River Queen Rose

by Shirley Kennedy

  “Uh…yes, ma’am, of course.”

  She left with the desk clerk gawking at her and continued through the gambling hall, more sure of herself than ever. When she reached Emmet’s office, she entered without knocking. Sitting at the desk, Jake looked up in surprise. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mrs. Peterson. Why are you here? I thought I told you yesterday—”

  “I’ll make this brief, Mr. Grunion.” She swept in and seated herself across from him. “I’m the new owner of the River Queen, and that makes me the boss. If you have any doubt about that, I suggest you visit my solicitor, Mr. Archer Field, who will gladly show you the newly transferred deed. If you have further doubts, and wish to dispute me, I shall call the sheriff, an action which I wish to avoid, of course, but will if I have to.” She cocked her head. “Any questions?”

  A corner of Jake’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “Since when can a wife own her own property?”

  “Since the new California Constitution said so. Now, here’s want I want you to do…”

  She continued on. Jake sat speechless as she discussed how they must aim for improvements. Some would take time, but items such as the disgusting spittoons would be removed immediately. Not only that, any guest caught spitting on the floor would be banned from the premises. Also to be removed: those degrading pictures of women that hung behind the bar, to be replaced by portraits in a more tasteful mode. Regarding the bar, she hadn’t tasted the whiskey herself but had heard it was of low quality rotgut and must be replaced with liquor of a higher quality. “We aim to be a first class hotel, Mr. Grunion.” And speaking of the bar, it would remain for men only, but she had in mind a separate “women’s ordinary” to accommodate ladies who might enjoy an occasional refreshment. They could use a private entrance alone or with an escort.

  And another thing: the ladies on the third floor would be asked to leave immediately.

  “What!” Jake slammed his palm on the desk. “You can’t do that.”

  Up to now, she’d ignored his slowly reddening face and deepening scowl. “Calm yourself. I can, and I will. Prostitution is a dirty business, and I won’t have it in my hotel.”

  Jake leaped from his chair. “Are you out of your mind? A good part of our profit comes from the whores.”

  “You heard me.”

  “So what do you care if we serve rotgut? Anything better, you’d be wasting your money. Those miners will drink anything that comes from a bottle.”

  “You heard me.”

  “Then I quit.”

  Oh, no. She didn’t want him to quit. Despite his faults, she needed him, but she’d have to take a chance and call his bluff. “Fine with me if you quit. I’ll expect you to leave immediately.”

  Jake got a startled look on his face. Obviously he’d expected her to argue. “You can’t fire me. You’re crazy if you think you can manage this hotel by yourself.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m going to try.”

  “See here…” He struggled for words but soon gave up. With a curse, he stamped out of the office and slammed the door behind him.

  She’d done it! Rose sank back in her chair and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Amazing, how she’d managed to stay calm on the outside while her insides trembled. But no matter. She’d got rid of Jake. Maybe that was a mistake, but she’d worry about that later.

  There was another knock on the door. When she called, “Come in,” Mason Talbot entered the office. “Mason! I’m surprised to see you at this early hour. Do sit down.”

  “Good morning, Rose.” A strange look she couldn’t quite read covered his face. He remained standing. “News travels fast in this town. I just heard you’re not selling the River Queen. Is that true?”

  “Yes, it is.” Was that a flash of anger in his eyes? Surely not. She must have been mistaken because now he was smiling.

  “Well, I am surprised, Rose. What changed your mind?”

  “I talked to a friend.” He didn’t need to know who.

  “You plan to manage it yourself?”

  “I just fired Jake Grunion.” Again, she could have sworn anger flashed in his eyes, this time accompanied by the slight twitch of a muscle in his jaw. “I do apologize, Mason. I told you I’d sell. Now I’ve gone back on my word, and for that I’m truly sorry. I planned to tell you when we went to dinner tonight, and try to make amends. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Mason broke into his usual friendly smile. Smooth as ever, he declared, “Of course I forgive you. Shall I come here to pick you up for dinner?”

  She glanced down at the plain brown bombazine. “I’ll be at the farm. I want to change into something fancier than this. Can you pick me up there?”

  “I’d be delighted.” Mason gave her such a warm smile she decided she must have been mistaken about that flash of anger. He liked her. Of course, he’d forgiven her.

  Directly after he left, Gus Hurdlicka arrived. Without bothering with a greeting, he asked what she wanted. Ignoring his obvious displeasure, she asked him to be seated and proceeded to inform him what in essence she’d told Jake—the hotel was hers and if he didn’t like it, he could leave.

  “So what did Jake do?” he asked.

  “Jake is no longer with us.”

  Gus sat silent so she continued on, pleasant but firm. “We’ll go about it gradually. Wouldn’t you find it a lot easier to work in a nice, clean kitchen? That’s where we’ll start. Good heavens, there must be a ton of grease on those stoves. Then we’ll tackle the dining area, a thorough cleaning, and then I think some red-and-white checkered tablecloths would look nice on those awful bare tables.” She smiled sweetly. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Hurdlicka?”

  Gus replied with a boorish grunt, which she ignored.

  “And then we shall work on revising the menu…” As she talked, Gus seemed to relax a bit, apparently realizing she was indeed in charge. He even began nodding his head as she went through her list of new items for the menu. By the time she finished, he appeared to be satisfied his position was secure, at least Rose hoped he was. She hadn’t mentioned any plans for the grandiose restaurant she’d envisioned, and that was because she wasn’t sure about it herself.

  After Gus left, she sat back in her chair, content. Jake gone. Gus at least agreeable. Everything had gone well. All her fears were for nothing. Next, she would deal with the ladies on the third floor. She would give them a week, and then out they’d go. Judging from Sacramento’s large number of hotels and saloons, they could easily find employment elsewhere.

  The door burst open. A small woman in her fifties, maybe sixties, stood in the doorway. Dressed in a long-sleeved black gown adorned by a lace collar and cuffs, she would have looked like somebody’s grandmother except for the pistol in a holster resting on her hip. “Are you Rose Peterson?”

  “Yes, I am, and who might you be?”

  The woman entered and stood peering down at Rose from across the desk. “I’m Fanny Wentworth. I own the Silver Star down the street.”

  “I’ve heard of you.” Rose gestured politely. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “I don’t have time to sit.” Fanny got an icy look in her eye. “So you’re the woman who married Emmet Peterson.”

  “You’re correct. I’m Emmet’s widow. We were married for several years before…well, I’m sure you know what happened.”

  “What happened was, that fool husband of yours got himself killed in a duel, and it was all his own fault. How stupid was that?”

  “Well, I—”

  “You’re not to blame, although for the life of me, I don’t know why you married Emmet in the first place. Dull as a post.”

  Rose half rose from her chair. “Now see here! You can’t—”

  Fanny raised a palm. “Sorry. He was good man, dull or not. But I didn’t come here to talk about your late husband.”

  Rose settled back in her chair. “Then w
hy did you come?” Again she gestured. “Won’t you please sit down?”

  With a grunt of acquiescence, Fanny seated herself, carefully clasping the holster as she settled into her chair. Seeing Rose’s wary eyes upon it, she casually remarked, “Wouldn’t want it to go off accidentally.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “I don’t like carrying a gun, but when you work in a saloon, it comes in handy. You should get one.”

  Rose couldn’t imagine walking around with a gun strapped to her hip. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “It’s the other way around.” A half smile crossed Fanny Wentworth’s face. “Honey, I’m here to give you a piece of advice.”

  “Fine. I can use all the advice I can get.”

  “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “In what way?”

  “Word travels fast in this town, so I heard right away you intend to run the River Queen yourself. I’ve no objection to that. God knows, Jake Grunion is crooked as they come, and I hope you get rid of him.”

  “I just did.”

  “Good for you. You’re off to a good start, but one thing you’re doing wrong. I hear you want to get rid of—how shall I say it to a lady like you?—River Queen’s ladies of the night? Soiled doves? Girls on the third floor?”

  “Please continue. I know what you mean.”

  “You can’t get rid of them.”

  “Why not? It’s my hotel now. I can do as I please, and what pleases me is to get rid of what has got to be the most sordid, sinful occupation in the world.”

  Her visitor didn’t look the least perturbed. “Have you been to the third floor?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Fanny rose from her chair and beckoned with a finger. “Come along.”

  “Where to?”

  “Where else? The third floor. It’s time you saw it.”

  “Enter a brothel? Are you out of your mind?”

  Fanny sighed patiently. “Tillie LaTour’s an old friend of mine, and so are most of the girls. Believe me, you won’t find any customers up there at ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “You’re sure?” Up to now Rose hadn’t given a thought to actually viewing River Queen’s brothel even if it was her own hotel.

  “There won’t be a man in sight, I guarantee.”

  “All right, then.” She didn’t know what she was letting herself in for, but after all, the River Queen was hers now, and common sense told her she should be familiar with every inch of it, third floor included.

  Following Fanny, Rose climbed three flights of stairs to where the third-floor landing expanded into a large, open sitting room furnished with plush, red velvet-upholstered couches and chairs, a piano, and a long mahogany bar. A woman in a flowered silk wrapper lounged on one of the sofas. At first, Rose didn’t recognize her, but closer up she saw it was Tillie, the brazen woman she’d already met in the saloon. But she didn’t look so brazen now. The vivacious, painted lady from last night hardly resembled this pale, tired-looking woman who wore no rouge and whose red hair now hung limp and straggly around her shoulders. When she saw Rose, she gave a languid wave. “Ah, there’s Mrs. Peterson.” Her voice held a bitter edge. “Are you still planning to shut us down?”

  Fanny quickly spoke up. “Not so fast, Tillie.” She cast a meaningful glance at Rose. “Nothing is settled yet.”

  “Well, I hope not. This is our home. We got no place to go.”

  Fanny took Rose’s arm. “Come on, I’ll show you the rooms. Each girl has her own.” She led Rose down a hallway lined with a long row of doors. A wooden sign with a girl’s name painted on it hung on every door. Joy, Evette, Ruby, and so on. Each sign was different, some plain, some colorfully painted. Fanny stopped in front of a sign that read “Cherry” and was decorated with pastel-colored flowers and butterflies. She knocked, and a pretty young woman with big brown eyes and long, honey-colored hair answered. She was heavy with child.

  “Can we come in, Cherry? This is the River Queen’s new owner, Mrs. Peterson. She wanted to meet you.”

  Cherry broke into a smile and swung the door wide. “If I’d known you was coming, I’d have tidied the place up a bit.” Her voice had an immature sound to it. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

  They stepped inside a tiny room furnished with a bed, small chest, and one chair. Drapes of purple velvet hung over the one window and part of the walls. A heavy perfume filled the air. Fanny asked, “How are you feeling, Cherry? You’re looking good.”

  “As well as could be expected, I guess.” Cherry placed both hands on her protruding belly. “I had to stop work, though. They said the last month would be the hardest, and it surely is. Even those randy miners don’t want a woman who looks like this.” She frowned and glanced around her tiny room. “I wish I could offer you something, but—”

  “Please don’t bother.” Fanny raised her hand. “We won’t stay. I just wanted Mrs. Peterson to meet some of the girls who work on the third floor.”

  Rose wasn’t sure what to say to a prostitute, but a normal greeting seemed appropriate. “I’m pleased to meet you, Cherry. Are you excited about the new baby?” The second the words left her mouth, she knew she’d said the wrong thing.

  The young woman’s face clouded. She looked close to tears. “I hear you’re going to throw all of us out, Mrs. Peterson. Is that so?”

  Rose was so taken aback she couldn’t think what to say.

  “That’s a good question.” Fanny’s eyes widened innocently as she looked at Rose. “Considering Cherry has no place to go, you wouldn’t do a thing like that, would you? I can see what a kind heart you have. Surely you wouldn’t want her to end up out in the cold, giving birth in some gutter.”

  Rose recognized the trap Fanny Wentworth had so very cleverly set for her. Now what should she do? If she threw Cherry out, she’d look like some kind of heartless monster. If she allowed Cherry to stay, she’d be breaking her promise to Ben and Coralee. Both Fanny and Cherry were looking at her expectantly. She let out a frustrated sigh and gave the only charitable answer she could give. “Don’t worry, Cherry, I’m not going to throw you out. You can stay, at least until after your baby is born.”

  Cherry burst into tears of gratitude. “Thank you, Mrs. Peterson. I’m ever so grateful. You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

  “What about the rest of the girls?” Fanny asked.

  “You realize this will cause me no end of trouble.”

  At least Fanny had the decency to shrug apologetically. “I’m sorry for that, but I’m doing what I had to do.”

  At this point, she could give only one answer. “They can all stay until after Cherry’s baby is born. After that, they’ll have to go, although there might be a few jobs available here in the hotel. Maids, for instance.” Rose didn’t regret her decision. In her heart, she knew she’d done the right thing. As for Ben and Coralee, she didn’t even want to think how angry they’d be, especially Ben, who wanted them gone right now. She would deal with all that later, though. She’d done what she had to do.

  As the day went by, Rose’s confidence grew. She’d made her wishes known concerning the quality of the whiskey and other alcoholic beverages. Only quality products would be served. The head bartender, an amiable Englishman named Cecil, readily agreed. He’d been forced to follow Jake Grunion’s instructions and hadn’t been happy about cutting good whiskey with turpentine, ammonia, or sometimes even gunpowder.

  At her request, Howie gave her a tour of the second floor, where she discovered the deplorable condition of the guest rooms. All had dirty floors, unmade beds, towels and linens that looked none too clean. The bathroom at the end of the hall was a disgrace. Where was the housekeeper?

  “We don’t have a housekeeper,” Howie replied with a shrug. “Emmet hired a woman to come in and clean every now a
nd then, but she drinks, so you can’t count on her.”

  “So you rent out the rooms even if they’re dirty?”

  “If they’ve come from the diggings, what do they care? They’re just happy to sleep in a real bed.”

  To her ever-lengthening list of things to be done, Rose added: Find housekeeper.

  * * * *

  At the end of the day, she was just getting started, but it was time to quit. She must get home and change in time for her dinner with Mason. And also, she wanted to stop at the ice house and see if Deke was around. She’d been dying to tell him—brag, she supposed—about how she’d gotten rid of Jake; how she’d brought Gus, the surly cook, into line; how the words “I’m sorry” hadn’t crossed her lips, nor had she never once said, “I apologize.”

  Just before she was going to leave, after a quick knock, Deke stuck his head in the door. “I say, are you busy?”

  “Deke! So good to see you. Do come in.” After he entered and sank comfortably in a chair, spreading his long legs before him, she proceeded to tell him all about how her day had gone. “Thanks to your advice. I’m now convinced I can run this hotel. I feel wonderful.”

  His mouth twitched with humor. “Almost as wonderful as when you ran your hands through a barrel of chicken feed?”

  She burst into laughter. “Well, almost.”

  “I knew you could do it.”

  She could tell he was pleased. “And what about you? Are you and your friend selling a lot of ice?”

  “Enough.”

  What did that mean? Obviously Deke and Mitch were just getting by. How could they make any money selling chunks of ice? “Perhaps I’ll buy some for the hotel.”

  “You can’t.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you need a cellar to store the ice, and the River Queen doesn’t have one.”

  “Do the other saloons?”

  “You’re about the only one that doesn’t.”

  Rose sighed. Had Emmet done anything right? “There’s another thing to add to my list of things to do.”