by Jane Steen
Given that Tess’s family were Catholic while she had adopted the Protestant faith, and that Donny had not stepped foot in a church for most of his life, we had settled for a short, old-fashioned, thoroughly American ceremony at home. A clergyman would officiate, but it would lack much of the fuss that seemed to plague wedding ceremonies these days. “Five minutes of talk and the rest of the day to celebrate,” as Martin said; and we all agreed that celebrating was better than talking.
It was an arrangement that well suited Tess and Donny, both alarmed at the prospect of a large public wedding where they would be the center of attention for an entire long service. We had arranged for a blessing to be given at St. James as part of the normal Sunday service instead.
I still thought our house too big, but at that moment it did not seem quite so capacious. We were about to fit in all of Tess’s brothers and sisters with their husbands, betrothed, and children; all the Salazars; the growing Fletcher family; Mr. and Mrs. Parnell; Miss Baker and her housemates; and, to my delight, Madame Belvoix with her friend Madame Hélouïse. We had insisted that both Miss Baker and Madame brought guests if they wished rather than come alone, and they had accepted with enthusiasm. The children were to be present at the meal but at a separate table, well supervised by a bevy of nursemaids instructed to keep a special watch on the Sheehan boys and Mabel Fletcher, especially during the wedding ceremony. Our first truly big occasion in Calumet Avenue was going to be a riotous affair.
I tucked my arm under Martin’s, relishing the bustle of activity. Mrs. Hartfield was in her element; after weeks of planning, I was happy to leave the actual day almost entirely to her.
“Do you feel all right?” Martin’s grip on my arm tightened a little.
“I’m fine.” I smoothed a hand over the slight swelling that was becoming apparent if I stood a certain way. “Or at least I’ll be fine soon. Once we get to ten o’clock in the morning, I always feel well—it’s just that until then, I have the sensation I’m on a boat. Do you imagine Mabel Fletcher or Frankie Sheehan will make the most trouble this afternoon? I wish it were possible to just invite the other three of Mary’s boys.”
“Frankie is a fact of our lives, as is Mabel. We can’t pick and choose, I suppose. How does Elizabeth feel about being enceinte again?”
“Not entirely pleased, although she’s quite cheerful and stoical about it. She’s glad we’ll be having our children close together, and so am I. We can sit and gossip while they play.”
I flipped up the timepiece on my bodice, squinting at the numbers. “Alice should have finished with Sarah’s hair by now. I’d better run upstairs and subject myself to some hairdressing. She has Tess’s coiffure to do last of all, and then she’ll want to get herself spruced up. At least her job is done before the ceremony starts. Still, the other staff seem quite happy about going back to work after they’ve seen Tess become Mrs. Clark.”
“They’re looking forward to their own celebration.” Martin turned me round so we could see the iron pergola, which was being decorated with yet more flowers. It was here that the bride and groom would stand to say their vows, within sight of Ruth’s tree. The latter had put on good growth during the summer and now reached almost to the top of Sarah’s head.
“Tess is going to be an absolute picture.” I sighed. “This is more exciting than my own wedding.”
“What an admission, Mrs. Rutherford.” Martin rolled his eyes at me as we turned and began walking back toward the house. “I recall that our wedding was full of incident.”
“Well, yes—but I’m far less nervous. I was nervous, you know. I knew I loved you desperately, but I felt as if I were walking through a door that would slam shut forever.”
“And what have you found on the other side of that door?” The corners of Martin’s eyes crinkled in the way that always sent a dart of pleasure through me.
“Happiness, of course.” I wrinkled my nose, trying to come up with something stronger than such a trite answer. “Perhaps contentment is a better word? I seem to have stopped fretting so much over the past and the future and just learned to take each moment as it comes. And you? You’ve seemed extraordinarily buoyant over the last couple of months. Is it the baby? Or getting rid of the responsibility of all those jewels? Or are you happy because you’re working on building another house? You’ve certainly had plenty of healthy exercise riding to Lake Forest and back.”
“All of those things.” Martin’s voice rang with a slight echo as we stepped into the hallway. “But most of all, I think, because I’ve solved a puzzle. I’ve always doubted I would face death with courage—I’ve never had the chance to try. I’ve seen you do it, more than once, and wondered. But now I know I can be calm even when faced with my worst fears. It almost makes being entombed in a vault worthwhile.”
“It’s a fine, fine wedding, Mrs. Rutherford, and I thank you for it. Whoever would have thought I’d see Tess married in such silks and jewels? And he is a nice-looking boy, when you take the time to really look at him. Gentle too, for all that he’s as big as a prizefighter.”
Mrs. O’Dugan applied her handkerchief to her huge, somewhat reddened eyes. “Ah, here I am crying like the Niagara Falls. Which I’ve never seen, of course, but now that Billy has been to Buffalo, he has described everything to me just like drawing a picture.” She heaved a great sigh. “And him to travel to Florida next year as well. What a life these young people lead. Of course you have been to Europe.”
“I don’t set great store by traveling. Although it’s good for Sarah to see a little of the world.” I smiled at Tess’s mother. “You’ll have Tess and Donny close at least. Not even a honeymoon for the two of them. They just want to start what Sarah calls ‘playing house.’”
“I heard young Sarah asking those nice Salazar girls if they knew what happened on a honeymoon.” Mrs. O’Dugan smiled through her tears. “You must keep an eye on that one. She’s too clever by half. And so dainty. A darling little face and such beautifully shaped hands as I have never seen in my life. She looked so proud holding Tessie’s bouquet during the ceremony. And her dress is almost as beautiful as my daughter’s.”
I smiled at Margaret O’Dugan. I had learned to like her better in the last few months as our families mingled more. She had told me much about the hard years of their lives, the anguish of giving Tess up to the Poor Farm, the deaths of two children, the poverty and grinding work, lightened only by her growing faith. In the O’Dugans, with their practical outlook on life and their entire acceptance of Sarah’s illegitimacy, I had discovered friends to whom I could talk about the Poor Farm without reserve or shame, and I valued them for it.
A small cough behind us made me turn. I found myself under the watchful, yet uncharacteristically amused, eye of Madame Belvoix—who, like her friend Madame Hélouïse, was dressed in finery that almost eclipsed the bride. It was a side of her I’d never seen before.
“You are forgetting something, Mrs. Rutherford.”
“I am?” I racked my brains. Having seen Tess and Donny married, I had allowed myself to relax for a little and talk to the other wedding guests without wondering every minute if something would go wrong.
“You are to give the signal for the procession to form.” Madame nodded imperiously. “I do not think Monsieur and Madame Clark are up to the task. They are a very shy bride and groom. Madame Hélouïse finds them quite charmant.”
“Ah. Thank you, Madame. Excuse me, Mrs. O’Dugan.”
She was right; I had taken that task on myself, in a moment of mistaken belief that I would know how to do it. I kissed my hand to Tess as I passed her, resplendent in her pink silk satin, her long veil crowned with a coronet of satin flowers and sprays of pearls on ribbon-covered wires. Beside her, Donny looked gentlemanlike in his dark blue cutaway coat, ivory waistcoat, and pale gray trousers. The pink rose in his lapel, brought especially from Mrs. Parnell’s rose garden, had a sheen not even Rutherford’s finest suppliers could match. The chain of his new gold wat
ch shone in the sunshine. He was talking with Mr. Parnell, but every few seconds his gaze would stray back to Tess with a kind of baffled adoration.
For good measure, I kissed my hand to Martin, who was speaking to David, and saw both men grin broadly. I ducked under the flower sprays that decorated the pergola, smelling the sweet scent of hothouse lilies, and grabbed the small silver bell that sat in the middle of the table.
It took half a minute for the tinkling noise of the bell to produce the required level of hush. Elizabeth was still talking in a rapid undertone to Mabel, trying no doubt to head off another tantrum, when I began to speak.
“I’m not going to make a speech,” I said and laughed as the younger men set up a ragged cheer. “I just want to give you the best news of all, that the wedding feast is served, and I hope you have all remembered the partners I assigned to you for our procession. Starting, of course, with Mr. and Mrs. Donald Clark.”
More cheers followed. The guests assembled themselves and their children into a line that, when formed, ran right around the edges of the lawn and curled back in upon itself. It was a more chaotic performance than I had planned, but eventually I set the newly wedded Clarks to walking into the billiard room through a double line of smiling household staff holding hoops festooned with flowers. I half-ran to join Martin, bringing up the rearguard of the adult party while the nursemaids and bigger girls kept the smaller children in position behind us.
Sarah, who had taken on the task of keeping Mabel happy, favored me with a tiny wink and a discreetly raised thumb to signal her approval of the proceedings. We had spent the last few weeks together in a whirl of activity, rehearsing both Tess and Donny until they could speak their vows without hesitation, practicing the Virginia reel with the bride and groom, talking over the wedding arrangements, chatting as I cut and sewed Sarah’s ensemble, which was ivory and gold with touches of pink. The thought of the infant we would welcome into our home somewhere around my daughter’s tenth birthday was shifting my perception of Sarah from child to companion, a change that both pleased and unnerved me.
“Well, here we are. And I’ve been far too busy to cry.” I slipped my arm through Martin’s and took a firm grip on the hard muscle of his forearm.
“You’ve never been a sentimental woman. Now, Nellie, your work is done; enjoy the fun before we go on to the next adventure.”
“Thank you, but I’d be happier with a quiet life for a couple of years. I just want a well-born child and time to sit and draw dresses. Do you suppose we could manage that?”
“I’d like to think so.” Martin’s eyes were clear gray, serene. The weeks of fruitless investigation—and an unsuccessful attempt by the insurance company to suggest a fraud—had not seemed to disturb his equilibrium one jot. “But you’re not a peaceful person, Nellie. Your strength and beauty and talent seem to draw trouble to you. Perhaps we just have to get used to having interesting lives.”
“I could say the same about you, my handsome robber baron.”
I smiled at Martin and then twisted round to see Sarah, who mercifully appeared to have placated Mabel and was performing a little dance with her as the line shuffled onward. “I wonder if Sarah’s future will be quite so full of incident? I truly hope not.”
“Don’t worry about Sarah.” Martin urged me forward; we had allowed rather a sizeable gap to open up in front of us. “She can take care of herself.”
The Scott-De Quincy Mysteries
A Victorian mystery series from Jane Steen
begins with
* * *
Lady Helena Investigates
Sussex, 1881. A reluctant lady sleuth finds she’s investigating her own family.
* * *
“I recommend Lady Helena Investigates highly for anyone who loves historical mysteries, Victorian manor house settings, and a smart, well written period piece novel.”—View from the Birdhouse book blog
* * *
Available as an ebook, in paperback, and as an audiobook at all major outlets
Books by Jane Steen
The House of Closed Doors Series
The House of Closed Doors
Eternal Deception
The Shadow Palace
The Jewel Cage
Nell’s Story: The House of Closed Doors Series Books 1 to 3 Boxed Set
* * *
The Scott-De Quincy Mysteries
Lady Helena Investigates
* * *
Victorian Hauntings short stories
The Unforgotten
The Bars of the Marshalsea
From the author
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed reading The Jewel Cage as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m an indie author paying bills by doing what I love the most—creating entertainment for other people. So my most important assets are YOU, the readers, without whom I’d just be talking to myself. Again.
My promise to you is that I’ll do my best. I’ll research to make the historical background to my stories as accurate as I can. I’ll edit and polish until the book’s up to my (high) standards. I’ll give you a great-looking cover to look at, and I’ll make sure my books are available in as many formats and in as many places as possible. I’ll keep my prices as low as is compatible with keeping my publishing business going.
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Let me know what you think. If you go to www.janesteen.com, you’ll see a little envelope icon near the bottom of the page. That’s how you contact me by email. Or you can use the Contact page on the website. I’d love to hear what you thought of the book. Or find me on Facebook, Twitter, or Goodreads.
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Author’s note
The Jewel Cage is a book I never intended to write. In the early days of writing the House of Closed Doors series I knew that there would be two trilogies, one for Nell and one for Sarah. It seemed like such a simple challenge when I first thought of it and has turned out to be incredibly difficult in a number of ways.
I knew that the point at which I wanted to start Sarah’s story left a gap of several years after the close of The Shadow Palace, and naturally I had ideas about what happened in the intervening period. At the same time, I had plenty of readers clamoring for more Nell books. And I wanted to tell Tess’s love story in a Nell book rather than a Sarah book. So I considered several ideas and eventually settled on writing a single book to bridge the gap.
In a sense, The Jewel Cage is the backstory for the Sarah trilogy, which is why it has to leave some questions unanswered. I’m sure you know what they are by now, and I apologize for not tying everything up in a neat bow at the end of The Jewel Cage (although if that’s what you’re looking for, why are you reading a Jane Steen book?) All I can say is that I will tie up those threads at the right time. I’m speaking, of course, to those of you reading the series before I’ve completed it; hopefully there are also people reading these words once the series is finished and wondering what the fuss was about.
The Jewel Cage has been a problem child for me for other reasons. I was working on the first draft when, one dark night in 2017, a drunk driver hit my car head-on when I was five minutes from home, at combined speeds of over 100mph. A well-designed car, a low grassy bank and my seatbelt allowed me to “walk away” from the crash with only a
short visit to the local hospital but the trauma, the physical consequences of a high-speed impact, and the legal case went on for years. I eventually finished that first draft but had an aversion to working on it for some time; and when I got around to reading it again, the second half of the draft looked like someone else had written it. I had to rewrite the whole thing drastically, even though that meant adding far too many words.
Adding to my woes, the story as it developed simply would not combine with a “proper” mystery. I’m not a true mystery writer, anyway; as a reader, I’m quickly bored by the clues-detection-solution formula, so my stories always include other elements. As I wrote The Jewel Cage the other elements kept taking over, and it wasn’t until I was nearing the final draft that I realized I’d written a many-faceted love story, with Nell and Martin at the center. Serves me right, I suppose, for venturing on beyond the Happily Ever After.
I keep the historical background to my stories fairly muted, but I couldn’t ignore the Great Strike (also known as the Great Upheaval) of 1877, which left its mark on Chicago through an event known as the Battle of the Viaduct.
Since the financial Panic of 1873, the United States had been enduring an economic depression that eventually lasted over five years. By 1877 its workers had had enough of seeing their wages fall while the rich merchants and industrialists—nicknamed “robber barons”—built enormous, ostentatious houses, traveled to Europe and back in luxury liners, and developed a lifestyle so lavish that the last part of the 1800s became known as the Gilded Age.