Betina Krahn (34 page)

As she looked around the table, her smile started small and slow and broadened to suggest the volumes of illicit knowledge she possessed.

“Me and my ‘Oriental’ seem to be in the news of late.” She assumed a pained look as she continued. “Limelight is bad for business. It’s time I set the record straight. ‘Beatrice’ here was at the Oriental exactly
one
time. She entered without my knowledge or permission and spent time with some of my girls.”

She glanced at Beatrice with a wince of disgust.

“Tried to ‘reform’ them. Talked to them about bein’ seamstresses and shop girls.” She gave a snort of amusement. “As if any of my girls would trade ‘the life’ for Mrs. Von Cluckenberg’s deadly dull respectability.”

Beatrice stiffened but clamped her jaw tight, resisting the urge to bite the hand that seemed to be rescuing her.

Charlotte swayed farther around the room, past the suffrage contingent with their matronly dark dresses and prim white collars, dismissing them with a faint roll of her heavily kohled eyes.

“I discovered her on my premises and asked her to
leave. She was less than cooperative. I had to have my servant—Punjab—remove her physically from the place.” She smiled and looked up as if remembering fondly. “He picked her up and carried her out arse over teakettles—with her screamin’ bloody hell the whole time. Her petticoats turned inside out and her respectable ‘garters’ were viewed and enjoyed by all.”

“Really, Mrs. Brown!” Beatrice could no longer contain herself.

“Really, Mrs. Von Footsieberg,” Charlotte said, going to stand by board member William Afton and drape her arm with great familiarity over his fleshy shoulders. “I will not have my reputation as a professional sullied by rumors that I present
amateur
entertainment.” She transferred her insultingly thorough gaze to the men now literally at her fingertips. “Now,
boys
”—her voice dripped with honeyed warning—“do we have any questions?”

The board members avoided eye contact with her and with the girls waving and blowing kisses at them from the doorway. She ruffled Afton’s thinning, brilliantined hair, then smiled and released him.

“Good. I would never want to be accused of tellin’ tales out of school.” She headed for the door.

Her bustle swung more noticeably as she passed the tight-lipped line of suffrage-minded females. Looking them over, she muttered just loud enough for them to hear: “Oh, yeah. We’ll be in business for a good, long time.”

As soon as she disappeared out the door, the gasps of indignation from the suffrage contingent were matched by the covert sighs of relief from the men around the board table. Graham called their attention back to the business at hand.

“So, Mrs. Von Furstenberg,” vice president Graham
said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, “it seems that you went to the Oriental to do ‘rescue’ work. A most ill-advised venture, however noble your motives. You might have told us this story and saved this confusion.”

“Would you have believed me?” Beatrice did her best to look suitably aggrieved. “As I said before, the incident is not exactly something that makes me proud.” She glanced at Connor. “It ended in disaster all around. And the humiliation it caused just seems to have no end.”

“Well, it has ended as far as this board is concerned,” Graham declared, with an eye on reporter Higgins. “I believe there is nothing more for the board to consider. I will entertain a motion for a vote of confidence in Mrs. Von Furstenberg as president of Consolidated Industries.”

Graham called the roll for the vote that yielded a unanimous decision … to keep her as president of Consolidated.

Beatrice scarcely heard the vice president’s declaration that the meeting was adjourned and barely heard the rumble of relieved voices as board members stopped to greet her before hurrying out. Her attention was riveted on Connor, who stood smiling at her. In that moment she realized she was deeply, earnestly, and thoroughly in love with Connor Barrow.

Wonder bloomed in her as she was embraced by Lacey and Frannie and Priscilla and Alice and Carrie Catt.

She moved through a sea of sensations and responses until she reached Connor and held out both of her hands to him. He took them and held them tightly.

“The gov, there—” Dipper said, intruding, “it was him that sent us for Charlotte Brown.” He nodded toward Connor.

“We wasn’t sure she’d come,” Shorty said earnestly. “She acted right huffy when we told her what was happenin’.”

“What if she hadn’t come?” Priscilla said.

“Then we’d have resorted to something really desperate,” Connor said, lowering his voice, “like the
truth
.”

Beatrice felt Connor’s hands tightening around her own and realized how narrowly they had averted disaster. A deep and unprecedented calm settled over her. He was there. With her. That was all that mattered.

She introduced him to her friends and watched him enduring with grace their flattery and their questions. He was not only charming, he was entirely respectful to them and they responded in kind.

It was only as he was taking his leave that she noticed how drawn and tired he looked.

“I have to go … I’m already late for a campaign appearance.”

“Can you come for dinner tonight?” she asked quietly, for his ears alone.

He shook his head.

“I have to work with my campaign manager on my speeches for tomorrow.” The pressure of his hands increased for a moment. Then he said to all of them: “I have a debate tomorrow night at Irving Hall. I hope to see you all there.”

The minute he was gone, the women turned to Beatrice with wide eyes.

“He’s wonderful, Beatrice,” Lacey said.

“He has such warmth, such charm,” Belva observed.

“But that woman—that ‘Charlotte Brown’ creature,” Frannie said.

“Hardly the sort you’d expect to come running to help
a suffragist.” Carrie Catt turned to Bebe. “How on earth did Mr. Barrow know you had been at that awful place?”

Beatrice was caught off guard. “I suppose she told him.” Then when she realized the others were staring at her in dismay, she hastily explained: “I believe she was one of Mr. Barrow’s legal clients.”

“In her business,” Lacy muttered, “she needs a good lawyer.”

“In her business,” Frannie added, “she needs a
priest
.”

BEATRICE HAD LUNCHEON
with Priscilla at a restaurant near Consolidated’s offices. Despite the air of relief between them, there were still long silences as both sat lost in thought. When the final coffee came, Priscilla looked up at Beatrice with her eyes glistening.

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Beatrice. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.”

“I know, Prissy.” She laid her hand over her niece’s on the table. “Let this be a lesson to you. You never know what the outcome of your actions will be.” She smiled. “I confess, I was ready to strangle you when I found out you were responsible for my kidnapping. But, seeing how things have worked out, perhaps I should hug you instead.”

“Hug me? For what? For nearly getting you kicked off your own company’s board of directors?”

“That wasn’t entirely your fault. Lynch and Winthrop were behind that move. I was surprised that the gentlemen of the board still resent the way Mercer left the reins in my hands. No matter how much money I’ve
made them, they still don’t like the idea of a woman running things.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s the price a woman pays for doing business in a man’s world. They hold us to a different standard, Prissy. They’re like spoiled children. To a lot of men, women are little more than possessions or playthings. To others, women have to be saints up on a pedestal … pure and loving and all-forgiving … like their mothers. Heaven help us if we prove to be merely human, like they are.”

She looked off into the distance and her expression softened.

“But, there are some men, special men, who see us for what we really are. And they come to respect and care for our strength and intelligence.”

Prissy watched her wistful look with a frown.

IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON
before Priscilla returned to Woodhull House. She and Dipper went straight to the dormitory to start work, while Shorty headed for the kitchen to find Jeffrey and bring him upstairs. Shorty needn’t have bothered; Jeffrey was already in the dormitory, propped on a stack of mattresses with his feet up and his eyes closed. At the sound of their arrival he started up and rolled from his perch, dragging his hands through his hair.

“Where in the blazes have you been?” He intercepted Priscilla halfway across the room.

“We might well ask the same of you. We looked everywhere for you before we left.” She gave him an icy look. “All of your usual hiding places.”

Dipper backed out the door, saying he would look for Shorty, while she continued unbuttoning her short cloak and went to hang it on a peg.

“I … I stepped out with a few of the older boys … for some fresh air,” he said, bristling. “I was only gone a few minutes, and when I got back you were gone. Not a word about where you went. You just left me here … alone.”

She scowled at the messy hall that was just as they had left it. “Well, you don’t seem to have strained yourself while we were gone.”

“Where did you go?” he demanded, even louder. “If you went to ask that McKee fellow for that donation—I told you I’d do that—and I will.”

“We went to Aunt Beatrice’s offices, at Consolidated. She was very nearly booted off the board of her own company today because somebody found out about her being in the Oriental Palace. Your cousin came to get us so we could tell the board of directors what really happened.”

“What?” Jeffrey’s face paled and he grabbed her by the shoulders. “You didn’t tell them, did you? You didn’t mention me?”

“I should have. I should have told them every last detail.”

“Priscilla!”—he gave her a shake—“what did you tell them?”

“Jeffrey!” She jerked free and stumbled back with a look of disbelief. “I didn’t have to say anything. Your cousin, Dipper and Shorty, and that awful woman from that Oriental place … they managed to get the board to realize it wasn’t Aunt Beatrice’s fault … that she hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“Thank God.” He turned away, sagging visibly with relief. But, after a moment, he recovered enough for a cocky toss of his head. “It’s probably just as well I wasn’t there. If they’d have asked me, I’d have said it was
all
her fault.”

“Jeffrey!” She grabbed him by the sleeve. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” he said, pulling from her grip. “If she hadn’t been such an old dragon—if she had let us see each other—then we wouldn’t have had to resort to such schemes to get her to change her mind.” His chin set at a stubborn angle. “She was as much to blame as we were. And personally, I think we’ve been punished enough.” He stalked over to a row of dusty chairs stacked by twos and gave one of them a contemptuous kick. “Stuck here in this smelly, godforsaken place … having to work like menials … day after day …”

“Jeffrey, you’re being childish.”

“Me? Childish?” He gave a stack of mattresses an impulsive shove that sent them toppling. “I’ll tell you what’s childish … playing make-believe at our age … hiring men to pretend to rob somebody so we can rescue them.
That’s
childish.”

“You’re just being mean and spiteful,” Priscilla said, stinging from his lashing out. She whirled and looked for something to do to hide the angry tears forming in her eyes. She picked up a scrub brush, dunked it in the pail of vinegar water nearby, and began to wash down one of the old bureaus.

Behind her, she heard him walking about, grumbling and occasionally hitting or banging something, but she kept scrubbing. After a few moments, he came up behind her. She could feel him watching her and scrubbed even harder.

“Will you stop that and turn around and talk to me?” he said angrily.

“Somebody has to do the work,” she snapped.

“Meaning what? I do my fair share around here, you know. Just because I refuse to turn myself into a drudge
like—” He halted before it came out, but the unspoken end of the sentence echoed around the room anyway.
Like you.

The scrub brush landed in the bucket with a splash. She wheeled and stared at him, seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time.

“How dare you?” She began to tremble as long-suppressed resentments bubbled to the surface. “You’ve done nothing but wash a few dishes since we got here, and we’ve heard nothing but complaints about
that
.”

“You, on the other hand, seem to thrive on this great, noble work of yours. Little Miss Do-Good. Saint Sober-Sides. You never smile or laugh anymore. You won’t let me kiss you or even touch you. You’re always keeping an eye on me and ordering me around like I’m some”—he made a dismissive gesture—
“kid.”

“Well, if I treat you like one, maybe it’s because you—” She stopped before
“act like one”
came out, but it was as plain to him as if she’d shouted it. “I’m tired of making up excuses for you to Miss Gerhardt. I’m tired of having to do things you were asked to do first, and I’m tired of always having to finish the things you start.”