by Jane Goodger
“It’s lovely,” Genny said, looking up at him worriedly.
“It is that.” He knew he’d grown quiet and taciturn, but seeing his mother always put him on edge. He never knew what he was going to find, though she was often more than a little tipsy. In all his imaginings, he had never expected to find himself standing in the middle of a room that actually smelled rich. Dominating the ceiling, hanging beneath an intricate medallion, was a spectacular chandelier. It wasn’t lit, for sun still streamed through the windows only partially covered by dark blue velvet drapes pulled back by thick gold ropes. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was real gold in the ropes’ thread.
“Mitchell, I didn’t expect you until tomorrow,” his mother said as she floated into the room, her robe flowing behind her dramatically.
“We were actually supposed to arrive yesterday.”
“Were you?” She was in a dressing gown that even he could tell was expensive. What the hell was going on here? She rushed over to him, kissing him on each cheek. He didn’t smell wine on her breath, but that didn’t necessarily mean much. She had just woken up, after all. “You look wonderful, darling.” She stepped back and smiled at Genny. “And who is this lovely young lady?”
“Genevieve Hayes,” Genny said.
His mother looked from Genny to him, the question clear in her gaze. The question of who Genny was hadn’t been answered and Mitch knew it.
“I’m escorting Genny to England to meet her grandparents for the first time. We met in California. She’d broken her leg and needed help, so I helped her. We can get more into the story later, Mother. Miss Hayes, this is Madeline Campbell, my mother.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Campbell.”
Madeline waved a hand. “Please call me Madeline. Only my clients call me Mrs. Campbell. And I shall call you Genevieve, if you don’t mind. We’re not so formal here, despite the way the room looks.” Her brown eyes sparkled as she made a slow circle, her arms outstretched. “Aren’t you curious?”
“As a cat,” Mitch said dryly.
His mother raised her chin regally. “I’m a business owner, Mitch, and business is thriving. As you can see.”
Mitch was afraid to ask. His mother had struggled for years when it was clear she’d become too old for most parts. When he was very young, they’d lived in a nice apartment, even had a maid for a short time. But for most of his life, they had struggled to pay rent. One thing his mother had never done was have a man friend to pay her bills. She might be eccentric, she might drink a bit too much, but she had principles. When he’d left to fight in the War Between the States, he’d done so knowing he could send his pay back to her. Over the years, he’d worried that their very lives depended on whether she got this part or that part. When the theater burned down, he’d feared she wouldn’t have a way to make a living. Apparently, she’d found one heck of a way.
“Here,” she said, opening a drawer and pulling out a small pamphlet. “This should explain it.”
Mitch took the pamphlet, first reading the title aloud. “The Gentleman’s Companion.” He began reading and it soon became quite clear what the pamphlet was about. Though it contained a ridiculous disclaimer in the front of the booklet that said the publication was for the purpose of warning men away from houses of ill repute, it was clear that what he held in his hand was a guide of sorts.
His mother could tell from his expression exactly when he realized what the pamphlet was about, and said, “Turn to page sixteen.”
This he did not read aloud:
The establishment at No. 79 Houston Street is a private assignation house of the highest standards. It is a first-class operation run by the diminutive Mrs. Campbell, a charming lady who only allows the highest caliber of men and women into her establishment. Everything here is arranged in the first style while the pretty girls provide Cupid’s services unrivaled by any of the fine ladies of Broadway.
“Good God, Mother. Have you gone mad?” he asked, thrusting the pamphlet back to his mother.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Genny asked, stepping forward as if she feared Mitch might keel over. And at that moment he felt as if he just might.
He couldn’t believe what he’d just read. His mother—his mother—was operating a brothel. And, if the pamphlet was to be believed, many other people were too.
“First-class establishment,” Madeline said, smiling. “Not too many made that classification.”
He just stared at his mother and shook his head, made mute by the audacity of the woman. “We can’t stay here, Genny. Be damned the cost of rooms at a hotel. We’ll make do.”
“For goodness’ sake, Mitchell, when did you become such a prude?”
“Mother, you’re running a brothel.” He darted a look at Genny to see if she was as shocked as he. “Surely you do not expect me to stay here, and certainly not with an innocent single woman?”
Madeline gave him a look that clearly told him she didn’t believe the “innocent” part for one second.
“Hell, I need to sit down,” Mitch said. Dealing with his mother had never been easy, but he’d hardly thought she would turn into a madam! He sat down on the nearest sofa, sinking onto a cushion of pure luxury.
His reaction to the comfort must have shown in his face, because his mother said, “Nice, isn’t it? First class. Everything, from the food to the furniture to the . . .”—she paused for dramatic effect—“. . . entertainment.” Then she draped herself onto the opposite couch and patting one well-manicured hand upon the leather, invited Genny to sit next to her.
Genny gave Mitch an uncertain look before sitting down. “Oh, it is delightful, isn’t it?” she asked, resting her hand on the soft leather.
Madeline laughed. “Wherever did you find her, Mitchell? And that accent, it’s perfect.”
“I was living in California with my father and was quite alone after he died. I was spying on Mitch and he startled me, purely by accident. I fell, breaking my leg. I was completely helpless, so he brought me back to my cabin and set my leg. And he’s agreed to escort me to England to meet my grandparents. You see, my mother and her parents had a falling out years ago, and from their letters they are desperate to see me. I think it’s lovely of your son to bring me all the way from California, across an ocean, just so I can be with them.”
The entire time Genny gave her speech, Madeline stared at her with a bemused look. And when she finished, she turned that bemused look to her son. “Yes,” she said, “it is lovely of Mitch. And so altruistic, too.” Genny let out a yawn. “It’s been a long day, I do apologize.”
“I think we’d better find a hotel, Miss Hayes,” Mitch said. Nice hotels in New York were expensive, and he didn’t want to have Genny stay in one of the lesser establishments where linens weren’t changed regularly and the clients were less than savory. The five thousand dollars he’d taken out of his account represented all the money he had in the world. He still had to book passage to England for the two of them, and passage back for him. If he spent a hundred here and a hundred there, before he knew it, half his money would be gone. But he didn’t mind spending a bit of money to avoid having Genny stay at a brothel, even if it was operated by his mother.
“Oh, nonsense,” Madeline said. “I’ve closed down for a month in anticipation of your visit. I’m not worried a bit about losing clients; they’ll be back.” She smiled serenely. “Do you really think I’d continue operations with you here? What kind of a mother do you think I am?”
Mitch nearly choked, but valiantly remained silent.
“I’ve prepared a room for you,” she said to Mitch. “It’s a guest room, so you need not fear about other activities that may have taken place.”
“I’ll need two rooms, Mother,” Mitch said, and almost begged his mother to react. He didn’t much care for the women in his life thinking he would corrupt a young girl for his pleasure. Not that he hadn’t thought about it, and dreamed about it, and made himself crazy wishing he was that sort of man. “If
a room isn’t available, I’ll sleep on the couch here.”
“I’ve plenty of rooms, Mitchell. I’ll have Eileen make one up. I have the rooms cleaned and prepared after every client. No one shares bedding in my establishment. It’s something my girls greatly appreciate. It’s those little touches that separate us from the others. In the meantime, your friend can take a nap before dinner. I have one of the finest French chefs in the city, and he’d argue he’s the finest. He wasn’t all that pleased to learn I’m shutting down for a month, but I’m planning a few parties with my old friends from Niblo to appease him.” She let out a light laugh.
Mitch smiled grimly, begrudgingly acknowledging that his mother looked well and seemed happy—far happier than he’d seen her look in quite some time. Growing up, he’d been subjected to the wild mood swings only an actress can have, moods that depended upon the roles, the audiences, the reviews. He’d spent his boyhood on edge, praying that she would get a standing ovation and dreading the door slamming following a poorly received performance. Still, he loved her. Who could not? She was charming and beautiful, and though she might not be the ideal mother, she’d done far better than some in similar situations.
Madeline rung a small bell and her maid appeared to escort Genny to her bedroom. “And please make up another room, Eileen.”
The maid looked from Genny to Mitch in surprise, as if she’d never seen an unmarried man and woman who hadn’t shared a bed.
Stifling another yawn, Genny left mother and son alone. And that’s when the fun really began.
“Spill it.”
Mitch was truly getting irritated by the fact everyone seemed to know him so well. He didn’t even bother hiding the truth.
“Her grandparents are the Duke and Duchess of Glastonbury.”
His mother smiled smugly. “Ah,” she said, drawing out the word. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all. I knew it had to be something. And you haven’t . . .”
“No, Mother, I haven’t. She is completely innocent and a very nice girl.”
“That wouldn’t stop most men. So, she’s rich and you’re hoping to collect a sizeable reward.”
Mitch slumped back into the couch, annoyed by the fact the piece of furniture was so damned comfortable. “That was the original idea, yes. But now I feel obligated to bring her to her grandparents no matter what.”
His mother gave him a look of pure disbelief.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Easy money. But it’s starting to feel wrong somehow. She thinks I’m some sort of hero and I’m feeling lower than a snake.”
“What a delightful drawl you’ve developed,” she said, laughing lightly. “It’s not like you’re stealing money from her.” Madeline, if anything, was always pragmatic. “And it is a bit of a gamble. Who’s to say she is rich? Not everyone with a title is wealthy, you know. Why, we had a German duke here not six months ago and he tried to leave without paying his due. I had to have Martin rough him up a bit.”
“Martin?”
“He’s a large fellow I hired to make certain my clients stay in line. I rarely require his services. His presence alone keeps my clients well behaved. The duke claimed he was poorer than a church mouse.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t a duke, Mother.”
“Oh, he was. There was an article in the Times about him. I was so honored that he picked my establishment, and then the cur refused to pay. Claimed his girl hadn’t performed up to his standards. Well,” she said with a scoffing laugh, “I knew that wasn’t true. He’d been with one of the best, so he could hardly blame her for his . . . problems.”
Mitch closed his eyes briefly. “Please, stop. And yes, I know it’s a bit of a gamble, but it could also turn out to be a boon.”
“Either way, that doesn’t make you a bad person. You see? You are a hero, darling.”
Mitch chuckled. Leave it to his brothel-running mother to convince him that what he was doing was right and good. “There is one thing I need your help with.”
“Oh?”
“Genny, Miss Hayes, was brought up in a cabin in the woods. She has been nearly isolated and sure never spent any time with women. About the only thing cultured about her is her accent. She is a lady but she doesn’t know quite how to act like one. You know the kind I’m talking about, those girls who walk up and down Fifth Avenue with their companions, with their fancy dresses and such. And that’s New York. I can’t imagine what girls are like in England. She doesn’t know which fork to use or how to get in and out of a carriage without lifting her skirts up to her knees. She needs polishing.”
Madeline looked first stunned, then touched. “And you think I can help?”
“You’re an actress. You’ve played a lady. And isn’t that what it’s all about anyway? Acting proper?”
Madeline smiled. “Of course I’ll help.” She stood and walked over to him, placing a soft hand on either side of his face. “You turned out to be such a good man, Mitchell. I haven’t a clue how it happened.” Then she kissed his forehead and dropped her hands when Mitch furrowed his brow and shook his head. He had no idea what his mother was talking about.
“What do you care if she’s well-received in England?” Madeline asked gently, still looking at him as if he was some kind of hero, not an opportunist. “You’ll have done your job. As far as you’re concerned, she’s simply a package that needs delivering. Right?”
Mitch looked at his mother, his incredibly insightful mother, and shook his head again, but this time in acknowledgment. “So I like her. A lot. That doesn’t change a damn thing.”
“It changes everything, Mitchell. Everything.”
Chapter 7
The next morning at breakfast, Mitch explained a bit of his plan to Genny, who’d spent the night in the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in.
“My mother can help; she’s an actress, and if anyone can help you know how to act around those fancy people, she can.”
“Your mother is truly an actress?”
“Yes,” Mitch said. “Lady Macbeth was her favorite role. See? She knows what it takes to be a lady.”
“But Lady Macbeth was a horrible person,” Genny said.
“Yes, but she was still a lady. I’m certain with Mother’s guidance, you can succeed.” Mitch gave her a dubious look, as if the thought of Genny ever being a lady was a farfetched idea indeed, and Genny wrinkled her nose at him.
“At the very least, I sound like a lady. Father always insisted on it.”
“That you do,” Mitch said. “With a pretty dress and your hair done up, you’ll look like Lady Genevieve, not ordinary Genny. You’ll see.”
Genny rather liked the notion. At the moment, she was eating an omelet that was so good, she could hardly pay attention to the conversation.
“This omelet is wonderful,” she said, slowly chewing.
Madeline smiled. “I’ll let Monsieur Letourneau know. He trained in Paris, of course, and was a chef at Delmonico’s. Speaking of which, I have an idea, Mitchell.”
“I’m certain you do, Mother.”
“I thought it would be a good idea for Genny to observe the patrons at Delmonico’s. She’d learn far more there than I could ever teach her. Members of high society have a different way of acting, Miss Hayes, and I thought it would be good for you to take note. Of course, dining there yourself would be a good way, but getting a reservation is nearly impossible on such short notice. Unless your name is Vanderbilt or Rockefeller.” She laughed, then explained, “They’re richer than Croesus.”
Genny looked from Madeline to Mitch, not quite understanding the need for her to watch a bunch of wealthy people eat their supper. “I imagine they eat food the same way we do,” she said, putting another healthy forkful into her mouth. Mitch was trying not to smile, she could tell. “What?” she asked, the word slightly muffled.
“Your grandparents are rich, Genny, and the rich don’t act like you and me,” Mitch said. “They have a special way of doing things
, a proper way. And they don’t eat an omelet in thirty seconds.”
Genny looked down at her plate doubtfully. She stabbed the last bit of egg and put it in her mouth. “I don’t see how the process can vary all that much.”
“It won’t hurt to watch. I think those rich ladies wear gloves when they eat,” Mitch said.
His mother interjected, “No, that’s bad form. Ladies wear gloves at all times except when they eat.”
“Is that right? Seems I can remember seeing—”
“Does it really matter?” Genny asked.
Mother and son turned to her, looking slightly dismayed.
“Of course it matters. How people perceive you greatly matters. A factory worker doesn’t wear gloves. A lady does. And the finer the gloves, the finer the lady. When I walk into a glove shop on Fifth Avenue, I wear my finest pair or they look at me as if I’m someone who doesn’t belong in their shop. In this part of town, I can wear any old thing.”
Genny didn’t own a single pair of gloves, but now that she thought about it, many women on the train had worn them constantly, taking them off only to eat or when they were crocheting. The sales clerk at the dress store had asked her if she wanted gloves and she’d declined, mostly because it was nearly summer and her hands weren’t cold. She hadn’t realized it was some sort of fashion accessory.
“I need gloves,” she said, looking at Mitch.
“There’s a lovely shop on Fifth Avenue,” Madeline said. “Smythes. She’ll have to be measured and the gloves made. If you go today, they should have them ready in a few days.”
“See what I mean, Genny? I didn’t know about this glove thing. Who knows how those ladies act when they’re eating,” Mitch said, and it seemed to Genny that he was getting a bit worried about everything she had to learn.