Jo Goodman (16 page)

"How did you know he was a farmer?"

He had already proven he didn't want to hear the answer. Grey Janeway was not so different from anyone else of her experience. She knew what to say. Living with Anderson had taught her that. "He had calluses consistent with holding a plow. If you do enough of this sort of thing, Mr. Janeway, certain marks of a person's life become apparent. It merely takes some careful study to recognize the characteristics for what they are."

"I thought it might be something like that."

"Yes," she said, smiling weakly. "I was sure you did."

Grey put down his spoon and served her up a bowl of rice and gumbo. "Careful, this is hot even when it's stone cold. Taste it, you'll see what I mean." He watched, satisfied when she took a tentative bite. "Hot as hell, isn't it?"

That was the exact description that came to Berkeley's mind. Her eyes widened a little as the gumbo settled in the pit of her empty stomach. There was a trail of fire all the way down her throat, but she gamely took another bite.

"Bread?" Grey asked. She nodded, and he gave her a chunk. "Now tell me how you settled on Ohio as Mike's home."

"His accent. I've met people from that area before. Two, in fact, on the ship coming here. Mike was willing to make some allowance for my mistake."

"Yes, I found that interesting. Does it happen often that you're wrong?"

"It happens, but usually it's an error like the one I made with Mike. If the person wants to believe, he will find some way to make the information fit. If he's a skeptic, he will always find something wrong."

"And Shawn Kelly? You didn't see a thing in his palm, did you?"

She smiled slightly, shaking her head. "There's no doubting that you're a skeptic. Mr. Kelly had evidence on his left hand of a ring that he had only recently removed. That's what made me offer the information that he would marry again."

"You said he would have no more children."

"It's a simple enough subterfuge, Mr. Janeway. It makes me sound as though I know more than I do. People give themselves away in subtle ways. When I said he would marry again there was a slight tension in Mr. Kelly's hand that seemed to confirm he had been married before. Knowing that, it was logical to assume he had children. So I told him he wouldn't have any more. Later he offered that he had two. When he tells the story to others, he'll forget that he gave me that information. He'll repeat to others that I
knew
he had a boy and a girl."

"And his grandmother? How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

Berkeley waved her spoon with an air of nonchalance. "Most people his age have experienced some loss in their life. It merely requires a bit of refined guesswork to get to the root of it. I pay attention to the signals that people give me when I hold their hand. I watch their faces when they're looking at their own palm. I listen to the tone of their voice and the rhythm of their speech. I hear what they say and, more importantly, hear how they say it. There's nothing more to it than that, Mr. Janeway, but it takes practice. Years of it if one's going to be good."

"And it helps if you look as if you've been touched by the fairies themselves."

Berkeley's fathomless green eyes grew a shade wider and deeper. "What an odd thing to say. I wouldn't know about that."

Grey wasn't sure he believed her. "Have you ever tried to make money from this talent of yours?"

"No. It's a parlor trick, just as you suggested. I entertained Ander—" Berkeley caught herself again. She quickly took a mouthful of gumbo and considered how to correct herself. "I entertained and, er, amused my father's friends. Why? Do you think I
could
earn a living with it?"

"Don't you?"

Her short laugh was a bit uneasy. "I don't know. I mean, I hadn't given it serious thought. When I told you I had a talent, well, I said it just so you wouldn't think I was completely useless. I was rather feeling that way, you know, and you were goading me, not intentionally perhaps, but I'm sensitive about not being able to cook or sew or sing or—"

Grey held up his hand. "I believe I understand," he said dryly.

Her expression became wary as she returned his considering gaze. She could not interpret his long silence or guess at his thoughts.

"Do you want to work for me?" Grey said finally.

Berkeley blinked. She exhaled slowly, softly, trying not to appear eager or desperate. "I should like that," she said quietly.

Grey studied her a moment longer, then he nodded once, satisfied with her answer. "Finish your gumbo," he said.

* * *

It was dusk before Sam Hartford returned to the Phoenix. He arrived with gowns, petticoats, drawers, nightgowns, stockings, shoes, and one corset. Berkeley was overwhelmed by the generosity of Ivory DuPree. Grey was skeptical. While Berkeley carried off her secondhand wardrobe to a small suite down the hall, Grey questioned Sam about the unexpected bounty.

Sam pulled on one eyebrow and shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Miss Edwards... I mean, Miss DuPree... gave me a bill for the things," he said. He reached into his wrinkled vest pocket and extracted a ragged piece of brown paper. The writing was Ivory's own, painstakingly neat but perfectly legible. All of the clothing was itemized and a value was placed on each. He handed it to Grey. "I haggled a bit with her, Mr. Janeway, I don't mind sayin', but Miss DuPree wouldn't hear any of it. She insisted on taking me around to the shops herself, just to prove she wasn't asking more than the worth. Then she added a little bit to each piece, for the inconvenience to her."

"The inconvenience?" asked Grey.

"Yes, sir. Miss DuPree had to try on all of the clothing first, everything but that blue-spangled gown—she tossed that at me and said whoever needed it was welcome to it. You were particular that the clothes should be too small for her, and she made a point to show me that was just the way of it."

It must have been quite a show, Grey thought. He said nothing and let Sam go on.

"So after she figured out what fit and what didn't, that's when she set a price."

"And that's when you haggled with her."

"Yes, sir. So she decides to take me around to the shops, like I said, and prove her point. I didn't mind too much, since you asked me to find out where you could buy a lady fashions and notions and such." Sam stopped pulling on his wiry brow and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. "So that's why I'm so late gettin' back. But you got your list right there on one side and the shops on the other, and if you don't mind, Mr. Janeway, I'd be plumb grateful if you'd find someone else to go lookin' at ladies' furbelows and geegaws next time out."

Grey cleared his throat to suppress the laugh caught there. His expression remained grave. "You've done admirably, Sam. I won't call on you in the future for similar duties."

"Thank you, sir." Sam stopped rocking in place. "It's a relief, I must say. I really don't have a liking for—" He stopped, his attention straying to the doorway where Berkeley Shaw suddenly appeared. Without hesitation Sam removed his hat. It was more difficult not to gape.

Grey turned. One of his dark brows arched slightly as he regarded Berkeley. She had lost no time changing into one of Ivory DuPree's castoffs. The navy blue day dress, with its tightly fitted sleeves and lack of ornamentation, made a slim silhouette of her figure. In dramatic contrast, her fine, pale hair was its own radiant light. Her smile was tentative, a shade wistful. "Yes, Miss Shaw?" Grey said.

She stepped into the room. "I wanted to thank you. The gowns are surpassingly lovely, all of them, though I really think this is the only one suited for everyday. The others are quite fine, and I shouldn't—"

Grey interrupted her. "Wear them or don't wear them. They're yours now."

His abruptness startled Berkeley. Had she offended him? Her fingers moved a bit nervously over her midriff. She smoothed the fabric where it gathered at her waist and looked at Sam. "And thank you, Mr. Hartford. You were very kind to—"

Grey stopped her again. "He's my employee, Miss Shaw. Kindness has no place here."

Bewildered, Berkeley's smile faltered, then faded. "Yes," she said. "I can see that. Am I permitted to express my thanks to Miss DuPree?"

"Here." Grey held out the ragged and wrinkled bill presented to him by Sam. "Thank Ivory by paying this."

Berkeley took the paper and examined it. Her brow creased as she totaled the items. One gown was valued at two hundred dollars. Another at three hundred fifty. The simple, serviceable dress she was wearing now had been assigned a worth of one hundred twenty-five dollars. Oddly, Ivory DuPree's most beautiful offering, a sapphire satin evening gown embellished with blue glass beads, had no dollar amount attached to it. To be certain no one thought this was an oversight on Ivory's part, she had placed a thick slash next to the gown's description.

Berkeley's eyes moved along the list. Shoes: eighty dollars.

Stockings: fifteen dollars per pair. The undergarments came to one hundred eighty-five dollars.

"So much," she said softly. Berkeley looked up at Grey. "This is a fortune. I can't accept them when I can never hope to pay. I'll have to return everything to Miss DuPree." She turned hopefully to Sam. "You'll assist me, won't you, Mr. Hartford? I shouldn't know where to go if you don't accompany me."

Sam started to sputter and rock on his feet again. Whether he was trying to form the words to agree to Berkeley's request or refuse her was never clear. Grey cut him off, thanking him again, then dismissing him. Sam tipped his hat in Berkeley's direction as he hurried from the room.

"Was that necessary?" asked Berkeley. "Mr. Hartford had not answered me yet."

Grey waved aside her objection. "Sam would have hemmed and hawed for ten minutes without any direction from me. He's not in a position to offer his assistance to you without clearing it with me."

"You're very arrogant, aren't you?" she said baldly.

Grey's smile, the one that did not quite reach his eyes, appeared. "I'm the owner of the Phoenix, and I care very much that the people in my employ do as I request."

"Order, you mean."

He shrugged. "Order, if you wish. I believe it's my right." His gunmetal glance was steady on her upturned face. "And if you wish to work for me, Miss Shaw, it will be your responsibility."

Berkeley knew she had choices. One of them was to go back to living on the streets, hiding in a masculine disguise until she could steal aboard a Remington ship. She could also present herself to another gaming house and hope they saw the same potential in her talent as the owner of the Phoenix. Whoring was another solution. There were probably other alternatives available to her, but Berkeley couldn't think of them now. She knew, as Grey Janeway did, that employment with his gaming house presented itself as her best opportunity.

Berkeley's chin lifted, and, at her side, her hands stilled. "Yes," she said. "I can accept that."

"Good." He held out his hand, not to close this agreement with a shake, but to take back the bill. "Give that to me."

She immediately shook her head. "I fully intend to return these clothes to Miss DuPree."

Grey's hand remained extended, and his mouth thinned a little with impatience. "What? And wear my shirts and trousers while your own wardrobe is being assembled? Endeavor to use your head, Miss Shaw. Clothes made specifically for you will cost every bit as much as what Ivory scrawled on her bill, and perhaps even more."

"Then I can't afford any of it."

Rather than argue, Grey took the scrap of bill from between Berkeley's twisting fingers. She had rolled it as tightly as a candlewick. "You can't afford
not
to have it. Anyway, you won't owe this to Ivory. I'll pay what she's asked and you'll owe me."

"If that is supposed to ease my mind, Mr. Janeway, it's wide of the mark."

"I have no idea what would ease your mind," he said without inflection. "I've merely explained the way I intend things to be. Do you have some difficulty with it?"

Of course she did, though there was probably little point in voicing it now. "As you wish," she said.

Grey wondered that Berkeley could make those three words of acquiescence sound so quietly defiant. "I
do
wish, Miss Shaw."

"You realize that it will take me years to repay you, though. You may grow tired of having me forever underfoot."

"I regularly clean my boots. It won't present a problem."

Berkeley blinked at his perfectly expressed indifference. He gave her no indication that he was amused in the least. "I believe I'd like to return to my room," she said. "If you'll excuse me."

"But I don't."

She had already started to turn when the import of his words reached her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sit down, Miss Shaw." He indicated the room's only chair again in the event she pretended to misunderstand. Grey moved to the desk directly in front of her and leaned back against the edge. He put down Ivory's bill. "Are your rooms satisfactory?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes, of course." There was virtually no furniture, but Donnel Kincaid had assured her that would be remedied quickly. A cot had been moved into the bedroom, and Donnel had ordered the hasty construction of an armoire in expectation of her receiving clothes from Ivory. Uncertain of her precise arrangement with Grey Janeway, the workers considered Berkeley the hotel's first real guest. There were many small attempts throughout the afternoon to make her rooms more livable. While Grey was gone from the Phoenix on other business, workers arrived at odd intervals offering blankets, oil lamps, towels, and freshly plucked wildflowers. One of the carpenters gave her an exquisitely carved figurine he had whittled to place on her mantel. Except in size, it was virtually identical to the figurehead of Rhea that adorned the front of the Phoenix. Mike and Shawn presented her with one of the mirrors they weren't prepared to install until later in the week, and they also carried in a large pine crate for her to use as a table in her sitting room. Someone else cut a square of muslin to fit it exactly and serve as a tablecloth.