Home > A Deadly Fortune : A Novel

A Deadly Fortune : A Novel
Author: Stacie Murphy

 

1


Late February 1893

She had him. She was sure of it. Amelia studied the young man from beneath her eyelashes. He perched on the edge of his seat, hunched forward and eyeing the deck of cards as though it were a coiled serpent. She let the weight of the moment hang for another breath, then slid the stack across the table with an abrupt little movement. He flinched. The corner of her mouth twitched, but she smothered the smile before it could emerge.

“We might try again,” Amelia said, her tone warm and encouraging. “Perhaps the second card will reveal what the first could not.”

He swallowed hard and reached to cut the deck with a hand that did not quite tremble.

Amelia gave the cards a final shuffle. Their worn edges, full of tiny nicks and creases, were as readable as labels. With the barest glance, she chose the card she wanted. A practiced flick of her fingers floated it to the top.

She drew and turned: the Chariot, reversed. She sighed, a hint of regret in the sound.

His head jerked up. “What do you see?”

“I’m sorry.” Her face was grave. “The answer is much the same. This is a card of uncertainty. Risk. It implies a journey.” She hesitated. “It’s also a water card, although—”

He leapt to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor. With a wild look around the room, he rushed for the door.

“Fate has a plan for us all,” she called after him, half-standing. “All we can do is meet it with fortitude.”

A muffled curse and a slammed door were the only response.

Amelia lifted her chin and allowed herself a satisfied grin. Served him right.

The sound of his exit had barely faded before the door began to open again. Amelia hurriedly resettled herself on the upholstered chair, spreading the skirt of her gown so the green silk puddled around her, shimmering in the gaslight.

She looked up, her face and posture inviting.

“What on earth did you do to that one?” Jonas said as he appeared in the doorway. “He lit out of here like the hounds were after him.”

Amelia dropped her languid pose and straightened with a look of frank welcome. “I told him I saw him at sea during a storm.”

“Was it real?”

“The sea voyage is real enough. I saw the top of a Cunard ticket sticking out of his waistcoat pocket when he sat down. As for the rest…” She shrugged. “Storms are common on the crossing. And he’s nervous enough that if there’s so much as a cloud in the sky he’ll see Christ and his angels coming. He’ll think I told him true either way.”

“So nothing tonight.”

“No, but the take has been good anyway.”

“It’s been a while since you had a real one.”

“Not so long. There was the woman a few weeks ago,” she reminded him, standing. “I told her that her husband was on his way home and she’d best move her new friend out of her bedroom. That one was real.”

“I’d forgotten about her. It was a footman, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Amelia crossed to the window and pulled aside the heavy drapery. Her skirt rustled as she leaned forward to peer down at the street. The electric streetlights the city had begun installing were still confined to the main thoroughfares, leaving side streets like theirs bathed in the soft glow of gaslight, which danced over a row of hansom cabs in front of the building, horses dozing with their heads down, drivers clustered by the doorway.

“I’ve been busy so far tonight. How has it been on the floor?” She let the curtain fall and turned to Jonas. He stood before the mirror, brushing invisible flecks off the nap of his jacket.

“Busy there as well,” he replied, without turning from his reflection. “I’ve been run half off my feet already. And Niehaus is here again. He’s been pestering me all night—at my elbow every time I turn around.”

“He’s the one doing the statue of Moses?”

He nodded.

She snorted. “That’s positively indecent—you as the model for anything biblical.”

“I know. Isn’t it delicious?” He looked at Amelia and grinned. “He’s raised his sitting fee. I said I’d consider it.”

Amelia knew she was pretty, if unremarkably so. Jonas, though. He had already been sculpted twice and painted more times than she could count. Tonight’s midnight blue coat matched his eyes and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. Coal-black hair curled over his collar. An adolescent break had left him with a slight crook to his nose. It made him snore terribly but saved his face from dull perfection.

He looked her over. “I was right about that color. It suits you. You should wear it more often. I came up to see if you want to watch Lina’s last show. She’s on in a few minutes, and you don’t have anyone else waiting.”

She stretched. “All right. I could use a break.”

They crossed to the doorway and started down the corridor. The private gaming rooms were full, if the haze of cigar smoke and the waiters gliding in and out delivering drinks and small plates of delicacies were any indication. A lucrative night all around.

“Why didn’t you tell that fellow he’d reach port safely?” Jonas asked. “Why did you let him leave so upset?”

Amelia grinned. “I heard him talking in the hallway before he came in. He made a rude joke about Tommy,” she said, referring to the club’s Black doorman. “I decided he deserved to sweat a little.”

Jonas glanced down at her and grinned back, his left cheek dimpling.

They reached the balcony overlooking the main floor, and Amelia peered over the rail at the noisy throng. “Sabine’s in her parlor?”

“Yes, and my sympathies to anyone who has to ask her for anything tonight,” he answered. At her raised eyebrow, Jonas explained. “She tried one last time to convince Lina not to leave. It didn’t go well.”

It wouldn’t have. The pretty young woman had announced she was leaving for San Francisco with one of her regulars, an older man who swore he would marry her—though Amelia had her doubts about that. Annoyed at the prospect of losing one of her most popular girls, and perhaps even genuinely concerned for Lina’s welfare, Sabine had not taken the news well. The resulting shouting match had fairly scorched the walls, and Lina had required soothing to convince her to stay for a series of farewell engagements.

Now the girl received a raucous welcome as she took the stage for the last time, wearing a feathered satin dress that revealed a scandalous length of perfect leg. As Lina began a teasing dance to the accompaniment of the piano, Amelia surveyed the scene below and marveled—not for the first time—at how fortunate she and Jonas had been to find a place here.

Two years earlier, they’d been standing on a street corner, Amelia telling fortunes while Jonas watched over her and entertained passersby with quips and sleight of hand. Sabine had waited for a lull in business and approached Amelia with an offer.

“I own a club off Washington Square. You two should think about coming to work for me. I’m always looking for pretty girls. And pretty boys.” She cast an appraising look at Jonas. “You could—”

“I’m not a whore,” Amelia interrupted, accustomed to fending off such proposals. “I don’t—”

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