The Virgin Cure (38 page)

T
he madam greeted Mr. Wentworth like an old friend. “It’s been far too long,” Miss Everett said, welcoming him with a kiss on both cheeks. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d fled the city forever.”

“And leave behind the finest house with the fairest girls?” Mr. Wentworth teased.

Miss Everett allowed him to take me by the hand and lead me to sit next to him on her narrow couch in the parlour. He was so close I could feel the warmth of his leg through my skirts.

Dressed in a fine suit, much like the one he’d been wearing at the museum, his cuffs showed white out the ends of his coat sleeves. His collar was crisp and new, and the knot in his black silk tie was perfect. Cheeks ruddy, moustache neatly trimmed, he smelled as if a barber had just touched his temples with Macassar oil and smacked his neck with bay rum.

He grinned at Miss Everett as he recalled how we’d met. “Your Miss Fenwick is a sly one,” he said. “What a fun game she played with me at the museum—casting her witchery to keep me near, then slipping your card in my hand.”

“Witchery?” Miss Everett said, giving me a surprised look.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Wentworth replied. “She had me hanging on her every word. I dare say if I gave her my hand this instant, she could tell me my whole life’s story.”

“Why, Miss Fenwick,” Miss Everett said with a smile. “I believe you’ve been keeping secrets from me. I’d no idea you had such talents.”

Blushing, I said nothing. Unsure as to whether or not Miss Everett would approve of my using Mama’s Gypsy ways on Mr. Wentworth, I thought it best not to admit anything.

She’d been beside herself after he made the arrangements for the visit, telling me more than once, “If he chooses you, you’ll be a very lucky girl.” Her excitement over his interest was evident even now: her lips had turned up in a smile that seldom left her face, and she nodded in agreement at his every word.

“Excuse me, won’t you, Mr. Wentworth. I must go to the kitchen to see about our tea,” she finally said.

“Yes, of course, Emma,” he replied, staring intently at me.

Once she was gone, he eagerly asked, “Will you share your gift with me now, girl? Surely your sight can be given to a bit of palmistry.” Holding out his hands, he said, “Tell me what you see.”

Left for a lady, right for a man
, Mama always said.

I pulled off my gloves and took hold of his right hand, cradling it in mine, bringing it to rest in my lap. With my other hand, I stroked his palm, ran my fingers down the length of it, then traced its lines one by one. If he was all that Miss Everett said he was, I would do everything I could to win him over.

“You’ve the touch of an angel,” he said with a sigh.

“Shh. You mustn’t speak.”

His palm was broad and wide, his fingers thick. Lines cutting deep, thumbnail bitten to a ragged edge, I might have mistaken him for a working man if it weren’t for the softness of his skin. Ink stained his middle finger where I guessed he held his pen.

“You’ve a keen mind for business,” I began. “Good with numbers and words, you never spare the details. People say it’s to your credit and your benefit.”

Nodding at me, his eyes widening, he said, “Go on.”

Caressing the fleshy mound at the base of his thumb, I glanced at his face. I could feel his hand was swollen there, and when I kneaded at the muscle, he made a slight scowl.

“I see you’re a man of large appetites,” I said with a grin.

Biting his lip, he replied, “Indeed.”

“A drinker of fine brandy, perhaps?”

“Right again,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

I would’ve gone on with it, gladly walking the line between Mama’s wisdom and my memories of his house, but Miss Everett returned. As she rolled the tea cart into the room, I let go of Mr. Wentworth’s hand.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt you,” she said, pouring a cup of tea for each of us.

Mr. Wentworth gave me a wink, as if to say that what we’d just shared was to remain a secret.

Between sips of tea and bites of cake, he talked of his travels and of the rigours of the social season in New York. His words washed in and out of my hearing, as I thought of things I might tell him the next time we were alone. Seeing him rapt over the bit of theatre I’d performed felt better than any revenge I’d ever imagined on his wife.

When it came time for him to leave, he took hold of my chin and tried to kiss me.

Damn you, Miss Fenwick, give me my husband back, you whore
.

Surprised by his boldness, I pulled away.

“Perhaps next time,” he said, letting me go.

Miss Everett looked at me and frowned.

He came to see me the next day, and the day after that, each time growing more intent on winning my affection. Miss Everett was so sure of Mr. Wentworth’s intentions that she sent word to Mr. Dink to say he should start looking for a new girl to stand in his lobby and sell his cards. She didn’t even let me go to the museum to say goodbye.

She left Mr. Wentworth and me alone for much of our meetings, so I filled our time together smoothing my fingers over his palm and telling him of a business agreement that was about to succeed, and how he was also quite close to capturing the heart of a “true Gypsy girl.”

At the end of his third visit, he presented me with a gold locket that opened up to reveal a lock of his hair. Strung on a velvet ribbon, it was a lovely thing, the front of it engraved with a bouquet of forget-me-nots. As I tied it around my neck, he put his hands around my waist, determined to finally kiss me.

Holding my breath, I let him do as he wished. I thought of Cadet as he came near. Mr. Wentworth’s kisses weren’t anything like his. They were bold, and searching, and left my mouth sore from his eagerness.

Mama had been right about boys’ kisses. Sweet as they were, they held no promise of anything past the moment they were given. Mr. Wentworth’s most certainly did.

“You’ve got him, Ada,” Miss Everett said, coming to me in the parlour that day after he left. “He’s asked to take you to the theatre.”

Rose said her goodbyes the day I was to go out with Mr. Wentworth. She showered all the girls in the house with clothes and trinkets she didn’t need any more along with good-natured teasing and advice. Then she called me into her room for a private word.

“I hear you’ve got yourself a man,” she said as she tucked the last of her things in a large trunk.

“Yes,” I replied.

“It’s going to be all right, you know.”

Sitting on the edge of her bed, I thought of my first night in the house and the kindness she’d shown me. I wished things could go back to the way they’d been then, when I’d been glad simply to be clean, and safe and fed, with Rose caring for me like a dear, older sister.

“Your first time with a man is just one night,” she said. “Like Sunday morning standing in front of gentlemen with your dress around your ankles—it’s there, and then it’s gone.”

She went on to tell me, with a great deal of pride, that the apartment Mr. Chief of Detectives had arranged for her had a parlour, bedchamber, dressing room, bathroom, and water closet—each room furnished with the finest trappings money could buy. The hotel’s marble halls contained any kind of shop you could imagine, including a twenty-four-hour hairdresser and a dining room with waiters who had nothing better to do than serve a person’s every whim. Once Rose got there, she joked, she need never go outside again.

Sitting next to me, she put her hand on my knee. “The trick to getting what you want,” she said, “is to make duty seem as easy as desire.”

I liked Rose. I looked up to her and hoped to follow in her footsteps. I thought that if she could make it from Miss Everett’s to a private suite in the Fifth Avenue Hotel, I could very well end up with everything
I
wanted. I swore I’d do my best to take her words to heart.

“W
hat a lovely gift Mr. Wentworth has given you,” Miss Everett said as she fastened the locket he’d presented to me around my neck. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. “If all goes well tonight, I’m certain he’ll make an offer.”

Pinning roses in my hair, she gave me specific instructions on how to act with him, explaining that he would be a different sort of man in public than he’d been in the parlour. “Tonight you can expect courtesy and flirtation rather than advances.”

Evening Toilette—This graceful toilette is of salmon-coloured faille. The skirt, without flounces or overskirt, has an elaborate trimming of white chenille balls, imitating pearls. The low square corsage is edged with point lace, and has lace frills across the back and front; also swinging chains of balls fall from the shoulders. The necklace and coiffure are also of chenille. Pink and yellow roses are suggested as decorations for the hair.

Alice and Mae were to be seated in the same box with Mr. Wentworth and me, along with Mr. Greely and Mr. Harris. Miss Everett was quick to say that we each would have different paths to follow with our gentlemen. “Mae can be quite forward, as we all know, and Mr. Harris only hopes she’ll be more so with him this time than last. Alice, of course, will win the day by her sweetness, and you, my dear, must stay a course that’s true for you and Mr. Wentworth.”

“Are you sure he won’t expect to carry on as he did in the parlour?”

“No, my dear. His expectations are merely to have a pleasant night out, and that’s all. He’s a gentleman of the highest sort.”

For Mae, the evening could only have one end—it was to be her first night with a man. Mr. Harris had at last made a generous offer for Mae’s maidenhood, and Miss Everett had gladly accepted it. As soon as Rose walked out the door, Miss Everett brought in fresh flowers and new bedding to dress her room, and Mae carried her personal effects down from our quarters. She put her best ribbons on the dressing table and draped her favourite silk shawl over the back of the chair. It was a bright shade of blue, which looked striking when next to her red hair. Dr. Sadie had agreed to be waiting at the house when we got back. As soon as the deed was finished and Mr. Harris gone home, she’d check on Mae’s well-being and assist her with the important tasks that came after a girl’s deflowering.