Twin of Ice Read online

  Houston was sitting at her tiny mahogany desk and she turned around. “How’d you like to work for me? To live in the Taggert house?”

  “I’m not sure, Miss. Is Mr. Taggert as bad as people say?”

  Houston considered this. It was her experience that servants often knew much more about a man than his peers. Even though Kane lived alone, no doubt the servants knew things about him that no one else did. “What have you heard about him?”

  “That he has a violent temper and he yells a fierce lot and nothing ever pleases him.”

  “I’m afraid that’s all probably true,” Houston sighed, turning around again, “but at least he doesn’t beat women or cheat people.”

  “If you’re not afraid to live with him, Miss Houston, then I’ll do it. I don’t guess this house’ll be a fit place to live after you twins are gone.”

  “I don’t imagine it will be either,” Houston said absently, as she made a note to herself to call the barber, Mr. Applegate on Coal Avenue, and request that he arrive at nine o’clock. She thought how much time it’d save if everyone in town were on the telephone system.

  “Susan, don’t you have a couple of brothers?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “I’ll need six brawny men for all day tomorrow. They’ll be moving furniture downstairs. They’ll be paid well and fed well and they’re to arrive at eight thirty. Do you think you can find six men?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Houston wrote another note. “Willie must deliver this to Mrs. Murchison. She’s staying with Reverend Thomas while the Conrads are in Europe. I want her to come and cook at the Taggert house until they return. I hope she’ll be glad to have something to do. Willie will have to wait for a reply because I’ve told her the kitchen is bare and she’s to stock it with whatever she needs and to send Mr. Taggert the bill. Willie may have to meet her in the morning with a wagon. If so, I’m sure he can borrow the Oakleys’ big wagon.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “There, that should take care of tomorrow. I have Mr. Taggert dressed and shaved, the furniture moved, and everyone fed.”

  Susan began to unpin Houston’s hair and brush it.

  “That feels lovely,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Minutes later she was in bed and, for the first night in days, she didn’t feel like crying herself to sleep. In fact, she felt quite happy. She’d bargained with her sister so she could have one night of adventure, but it looked as if she were going to have weeks of adventure.

  * * *

  When Susan knocked on her door at six the next morning, Houston was already half dressed for work in a white cotton blouse, a black cord skirt that cleared the floor and a wide leather belt. A little jacket and matching hat completed the outfit.

  Tiptoeing downstairs through the silent house, she placed a note on the dining table for her mother explaining where she’d be all day, then ate a hurried meal in the kitchen and went to the carriage house where she made a sleepy Willie harness the horse to the beautiful new buggy Kane had sent her.

  “Did you give out all the messages, Willie?”

  “All of them. Mrs. Murchison was right glad to get busy. I’m to meet her with a wagon at six thirty and meet Mr. Randolph at the grocery store. Mrs. Murchison called him late last night with a long list of things she wanted. And then we’re goin’out to the Conrad place and raid their garden. She wanted to know how many she’s to feed.”

  “There’ll be about a dozen people but most of them are men so tell her to cook for thirty. That should do it. And tell her to bring pots and pans. I don’t imagine Mr. Taggert has any. Come as soon as you can, Willie.”

  Everything was silent at the Taggert house as Houston unhitched her horse and tied it in the shade. She knocked at a side entrance but no one heard her so she tried the door, found it open and entered the kitchen. Feeling a bit like a thief, she began opening cabinets. If this house was to prepare a feast for a large number of wedding guests within two weeks, she needed to know what resources she had.

  The cabinets were empty except for cases of canned peaches—no cookware except the cheapest enamelware.

  “Sears again,” she murmured as she decided to explore the rest of the service area. A large butler’s pantry separated the dining room from the kitchen, and behind the kitchen was an L-shaped wing with pantry, scullery, quarters with a bath for three servants, the housekeeper’s room and, beside it, the housekeeper’s office.

  In the corridor outside the kitchen was a stairway and Houston took it. Pausing at the second floor, she peeped down a hallway but could see only shadows on oak floors and panelled walls. She continued toward the attics.

  As she’d already guessed, the attics were actually servants’ quarters that were now being used for storage. There were two bathrooms, one male, one female, and the rest of the space was divided into small rooms. And each room was stacked to the ceiling with crates and boxes; some had furniture hidden under dust covers.

  Tentatively, she lifted a dust sheet. Beneath it were two gilded chairs covered in tapestries of cherubs. A tag was attached. Holding her breath, she read the tag:

  Mid-eighteenth century

  tapestries woven at Gobelin works

  believed to have belonged to Mme. de Pompadour

  one of set of twelve chairs, two settees

  “My goodness,” Houston breathed, allowing the cover to fall back into place.

  Against the wall was a rolled carpet. Its tag read:

  Late seventeenth century

  made at Savonnerie factory for Louis XIV

  A crate, obviously holding a painting, was merely labelled “Gainsborough.” Beside it stood one with the word “Reynolds” painted on it.

  Slowly, Houston removed the cover from the Mme. de Pompadour chairs, lifted off the top chair and sat down. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts. Looking about her, she could see gold feet protruding from beneath the sheeted furniture, and without further exploring, she knew that all the furniture and works of art were museum quality. Absently, she lifted a sheet beside her. Beneath it sparkled a chandelier that looked as if it were made of diamonds. Its tag read: 1780.

  She was still sitting, a bit stunned at the prospect of living daily with the treasures around her when she heard a carriage below. “Mr. Bagly!” she said as she flew down the stairs and managed to arrive at the front door just as he and his assistant were leaving their carriage.

  “Good morning, Blair-Houston,” he said.

  Mr. Bagly was a tiny, white-faced little man who somehow managed to be a tyrant. As Chandler’s premier tailor, Mr. Bagly received a great deal of respect.

  “Good morning,” she answered. “Do come in. I’m not sure what you’ve heard, Mr. Bagly, but Mr. Taggert and I are to be married within two weeks and he’ll need an entire wardrobe. But right now, he needs one good afternoon suit for a reception tomorrow, something in vicuña, three buttons, gray trousers and a vest of cashmere. That should do it. Do you think you can have it ready by two o’clock tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure. I have other customers.”

  “I’m sure no one is in as much need as Mr. Taggert. Put as many seamstresses on it as possible. You will be paid.”

  “I think I can arrange it. Now, if I could begin measuring Mr. Taggert, I could start the suit.”

  “He is upstairs, I believe.”

  Mr. Bagly looked at her steadily. “Blair-Houston, I’ve known you all your life, and I’m willing to put aside all my other work to do a job for you, and I’m willing to come here this early in the morning in order to measure your fiancée, but I will not go up those stairs and search for him. Perhaps we should come back when he’s awake.”

  “But you won’t have time to make the suit! Please, Mr. Bagly.”

  “Not if you went on your knees to me. We will wait in here for one half-hour. If Mr. Taggert is not downstairs by then, we will leave.”

  Houston was almost glad there were no chairs for them in the large drawing ro