Chapter Fifteen

"All this squandering and indulgence, we wanted to strip it away to find something authentic."

"'Hotel la Licorne'," Charlotte read and translated, "The Unicorn Hotel."

Arthur looked over the letters. "Is that what that means?"

She nodded. "It looks like a very respectable establishment."

When Charlotte mentioned him meeting interesting people, it had Arthur recalling one of the strangest men he'd met in Saint Denis and that was Algernon. He had led Charlotte north of Saint Denis, to a stately blue building a little outside the city's limit.

As they walked up, he informed her, "I gotta say I ain't too familiar with the hotel itself. Only ever visited the shopkeep in the back. Last I heard, he were headed to Baltimore for his sister or something." Arthur stopped and shifted in front of Charlotte. "If we do run into him, he's one of the ones who knows me as Tacitus."

"And what's his name?"

"Algernon Wasp."

Charlotte's face scrunched up as if she were trying not to laugh. "Is that a fake name too?"

"You know, I never asked. Could be."

She queried with amusement, "And how do you know this character?"

A character he was, she weren't wrong about that. "I, uh, gathered some egret plumes and orchids for him. He paid a pretty penny for them to use in fancy hats."

"How interesting."

"Found myself humoring him more often than not." Arthur shook his head. "A strange feller who claimed to wear corsets and tried to sell me on one."

"Really?" Her eyes glittered with humor. "Well, now I'm only hoping we do run into him."

"You'd come to regret it, I guarantee you that. He's one of them men who likes the sound of his own voice."

Arthur held open the door to the hotel for Charlotte and followed after. Their first step in and an overwhelming floral fragrance engulfed them. Arthur coughed and even Charlotte had to clear her throat and blink away the pungent air. As they drew nearer to the lobby desk, it became apparent who was the origin of the suffocating perfume. A woman stood behind the counter. She had a sharp look to her, an angular face with thick, brown hair bundled up in curls atop her head.

"Bonjour," she greeted. "Avez-vous besoin d'une chambre?"

Arthur frowned. "Er..."

Charlotte placed a hand on his arm and stepped forward. "Oui, Madame. Deux chambres, s'il vous plait."

One of her thin brown eyebrows rose. "Deux?"

Arthur looked to Charlotte, seeing her cheeks redden as she replied, "Oui, deux. Sous le nom de Charlotte Balfour."

"Amende..." and then the woman went into a flurry of words that sounded like complete gibberish to Arthur's ears.

"What's she sayin'?" he asked eventually, as it didn't seem the woman would be pausing anytime soon.

"She's verifying we want two rooms, the cost and the many rules of the hotel."

"Anything important?"

"Faites attention!" the Frenchwoman snapped.

They both stood straighter, like scolded schoolchildren and Charlotte muttered, "I'll tell you later."

When the Frenchwoman finished her spiel, Charlotte dug out her cash. She handed over a lot more than Arthur considered a fair amount for only a night's stay. The woman had them each sign the guestbook before setting two keys on the counter and pointing towards a set of stairs behind her.

"Numéros de chambre trois et quatre."

"Come on, Arthur." Charlotte tugged on his arm and nodded to the hotel clerk. "Merci, Madame."

"Merci," Arthur repeated clumsily.

The woman waved them off and he heard her mutter something under her breath about Americans.

"Room three and four for us," Charlotte told him as she handed over a key and they mounted the stairs.

He asked, "How much does this place cost?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Arthur. To preserve my sanity, it's worth every penny. It's the farthest I can be from the Hotel Grand and still be in Saint Denis."

"You really think tonight's gonna go that bad?"

"More than likely." They reached the landing and Charlotte turned to him. "Let me drop off my bag and then we can head to the tailor's."

Arthur leaned against the door frame as she inserted the key into the door labeled with a brass number three. He scratched his chin, feeling the prickles of his beard growing in. He s'posed he should get all dolled up again before the dinner.

He asked Charlotte, "Say, you think I got time to stop at the barber's for a shave?"

"Yes." She entered her room and placed her bag on the bed. "But I don't think it's necessary."

"These whiskers are too scraggly for polite company."

"Let me see." She returned to him and before he knew what she intended, her fingers were lightly running across each side of his jaw over the bristled hair.

He shuddered, but didn't move away from her touch as he kept his gaze steadily on her.

"Mmm." Her eyes lifted. "I think I like how it is."

Suddenly, he was warm all over from the way she were looking at him. As if she were desiring the same thing he was in that moment.

"You do?" he asked over a lump in his throat.

Now she was cupping his face in an intimate sort of way, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones on either side. She said softly, "Yes, but if it's more comfortable for you to be rid of it, I won't object."

He answered her in low tones, "Last thing I want to do is displease the lady."

Charlotte leaned in and he met her halfway. Her lips were tentative and soft as she explored his mouth. It left him dizzy, drunk even. At the docks, he hadn't lingered long for her response and now he was glad for it, 'cause they'd still be standing there, kissing in the sunlight with an audience.

Despite the way Charlotte was making him feel off-balance, Arthur had some remaining sense to realize that they weren't exactly in private with the door wide open.

He murmured against her lips, "We gotta stop, darlin', or I'm gonna forget where we are."

"Oh, my." She blinked as if to clear her head, lowering her hands. "I already have apparently." Her tone changed to a teasing accusation. "You've completely turned my brain to mush."

"Long as I ain't the only one," Arthur commented roughly, already regretting his decision to be well-behaved.

She chuckled and slipped her arm through his. "Let's head out before neither of us remembers the meaning of propriety."

OOOOOOOOO

When they reached the tailor's, Arthur tried to maintain he didn't need nothing, but Charlotte became stubborn and refused to hear him out.

"Pick something out that fits or I'll do it for you," she ordered in a firm tone he hadn't heard before as she walked to the other side of the store. It was a stark contrast to the soft, pliant woman he'd been canoodling at the hotel half an hour ago.

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shot him a glare and he shut his trap. Damn. How had she made it seem offending if he didn't choose some clothes? In the end, he decided it were just easier to let her have her way.

When Charlotte saw he was actually browsing the shop, she returned to his side and he asked her, "What do you think I should wear to meet your father?"

"Don't worry about that, Arthur. Just pick out some things you're comfortable in and can wear again. It's not your clothes he's going to nitpick anyway."

Arthur didn't spend too long deciding. He chose two shirts, a pair of pants and a set of suspenders. However, Charlotte pushed him to take two more shirts and another pair of pants. The total came out to over fifty dollars when she added her own purchases to the pile.

As the tailor wrapped their clothing, Charlotte asked, "Would you mind having our purchases sent over to the Hotel la Licorne? Under Charlotte Balfour please."

"The Hotel la Licorne?" The tailor looked impressed. "Of course, madam."

As she paid, Charlotte pointed out a sharp-looking hat behind the counter. "Could you tell me about that, sir?"

"Ah, you have a good eye for the unique, my lady. That's a piece from Mr. Algernon Wasp's collection."

"Really?" Charlotte's eyes widened with interest as she passed a sidelong glance to Arthur. "I've just recently heard of his work, but not seen it personally."

The tailor plucked it off the bust and laid it on the counter for them to inspect. "Unfinished, I'm afraid."

"And the better for it, if you ask me." Arthur picked the hat up and looked it over. It weren't a bad color, a dusky brown, nearly black. Plain, but for a leather thong wrapped around it. "Don't look like a damn peacock with all them feathers."

"Try it on, Arthur," Charlotte encouraged.

He didn't know why he bothered. He weren't going to spend anymore of Charlotte's money no matter how much she insisted. But she was peering at him so earnestly that he did what she asked and plopped in on his head. It weren't a bad fit, but the quality of the leather was more high end than anything he'd ever owned. It reminded him how sorely he'd been missing his hat. Almost regretted giving his good one to Marston. 'Course, he couldn't have predicted the events that followed. All he knew was, that boy had better be takin' care of it.

"Why don't you buy it, Arthur?"

"Firstly, it's much too fine for my blood." He gave her an odd look. "Secondly, I ain't got no money."

"Didn't you find—" She broke off and pressed her lips together as if she regretted speaking.

He narrowed his eyes on her as she moved away. "Didn't I find what, Mrs. Balfour?"

Charlotte suddenly took a particular interest in an ugly, green dress coat on display. She didn't look at him as she cleared her throat. "It might interest you to check the inside pocket of your coat."

Oh, boy. He reached in, felt for the pocket and pulled out half a dozen bills. He knew he hadn't left any of his own money in there so he stared at it. "What the hell is this?"

Now that she was caught out, she faced him without a hint of contrition. "You needed something to start out with."

"When did you put this in here?"

"Last night."

Crafty woman. He didn't know whether to laugh or to be angry. "This better not be the last of your stash before you got to Saint Denis."

"Of course not." She didn't look away, but her cheeks reddening were a dead giveaway to her deception. She didn't make for a good liar. "I set aside a little for the stagecoach."

And nothing else, he'd bet. "Charlotte..."

She said defensively, "You can't have expected me to let you leave without a penny to your name."

"But the last of it?"

"I've told you before, Arthur. I have plenty of money."

He shook his head. "This is too much, Charlotte."

The tailor cleared his throat. "That's $65.50, if you're interested in it, sir."

Arthur rounded on the man. "Sixty-five dollars? For a hat? Is the inside lined with gold?"

The other man said defensively, "Like I said, it's an Algernon Wasp piece."

"Yeah," Arthur argued, "And you also said it weren't finished."

"In that case, I suppose I can go down to sixty."

"If I gave you thirty for it, I'd still say you're robbing me." Damn. How the hell had it got into a haggle over this?

"That's less than half price!" the tailor protested.

"Well, how many of those damn expensive feathers do you think Algernon were going to put in it? Them's half the cost right there."

"Plumes are indeed costly," Charlotte pointed out. "My mother's tailor in Chicago charges $10 a plume."

Arthur added, "And if it's Algernon's work, who else is gonna be interested in it without them?"

The tailor's forehead creased as he thought on it. "Come up to at least $35, so I feel as if I was a part of the bargaining process."

Arthur mulled it over. It was a fine hat and he'd been wanting one, he could admit that. "Alright, fine. Thirty-five. But this hat better be the last goddamn hat I ever wear."

OOOOOOOOO

Once they left the tailor's, Charlotte became decidedly more anxious the closer the hour came to five o'clock. "Please don't take anything he says personally. It's only going to be said to affect me."

She were as frightened as if she were meeting her maker. "Charlotte, I ain't worried about what your daddy's going to say to me."

"Father can pinpoint what you're most self-conscious about." She fidgeted with her hands as they walked. "It's terribly inconvenient."

"He can't say anything that I don't already know."

"Alright," She bit her lip. "But promise me you won't take anything to heart."

"If it means that much to you, I promise."

As they reached the outside of the Hotel Grand, Arthur eyed it up as if it were a bad penny. He ain't forgot who he'd been with the last time he was here. Mary. Mary, who'd whistle and he'd come crawling like some pathetic halfwit. His heart had lurched when he'd spotted her on the balcony that day they'd chased down her daddy. But, she hadn't wanted him. At best, Mary never knew exactly what she wanted when it came to him. And at the worst, she'd wanted only what he could do for her.

Charlotte...weren't like that. He couldn't imagine her trying to use him for her own purpose. She tended to take into consideration his feelings more often than her own. And she honestly enjoyed his company, sometimes more than he thought were reasonable for a respectable woman.

Charlotte placed a hand over his. "Arthur, what is it?"

"Ain't got the best memories here." It was the most he was gonna admit to her. No sense in mentioning another woman.

She bit her lip and looked back the direction they came. "Do you want to return to our hotel?"

There she went thinking of him before herself, as he'd just been reflecting over. He scowled. "With how nervous you are, I ain't leavin' you to fend for yourself."

"I didn't say I wasn't going with you," she muttered.

"I ain't got no objections to that." He grinned at her. "We can continue what we started."

"What do you—oh!" Charlotte's cheeks went pink. "Arthur..."

"Arthur! Charlotte!"

"Too late, I fear." Charlotte sighed. "We've been spotted."

Benjamin strode up to them. "What are you two doing?"

"Plannin' our getaway," Arthur told him.

Ben looked confused and Charlotte smacked Arthur's arm lightly. "He's only kidding." She asked, "Where is everyone?"

"Father has a private dining room reserved for us. He and Mother are in there now."

"What about Clark?"

They followed Benjamin up the stairs and through the entrance of the hotel. "He's...at the hotel bar right now."

Charlotte frowned. "He's what?"

"Ah, Char has arrived," Clark called loudly from a barstool and then caught sight of Arthur. He lifted his shot glass in a wry greeting. "With her cowboy."

Char with her cowboy. Arthur weren't going to lie to himself. He liked the sound of that. But coming out of this feller's mouth it sounded funny. He nodded to indicate Clark's whiskey. "How many of them you had?"

"Three."

"Four," corrected Ben.

Clark blinked at the shot glass. "One of those was yours, wasn't it?"

"No."

"Hmm...four then." Clark threw back the one in his hand and grimaced. He pointed at Arthur and addressed Charlotte. "He's got the hat and everything now. You couldn't dress him up differently for Father's approval?"

"He's not a doll, Clark." she said testily and added, "Besides, no matter what we do tonight, Father isn't going to approve."

"Fair enough." He tapped the counter for another drink from the bartender and Charlotte frowned at him.

Arthur nodded to Ben. "I see you boys survived your trip down. Any trouble?"'

"Not for us," Ben paled. "But, another carriage an hour ahead was ambushed by highwaymen outside of Van Horn."

"How dreadful!" Charlotte exclaimed as Arthur wondered if it were Micah's gang already starting trouble.

"The bandits took their horses," Benjamin said grimly. "So we doubled back to give the couple a ride into town."

Clark's mouth twisted sourly. "You can imagine how much Mother appreciated that." Clark took a last swig of his drink and adjusted his cravat, but ended up making it crooked. "I'll see you three at dinner. I'm going to take a moment for some fresh air."

As he retreated down the hall, Charlotte turned to her other brother. "What's wrong with him, Benji?"

Ben told her somberly, "Father found out about his tryst with Felicity Mayfield and Clark confessed his intentions to propose to her."

Charlotte asked curiously, "What's wrong with Felicity Mayfield?"

"No dowry."

Arthur frowned. "Don't he got enough money for a wedding?"

"Father does, but Clark doesn't." Ben's eyes widened suddenly. "Hey, maybe you could talk to our brother. Give him some advice."

Arthur recoiled. "What?"

Charlotte laid a hand on his arm. "I think that's a brilliant idea."

"He'll listen to you," Ben insisted.

"The hell he will. He hates me."

Charlotte shook her head. "He doesn't hate you."

Arthur lifted his hands. "Now, hold on a damn minute. What could I possibly say to him?"

Charlotte said encouragingly, "You'll think of something."

Arthur glared at her. "Why can't you do it?"

"He's never taken my advice. I'm just his sister."

Benjamin raised his hand and added as if it were a valid reason, "Younger brother."

Arthur stared between them and couldn't believe they were serious. Or what he was about to agree to. "Fine, but you owe me." He pointed at her and Ben. "Both of yous."

Charlotte broke into a smile and Ben nodded. "Sounds fair."

Goddammit. How the hell did he always end up in the middle of these kinds of situations? Did he have a sign on him that read 'Arthur Morgan, expert problem solver'?

Arthur found Clark in the back alley of the hotel, leaning against a pillar and moaning loudly, like the most forlorn son of a bitch he'd ever heard.

"Er...how're you doin'?"

"How am I doing?" Clark repeated sullenly and spared him a glance. "Charlotte sent you out here to talk to me?"

"I didn't see any sense in the idea neither." Arthur stood beside him, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But, her and Ben are worried 'bout you."

"And they thought you'd understand the situation best?"

"I guess." Arthur scratched the side of his nose. "Wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

"Benjamin didn't inform you?"

Arthur shrugged. "Might as well hear it straight from the horse's mouth."

"Suffice to say, Father's forbidden me marrying Miss Mayfield." Clark said, his voice cracking on the name. Arthur didn't know where the fool pulled it from, but suddenly he had a bottle of brandy in his hand and was popping the cork.

"Give me that!" Arthur snatched the bottle out of his hands as Clark was about to tip it back. "You bein' even more soused ain't gonna help nothin' right now."

"You don't understand." Clark dropped his head in his hands and collapsed dramatically on the steps. "How could you?"

Arthur sighed in exasperation. Why the hell had he agreed to come out here? Still weighing on whether he should just abandon the man to wallow in his own self-pity, Arthur took a seat beside him.

He suggested, "Why don't you just find a rich lady he does approve of and move on?"

"Because I don't want to 'move on'!"

Was he talking to a damn toddler? Arthur told him with irritation, "If you care about this girl so much, then stand up for yourself."

Clark spat bitterly, "You think I didn't already present my case to Father?"

"And what did he say?"

"That if she was the woman I chose, I would be disowned."

"Damn. Bit of an overreaction, ain't it?

"If you're going to mock me, then leave."

"She also offensive to look at or something?"

Clark rose suddenly, clenching his fists. "I won't have you talking about Miss Mayfield like that."

Arthur stood too, warning, "Calm down. You couldn't do nothing to me even if you was sober."

Clark patted at his waist. "Where's my pistol?"

"I ain't duelin' you, boy, guns or otherwise."

Clark sneered. "Are you afraid? Worried I'll smite thee where you stand—"

Arthur grabbed Clark's wrist, twisted his arm around and locked it behind the man's back. He clutched the back of Clark's neck with his other hand. "Wanna say that again?"

"Ow! You're hurting me! Stop!"

"Then quit your bellyaching and be a goddamn man." Arthur released him. "Do you got genuine feelings for this woman or is this only pride rearin' its ugly head?"

Clark rubbed the back of his neck, saying indignantly, "Of course my feelings are genuine."

Well, at least the boy still had some fire, but Arthur weren't sure if he fully believed him. He didn't take Clark as a feller who would follow his heart. Not when money were involved.

"What does the girl say about all of this?"

Clark frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Did she turn tail when you told her there won't be no money in it for her if you married?"

Clark stared at him blankly.

"You're gonna discuss it with her, right?"

"It seems a moot point. How would I take care of her if we don't have the funds to start a life together?"

Why everything in life got to be about the damn money? That's when Arthur realized why this conversation was pissing him off so much. He'd been the poor fool rejected by the rich family. He was just viewing it from the other side.

He'd tried with Mary and it weren't all her fault. He hadn't wanted to fully leave the life. But, when he had briefly considered running away with her, when they were young and stupid, her daddy had convinced her he weren't good enough.

Or maybe even then she'd been lookin' for a reason to hold back. 'Cause her daddy didn't have control over her life no more nowadays and she still hadn't waited for him.

He shook his head. This place kept taking him back to bad times. Arthur weren't sure giving out advice he himself hadn't taken would be wise, but maybe he had hard lessons Clark could benefit from, if he did want to listen.

"I reckon, you either let this Miss Mayfield go, find a rich broad and risk being miserable the rest of your damn life. Or go all in, be happy with your choice, but likely struggle with money. No matter how hard you try, you're not gonna get it both ways, not with your daddy hoverin'. It all comes down to how much this girl matters to you over your cushy life."

"I'll-I'll think on it." At least, the man looked like he were taking his words seriously now. Clark studied him. "Perhaps, I've misjudged you, Mr. Callahan."

"No, you haven't." Arthur clapped him on the back. "That's just the whiskey talkin'. You'll see me as the same undesirable reprobate again once you sober up. Now, let's head in, shall we?"