“Camille!” someone hissed. “Go collect the empty bottles from the drawing room.” Charcoal reluctantly rose, too tired to notice the irony in the words. She picked up an unused tray and let herself into the drawing room. It was completely empty of people, and she began gathering the bottles from around the room.

“Need some help?”

She turned, seeing Pub hold out a blue bottle. She took it, mumbling a thank you.

“You look rather tired. Shouldn’t a young girl like yourself be asleep?” Pub asked kindly. Charcoal paused, thinking about the bags that must be under her eyes.

“I need to finish cleaning up after your engagement party,” she said curtly. She slid him a sideways glance. “And forgive me for being open, but I don’t think it would be best for an engaged upper class man to be seen alone with his fiancée’s maid.” Pub sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose and falling into a chair. Charcoal watched him closely.

“You look lovely tonight,” he said suddenly, his hand still over his eyes.

“You always tell me I look lovely,” Charcoal responded. She slowly set the tray of bottles down.

“I know,” Pub responded bitterly. He gave a short laugh. “Margarita hates it. She told me tonight it was the first thing she was going to change about me when we got married.” Charcoal looked at him strangely. He didn’t seem to like that idea, or even the idea of marriage. Suddenly, she hit upon the answer.

“You don’t want to marry her,” she accused. Pub lifted his head and looked at her sharply. Charcoal was afraid for a second that he would rise from the chair, and took a hasty step back. Suddenly, he let his head fall back into his hands.

“No, you’re right,” he confessed. “Maybe…no, I can’t say I ever really loved her. It was more like infatuation.” Charcoal listened intently, twisting the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. She had a feeling her stomach was twisting just as easily.

“But why did you ask her to marry you?” Charcoal asked. “If you never loved her, don’t you think the last thing you would want to do would be marry?”

Pub stood up. “I can’t marry who I want to because I’d be exiled from society.” He took a step forward. “You see, she’s only a maid. If I tried to marry her… So instead I proposed to her employer.” He took another step.

“Her employer?” Charcoal wondered aloud. “So she’s a maid here?”

Pub nodded, stepping forward.

“And do I know her?”

Pub stepped forward again, nearly leaning against Charcoal as he whispered, “I should hope so.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her. For the first second it was pure joy. Suddenly, no amount of harshness could penetrate her. Eventually, though, truth managed to push in, annoyingly reminding her that she had a job at stake. Charcoal gently put her hands against his chest, stopping him.

“If we were found…” she murmured. He nodded and kept his distance.

“I’m sorry,” Pub said after a moment. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

Charcoal slowly shook her head. “Please don’t be.” She threw an anxious glance at the door to see if it was still closed. Pub followed her eyes.

“I see what you mean,” he replied. He looked at Charcoal and grinned.

“What?” she demanded. He reached out and ran a finger down her nose.

“There was a smudge on your face,” he said, showing her a finger with a black tip. He smiled again and turned around to leave.

“Pub?”

He stopped and faced her.

“Yeah?” he asked. Charcoal paused, then ran into his arms.

When Charcoal woke up, she had to remind herself that it wasn’t a dream. The guy she had been in love with half her life had kissed her last night. The necklace around her neck was proof it had happened. Pub had slipped it over her head when she said that she needed to go.

“Get up!”

Charcoal nearly jumped out of her skin. She quickly rolled out of bed, throwing off her nightgown and slipping on a dress. She walked into the kitchen to hear the cook’s loud scream.

“What is it?” everyone called. “It” turned out to be a small dog, half dead from starvation and heavy fighting. The sight of it tore at Charcoal. On the one hand, she felt pity for the dog. On the other hand…

“Camille, go fetch Grey,” Cook ordered. Charcoal’s heart jumped and she grinned broadly. A visit with Grey was a birthday present. She grabbed her hat and pinned it to her hair as she ran down the street.

“Grey!” she yelled, bursting through the door.

“Lord!” he exclaimed, dropping a cup on the floor. “You scared me half to death, Charcoal.” She shrugged. He smiled, picking up the cup, and hugged her. He was the only other person, beside the newsies, who knew her nickname and the closest thing she had to a real brother. “What’s the row?”

“There’s a sick dog outside that Cook wants ya to look at,” Charcoal said, running her fingers down the ginger side of Grey’s favorite cat. There were always animals crawling around Grey’s place. No one could understand them like he could. Charcoal watched as Grey tossed his cap over his black curls, the line underneath his eyebrow growing deeper as he thought.

“I’ll probably need some blankets,” he muttered to himself. He whistled shrilly and a large yellow dog came skidding into the room. Grey laughed and romped with her for a moment before rubbing her down with the blanket. He patted her on the head then turned to Charcoal.

“Now it’ll smell like warm, happy dog,” he explained, grinning. He walked outside his small house. It was probably the closest thing Manhattan had to a cottage, and Charcoal adored it. Its sides were always coated with fresh paint that shone. Inside, though filled with animals, it was relatively clean and held a warm, inviting smell. In truth, she would rather live there than the biggest mansion on earth.

“What’ve you been up to lately?” he asked. “I hardly ever see you since the old crone put you to real work.” He was talking about her somewhat recent promotion. The day she turned fourteen, someone handed her a dress and a mop and she officially became a maid.

“I’ve been busy,” Charcoal shrugged. Grey studied her for a minute, remaining silent. He grinned suddenly.

“Busy with a boy?” he asked. Charcoal shrugged again, twisting the necklace around her fingers and trying not to smile. Grey bent down so he could look her in the eye. “C’mon, Charcoal. Tell me who it is.” He poked her sides, trying to force an answer.

“You have to promise not to tell,” Charcoal said as she noticed Grey was about to tickle her. He tossed the blanket over his shoulder and put his hand over his heart.

“I do solemnly swear,” he said, keeping his dark eyes forward.

Charcoal gave the necklace another twist. “Pub Fader,” she whispered. Grey stopped walking and stared at her with his jaw hanging loose.

“Are you insane?!” he yelled. Charcoal clamped her hand firmly over his mouth. He pushed it away after a minute, still looking like he was going to explode. “I’ve read the headlines, Camille, so I know about Pub and Margarita. What the hell got into you? Don’t you know you’re playing with real hot fire here?”

“He told me he loved me,” Charcoal responded. Grey looked like he was about to wring her neck.

“Love you?! And is that why he asked Margarita to marry him?” Grey demanded. Charcoal glared at him, flexing her jaw to restrain her anger.

“He said he doesn’t want to leave me,” Charcoal tried to explain, nervously pulling on her necklace.

“Oh please! Charcoal how stupid can you get? All Pub Fader wants is a nice, easy girl to have his way with,” Grey replied curtly. “I thought you actually had some sense in you.”

Charcoal frowned, dropping the necklace back on her throat. “You know how kind he is, Grey, and he would never do that to anyone.”

“If what you just said is true, he’s doing it to Margarita,” Grey answered. Charcoal scowled, knowing she would never get her point across. Pub loved her. There was nothing to say on the matter. Case closed. Why didn’t Grey understand, the oaf? She started walking again, faster than ever. Grey caught up with her and grabbed her hand.

“Listen, Charcoal,” he said sternly, “I’m just tryin’ to protect you… Please, try to understand how impossible this is.”

Charcoal gave him a steely look as she wrenched her hand away. “You think that it’s impossible for anyone who’s rich to love a poor girl? I thought you of all people could understand.” She glared at him one more time before pulling up the hem of her skirts and running the rest of the way home. She went around to the back door, just in case Grey was waiting at the side. She flung open the door, her hair slipping from its neat bun and sticking to her sweaty cheeks and neck.

“Camille!” someone said in shock. Charcoal’s heart stopped as she saw Mrs. Rockwelth standing in front of her, an elderly, but respectable-looking, gentleman on her arm. “How dare you present yourself in such a manner before the head of the Manhattan bank?” She turned to the man. “You’ll have to excuse Camille. Good help is so hard to find.” Charcoal’s cheeks burned with hate, but she remained silent. Voicing her opinion wouldn’t do her any good.

Charcoal tried to slip out, but was stopped almost immediately stopped.

“Camille, I will have a talk with you in just a moment,” Mrs. Rockwelth commanded. She quickly said good-bye to her guest and turned to the young girl. “Now follow me.” She picked up the heavy skirts she wore and swept down the hallway. Charcoal tried to keep her heart from racing as they sped down to Mrs. Rockwelth’s office.

“In here,” she said sternly, brushing Charcoal through the door. “I should be reprimanding you for that disgusting display in front of Mr. Polt, but time is money and I have very little time to spend explaining this.” She motioned to a straight-backed chair, which Charcoal quickly sat down in. Mrs. Rockwelth moved behind her desk and sat in her velvet armchair.

“As I’m quite sure you know, Mr. Fader has proposed to my daughter and she has accepted,” the old woman said slowly. She glanced sharply at her young employee before continuing. Charcoal thought maybe for a moment this was about her kissing him last night, but her fears were soon put to rest. “We have decided to have a wedding here in New York, then take a luxury cruise to Paris. Since we will be gone for quite a while, I have decided to take along a few of the members of the staff, and you are included.” Charcoal’s breath stopped in her throat. Paris? Her dream was to sail out there and just paint all day. And now… Mrs. Rockwelth was staring at her, saying, “Well?”

“I am honored you chose me miss!” Charcoal said happily. “And I would be quite happy to come with you.” Mrs. Rockwelth gave a curt nod.

“Good,” she said sternly. “Now go run along with your chores. Cook has informed me that you went to get Grey this morning, so Maybelle had to do yours as well as hers. This will be coming out of your paycheck, Camille.”

Charcoal, looked at her, her jaw threatening to drop to the ground. “So I will get a paycheck?” Perhaps she could buy the sketchbook after all.

“Yes, of course, but at the end of this month.”

Her heart sank into her stomach and she frowned. “Oh, thank you, ma’am.” Charcoal rose from the seat. She thanked Mrs. Rockwelth one last time before emerging from the office.

“Camille? You’re back,” someone said softly. Charcoal turned to see Maybelle’s brown eyes look over you. “I thought you were gone for the day so I already did your chores.”

“You did?” It was hard to believe that someone would do double work out of a slight suspicion. “Then I have no work to do?” Maybelle shrugged and shook her head. Charcoal grinned. “Great.”

It was a well-known fact around the house that a servant whose work was finished for the day would almost certainly receive more. For this reason the moment Maybelle mentioned that she had finished Charcoal’s work, Charcoal grabbed her bag, well equipped with sticks of charcoal and pieces of paper, and headed out the door. It was the perfect day for drawing, too. The sun caressed Charcoal’s sore back as she searched for something to draw.

“Hey! Charcoal!”

She turned, spotting Hercules a few feet away. She was waving a paper in the air. Charcoal grinned slightly and walked over to her.

“Youse can’t sell papes like that doll, here let me show ya. Oh hey Charcoal,” a young man said. Charcoal studied him a minute before deciding it was the one who told the two boys to walk her home, Jack was his name. “I see Spot’s boys got ya home safe.” She nodded, and Jack quickly turned his attention on Hercules again.

“Listen, Cowboy,” she was saying, “I know you can sell two hundred in a matter of minutes, but some of us prefer working long and lazy.” Jack shrugged, pulling his papers onto his shoulder. Hercules watched him walk away, grinning.

“Ain’t he something?” she asked dreamily. Charcoal rolled her eyes, not commenting. When Hercules finally decided to wake up, she held out a paper to Charcoal. “Want one?”

Charcoal shook her head, her dark hair slipping out of its loose braid and into her eyes. “I’m broke,” she confessed, blushing slightly. Hercules studied her for a minute, then placed the outstretched paper back with the rest.

“So you’re out of work this early?” she asked. She moved over to sit on someone’s stairs. Charcoal explained her morning, leaving out the fight she had with Grey and the conversation with Mrs. Rockwelth.

“Is Sketch around here?” she asked suddenly. She still wanted to meet her. Hercules shrugged.

“Maybe,” she said, “but doubtful. Sketch doesn’t sell papes, you see. She’s related ta Jack so usually she sells her drawings around where he is. She’ll be around in a little while.” Charcoal nodded, trying not to get anxious. Until whenever “a little while” occurred, she decided she would wait in the park.

“I guess I’ll see ya around,” Charcoal said, slinging her bag back over her shoulder. Hercules waved good-bye and picked up another paper, preparing to shout something out.

Charcoal hurried into the nearest park she could find. It wasn’t big, barely wide enough to be a front yard, but it had good benches and shady trees. It would do. Charcoal pulled out a piece of writing parchment she stole from Mrs. Rockwelth’s desk and looked for something to draw. As soon as she decided, she noticed someone watching her.

She didn’t move right away, knowing from past experiences it wasn’t good to lose the element of surprise. She shifted slowly in her seat until she could see out of the corner of her eye. There was a girl, her age or maybe a little older, sitting on a bench no more than twenty feet away. Her hazel eyes and dark brown hair reminded Charcoal so much of Jack that she was certain this was Sketch. But why was she bothering to draw Charcoal?

She stayed put for a few moments, thinking. A sly smile crossed her face and she immediately began tapping her foot. She slapped the bench lightly with her hands, staying in rhythm. As a final display, she began twisting her head around to look at something--anything--that was moving in the park. It was driving Sketch mad. When Charcoal heard an exasperated groan, she finally decided to let up. Grinning smugly, she sauntered up to Sketch, who was busy grinding the eraser of her pencil into a worn-out sketchbook.

“I forgive you for drawing me without my permission,” Charcoal said. Sketch looked up, raising her eyebrows. “It’s ok, really.”

Sketch frowned. “Glad you think so,” she said, standing up. She started to walk away when Charcoal sidestepped in front of her.

“My name’s Charcoal,” she said, knowing Sketch most likely hated unwanted conversations as much as she did. For the moment she was enjoying being an annoyance. Sketch looked at the fifteen-year-old girl, knowing she wouldn’t be able to shake her.

“Sk-”

“I know,” Charcoal interrupted. “I’ve already met your…cousin? Jack. Not to mention a few others.” Sketch looked surprised for half a second, then nodded.

“Well, I have to be going…” she prompted. Charcoal grinned.

“Can I see your sketchbook?” she asked. She was trying to see how far she could push this girl before Sketch lashed out at her.

“My…? Uh, yeah, sure,” Sketch said, slightly put off. She handed Charcoal the book. Charcoal began idly looking through it. She had to admit it, Sketch was pretty good. She had a nice, clean style and good form. Charcoal handed the book back to her, looking as though she had Sketch all figured out.

“Nice drawings,” Charcoal told her. Sketch smiled, taking the book back.

“Thanks,” she responded. There was awkward silence for half a minute as Sketch and Charcoal stared at each other blankly.

“So…” Sketch said idly. Charcoal frowned, smoothing her hair back. “I guess I’ll see ya around?” Charcoal frowned again.

“I’ve been thinking…” Charcoal said slowly, “what if…you an’ me had a draw off?”

Sketch looked at her hard. “A what? You draw?” Charcoal looked slightly annoyed and rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright, I get the picture. But why?”

“Because,” Charcoal started, “ain’t you curious to see which one of us is the best artist?” Sketch shrugged. It didn’t make a difference to her either way. “Come on, we can hold it at the…whatchamacallit….Lodging House. The prize could be,” she paused, grinning, “a brand-new sketchbook from SoHo Art Supplies.”

Sketch smiled, thinking she already had the sketchbook in her hands. “Sounds good to me.”

Charcoal held out her hand, and Sketch shook it.

“We’ll set the date for two weeks from next Friday,” Charcoal said. “That gives us two weeks and three days until the draw off. You’ll have to buy the book. If you win, I’ll pay you for it, and if I win, you give it to me.”

Sketch nodded. “See you in two weeks.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

Charcoal grabbed another stack of towels and started up the stairs to a guest’s room. She gasped suddenly as a hand reached around her waist and pulled her into an empty room. The fear quickly melted as she stared into Pub’s smiling eyes and kissed him. They had been doing the same thing for days now. It was wonderfully thrilling, but Charcoal was always afraid they’d get caught.

“I thought you’d never come upstairs,” Pub whispered in her ear. Charcoal smiled and blushed, kissing his jaw. “I have a surprise for you.” He kissed her again before opening the closet in the room they were in. “Designed in Paris,” he said proudly, sweeping his arm over the most beautiful dress Charcoal had ever seen.

“Oh, Pub, it’s gorgeous,” Charcoal said softly. She reached out to touch the beautiful dress, running her hand over its cream sleeves and the jewels on the tight-fitting bodice.

“I think it would look even more beautiful on you,” he said back. Charcoal smiled and took the dress off the hanger. She watched as Pub turned around, and smiled. She quickly slipped out of her work dress and into the white one. It fit more perfect than she could have hoped. It was almost like it had been made specifically for her measurements.

“Pub, I love it,” she said softly. He turned and looked at her with shining eyes. She leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss.

“I knew you would look beautiful in it,” Pub said happily. Charcoal smiled a minute more, before frowning.

“I just wish I had some place to wear it,” she remarked sadly. Pub gently put a hand on her cheek.

“In Paris,” he began, lifting her chin up, “there’ll be no one who knows who we are. Who I am. No one to tell us we can’t be together. We’ll go to fabulous soirees and you’ll be my lovely sweetheart. We can be ourselves, not have to meet in secret.” Charcoal looked at him, smiling. She began to go up on tiptoes to kiss him, when she heard someone yelling her name.

“Camille! Stop shirking out of your work!” Cook’s broad voice clanged outside. Charcoal looked wistfully at Pub, who quickly turned and gave her privacy. She carefully took off the beautiful dress, laying it on the ground, and put on her work dress. She heard Cook advancing the stairs, and suddenly there was a sound of someone pounding their fist on the door. Charcoal looked over at Pub, eyes wide with fear. Pub calmly walked to the door, and opened it.

“I had hoped,” he said in his business voice, “that I would be able to have a word with my future staff. Apparently, your little chores are more important than that. I’m sorry I’ve disturbed your schedule.” He looked at Cook hard, telling her that everything he had just said was sarcastic. Cook trembled a bit under his gaze, but stayed her ground.

“I’m sorry sir,” she said as humbly as she could. “I won’t bother you again.” She dropped a curtsey and darted down the stairs.

Pub grinned as he closed the door and turned to Charcoal.

“How was that for a sterling performance?” he said. Charcoal rolled her eyes, smiling as he pulled her closer.

“Charcoal! Hey Charcoal, wait up!”

Charcoal recognized the voice and only doubled her pace.

“Quit runnin’ and let me talk to you!”

Charcoal spun around so fast that her follower nearly ran into her. “Now you listen to me, Grey Watkins, and you listen good. I have finally found the only one I love in this world, and you were the first one I told. And you were the first to say how absolutely ridiculous the whole thing was. I never want to see you again until you can understand how much Pub and I are meant for each other,” Charcoal said very quickly. She stared at Grey, who was both bewildered and confused, and started walking to the trolley stop.

“Charcoal,” Grey began. He grabbed one of her hands and didn’t let go. “You, might as well be family, and I don’t want to see my family hurt. If what you say is true, that Pub Fader really and truly loves you, then I have no excuse to treat you the way I am. But, and this is just a but, if Pub just thinks you look good in uniform and wants to get you out of it, then I will do everything in my power to stop him.” Grey looked at her with determination, still holding onto her hand. Charcoal slowly pulled it away.

“If you’ll excuse me, the trolley will be coming by in a minute,” she said.

“Oh come on Char’,” Grey wheedled. “Don’t do this to me.”

“You did it to yourself Grey,” Charcoal responded, turning towards the trolley stop. Grey ran up to her and spun her around.

“Can’t you see I’m just tryin’ to protect you?” he asked desperately. Charcoal stubbornly set her jaw. “Please try ta see my side.” He looked at her sadly, praying she would understand how stupid the whole affair was.

“I don’t want to,” Charcoal stressed. The trolley car clanged down the street, and Charcoal jumped on board, throwing a last reproachful look at Grey.

“Dammit!” he ejected. He watched the trolley quickly disappear and started back for home. “Girls, hmph,” he mumbled.

Charcoal vaulted the stairs of the Lodging House, nearly running into the boy with the pocket-watch.

“Woah, easy there,” he said, grinning. “You’re, um, Charcoal, right?” Charcoal nodded. “Racetrack Higgins.” He held out his hand and they shook. “Anytime you need someone ta gamble wid, just call me.” He winked, and started down the stairs. Charcoal smiled as he left. He was nice, but she could see a girl walk up to him and kiss his cheek, so she knew he must be attached.

“Hey,” someone said. Charcoal turned and said hello to one of the boys she had met before. She walked inside, scanning the room for Hercules or Jack. As soon as she found them, Cap walked up to her.

“Yeah?” Charcoal asked her. Cap was frowning and didn’t look particulary happy to see her.

“What’s all this ‘bout some draw off?” she demanded.

“Me and Sketch wanted to see who was the best artist,” Charcoal explained. “It’s set for one week from today.”

Cap stared at her for a moment, still frowning. “Well, since I’m sure Sketch will win, I shouldn’t be too annoyed at her for spending all her pape money on some sketchbook.”

Charcoal matched her glare and decided a silent retreat was best. She stalked over to where Hercules had been watching.

“What was all dat about?” she asked. Charcoal shrugged, and sat down next to her. “And I’m hoping the rumor that you and Sketch are having some sort of drawing contest isn’t true.”

“Well…no, not exactly,” Charcoal admitted. “I was just curious who was the better artist, and so I asked Sketch to have a draw off. It’s set for next Friday, one week from today.”

Hercules looked disappointed, but she still lowered her voice and said, “Don’t tell anyone, but me and some of the girls are rooting for you. Actually, we’re pretty evenly split up on sides. Half want one to win, half want the other.” Charcoal was somewhat surprised to hear this. She would have figured the newsies would stick together, but apparently she had a few fans.

“Hmm, I think as usual I’ll have to run to make it home in time,” Charcoal said. She had only been allowed an hour for break, and that hour was quickly ending. “I’ll see you around.” She stood up, waving good-bye, careful to avoid Cap’s glance, and sauntered outside.

Charcoal slid her last dress into the open bag. It was a week from the draw off and a week and two days from the wedding. Seeing as she had very little time to pack, she figured she could get it done now. She paused when she saw the stack of drawings she had accumulated in her drawers. Under them were three letters from Pub, all reassuring her that she was the only girl for him. It made her grin as she thought about their last meeting.

It had been in secret, of course. Charcoal slipped out of her room late at night and crept upstairs, careful not to wake any of the other guests. When she opened the door to his room, he was waiting for her, his smile almost as broad as hers. When the clock struck two, she would give Pub a final kiss and sleep the remainder of the night in her small room. He would never object, a fact that made Charcoal bubble with happiness. She was sure it was true love.

She stood up from looking at her drawings and letters. As she turned to the door, she noticed Pub leaning against the doorframe.

“What are you doing here?” she asked softly. Pub merely responded by stepping into the room and kissing her. “Pub! What if someone sees you?” She pushed herself away from him, frowning.

“No one’s here,” he said, grinning. “Margarita and Rockwelth took all the guests on a tour of New York and gave all the servants the day off. There isn’t anyone at home. I decided you would have more fun staying here.” He passed her a sly smile and kissed her on the cheek. Charcoal grinned after a minute, sliding her arm around his waist.

“Well then, how are we ever going to pass the time?” Charcoal asked him. He laughed as he walked out the door with her.

“Oh I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

Maybelle walked up the stairs, yawning. She hated early mornings, but Margarita had requested tea with her fiancée and breakfast on the veranda.

She smiled as she remembered the previous day. Mrs. Rockwelth had whisked in, announcing to the entire staff that they could have a day off. Maybelle had spent the day visiting with her family, the only reason she was working at all. An invalid mother and three young children couldn’t support themselves too much, so it was up to her to feed them all. It made her feel like a dramatic heroine, braving the cruel city for the love of her family.

She snapped from her thoughts as she reached Mr. Fader’s door. She didn’t know if he would be easy to wake up, she at first she knocked on the door. After receiving no response, she turned the handle and stepped inside. What she saw wasn’t what she expected. Mr. Fader, handsome Mr. Fader, was there, asleep on his bed. But he wasn’t alone.

“Miss Margarita! I think you should come quick!”

“What a pity Pub couldn’t come with us yesterday; I do hope he’s feeling better,” Margarita said, taking a sip of tea. Her mother looked at her from across the table.

“Yes, and it is a bit odd he was feeling ill. He looked marvelous last time I saw him.” Mrs. Rockwelth remarked. Margarita glanced sharply at her mother.

“Miss Margarita! I think you should come quick!”

Margarita set down her teacup. “Blast,” she said, frowning. “One of the servants probably saw a mouse.” Mrs. Rockwelth rose, snatching Margarita’s frail wrist in her bony hand.

“Come,” she snapped. “It might be something important.” Margarita was lifted from her seat, nearly wailing with displeasure, and ascended up the stairs. She found that there was a servant sitting just outside Pub’s door.

“Oh, Miss!” the girl said softly. “I went in to wake Mr. Fader, and…I thought it best if you looked.”

Margarita pushed her aside. Servants never knew when to simply stand back and get out of the way. What she saw as she walked into the room made her breath stay in her throat. She clawed for her mother’s hand, certain she would faint. Mrs. Rockwelth steadied her daughter and turned to Maybelle. more!