After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(21)
“Where are you getting the money to splurge at Mort’s?”
“I’ve been saving up.”
“A likely story.”
Realizing she was in the midst of a battle she couldn’t win, Harriet stepped off the stoop. “I’ll bring the pot back soon, Mrs. Palmer. Buford. Come on, boy.”
Rounding the corner of the boardinghouse, even as Mrs. Palmer’s dire predictions followed her, Harriet reached the rickety steps leading up to the small rooms she shared with her friends. Mindful of the slick surface, she began to climb. “Watch your paws,” she said to Buford when they reached the second floor. She turned to check on his progress and found him standing perfectly still a few steps below her, trembling from head to tail.
Setting down the pot, she hurried back to him. “I know the climb seems slightly terrifying, but you really have to move along. It’s going to start raining again any second now.”
Buford let out a pitiful whimper and staunchly refused to budge.
Taking hold of his collar, she gave a hard tug, but that only resulted in increased whimpers. Releasing the collar, she scrambled up to the pot and extracted a revolting piece of grisly beef. She waved it in what she hoped was an enticing manner. “If you want this, you’re going to have to come and get it.”
Buford eyed the beef, let out a mournful yip, stepped up one step, then froze in place.
“It would have been less problematic if you’d discovered your fear of heights on the first floor. As it stands now, we’re halfway up, which means we’re also halfway down, and you’re much too heavy for me to carry you in either direction.” She sat down beside him on the narrow step and gave him the piece of beef, even though he’d done absolutely nothing to earn it.
He wolfed it down and nudged her with his nose.
“Harriet, why are you lingering on the steps, and . . . why are you trying to bring a pony up them?”
Tipping her head, Harriet found one of her roommates, Miss Lucetta Plum, peering at her from over the railing. “Buford isn’t a pony, Lucetta. He’s a dog. And unfortunately, I’ve just discovered he’s a bit of a coward when it comes to heights.”
“I’ll be right down,” Lucetta called, and a second later, Harriet heard the sound of bare feet padding down the steps. She wasn’t surprised in the least that Lucetta wasn’t wearing shoes. Her roommate was known throughout the city as one of the most beautiful actresses to ever grace the stage, but any care for her appearance disappeared the moment Lucetta left the theater. Lucetta preferred comfort over fashion when she wasn’t in the spotlight, and when she came into view, Harriet saw that today was no exception. Her friend was wearing a ratty old wrapper that had seen better days paired with loose trousers, the flared and tattered hems billowing around her ankles. Lucetta’s golden hair was pulled into a messy knot on top of her head, and a large streak of what seemed to be grease was smeared across her nose.
“If only your admirers could see you now,” Harriet said with a grin, earning a grin from Lucetta in return.
“Perhaps I should allow some of them to see me like this,” Lucetta said. “Maybe then I wouldn’t be plagued with so many pesky gentlemen trying to attract my attention—most of whom insist on pronouncing my name Loo-chet-a instead of Loo-set-a.”
“For most ladies, gentlemen trying to capture a woman’s attention is a sought-after circumstance.”
“As you very well know, Harriet, I’m not most ladies, but now is not the time to discuss me or the gentlemen who plague me far too often. Explain the pooch.”
“That’s going to have to wait until we get him off these stairs. It’s starting to drizzle, and that’s not going to help our plight.”
Lucetta smiled. “Leave him to me.” She crouched down and rubbed Buford’s head. “You poor little darling,” she crooned. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”
Buford went from rigid to relaxed in a split second.
“That’s amazing, Lucetta. Who knew you had the same effect on dogs as you have on gentlemen?”
“I’m not sure that’s something I should be proud of,” Lucetta said before she straightened. “You said his name’s Buford?”
Harriet nodded.
“Come along, Buford.” Lucetta began climbing, and to Harriet’s amazement, Buford trailed willingly up the remaining two flights of stairs and disappeared from view.
“Aren’t you coming?” Lucetta yelled.
Picking up the pot of beef, Harriet hurried up the stairs, walked through the door, and entered the cramped space she and her friends fondly referred to as their receiving room. She set down the pot on a table that was surprisingly free of clutter and glanced around. “Did you clean?”
Lucetta beamed back at her. “I know it’s completely unlike me, but I thought it would be the perfect gift for your birthday.”
A lovely feeling of warmth swirled through Harriet. “It is the perfect gift, but I feel horrible that you spent the one afternoon you have off cleaning.”
Lucetta waved away the protest. “Romeo and Juliet wrapped up sooner than expected—due to a slight problem with an overly emotional director. My next venture doesn’t open at Niblo’s Garden for another six weeks, and rehearsals don’t begin for two. Management there is bringing in a mad inventor to see if the place is suitable for him to experiment with some new form of electric lights, since everyone is concerned about fires from gas lights burning theaters to the ground these days.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face that had come free from the messy knot atop her head. “But enough about that—where and why did you get the mutt?”