An Untimely Frost Read Free

was, the revolting odor robbed her of her tenuous hold on her nausea and she doubled over, emptying the contents of her stomach into the gutter.
    Drawing a handkerchief from her reticule, she wiped her streaming eyes and mouth and leaned against a brick building until the pain and dizziness subsided, rousing only when an owl’s chilling whoo hoo echoed from somewhere in the inky blackness. A frisson of unease slithered down her spine. People disappeared at an alarming rate in Chicago. Reminded again of the dangers of the desolate streets and shadow-shrouded alleys, she quickened her pace.
    She was wondering if she would make it when she saw light spilling from the windows of a brick-fronted establishment, illuminating a sign beside the door in the shape of a crest. Red letters outlined with white spelled out M AC G REGOR’S . She paused, wondering at the best way to proceed. When she’d left the boardinghouse in a vengeful snit, she’d had no plan beyond finding Timothy.
    A sudden memory of her newest character, the irrepressible Priscilla Dunlap, sprang to mind. With no fear of what others thought of her or her actions, that incorrigible miss would march into the tavern as if she frequented such places every day. She would belly up to the bar and demand answers. She would not act uncertain or afraid. As an actress, Lilly could do the same.
    Taking a breath, she lifted her chin and stepped inside. Assorted impressions assaulted her senses: welcome heat from a nearby potbelly stove. The clink of glassware and dozens of individual conversations. There was so much smoke her eyes and nostrils burned. Rough male voices overwhelmed the backdrop of feminine laughter and the tinny tinkle of a piano in dire need of a tuning.
    She hesitated in the doorway, fighting another round of queasiness and allowing her gaze to move around the alien world.
    In keeping with many Irish-owned saloons, MacGregor’s boasted a standup bar. Tim had done his best to convince her that taverns were not necessarily dens of iniquity. Besides offering drinks, they were places laborers learned of employment opportunities, paychecks were cashed, and the latest gossip could be overheard. Some establishments offered free lunches, usually something cold, though the more fashionable taverns offered fancier fare. A few even boasted restrooms and safes for items too precious to leave at home, a notion Lilly now realized held considerable worth.
    Though hard-used, MacGregor’s was relatively clean, and its patrons looked prosperous enough. Several men knocked back shots of whisky while squinting through a fog of smoke at a skimpily clothed chanteuse belting out a naughty song in a liquor-roughened alto.
    Most of the women, whose painted faces were less pretty than pathetic, wore nothing but undergarments that pinched their waists to unnatural smallness and pushed their bosoms scandalously upward. They moved from table to table, bleakness in their eyes, forced smiles on their painted lips as they leaned suggestively over men who sat with one hand clutching a spread of cards, the other toying with a pile of chips or grasping a drink or cheroot.
    And to think that much of society looked down on actresses! More than a bit scandalized, and seeing no sign of Timothy, she was about to cross to the bar to question the bartender when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She whirled, an action that caused the room to dip.
    A very large man, with biceps the size of her thighs and a handlebar mustache that nearly hid his mouth, stood before her. His narrowed eyes were dark with menace beneath heavy eyebrows that were drawn together so that they looked like a single bushy ledge.
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am, but if you want service, you’ll have to come in through the rear door.”
    Accustomed to the more impartial treatment women of the theater received from their male peers, Lilly had little patience for the silly customs the male-dominated world