Page 72 of The Enchanted Land

When she awoke, it was morning and the sun was streaming in through two French doors. A young woman in a black-and-white maid’s uniform was smiling at her, showing even, perfect teeth.

“Good morning. Mr. Shaw said I wasn’t to wake you, but since you are awake, I’m sure he’d like you to join him for breakfast.”

“I’m sure I have no choice in the matter,” Morgan muttered.

The maid looked at her with a puzzled expression. “I am Jeannette. Mr. Shaw says you are to be his new assistant.”

It was Morgan’s turn to look puzzled. “Assistant?” She saw Jeannette frown slightly at her cheap whorehouse gown.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I will find you a robe.” Jeannette was back in seconds with a brilliant blue satin robe, trimmed with marabou at the neck and around the bottom. “Lovely, isn’t it? Mr. Shaw has exquisite taste.”

Theron was seated at the breakfast table reading a newspaper. When he saw Morgan, he rose and took her hand to escort her to the chair beside him. “I hope you slept well.”

Morgan was now wary of this man. When the butler stepped from the room, Theron turned to her. “Really, Morgan, there is no need to look like a scared rabbit and cringe from me. You will have every servant for blocks talking about how I beat you.”

Before she could think of what to say, the butler returned with a plate covered by a matching porcelain dome. He set it in front of her, removing the lid.

“Oeufs demi-devil!”Morgan exclaimed. “It’s been a year since I had eggs prepared like this.” She took a forkful as she looked into Theron’s astonished face. “Delicious! Your chef must be complimented.”

“You know French cooking?” Theron obviously thought this was too much to hope for.

“Yes. I studied for some time with a French master chef.”

He smiled, and his face resembled a Greek god’s. “We are going to get along splendidly.”

Their talk was about food and cooking for the rest of the meal. Morgan had time to notice the gleaming white tablecloth, the blue-and-white Limoges china, the silver accessories, and the blue-and-white carnations floating in a silver bowl.

“Jarvis, we will have coffee in the conservatory.”

Morgan took Theron’s arm as he led her through an archway at the end of the living room. The room was half of a dome with rounded panes of glass set in strips of dark wood. It was filled with lush greenery and orchids of every color. In the middle of the room stood a white marble statue of the classical Greek man, his body perfect. It could easily be a statue of Theron. Morgan turned toward him.

“I see you notice the resemblance. I found it in Greece.” He turned away to stare at a cattelya orchid. Morgan realized he was embarrassed at the apparent vanity in having a statue so like himself.

“You were going to explain my future to me today?”

“Yes.” He was relieved to have the subject changed. “I have already told you that I am an importer of fine art objects. I have lived and worked in New York most of my life, but when I heard gold had been discovered here, I knew there would be a need for my business. When men discover gold, their wives need ways to spend it. First, they have their husbands build them enormous houses, and then they fill them up. That is where I come in. I supply things for them to buy—lovely, beautiful, expensive things. I also make suggestions as to what to buy. Unfortunately, money is not often accompanied by good taste.”

Morgan sipped her coffee. “Where do I fit into this?”

“In Europe or in New York, my job would pose no problem. There, people understand me. But here! This new gold takes a farmer or laborer and makes him a millionaire overnight. With all his new-found wealth, he is still ignorant. He dresses his fat, sweating wife in purple satin and thinks she is a lady—he thinks every man wants her.” He paused. “I’m sorry, I am getting too emotional about this.

“I have learned that I need a companion, a woman to assist me when I talk to these ignorant people. Alone, I seem threatening. Also, the husbands are more likely to go along with their wives’ extravagances when a beautiful young woman is in the room.”

“Is this what you want me for? Your assistant?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“But I don’t understand. Why did you have to buy someone from a brothel? You could hire someone.”

“You make it sound very simple, but it is not. You have not caught the gold fever. You haven’t seen what it does to people. The women who come here come with their husbands or fathers, and they don’t want jobs—they want to spend their days in the sun shaking little pans of rocks. It’s very difficult to hire anyone for a steady job these days. Besides, as you see, I cannot bear ugliness. Farmers’ daughters rarely appeal to me.

“I had an assistant for a while, but she left me for one of those loud drunkards who had a few hundred dollars’ worth of gold dust in his dirty pockets.” His voice held contempt.

“I don’t usually attend such things as Madame Nicole’s human auction. But a friend of mine, Mr. Leon Thomas, remarked on the resemblance between the two of us, and I was intrigued. Madame Nicole offered me an invitation. I buy things for a living … beautiful things. And when I saw you, I made an offer.”

“But you can’t buy people!”

“Please!” He lifted his hand in protest. “Let’s not go into that again. Madame Nicole said your husband was dead and that you are alone. I need an assistant and you need a home. Couldn’t we just call this an intelligent business arrangement?”

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