by Jane Goodger
“Oh,” she breathed as she looked around, brown eyes wide. “This is the prettiest room I’ve ever seen.” She turned quickly to face Genny. “And you must be Miss Hayes. Such a pleasure to meet you. My goodness, how pretty you are.”
Genny had to smile, for the girl was a whirlwind of enthusiasm, her face animated, her smile bright.
She spun to face Madeline, and it seemed to Genny that this girl was incapable of moving slowly. “Madeline, I know I thanked you before, but I want to thank you again for this opportunity. England. Goodness, I never thought I’d be traveling across an ocean. I wrote my dear mother as soon as I got the role.”
“Position,” Mitch corrected.
Her smile faltered a bit. “Yes, position,” she said with slightly less spirit. Then, she smiled again, so abruptly Genny was taken slightly aback. “Look at your hair,” she exclaimed, coming up to Genny and circling around her. “You were right, Madeline. I can’t wait to get my hands in it.” She laughed, and Genny joined her, though a bit uncertainly. “Not like mine,” she said, and to Genny’s shock, she removed her hair and held it up like a prize. Where her hair had been was a tightly pinned mass of dark brown hair. Seeing Genny’s expression, she laughed again, rather a braying sort of laugh that made one cringe. “It’s a wig, you silly girl. Ha! I do believe she thought I’d just scalped myself. I decided I would wear this ugly brown dress but I fear I didn’t want to part with my lovely hair just yet.”
Genny looked from Mitch to Madeline, uncertain how to react to this strange creature claiming to be her maid. She had no experience of how a maid should act, but she was fairly certain this was not it.
“Mother,” Mitch said, softly but with an authority that Genny had come to recognize. It was his “tone of steel,” the one he used when he was very upset but not willing to let it show. “May I have a word with you?”
Madeline simply waved a hand at him. “Tillie, do please get into character. Really, child.”
Instantly, Tillie changed. It was fascinating; almost as if another person had entered the room, a girl who looked like Tillie but . . . wasn’t.
“Yes, ma’am. If there’s nothing else, I’ll go and mend your stockings,” Tillie said, adding a deferential little curtsey.
Madeline clapped her hands in appreciation. “Marvelous, marvelous.” Tillie made a deep curtsey, accepting the accolades with grace.
Mitch actually let out a sound that reminded Genny of a large dog’s growl. “It is not marvelous, Mother. If she doesn’t stay in character, it could be disastrous. These English, they’re sticklers for such things and staying in character every day all day is more than I could ask of even the best actress.”
“I can do it,” Tillie said, full of affront. “Besides, how do you know how the English are?”
A tick showed just below Mitch’s left eye, a sure sign he was about to lose his temper. Genny had only seen it one other time, the night she’d been thrown from Delmonico’s. “I don’t know,” Mitch said through gritted teeth. “But I do know that maids do not take off their very blonde wigs and hold them up like some sort of prize.”
Tillie stuck her tongue out at Mitch, and it was all Genny could do not to laugh. He gave Madeline a withering look, then threw up his hands in apparent surrender. “Wonderful. She has a bad actress for a maid, a bastard for a guardian, and a madam for a mentor. This is all fine. Just fine.”
“Who’s calling me a bad actress?” Tillie said, fisting her hands and jutting out her chin. The mood changes this girl made were dizzying.
Madeline held up her hand again, and Tillie instantly became subdued. Perhaps his mother should have been a director, not a madam.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Mitch,” Madeline said. “Everything will be fine if we all remember our parts.”
“Parts?” Then Mitch, who had been doing quite well about not swearing, let out a rather foul curse. And didn’t apologize.
“Pardon me,” Genny said to Tillie. “I don’t mean to be critical, but how do you know the way a maid acts? Having never seen a maid, I wouldn’t even know if you were doing it wrong.”
Tillie shrugged. “I’ve seen enough plays with maids to know how to act like one. Basically, you act real polite, do as you’re told without any complaint, and keep everyone happy.”
“See?” Madeline said. “It’s settled.”
Genny looked at Mitch, who seemed to have turned to stone. Nothing moved. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t twitch. He just stood there for a good ten seconds before stalking from the room, muttering under his breath. Genny couldn’t make out what he was saying, but she was fairly certain it was curses.
The next few days went by far more quickly than Mitch would have liked. Though he had his doubts about Tillie, he had to admit she knew how to dress hair and, when she bothered, could actually sound and act like a maid. Every day when Genny appeared, her hair was in a style more intricate than the day before—and every style looked stunning on her. Between the new gowns and her hair, Genny looked like a completely different woman from the one he’d met in Yosemite. It hurt to look at her, she was that beautiful. And he never wanted to forget her, never wanted to wake up one morning struggling to recall the shape of her mouth. He might forget the soft lilt of her voice, but he’d be damned if he forgot her face.
Genny arrived at the breakfast table wearing one of her old dresses, her hair in a simple braid down her back. Tillie liked to sleep in in the morning, and Genny could think of no reason not to let her. She could dress herself and braid her own hair just as she’d been doing for more than a decade.
Like her, Mitch was an early riser, and there were many mornings they shared a quiet breakfast. Madeline often didn’t make an appearance until very late morning or early afternoon. Mitch wasn’t much of a talker, but that suited Genny just fine in the morning. Her mind was always a bit foggy before she had her nice strong cup of coffee. Madeline had urged her to try tea because apparently the English were mad for the stuff, but Genny had been drinking strong black coffee since she was fourteen and nothing else could replace it.
“I have a surprise for you today,” Mitch said, setting down his own mug. “After breakfast, have Tillie do your hair all fancy and put on your ball gown.”
“Are we practicing dancing?”
“Something far better. At least as far as I’m concerned.”
Genny laughed. “I can’t imagine what could be better than dancing.” She finished her breakfast and dashed toward the bedrooms in a way she knew was completely unladylike, but she didn’t care. She could be ladylike for the rest of her life, but today Mitch had a surprise for her and she couldn’t wait to see what it was.
She went to Tillie’s room, which was across from hers, and knocked on the door. She thought she detected some movement, but when there was no answer, she knocked again.
“Go away.”
Lady’s maids likely didn’t tell their employers to “go away” and Genny had to smile. What a pair they made, trying to fool everyone around them into thinking they were a fine lady and her maid. She pushed open the door and Tillie pulled the covers over her head.
“What time is it?” Tillie asked, clearly disgruntled.
“Just past seven.”
“Has the sun even come up yet? Why on earth are you in here?”
“I’ve been up for more than an hour already,” Genny said, sitting at the foot of the bed and tugging at Tillie’s feet. “I do believe servants are supposed to be up before their employers.”
“And employers are supposed to sleep until noon. That’s what I heard,” came the muffled reply. Tillie dropped the blankets and glared at Genny, revealing dark brown hair falling out of its braid. “Why are you here, anyway?”
“Mr. Campbell said he wanted my hair done up pretty and said for me to wear my ball gown. He has a surprise for me.”
Tillie immediately sat up. “The green one with the pearls?”
Genny nodded, and Tillie whipped off the covers. “I’ll
be dressed in a few seconds and we can get started. I have the most wonderful idea for your hair just for that dress.” As if she’d never complained about being awoken, Tillie smiled and began rushing about.
“I’ll get the dress ready,” Genny said, rising and moving toward the door.
“And take out that hideous braid.”
Genny’s hand flew to the offending braid, but she grinned before closing the door behind her.
Mitch carefully set up his camera and tripod, positioning it to face a leather wingback chair. The light in the morning was bright and perfect for the photograph he had in mind. He’d used some of his quickly dwindling savings to purchase new chemicals and plates so he could produce the photo he wanted. In one corner of the room, he’d set up a dark room where he would prepare his glass plates. He’d learned the hard way that the plates had to be prepared right before taking the picture or they were useless. Out in the field, plates tended to dry out quickly. He remembered several occasions early on when his pictures failed as a result of improper preparation. Will had groused for weeks about those wasted plates and chemicals.
Just setting up his camera equipment again after so many weeks served to remind him of his dream of opening up his own studio. With funds so low, he was glad he’d decided to take his studio camera from Will’s studio when they’d stopped in Omaha. He certainly couldn’t afford to buy a camera now.
The smell of the collodion never ceased to transport him back to the field or to Will Jackson’s photography studio. To some, the smell might offend—two of the ingredients in collodion were alcohol and ether—but to Mitch it was the sweetest perfume. He’d douse himself with collodion if it would make him forget Genny and remember the original reason he’d agreed to bring her to England. Somehow he’d forgotten about the money, money he now needed more than ever. He wasn’t certain how he’d allowed himself to go all soft on a woman, but he had. And taking a picture of her just so that he could look at her face when she was gone sure as heck wasn’t going to help.
He was giving the chair another small adjustment, when Tillie rushed into the room.
“Presenting Miss Genevieve Hayes,” she said with a flourish and then pretended to play a trumpet fanfare. Genny entered the room, head held high, as if floating on a cloud. Somehow, the ball gown he’d first seen her in back at Madame Brunelle’s looked even more beautiful on her now. Perhaps it was her hair, upswept and curled, with one long bit artistically flowing down and resting upon the creamy expanse of her upper chest. She nodded serenely to Tillie, then dissolved into laughter—stopping abruptly when she saw the camera equipment.
“You’re taking my picture?”
“I thought I might. I want to stay in practice.”
“I’ve never had my picture taken,” she breathed, going over to his camera. “How long before I see it?”
“Later this very morning. Now, when I’m ready, you have to stay still for twenty seconds.” He walked over to the window and peered out, smiling when he saw a pure blue sky and no danger of clouds ruining his light. “We’ve nice bright light, so it shouldn’t take too long. Do you think you can stay still for that long?”
“I believe so. Should I smile?” She pulled a rather maniacal-looking happy expression. “Or look dour.” She frowned. “It seems every picture I see of people, they look miserable. I shouldn’t like to look miserable.”
“Then smile. It’s what I had in mind. Now, come here and stand by this window.” Genny walked over, followed by Tillie. “Rest your left hand like so.” He took her gloved hand and draped it over the back of the chair. “Turn a bit, so that you are facing the window, now without turning your body, look at the camera.” He stepped behind the camera and focused the lens, then placed the lens cap back on. “Perfect. I’m off to prepare the first plate, so you can relax a bit, but don’t move.”
He rushed back to a side table near his dark tent, and held the spotlessly clean glass up to the light just to make certain it was free from dust. “This is where your image is going to be,” he said, showing Genny the glass. “I’m going to put some chemicals on it”—he held up a bottle of Mawson’s Collodion—“then let it soak for a bit in silver nitrate and we’ll be all set.”
He gently poured the collodion over the glass so that it flowed to all four corners. Then he lifted the plate and let the excess pour back into the bottle; no use wasting perfectly good chemical. Ducking beneath the tent, he placed the plate in a container of silver nitrate, then returned to where Tillie was fussing with Genny’s hair.
“Just a few minutes and I’ll be ready to take your picture.”
“I’m so nervous. Can I blink?”
“It’d be better if you didn’t.”
Several minutes later, Mitch returned carrying a case from which dripped a bit of silver nitrate. As he looked around the room, he noticed that Tillie had disappeared. “Where’s Tillie?”
“She said she was bored. I don’t think she’s going to fool anyone into thinking she’s a maid.”
“Probably not,” Mitch said, slipping the holder into his camera. “We have to take the picture while it’s still wet. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then, look beautiful.”
Genny immediately made her face go completely slack, so she looked rather like a simpleton.
“Very funny. Smile please or at least try to look like you have a thought in your head.”
She did, but she crossed her eyes at the same time, just enough to be noticeable.
“Genny, stop it,” he said, trying to sound stern but laughing instead.
She gave him a look of complete innocence. “Didn’t I look pretty? What an awful man you are.”
“The plate will dry and I’ll have wasted all the chemicals.”
Genny shook herself as if to throw off her mischievousness. “I’ll be good. Promise.” And then made another face.
Mitch couldn’t help it, he laughed again, only serving to reward her for her bad behavior. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to go over there and kiss you silly.” As threats went, it wasn’t a very good one, because Genny’s face lit up and she smiled, a perfect smile, and he thanked the man who had invented photography for allowing him to preserve this moment as he removed the lens cap and allowed the light to flood the glass plate.
“Hold that, Genny, please God.” And she did.
“I still want that kiss,” she said, not moving a muscle in her face.
He pulled out his pocket watch to mark the time. “If you stay still, I just might give you one.” Mitch looked at his watch, then assessed the amount of light hitting Genny, and at twenty-five seconds, he covered the lens again, blocking any more light from hitting the plate.
“You can relax,” he said, and walked over to her. He gave her a quick buss on the cheek, nearly laughing out loud at the disappointed look on her face. “Someday you’ll thank me for not taking advantage of you. Do you have any idea how improper it is for me to kiss you?”
“You kissed me before.”
“Yes, and it was a mistake.” The biggest mistake he’d ever made, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Those kisses had stayed with him and haunted both his waking and sleeping hours.
Genny put on a pout as he went over to the camera and pulled the container with the glass plate out. “I’m going to prepare the negative now. You can relax. It will be several minutes before I’m done.”
Mitch ducked beneath the black cloth of his tent and immediately set to work. Creating a negative in complete darkness had become second nature to him and his hand went unerringly to the bottle of developer, which he carefully poured over the plate. A few seconds later, he placed the plate into a bath of water, rinsing the developer off.
“Are you almost finished?” Genny asked from directly behind him. She so startled him, he nearly dropped the plate.
“Finished,” Mitch said, pulling back the black cloth. He immediately held the negative up, examining it with a practiced
eye. “Lovely. But I’m not done yet.”
“More chemicals?” Genny asked, wrinkling her nose at the smell.
“More chemicals. Come here, you can watch this part. See? I have to soak the plate in this solution for a moment. That washes away the extra silver. Then water.” He held the glass plate by the edges, never touching the actual surface of the negative for fear of leaving a fingerprint. He’d done that a time or two when he was learning.
“Now to dry.” He lit a small lamp and held the negative over it, moving it so that the entire surface dried. “And now, varnish.”
“Goodness, you do all this outside?”
“It’s a bit more difficult, but yes. Once this dries, I’ll make the print. But look here,” he said, studying the negative. “See this dark area? That’s going to be the light area of the picture. It’s difficult to know precisely how the photograph is going to look until I make the print, but it looks sharp.”
Genny leaned over to study the glass plate, and Mitch found himself looking at her, at the gentle curve of her jaw. He wished he could take a hundred photographs of her so that he would never forget how soft her skin looked, the way her lashes, thick and long, framed her eyes. “Tillie made your hair look real nice,” he said, nearly wincing at the gruff way his voice sounded.
“She said my braid was awful.”
Mitch chuckled. “Not awful, but not as pretty as this.”
“She has so many pins in my hair I feel as if my head is made of metal. Braids may not be pretty, but they’re far more comfortable. So much about being a lady is uncomfortable.”
Genny sounded so disheartened, Mitch laughed again. “You’ll get used to it all. And you’ll be glad you went through all this when you have one of those fancy lords dancing with you.” Mitch forced himself to say that last, just to remind himself that he had no claim over her and never would. I’m just an escort, nothing more. But, damn, it was hard to stay focused on that reality when she was standing so close he could smell the floral soap she’d used to wash her hair.
