What the Heart Keeps (18 page)

Only
men with an alert eye for a pretty face and figure took notice of Lisa as she led Minnie along the streets with her, her battered valise in her other hand. On the corner of Seventh and Centre streets, which seemed to constitute the hub of the city, she consulted one of the strangers’ letters that she had salvaged from Miss Drayton’s desk drawer, checking the address she sought. “It shouldn’t be far from here,” she said to Minnie as they set off again.

The
house, when they came to it, was large with heavily draped windows, giving it a secluded look. Lisa went up the porch steps, Minnie following her, and rang the doorbell. It was opened smartly by a maidservant in cap and apron. She and Lisa recognised each other instantly.

“
Teresa!”

“
Lisa Shaw! Lumme! Come in quick. Who’s the kid? Cor? Minnie ain’t it?” She half pulled them into the house, exclaiming every word in surprise, and hugged them both in turn in her delight. “Visitors don’t usually call at the front of the ‘ouse at this time of day unless they’re strangers passing through town, or other right randy devils what don’t care who sees them. Local gents prefer the side door for admittance. You could ‘ave knocked me down with a feather when I saw you two on the doorstep.”

Lisa
and Minnie stared around them in amazement at the gaudy opulence of the hall in which they found themselves. Crimson silk panelled the walls, velvet drapes with gilt fringes framed archways, and an ornate staircase of marble and ormolu curved upwards to the floor above. Chandeliers, as yet unlit, sparkled gloriously in the dimness and the carpets underfoot were luxuriously soft in rich jewel colours.

Beyond
the door through which Teresa guided them, the house became commonplace and ordinary with broom and storage cupboards lining the passageway, which opened in turn into a large and comfortable kitchen. A fire burned cheerfully in the black range and plenty of polished saucepans reflected the glow through the grating.

“
Is this a palace you’re living in, Teresa?” Minnie asked with awe.

Teresa
became convulsed with mirth. “No, love. There ain’t no palaces in Canada that I know of, although the Madame that reigns over this ‘ouse ‘as more airs and graces than any queen in a crown.”

Lisa,
who had guessed immediately the business of the establishment from Teresa’s prattling, sat down in the chair that her friend had pushed forward. “How did you get here, Teresa?” she asked. “Did Mrs. Grant bring you to this house?”

“
No. I was pushed off the train at some place on the prairie where a family was waiting for me. They were ranchers, which means they raise cattle only, and they were kind folks. I did better than many of the girls. I’ve tales to tell about what happened to some of ‘em that would make anything that goes on under this roof seem like a vicarage garden party. ‘Alf the men what met them thought they were getting a wife to knock about and a farm ‘elper and a ‘arem slave all rolled into one. The other ‘alf were good men. They dressed themselves up in their best clothes to meet the train and were new shaven and shy and real nice. So I don’t blame the men as much as I blame Miss Drayton. She grabs in money ‘and over fist for sending nubile girls out to the West to end up anywhere, and I’ve figured out that all the time she’s using the charity as a shield for her private deals.”

“
That’s what I discovered for myself after a while. Nobody would listen to me. But I had the feeling when I travelled West now that Mrs. Grant was not at all sure when any more girls would be coming.” She went on to tell Teresa about the time she had spent in Toronto and how the surprising announcement had come that the house was to be closed. She also told Minnie’s story and how they had escaped to ride the rails to Calgary. Minnie sat silent throughout. Lisa had impressed upon her that they must never mention the train incident to anyone.

“
Maybe the truth about Miss Drayton ‘as come out,” Teresa said hopefully. Then she went on to explain that the loneliness of the ranch where she had lived first of all had been too much for her. Unlike some girls, she had received regular wages for her domestic work, and although it had been hoped that eventually she would be a bride to the son of the family, neither the rancher nor his wife had stood in her way when she expressed a wish to leave. She had travelled to Calgary where, hearing that a maidservant was wanted at the local brothel, she had taken the post as a stopgap and had been there ever since. “That’s why you got those letters from the two former ‘ome girls you mentioned. They’re travelling whores, going from place to place by train and with no permanent address. I was told by Rosie Taylor, who ‘ad ‘eard from somebody else that you was still at the Distribution ‘ome in Toronto, and that’s why they wrote to you and said to send your replies to me to keep for them.”

“
You’ve seen Rosie Taylor?” Lisa’s mind flew back to their orphanage days.

“
She’s in this ‘ouse. One of the girls. Now she
was
brought ‘ere direct by Mrs. Grant.” Teresa saw Lisa’s expression and flapped a hand in a gesture of reassurance. “Oh, don’t feel sorry for Rosie. She’s a real slut and took to being ‘ere like a duck to water by all accounts. Madame Ruby, who owns this place, looks after ‘er girls and they’re better off than most in this game, although they’re not allowed out. That’s the custom. Boredom makes them fight like wildcats with each other sometimes and Rosie don’t ‘elp by thieving and stirring up trouble. At least the travelling tarts see a bit of life, which is more than can be said for the little lot in this place.”

“
I’d like to see Rosie.”

“
That’s easily arranged. First of all, where are you staying?”

“
Nowhere yet. That’s why we came straight here from the railway station. I hoped that you would be able to recommend somewhere cheap and tell me where I can get work at once.”

“
I can arrange both if you wouldn’t mind doing the laundry ‘ere. The washerwoman is away sick and the bed linen is mounting up. Minnie could give you a ‘and and you could ‘ave two beds in the basement in the room next to mine. Your wages would be less, but you’d get three meals a day.”

Lisa
accepted without hesitation. “Can we move in now?” “Not so fast! You’ll ‘ave to see Madame Ruby first. I’ll go and ask ‘er.”

*

Madame Ruby, a big-framed, large bosomed woman with triple chins and yellow hair, came to the kitchen with Teresa in her wake to interview the temporary washerwoman. What she saw surprised her. Her calculating eye ran over the girl’s remarkably good points of appearance.

“
Are you sure it’s laundry work you want?” she queried speculatively. When Lisa nodded firmly, she did not press the point. “Hmm. You’re in my employ then. Don’t expect wages for the kid. She’ll get bed and board and that’s plenty.” After stating the small amount that Lisa would be paid, she outlined the work involved and then left Teresa to show the new arrivals their sleeping quarters and where the wash-house stood in the yard.

Afterwards
Teresa took Lisa upstairs to meet Rosie. Madame liked to keep the business section of her house entirely separate from the domestic quarters, and it was only because Teresa had to show Lisa the layout of the place for collecting laundry that she was able to be there at that hour. Although each girl had a room of her own, Lisa thought the accommodations would be better termed cubicles, with space for a bed and little else. She was introduced to those girls who were not otherwise occupied with a client, and all of them had fancy names. Rosie, however, had chosen to retain her own name and everything in her room was a bright rose pink with plenty of black lace. She was in black lace herself, lying smoking on the bed. Upon seeing Lisa she showed astonishment but no liking, all the old animosity of the past showing through.

“
See what the cat’s dragged in,” she said pithily in answer to Lisa’s greeting. Getting up from the bed, she looked Lisa’s simple and travel-worn attire up and down contemptuously. “You’ve not gone far up in the world, ‘ave you? The new washerwoman, eh? What ‘appened to all that fine reading you did? Waste of time, weren’t it? I’ll ‘ave you know I’m one of Madame Ruby’s top girls. All the clients
I
‘ave are rich men. None of the hoi polloi for me.”

Teresa
interrupted. “Quit boasting, Rosie. Come on, Lisa.”

Rosie
’s final barb followed Lisa out of the room. “I like my sheets ironed proper with no creases. Remember that or I’ll ‘ave ‘em off the bed again and chuck ‘em back at you.”

During
the next few weeks Rosie did carry out her threat several times simply out of spite. Fortunately Madame Ruby, found out about it from Teresa and gave Rosie a forceful reprimand about wasting other people’s paid time, which put a stop to any further harassment.

There
was certainly enough work to be done without anything unnecessary being added to it. Lisa often thought that her daily routine had become much as it had been whenever she had been doing a stint in the orphanage wash-house, except that the bed linen was much finer, changed daily, and the garments came in the gaudiest silks and satins she had ever seen. Every day she stoked the fire under the copper, prodded the boiling linen with a soapy stick, rubbed at the washboard until her arms ached, rinsed in tubs and pegged wet washing endlessly on lines inside or outside according to the weather. Dust storms were what she dreaded most, for almost without warning they blew in from the prairie, gathering up more dust from the sun-dried dirt roads and turned all the washing grey, necessitating the return of everything to the soapsuds.

A
chore from which there was never any respite was the ironing. Stacks of it were constantly replenished by Minnie, who gathered in whatever was ready for the irons heating on the stove. She was a strong and sturdy little worker, thriving on the good food provided and never shirking her allotted tasks. Whenever there was a breathing space, Lisa helped her with reading and writing and arithmetic. The child had had a basic grounding in the three Rs before leaving the orphanage, and it was a case of refreshing memory and picking up threads again. Lisa would have liked her to attend one of the local schools, but it seemed wise not to go anywhere or do anything that might attract attention. Here at Madame Ruby’s they were safe in their isolation, never seeing and rarely hearing whatever went on in the rest of the house during the hours when the doorbell kept ringing and the phonograph played.

Once,
when the phonograph broke down, Madame Ruby called Lisa from the wash-house to play the piano hidden by draped silken curtains in an alcove that led off the ornate reception hall. The woman had heard from Teresa that Lisa could read music and had played hymns at morning and evening prayers at the orphanage.

“
There you are,” Madame Ruby said, putting some sheet music in front of her at the piano. “Don’t play loud. Just tinkle the keys to give atmosphere. I’ll get that damned phonograph fixed later today.”

The
hour was eight-thirty in the morning. The girls, roused from heavy sleep after barely getting to bed, came tottering downstairs on their high heels in their thrown-on finery, yawning and with mascara-smudged eyes. Side by side they lined up in front of half a dozen rough, unshaven ranch-hands smelling pungently of horses and cattle. Lisa played away at the piano, tinkling tunes of the day while the selection took place. Those girls who were not chosen went thankfully back to bed on their own and Lisa returned to her washtub.

Whatever
Lisa happened to be doing and wherever she happened to be, whether in the house or out of it, Peter was never far from her thoughts. She tried to keep her memories dormant, resigned to the fact they could never be banished, but time and time again they would flare into her heart and mind without warning, making her catch her breath despairingly.

After
that first occasion at the piano she was called upon to play at other times, her rendering of the popular tunes of the day being easier on the ear than the wheezy note of the phonograph. To familiarise herself with the latest sheet music provided for her, she took to practising on an ancient piano relegated long ago to the basement. Madame Ruby grudgingly paid to have it tuned. From the start Minnie showed a keenness to learn and Lisa began teaching her. Before long she was playing simple pieces quite ably. As the child’s talent developed, Lisa played little duets with her. Sometimes the other girls would drift down to the basement and sit around listening until Madame Ruby chased them out again.

Out
of the first savings from her wages, Lisa bought Minnie some warm clothes and a pair of strong boots. She bought nothing for herself, having brought with her to Calgary the winter garb she had had in Toronto. Yet that did not stop her looking longingly at frocks and coats displayed in the store windows, which were always enhanced by hats with crowns deeper than ever before and an abundance of trimming. Sometimes she was asked to make purchases of chemise ribbons or similar small items by Madame Ruby’s girls, who did most of their buying from dressmakers and clothes travellers who came to the house with cases full of wares. It was always a pleasure for her to go into a good store and look at everything before conducting her business there.

The
first blizzard of the winter came on the second day of November. From then onwards, apart from the welcome Chinook winds that for a brief spell blew warm and dried everything on the clothes lines in no time at all, the freezing weather took full possession. Icicles fanged every roof, ledge, and porch, and the distant Rockies were as white as the surrounding landscape, magnificent and awe-inspiring. Plenty of social events lightened the winter months for those free to attend them, but in her own way Lisa was as tied to Madame Ruby’s house as any of the girls following their age-old profession there. The ratio of two men to every woman in Calgary meant that the plainest of females in the city had a wide choice of beaux, and Lisa with her good looks had to fend off persistent attention wherever she went. For that reason she avoided all social gatherings. She would not take the risk of being picked out as a new face in the community and having questions asked about her. Although for the first few weeks she scanned whatever local newspapers she could get hold of, nothing was reported of a body on the railroad line. She soon learned that it was not uncommon for a drunken railroad bum to fall out and break his unfortunate neck. Yet even with the anxiety of a police investigation removed from her, she knew no peace. Fear of a chance sighting by somebody in league with Mrs. Grant was always with her.