A Golden Cage

by Shelley Freydont

  Joe sat next to a young woman, who was introduced as Yvette Schermerhorn, a cousin of the Astors’. Deanna was surprised at the little spark of proprietary jealousy that she felt. Which was stupid. Joe didn’t want her, and she didn’t want him. Still . . .

  As soon as they were seated and greetings exchanged, two footmen began to serve supper.

  Champagne was served with the cold salmon and dill, and even though her mother was thousands of miles away, Deanna remembered her admonishment to drink and eat sparingly.

  “We haven’t seen so much of you lately, Herbert.”

  Herbert raised both eyebrows and put down his fork. He was the comic of their set. Slightly gawky, with carroty orange hair and a ready smile, he kept them in stitches with his antics and witticisms. But lately he’d been a bit removed from them, and had been attending fewer and fewer functions.

  “Ah. I’ve been busy making preparations for my visit to the continent at the end of the season.”

  “Do you plan to stay long?”

  “Yes. Perhaps. It depends.”

  Deanna laughed. “You haven’t made up your mind yet?”

  “That’s it. Are you going to the regatta next week?”

  “Oh, I imagine so.”

  “And I imagine you’d prefer to be sailing rather than watching.”

  “Well,” Deanna said, “truthfully, I’m not that good of a sailor. Mama doesn’t like us to be out in the sun too much.”

  “Ah yes, your mama. Have you heard from her? How is Adelaide doing?”

  Conversation continued as it always did at dinner parties, keeping to innocuous subjects—even among Gran Gwen and the Ballards. As the last course was cleared away, Walter Edgerton, Judge Grantham’s son-in-law, rose and quieted the guests.

  “It is my great pleasure to fete a man most dear to me and all who know him. He has had a profound impact on interpreting the laws that make our society safe and wholesome. An inspiration to friends, family, and those of us in the jurisprudence professions. And for me personally, as mentor and professor, as well as the father of my beautiful wife. So I ask you all to raise your glasses to Judge Grantham.”

  “To Judge Grantham,” was the response, though some toasted through tight lips.

  “A man who is hand in glove with Anthony Comstock,” Laurette said so loudly that Deanna was afraid she might have been overheard.

  “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, my dear,” Lionel Ballard said. “At least not until after dessert.”

  Deanna knew that Comstock was the purveyor of what constituted morality, much the same way that Mr. McAllister had dictated who was to be considered society’s elite.

  But she also knew that there was a big chasm between not being invited to a party and being thrown in jail for things Comstock considered immoral, even if they were done in the privacy of one’s own home.

  And from what she’d heard, there wasn’t much that Mr. Comstock hadn’t deemed immoral.

  A dessert of meringue and crème anglaise and more champagne was served, and conversation turned to talk of the upcoming regatta and the next concert at the Casino theater.

  It was afterward, when the women were entering the house to freshen up before the ball began, that Deanna saw Alva Vanderbilt ahead of them.

  “Well, well,” Gran Gwen said as they climbed the stairs to the ladies’ withdrawing room. “I wonder who’s guarding the prisoner?”

  “What prisoner?” Deanna asked.

  “They say she’s got that poor child, Consuelo, locked in her room at Marble House. So afraid she is that she’ll try to escape before they can marry her off to the duke.”

  “It’s criminal,” Laurette said.

  “True. I personally see no reason to keep the destitute European aristocracy afloat on the back of American money.”

  “Poor Winnie Rutherford. They say he’s heartbroken.”

  “I assume Winnie understands. It’s just business as usual. And I mean that in the literal sense.”

  Maybe, Deanna thought. But she thought it was awful that Consuelo had to give up the man she really loved to marry some English lord she didn’t even know.

  “Why must Consuelo marry one man?” Deanna asked. “If she loves someone else?” But she knew the answer.

  “Because she knows her duty, my dear.”

  Deanna and Joe’s situation hadn’t been that much different, though Joe wasn’t royalty and Deanna’s fortune wasn’t anywhere near the Vanderbilts’. Their match had been orchestrated by their fathers, but at least they hadn’t been officially engaged. Joe had been the one to break it off, but if he hadn’t Deanna would have, duty or no duty. If you asked her, Consuelo should have spent more time reading dime novels than practicing the harp. Then she’d have some gumption.

  When they came downstairs again they were directed to the lawn for a fireworks display. They’d just joined Lionel and Joe when, with a chorus of pops and whistles, Roman candles sent swords of color through the night air. Reds, greens, yellows, followed by a spray of white stars. One after another until the sky was filled with color. Just as they started to subside, three Catherine wheels whirled to life along the cliff walk. Only to be replaced by a giant scales of justice blazing against a background of real stars.

  As the guests applauded, the orchestra began to play, and everyone retraced their steps over the lawn to where the theater had been transformed into a ballroom.

  The orchestra had been moved to the front of the stage to allow extra room for dancing. To each side, the black proscenium curtain glittered with electric stars. And where the wedded couples had ascended into the clouds, golden birdcages and flowers appeared and reappeared in a continuous rotation.

  It was like a Ferris wheel, Deanna thought. And amazing to see.

  “Shall we?” Herbert Stanhope offered Deanna his hand and led her onto the dance floor.

  As soon as the dance ended, Deanna was claimed for another, and another, and it was sometime later when she wondered what had happened to Amabelle and the other actors. Had they gone back to the boardinghouse where they were staying? They certainly hadn’t been invited to mingle with the guests. Were they having a party of their own somewhere?

  Deanna hardly saw Joe all night, though she imagined he was backstage talking to the stagehands about hydraulic lifts and such. The few times she did see him, he was always dancing. And when Deanna and the rest of his family climbed into the carriage well after two o’clock, and started for home, they had left Joe waltzing with Yvette Schermerhorn.

  * * *

  Deanna went straight up to bed. As she opened the door to her bedroom, Elspeth appeared in the doorway to Deanna’s dressing room, poking wisps of burnished copper hair behind her ear. She was smaller than Deanna, but strong. Tonight her cheeks were flushed from the heat, and one side of her face was creased from sleep. She stepped into the room, and, stifling a yawn, she took Deanna’s wrap and purse.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  Deanna yawned. “Yes. There was a fair with games and things and Joe won me a little lacquer box. It’s in my bag.”

  Elspeth opened the bag and took the box. “Hmmph. It’s not big enough to put anything much in, but pills, and you don’t take any. But it’s pretty, I guess.” She put it on the dressing table.

  “The play was kind of silly, except when the bedouins came in spinning to the music and holding their scimitars above their heads.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “It was, but then the girls just had to answer questions so they could get married. But I enjoyed the songs. Oh, and the fireworks. They were great. I’m sorry you missed them. Did you get home for a bit tonight?”

  “Yes, miss. Orrin was there and we played with the little ones, but then Ma’s been feeling a little down so I helped her with the wash.”

  “She isn’t sick, is sh
e?”

  “No, miss, just tired. She really ought to get some help if she keeps taking in other people’s clothes.”

  “Not you,” Deanna said quickly, alarmed at the idea of losing her maid. Not only was Elspeth a good servant, she was also Deanna’s best friend. Practically her only real friend since Cassie Woodruff had to move out West.

  Gran Gwen assured her she’d make other friends, but most of the girls she knew were vapid and on the hunt for rich husbands or ones with a title, like poor Consuelo Vanderbilt.

  “I’m not gonna go to be a washerwoman as long as I got a posh job like this.”

  Deanna stared at her. Deanna would hardly call being a lady’s maid a posh job, but Deanna did suspect that she was a less demanding mistress than many of her peers.

  She turned to let Elspeth unbutton her. “I met an actress tonight.”

  “Lord save us,” Elspeth moaned. “First you go to a carney, then you’re consorting with theater rabble.” She ruined her stricture with a big grin. “What was she like?”

  Deanna stepped out of her dress. It was one of her favorite purchases, a light yellow China silk embroidered with hummingbirds. “She’s not your typical actress, I don’t think. She’s about my age; she might even be younger, though I don’t think anyone would hire her if she were younger than eighteen.”

  “Ha.” Elspeth scooped the dress up and carried it to the dressing room, then came back with Deanna’s nightgown. “Those theater companies even have children working for them.”

  “I know, but I think their mamas go with them. To be like their mama and their manager.”

  “So what’s this girl’s name?”

  “Amabelle, and she’s the daughter of one of Mrs. Ballard’s friends. Evidently she ran away from home and her mother wants her to come back.”

  “Is she going back?”

  “It doesn’t seem likely, but guess what?”

  “What?”

  “She reads dime novels and she had the new issue of Beadle’s.”

  “How did she get that already?”

  “They probably get them in the city sooner than here. But first thing on Monday we’re going down to the bookshop and see if it’s come in.”

  Deanna sat down at the dressing table, and Elspeth began pulling the pins from her hair. It felt almost like being in her own home, living here at Bonheur. Her bedroom was larger than at Randolph House, but still cozy in the style of the older cottages, not the huge rooms of the new cottages. And unlike her papa, Mr. Ballard had installed electricity the year before so things were brighter here and the lamplight was easier to read by.

  The dressing table was Louis XIV; the four-poster bed had at one time been canopied. The woodwork was dark but the walls had been papered in cornflowers and pink anemones. Sometimes she missed Mama and Papa and Adelaide, but mostly she loved staying at Bonheur.

  While Elspeth brushed out Deanna’s hair, Deanna reached for the latest tale of Loveday Brooke. It was lying on the table in plain view. She hadn’t had to quickly stuff a story out of sight even once since she’d moved into Gran Gwen’s.

  She turned to the page where they’d left off.

  “‘Loveday did not linger here even to admire, but passed at once round the south corner of the house to the windows which she had ascertained, by a careless question to the butler, were those of Mr. Craven’s study. Very cautiously she drew near them, for the blinds were up, the curtains drawn back. A side glance, however, relieved her apprehensions. . . .’”

  * * *

  It was well after two o’clock when Joe thought to take leave of his host and hostess. He’d stayed longer than he’d intended. But he was actually having fun, and when he finally did think about calling it a night, he realized that his family had already left. And that he hadn’t danced once with Deanna.

  Which was just as well. Better not to encourage gossip. Though he’d been tempted. She was wearing a new dress that Grandmère had bought her from Worth’s shop down at the Casino. It was in a style of which Deanna’s mother would never approve. Actually she would probably be scandalized. The décolleté was cut lower than he’d ever seen Dee wear. But no lower than most of the girls—young ladies—there tonight. Grandmère had been right. Dee’s mother was stifling her spirit, and she had begun to blossom during the last few weeks spent with Grandmère.

  To blossom and to test her freedom. A dangerous thing with Dee. She’d always been fearless; now she was frightening. Last week he’d watched her arrive at the Casino in her brand-new tennis dress and proceed to wipe the court with a shocked, and later embarrassed, Cokey Featheringham. She was practicing her archery and had joined a ladies’ cycling club with her newly purchased safety bicycle.

  At least Grandmère had made her promise not to go swimming in the ocean by herself. The tides could be strong around the point of land on which Bonheur was built. Something he’d experienced personally only a few weeks before.

  He took leave of his hosts and had started down the drive to walk home when he heard Vlady Howe hail him. Vlady was leaving with Herbert Stanhope, and Joe waited for them to catch up.

  “Have your carriage tonight, Ballard?”

  Joe shook his head. “I came in the family carriage, but they left earlier.”

  “I say, Dee was looking smashing tonight, wasn’t she?” Herbert said. “I think you’re a damn fool for not securing her when you had the chance.”

  “We decided we wouldn’t suit.”

  Vlady laughed. “Some of us just aren’t the marrying kind.” He clapped Joe on the shoulder. “We’re going down to Mersey’s yacht for a little after-dinner entertainment. He’s bringing in some of the chorus girls from the play tonight. There will be champagne and a breakfast. Why don’t you come along?”

  Joe really needed to get to bed. He had a lot of work to do tomorrow, but the thought of breakfast was tempting. He tried to remember if there were any eggs or bacon in his larder. “Well, maybe for a while.”

  “Great. We’ll take my carriage.” Vlady motioned to the footman, who relayed the message to one of the grooms, who went off to get Vlady’s carriage. Within several minutes they were traveling across town to the Newport docks.

  Jacob Mersey’s yacht, the Sophia, was moored at the long wharf and was one of the largest yachts in the harbor. It was lit bow to stern with strings of lights. As the carriage drew up, a shout of raucous laughter rose above the piano music that meandered from the cabin into the night air.

  Joe began to have second thoughts. He’d already enjoyed his share of champagne tonight, and he wanted a clear head for his work the next day. But he caught a waft of food and allowed himself to be trundled down the wharf and onto the gangplank.

  They were ushered across the deck and into an immense cabin in paneled dark wood, furnished with overstuffed chairs and sofas. The air was thick with smoke and tobacco fumes. Gentlemen who had dropped their wives at home before continuing on to the after party had shed their ties and opened their waistcoats. Several prominent men stood talking as they smoked cigars and drank Mersey’s excellent whiskey. Quite a few of their sons were also in attendance. Even Walter Edgerton had made an appearance, though Joe doubted if the Judge or his wife knew it.

  Servants carried bottles of spirits through the room, sometimes pouring out a glass to one of the revelers, often leaving the entire bottle. There were quite a few young women in attendance who appeared to be actresses in the chorus of The Sphinx. They were garbed in white see-through fabric that floated around their bodies. During the play they’d worn an underdress of some shiny opaque material, but now the “gowns” were covering only skin.

  A little after hours improvisation for extra money, Joe thought. He wondered if the costumer knew how her creations were being used tonight.

  Jacob Mersey stood surrounded by two lovely girls dressed in see-through togas. One held his cigar and anot
her his drink, giving his hands freedom to roam over their lush bodies and creep beneath the flimsy fabric.

  Almost immediately, another one of the maidens sidled up to Vlady and spirited him away. He smiled back at his two companions and disappeared into the haze.

  “Not really my thing,” Herbert said as he and Joe took drinks from a tray. Seeing several friends, they made their way through the crowd.

  Two of the actresses were hoisted onto the table and were dancing in slow, sinuous movements to the delight of anyone still on their feet.

  One of the girls jumped from the table into a gentleman’s arms, where he kissed her, fondled her, and set her back to dancing. Soon the two were joined by others, and the dance became a game of jumping into someone’s arms, where the girls would be manhandled and set back on the table to go again or be taken off to a more private quarter.

  Joe couldn’t help but think of how his mother would disapprove. Not of the girls’ morals, but of them being used as objects for the men’s lust. He was pretty sure his father wouldn’t be enjoying himself here.

  One of the girls caught Joe’s eye as she turned and raised her eyebrows. Joe minutely shook his head.

  It wasn’t that he was indifferent to her or any of the women. They were all quite lovely, but for them tonight wasn’t necessarily about fun, and if they were looking to make an extra bit of cash, they should go after richer game than Joe.

  The only delicacies Joe was interested in tonight were on the buffet table. He filled a plate with roast beef, ham, bread, and salad and went to find a quiet place to eat, preferably one less crowded and less smoky, though he had to peel another young nymph off his person, by promising her he would look for her shortly.

  He stepped out of the cabin into the corridor of guest quarters, which he knew would lead to the foredeck. The hall was sometimes used for trysting, but more often the revelers managed to control themselves until they were behind locked doors.