by Vivi Holt
“You might think that now, but I can tell you’re warmin’ to me.” He grinned and shoved his hat back on his head. He strode up the stairs, feeling her eyes on his back.
He willed himself not to turn around, instead focusing on the smell of supper cooking. Camilla was hard at work in their room, stirring a pot on the stove. His stomach growled, but Charlotte was all he could think of. He greeted Camilla, then threw himself down on his bed, hands linked behind his head.
That kiss had wakened something within him he’d never felt before. He’d always been attracted to Charlotte in a vague way, as you wish for something unattainable and beautiful. But now, he knew his feelings went deeper than that. If they were still back in England, he’d have no chance of ever winning her affection or love.
But maybe things could be different here. It’s not as if she’d be running into a lot of dukes or lords in Montana Territory. Who did she think she’d end up with, if not someone like him? No doubt she was hoping to run into some wealthy land baron. And perhaps she would – someone like that would certainly be a more suitable match for her.
His thoughts were in turmoil. He knew he shouldn’t feel the way he did about Charlotte. He’d certainly never expected it. He knew they’d be a disaster together. She was accustomed to having everything she desired handed to her – on a silver platter, no less. And he was a simple village boy with a penchant for gambling. How could it ever work? She was right to pull away. She knew they weren’t a good match.
He groaned and thumped the sleeping mat with his fists. It might be the truth, but it gave him no pleasure to admit it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The blood from the slices of beef had dripped from the countertop. Charlotte wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand and sighed. It had been a hard day, but she was getting better at it and stronger as the weeks passed. Her back no longer ached, and she’d noticed her arms and legs looked more muscular when she dressed each morning.
She was thinking about Christmas and how different it had been this year. Just Harry, Charlotte, Ben and Camilla. They’d celebrated together over at Harry and Camilla’s, with a gift for each of them and a small meal of salt pork, fritters and biscuits with gravy. Nothing like what she usually had for Christmas dinner. Her mouth watered as she thought of the succulent roasted chickens, potatoes, rolls, pies and pastries that would have adorned the dining table at Beaufort Manor.
She smiled at Camilla, who was mopping on the other side of the counter. It was their job to clean up in this room after the day’s work. They did it every evening after the rest of the workers had gone home for the day – one of the disadvantages of being the newest and least experienced of the staff members at Montebello’s.
“Let’s stop by the market on the way home – I’m completely out of food,” said Camilla, pushing the mop across the floor in a short sweeping motion before dragging it into the bucket to rinse.
“That is a good idea – I need to buy a few things myself. I’ll cook tonight – what should we have for supper?” asked Charlotte, wiping the counter top with a thick cloth.
“Anything but beef,” Camilla grimaced make a heaving sound.
Charlotte laughed. “How about boiled eggs with toast soldiers?”
“That sounds delicious.”
A sound at the door startled the two women and they both looked up to see Max Kemper stride into the room on his way through to the office. He glanced up in surprise. “Good evening, ladies. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone still here at this hour.” He stopped and mopped his shiny forehead with a handkerchief before shoving it back into his pants pocket.
“Sorry, Mr. Kemper. We’ll be out of here in just a few minutes. Almost finished,” said Camilla with a good-natured smile.
He nodded and hurried toward the office. “Oh, have you seen Harry?” he asked, standing in the office doorway.
“No, I haven’t seen him since we arrived this morning, sir. Shall I tell him you’re looking for him?” Camilla’s face flushed red.
“Yes, please do.” He shoved the door shut behind him.
Charlotte’s eyes caught Camilla’s, her eyebrows raised in question. “What does he want with Harry, do you think?”
“Heaven knows. Although it couldn’t be for anything good. Harry was awfully quiet this morning, don’t you think?” Camilla leaned on the mop handle, lost in thought.
“He was quite sullen. I hope nothing’s wrong.”
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough, I’d imagine.”
“I really wish Mr. Kemper hadn’t arrived when he did. Mrs. Campone asked me to put her ledger away in the office before I leave, and now he’s gone and shut the door. I suppose I’ll just have to knock and disturb him, since I can’t leave her ledger sitting out here all night.” Charlotte frowned and stared in dismay at the closed door.
“I’m sure Mr. Kemper won’t mind.”
“Well, I’m finished here, so I’ll just put this ledger away and we can leave if you like.”
“I’ll return the mops and buckets to the utility closet and we can meet out front.”
Charlotte pulled off her gloves and laid them over the side of the bucket of dirty water, handing it to Charlotte. The room gleamed and the last of the sun’s rays glinted through the blinds off the shiny surface of the bench tops. She picked up the ledger and carried it to the office.
With a knock, she pushed the door open and peered inside. It was dark, only lit by the dull glow of a lantern beside the desk. Mr. Kemper sat at the desk, hunched over a book with a quill in his hand. A money box lay open in front of him, and he looked up at her with a frown as she entered. “Sorry, Mr. Kemper. I just have to put Mrs. Campone’s ledger away, then we’ll be off.”
“Where’s your friend?” he growled, returning to his work.
“She’s putting some things away in the utility closet.”
“Harrumph. Come over here a minute.”
“Excuse me?” Charlotte peered out the office door, willing Camilla back into the room. Something didn’t feel right. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she didn’t feel at all comfortable in the darkened office with Max Kemper.
“Come over here. I wanna get your opinion on something.” He glanced up at her, sweat beading on his bald forehead.
She laid the ledger on the filing cabinet and sidled over to him. He smiled and she swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest. “Yes, what can I help you with, sir?”
“Sir? You can call me Max, honey.”
Charlotte nodded, looking back at the open door again. She had to get out of here.
“You like working here?” he asked, his eyes traveling up and down her body.
“Well, sure. It’s fine, I guess.”
He laid his hands either side of her hips and pulled her to him. She cried out and squirmed from his grasp. “Don’t be shy, come back over here,” he grunted, reaching for her again.
“Excuse me, Mr. Kemper, but I think you have the wrong idea. I’m not interested in whatever it is you think is going to happen here.”
“You like working here, don’tcha?”
“Not that much.” She spat the words at him, her hands on her hips.
He stood and lurched toward her, grabbing her by both arms. “You gotta lot of nerve talking to me like that.” He pulled her close, his lips aimed at hers.
She lifted her hand and brought it down hard across his cheek. The sound of the slap reverberated throughout the small room and his eyes widened, then narrowed. “Why, you little …!”
Charlotte didn’t wait to hear what else he had to say. She ran from the room, her breath coming in choking gasps.
He called after her, “You don’t work here any longer, and you won’t be able to find another job anywhere in the Meatpacking District, honey! You don’t treat Max Kemper like that and get away with it, mark my words!”
Charlotte ran down the hall and out the front door, where Camilla stood waiting in the soft light of a street l
amp. She shivered and stamped her feet as she waited, blowing on her gloved hands. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her face filled with concern.
“Nothing – let’s go.” Charlotte felt ill, but she didn’t want to talk about it at the moment. All she wanted was to go home and cry herself to sleep on her bed. She’d lost her job – a thankless job, but it paid her bills – and she didn’t know what she’d do now. Max Kemper had made it clear he’d ensure she couldn’t find another job anywhere nearby, and he was the kind of man who could make something like that happen.
The two women hurried home. Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself and kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground ahead of her. She lifted her scarf to shield her nose from the early spring breeze, marveling at the determination of the daisies that pushed their way through the cold earth beside the footpath.
“You’re sure everything’s okay?” Camilla’s words were filled with worry and she kept glancing over at Charlotte.
“I’ll tell you later – let’s just get home. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to cook after all. I just want to go to bed – I’m not feeling well.”
“That’s fine – don’t worry about it. I’ll bring you some bread.”
“Thanks.” Charlotte stifled a sob and hugged herself harder. They reached the stoop of the boarding house. Charlotte stopped walking. She drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Kemper tried to kiss me.” She whispered the words, her eyes never leaving the pavement.
Camilla didn’t respond; only a quick intake of air indicated she’d heard.
“And the worst part is, he fired me.”
“He fired you?”
“Because I slapped him and yelled at him.”
Camilla reached for her arm and lay her hand on it. “Are you okay? Really okay?”
A fat tear slid down Charlotte’s cheek as her eyes met Camilla’s, followed by several more.
“Oh dear me.” Camilla wrapped her arms around Charlotte and stroked her hair as Charlotte cried.
“What’s going on?” Harry’s voice interrupted them. Charlotte heard Camilla’s whispered response as she explained it to him. “He did what?!” he exclaimed, his voice rising with anger.
“It’s okay,” said Charlotte. “I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes and looked up to see him pacing back and forth on the stoop.
“I ought to go over there and knock him senseless!” His hand was balled into a fist and he struck it against his palm.
“No, please don’t do that. You’ll be fired and then neither one of us will have a job.” Charlotte reached for the handkerchief in her skirt pocket and blew her nose.
“I don’t care. He’s probably going to fire me anyway.” He ducked his head.
Camilla stared at him in surprise. “Whatever for?” she asked.
“I won a lot of money from him last night. He wasn’t too happy with me. He said something about having his thugs pay me a visit soon to get the money back.”
“Oh Harry, not again!” Camilla hit the palm of her hand against her forehead and rubbed it back and forth.
“Well, I have enough money to go west, now. So perhaps we should just leave.”
“Leave? Now?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What? How could we possibly leave so soon? Oh, why does this keep happening?” Camilla’s voice rose in pitch and volume as she spoke.
He looked suitably chagrined, and Charlotte watched as he did his best to calm his sister. “I’ve already ordered a cab for the morning, so we can leave first thing. My only concern was that you’d not want to leave yet, but now that Charlotte’s been fired, we might as well go. What do you say?” He rubbed his hands up and down Camilla’s arms and grinned at her.
“Fine. I suppose we’d better get packing. But I swear, Harry Brown, if I ever catch you gambling again, I’m going home to England.”
Harry frowned. “Back to England? You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“Yes, I would. I won’t be run out of town again because you’ve won money from the wrong person. No more, do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He hung his head and kicked a boot at the floorboards.
“Thank you. Now let’s go inside and eat some supper before we pack.”
Harry turned to Charlotte, who’d stood quietly to one side watching the exchange. “Charlotte?”
“Let’s go,” she said with a smile. “I’ve got nothing holding me here, and I don’t want to find out what Max Kemper has planned for either of us. The sooner we get out of town the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
The three friends hurried upstairs to get packing. Charlotte was filled with the excitement of anticipation. For the first time in months she looked forward to the next day. The adventure she’d longed for was about to begin.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Is that everything?” Harry stood behind the buggie, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his face red with exertion.
“I think so,” said Charlotte, brushing the dust from the front of her pinafore. She raised a hand to shade her face from the early morning sun. Its bright rays shone into the neighborhood through the tall row houses and glanced off the mailbox at the gate to the boarding house. Flowers bloomed already in the flower boxes that bordered the windows of several row houses and the gardens beside the footpath. Spring had arrived and new shoots of green grass and vibrant perennials lit up the otherwise dull colors of the neighborhood.
They were ready to go. The cab Harry had ordered for them was parked out the front of the boarding house. The team of horses munched on a mixture of oats and barley in the feedbags strapped onto their bridles while they waited. The back of the cab was stacked high with luggage, strapped tightly with strips of leather. The cabbie sat on top of the buggie, a cigar burning between his brown teeth.
“I guess we’re ready – I’ll just go and fetch Camilla.” Charlotte wasn’t sure she liked the idea of traveling across the entire country in a small canvas-covered wagon. But that’s what they were traveling to Missouri to do. She shivered before heading into the boarding house. How could some flimsy piece of canvas protect them from the elements and wild animals? And where would she do her toilette?
Dressed in a blue traveling dress with a white collar and cuffs, she gathered her full skirts with one hand and hurried upstairs to the second floor. Camilla stood in her room, surveying the efforts of their final labors. They’d swept, scrubbed and wiped every surface, and had given away anything they couldn’t take with them to charity. The rooms stood empty and gleaming, and Camilla’s face held an expression of sadness.
“Are you ready to go?” asked Charlotte, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
“Yes, I suppose so.” Camilla sighed and turned to loop her arm through Charlotte’s. “It won’t be so very bad, will it, Charlotte?”
“It’ll be an adventure, that’s for certain.”
They descended the stairway together and made their way outside. The driver had unclipped the feedbags from the team of horses, and returned to his position on top of the buggy. He held the reins loosely in his hands, the cigar now extinguished and nowhere to be seen. Charlotte spied Harry across the street, speaking with two men in a buggy.
Just then, he turned, fear written clearly across his face and ran to the cab. “Get in! Get in quickly!” he shouted to the women as he ran.
She saw a glint of metal in the buggy, as one of the men lifted something from beneath the buggy door. He opened the door to step outside, cold determination etched across his face. In his hand, he held a revolver. He lifted it to point at Harry’s retreating back. Charlotte’s heart lurched in her chest. She and Camilla picked up their skirts and ran, reaching the cab just before Harry. They hurriedly climbed inside and sat on the cushioned seat. Camilla’s eyes were wide and her face white. “What is it?” she asked.
Harry leaped into the buggy, without answering and slammed the door closed behind him. He banged on the roof of the buggy, and cal
led to the cabbie, “Drive on! And make haste!”
“Hiya!” yelled the cabbie. “Hiya!” The horses started forward slowly at first, with a shake of their heads and various snorts and jingling of bits. Just then, the blast of the revolver filled the street, and Charlotte heard screams from passers-by and neighbors. Through the buggy window she saw the man, still striding toward them, reloading his weapon as he went. People fled in every direction, terror in their eyes. The sound of the gun spurred the horses forward, and soon they were galloping. They careened down the street, scattering shoppers and pedestrians as they went.
Charlotte leaned out the window to peer behind them. The man had returned to his buggy, and was pursuing them, the small buggy bouncing and jouncing along the street behind them. “Who are they?” she shouted over the noise.
“Kemper’s men. They want his money back. Oh, and he’s a tad upset about me going over there last night and punching him in the nose.”
“What?” screeched Camilla, “why in Heaven’s name did you do that?”
“He tried to kiss Charlotte.” Harry’s eyes flashed, and he lifted a hand to hold onto the top of the bucking cab.
Camilla and Charlotte exchanged a glance and held tightly to the seat beneath them. There was nothing more to be said on the matter – nothing that would help, at any rate.
People continued to scatter from their path, shouting at them as they passed. A milkman’s wagon, pulled by a plodding Clydesdale, inched forward in front of them. They veered around the wagon as the milkman shook his fist and cursed them. Kemper’s men were halted behind it, unable to get around the Clydesdale who by now blocked the entire street. It wasn’t long, however, before they’d traversed the blockage and were again in hot pursuit.
When they reached the New York Central Station, the cab driver reined the horses to a halt, and leapt from the seat to find the guards. Harry pushed his way out of the buggy, and hurried after him, and Charlotte followed close behind. They located the guards at the entry to the station, relaxing at the bottom of the staircase that led up to the main platform.