Love and Other Consolation Prizes(64)

Ernest was both surprised and relieved to hear someone finally speak frankly and openly about Madam Flora’s condition. He blew a spot of dust from the dashboard, disappointed at the thought of losing such an amazing new machine right when he was getting the hang of things. He wasn’t sure what to believe.

“When did you hear this?” Maisie asked. She held down the hem of her dress as the fabric blew in the wind. “Who told you that?”

“Miss Amber told me last night, Mayflower. I thought you knew.”

Before breakfast Ernest had overheard Mrs. Blackwell mention there’d be some kind of announcement tonight. He assumed the big news was another dinner party like the Victorian, rose-themed Valentine’s Day gala. Or the bawdy Easter egg hunt Madam Flora had celebrated upstairs. Though some of the servants had been murmuring about possible wage cuts or longer weekend hours.

Ernest slowed down and honked, tipping his hat to a group of ladies on the street who waved as they trundled across. Why send me out for driving lessons if they planned to sell the car? he wondered.

Then he felt Fahn’s hands on his shoulders again as she leaned forward and whispered, “This is my big chance, young Ernest.”

—

THAT AFTERNOON, AFTER lunch and their midday duties were attended to, Ernest sat with Maisie taking a break on his fire escape, sipping glasses of fresh, tart lemonade. They dangled their bare feet as they watched a steamship, probably loaded with millworkers and bindle punks, chugging toward Bainbridge Island beneath a trailing cloud of smoke. They counted the vessels in the mosquito fleet as well as the smaller boats, which shuttled downtowners to Alki Point and families to Luna Park.

Ernest stretched his back. The weather was unusually nice. The rains of March had been absent and the warm sunshine felt like a gift. Now that Maisie’s blond hair was longer, it fluttered in the breeze, and curls brushed Ernest’s face, tickling his cheek.

“Sorry,” she said as she tied her hair back with a piece of ribbon. “I’m not allowed to cut my hair, by order of Madam Flora and Miss Amber, all part of their conspiracy to make a lady out of me, the next grande dame. Like I’d want their jobs…”

As Ernest watched the silver-hulled Bainbridge ferry slowly turn against the tide and the breeze, he thought about Maisie and her quiet transformation. Gone were the dungarees, the suspenders, and the porkpie hats. Now she wore dresses and French makeup every day. But those weren’t the only changes he noticed. As a Christmas present, for instance, Madam Flora, in a moment of clarity (or madness), had given her little hummingbird private dance lessons with Anna Pavlova, a famous ballerina who was visiting the city. Maisie had turned her nose up at the gift, but shortly after the lesson Ernest had caught her practicing her pointe, more than once. She’d been attending elocution lessons with the other girls, lectures on politics and women’s suffrage, and had even studied the pros and cons of the latest temperance movements.

There was no doubt in Ernest’s mind that Madam Flora was preparing her daughter to one day become Madam Maisie. After all, the sons of doctors often followed their fathers into medicine, and the sons of accountants often one day added their signatures to their fathers’ ledgers. Why wouldn’t a daughter follow her wildly successful mother as a captain of late-night industry?

Ernest tried not to stare at the girl who could make his heart turn inside out merely by tying her hair up in a bow, just as much as whenever Fahn kissed him. Instead he appreciated the cloudless azure sky. It felt as though summer had come early and with the sun’s arrival, a promise of comfort, acceptance, and opportunity. He breathed a sigh of relief that anything seemed possible and every good thing seemed within his grasp.

“You know what Fahn is up to, don’t you?” Maisie asked.

Ernest sighed. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“She’s serious…” Maisie shook her head. “She’s with Madam Flora and Amber right now, trying to convince them to let her follow Jewel and become the next belle de Tenderloin. Why would she do such a stupid thing?”

Maisie kept talking, not waiting for a reply. “She has a great life. She gets to live here without really working here, if you know what I mean. She could grow up and manage any house—not just in the Garment District, but any house in the county. There’s always a position for an expert domestic, and even Miss Amber would give her a decent reference. She’s crazy to want to be turned out as just another working quiff.”

Ernest had never heard the word, but it was easy to partake of its meaning. He shook his head. “She thinks she’s selling herself, but she’s just giving herself away.”

Maisie nodded and then stopped abruptly. “You fancy her, don’t you?”

“It’s not that,” Ernest dodged. “Well, maybe a little. But it doesn’t matter, does it? She has other plans.”

Maisie looked disappointed, a tad jealous, then they heard shouting from the alley, where a group of teenage boys had gathered, heckling Maisie about showing off her legs. They hurled obscenities as she tucked the fabric of her long dress beneath her.

“Hey, pretty bird!” one of the boys shouted. “I thought you whores weren’t supposed to come out in the daytime.”

The other boys laughed and joined in. One boy even unbuttoned his trousers and dropped them to his ankles.

Maisie razzed the boys back, but Ernest could see her face flush as tears began to well up in the corners of her blue eyes. He took one last sip of his lemonade and then emptied the rest onto the heads of the young men below. They cursed and shouted even louder as they wiped their arms and faces with handkerchiefs.