Twin of Ice (7 page)

Houston thought of all the years of work she’d gone through at school. Blair seemed to think her sister had done little but drink tea and arrange flowers, but Houston remembered the strict discipline and Miss Jones’s ruler slapping on tender palms when a girl failed.

When she was with Lee, she had to make a conscious effort to put all her schooling into effect because Lee would know when she was wrong. But with Mr. Taggert, she felt free. Today she’d screeched at him. In fourteen years of knowing Lee, never once had she raised her voice to him.

She took a breath of cool, night air. All the work ahead of her! Arranging the wedding, the surprise of exploring the attics and putting the furniture where
she
wanted it. And the challenge of trying to turn Mr. Taggert into some form of gentleman!

By the time she reached home, she was bursting with excitement. She was going to marry a man who
needed
her.

She left the horse and carriage with the groom, straightened her shoulders, and prepared herself to face the storm that was her family.

Much to her surprise—and relief—the house was quiet when Houston entered through the kitchen, only the cook andSusan washing up.

“Has everyone gone to bed?” she asked, her hand on the big oak table that nearly filled the room.

“Yes, Miss Blair-Houston,” Susan answered as she cleaned the coffee grinder. “More or less.”

“Houston,” she said automatically, ignoring the maid’s last comment. “Will you bring me something on a tray and come to my room, Susan?”

As she walked through the house to the stairs, she noticed several large bouquets of freshly cut flowers, not flowers from her mother’s garden. She saw a card attached:

Leander had never sent her flowers in all the months they were engaged.

She held her head high and went upstairs.

Houston’s bedroom was papered in a subtle cream and White design, the woodwork was painted white and the windows were hung with handmade Battenberg lace. The low tables and the backs of the two chairs were also adorned with the airy lace. The underside of her bed canopy was of gathered silk in a light tan and the bedspread was intricately quilted, all in white.

When Houston had undressed down to her underwear, Susan came with the tray. While eating, Houston began giving orders.

“I know it’s late but I need you to send Willie on some errands. He’s to take this note to Mr. Bagly, the tailor on Lead Avenue. I don’t care if Willie has to drag the man out of bed, he is to make sure Mr. Bagly personally gets this. He must be at the Taggert house at eight o’clock tomorrow.”

“At the Taggert house?” Susan asked, as she put away Houston’s clothes. “Then it’s true, Miss, you’re going to marry him?”

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:

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

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

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 room 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.