The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper Part 6

"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 pa.s.s. 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 ma.s.sive gates and headed toward the Beck mansion. Elias and the girl piled out, but Gennie waited for the groomsman to a.s.sist 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 ma.s.s 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, st.u.r.dy, 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?"

Funny how the truth seemed the only good answer. "One last adventure."

Tova actually smiled. "Then you'll find caring for the Beck child exactly what you came for." She paused to glance at the union suit still caught in the tree. "Top of the stairs, turn right. Yours is the first room on the left. It adjoins the nursery. I'll have Isak bring your bath."

"Thank you." Gennie made to enter the house, only to feel Tova's iron grip on her arm.

The housekeeper pointed to the cash still in Gennie's hand. Nodding, Gennie handed over a large portion of her funds, then watched as Tova tucked it into the pocket of her heavily starched ap.r.o.n. "And see that you remember that fellow of yours back home when you're tempted to give my Elias a second look."

Mae waited until the last second, her finger all but squeezing the trigger of her favorite Colt pistol. The dust cloud drew nearer.

She dared not even scratch the itch at the tip of her nose. To do so would be to risk being caught, and being caught meant taking a bullet, for One-Eyed Ed rarely missed his aim.

Mae rested her fist on the rock and settled the Colt atop it. She'd get one shot, maybe two, before Ed returned fire. She had to make it good. With a prayer for good aim and safe travel home, Mae tightened her grip on the Colt and counted to five.

Gennie tossed her traveling clothes into a pile and padded across the marble tiles to test the water's temperature. Warm. She sighed. How long had it been since she'd enjoyed a proper soak?

Too long.

Ignoring the twinge of combined regret and excitement, Gennie sank to her shoulders beneath the fragrant water. The tub, crafted in a generous length and width from the same marble as the floor, seemed out of place in such humble surroundings. Gennie recognized the soap as the same French-milled variety Mama had shipped in from Paris.

How did a common governess's room come to boast such a luxury? In Manhattan, the help had to make do with garden variety Pears soap, and their bathtub was a glorified bucket that could be moved nearer the stove in cold weather.

Slathering scented bubbles over skin that begged for a good scrubbing, Gennie leaned back against the edge of the tub and felt the heaviness of exhaustion tug at her eyelids. Sleep would be best, but the sun still shone on the snowcapped Rockies. Dare she hope her temporary duties as governess to the Beck child might begin tomorrow rather than today?

Until Gennie left the solitude of the bath, at least, she was responsible for nothing more than finding clean skin beneath the layers of ash and soot courtesy of the railroad.

After much effort, her skin glowed pink as, likely, did her scalp. The only thing that remained was to wash off the soap. Gennie preferred to sink beneath the water as if she were a mermaid, a habit she'd begun well before Mama disapproved. She slid beneath the water and held her breath until her lungs protested, then bobbed up and swiped at her eyes.

"I never seen a grownup do that."

Gennie squealed. The last of the water departed her eyes, and Charlotte Beck came into view. "What are you doing in my bathing closet?" she asked, sinking beneath a protective layer of soapy water and peering at the impudent child.

"Did I hear someone scream?" Elias called.

"No," Gennie said, but Charlotte responded with an emphatic yes.

Footsteps thudded toward her.

"Halt, sir!" Gennie called.

Charlotte giggled as she settled onto the edge of the tub and dipped her palm into the water. "You talk funny."

At least she no longer smelled funny.

The footsteps halted outside the bedroom door, and the resulting silence was filled by the splashing of water at the hands of the Beck girl.

"Stop it," Gennie snapped. The girl drew back, but only slightly. "You will take your leave now, Miss Beck. And in the future you will knock before entering a closed door. Do you understand?"

The girl's expression went curiously penitent. Gennie didn't buy it for a moment. "What time is dinner, Miss Beck?"

"That'd be six o'clock, miss," Elias Howe called from the other room. "My apologies for the girl," he added. "Were I a blind man, I'd come fetch her, but as I'm not, I'm forced to wait for the imp. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Howe." Gennie tamed her grin and turned to Charlotte. "We shall continue our conversation regarding proper deportment for young ladies at promptly six o'clock." Gennie narrowed her eyes. "Now depart this room immediately and never entertain the thought of returning, unless this tub is unoccupied."

When Charlotte did not move, Gennie leaned forward, careful to keep the soap bubbles and her arms well placed to preserve her modesty.

"You smell funny," she said to the wide-eyed girl. "When's the last time you had a bath, Charlotte Beck?"

Charlotte took a step backward. As Gennie suspected, the little heathen's love of adventure did not extend to a tangle with soap and water.

Gennie smiled. "Mr. Howe, are you still nearby?"

"I am," he said, "though I swear on the life of my dear departed mother that I've seen nothing, nor have I made the attempt." He cleared his throat. "I'm still figuring how to help, though."

"Might you be able to fetch a change of clothes for the girl?" she called. "A dress if she has one." She suppressed a giggle at the girl's expression. "Just leave them outside the door."

"Yes, miss," he replied without bothering to disguise his humor.

As the footsteps faded, Gennie reached for her wrapper. "Turn around, Charlotte. I'll not have my modesty compromised."

Turn the girl did, gathering up Gennie's puddle of clothing and scampering toward the door. In an instant, she and the only clothes Gennie had were gone. An outrageous situation, but what could be done about it? Screaming certainly wouldn't bring the desired result.