by Jen Turano
She smiled at Bertha. “As for how I got into this gown, Silas, being the incredibly untrusting type, apparently didn’t want me to be kept around any men, so he hired women to watch over me, and they are the ones who helped me get dressed every day.”
“Well, I’m here to help you get dressed now, but I’ll leave you in peace while you take a good, long soak in the tub. Just ring for me when you’re done.” With that, Bertha quit the bathing chamber, promising to throw the dress into the nearest fireplace.
Slipping out of her unmentionables, Lucetta slipped into the tub, sighing in satisfaction as the warm water drifted over her. The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor had her looking up, unsurprised to find that Millie was the person dragging the chair, which she positioned exactly so in front of the tub before taking her seat. Leaning forward, Millie suddenly looked a little too determined.
“I’ve heard the most interesting rumors regarding you and the oh-so-dishy Mr. Haverstein,” Millie said.
“I don’t believe dishy is a real word” was all Lucetta could think to respond.
Millie waved that away with a flick of her dainty wrist. “I can’t be expected to know all the right words, Lucetta, and you’re stalling.”
Lucetta blew out a breath, stirring the bubbles. “What have you heard?”
“That you and Mr. Haverstein were caught in a most interesting situation in a storage room of all places, that he tried to save you from drowning twice in his, uh, moat from what I’ve been told, and . . . that he did save you once from a mad goat by the name of Geoffrey. I’ve also heard that you seem to enjoy his company, so much so that there’s been talk of marriage—but you rejected the marriage idea because of mysterious happenings occurring at Ravenwood.”
“Bram didn’t save me from drowning twice. He almost caused me to drown both of those times.”
“Again . . . stalling.”
Tracing a finger through the bubbles, Lucetta took a second to gather her thoughts. “He’s explained away practically all the mysteries surrounding him, which has allowed me to come to the conclusion he’s not insane.”
Millie’s eyes turned the size of saucers. “You had reason to doubt his sanity?”
“He maintains a dungeon and has a castle where suits of armor go strolling about in the middle of the night—what else was I to conclude?”
“A . . . dungeon?”
“Yes, but I can’t explain that in any further detail, since the dungeon is part of a rather large secret that Bram has yet to divulge to anyone except his staff—and now me, of course.”
Millie settled back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fair enough, but . . . tell me this, how do you feel about the man, especially since his sanity is no longer in question?”
“That’s a little tricky to answer.”
Millie sent her a look that had exasperation stamped all over it. “It is not. And since you’re the one who insisted Harriet and I dwell on exactly what our feelings were for Oliver and Everett just a few months back, I’m going to extend you the same courtesy. So . . . feelings—yours for Mr. Haverstein—what are they?”
“He, uh . . . did mention that he’d like to court me.”
“Court you?”
“Yes, you know, call on me, take me for drives, bring me flowers, and . . . well . . . court me.”
“That’s incredibly romantic.”
“Well, yes, it is, but . . .”
“You don’t want to be courted because you see that as a weakness of being female.”
“What?”
Millie rolled her eyes. “Lucetta, you and I have been friends for a very long time, and while you never talk about yourself much—as in ever—it’s always been clear to me and Harriet that you’ve got this attitude, if you will, about being a female. It’s one of the reasons I believe you’ve held yourself so distant from any gentleman who has ever shown an interest in you. And, it’s why you’re incredibly wary of men like Bram Haverstein, who clearly—and this is without me even knowing that much about him—is an old-fashioned man, one who enjoys swooping in and saving the damsel in distress.”
“There’s that romance novel lover I’ve been missing.”
Millie sat forward. “You know I’m right.”
“So . . . how are those delightful children you and Everett are doing such a wonderful job raising?”
Narrowing her eyes, Millie regarded Lucetta for all of a second before she nodded. “Very well, I see how we’re going to proceed. So . . . Everett’s wonderful, as are the children. They’re very well adjusted these days, don’t cause hardly any trouble at all, except for the normal trouble children tend to get into, and they’ve come to adore Everett as their guardian, and seem to enjoy having me about as well.” She brushed her hands together. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, back to you.”
“There’s really nothing else to add.”
“Courting . . . you . . . Mr. Haverstein, and . . . what you’ve decided to do about it. You may now proceed with giving me answers in whatever order you’d care to proceed.”
Lucetta tried to think of another diversion but couldn’t come up with a single thing, so she ended up shrugging instead. “I divulged most of my well-guarded secrets to the man, and not only did he refrain from throwing himself out of the carriage after I was done, he didn’t react as if I’m some curiosity one should view in a circus show.”
“Ah, you told him about your memory.”
“You know about that?”
Millie released a snort. “Please, you read a script one time and never look at it again. But tell me this . . . have you told him about Wall Street?”
“You know about Wall Street?”
“Bits and pieces, but enough to know that if you’d been a man, you’d be a king in the investment industry.”
“I thought I was being so stealthy.”
“Lucetta, we lived together for years in a tiny little suite of rooms in a rickety boardinghouse. Stealth isn’t always possible under those conditions, especially when a woman such as Hetty Green, the so-called Witch of Wall Street—who, by the way, even I know—comes to pay you a visit. When I saw her taking tea with you and then heard her asking your opinion about a railroad stock, well, let me simply say it wasn’t difficult to figure out you’ve been dabbling in more than just theater over the years.”
Lucetta smiled. “Hetty’s a curious woman. Do you know she was actually impressed by the idea that I’d chosen to live in such mean surroundings even though I had the wherewithal to move to a more fashionable area?”
“She’s not the only one some might consider odd,” Millie said with a pointed look Lucetta’s way. But, before she could continue on with the odd business—something her expression clearly stated she wanted to do—the door to the bathing chamber opened just a crack as Tilda stuck her head in.
“I beg your pardon for interrupting, ladies, but we have a small situation unfolding in the drawing room that I don’t believe you’re going to want to miss.”
“A situation?” Lucetta repeated warily.
Tilda nodded. “Mr. Haverstein chose to disclose everything to his family, and . . . I think they may very well be in some unusual state of shock. I’m afraid he might need a bit of help, Miss Plum. You were the only person I could think of to help him, since I know he told you all about his big secret. . . . I may have unintentionally overheard most of your conversation in the carriage, probably because we’d forgotten to close the small sliding door that makes it possible for the rider to speak with the driver.”
Knowing full well that no one had forgotten anything, and peculiarly enough, finding herself liking Tilda all the more because the woman certainly did possess a bit of cheek, Lucetta sat up in the tub and reached for the towel Millie was already holding out for her.
“Shall I tell him you’ll be down in fifteen minutes?” Tilda asked.
“Tell him I’ll be down in ten.”
Less than ten minutes later,
with damp strands of hair that had already escaped the knot she’d arranged on her head, Lucetta headed for the drawing room with Millie by her side. She was now dressed in a lovely gown of deep green, one that she’d pulled directly from the first box she’d opened from the stack in her room, and one that had a label proclaiming it to be a Jacques Doucet creation.
Stepping into the drawing room a second later, she came to an immediate stop as the most peculiar urge to laugh settled over her.
Everyone seemed to be frozen in place. Iris was sitting beside Abigail on a settee done up in brown tweed, both ladies sporting rather dazed expressions on their faces, while Ruby was standing right behind them, her eyes blazing and her lips thinned. Archibald, on the other hand, looked slightly amused as he sat in a wing-backed chair, peering over a newspaper that he’d seemingly forgotten he was reading.
Poor Bram was standing smack-dab in the middle of the room, facing everyone and looking for all intents and purposes as if he might just be reconsidering his decision to disclose everything to everyone at this particular moment in time.
Clearing her throat, Lucetta stepped farther into the room. “What a cheerful scene. I, for one, am certainly glad to be back in Washington Square.”
Bram sent her a slight twist of his lips, which might have been his attempt at a smile, while everyone else just continued sitting there, or in Ruby’s case, standing, remaining completely mute.
“Uh, well, speaking of Washington Square . . .” she began, trying to break the strained silence. “While I was languishing away—having been abducted, no less—I had quite a lot of time to catch up on my reading, and it just so happens there was a book I read that had facts about the city, and some of those facts dealt with Washington Square.”
She gazed expectantly around the room, earning not so much as a blink in response, although she thought Archibald’s paper fluttered a little.
“What were some of those facts?” Millie chirped, her eyes wide and looking exactly as if she had no idea what she should do next.
“Well, thank you for asking, Millie.” She shut her eyes, summoned up the pages she’d read, opened her eyes, and nodded. “The story goes, at least according to a Mr. Greeley who researched the matter, that Washington Square was not always a posh part of New York City. It was, I’m sad to report, a potter’s field, purchased clear back in 1797 by the New York government in order to provide a burial site for the indigent, poor, or members of the criminal persuasion.”
“Dead people used to be buried underneath where we’re standing?” Millie asked, her eyes going from simply wide to as big as dinner plates.
“Unfortunately, they still are,” Lucetta admitted.
“That sounds like something right out of a Mr. Grimstone novel,” Millie muttered, and that was all it took for the room to burst into noise.
“How could you have withheld the fact you’re Mr. Grimstone, especially after I let it be known I wanted that man to squire me about the city?” Ruby demanded.
“Keeping such important secrets from your own family,” Iris said, rising to her feet as she shook a finger Bram’s way. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Do you know that your father and I have worried about you for years, wondering how you turned out so aimless, and then . . . thinking you were up to matters of a criminal nature?”
“At least you can now thank the good Lord above that he’s not doing anything criminal,” Abigail said, rising to her feet as well, even as she started to smile ever so slightly.
Archibald sent Lucetta the faintest hint of a wink before he snapped open the newspaper and disappeared behind it.
“You’re Mr. Grimstone?” Millie finally asked, her question over all the others that were still being tossed Bram’s way the one he decided to answer.
“I am.”
Millie beamed back at him. “But how delightful to meet you in person. Why, I cannot begin to express how in awe I am of people who are able to create stories in their heads, and then—here’s the best part—put down those stories on paper.” She shook her head. “I have plenty of stories rolling around my mind, but the few times I tried to gather my thoughts and write them down, well, chaos—which means turmoil, by the way—is all I succeeded in creating.”
Bram smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Mulberry.”
Millie returned the smile. “Please, call me Millie.” She turned her attention to Iris, Abigail, and Ruby. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your outrage with this extraordinarily talented gentleman. Everyone knows authors are an extremely neurotic lot, so I’m not surprised in the least that Bram . . .” She turned and quirked a brow his way. “You don’t mind if I call you by your given name?”
“Not at all.”
“Lovely,” Millie said with a nod before she directed her attention to the three ladies now watching her a bit warily. “As I was saying, being a creative sort must be incredibly difficult, and just think about all the pressure poor Bram must be under, expected to turn out a book better than the last one he turned out time, after time, after time. Why, it must be exhausting being him, but I, a true lover of books, am thankful the world has people in it like Bram, and all of you should be as well.”
Iris took one step forward. “Well, of course we’re thankful for our Bram, dear, but surely you understand why we’re put out with him? I’ve been under the impression he’s been dealing in illegal activities for years, while his father has been concerned that Bram’s been aimlessly drifting through life, not having a true purpose.”
“I thought you and Father would be disappointed to learn I’d chosen writing as a profession over the law or over helping Hugh manage the family’s business interests,” Bram said.
“We could never be disappointed in you, Bram,” Iris countered. “Concerned, certainly, but if writing—and being wildly successful at it, by the sounds of things—makes you happy, I, for one, could not be more—”
Before Iris could finish her thought, Ernie, followed by Stanley, who was clutching a bleeding nose, rushed into the room, stopping directly in front of Bram.
“What happened?” Bram demanded as he took hold of Stanley’s arm and helped him into the closest chair right as Mr. Skukman dashed into the room, a half-eaten sandwich held in his hand.
“What happened?” Mr. Skukman asked as well, nodding to Ernie.
“We got ambushed,” Ernie explained as he dropped into another chair. “By women, no less—the same women Silas hired to watch over Miss Plum.”
“We’b neber saw it comin’,” Stanley said as he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, while accepting the handkerchief Mr. Skukman had fished out of his pocket with the other. “Thank you.”
Bram frowned. “We didn’t even consider those ladies a threat. I mean, they simply walked out of the building when we showed up, and acted as if they were happy to be gone from the place.”
“Women can be tricky,” Ernie said with a knowing nod. “But . . . they stole Silas away, and . . . me and Stanley rushed back here because there’s no time to waste.”
“You think he’s coming after Lucetta again?” Bram asked, stepping over to Lucetta to take hold of her arm, as if he expected Silas to burst into the room at any moment and try to steal her away again.
Ernie shook his head. “No, he’s not coming after Miss Plum. I overheard him say he’s going after her . . . mother.”
22
As the private Pullman car Bram had secured for their trip to Greenville, Virginia, began to slow, he looked across the aisle to where Lucetta was sitting with Millie, noticing that her hands were clenched and she was sitting so straight in her seat that she looked incredibly uncomfortable.
“Nervous?” he asked quietly.
Catching his eye, she nodded. “I am—a condition I’m afraid isn’t going to dissipate until I discover whether or not we’ve arrived in Virginia ahead of Silas.”
“He’s on the run from the law now, Lucetta,” Bram reminded her. “That means he’s going to have to travel carefully,
and who knows how he’s going to go about the tricky feat of funding his trip in the first place.”
“Men like Silas Ruff always have funds hidden away,” Mr. Skukman said, lowering the paper he’d been reading before he leaned forward and looked out the window. “Looks like we might have arrived.”
As the train came to a complete stop, Ernie, Stanley, and Mr. Skukman fetched their bags, and after Bram told Lucetta and Millie to wait a moment, the gentlemen stepped from the Pullman car and assessed their surroundings.
“Seems to be safe,” Mr. Skukman said.
“Not a lot of people milling around,” Ernie added.
“I’ll go find a carriage to rent,” Stanley said, heading off for a weather-beaten building with the words Greenville Depot painted over the door, and where a few gentlemen were sitting on wooden chairs on the wraparound porch.
Bram lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, before he nodded at Mr. Skukman. “Do you think this is a good idea, bringing Lucetta here?”
“Not at all.”
“I don’t remember you voicing a protest back in New York when she insisted on accompanying us to Virginia.”
“Miss Plum has been watching out for her mother for years, Mr. Haverstein. She certainly wouldn’t have calmly stayed behind while we gentlemen went off to save the day. It’s not in her nature, and it’s something you need to accept about her.”
“I suppose you’re right, but . . . have you ever met her mother?”
“Never. Nor has that lady ever come to visit Miss Plum in New York. It doesn’t speak well of the woman that she’s never seen her only daughter perform onstage, especially since I know for a fact that Miss Plum is responsible for providing her family with . . . Well, I really shouldn’t say anything more about that.”
“You haven’t said anything about anything.”
Mr. Skukman’s lips twitched. “Too right—I haven’t.”
“What are you two discussing in such a clandestine fashion?”