“I somehow doubt that, but at least I’ll enjoy it.”
Houston threw her arms about her sister. “Let’s go get ready. I want to wear something befitting that house, and you’ll get to wear the blue satin Worth gown,” she said enticingly.
“I should wear my knickerbockers, but that would give it away, wouldn’t it?” Blair said as she followed her sister into the house, a light dancing in her eyes.
What followed was an orgy of indecision. Houston went through her entire extensive trousseau that had been made for her wedding, in an attempt to find just the right dress.
At last she settled on a gown of mauve and silver brocade, the low square neck and hem edged with ermine, the short, puffed sleeves made of mauve chiffon. She would hide the dress in a leather valise—Blair was always carrying bags full of oddly-shaped medical instruments—and change at Tia’s.
She didn’t want to use the telephone for fear someone’d hear her, so she paid a penny to one of the Randolph boys to deliver a message to her friend Tia Mankin, whose house was near the foot of Kane’s drive, that asked her to say Blair was there, should anyone ask.
Blair started complaining again, acting as if Houston were sending her on an impossible quest. And she wailed for twenty minutes about the tightness of the corset that forced her waist small enough to wear the Worth gown. But when Blair looked in the mirror, Houston saw the sparkle in her eyes and knew she was pleased with how she looked.
The few minutes they spent in the parlor with their mother and Mr. Gates were a joy to Houston. Blair’s comfortable clothes made her feel quite the tomboy, and she antagonized Mr. Gates to no end.
And when Leander came, she enjoyed baiting him too. Lee’s reserved coolness, the way nothing she said to him penetrated his superior attitude, began to make her angry and, by the time they reached Tia’s, she was glad to get away from both Lee and Blair.
She met Tia in the dense shadow of a cottonwood tree and followed her up the back stairs to her room.
“Blair,” Tia whispered, as she helped Houston to dress, “I had no idea you knew our mysterious Mr. Taggert. I wish I could go with you tonight, and I bet Houston wanted to go too. She loves that house. Did she ever tell you about the time she . . . ? Maybe I’d better not tell.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Houston said. “Now, I must go. Wish me luck.”
“Tell me about it tomorrow. I want to hear about every stick of furniture, every floor, every ceiling,” Tia said, following her friend down the stairs.
“I will,” Houston called as she ran up the drive leading to the Taggert house. She hated arriving without a carriage, on foot, like a runaway or a beggar, but she couldn’t risk being denied this opportunity.
The circular drive led to the front of the house, tall white wings radiating out like arms on each side of her. Around the roof was a railing and she wondered if there were terraces above.
The front door was white, with two long glass panels in it, and as she peered inside and smoothed her dress, she tried to calm her pounding heart and knocked. Within minutes, she heard heavy footsteps echoing through the house.
Kane Taggert, still wearing his coarse clothing, grinned as he opened the door for her.
“I hope I’m not early,” Houston said, keeping her eyes on his face and forcing herself not to gawk at her surroundings.
“Just in time. Supper’s ready.” He stepped back and Houston had her first look at the interior of the house.
Directly in front of her, sweeping from both sides, was a magnificent double staircase, a black iron, brass-railed bannister gracefully curving along it. Supporting it, white columns topped with intricately carved headers rose to the high, panelled ceiling. It was a study in white and gold, with the soft electric lights drenching everything in their golden haze.
“You like it?” Kane asked and was obviously laughing at her expression.
Houston recovered herself enough to close her gaping mouth. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she managed to whisper.
Kane puffed up his big chest in pride. “You wanta look around some or eat?”
“Look,” she said, even as her eyes tried to devour every corner of the hall and stairwell.
“Come on, then,” Kane said, setting off quickly.
“This little room is my office,” he said, throwing open the door to a room as large as the downstairs of the Chandler house. It was beautifully panelled in walnut, a marble fireplace along one wall. But in the center of the room was a cheap oak desk, two old kitchen chairs beside it. Papers littered the top of the desk, fell onto the parqueted floor.
“And this is the library.”
He didn’t give her time to took longer but led her to a vast, empty room, with golden colored panelled walls inset with empty bookcases. Three large bare areas of plastered wall interrupted the panelling.
“Some rugs go there but I ain’t hung ’em up yet,” he said as he left the room.
“And this is what’s called the large drawing room.”