“Unhand m-my—” I stammered. “My maid. Just who do you think you are?”
It came out weaker than intended. More breathless than commanding. I was going for “imperious dowager,” but I landed somewhere closer to “unwell niece.”
The conductor turned to look me over.
Not at me.Overme. A slow sweep from hat to hem to my full lips and the soft roundness of my nose. I suddenly wished I had a lace veil.
He’s going to know, I thought.
His eyes narrowed.
“Ma’am,” he said, “we’ve had reports of missing cold cuts, and I now see this… woman, pawing at the sugar service.”
I looked at Lessie. Then at her pockets. Lord, there were no fewer than fifty sugar cubes stuffed into her skirt. She looked like she was smuggling marbles.
“I require quite a bit of sugar,” I said, voice trembling slightly. “For my tea.”
“Quite a bit?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Quite,” I said, planting my feet like that might stop me from sinking into the floor.
He didn’t blink.
I know what you’re thinking. This is it. This is the moment—the scandal that made me the subject of every parlor whisper from Denver to Durango. Stealing sandwiches? How provincial.
Reader, no.
This was not the scandal. This was merely… the appetizer.
“May I see your ticket?”
“Ah.”
I reached delicately into my handbag and pulled out the other woman’s ticket—the one I had borrowed… repurposed… stolen, depending on how you interpret minor crimes. My heart was now pounding SOS in Morse code.
He studied it.
“Yes. You,” he said slowly. “This makes sense now. Your father did say you might try to flee.”
“I— What?”
“Nice try,” he said, plucking the sugar cubes from Lessie’s person. “You’re not going anywhere.
“I want you and your two Negro escorts back in your cabin. You’re not leaving this train until Denver.”
So there it was.
Not arrested. Just… sent back to my parlor cabin? Like we were misbehaving children. All three of us. Me, Lessie, and Major. The bed was large enough for Lessie and me, but surely we wouldn’t be expected to sleep with Major in the room. And as the door clicked shut behind us, Lessie sank onto thechaise, pulled a sugar cube from her shoe, and popped it into her mouth.
“Worth it,” she said through a grin.
Major just looked at me, amused as ever, then picked up a deck of cards.
And that is how we ended up under lock and lace in the finest cabin on the train—with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and far too much man in the room for me to sleep.
THE OLD CAROLINE
The VIP cabin was—naturally—nicer than my actual apartments in New Orleans. Mahogany trim. Sconces. Cushions filled with what I can only assume was crushed angel feathers. I tried to stay annoyed. Why did that fool girl want to take so much sugar?
