Read Somebody Wonderful Online
Authors: Kate Rothwell
Somebody Wonderful (7 page)
Chapter 5
Mick left, looking uncomfortable in a stiff collar, a bowler hat and a lounging jacket with a matching waistcoat that was too tight across the chest, though perhaps that was in style. His trousers, hemmed too short, showed off his obviously new, buttoned boots with cloth tops. He’d made an attempt to tame and straighten his unruly copper hair. Definitely a mistake, thought Timona, who much preferred the curls.
She’d been visiting the Tuckers, and came down to say good bye. She watched him go, thinking how much better he looked in his more simple clothing. Timona did not think much of uncomfortable clothing and usually disdained fashion when it came to bulky pinching corsets, thick padding, or huge bustles. At least Mick didn’t appear to have a fondness for extremely loud checked trousers, a strange favorite of many young men she’d seen in New York.
“No,” said Mick sternly when Botty tried to follow him down the steps. The dog turned and slunk back up the stairs.
Timona tried to comfort Botty, but he ignored her and slipped back under the bureau.
After Mick left, Timona knew she had to stay busy, or her mind would dwell on the most unpleasant moments of the day before.
After bidding good-bye to the growling Botty, she walked down the four flights of stairs to knock on the widow’s door.
The frowning woman did not look interested in any more visitors, Timona was glad to see. Chances were Timona would be sleeping in Mick’s flat again. She grinned, delighted at the idea. The widow glared back at her smile, so instead of harassing the woman with a plea for help, Timona asked to see Henry Tucker.
She had only intended to get directions to the business district from Henry, but he offered to come along with her.
She hesitated, then agreed. “Yes please, Henry. You can be my guide.”
As they made their way down the street, he asked, “What does a guide do, miss?”
She thought for a moment. “When my papa and I go to other countries we hire native guides. They translate for us and help us get along with the people of the country. Sometimes they warn us about the dangerous animals in the area. Tell me, Guide Henry, what sort of wild creatures should I avoid in this country?”
Henry giggled, and she laughed along with him. She said, “Perhaps you can bring along a machete, and we can slice our way through the vines that overrun the deep jungle, where the sun never shines.”
They drew a few amused looks as they glided down the sidewalk, glancing all around and on the alert for lions and panthers and cobras. Henry warned they had a long trek, because Timona had no money for transportation.
“If we are successful in our journeys,” said Timona, “we shall be able to make a triumphant return home in high style.”
“Streetcar?” breathed Henry. He thin freckled face glowed. “We don’t have the money, but Ma won’t let me hold on to the sides. That’s to keep away from the conductors so’s you don’t have to pay. I love those streetcars, miss.”
“A streetcar at the very least,” she promised. “I have hopes for a hansom cab.”
“Oh.” Henry was speechless for two long blocks. His hands jammed into his britches’ pockets, he whistled softly to himself and critically examined every horse that passed them.
They waited on a corner for a few carriages and a horse-drawn streetcar to clop by. Timona turned to Henry and leaning down, said in a solemn voice. “Henry, are you good at keeping secrets?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he said at once.
“My last name is actually Calverson.” She watched him, but he simply looked at her enquiringly.
“So does it mean you’re kind of an outlaw? ’Cause you have an alias?” he said, his face full of hope.
“No, no. It’s nothing so interesting. There are some people who might pester me if they find me. Please call me Cooper at home, all right?”
He nodded.
“I told you now only because I will have to use Calverson when we get to the bank. But you must not tell anyone, understand? You must promise.”
He nodded again. “I promise.” He spat on his hand and held it out. She shook it after only a second’s hesitation.
The bank had replaced the old manager since her last visit, so she had a small amount of trouble. But since she recalled all the correct account numbers, and even in the purple dress could assume the air of a woman of distinction, she at last got in to see the new manager.
Mr. Antonin, a round man with thickly pomaded and blackened hair and a tiny, waxed mustache, bowed over her hand and showed her to a comfortable chair in his office. She briefly explained her situation, leaving out the more lurid episodes of her adventure.
“It will take a day or so,” he explained apologetically. “We do need to verify your identity.”
She groaned. “All I truly need today is enough money to send a few wires.”
Outside the manager’s plush office, a few voices could be heard shouting. Some heavy object clattered on the marble floor of the lobby. The bellows grew sharper and closer. The manager looked over Timona’s shoulder, distracted.
She gave a sharp cough and he looked back at her. “Oh, yes, Miss Calverson, we would be delighted to send the telegram to your father for you. But I imagine you need funds for a hotel.”
“No, I am currently staying with friends. Yet I admit I would appreciate more money, if only to purchase a few necessities. Such as clothing.”
The door burst open. Henry panted in the doorway. Several puffing and red-faced tellers stood behind him.
“They’re trying to give me the boot, Miss, um . . .” Henry said breathlessly.
“Ah,” she said and rose from her chair, forcing the bank manager to stand as well. “And here is one of my hosts. Mr. Tucker, this is Mr. Antonin, my bank’s manager.”
The manager frowned, obviously not wanting to be introduced to a skinny little urchin, but Timona was pleased to see he did not express his displeasure. Good. He must be nearly convinced of her identity.
She had an idea. “Dr. Dennis, the museum director, works only a few blocks from here, yes?”
The manager nodded, still speechless, possibly at the sight of Henry, who now sauntered around his office.
“If you could send a messenger to the museum, and ask him to meet us here, he could vouch for my identity. We met two years ago in England.”
A half-hour later, Timona was shaking hands with Dr. Dennis, the famous explorer turned museum director. He expressed himself delighted to walk the short distance to the bank for a chance to meet up with so charming an old friend as Miss Calverson.
After meeting with the bank manager, Dr. Dennis waited for Timona to collect her cash, and then he escorted the travelers out to the street.
“And let me take you and your young friend out for a spot of lunch, hey, Miss Calverson? Perhaps we can discuss funding for my latest project. Your family has been very generous in the past, and I would be honored to give you a tour of our new facility.”
Timona smiled. “I would be much obliged if you would give Henry a tour of your museum, Dr. Dennis. The problem is I don’t think I could go to lunch dressed as I am.”
His tobacco-stained fingers combed his unruly white beard as he stepped back to look her over. “Your gown seems a trifle large for your figure, but otherwise fine. Very colorful, in fact.”
She gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Dr. Dennis, you are a dear. But if you would watch out for my friend for about an hour. I am a swift shopper. Then I—”
“Delighted, delighted.” Dr. Dennis said, obviously dubious. “My assistant will be most happy to offer your young friend a tour. And when you have purchased whatever female fripperies you require, meet me at the museum. Then we shall dine, hey?”
It was almost six when Dr. Dennis handed Miss Calverson and an ecstatic Henry into a hansom cab.
Timona bought only a few things for herself, enough to fit in a small valise. The owner of the dress shop remembered her well and was happy to accommodate the strange requirements of the wealthy young woman. The modiste did not raise a fuss at her requests, not even when she asked for clothes that were “less than completely stylish.”
“Whatever you wish, naturally. And the extra pockets will take two days to complete, Miss Calverson. Where shall we deliver the rest of your order?”
“I’ll pick up it up myself,” said Timona, firmly. She had given an address to the bank out of necessity. She knew better than to tell the whole world where she was. Solly Lothman, her favorite reporter, would probably track her down, but people far less desirable than Sticking Plaster Solly might come looking for her.
She was accustomed to traveling light, and usually her photographic equipment took up more room than her clothes. But once she met up with Henry again, she couldn’t resist purchasing a few more things for him, his siblings and his mother. She forced herself not to buy anything for Mick.
The small passenger compartment of the cab was loaded down with packages and boxes, but not so many that Henry couldn’t shove them aside to stare out the window.
He perched on his knees, occasionally slipping off the leather seat when they turned corners. “I’m dying to pass someone we know. Me, riding in a shiny new hansom cab.”
They were within five blocks of home, when at last he had some luck. He almost launched himself out the window when he saw his old friend, promenading down the sidewalk arm-in-arm with a well dressed woman.
“Mr. Mick! Hey! Lookee at us!”
Henry stood on the seat and slid back the little hatchway so he could bellow up through the roof. “Hey, you, stop, driver!”
Timona groaned.
Chapter 6
Mick had stopped at the station house to file his report of Miss T. C.’s complaint and to argue that the police must take action.
“Sergeant. She was grabbed off the street. Surely it don’t matter who she is. They can’t be snatching women. Of any sort.”
The sergeant finally agreed to “have someone talk to the gentlemen,” which meant the pimps would get some grief. More than Mick had hoped for.
On his way out the door, Mick stopped to make smart retorts to other coppers’ smart remarks about his snappy appearance.
He ended up late meeting Daisy and her giggling friend Lizbet, who acted as Daisy’s chaperone.
Mick didn’t have to wait long in the Graves’ foyer, but Daisy had not been in her sunniest mood as she walked down the wide front stairs of her family’s brownstone. Lizbet, a friendly, dark haired, and slightly bucktoothed girl, hurriedly greeted Mick then scurried a few paces ahead.
Mick understood that Daisy wanted a few words alone with him, probably to gently chide him for being late. Sure enough, she reminded him that though her father, a prominent businessman—he was in ladies’ fine footwear, Mick had been told—had agreed she might see a policeman, she had the hardest time assuring him that Mick was different. “Honestly, Mick, you don’t want him to think you’re a mutt just off the boat.”
Mick waited until Lizbet stopped to gaze at a flower garden through some iron bars to answer. “But I am, Daisy. Or as near as you can get. You know that.”
Always quick to cheer up, Daisy dimpled at him. “Michael, you are too modest. I mean you’re not a man who can’t rub two pennies together, someone who lives-to-day. I know you’re a good steady gentleman and have real plans. A policeman makes some very good money. Didn’t you say you made almost a thousand dollars a year?”
Mick had not discussed the subject with her. Had Daisy’s father been asking around about that? “Daisy, I’m not sure I’m cut out for the work.”
Daisy interrupted. “It’s just that Daddy is convinced you don’t make the most of your time . . . well, he called you a sap.”
He looked at her with raised brows. She sniffed and laughed. “I declare, your scent doesn’t help, Michael.”
They’d caught up with Lizbet by then. “Don’t you think Michael smells of a fire, Lizbet?”
Her friend giggled and blushed. Mick deduced that Daisy had been very daring to mention such a thing. Girls in this city could be so prudish. He sometimes longed for the simpler and less refined manners of his village.
Daisy went on, “Daddy said something to me as we left. He wondered if you’re working as a fireman as well as a policeman.”
“Oh, that.” Mick sighed. “Yes, there was a bit of a blaze.”
“That woman with all the children again?”
Mick wished once more he had not introduced Daisy to Jenny when they chanced to meet in the park. He certainly wished he hadn’t mentioned the way Tucker occasionally set his bedclothes on fire.
“ ’Twas early this morning,” Mick said. “I tried to clean up, but I’ve told you my apartment is not luxurious. I-I save my pennies for the future. Always a good plan, eh, Miss Lizbet?”
That was the right tactic. Daisy loved to talk about her ideal future. Lizbet occasionally joined in with her own hopes and dreams. Usually Mick enjoyed hearing the girls describe life in a small house with a rose garden and with real paintings on the walls.
“Long Island,” Lizbet said. “Lovely to be in the country.” She giggled for a full minute.
Daisy countered with a description of a good city neighborhood.
Today their words failed to penetrate the fog of Mick’s mind. He was still tired and distracted by the thought of Miss Calverson.
He hoped she be gone when he returned. Why had she insisted on staying with him that morning? She had said she did not feel well, but he’d bet his last penny she felt fine.
He should have sternly informed her he would give her money, and help her find her way back to her father at once. And no more.
God above, what had possessed him to play the damned music for her? Mick never played for an audience. The vision of her stretched out on his bed as he washed up had affected him strongly. Something about her reminded him of the best places back home, the silent ancient woods, perhaps, or the cliffs near the sea. The smell of her, maybe. She seemed gloriously natural and unaffected, lighting up his room with her presence, making him homesick for love and . . .
He broke off his musing, shocked at his sentimental rubbish. A woman like that, with her experienced body and sly smile—she wasn’t a bit like the girls at home.
No doubt about it, he should have taken care of the matter of Miss Calverson before coming out to meet Daisy and Lizbet. Especially after that morning. Saints. That morning he’d been on the edge of losing control of himself in a way he hadn’t since he was a lad.
Miss Calverson seemed to want something from him and he didn’t know what it could be. Other thn what he’d wanted from her, of course, the thought of which caused an alarming spasm of desire and answering twinge of shame as he walked with Daisy and Lizbet.
He wondered if should he mention the existence of the woman to Daisy, who was still talking in her sweet, high voice. Now Daisy was mentioning how much she enjoyed their time together.
“But the thing is, dear Michael, Daddy says I should see other gentlemen. Just so you know. Didn’t he say so, Lizbet?”
“Oh yes,” said Lizbet, too enthusiastically.
That cut through his distraction. “Daisy.” He stopped and turned to her. “Daisy, do you want to?”
She looked at him from under her lashes. “I am very fond of you, Michael. Very.” Her darling little dimple appeared in her right cheek. “You are so sweet.” She darted a glance over at Lizbet who had walked a few steps ahead. Daisy’s small gloved hand briefly caressed his arm.
Cool and dainty Daisy in her white dress, her curls neatly pinned up, was a sight for his rather sore eyes. She always looked so clean and bright, even on the darkest days. Nothing mysterious or peculiar about Daisy, not like the Calverson woman.
He grasped her hand. She giggled and so did Lizbet, of course. “Michael! On the street? Let us walk on to the park.”
As they strolled under the trees in the park she protested when he again attempted to take her arm.
She giggled again, but her voice was irritated when she reprimanded him. “Michael, you do seem friskier than usual.”
That was damn certain, he thought, again remembering how he’d awakened that morning. It was very wrong of him to take out his thwarted desire on an innocent like Daisy.
He apologized to Daisy. She allowed him to buy her and Lizbet ices.
They spoke of their favorite ways to spend a lazy day. Daisy liked to shop and read. Lizbet loved to visit the roller rink. Mick mentioned listening to music and going for walks.
Daisy smiled and briefly took his arm, pretending she needed help over a rocky part of the path. “Like this?”
“Just like this.”
It turned into a fairly agreeable afternoon. Lizbet, giggling and blushing, mentioned that her mama would be worried so she’d have to leave them early. Mick gallantly escorted her up the stairs and they left Lizbet at her house. Mick looked forward to five whole minutes walking alone with Daisy.
And then Henry Tucker’s yelps shattered his peace.
“Mr. Mick!”
“Goodness, Michael,” Daisy said. One of her lilac-gloved hands shaded her eyes as her other clutched his arm. “Do you know those people?”
Henry’s yells were so loud even a few passersby stopped to see the cause of the hullabaloo.
The sleek black cab drew to a halt, and Henry bounded to the curb, followed by a stylish young woman who stepped out of the cab. “Hey Mr. Mick! Look at us,” Henry said, for the thousandth time. “Miss Timona and I are going home in style.”
Timona? Timmy?
Even Mick, no expert at women’s clothing, could see that the smart gray velvet dress was elegant. It was fairly plain and tight in the front—though plain was not the right word for her front—and rucked up in all the correct places with a train at the back. A dashing hat with a feather perched on the side of her head, atop an arrangement of braids and curls at the e of her neck that cunningly hid the cut he had stitched. The gray showed off her light eyes and dark hair. Mick couldn’t help gawking at her until an elbow dug into his side.
“Who is this person?” Daisy hissed. Mick’s mouth shut, but before he could speak, the very grand young lady stepped forward, and held out her hand encased in a dove-gray glove.
“How do you do? You must be Mick, ah, Mr. McCann’s charming Miss Graves. I am delighted to meet you. I am Timona Calverson.”
Daisy shook the hand enthusiastically, and squeaked, “
The
Timona Calverson?”
The
Timona Calverson?”
They stood in a small circle on the sidewalk. Mick looked sharply from one woman to the other. Daisy was now beaming, her eyes and mouth open wide.
“Yes,” Timmy said, and hurriedly added, “I haven’t had a chance to explain a few things to Mr. McCann.”
She twiddled with the button at the wrist of one of the gray gloves and seemed to be trying to catch his eye.
This Timmy looked thoroughly at home in the stylish gray dress. His theory of the morning, that she might be upper class, hit the target dead center. More than that, he did not need to know. Mick suddenly felt a thunderous headache coming on.
Daisy poked him with her elbow again. “Michael, I know you are busy, but surely you have time to mention Miss Calverson to me. Don’t you read the
Town Crier
? Or the
Time
’s society column? My goodness! Now I recall reading that Miss Calverson recently arrived here in New York.”
Town Crier
? Or the
Time
’s society column? My goodness! Now I recall reading that Miss Calverson recently arrived here in New York.”
Daisy clasped her hands together beneath her chin and twisted toward Timmy. “You and your father are traveling somewhere for his latest work, am I right?”
She turned back to Mick. “Her father is a very distinguished explorer. How terribly exciting, Michael. To think, you never even told me you know Miss Calverson.”
“We only met yesterday,” said Timmy. “He saved my life.”
Daisy laughed lightly. “Yes, he is quite a hero.”
“Indeed he is.” Timmy had that smile on her lips, the one that made Mick’s blood run cold. “Mr. McCann is perhaps the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”
Daisy’s smile showed a hesitant dimple, clearly unsure about how she was supposed to react. Mick couldn’t blame her. He had no idea what anyone could say to Timmy’s palaver. Daisy’s answer seemed good enough. “Oh yes, Michael is my favorite admirer.”
The smile grew much wider, but Timmy was silent.
Mick wished he could tip his hat at these two women and his confusion, bid them goodbye forever and stride on home to his apartment. The torture wasn’t over yet.
“Where are you and your illustrious father staying in New York, Miss Calverson?”
“I hope that my father is on his way to Minnesota. He should be in Ohio, or at least I pray he is.”
“With his bloody secretary,” Mick grumbled, but Timona did not appear to hear. And, except for a sweet little frown at him, Daisy ignored the remark.
Timona went on. “I have been staying in the same building as Mr. McCann, who will help me track my father down.”
Though Daisy must wonder why
the
Timona was in such a poor part of the city, that answer seemed to work.
the
Timona was in such a poor part of the city, that answer seemed to work.
Until Henry, wandering back from admiring the black horse felt he add his little mite to the conguiation
“She’s staying with Mr. Mick. All dressed up like a boy, until Ma lent her some decent clothes. She was a trouper with cleaning up after the fire, too. Ma said so. So is that why you want to be called Miss Cooper? Because you’re famous?”
“Staying with Michael?” Daisy did not open her mouth. The words had to squeeze their way out between her teeth. Her little frown grew dark.
Timmy gave Mick a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything. So he had to answer. “Daisy, there’s a good explanation—”
“Yes?” Daisy interrupted, her head tilted to the side, like a bird’s.
Timmy must have at last taken pity on him. “I was one of his strays, Miss Graves. Like Botty. He found me unconscious in the street, dressed, in, er, a disguise. He took me in, thinking I was a boy. At the time he had no idea I was a female. I was too battered to be moved last night, so he kindly lent me a bed.”
Daisy looked less put out. Thank goodness she had never seen his flat, and so didn’t know how small it was. Or that it had only one bed.
“One of Michael’s strays? Who is Botty?” she murmured puzzled. She laughed and her brow smoothed. “Mercy me! Miss Calverson, I recall reading about how you stayed with the Africans. The reporter with you said you dressed like the natives, wrapped up in big pieces of cloth. And you stayed with them and ate with them. The same food, even.”
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