The Partridge_The First Day

by Kit Morgan

  “Ooooh,” Penelope Johnson crooned. “What pretty curtains.”

  “They look like French silk brocade,” Birdie commented. “A lovely fabric, and very expensive.”

  “Finally,” Mrs. Walters said. “Someplace civilized.”

  Felicity saw Rev. Hammond wince. “This way, ladies,” he declared as he went to the front door. He stood there a moment, one hand on the knob and stared at the ground.

  “What’s the matter?” Mrs. Walters asked. “My brides are freezing out here!”

  Rev. Hammond glanced over his shoulder, smiled and quickly kicked something out of his way. There was a tinkling of heavy glass.

  Felicity looked at the area around his feet. He’d knocked aside shards of a vase or water pitcher – a nice one, judging from the pattern. She glanced at the other brides to see if they’d noticed, but they were so cold they probably didn’t care a whit that some clumsy clot broke a dish on the doorstep.

  The reverend opened the door and poked his head inside. “Hello?”

  Felicity’s brow puckered with confusion. “How odd – why would he do that?” she whispered.

  “Maybe there are rats,” Josefina said quietly. “I hope not.”

  Felicity shuddered. “Don’t even suggest that.”

  Josefina shrugged and looked around. “Look at the rest of the town.”

  Kezia shivered and glanced around as well, but said nothing. Agatha sidled alongside her, adding her warmth to the hidden bundle. None of the natives had noticed baby Jem, and Agatha looked determined to keep it that way.

  “Don’t be silly – it’s too cold for rats,” Felicity argued, hoping she was right.

  Josefina laughed. “She don’t know rats,” she said to Kezia, whose usual smile was absent. Agatha didn’t smile either, just frowned and muttered under her breath

  Felicity frowned too. Kezia was usually more talkative, always asking questions of others, their backgrounds, their families. But Felicity had noticed early on that she talked little of herself or little Jem. The fact she dressed like a gypsy didn’t help. Perhaps she’d always been one. But Felicity didn’t pry and perhaps once Kezia was married and settled, she’d open up. She liked her new friends and wanted to make more. Naturally as the mayor’s wife, she’d have to entertain and would much rather start out with women she already knew.

  “Ladies, if you’ll follow me,” the reverend said as he swung the door wide and motioned them in. Mrs. Walters eyed him dubiously as she passed, then disappeared inside.

  Felicity was near the back of the group, and heard the other’s reactions before going in herself. “Oh my!” cried Minnie Gold, a last-minute addition to the party. Felicity had no doubt she noticed the broken vase by the front door – Minnie had been a maid in a rich household and knew fine things when she saw them. It bode well for the condition of the building they’d stay in.

  The rest of the women filed through the door, shivering, which made their exclamations of pleasure all the more intriguing. Once Felicity made it inside, she too sighed in relief. The warmth in the front hall was wonderful. And the room was more like a huge parlor than a hotel’s typical reception area.

  Meizhen, a young Chinese woman, hung back as if unsure she should enter. “Come inside before you freeze,” Josefina said, motioning her in, and Meizhen complied, still looking wary.

  “At last. Something delivered as described,” Mrs. Walters said as she gave the reverend a pointed look.

  He smiled sheepishly in return, and Felicity swallowed hard. The man looked nervous. “As you can see, there is a … ah, a sitting room through there,” he said, waving a hand at a well-appointed room. “Upstairs you’ll find …” His eyes shot to the ceiling, and he scratched his head. “… three or four bedrooms, I believe.” He rubbed his hands together. “Well, I’ll just mosey along while you ladies rest a spell.” He looked them over. “Would any of you be interested in getting married this evening?”

  “Not so fast, Reverend.” Mrs. Walters said. “We still have things to discuss, you and I.”

  The reverend winced again. “But Mrs. Walters, surely we no longer need to …”

  He never got to finish. A man – a half-dressed man – hurried down the stairs, his boots in his hands, and ran out the front door. Several of the brides screamed in response. Felicity could only stare as he ran across the street to what looked like another saloon. That one was quite dark inside, and several windowpanes were broken, but a woman was upstairs hanging something over a window.

  “Rev. Hammond!” Mrs. Walters barked. “Who was that man?”

  Rev. Hammond held up both hands helplessly. “Um … from the looks of him, I’d say that was Sam Goodwin.”

  Mrs. Walters narrowed her eyes. “And what, may I ask, was this Mr. Goodwin doing in this hotel with barely a stitch of clothing on?!”

  The Reverend opened his mouth to speak, but immediately snapped it shut as another man, with his boots on, ran downstairs and out the door. Unfortunately, other than his boots, he wasn’t wearing much else. A hat – Felicity did see a hat …

  Two brides fainted dead away. Felicity wasn’t sure who – she just saw bodies drop in the corner of one eye. Then the screaming started, followed by Mrs. Walters’ bellow of disdain. Felicity contemplated fainting herself, but Josefina began to shoo her, Kezia and Agatha into the nearby parlor. Meizhen followed for safety’s sake as the chaos in the front hall continued.

  “See?” Josefina said over the din. “Rats.”

  Chapter 6

  “Well, Rev. Hammond?” Mrs. Walters said through gritted teeth. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  Chase closed his eyes, let out the breath he’d been holding and said, “That, um … was Sam’s brother Jeb …”

  Mrs. Walters turned ashen again. He was really in for it this time.

  “Excuse me, Reverend?” a voice said from behind.

  Chase turned. Felicity Partridge looked at him with those big blue eyes, imploring him to listen. She glanced between him and Mrs. Walters, who anyone could see was about to explode.

  “Please.” She took his arm. “I must speak with you.”

  “Miss Partridge,” Mrs. Walters said as calmly as she could. “I told you it could wait.”

  Miss Partridge met her stare. “No, ma’am, it cannot. Not at this point.” She gave a knowing nod to her companions in the parlor, tugged at Chase’s arm and led him down the hall. For a little thing, she certainly had a firm grip.

  “Be back in a moment, Mrs. Walters,” Chase said over his shoulder.

  “I’ll go with her,” one of the other women from the parlor declared, tagging along. Chase wasn’t sure who she was, but at this point what did it matter? He’d be lucky if the whole lot of them didn’t demand they be taken back to Denver.

  They continued to the kitchen at the end of the hall, where Miss Partridge released his arm and faced him. “Rev. Hammond, it has come to my attention that … things aren’t going the way we thought they would.”

  “You can say that again,” he said without reservation. “I’m sorry. I know you and the others are disappointed, but …”

  “I’m not.”

  Chase blinked a few times. “You’re not?”

  “No. I think Mayor Hardt and I are perfectly matched. About his behavior, though…”

  “Felicity,” the other woman interrupted, “maybe this is not the best time.”

  Chase looked at her. “That depends.” After all, he didn’t have to square off again with their fearless leader at the moment. “We’ve not been properly introduced. I’m Rev. Hammond. And you are?”

  She eyed him up and down now that his attention was on her. “Josefina Morales de Zapatero, sir.”

  “Very pleased to meet you, Miss, ah … Zapatero? I noticed Mr. Villanueva wasn’t in the saloon earlier. But never fear – he’ll turn up. I’m sure you’re looking forward to meeting him.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Wonderful. I hope the two of you will be v
ery happy.”

  She gave him a curt nod.

  “Rev. Hammond, about the mayor?” Miss Partridge prompted.

  “Oh yes, Charlie.”

  Her eyes widened. “You know him personally?”

  “Yes, we’re good friends.” He stuck a few fingers between his neck and collar in an attempt to loosen it. At least, I hope we still are.

  She eyed him suspiciously – probably wondering how often Charlie tried to throttle him as good friends do. “Be that as it may, I’d like to know why he acted the way he did. One would think …” She stopped, looked away, sighed and faced him again. “That he didn’t want me. But I want him.”

  Chase’s eyebrows shot up and he smiled nervously. “Well now, that’s good to hear. At least two of you are ready to get married.” He glanced down the hall. “I’m not so sure about the rest.”

  “But what about Mayor Hardt?” Miss Partridge persisted. “What do I do?”

  Chase licked his lips. The soft murmur of female voices drifted down the hall and into the kitchen, reminding him he still had that battle to face. “Young lady, why don’t you leave that to me for now?”

  There was a sudden commotion at the front of the house. “I’ve come for a bride!” rang out above the women’s startled cries.

  “Oh good grief,” Chase muttered. “Now what?”

  “Which one of you is the future Mrs. Peregrine?!” the voice called again.

  Chase closed his eyes in resignation. “Gus.”

  “Gus? Who is this Gus?” Miss Zapatero asked.

  Chase pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack Peregrine’s grandfather.”

  “And Jack Peregrine is …?” Miss Partridge asked in annoyance.

  “One of the other grooms.” Chase looked up the hall when he heard Jack loudly say, “No.” From the sounds of it, Jack had arrived just in time to collect Gus and take him home. The poor man was becoming harder and harder to keep an eye on. The sooner Jack and his bride wed, the better. Good – that made three couples he could marry off that night. Provided Jack didn’t balk once he saw his bride.

  Great Scott, what if that what was the loud “no” was about?

  “Rev. Hammond, are you quite all right?” Miss Partridge asked.

  “No, ma’am – to tell you the truth, I’m not. But hopefully it’s nothing a nice chat with your benevolent benefactor Mrs. Walters won’t take care of. But let’s see you settled first, hm?”

  She bit her lower lip, indecisive. “You’ll speak with him?”

  He smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ll be speaking with him, all right.” He tried to relax his jaw. Charlie wasn’t a violent man, but he could see them exchanging a few blows over this – if he could even find Charlie. “Why don’t we rejoin the others? I’m sure the two of you are ready for a hot meal and a rest.” There was some sort of pot on the kitchen stove. Chase could smell it, but wasn’t sure what it was.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “We are hungry.”

  “Yes,” Miss Zapatero agreed. “Very much.”

  “Then let us to the other ladies, shall we?” He motioned them to precede him up the hall. Who knew what sort of disaster was waiting near the front door by now?

  * * *

  By the time Chase and the two women reached the front hall, whatever ruckus Gus Peregrine stirred up had ceased. Pearl, one of the establishment’s “girls” stood on the staircase looking down at the brides and speaking to them soothingly. “I just put some soup on the stove – it’ll be ready soon. Come, I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.” Chase, as would be expected from his profession, had never before set foot in La Maison des Chats, but had heard Pearl was the nurturing type. Now he was seeing it for himself. She must have seen to the brides who’d fainted as well. Whew!

  “Wait just a minute, young woman,” Mrs. Walters said, looking Pearl up and down. Chase felt a chill go up his spine.

  “Yes?” Pearl said, blue eyes welcoming. Thank heaven she was fully clothed, though a few wisps of blonde hair hung loose about her face. At least she didn’t appear as if she’d just been working.

  “Do you work here?” Mrs. Walters asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.” Pearl looked at the women still shivering at the bottom of the stairs. “Ladies, if you’ll follow me.” She turned and headed up, not waiting to see if they’d follow. Cold and hunger would see to it that they did.

  With a shrug, Miss Zapatero ascended first, followed by a young Chinese woman. Chase had seen her before, but hadn’t had time to introduce himself. She had to be Woody’s bride. Difficulties aside, he was happy the brides had made it to Noelle in the first place. The trick now was to keep them there.

  A tall thin woman with dark hair and brown eyes went up next – whose bride was that? Egad, he hoped there weren’t going to be any more mismatches. He made a mental note to speak with Jack as soon as possible, in case he’d rejected his bride already – best not to jump to conclusions, though.

  A pretty woman with mousy brown hair was next to head up, followed by another fairly tall woman with red hair and green eyes. He’d have to figure out who went with whom later. Mrs. Walters hadn’t given a lot of physical descriptions, concentrating on their characters instead. Naturally both of them would think that more important – looks faded, after all.

  But apparently not for Agatha, whom Chase now watched go up alongside another dark-haired woman. She was definitely older than the rest, but also looked the happiest. Still, given her age, Agatha’s other half would probably need convincing. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen him in the saloon earlier.

  Another brunette was now ascending the stairs, a gorgeous one, and Chase wondered who – and whose – she was. No doubt Horatio would be upset to find out she wouldn’t be his – as he recalled, his intended was blonde. Chase had been so busy earlier that he hadn’t noticed if Horatio had come in to the saloon or not. Knowing Horatio, he was probably home primping.

  The next bride – nice-looking, chestnut hair, brown eyes and … “Mrs. Walters!” Chase blurted, scandalized.

  Mrs. Walters turned to him. “Why, there you are, Rev. Hammond. For a moment I thought you’d deserted us. What seems to be the problem?”

  He pointed at the girl on the stairs – or, more accurately, at her bulging belly. “Mrs. Walters?!”

  She glanced from his shocked face to the woman halfway up the staircase, unperturbed. “Molly dear, would you be so kind as to relieve the reverend’s fears?”

  Molly looked up, her long hair covering one eye. She blew it out of her face, reached over, pulled open her long cloak and … HONNNK!

  Chase stood, dumbstruck. It wasn’t what he had thought, but … “Is that … a goose?”

  The fowl looked at Chase, honked again, then shook its head, happy to be out of its confines.

  “Well, it’s certainly not a cow,” Mrs. Walters commented, smoothing the skirt of her dress. “At least we’re honest about things. Shame on you, Reverend, for assuming the worst.”

  Chase wasn’t even going to take that bait. “What is she doing with a goose anyway?” Then he had a horrible thought. “Er … young lady, what is your name?”

  “Molly Norris, sir.” Her goose honked again. “And this is Daniel,” she added happily.

  Chase sighed wearily. “Daniel,” he repeated. “Nice name.” But of course, he had matched Miss Norris with Storm Thornton, he of the roast Christmas goose. He resisted the urge to groan as thoughts of her groom wanting to stuff and cook poor Daniel for dinner ran rampant through his brain.

  Chapter 7

  Felicity and most of the other brides were soon settled into the upstairs bedrooms of La Maison des Chats. Not all that settled, really – not after Birdie, a native French-speaker, had informed them exactly what La Maison des Chats meant. After all they’d been through already, now they were being housed in a brothel! The very idea! Birdie was also surprised the sign outside was even spelled right, considering what they’d seen so far of the town. But wha
t was the difference? A brothel was a brothel.

  She could hear raised voices downstairs – the Rev. Hammond, Mrs. Walters and one other, a woman. “That’s Madame Bonheur,” Pearl explained as she fluffed up a pillow and put it on a bed.

  “Madame?” Felicity said. She sat on a bed and glanced around the pretty room. If they had to stay the night – and it was becoming quite obvious they did, they’d have to sleep two and three to a bed. At least they were beds, not the stiff, hard seats of the train. However, the location …

  “You can’t possibly expect me to stoop to such … such … this!” one of the other brides griped, running a gloved hand over a knob of the brass bed she stood next to.

  “This what?” Felicity snapped. Maybelle Anderson had done nothing but complain the entire journey – it was too hot in the train car, or it was too cold, or she didn’t want to sit next to “the Chinese” or “the Mexican” (she’d never bothered to learn Meizhen or Josefina’s names) or “that nasty bird” (the rest of the brides were quite fond of Molly’s Daniel). And she boasted about herself to anyone who would listen.

  Maybelle had been familiar to her even before this – they’d both been part of Denver society. Felicity had no interest in Denver’s elite, not unless they were involved with the “cause,” which Maybelle wasn’t. But they’d crossed paths a few times – not few enough for Felicity’s tastes. What an obnoxious bore.

  “I can’t wait until I marry,” Maybelle went on, shoving Pearl out of the way to sit on the bed. “He’ll make up for this horrible inconvenience, I’m sure.”

  Pearl glared at Maybelle, opened her mouth to speak and …

  “Rev. Hammond!” they heard Mrs. Walters shriek from below. “Don’t just stand there – do something!”

  “My heavens,” Felicity exclaimed. “What’s going on down there?” And were some of the other brides paying witness to it? Had some of the grooms come by as well?

  Pearl rushed to block the door. “You’d better let your Mrs. Walters handle this.”