“Give ’em another two weeks. If she gets better, he’ll be able to work again.”
“And if she doesn’t get better?”
“She might.”
“Damn it all, Tiny, in two weeks they’ll owe another month’s rent. I’m not a charity.”
Tiny stepped up to the desk, dug in his pocket and slapped down some coins. “There you go.”
“What the hell’s that?”
Tiny’s chin jerked up. “Their rent.”
Mitch bared his teeth. “You fool. Why would you do that?”
“The old feller reminds me of my granddad. You remember I told you about him.”
Mitch nodded. Tiny—whose real name was Francis—had lived with his granddad before the old man died and Tiny got shuffled off to Carter’s. Tiny was one of the lucky ones—he knew his last name, Haskins, and remembered someone who’d loved him. A luxury Mitch didn’t have.
“It’s your money,” he said. “I won’t tell you how to spend it.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
“Don’t thank me.” Mitch turned his eyes to the report once again. He hated reading these things. The opportunities at Carter’s had been so poor, he still struggled to read or write. Further complicating matters, most of those he employed had come from Carter’s also, and could barely scribble two words together on a page.
A sudden thought made him jerk his gaze back up. “Any news on that other job I gave you?”
“You mean your wife?”
Mitch scowled. He didn’t like being so direct about it. Hadn’t Tiny ever heard of discretion?
He gave a hard nod. During the last week, Tessa had left the house three times. He very much wanted to know where she’d been.
Tiny raised his chin and recited, “Mrs. Carter went to her parents’ house on Bidwell Parkway once. Went shopping. Didn’t buy anything. An unusual woman, Boss, who can go shopping and not buy anything.”
Yeah, and it made Mitch suspicious. Maybe she hadn’t been shopping so much as expecting to encounter someone.
“She meet anybody while she was out?”
“Out shopping, you mean?”
“Out shopping,” Mitch confirmed, trying to hang on to his patience.
“No, Boss.”
“And the other day?”
“What, Boss?”
“She went out of this house three days.”
“Oh, right. She saw friends.”
Mitch’s spine stiffened. “What friends?”
“Well, I don’t know ’em, do I?”
Mitch growled, “Male or female?”
“Oh, I see what you mean, Boss. Female—two other girls. All real pretty. They went out for tea.”
Seemed innocent enough. “All right. Keep an eye on her when she goes out. Understand?”
“Right, Boss.”
“And if she even looks at another man, I want to know about it.”
“Got you, Boss.”
Tiny went out. Mitch scowled at the coins he’d left on the desk before putting them carefully into the drawer. If Tiny insisted on having sympathies, he’d need to pay for them.
****
Tessa exited the door of the house on Prospect Avenue and froze. She’d expected the car to be waiting for her, and it was. But instead of the chauffeur, Marty, poised to open the rear door for her, she saw her husband.
“Oh,” she said, refusing to go down the steps. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
She broke off, trying to sense his mood. She hadn’t seen her husband in days. She’d been busy attempting to reorganize her life as best she could, and taking advantage of his permission to go out.
Though it galled her to require his permission.
“Are you planning to use the car?” she faltered.
“I am. I have a meeting with an agent. But Marty tells me you requested it too. So I’ll drop you wherever you want to go, on my way.”
“That’s all right. I don’t really like the car anyway. I’ll call a cab.”
“Don’t be foolish. I have the time.”
He swung open the door of the car and made a slight bow, leaving Tessa no choice but to descend the steps and climb in.
He got in directly after her. The back of the car, large and luxurious, immediately felt far too small.
“Where to?” Mitch asked.
“I—uh—have a meeting also.”
“You do?” Curiosity looked at her from his eyes.
“Yes. I’ve decided that if we are to coexist, as you’ve requested, I need something to occupy me.”
“I see. And what have you chosen to occupy you?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Not specifically, that is. I’m going to speak with someone today about the possibilities. I thought”—she shot a look at him—“I’d concentrate on good works.”
“Good works?” he repeated, as if stunned.
“Yes, you know. Philanthropy.”
His expression turned blank.
“Charity.”
For an instant she thought he’d choke. He tapped on the glass that separated the back of the car from the front and told Marty, “Once around the park, please.”
The car pulled away from the curb.
Tessa pressed her hands together. “I take it you don’t approve.”
“Well, it’s your choice what you want to do with your time.”
“Is it?”
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t need your approval?”
He shook his head. “All I have to say is, be careful not to let these people take advantage of you.”
“ ‘These people’?”
“They’ll bleed you dry if you let them, time and money. They’ll know you have money, see, through me.”
“Will they?”
“No doubt. Me, I make it a point never to give to charity.”
“Why?”
He stared away through the window so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. At length he said, “I know what happens in them places. People give money and it never reaches the ones who need it. It ends up in the administrators’ pockets.”
“Not all the time, surely.”
“More often than not.” He gave her a bright look. “I grew up in one of them places. I’ve seen it first hand.”
“Carter’s Home for Boys, right? I’ve heard a lot about it, not much good.”
His fingers tightened on the edge of the seat till they turned white.
She said lightly, “I’m meeting with a Mrs. Wright, who oversees a number of foundations in the city. Others will be there from animal sanctuaries, orphanages…charity hospitals. I thought I could get an idea where my interest might best be placed.”
“I see.”
“Today’s meeting is at the Meadows Club.” She added on impulse, “Why don’t you come with me?”
He stared. “Me?”
“It could only be good for your reputation which, quite frankly, isn’t exactly sterling, around town.”
“I have other business, as I say.” He tipped his head, studying her. “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for it to be seen that my new wife is engaged in charitable causes.”
“Yes?”
“Just choose carefully, mind. I won’t have my money wasted.”
“Your money?” She raised a brow. “I intended all my contributions to come out of the allowance you so generously give me.” She couldn’t keep a sharp edge from her voice.
“Still…”
“What matter to you if I spend it on a new frock or a child’s dinner?”
“The difference is you’d have the frock. The child might never get the dinner.”
“You’re very cynical.”
“I’m very careful. Marty? To the Meadows Club, to drop off my wife.”
The car promptly changed direction. Within minutes they pulled up in front of the Meadows Club on Delaware Avenue.
“Thank you,” Tessa said. “I’ll get a cab home.”
“No, I’ll have Marty waiting here f
or you.”
He opened the door and exited the car in order to usher her out. When she would have pulled her fingers from his, he instead raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the soft flesh of her wrist, just above the short glove she wore.
Tessa’s pulse leaped. She snatched her hand away from him and fled.
****
Good works, of all damn things, Mitch thought as the car pulled away from the Meadows Club. Couldn’t his new wife find something better to occupy her?
He sat back against the seat, still relishing the sensation of his lips against her skin. He got to touch her so seldom. It felt like the hunger he’d known as a child.
What did women of a certain class use to occupy them? He wondered. He knew what poor women did—they labored from before sunup to after sundown, all the hours God sent and then some. The girls on the streets worked all night and slept most of the day.
But his wife, she had class. He had little experience of such women.
In his opinion, she should be concerning herself with him. Morning, noon, and night, stark naked.
But he hated bullies, even though in his professional life he often had to play that role. He’d sworn not to bully Tessa.
No matter how low his beginnings, he could do better than that.
Chapter Seven
The gathering at the Meadows Club proved far different than anything Tessa expected. She’d thought it would be a rather fashionable affair, a tea at which those engaged in philanthropy—mostly ladies—discussed their efforts and exchanged fundraising ideas.
Indeed, some such ladies did prove to be in attendance, matrons clad in expensive clothes who gathered in clutches like hens; younger women, pale and elegant, who put Tessa’s attire to shame.
But another element attended also, a well-represented, rougher form of Buffalo’s society—women in shabby shawls and men with scuffed work boots and keen eyes.
Tessa, who’d never before done anything like this on her own, felt intimidated even before the whispers started.
Well, she told herself as she stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, they probably all know one another and they’re catching up on news. Normal enough, yet a certain furtive quality in the low-voiced discussions and the way all eyes turned to her told Tessa the truth.
They whispered about her.
It started among the hens on one side and spread quickly, catching the attention of Mrs. Wright, the hostess, who quickly headed over with her hands outstretched.
“Welcome! Welcome to The Meadows.”
Tessa focused on her gratefully. Mrs. Wright had well-coifed white hair and kind eyes. The hue of her peach-colored gown picked up the color in her cheeks.
“You must be Mrs. Carter, yes?”
Ah, so that was it; they knew who she was: Mitch Carter’s wife. Word had got around. He, and not she, was infamous.
Indeed, her ears—sharper at the moment than she liked—caught a whisper from the side, “King of Prospect Avenue.”
And another, “Certainly no better than she should be.”
She flushed in mortification. She wanted to flee, walk right back out of there away from all the staring eyes. But her hands lay trapped between Mrs. Wright’s, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a scene.
“Yes,” she admitted unhappily. “I’m Tessa Carter. I thought I’d attend the meeting today and…well, I’ve been thinking of taking up some good works and wasn’t sure what will suit.”
Compassion flooded Mrs. Wright’s eyes. “This is an excellent place to start, and we’re very glad to have you.”
She tucked Tessa’s arm beneath hers. “Let me introduce you to a few people.” She began towing Tessa away from the center of the floor, adding in a whisper of her own, “And don’t pay any attention, my dear, to those loose tongues. They think charity is a social event and exercise their small minds accordingly.”
“It isn’t? A social event, I mean.”
“Oh, my goodness, no. It’s hard work.”
Tessa nodded. All too aware she—and Mrs. Wright—remained the center of all eyes, she let herself be led.
“In what sort of endeavor are you interested, Mrs. Carter?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. It’s why I came. I thought…”
“Very wise. There are so many worthy causes. Topaz Gideon—the woman there in the red gown—helps get girls of the night off the streets and into a better life.”
Mrs. Gideon, who stood with a number of other people, took Tessa’s breath away. Not a small woman by any means, she carried her height and extra weight with a bold confidence that declared her stature. Black hair, dangling earrings, and a pair of amber-colored eyes all added to her exotic air.
She stood next to a couple; the man—tall and strapping—wore the uniform of a Buffalo police officer; the woman, almost nondescript and with soft brown hair, clung to his side.
All three of them smiled when Mrs. Wright led Tessa up and made introductions.
“Glad to meet you,” said Topaz Gideon, with a fierce stare.
The police officer held out his hand. “Patrick Kelly. And this is my wife, Rose.”
Her fingers engulfed in his large ones, Tessa managed to murmur, “Pleased.” Kelly had eyes as green as her own.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kelly are engaged in the fight for automaton rights.”
“Oh? How—how interesting.”
“We always welcome new members,” said Mrs. Kelly, also kindly.
Mr. Kelly inclined his head. “And do not worry about the gossip. People always talk about us, do they not, my love?” He clasped his wife’s hand. “You see,” he confided to Tessa, “I am a hybrid automaton. My wife is human.”
“Truly?” Tessa couldn’t help but stare. “I’d never have been able to tell.” Though now that he’d identified himself, she could hear something a bit odd about his voice.
“It’s true,” Kelly assured her. He thumped his barrel chest and emitted a soft, grinding sound. “Steam powered.”
“Uh—”
“You must meet the Michaels,” said Mrs. Kelly. “Lily Michaels is also a hybrid automaton—there, that’s her in the aqua-colored dress.”
Tessa, who’d just begun to relax marginally, turned her gaze where indicated and caught her breath. Mrs. Michaels stood speaking with a burly, brown-haired man; she looked exquisite and utterly human.
“My goodness,” Tessa breathed.
Mrs. Gideon gave her another smile, this one rueful. “Not all the company here consists of chattering magpies. There’s a lot of work to be done in this city, Mrs. Carter, and some of us don’t care where you—or your husband—started life. We’ll fight among ourselves for your time and your dollars, even though we’re all friends.”
“Well,” Tessa said, “I’m not at all sure…that is, I only came to test the waters, so to speak. I understand there are a lot of worthy causes in which to invest.”
“That is true,” Kelly agreed. “My friend over there, James Kilter—you see him, with the tiny woman who’s expecting a child—founded the Buffalo Animal Sanctuary and is affiliated with the Anti-Cruelty League.”
Tessa once more looked where indicated, then tried not to stare; James Kilter had in essence only half a face, if a handsome half—the other side of his countenance, constructed of what looked like scar tissue, might well appear in a nightmare. The heavily pregnant woman on his arm didn’t seem to notice.
“The Michaels,” Kelly went on, “while understandably interested in automaton rights, are also concerned with the plight of the city’s orphans. Or you might choose to help the elderly. Come, allow me to introduce you.”
Tessa moved off, escorted by the automaton whose arm felt disconcertingly natural beneath her fingers.
She liked the Michaels immediately, felt reassured by Rey’s level brown stare and utterly charmed by Lily’s open guilelessness. She found herself thinking she could be friends with such a woman.
Only she wasn’t a woman.<
br />
“Don’t let yourself be thrown off stride by that lot,” Rey advised, nodding at the gossipers on the other side of the room. “They’ll talk about anyone. They talk about us, don’t they, Lil?”
“Yes, Rey.” Lily Michaels sent her husband an adoring glance. “I am assured it goes with the territory.” She laid her hand on Tessa’s arm and leaned closer. “Do you think I look human?”
“Very much so.”
“Thank you, but I am not. Like my good friend Patrick, I run on coal and steam. Oh, Mrs. Carter, you must sit with us. The lectures are about to begin.”
“Lectures?”
Rey Michaels made a face. “Folks get up and spout off about their latest projects, hoping to win supporters.”
“I see. I would like very much to sit with you.”
“Good. Rey, let us find seats together before they are all taken.”
The afternoon went much as Rey Michaels predicted. First Mrs. Wright spoke, and one by one various others rose and outlined their programs.
The man with the scarred face spoke about getting cart horses off the streets, saying the city had lost no fewer than five in the heat last summer and many others suffered gross mistreatment. “No need for them anymore, given the rise in steamcabs,” he concluded. “And no animal should be a slave.”
Mrs. Gideon went next, describing with frank speech the plight of prostitutes, especially in the poorer districts. Tessa learned she ran a home called the Haven for Disadvantaged Women, where girls could go for help, leaving the life and instead training for other jobs.
Lily Michaels squeezed Tessa’s hand and gave her a look from wide blue eyes.
“I stayed there once,” she confided softly.
“Oh?”
“I was a prostitute back then. At the Crystal Palace.”
“Of course.” Pieces clicked into place in Tessa’s mind. “You must have been one of the—”
“Mechanical whores. Now I am Rey’s wife.” She stated it proudly, as if she could conceive of no higher place in life. Some wives, it seemed, were more fortunate than others.
The briefings went on.
At last, Lily rose and walked to the front. Rey leaned over and said, “She does all the speeches—I’m not good at public things. But she’s very good.”
So she was—direct, earnest, and sweet. As Tessa listened, her heart responded. Lily spoke of the children in the city, the orphans who, through no fault of their own, found themselves without a single relative to care for them.
Tough Prospect Page 4