He smiled as the wall clock struck eleven. “Time to work.”
“Do you think he really pulled a thorn from a lion’s paw?”
“I don’t know. I never met any lions.” He laughed.
They wiped down the table one more time, brought out a large number of lamb chops, which Eudes rubbed with a bit of pepper.
“Mint jelly?” she asked.
“Right.”
They labored in harmony, chattering away. He paused to look at her for a moment, realizing he would do anything to protect her, for he, too, had seen the sheet describing her. Then it hit him. He was in love with her.
November 12, 2016 Saturday
“Do you really think this is art?” Harry whispered to Susan and BoomBoom.
“Lovely workmanship,” Susan replied.
“But that’s not art.” Harry folded her arms across her chest.
BoomBoom chimed in. “These shirts and dresses have a religious significance. So to the Plains Indians it’s more than art.”
Susan studied the beautiful warrior shirt, dyed a turquoise that had stayed bright since the 1870s, and beadwork of exquisite quality. “Maybe the question is would a Lakota think Titian’s paintings are art? Isn’t it all related to one’s background?”
“Well, it is but no one is going to convince me that blown-up comic strips are art.” BoomBoom laughed as they left the front exhibition room, walked down the corridor, and she opened the door to the sculpture garden, a favorite with Richmonders.