Page 13 of Blackmailed (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #2)

V irginia sat in the carriage with Colleen as Mr. Turnbull took them slowly through the busy streets of Baltimore proper.

She knew Mrs. Hernsdown attended events at the Ladies’ Organization for the Benefit of Baltimore City and had consulted Mary earlier in the week as to what was currently of interest to the organization’s members.

It seemed there was some slightly risqué poetry recitations, a fund drive to begin building a library, and some card playing on Thursdays that had high attendance from members.

It was Thursday, and she had put on her most conservative dress and carried a purse full of coins.

If Phillip Brown got wind that she’d visited the Ladies’ Organization, she would undoubtedly be subjected to some harsh words. She would live through it, as she had in the past when he’d vented his anger or frustration in her direction.

“Where are we going, miss?” Colleen asked.

“Ladies’ Organization for the Benefit of Baltimore City. Strictly female membership for wealthy matrons to gossip and raise funds for those in need.”

“Matrons? Pardon me for asking, Miss Wiest, but why would you want to mingle with the older married ladies?”

“The matrons aren’t necessarily older, although many of them are. It’s mostly about being married or having money and standing in Baltimore society, although Mary said her mother said they don’t worry about whether you are married or not any longer, just whether you pay the yearly dues.”

Virginia wondered if there would be any snubs as she’d experienced at the McCallister ball.

So be it, she thought. She could not worry about that which she could not control.

She would smile politely and do what she intended to do, which was to discover what Phillip Brown’s interest was in the Ladies’ Organization.

She opened the sliding window to Mr. Turnbull.

“The entrance in the alley, please.”

“The alley?” Colleen asked.

“Yes,” Virginia said with a smile. “Members enter through the back gate and employees and staff through the front. It’s supposed to create an aura of exclusivity, but I think it is just because the woman early on did not want their husbands to see them going in.”

“What goes on that they didn’t want their husbands to know about?” Colleen asked, eyes wide.

“I’m not sure. I was only here a few times with my aunt. It seemed innocuous at the time. I admit I am curious, though.”

“Do you think you will be coming often, miss? Do your friends attend?”

Virginia shook her head. “I doubt I’ll come here other than today. Mr. Brown asked me about the Ladies’ Organization but would not tell me why or allow me to ask any questions, the stubborn man. So I decided to see what I could see all on my own.”

Colleen smiled. “That will gall him, no doubt, but perhaps that is the point.”

“Perhaps,” she said with a grin and turned to look out the carriage window. “Here we are.”

Virginia and Colleen climbed down with the help of Mr. Turnbull, who rang the bell beside the wooden door in the tall brick wall. A man opened it and peered out.

“May I see your admittance card?”

“Certainly, sir,” Virginia said and handed him her card.

“Come right in, Miss Wiest,” he said and smiled at Colleen. “There’s tea and cakes available for the ladies’ maids below stairs.”

Virginia nodded to Mr. Turnbull that he could go and followed the man through a garden area just beginning to show some signs of spring.

Colleen parted ways with her inside the well-appointed entrance, following the man who’d greeted them down a staircase.

Virginia turned from Colleen to find a woman with her hand out in greeting.

“Miss Wiest. I’m Marilee Berenson from the welcoming committee. It has been an age since we’ve seen you. How is your aunt, Mrs. Louden?”

“Aunt Essie is doing very well. I had an extended visit with her over the Christmas holiday. Thank you for asking.”

“Ah . . . yes. I understood you were . . . let’s say involved in an event that was taxing and needed a lengthy rest.”

Virginia smiled. “You could say that, I suppose. Tell me, what is on the agenda for today’s entertainment?”

“You are in luck, Miss Wiest! It is our club card day! Do you like to play whist? Or euchre? That one is very popular, but some of the ladies play poker, though not many. Too high stakes for most ladies to wager.”

“I’m not sure what to choose! Perhaps I could make my way around the room and observe the play and see where there’s a seat open.”

“Of course. Feel free to find a game that interests you. Just be careful to not look over anyone’s shoulder, especially the ladies playing poker. They can be . . . well, let’s just say the competition is fierce.”

Virginia laughed with Mrs. Berenson. “I know better than to get between a lady and her cards. I will be careful.”

“I’m sure you will. Let me take you to the card room. We’ve expanded it since the last time you were here.” They waited while a young, uniformed man opened the door to a large room.

“Oh my,” Virginia said. “I had no idea how popular this was.”

The room was twice as big as she remembered and held at least thirty tables.

There were waiters moving around the room, serving drinks and refilling crystal bowls with nuts and chocolates.

Virginia heard the low chatter of conversation and the occasional chuckle, but mostly she heard the tinkle of coins and the shuffle of playing cards.

She thanked Mrs. Berenson, who nodded and turned to the door to greet a newcomer.

As Virginia made her way around the edge of the room, a few of the women glanced up at her; some smiled in greeting, but most were concentrating on the cards in their hand.

There were a few groups of women standing in the open areas outside of the tables, clustered together and talking amongst themselves.

A few looked her way and nodded, although she did not see any women she had more than a passing acquaintance with.

None were in her circle of friends or even the broader circle of women she knew from her work with boards in the city or even being a hostess for her father.

She wandered farther, careful to stay back from the tables, looking at the games being played and the general cheerfulness and felicity.

Until, that was, she came upon the three or four tables playing a hand of poker.

Those ladies were tight-lipped and silent, staring at their cards or the coins in the center of the table, broken only by the end of a hand and the coins being scraped one way or another.

Virginia found a table playing euchre with an open seat. She introduced herself when she was seated; the other woman nodded in reply.

“I do love euchre,” Virginia said. “How do the wagers work?”

“We each put in a penny for a new match. The first team to reach ten points splits the purse,” and older lady said.

“Exactly the kind of stakes I’m comfortable with.” Virginia laughed.

“We are happy with our small winnings and just as happy with our low losses,” a younger woman said with a smile.

“Unlike the poker pitifuls.”

“The poker pitifuls?” Virginia asked and glanced at her cards. “What was trump again?”

“Hearts,” the older woman said. “The poker pitifuls take it all so seriously. We come on Thursdays to relax without our children or husbands or servants plaguing us. We laugh, we gossip, we enjoy ourselves.”

“Those women,” the younger woman said with a nod to the tables in the last row, “do not smile or chat. There is even the occasional cross word. Although one of the committee ladies usually nips it.”

Virginia took the hand, led the jack of hearts, and glanced over at the poker tables.

Her eyes stopped on one particular woman, dressed completely in black, her back to Virginia.

There was something familiar about the woman that she could not place but thought she was most likely imagining it.

She played another card and looked at the woman again just as she turned her head to speak to the woman beside her.

Mrs. Everly! What on earth was Mrs. Everly doing here? But of course, she was gambling.

“Are the stakes any higher in any of the other games?” Virginia asked.

“The only coin on any of the tables are pennies,” the older woman said.

The younger woman looked at Virginia. “Except the poker tables.”

“The poker tables?”

“The pennies are not real there. They use a token, although they call them pennies, and the value of each one is ten dollars.”

Virginia didn’t pick up the hand she had just been dealt. “Ten dollars? How much money is lost, or won, I wonder?”

“Hundreds of dollars,” the older woman said. “And it is almost always the same twelve or so women at those tables each week. I guess they have deep enough pockets not to worry.”

“If I told my husband I’d lost several hundred dollars playing poker, he would never let me out of the house again.”

“What if you didn’t bring enough to cover your losses?” Virginia asked.

“There’s no money other than the pennies exchanged at the tables, but there’s a man who keeps tabs on losses and hands out winnings.

If a player cannot cover their losses, they have so many days or weeks to bring the money.

If they don’t, they are barred from playing again until their account is square. ”

“So the stakes can be very high,” Virginia said.

“Yes, and the dream to win it all back the following Thursday is very strong for some of them. There are some stories that make you shudder.”

Virginia sat back in her chair, content to play a few hands of cards and enjoy herself. She could hardly wait to tell Mr. Brown about her findings, even if he was furious with her, which he undoubtedly would be.

She climbed in her carriage a few hours later.

“What were the refreshments like for staff?” she asked once Colleen was seated.

“Very nice. Plenty of hot tea, coffee, and dainties and cheese and fruit. All very nice.”

“Were there very many maids there?”