Cold and shaking, I huddled next to Eugenie who, mercifully, slumbered on. When I warmed up, I tiptoed to the door and made sure it was locked. For good measure, I propped a chair under the doorknob. I didn’t fall asleep until the sky started to brighten, and even then my dreams were bad.

Breakfast went down reluctantly. The coffee had a layer of grease shimmering on top, and the egg looked like a great yellow eye staring at me under a sea of bacon drippings.

I shivered as the wrangler heaved himself into the dining room for coffee and a strip of bacon he ate standing up, not encumbered by a knife and fork. He was now the proud owner of four long scratches on one side of his face, which offered me a moment of satisfaction.

The moment passed when he grinned at me, fully aware of what I must be surmising, then ran his tongue over his lips. I looked away, grateful to see him gone when I looked back.

Muskrat Watkins joined us at the long table, giving us a more than sufficient view of him as he ate. His chewing may have been audible over the loudest, most determined conversation, but at least he wasn’t the wrangler.

Midway through the endless meal we were joined by the woman. She must have been made of durable fiber, because she sauntered in without even a limp, sporting a black eye. She didn’t appear to be wearing anything under a wrapper held together by a purple sash. The front of it flopped open when she leaned forward to reach the cold eggs. It appeared to me that she must have used Dr. Hardee’s Female Improver to good effect. She could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty, with hair about the same color as mine, but from a bottle, I think.

My discomfort increased as she picked out our lieutenant and leered at him. He blushed becomingly, which was somehow reassuring, until he gave her a sidelong look so full of meaning that I could only assume he had been one of her earlier guests last night.

Mother took none of this lying down. At every bat of that soiled dove’s false eyelashes, Mother harrumphed and gave her The Look that cowered many a child and servant on McDermott Street.

The glower had no effect on that battle-tested trollop. She slapped a hunk of butter on her hashbrowns, stirred in an egg and smiled sweetly at Mother. “What’s the matter, honey? Your piles bothering you?”

I nearly strangled over my coffee, then paled as Mother gave me a furious look. She stood up in awful majesty and tried to sweep out of the room, but the effect was marred when her dress caught on a nail and pulled her up sharp. She yanked it off and sailed away, as Muskrat laughed and scratched, Eugenie pounded Phil on the back as he choked over his flapjacks, and Father stared at his week-old newspaper, oblivious as always.