by Robyn Carr
Andrew scowled at her sarcasm and led her to the dance floor. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he politely asked.
“Of course not. She’s very beautiful, your wife.”
“Brenda. Yes, she is.”
“Fresh from that little trouble in the South. That trifling little war that killed five hundred thousand.”
“Lilly--”
“Are you in love with her? Is she a convenience to keep you safe from all the young girls who desire you?”
“Lilly, stop it. Don’t let what I’ve done to you turn you into a bitch.”
“What was it that attracted you to her? Just tell me that. Her beauty, or her factory, or her ability to be polite in society by overlooking little inconveniences like wars?”
His eyes burned into hers. “When I married Brenda, I was deeply in love with her. Helplessly. It would have amused even you. Her factory, her deceased stepfather’s factory, was steeped in enormous debt because of her mother’s failure to manage the inheritance properly. It required substantial loans from the Montaine estate to run again, loans since repaid. They would have been reduced to poverty--Brenda and her mother--had they not found a gullible husband. It is now very profitable. And my wife has since found my virility tragically lacking. She no longer desires me, but she will not ever willingly let me go. Unless I fail and become poor. She likes money, you see. And she has a healthy appetite for physical pleasures--an appetite her mother helps her carefully control, knowing how fussy I can be about scandal. She knows that I can divorce her for adultery and fears I would. And of course I can divorce her for failure to meet her conjugal obligations, but she has a way of managing that, too. She’s perfectly willing, you see, if I--it becomes fairly disgusting. Do you want to hear more? Is there anything else you wish to know?”
Lilly dropped her gaze. “Andrew, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, but Lilly, the best part is yet to come. I’m Catholic; Brenda is a Catholic. But that’s not the half of it. My mother died when I was only seven years old, leaving me orphaned. As she died, she begged me to honor the faith to which I was born. That’s one of the reasons I did not immediately shed the coarse overcoat of an unloving wife. Even if society one day learns to be more tolerant of divorce, you can be sure the church won’t.”
“Andrew, please, I--”
He moved her around the dance floor. His hand on her waist felt secure, even when he was angry with her, with himself. Lilly was ashamed of herself, but her disappointment in him would not leave.
“It’s not common knowledge. You might keep it to yourself. I find it rather embarrassing…and one of the few predicaments of my life I am unable to change. I am far better in business than romance. But you wanted to know. Now you do.”
“She’s hurt you. How terrible of her.”
“Yes, well,” he laughed, “perhaps you could use the argument that I’ve only hurt myself. And I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have let you goad me into such a blatant explanation of personal difficulties. It doesn’t matter, you see. It makes no difference whether this is a good marriage or bad. It is very legal.”
“I don’t understand why you endure it.”
“Don’t pity me, Lilly. Hate me, but don’t pity me.”
“If she were a good wife, you wouldn’t have--”
“But, you see, that’s not necessarily true. Don’t go assigning me virtues that aren’t really mine. I haven’t proven that I wouldn’t look at you, desire you, if my marriage were good. Marriage is marriage, and I don’t know of many happy ones. Some men are rovers, some are not. What if I had a good wife, but fat and ugly? What if I had a wife who loved me, but had an accident that left her paralyzed? How many possibilities can you come up with that would pardon adultery? It’s not worth it, Lilly.” The music stopped and he released her.
“One more dance, Andrew,” she asked softly.
He bowed as if to depart. “I don’t think so, Lilly.”
“Please. Besides the wedding, I’m not going to attend any more of these foolish parties. I don’t plan to be seeing you often.”
People were milling around, waiting for the orchestra to begin again.
“If I excuse myself, you will be free to accept a dance with some--”
“Andrew, please. No one has asked me yet. My grandmother forced a few of her old friends to…I’m…Oh, damn it, Andrew, I’m lonely. I’m not trying to seduce you or tempt you, but I don’t have anyone to talk to or anything to do!”
The music started, and Andrew put his hand on Lilly’s waist. “One more,” he said.
Lilly had not been instructed in the art of dance as so many young women in this room had. But in Andrew’s arms, dancing came easily. She liked the way she felt when he directed her.
“Andrew, have you ever thought about running away?” she asked him.
“Meaning? Escaping this bondage of work and marriage to flee with you?”
She laughed. “I suppose you should expect that of me. No, not run away with me, Andrew. Patricia is so thrilled by all this--she really is happy. I’ve never been so bored. I think I was happier when I was skipping the young ladies’ school to tangle with the librarian over forbidden reading. I don’t like this kind of society life.”
“Find something useful then. If you’re very bored for very long, you’ll get sick.”
“I’m never sick.”
“Then you’ll get fat,” he teased.
“What do rich women do?” she asked him sincerely.
“Have dresses made. Go to parties. Supervise the cleaning of the house and oversee the cooking of the meals. Have children. Travel on cruises.”
“Well, there you are,” she said unhappily. “I think I had better make use of that desk.”
“You could write stories and publish them. Or teach. Or go to some godforsaken island with a Bible in your fist and--”
“I know this sounds uncharitable, but I’m not so much for good works. And I’m not fond of fairy tales.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Anymore.”
When the music stopped a second time, Andrew released her, bowed over her hand, and escorted her to where her grandmother and Mrs. Devon sat. There was a flurry of excitement in the ballroom, and someone shouted that it was almost midnight. Everyone stood waiting. Andrew reached for his wife’s hand to draw her to her feet, and Amanda used her cane.
When the hour struck and the clock began to chime, people in the room cheered and began to embrace each other, wishing friends and family good health and good fortune. Lilly saw Dale Montaine grasp Patricia’s waist and give her a very platonic kiss on the cheek. Andrew embraced his wife, and she turned her face away with a poorly concealed grimace. He frowned and touched her cheek with his lips.
Amanda put an arm around Lilly’s waist. “You’ll be eighteen years old this year, darling. Think of something you want for your birthday. Something wonderful.”
Lilly could not draw her eyes away from Andrew. “I don’t think you can get me what I want, Grandmother.”
“Then think of your second choice,” she said, following Lilly’s eyes. “And make sure it’s something that will do you good and make you happy.”
Lilly looked at Amanda and smiled gratefully. Then she said a terrible prayer that Brenda Devon would be run over by a horsecar. Soon.
The wedding date was set for the middle of May, to be followed by a wedding trip to Saratoga for the bride and groom. The Grafton apartments were turned into a sweatshop of sewing, writing, interviewing maids for Patricia to take with her to the Montaine mansion, discussions with caterers, choosing patterns for silver, china, and crystal.
January dragged by slowly for Lilly, who could hardly stand to be in the same room with this activity. She escaped frequently to the library and the square.
There was a Valentine’s Day ball given by some fancy family, but Lilly declined. Then, on the first of March something happened that would change everything for Lilly.
When she was returning to the
Grafton Hotel from an afternoon of music at the Academy she noticed Andrew leaving the hotel. His coach waited, and she hurried across the street, waving and calling his name.
He could resist a smile. “Lilly,” he greeted, “I haven’t seen you in months. You’re good to your word--you don’t intend to go to many parties.”
“Well, don’t give me too much credit for discretion, Andrew. I’m not doing it for you. I don’t think they’re any fun. Have you been circulating?”
“Now and then. Upon demand, I should say. And I was away for a while--business in New York. Are you keeping busy?”
“No. I’m bored as a dead horse. What are you doing here? Were you visiting the family?”
“No, not this time. I was speaking to Mr. Grafton. Just a little business.”
“What kind of business?” She noticed he carried a business satchel.
“It’s fairly routine. I stop in to talk to any number of business owners when the word gets around they might be willing to sell.”
“And is the hotel for sale?” she asked him.
He laughed at her. “Lilly, if Mr. Montaine waited for the hotel to be for sale, he wouldn’t own so much Philadelphia property.”
“I see,” she said, first in some confusion. Then suddenly she understood. That was what had happened to her grandmother and until this very moment she had not quite understood. Wilson Montaine had managed to learn, somehow, how much debt encumbered the estate and then cleverly offered to pay that amount. Far less than the actual value, but an amount that would salvage a reputation or give a troubled owner escape from total poverty. Her eyes widened with knowledge.
“Does Mr. Grafton want to sell his hotel?” she asked.
“No. You have to have patience in property, Lilly. I have to run along. There’s a lot on my schedule today.”
“Of course. Yes. Good-bye,” she said, turning away with a new kind of excitement beginning to rise in her.
The first thing Lilly did was rummage through boxes from the boardinghouse that the hotel stored for them. There were many things that Emily wouldn’t part with, but had no real use for. Lilly found her mother’s accounting books.
She roamed through the hotel daily, becoming a familiar face in the dining room, kitchens, hallways, linen closets, and spent a great deal of time in the lobby observing the arrival and departure of guests. She began to read the newspaper daily, looking for all available financial and society news. Society had suddenly, thrillingly, begun to hold meaning for her.
She went to visit Fletcher Drake in his small clutch of four rooms when she knew that her grandmother was busy with one of Patricia’s many fittings. His servant, Michael, took her to his study where she found him buried under mounds of accounting ledgers, letters, and other paraphernalia. The sight of so much work filled her with a kind of heat.
“Lilly, what a surprise. Let’s go in the sitting room and have Michael bring us tea.”
“No, Fletcher. Please, let’s talk right here. I have a lot of questions to ask you. Questions about business.”
He looked perplexed, and Michael, a quiet man in his mid-thirties, stood in the study door with a confused look on his face.
“Would you like tea in here?”
“Never mind tea.” She turned and smiled at Michael. “Thank you, Michael.” He left in total bewilderment.
“Fletcher, I want to ask you some questions without Grandmother knowing.”
“Now, Lilly, what sort of--”
“Don’t worry, you know I wouldn’t hurt her for the world. But I have to know, does Grandmother actually earn any money?” She pulled a chair that was positioned against the wall toward the front of his desk and perched on the edge of it.
“In a way. She has some very good investments.”
“What kind?”
Fletcher sat down uncomfortably, folding his hands over a mound of paper and looking at Lilly closely. “Well, she had a lot of money in a Vanderbilt shipping company, which we sold a while ago for a nice profit. There is steel, a coal mine in northern Pennsylvania, and more recently petroleum--”
“Yes, petroleum will do well. I’ve been reading about it, it’s said to be a popular investment.”
Fletcher smiled suddenly. “We have money in several New York banks, a variety of bonds, a factory that promises to start converting part of its operation to the development of the floor covering linoleum, and I am trying to convince her that we must closely watch any company that attempts to develop the telephone system.”
“The telephone machine? Oh, Fletcher, that will never catch on. Why would people want to talk through that thing rather than meet people face to face?”
“People like being busy--they want to be everywhere at once.”
“Has she lost money? Ever?”
“Here and there. She got a notion to invest in a peacock farm at a time when she was very infatuated with plumes used in fashion. It was all right for a while--a short while.”
“Fletcher, I have an idea. I need some help developing it, and I don’t want to talk to Grandmother about it until I’m sure. Will you help me? And keep a secret?”
“Well, Lilly, I can’t be expected to keep anything from Lady Nesbitt if it would put her at a disadvantage. My job is to keep her informed and growing richer.”
“Yes, indeed,” Lilly said, grinning broadly, more enthusiastic than she’d been in months. “I see that as my job too. I think we’ll make a formidable team.”
Fletcher leaned back in his chair and studied her delighted face. He picked up a crystal paperweight and tossed it lightly in the air, amused and a little intrigued. “Do you now?”
It was nearly impossible to hold Lilly still long enough to have her dress fitted for Patricia’s wedding. She was constantly on the run, spending whole days at the library studying city maps, country maps, world maps and reading every newspaper she could find. She spent hours with Fletcher learning about accounting, investing, and building. If her grandmother had not been so busy with the wedding and various parties for Patricia and Dale, she might have asked more questions. The one question she did ask was, “Have you thought of anything for your birthday, Lilly? It’s only two weeks away.”
Lilly kissed Amanda’s cheek and grabbed her coat. “Yes, Grandmother, I think so. But I don’t want to tell you about it before. On the day I’m eighteen, I’ll tell you. Be patient.”
“Can I get whatever it is on your birthday if you wait so long?”
“Don’t worry about that, darling,” Lilly said. “I have to run off. Fletcher is going to take me on a tour of the First Banking House to see where all the figuring is done and where the money is actually stored in the vault.”
“I see,” Amanda said, somewhat miffed. “You’re taking up quite a lot of his time. I think he’s begun to work more for you than me.”
Lilly laughed happily. “Oh no, Grandmother. He’s very busy with all your accounting, I promise you.”
On the eleventh of April, nearly a month before Patricia’s wedding, two days prior to Lilly’s birthday, Fletcher and Lilly went to see Mr. Grafton at his home. They spent the entire afternoon and all of the next day. On April thirteenth Lilly awoke an eighteen-year-old and asked Amanda if they could have a family dinner to include Fletcher.
“Is there a special dish you’d like me to have made?” Amanda asked her.
“It doesn’t matter in the least. But may we have champagne?”
“Lilly, wouldn’t you like to go out to a restaurant? Shopping? Have a party?”
“Mercy, no! Just the family and Fletcher. Patricia needn’t come if she has something she’d rather do, but please make Bertie put on her good dress and sit with us…no matter how stubborn she is about it.”
The hours dragged until it was time for Lilly’s birthday dinner. She bathed, dressed, pulled up her hair, and waited impatiently for the hour to arrive. Finally Fletcher knocked on their door, and Lilly almost overturned a table as she rushed to let him in.
His
eyes sparkled appreciatively as he looked her over. “Are you ready, Lilly?”
“Oh yes! Do you still intend to do your very best to help me?”
Before he could answer Amanda came into the room; she had overheard. She looked at the two of them together. Lilly’s incredible excitement and Fletcher’s knowing smile. “There is a conspiracy here. How much is it going to cost me?”
Fletcher made a half bow. “An impressive sum, madam.”
“Well, let’s have it. The suspense is too much.”
“Be patient, Gran,” Lilly said. “When everyone is together and we’ve had dinner.”
A Grafton Hotel waiter in formal attire lit the candles and supervised the serving of the table. By Lilly’s request, Bertie sat with them, stiff and uncomfortable in her best starched dress. Patricia was bored and testy, but kept mostly quiet. Emily was intrigued. But Lilly made them wait until the meal was finished, coffee and dessert served. Then she excused the waiter. “I’ll ring for you when we’re finished. We’d like to have a private discussion now,” she said, as confident as any experienced hostess.
“Grandmother, I’ve finally found a purpose for the desk you brought me. Weeks ago I happened upon Andrew Devon leaving the hotel. I thought he had come for a visit, but I learned that he was here doing Mr. Montaine’s business. It seems he frequently comes around to certain businesses rumored to be having trouble and offers to buy them at a bargain. Just as he did to you.”
“How well I remember. He’s an experienced predator.”
“Fletcher and I have spent the last several weeks studying this hotel. We’ve even been to see Mr. Grafton. He was good enough to share the offer with us. It’s just about all he’s worth. It leaves him very little…but the hotel is losing money, and he’s going to be forced to sell eventually.”
“Lilly, should you have done that? Gone to visit Mr. Grafton to ask such personal questions?” Emily asked with concern.
Lilly virtually ignored her mother. “Grandmother, this hotel could be made profitable. Fletcher and I have taken a hard look at it. First of all, Mr. Grafton has inherited this hotel from his family and doesn’t have very good help. They waste a lot of time and money. It needs improvement--it needs to be made more like the guest houses that are becoming popular among the rich, but Mr. Grafton dislikes change. Single rooms are losing fashion and are only used by businessmen and a few travelers. Walls should be knocked down and rooms joined, converted into suites like this one--apartments that can accommodate whole families and their staffs.”