Page 8 of A New World for the Irish Daughter

And as she’d told Brendan before, maybe this suited her.

Maybe it served her right.

CHAPTER 5

Maggie tapped once on the door of Jessamine Conant’s study, off the front hall of the parlor house.

It was the morning after their arrival, and her bags were already packed. She, Brendan and Danny had breakfasted on scrambled eggs, toast, and good, hot coffee in the kitchen with Evie, who had seemed as sullen as ever, and Mrs. Adams, the far more cheerful cook. Despite Evie’s glowering looks, the mood at breakfast had been almost merry, Mrs. Adams full of gossip about the goings-on the night before. But now, Maggie was determined, it was time to take their leave.

“Them sailors come in and like to knock the place all about,” she’d told Maggie, Brendan and Danny in a confiding tone as she’d poured them all second cups of coffee. “They can be near wild after being up to Alaska and back, don’t you know, but Miss Jessie, she knows how to keep them in hand.”

“And they splash their money about,” Evie had added with a sly smile. “Especially if you look in their pockets.”

“Now, Evie, don’t you be getting into trouble,” Mrs. Adams had admonished the young maid severely. “You know what Miss Jessie thinks aboutthat. Sailors or not, those men are our guests, and we treat ’em proper.” She’d turned to Maggie,seeming almost anxious that she believe her. “We do, you know. You won’t find a more respectable house than Miss Jessie’s on the whole Coast. We’re not like them cow yards or cribs that have the women waiting in cubicles, without even their drawers on! Some of those places, the men aren’t allowed to remove anything but their hat.”

“I can’t imagine,” Maggie had said truthfully, burying her nose in her teacup to hide her mortified blushes. She had hardly been able to believe she was discussing the different kinds of brothels over breakfast—and in the company of both Brendan and Danny!—but here on the Barbary Coast it had seemed to be a common occurrence.

“Miss Jessie’s ain’t like that,” Mrs. Adams had continued stubbornly. “She doesn’t put on bawdy shows, either, the way some of the other parlor houses do. You’ve heard of the Three Lively Fleas?” she’d demanded, and Maggie had shaken her head, choosing, with some effort, to be bemused rather than scandalized by the nature of such gossip, the likes of which she certainly couldn’t have ever imagined before.

“No, I haven’t,” she admitted with a little grimace of apology.

“Well!” Mrs. Adams planted her hands on her hips. “We don’t do anything like that here,” she’d declared, leaving Maggie no wiser as to who the Three Lively Fleas were, or what they did. She was both slightly disappointed and mostly relieved by her own ignorance. “They call Miss Jessie theDiamond, you know,” Mrs. Adams added proudly, “on account of her chandelier—you won’t see another like it on the whole Coast—and the crystal.”

“The crystal?” Maggie had asked, intrigued despite her intention not to be, and the cook had nodded sagely.

“She serves the wine in real crystal glasses. If that ain’t the mark of a respectable place, then I don’t know what is.”

“I don’t know, either,” Brendan had replied in agreement, a rare glimmer of mischief in his eyes that had almost made Maggie smile.

Despite the conviviality around the table, as well as her brother’s insistence that he wanted to stay with their da, Maggie still intended to look for other lodgings. She was surprised to discover that shelikedit at Miss Jessie’s, far more than she’d expected to, but for decency’s sake she still felt she had to try.

“Come in,” Jessamine called now, her voice light and musical, and Maggie opened the door.

“Miss Conant?” she asked tentatively.

Jessamine sat behind a desk, dressed in another crisp white shirtwaist and dark skirt, a pair of spectacles perched on her nose. She took them off as she beckoned Maggie inside.

“Come in, come in, and do sit down, my dear. I’m pleased to see you look a little more refreshed than you did yesterday.”

“You’ve been very kind to us,” Maggie murmured as she sat down in front of the desk.

Last night they’d eaten a home-cooked meal around the kitchen table—roast beef and potatoes, with bread and butter pudding for after. Piano music, along with the tinkle of the crystal the cook had boasted about that morning, and that of feminine laughter, had drifted through the green baize door that separated the domestic areas of the house from those meant for entertaining. Maggie had heard low, masculine voices in response, breathed in the scent of cigar smoke that drifted in, and tried not to blush in embarrassment at the thought of such activities going on, just beyond the door.

“It’s the least I can do for Declan’s family,” Jessamine told her warmly. “He’s been very good to us, you know. Always willing to lend a hand, and so cheerful and helpful and kind to my girls.” She propped her elbows on the desk as she gaveMaggie a direct look. “Now, my dear, what are you going to do?” she asked frankly.

“I came to thank you, and say my goodbyes,” Maggie replied, trying to sound firm, like she had more of a plan than she did. “I shall look for lodgings, a job…” It was what she’d been saying all along, yet far from the first time, Maggie realized how dispiritingly vague such plans sounded. With so little money in her pocket, would she really get anywhere at all? “Try to, at least,” she amended, and Jessamine nodded, her hazel eyes full of sympathy.

“A woman’s lot in life is difficult at the best of times,” she remarked as she leaned back in her chair. “It might surprise you—or not—to know that when I came to San Francisco, nearly fifteen years ago now, it was in much of a similar condition to you. I had very little money, little recourse to any job but the most menial, and I didn’t even have a father to help me. My parents died when I was a child, in a cholera epidemic, and my only relation was an elderly aunt who, I’m sorry to say, did not take kindly to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Maggie murmured, gazing down at her clasped hands.

“I tell you this not to ask for pity, but simply to say I understand your predicament,” Jessamine replied briskly. “I chose to go into the profession I now manage—yes, I can see I’ve shocked you now!” She laughed lightly before continuing, “A woman does not become the manager of an establishment such as this without first working the rooms, my dear, but, trust me, it is better than what most women who are forced into this profession face. Much better.” She pressed her lips together momentarily. “But never mind all that and never fear that I am going to ask you to follow the same path! Far from it. I can see already that you are neither tempted by it, nor suited to it.” She leaned forward, her hands clasped together. “Miss O’Halloran,you said you were skilled with a needle, and your brother and friend have both sung your praises in that regard. Apparently you were a woman of some renown back in Chicago, and even owned your own business?”

Her eyebrows lifted expectantly while a blush, this one of surprise and a little anger, rose to Maggie’s cheeks. “They shouldn’t have said that,” she exclaimed in a low voice. “It… it is of no consequence now.” And both Brendan and Danny knew she didn’t like to be reminded of that time—and its bitter end.

“Ah, but it is tome!” Jessamine unclasped her hands and leaned back in her chair as she regarded Maggie with that kind of shrewd and frank assessment that made her feel a little uneasy. Jessamine Conant seemed like a woman who saw and understood far too much—and would use that knowledge for her own purposes. “As you can imagine, the wardrobes of the ladies here receive a good deal of wear and tear,” Jessamine remarked, and once again Maggie had to fight a flush. She didn’t think she wasmissish, but her sensibilities were being sorely tried by the many implications of living in a parlor house. “And the gowns they wear can be frightfully expensive,” Jessamine continued. “They attempt some repairs themselves, but they are not skilled seamstresses, and, in all honesty, their time could be better spent.”

“What are you suggesting?” Maggie forced herself to ask, although she thought she already knew—and she did not know how she felt about it.