Cinders to Satin

by Fern Michaels

  Madge took the order as a compliment. “Why, Owen sweet, I didn’t think anything could rouse you. Whatever you say,” she said, pulling on a beribboned scarlet wrapper over her chemise.

  “The problem is,” Owen asserted, “she’s just over from Ireland, and they cut her hair out to Tompkinsville. Almost as short as my own, blast their souls. She looks more a lad than me own brother. She can’t be more than thirteen, and she’s so little and skinny the wind would blow her over. On top of that, she’s a tongue that would make the devil himself wish for sainthood. That’s the straight of it, and I don’t know what to do with her.”

  “Send her back. I don’t want no part of a kid. If you’re smart, you won’t have nothin’ to do with her either. I’m in this business for money, not to wet-nurse some kid.”

  “You ain’t too smart, are ye, Madge? This kid ain’t got nobody here in America but me. Only me. Who’s she gonna run to? Besides, you know yourself, there’s those men who have a taste for little girls. She’d even be appealing to them what have a hankering for boys. There’s money in her, Madge, I can smell it. And since this is my house and my business, I don’t want no lip from you. You’ll do as I say.”

  Madge arched her thin, pencilled brows. “And who says so, Mr. Gallagher? There’s plenty of pimps who’d want me to run their houses for them and keep the girls in line, and don’t you forget it!”

  Owen knew this to be true and tried a different tack. “Ain’t you ever had the urge to be a mother? She’ll steal your heart, this one will. Be nice to her, Madge, take her under your wing and teach her the business.”

  “Steal my heart? What heart? And if she’s kin to you, that’s not all she’ll be stealing. If you’ve got any more bright ideas, save them. You’re a slick weasel, is what you are, Owen Gallagher. Why I put up with the likes of you is more than I know.”

  Owen dreaded the look he saw on Madge’s face. Looks like that always emptied his purse. Later he would worry about dealing with Madge; right now he had a little investment down in the parlor that, if handled the right way, would make him a rich man. “I have business up on Broadway that needs my attention,” he said, “so I’ll leave the girl up to you. Her name is Callie. Don’t let her mouth worry you none.”

  “How hard can it be to deal with a kid?” Madge snorted, missing the way Owen’s eyes rolled. “Go on and see to your business, and I’ll handle things here. But I’m warning you, Gallagher, I’ll try her for two days, that’s all. I’ve got better things to do with my time. After that, if she doesn’t work out, you get her out of here and off my hands. Agreed?”

  Owen Gallagher would have agreed to selling his soul at that moment. He nodded briskly arid slid through the open doorway like the snake he was.

  Madge sighed lustily. She did everything lustily. She wondered if she should take the time for a quick wash and decided against it. She’d better see to the kid. She’d try a bit of the mothering Gallagher suggested.

  Callie had just completed her ninth circle of the small parlor and was becoming impatient. Where was Owen? All manner of doubts were creeping into her head when she looked up and saw a woman dressed in the most magnificent wrapper she’d ever seen. She was conscious of the buxom shelf of breasts and then of the darkest, dancingest eyes smiling down at her. She couldn’t help herself, and she reached out to touch the gaudy dressing gown. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured with awe. “Some day I’d like to send my mum one just like it.”

  Madge eyed Callie suspiciously but found no hint of mockery in her face. Her youth and innocence almost brought tears to Madge’s eyes. Oh, no you don’t, Madge Collins, she scolded herself, there’s no such thing as a whore with a heart of gold and you know it! She looked down into Callie’s sweet face and saw the clear blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes. The kid’s gonna be a beauty, her experienced eye told her. “A gentleman friend brought me this from Paris. That’s Paris, France,” she clarified. “Once it had feathers up here, but they all molted like the bird they came from.”

  “Even without the feathers, it’s beautiful! My mum would look like a stage actress in that. I know it must have cost a fortune, and your gentleman friend must have thought very highly of you to bring it all the way from France. I know I’ll never see Paris, France.”

  “Don’t say never,” Madge said. “I used to say things like ‘never’ and ‘ever’ and ‘forever’ and look at me. I got me this dressing gown fit for a queen and who’d ’ve thought it? Not me, I’ll tell ya! Say, you look hungry and so’m I. When’s the last time you had something to eat?”

  “Yesterday. I didn’t even have time for tea this morning, thank you, Mrs. . . .”

  “Collins. But you call me Madge, you hear? A little thing like you needs to eat regular. Come with me.” Madge ushered Callie down the dark hallway to the kitchen. “Let’s have some bacon, potatoes, and eggs. How’s that sound? Do you like buttermilk? I think there’s some in the window box, and it should be nice and cold, considering the weather we’ve had recently. I’ve got some fresh bread, and we can have some of that wild strawberry jam I made last summer,” she said proudly. “Why’nt you get the buttermilk? It’s right outside that window.”

  Callie lifted the grimy window to fetch the milk out of the little window box. The aroma of frying bacon and potatoes was ambrosia to her senses, and the sizzle of the eggs frying in the fat was music to her ears. When Madge put her plate down in front of her, Callie felt light-headed just looking at it. “I’m almost afraid to eat it. It’s been so long I’m afraid I’ll get sick.”

  “Eat slow and chew it well and your stomach won’t object.” Jesus, now where had she heard that? Madge wondered with a start. She sounded like her own mother. The feeling was nice. “After we eat, you’re gonna have a bubble bath. Did you ever have a bubble bath?”

  “Ma’am, my mum kept us real clean. I got a bath once or twice a week, whenever we could afford the peat for the fire to heat water. Lately its been cold water for all of us. We were poor,” she said quietly.

  “Kid, I’ve been poor myself. I know what it’s all about. You sit there and eat while I heat some water. I’m gonna scrub you down myself and wash your hair. What happened to it, anyways?”

  “They cut it off because they said I had lice.”

  Madge held her fork poised in mid-air. “Do you?” She hated vermin of any kind.

  “No. They just said that so they could cut my hair and sell it to wigmakers. It was a. . .” She searched for the right word. “Scam.”

  “Now where would a kid like you hear a word like that?”

  “A kid like me had it don e to her. I have eyes and ears, and that’s what I heard them say it was. But I don’t have lice and never did. You can look in my hair if you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe you, I believe you,” Madge declined the offer. “I hate cooties, hate ’em more than anything. Only thing to do for them is to wash your hair with kerosene and that burns like hell.” Madge studied her young guest and felt her heart swell as Callie popped a potato into her mouth. How young she was, and how alone, with no one but that pimp Owen to thank for her living. Madge sighed heavily.

  “Mrs. Collins . . . Madge. What will you do with me after the bath? What kind of work will I do here?”

  “I have to give it some thought. But you can believe one thing and it ain’t two. I’ll do what’s best for you. I promise you that. Here, have another slice of bread and more jam. Put some meat on those bones.” Madge herself reached for the jam jar and spread it thickly on the bread.

  “Do you work for my cousin Owen?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I think it’d be more truthful to say we’re sort of partners.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I guess you could say I deal in services. Yeah, I sell my services.”

  “Does that mean you’re a lady of the evening?” Callie asked quietly.

  Madge suppressed a chuckle. Owen was right. This kid was no dummy. “Of the evening and t
he morning and afternoon. Whatever, whenever.”

  “And my cousin thinks I’m going to learn the trade from you. Is that why he brought me here?”

  “No, kid, no. He brought you here because he had nowhere else to take you. You’re so young. The other girls . . . well, the other girls are older. Twenty, and even as old as twenty-five. Good girls, all of them, they do what they’re told and don’t make trouble. That’s how we all make out.”

  Callie worked on her plate of eggs and drained her glass of buttermilk dry. “You just sit there, give your stomach a rest. The water isn’t hot enough yet for your bath. You’ll have to do some fancy soaking, and we’ve got to air out those clothes of yours. And wash your drawers and things. Maybe we’ve got some things around here that’ll fit you.”

  “What will you do with me?”

  “The Lord only knows. Just trust me, kid. Can you do that?”

  “How many girls work here?”

  “You’re the nosey one, ain’t you. There’s nine girls, including me and a woman who works in the kitchen. None of us are much at cooking and cleaning.”

  “You are, Madge. That was the best plate of eggs I ever ate!”

  The compliment endeared Callie to Madge forever. “Come along now,” she instructed, “you can help me carry the tub in here, and we’ll put it in front of the stove where it’s warm. You fill it, and I’ll get some towels and clean clothes for you. Where’s your baggage?”

  “In the parlor. I don’t have anything much, and everything smells just the same as I do.” Callie’s back stiffened against the shame of it. She knew she sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it. “I am what I am,” she told Madge. “Take me or leave me, it’s your choice.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself. We’ll get along just fine. You do what I say and we won’t have any problems.”

  “Is that the same thing as saying, ‘If I want your opinion, I’ll tell you what it is’?”

  Madge roared with laughter. Callie noticed she didn’t answer, though.

  By the time the final rinse water was carted off and Callie was wrapped in a large towel, the house began to take on life. The cook arrived and was busy getting dinner ready for “her girls.” The gentlemen would start arriving when darkness fell. Madge wrapped a smaller towel around Callie’s head and headed her in the direction of the stairs, but first she stopped in the front parlor to introduce Callie to what she called her constituents. It was hard to guess their ages with all the makeup the women had on their faces. None of them seemed as old as Madge, but neither were any of them as young as Callie. Seasoned was what Madge called them. Callie made a note to figure all of that out later.

  “Listen, ladies, I have an announcement to make. I won’t be working this evening.” If Madge had dropped a bomb, she couldn’t have gotten a better reaction. It was obvious that Madge never took time off. The second bomb dropped when she announced that she had to make a dress for Callie.

  “But you don’t know how to sew,” Shirley said in a squeaky voice. Shirley pretended to be seventeen, but everyone knew she’d never see twenty-seven again.

  “I know, but I’m going to do the best I can. The kid has nothing to wear,” Madge said.

  “Where are you going to get the material? You had Bessie make you a dress out of that yellow silk a month ago,” said a young woman named Dorothy. “I suppose you’ll be wanting that length of blue wool that Mr. Warner gave me.”

  “It never crossed my mind,” Madge said.

  “And what about button holes? I’m the only one who knows how to make button holes,” Sara said haughtily. “If you go trying to make button holes, you’ll botch up the whole dress.”

  “I know, but I’m going to try. We can’t have this kid going around looking like a ricky-ticky immigrant.”

  “I could give you that yard of lace Mr. Johns gave me last year,” a plump woman named Elsie offered.

  “Never! For shame. I know how you treasure that lace,” Madge responded.

  “Tell me you aren’t going to ask for my muslin!” said a tall, overly made up woman who had the same kind of cough as Paddy.

  “Bite your tongue, Fanny Mae. I’d never ask for your muslin. If the kid has to go without a petticoat, why should you care?”

  “Does she have bloomers?” a tiny girl named Hester demanded.

  “I don’t know. Callie, do you have bloomers?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You see! You see, this tyke has nothing.”

  “Mr. Owen Gallagher is going to be throwing a fancy fit if we close down tonight,” Sara giggled.

  “Who cares?” Bessie laughed. “Come on, girls, let’s get this waif started. No disrespect, Madge, but you just sit and watch.”

  “Girls, you are too generous. Too generous. Aren’t they generous, Callie?”

  “Very generous,” Callie said, enjoying the way Madge had set up her little scam. Women, Callie decided, could do just about anything they set their minds to.

  Madge gave the cook the night off and told her to lock all the doors. “Hang a sign on the front door saying we’re closed . . . for repairs.” The girls doubled over laughing. Madge joined in and almost fell off the parlor sofa.

  “Now, you girls go get your sewing things, and I’ll just sit here and try to figure out a way for Mr. Owen Gallagher to be paying us recompense for the night off. Be prepared to rebel if the going gets sticky. That man is a weasel, and we all know it!”

  The women in Madge’s employ were impressed with the boss’s sudden display of concern for young Callie. Theirs was a world devoid of children, for the most part, and the generous feeling quickly spread among them. For the night, at least, they would all be honorary mothers, and they could forget the tawdrier side of their lives. In Callie, they had a common goal, not to mention a rare night off with pay.

  “Rosey,” Madge directed the cook, “get a couple of pitchers of beer before you leave. And on your way home have O’Shaughnessy bring over a keg. We’ll use those fancy beer mugs we save for our best customers.” She garnered appreciation and smiles from the other women. “I’m certain Mr. Gallagher would want us to enjoy only the best.” There was more than one way to skin a cat; you just had to know which way to yank the hide.

  It was a night to remember as far as Callie was concerned. They all laughed and sang and told jokes that she didn’t quite understand, but she laughed anyway. It was so long since she had laughed and had been around happy people. It was good to feel like a child again—without responsibility, with someone looking out for her for a change. By midnight she was the proud possessor of a new light-blue wool dress, two petticoats, and three pairs of bloomers, all exquisitely hand-stitched. Her other clothing had been aired and washed and ironed, and her shoes were polished to a respectable shine.

  In the wee hours of the morning, when the keg of beer was nearly empty, Madge hit upon the solution to Callie’s dilemma. “Now we’re all agreed this is no life for the kid. And we all know how those female societies keep banging on our door and demanding this house and others like it be shut down by the blue jackets. They want to save us from this life of sin, they say, so who better to save little Callie here? Fine upstanding women of the community, they call themselves. Pains in the ass, I calls them. But they just may be the answer to our kid’s problem.”

  Fanny lifted her head from her sewing. She was putting a patch on a tear in Callie’s old dress. “A nasty patch is better than a pretty hole, my mother always said,” she repeated several times as she worked, receiving praise from the others on the fine quality of her handiwork. Now she questioned Madge, “And how do you suppose we’ll get our kid over to them? Just walk up, bang on their door, and leave Callie on their doorstep?”

  Madge took another swallow of frothy beer. “Nah! That’s too risky, too much chance of our kindhearted Mr. Gallagher finding out. No, what we’ve got to do is arrange to have Callie kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped!” the gasps filled the room.
/>   “Right, kidnapped. I heard there was a place over to five corners that didn’t pay protection to the blue jackets, and those fancy ladies just marched in and had the girls taken away. That’s the closest thing to kidnapping I ever heard. So, what I’m thinkin’ is we’ll get in touch with that Magdalene Female Society, the ones who have a place out on Bleecker Street. Callie’ll be safe there, and that weasel Gallagher will never find her. Even if he does, he’ll have some tall explaining to do.” Madge was toasted by clinking beer mugs and pronounced the smartest woman in New York.

  Callie listened and frowned. Everything was still so uncertain. Where would she find work? When would she be able to send money home to Peggy? And who or what was this Magdalene Female Society anyway?

  Callie slept in Madge’s hammock-shaped bed, warm against her protector’s fleshy body. By noon the next day everyone was enjoying Madge’s famous fried eggs, done to a turn in hot bacon fat and sizzled with brown lace around the edges. From her place by the stove, Madge lectured importantly.

  “Now, ladies, if we want this kidnapping to come off on schedule, we have to plan it. As you all know, Bessie took herself off to Bleecker Street this morning posing as a do-gooder from the swell end of town. She described Callie and told them she’d be outside just after three o’clock this afternoon. Now, Callie, put on all the bloomers, the two petticoats, and your new dress. Anything else you’ll want to take, put in your poke, and I’ll see it gets sent on to you later, but you’ll have enough to keep you meantime. And since you took such a fancy to my wrapper, I’ll be sending it on to your mum if you give me the address. I’ll have it washed and ironed first, of course,” Madge added hastily.

  Callie was wide-eyed and astonished. “You’d do that for me?” she asked with awe as she tried to picture Peggy’s face when she opened the parcel.

  Madge shrugged. “I never did like the man who gave it to me. I just took it to be polite. In this business you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She turned back to her frying eggs before the glisten of tears in her dark eyes could be noticed.