Chapter Twenty–Six
OCTOBER
Two months speed by. Not much has changed with Bianca, but I’ve stopped wasting my time with fretting about her. Sure, and we’re friends, but Bianca will do as Bianca pleases, God help us.
My life is richer with Damien in it. We’ve no papers saying we’re wed, but in my head and heart, sure, he’s my husband. If it wasn’t for the world’s sharp eyes and even sharper tongues, I’d not give a fig about the marriage part.
But this morning, Damien is cross with me. I pulled my box from under the bed to show him the photograph Mrs. Evans had taken of all the chambermaids. He reached into the box, too, and didn’t he pull out Mr. Carboni’s ten dollars. Holy Mother, the guilt hit me hard, it did.
“Why do you have this, Rosie?”
“Mr. Carboni gave me some money,” I tell him. I feel badly that I kept it from him, but I think I’ll feel better once it’s out in the open.
Damien must sense my regret. He’s frowning. “Why’d he do that?”
“He gave it to me in August, saying he wanted to pay for Granny’s medicine. I didn’t tell him it was probably too late.”
“You knew it was too late?”
“I had a feeling.”
He considers this. “Why didn’t you tell me? We don’t keep secrets, Rosie.”
I know my cheeks are bright red. “I didn’t want you to fret over it. I was saving it for when me and you run away together.”
“Could have told me.”
I drop my chin to my chest. “I’m sorry. ’Twasn’t my aim to make you angry.”
“Not angry. A bit sad, maybe. You can tell me anything, Rosie. You know that.” He holds up the ten dollars. “What now? Are you going to give it back?”
“He gave it to me. I don’t think he’ll take it back. Can’t I keep it?”
His nod is slow. “Listen, you’re likely right that he won’t want it back, but I know the man. He’s not the generous type. Likely there are strings attached.”
That’s what I’ve been afraid of. “If you know him so well, what should I do?”
He tilts his face toward the ceiling, thinking, and I wait.
“I think you should first try to give the money back. Give him a chance to say yea or nay. If it’s nay, you keep it.
” He pauses again. “C’mere to me, Rosie.
When you work with Carboni, you must have eyes in the back of your head.
He’s a dangerous man, make no mistake. He did not get where he is by being a friendly lad.
” A slight frown creases his brow, and he turns the locket over on my chest so he can see the etching.
“If he does anything to frighten you, get away quick as you can, Rosie. Come to me.”
I can’t tell him that whenever Mr. Carboni is near me, I am frightened. And that he gets nearer every time.
“You must stay on his good side,” Damien says. “Carboni’s not an enemy you want.”
“Are you on his good side?”
“He’s barely noticed me yet.”
I am in love with dear Damien’s smile. I know it’s love because when I see it, I am blinded to everything else. I’m certain he’s a rascal, and I know that whatever he is doing for Mr. Carboni is not good, but oh, that smile.
“Don’t let him notice you,” I say.
“The only one I want to notice me is you, Rosie.”
I am warm with love. “Don’t worry, Damien. I have noticed.”
“Now, put that away and let me see that photograph. Aren’t you the bonniest of them all?” he says. “I have one as well, of all the waiters.”
He digs it out of his bag and hands it to me. There he is with that handsome smile, putting the other lads to shame. I tell him so, and he kisses me. We decide to keep both photographs in my money box, to keep them safe.
I am keeping my head down as I work this morning, for I’m not feeling my best. It’s rare that I get sick, but all week I’ve been weary, and every bite I take comes right back up.
I finish the room and step into the corridor, inhaling the relatively fresh air, thickened by the smell of the carpet and cigar smoke.
Then I feel my stomach lurch for a whole different reason.
Bianca is standing in Mr. Carboni’s open doorway, one hand on her hip. I see it plain: her dark eyes, her long lashes batting slowly at the big man. The trouble is, he barely sees her. His attention has slipped past her, and sure, it’s landed on me. Just where I don’t want it.
“Miss Ryan,” he booms down the hallway. My face burns, but I try not to appear nervous. “Time has flown, and I’ve forgotten to ask. How is your grandmother?”
“è morta,” Bianca tells him flatly. It appears she is using their shared language to get close to him.
His whole face dissolves with sympathy. “No. I’m sorry to hear that. Are you all right?”
This is a grand opportunity. I reach into my pocket for his ten-dollar bill while I walk toward them. “I am well enough, sir, thank you for asking. But I want to return this to you, and I apologize for being so slow about it. Sadly, by the time you gave me this, it was too late for Granny.”
Bianca’s eyes bulge at the sight of the big money.
“No, no,” he assures me. “It was a gift. Get yourself something pretty with it.”
Likely there are strings attached.
“Thank you, sir, but—”
“Just take it.”
He means it. From the tightness in his expression, I would be a fool to argue. I tuck the money back into my apron. “Thank you, sir.”
Bianca is seething. If her glare had teeth, I’d be in ribbons.
Then Mr. Carboni steps out of his room and into the corridor. We both move back. “I’d love to stay and chat with you two ladies, but I’m meeting an associate for an important discussion. This guy,” he says, jabbing a thumb into his chest, “is about to get rich beyond your wildest dreams.”
He bends down so he’s in my face. Something brown is stuck between his teeth, but I keep silent. I keep silent about the reek of old onions and whisky, too. I force myself to be still as a stone.
“Now you can clean the room and not worry about me getting in the way.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Then he does the unthinkable. He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and raises my face to his.
“A rich fella like me could use a beautiful woman like you on his arm, Rosie Ryan. I’d change your life. You’d be a queen. Think about it.”
I cannot see anything but the malevolence swimming behind those dark eyes, and I hear Granny quoting Proverbs. For they cannot rest until they do evil; they are robbed of sleep till they make someone stumble.
Mr. Carboni is not a good person. He is a right chancer and a snake, and even though I make his bed every day, I don’t believe he sleeps much.
Mr. Carboni is used to getting whatever he wants, and doesn’t he have his eyes on me.
I want them anywhere else but there. I hate to think of Bianca in danger, but truly, she can have him if she wants him.
He lets my chin go and pulls out his billfold. “Do a good job, Rosie Ryan.”
He thrusts a dollar bill at me, and I snatch it from his hand, half afraid that he’ll shove it down the front of my uniform.
Then he breezes past, grand as you like, leaving Bianca and me to stare at each other with our mouths hanging open.
Neither of us moves, but my chest feels ready to burst with the sobs I’ve been holding back.
I still feel his fingers on my face, burning like a brand.
“Well,” Bianca says, folding her arms.
“Well yourself. Come along out of the corridor. ’Tis hardly the spot for a proper quarrel.”
“ ‘You’d be a queen,’” she echoes as we walk. “Where’d that come from? Does Damien know about you and Carboni?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve nothing to do with Mr. Carboni other than cleaning up after him, and you know it.
The stuff you’re talking about, well now, that’s your area, not mine.
” I despise this. She’s my friend. We should not be tearing each other apart over men, of all things.
“Speaking of which, what were you two talking about before I got there?”
“Not that it’s your business, but I was negotiating a loan to help pay for my father’s medical bills. They will be cutting off his leg soon. It keeps getting infected. So I thought I’d see if Mr. Carboni could help out. You know. Give it a try.”
I blink. “You’re negotiating with a gangster for a loan?”
She stares pointedly at the pocket where I’ve tucked the ten—eleven now—dollars. “Meanwhile, he’s giving you money for… for what exactly, Rosie?”
My face is hot, and that’s not fair, because I have nothing to be ashamed of.
“Nothing. For nothing. I don’t know what he’s thinking. But with you, oh, Bianca. I’ll tell you this much. He’ll charge a king’s ransom in interest. Don’t take his loan, all right? Promise me.”
“I ain’t gonna promise that.” But her voice is calmer now. She’s scared. I can hear it.
I frown at the door. “I’d better get his suite done before he comes back.”
“But what about you and all that money?”
I’ll not waste my time answering even one of her questions.
I bluster past, into the suite, then I lock the door behind me and get to work.
I clean like a whirlwind, my mind and my heartbeat going a mile a minute.
In a blink, the ashtray is dumped and wiped out, the pillows on the sofa and armchair fluffed.
There are no stacks of paper to place on Mr. Carboni’s desk, no brassieres to collect from underneath it.
I head to the bedroom and make his bed, and as I’m folding the hospital corners, I pause.
I’m going too fast. I must slow down and do a good job.
But the reason I’m moving so quickly is that I’m terrified.
I know what Mr. Carboni is doing, giving me money and going on with the “queen” business.
That big, dangerous, probably murderous Italian gangster is flirting with me.
What can I be doing about that? Tell me, would you? For I’m at my wit’s end.
My eye falls on the nightstand. I can’t stop myself when I reach for the drawer. It’s like a magnet has a hold on me. I hold my breath, then I slide open the drawer.