Toil and Trouble (part 2)

Last month's writing snippet introduced you to Morgaine, the proprietor of the Double Double speakeasy. If you need a refresher, read through part 1 before we return to 1920s New York...

She glanced down the bar to see how Millie was doing—just fine, as it happened. She and Voltaire had put their heads together and were having a conversation under their breaths. Morgaine quickly scanned the remaining patrons across the room (all looking exactly the same as they had a quarter of an hour ago) before joining them.

“Thick as thieves already, I see,” she remarked cheerfully.

“Oh yes,” purred Voltaire, “we’re getting along famously. Can we keep her, Morgaine? I’m sure she’ll agree to stay.” There was a mischievous gleam in the cat’s unblinking gaze that raised Morgaine’s suspicions.

“Aren’t you a cheeky puss!” Millie cried. She was in much better spirits now after her discussion with Voltaire. She had also begun to flush, which Morgaine figured probably had something to do with the now-empty tumbler sitting on the bar. Quietly, she removed Millie’s glass and raised an eyebrow at the cat.

“I think, Voltaire, that we should first find out what it is that Miss Millie needs before trying to provide for it.”

“Sure, I would be so grateful if you could help me, Morgaine,” Millie replied. And after the way Morgaine’s name rolled off Millie’s tongue, the witch knew she’d move mountains to do so.

“So, what is it that you need, exactly?” asked Morgaine. “Somewhere to work… somewhere to stay? A good friend with a listening ear?”

Millie grimaced down at the bar.

“How about all of the above? I was in service until this morning, but now I’ve been booted out without a reference, so that’s home and job both gone at once. I haven’t any idea what to do with myself now, and I don’t think I want to leave town to stay with Ginny, even if I could afford the travel costs. I’m sick of service, though, I’ll tell you that.”

This last part was spat out with surprising vehemence, and the fire in Millie’s eyes made her look less like a tragic damsel and more like a Celtic warrior queen. (Morgaine thought it suited her.)

Now curious about what had gotten Millie so riled up, Morgaine dared to make a guess. “Did the master of the house decide to get handsy?”

Millie’s flush developed a deeper beety hue as she shook her head. “No, I’d have never let him do anything like that, not in a hundred years!”

Morgaine said nothing, waiting for Millie to fill in the gaps herself. She didn’t have to wait for very long. She did, however, need to ask Millie to repeat herself, as the girl had muttered the addendum somewhat inaudibly.

“It was the lady of the house.”

Despite the fact the Millie was eyeing Morgaine very carefully for signs of a reaction, the witch did not indulge in one. Inside, of course, her heart made a hopeful little somersault, but she wasn’t about to let on about that. Certainly not in front of Voltaire.

It was he who tutted into the break in conversation. “How very improper of her. Was she a terribly wicked woman?”

Millie shook her head. “She was kind. She ought to have known better, but so should I, I suppose.”

Morgaine looked sympathetically at her. The rest of the story could be imagined from there: the husband finding out, determining to remove the temptation from his wife without any ceremony or mercy. She pitied the woman, whoever she was; husbands tended not to appreciate this sort of behaviour. She’d met enough dejected—and rejected—wives to know.

“So, if service is out of the question, what are you planning to move on to next?”

Millie sighed (once again calling to mind the silver screen), and made an uncertain gesture.

“That’s the question. One of the other girls caught me while I was packing and recommended coming here. She said I might find some sort of assistance, though she didn’t give any specifics as to what.”

“Your former colleague has good sense,” Morgaine remarked. “Lots of people of all kinds come through here, which puts me at a distinct advantage in knowing who might be in the market for someone with useful skills.” She scanned the room, lighting on a pair of widowed sisters preparing to leave. They owned a dressmaker’s shop between them, and may be grateful for a sprightly young assistant. Of course, Morgaine wouldn’t put it like that; they didn’t think of themselves as being old, despite being near the end of their respective sixties.

Quickly, before the sisters could make it to the door, she turned to Millie: “Are you handy with a needle?”

The answer was hesitant, which was all Morgaine needed to know. She let the sisters leave.

“How are you at serving drinks?” Voltaire piped up, suddenly back on the bar. Millie and Morgaine looked at each other in surprise at the cat’s suggestion. Morgaine gave a half shrug that she hoped looked noncommittal.

“We could use an extra pair of hands, certainly, especially when it’s busy. It’s not like serving normal drinks, though. Well, not usually.” It was true, she could use some help. Today had been busier than most days last year, and it seemed that a lot of days were starting to look like that.

Millie thought it over for a moment. “Well,” she said slowly, “I do have steady hands, and I learn quick. It looks like it’ll be interesting work, too.”

Morgaine laughed at this. “It certainly isn’t dull! You can start tomorrow, if you like, and I’ll show you the ropes. Probably the simple tasks to begin with, like cleaning and such.”

“That’s fine, I’ve a lot of experience with cleaning,” Millie said wryly.

“So you do. It’ll be starting with something familiar, at least, which is the smoothest way to start a new job. But first, we need to find you someplace to stay.”

“I can think of a place,” rumbled Voltaire with a wink.

“Hush, you,” Morgaine muttered back. “I know a few people you can talk to today who usually have rooms to let.”

Millie suddenly started tearing up, the relief of no longer being abandoned to the streets overcoming her in a wave. “Oh, Miss Morgaine, that would be wonderful! You’re even better than a fairy godmother, you are.”

Morgaine was quite defenceless against the emotional visage, and had to really focus to hold herself together.

“Well,” she stammered, “I certainly can’t let you sleep behind the bar, now, can I? Terribly unsafe. Not to worry, though, we’ll find you someplace.”

Voltaire stretched along the bar towards Millie before flopping onto his side, undeterrable. “And I know where you can start looking,” he chirped, loudly. “It’s not far, and you’d have a pair of clean, pleasant housemates. I know because one of them is me.” He was looking up at Millie now with friendly, half-closed eyes. Morgaine wondered whether she was the only one spellbound by the new arrival.

“Well, like he says, we do have a little extra space, but most people don’t much like the idea of living with their boss if they can help it, especially after your—”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Millie cut in. “I mean, I’ve already met you, and you strike me as being a good person to share rooms with. Besides, I’ve got a lot of new things to get used to, so I’d like to at least start with something familiar.”

Morgaine locked eyes with Millie, who was smiling a brilliant smile, and felt the corners of her mouth twitching up in response. Was it just her, or was the jazz starting to feel a bit brighter than usual?

“Well, if that’s what you want to do, that’s what we’ll do. Voltaire, why don’t you take our new housemate upstairs to unpack her things? I’ve still got a few hours to go, but I’ll talk to Charlie after closing. Sound good?”

Millie nodded in response, and Voltaire descended from the bar with a light thump.

“Come along then, Millie, let’s get you sorted.”

She grabbed her bag and followed the pennant tail out the back door, pausing for a moment to glance back at Morgaine. Morgaine pretended to be busy. There would be time later to decide what to do about the little flutter in her chest. That Voltaire was far too crafty, he really was. Not that it was a bad thing in a familiar, just annoying sometimes.

The Double Double was not your average speakeasy, but to Morgaine it was home. And with a home comes a family. Maybe, if things turned out well, Millie would find both, just as the witch had.