Twin of Ice

  Houston was sitting at her tiny mahogany desk and she turned around. “How’d you like to work for me? To live in the Taggert house?”

  “I’m not sure, Miss. Is Mr. Taggert as bad as people say?”

  Houston considered this. It was her experience that servants often knew much more about a man than his peers. Even though Kane lived alone, no doubt the servants knew things about him that no one else did. “What have you heard about him?”

  “That he has a violent temper and he yells a fierce lot and nothing ever pleases him.”

  “I’m afraid that’s all probably true,” Houston sighed, turning around again, “but at least he doesn’t beat women or cheat people.”

  “If you’re not afraid to live with him, Miss Houston, then I’ll do it. I don’t guess this house’ll be a fit place to live after you twins are gone.”

  “I don’t imagine it will be either,” Houston said absently, as she made a note to herself to call the barber, Mr. Applegate on Coal Avenue, and request that he arrive at nine o’clock. She thought how much time it’d save if everyone in town were on the telephone system.

  “Susan, don’t you have a couple of brothers?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “I’ll need six brawny men for all day tomorrow. They’ll be moving furniture downstairs. They’ll be paid well and fed well and they’re to arrive at eight thirty. Do you think you can find six men?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Houston wrote another note. “Willie must deliver this to Mrs. Murchison. She’s staying with Reverend Thomas while the Conrads are in Europe. I want her to come and cook at the Taggert house until they return. I hope she’ll be glad to have something to do. Willie will have to wait for a reply because I’ve told her the kitchen is bare and she’s to stock it with whatever she needs and to send Mr. Taggert the bill. Willie may have to meet her in the morning with a wagon. If so, I’m sure he can borrow the Oakleys’ big wagon.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “There, that should take care of tomorrow. I have Mr. Taggert dressed and shaved, the furniture moved, and everyone fed.”

  Susan began to unpin Houston’s hair and brush it.

  “That feels lovely,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Minutes later she was in bed and, for the first night in days, she didn’t feel like crying herself to sleep. In fact, she felt quite happy. She’d bargained with her sister so she could have one night of adventure, but it looked as if she were going to have weeks of adventure.

  * * *

  When Susan knocked on her door at six the next morning, Houston was already half dressed for work in a white cotton blouse, a black cord skirt that cleared the floor and a wide leather belt. A little jacket and matching hat completed the outfit.

  Tiptoeing downstairs through the silent house, she placed a note on the dining table for her mother explaining where she’d be all day, then ate a hurried meal in the kitchen and went to the carriage house where she made a sleepy Willie harness the horse to the beautiful new buggy Kane had sent her.

  “Did you give out all the messages, Willie?”

  “All of them. Mrs. Murchison was right glad to get busy. I’m to meet her with a wagon at six thirty and meet Mr. Randolph at the grocery store. Mrs. Murchison called him late last night with a long list of things she wanted. And then we’re goin’out to the Conrad place and raid their garden. She wanted to know how many she’s to feed.”

  “There’ll be about a dozen people but most of them are men so tell her to cook for thirty. That should do it. And tell her to bring pots and pans. I don’t imagine Mr. Taggert has any. Come as soon as you can, Willie.”

  Everything was silent at the Taggert house as Houston unhitched her horse and tied it in the shade. She knocked at a side entrance but no one heard her so she tried the door, found it open and entered the kitchen. Feeling a bit like a thief, she began opening cabinets. If this house was to prepare a feast for a large number of wedding guests within two weeks, she needed to know what resources she had.

  The cabinets were empty except for cases of canned peaches—no cookware except the cheapest enamelware.

  “Sears again,” she murmured as she decided to explore the rest of the service area. A large butler’s pantry separated the dining room from the kitchen, and behind the kitchen was an L-shaped wing with pantry, scullery, quarters with a bath for three servants, the housekeeper’s room and, beside it, the housekeeper’s office.

  In the corridor outside the kitchen was a stairway and Houston took it. Pausing at the second floor, she peeped down a hallway but could see only shadows on oak floors and panelled walls. She continued toward the attics.

  As she’d already guessed, the attics were actually servants’ quarters that were now being used for storage. There were two bathrooms, one male, one female, and the rest of the space was divided into small rooms. And each room was stacked to the ceiling with crates and boxes; some had furniture hidden under dust covers.

  Tentatively, she lifted a dust sheet. Beneath it were two gilded chairs covered in tapestries of cherubs. A tag was attached. Holding her breath, she read the tag:

  Mid-eighteenth century

  tapestries woven at Gobelin works

  believed to have belonged to Mme. de Pompadour

  one of set of twelve chairs, two settees

  “My goodness,” Houston breathed, allowing the cover to fall back into place.

  Against the wall was a rolled carpet. Its tag read:

  Late seventeenth century

  made at Savonnerie factory for Louis XIV

  A crate, obviously holding a painting, was merely labelled “Gainsborough.” Beside it stood one with the word “Reynolds” painted on it.

  Slowly, Houston removed the cover from the Mme. de Pompadour chairs, lifted off the top chair and sat down. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts. Looking about her, she could see gold feet protruding from beneath the sheeted furniture, and without further exploring, she knew that all the furniture and works of art were museum quality. Absently, she lifted a sheet beside her. Beneath it sparkled a chandelier that looked as if it were made of diamonds. Its tag read: 1780.

  She was still sitting, a bit stunned at the prospect of living daily with the treasures around her when she heard a carriage below. “Mr. Bagly!” she said as she flew down the stairs and managed to arrive at the front door just as he and his assistant were leaving their carriage.

  “Good morning, Blair-Houston,” he said.

  Mr. Bagly was a tiny, white-faced little man who somehow managed to be a tyrant. As Chandler’s premier tailor, Mr. Bagly received a great deal of respect.

  “Good morning,” she answered. “Do come in. I’m not sure what you’ve heard, Mr. Bagly, but Mr. Taggert and I are to be married within two weeks and he’ll need an entire wardrobe. But right now, he needs one good afternoon suit for a reception tomorrow, something in vicuña, three buttons, gray trousers and a vest of cashmere. That should do it. Do you think you can have it ready by two o’clock tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure. I have other customers.”

  “I’m sure no one is in as much need as Mr. Taggert. Put as many seamstresses on it as possible. You will be paid.”

  “I think I can arrange it. Now, if I could begin measuring Mr. Taggert, I could start the suit.”

  “He is upstairs, I believe.”

  Mr. Bagly looked at her steadily. “Blair-Houston, I’ve known you all your life, and I’m willing to put aside all my other work to do a job for you, and I’m willing to come here this early in the morning in order to measure your fiancée, but I will not go up those stairs and search for him. Perhaps we should come back when he’s awake.”

  “But you won’t have time to make the suit! Please, Mr. Bagly.”

  “Not if you went on your knees to me. We will wait in here for one half-hour. If Mr. Taggert is not downstairs by then, we will leave.”

  Houston was almost glad there were no chairs for them in the large drawing ro
om where they planned to wait. Courage, she told herself and started up the stairs.

  The second floor was as beautiful as the first, with white painted panelling, and directly in front of her was a wide, open room with a green tiled area in back. “An aviary,” she whispered with delight.

  With a sigh, she knew she must get down to business. Around her were many closed doors and behind one of them was Kane.

  She opened one door and, in the dim light, she saw a blond head in the midst of a rumpled bed. Quietly, she closed the door again, not wanting to wake Edan.

  She went through four rooms before she found Kane’s bedroom at the back of the house. Suspended from picture wires from the ceiling mold were crude curtains blocking out the morning sun. The furniture consisted of an oak bed, a little table littered with papers, an earthenware water pitcher on it, and a three-piece set of upholstered furniture covered in a ghastly red plush with bright yellow tassels at the bottom.

  Houston looked toward the attics. “Forgive him, Mme. de Pompadour,” she whispered.

  With resolution, she pulled back the curtains, tied them in a fat knot so they’d stay in place, and let the sunlight in.

  “Good morning, Mr. Taggert,” she said loudly, as she stood over his bed.

  Kane roused, turned over, but continued sleeping.

  He was exposed from the waist up, nude, and, she suspected, nude the rest of the way down, too. For a moment she stood still, looking at him. It was few times that she’d seen a man’s bare chest before and Kane was built like a prizefighter—big, muscular, his chest very hairy. His skin was dark and warm-looking.

  One minute she was standing beside the bed and the next minute a great hand caught her thigh and she was pulled across him, and into the bed.

  “Couldn’t wait for me, could you?” Kane said, as he began hungrily kissing her neck and throat as his hands energetically ran over her body. “I’ve always been partial to a good romp in the mornin’.”

  Houston struggled against him for a moment, saw it was useless and began looking for other ways to stop his attack on her. Her groping hand came in contact with the handle of the pitcher on the table, and she swiftly brought it down on his head.

  The thin chalkware broke, and water and pieces of the pitcher cascaded down as Houston jumped out of the bed, moving safely to the foot of it.

  “What the hell—,” Kane began, sitting up, rubbing his head. “You could a killed me.”

  “Not likely,” Houston said. “I correctly assumed your taste in quality toiletries would match your taste in furniture.”

  “Listen, you little bitch, I’ll—.”

  “No, Mr. Taggert, you listen to me. If I am to be your wife, you will treat me with the respect due a woman in that position. I will not be treated as some hussy you’ve . . . you’ve hired for the evening.” Her face turned red but she continued. “I did not come to your bedroom because, as you say, I couldn’t wait to share your bed. I was in a sense blackmailed into this. Below, I have a tailor waiting to measure you for a suit, I have furniture movers arriving any minute, a cook is coming with a wagonload of food and, in less than an hour, a barber will remove that mass of hair you’re sporting. If I am going to prepare both you and this house for a wedding, I will unfortunately need your presence, and therefore you cannot be allowed to loll about in bed, sleeping the day away.”

  Kane just looked at her while she delivered her speech. “Is my head bleedin’?” he asked.

  With a sigh, Houston went to him and examined his head, until he caught her about the waist and pressed his face against her breast. “Any of that paddin’?” he asked.

  Houston pushed him away in disgust. “Get up, get dressed and come downstairs as quickly as possible,” she said before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

  “Damned bossy female,” she heard him say behind her.

  Downstairs, everything was chaos. The six men Susan’d hired were strolling through the house as if they owned it, shouting comments to one another. Willie and Mrs. Murchison were waiting to ask her questions and Mr. Bagly had decided to leave.

  Houston set to work.

  By nine o’clock, she was wishing she knew how to use a whip. She had immediately fired two of the furniture movers for insolence and then asked who wanted to earn a day’s pay.

  Kane didn’t like Mr. Bagly touching him and didn’t like Houston deciding what he could and could not wear.

  Mrs. Murchison was beside herself, trying to cook in the bare kitchen.

  When the barber arrived, Houston slipped out the side door and nearly ran for the privacy of the big glasshouse that for days she’d been wanting to explore. She closed the door and gazed with pleasure down the three-hundred-foot-long expanse of flowering plants. The fragrance and the peace were what she needed.

  “Noise too much for you?”

  She turned to see Edan, as be set down a big pot of azaleas. He was nearly as large as Kane, handsome, blond, and, she guessed, younger than, Kane. “I guess we woke you,” she said. “There seems to have been a great deal of shouting this morning.”

  “If Kane’s around, people usually shout,” he said matter-of-factly. “Could I show you my plants?”

  “This is yours?”

  “More or less. There’s a little house past the rose garden where a Japanese family lives. They take care of the outside gardens, but in here is mine. I have plants from all over the world.”

  She knew she had no time, but she also knew she wanted a few minutes of quiet.

  With pride, Edan showed her the many plants in the glasshouse: cyclamen, primroses, tree ferns, orchids, exotic things she’d never heard of.

  “You must enjoy it in here,” she said, touching a cymbidium orchid leaf. “I broke a pitcher over his head this morning.”

  For a moment, Edan’s mouth dropped open, then he gave a snort of laughter. “I’ve gone after him with my fists more than once. Do you really mean to try to civilize him?”

  “I hope I can. But I can’t keep on striking him. There must be other ways.” Her head came up. “I know nothing about you, or how you relate to him.”

  Edan began repotting an overgrown passionflower. “He found me in an alleyway in New York where I was staying alive by eating from garbage cans. My parents and sister had died a few weeks before from smoke inhalation in a tenement fire. I was seventeen, couldn’t hold a job because I kept fighting,” he smiled in memory, “starving, and had decided to turn to a life of crime. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the first person I chose to rob was Kane.”

  Houston nodded. “Perhaps his size was a challenge to you.”

  “Or maybe I was hoping I’d fail. Kane flattened me onto the street, but instead of sending me to jail, he took me home with him and fed me. I was seventeen, he was twenty-two, and already on his way to becoming a millionaire.”

  “And you’ve been with him ever since.”

  “And earning my keep,” Edan added. “He made me work for him all day and sent me to accounting school at night. The man doesn’t believe in sleep. We were up till four this morning, so that’s why we were still in bed when you arrived.

  “Ah!” Edan said suddenly, grinning broadly as he looked through the glass walls. “I think the barber’s been here.”

  With much curiosity, Houston looked through the glass. Coming down the path was a big man wearing Kane’s clothes, but instead of the long dark hair and beard, he was clean-shaven.

  Houston looked at Edan in wonder, and he laughed as Kane walked through the door.

  “Houston!” he bellowed. “You in here?”

  She stepped from behind an elephant’s-foot tree to took at him.

  “Ain’t bad, is it?” he said happily, rubbing his clean jaw. “I ain’t seen myself in so long I’d forgotten how good-lookin’ I was.”

  Houston had to laugh, for he was indeed handsome, with a big square jaw, fine lips, and with his eyes with their dark brows, he was extraordinary.

  “If you’re
through lookin’ at Edan’s plants, come on back to the house. Tbere’s a lady in the kitchen cookin’ up a storm and I’m starvin’.”

  “Yes,” she said, walking out of the glasshouse ahead of him.

  Once outside, he caught her arm. “I got somethin’ to say to you,” he said softly, looking at his boot toe, then at some place to the left of her head. “I didn’t mean to jump on you this mornin’. It was just that I was asleep, and I woke up to see a pretty gal there. I wouldn’t a hurt you. I just guess I ain’t used to ladies.” He rubbed his head and grinned at her. “But I imagine I’ll learn real quick.”

  “Sit down here,” she said, pointing to a bench under a tree. “Let me look at your head.”

  He sat quite still while she searched his hair for the lump and examined it. “Does it hurt very much?”

  “Not at the moment,” he said, then caught both her hands. “You still gonna marry me?”

  He’s much better looking than Leander, she suddenly thought, and when he looked at her like this, odd things happened to her knees. “Yes, I’m still going to marry you.”

  “Good!” he said abruptly and stood. “Now, let’s go eat. Me and Edan got work to do and I got a man waitin’ for me. And you got to watch them idiots with the furniture.” He started back toward the house.

  Houston had to half run to keep up with him. He certainly does change moods quickly, she thought, as she held her hat on and scurried.

  By afternoon, she had rugs down in three rooms and had two of the attic rooms cleared. The furniture that was downstairs was in no order and she had yet to decide where each piece went. Kane and Edan closeted themselves in Kane’s office with their visitor. Now and again she heard Kane’s voice over the movers’ noise. Once he looked into the library at the gilded chairs and said, “Them little chairs gonna hold up?”

  “They have for over two hundred years,” she’d answered.

  Kane snorted and went back to his study.

  At five o’clock, she knocked on the study door and, when Edan answered it, she looked through the blue haze of cigar smoke to tell Kane she was leaving but would return tomorrow. He barely looked up from his paperwork.