Pearl on Cherry (6 page)

She had a hard time not staring at that much beauty—but he was out to humiliate her on an epic scale.

How dare he single her out like that and make a fool of her! She had been given no warning, hadn’t practiced or even really warmed up.

She sounded atrocious, and now if anyone there decided to gossip about her, she would never make it at an audition and truly be on stage.

That man was the devil in nice trousers with an enticing broad chest and dashing smile.

She hoped next time he jumped on stage he’d fall on his face and lose his front teeth. It would only be fair.

Her mind went through all he’d said. He did warn her. He said he would humiliate her, and that he did.

She kicked the wall when she stopped to take a breath outside a candy shop.

Inside there was a mother with two small girls—they laughed as she handed them both a sucker.

Clarissa’s heart clenched in response.

Her own mother had taken her here once.

Clarissa had been a good girl, practiced her piano and sang for her mother, taking to her lessons well. Her sister, Shelly, did not, so she only got a small taffy.

Once they were out of the shop and back home, Clarissa had shared her sucker with her little sister.

They giggled as they hid under the blankets in their room and ate it together.

How Clarissa missed her family.

They were gone now—had been for a few years, but it was fine. Clarissa did not need anyone.

She would survive like she always did, and she would find a way to use her talents while also making some money to pay for her rent.

She tripped her way down Cherry Street, ignoring all the inebriated men lying in the gutters, dirty and smelling of filth.

A nun passed by her and dipped her head in acknowledgment.

“Hi, Sister Rosalind,” Clarissa greeted.

“Good afternoon to you,” the sister replied, then kept going.

No one stood in Cherry Street for too long. It was a dangerous place to be, but unfortunately, it was the quickest way to Clarissa’s home.

When she got to her door, she scratched at it.

She’d forgotten her key this morning. Just like yesterday.

Why was her head such a mess? All she could do was drag herself out of bed and sneak peeks at that insufferable Ferrismore. Why must he be so commanding in a room?

He should sing. His voice was a hypnotic tenor with deep undertones of something seedy and dark. Very corruptible, that man.

She took a deep breath and listened closely for her cousin’s footsteps.

“Clary, why are you all huddled out here like this?” he asked when he whisked the door open.

“It’s a little chilly, and I forgot my keys again,” she said.

He ushered her inside and locked the door right away.

“Leo, sing with me?” she asked, rubbing her arms to fend off the chills.

“Why are you insisting it is cold? It was a warm day—unseasonably so,” he said, his eyes slanting toward each other as he studied her. “Was it that man again? Was he pestering you?”

“No, no.” She swatted at the air like he was the one being a pesky fly. “I did not even notice him today . . .”
Much
. If every thirty seconds could be considered not much.

It was a vast improvement from the last few days where she could barely keep an eye on her work at all.

He smirked. “Liar. Your right eye twitches, and your nostrils flare when you are hiding something.”

“Oh, you are such the sleuth. You have discovered my secret infatuation with the biggest ass in the country.” She rolled her eyes. “Will you sing with me now?”

“Later. I want to eat. I just got back from the rail station.”

She followed after him over to their tiny stove. Even though she knew it was ridiculous, she pretended to still be icy and proceeded to warm her hands at the stove’s heat.

“It was a rough day’s work. Miller got hurt again.” He sighed. “I tried to tell him what the signs said, but he couldn’t remember. I wish I had time to teach him how to read.”

“Oh dear!” Her eyes went wide. “What happened?”

“Lost a finger,” he said, shrugging. “It happens. He was working on one of the wheels on the train and the loose bolts beneath him I had warned him about, slipped, taking his finger off as the wheel rolled over his digit.”

“That is truly awful!” Her stomach lurched.

The horror stories he shared with her were nauseating at times.

“Well, I am in search of better employment. Maybe you should leave that line of work.” With a long wooden spoon, she poked at the soup he had on the boil.

“What do you mean ‘you are in search’?” He almost yelled, then gripped her arm and turned her to face him. “Did you lose your position again at the theater?”

“No, I just find the conditions deplorable. I have a mind to join the strikes,” she said.

“You do not have to lie to me.” He squeezed her arm, then released it.

She couldn’t go back to the music hall. Not when she had such trouble staying away from Ferrismore, and he clearly despised her and was willing to put her on the stage only to mock and ridicule her to his heart’s delight.

Leo sighed. “Cousin, you must temper your emotions. Too many times you speak what is in your mind, when it should be properly stowed away and marked with a warning label like the ones at the station.”

She grinned. “You have the best imagination. It is no wonder I can create new lyrics so well after being near you.” And after being near Ferrismore as well, but she needn’t voice that.

Today was a prime example of the kinds of lewd thoughts Ferrismore inspired—it came out in that repulsive song she sang.

Why hadn’t she stopped before she made a complete and utter fool of herself?

“You give me too much credit. Now, let’s eat. I am hungrier than any man alive.” He patted his tummy right after it growled.

She laughed, and while he placed the pot of soup on the table over a mitt, she got down two bowls and secured two spoons.

“Do you think you’ll ever marry?” she asked as he was taking the first bite.

“Probably not. I can barely afford to keep you around.” He smirked and slurped another mouthful.

“I pay my own way. You do not provide for me,” she reminded him.

He nodded. “Too true, but I do feel responsible for you at times. It’s a burden I am not good at handling. I have female friends, and it is enough.”

“Like that Felicity? Are you still spending your lunch time in search of her company?”

He was entirely too fond of that prostitute.

“She has moved to new quarters, so, no. I do not. And it is fine. I am certain she is much happier with her new dwelling.”

“Oh. I am . . . s-sorry.” She realized this most likely meant that Felicity had become a permanent mistress of some wealthy man who was keeping her in a nicer part of town.

His back was rigid and his hand fisted his spoon so tight, the veins on his hand were prominent and appeared angry.

“It’s neither of our concern. Some day we will live in a nicer part of town as well.”

She nodded. “Yes, I am sure that will be the way of it.”

Nowhere near Ferrismore, though.

Her heart sunk, and her imagination told her to find it in her soup, for she had lost her appetite as well.

“You will sing with me tonight, though, correct?” she asked, watching him carefully.

“I will. But only for a little bit. I am very tired, and I must be up early tomorrow. There’s much to do. We have a new shipment coming in, and even though I am there for maintenance and as part of the construction crew, they have asked me to help. It’s supposed to be a really large shipment. One of the largest they’ve ever had. And most of it belongs to those Vanderbilts and your very own Ferrismore himself.” He laughed and wrinkled his nose like he smelled something foul.

“He is not mine.”

“Yes, dear. Whatever you would like to believe, I am sure it is so,” he teased.

She pushed up to standing, dumped the remains of her soup into the fire, and he squawked, “That is food I would have eaten!”

“Shame. Since you are in such a jovial mood, thrusting barbs my way, I thought you might need some smoke to add to the devilish atmosphere in here.”

She went to her bedroom—well,
their
bedroom—and she dropped down onto her bed.

Her shoes came off right away, and she rubbed her sore feet.

“I am sorry,” Leo said from the doorway a moment later.

“It is fine. I am tired, too.”

“And cranky,” he added, grinning.

“Yes, that as well.” She waved him off. “Go eat. We will sing after. I need to rehearse.”

“Why? Another audition?” He set a hand on the door jamb.

“No. No more of that for a while. I want to practice so my mama in Heaven can hear me and know I am still true to her teachings. For now, I intend to secure work as a prop maker, seamstress and perhaps a laundry woman for the various theaters. Maybe then I can make as much as I am now, and we will not need to keep buying that cheap wood.”

He kicked his leg out, his boot scraping across the floor. His head dropped down. “I didn’t buy this wood.”

“You
didn’t
. Do not tell me you stole it!”

“No, I . . .” His gaze lifted, then dropped back down. “I found it.”

She snorted and rolled her head back. It was so stiff from watching Ferrismore at odd angles. “No one leaves wood out. At least, not around here. It will be stolen. So, where did you get it?”

“I can’t tell you.” His cheeks reddened.

“You will sing twice as long, then, as your penance.” She growled. “We do not keep secrets from each other.”

“I know. I know.” He hunched his shoulders up, then left.

“Leave me a little soup. I shall eat later when I am hungry,” she called out.

All she heard was the sound of his spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl a moment later.

“All the day I melt and pray—pray that God will make you look this way,” she began singing to herself. A new tune came to her.

When she closed her eyes, all she saw was Ferrismore’s rakish smirk and mossy green eyes.

That vision filled her better than any soup ever could.

Chapter 4

“Did you leave the wood for her?” William asked, voice tighter than his fists.

“Yes, sir. I left it with the man residing with her.” The short, skinny man said with his dark red, curly hair flopping as unruly as could be while he bobbed his head. His slight street accent came through for a moment, more noticeable than his freckles. It never seemed to matter how much pomade he used on his head—his thick curls never stayed put.

“You what?” William got in his face. “Who is this man? Tell me at once!”

The man winced and ducked down, as if expecting fisticuffs to ensue. “I do not know, please . . .”

“Did he speak like someone from the stage with proper diction?”

“I am uncertain. He sounded more like a servant—like me.” The man apologized again.

“You better be correct, Samuel,” he told his new driver, then pointed at his car. “Take me home this instant!”

Samuel bowed, opened the car door for William and they rode back to William’s mansion in silence.

“May I ask, sir, how often you plan to do this?”

“Do what?” William’s jaw ticked as the facial muscles tightened and spasmed.

“Follow this woman home. She must realize by now—”

“She realizes nothing, and you may not ask me another thing for the duration of this trip.” William stared out at the street ahead of them.

“Yes, sir.” Samuel’s fists twisted on the wheel.

William’s teeth were grinding as he wondered who this man was that came to
her
door.

When they arrived at his driveway, he said through his teeth, “You will find out who this man is tomorrow that took the gifted wood. Find out where he lives, and you are to report straight to me as soon as you discover it.”

Samuel sniffed. “Beg your pardon, sir, but how am I supposed to find these things out?”

“Hire someone to help you if you wish!” He thrust some money at him.

Samuel grinned. “Yes, sir, I can do that.”

“I know you can.” William stepped out of the motorcar and roamed through the back garden before stepping inside.

He turned back to Samuel. “Go fetch me one of my whores.” Then he mumbled to himself, “I am restless,” as he began to cut a switch.

The motorcar started back up again, rumbled in spot for a moment and then left.

William tossed his coat onto a nearby bush. The day had been warm, but now it was very frosty. Snow had been absent for a week now, so whatever woman Samuel fetched him would be warm enough.

William would ensure her skin was lashed to a nice red, until it was burning and on fire.