The Time Heiress
Page 9
“It is hard for me to get my bearings and compare what is in this location in the future,” Evie said.
“It is the site of the New York Public Library.”
“Oh, and so Bryant Park is next to it.”
“No, not yet, that is where the Crystal Palace is now.”
They turned the corner at the reservoir and could make out the top of the massive dome glittering in the sunlight. Along Forty-second Street, the curious milled past to see the nearly-completed structure. Ladies, out making rounds in their carriages, rolled by, checking on its progress. Workers skittered about within a roped-off area, careless of the attention.
Nothing could prepare them for how spectacular a building it was. The exterior of the palace had been recently finished. Like an enormous, overturned Tiffany lamp, it was constructed of painted glass panels and wrought iron. Its shape was of a Greek cross, with four sections, each of equal length, and a great dome in the middle. The façade was decorated with rows upon rows of arched, glass windows and panels, enameled in robin’s egg blue, pink, lavender, pale green—translucent, but not transparent. Three more huge arches made up the entrance, directly beneath a half of a great gothic rosace. From behind the rope, they could see workmen inside and could hear the pounding of hammers on metal, smell the heat of soldering and smelting, and the tang of fresh oil paint. They stood and stared until a stocky man in coveralls noticed them.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said cheerfully, removing his hat as he walked toward them. “What do you think?”
Cassandra spoke. “It is absolutely breathtaking. We just came to see how it is all coming along. We will not be here for the Fair, so we are taking the opportunity now.”
The man smiled proudly as if taking credit for the entire operation. “Yes, it is an amazing piece of workmanship, I have to agree. It will stand forever—a monument to man’s ingenuity. The next time you come to New York, you can visit it again.”
Cassandra knew that the building would be destroyed in a fire some years later. She put on a sad countenance. “I do not know if we will ever have a chance to come back. This is our year to travel. After that, we will be devoted to home and family.”
Evie glanced at her.
The man looked around furtively. “Well, I am the foreman supervising the ironworks, and I can take you in if I want to. Would you like a brief tour? I am afraid I cannot take you everywhere, because it is not completely safe yet, but I can give you an idea of where the various exhibits are going to be.”
“We would be delighted!” replied Cassandra.
“Yes, please!” agreed Evie.
Cassandra felt gratified that she was finally showing some interest.
The man took out his handkerchief and wiped his face, taking a moment to smooth his hair back before replacing his hat. He grinned broadly. He glanced around, then lifted the rope so his guests could slip under.
“I am Mr. Wayne Marshall,” he said as he led them inside.
“Mrs. Reilly.”
“I am Miss Bay.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, still smiling, his weathered face crinkling around the eyes.
As they walked toward the center, he pointed out where some of the exhibitions would likely be situated, and explained that more than twenty-three nations would be represented. He excitedly spoke about the technological marvels that he’d heard about that would be displayed, sewing machines and elevators and all manner of modern machinery. There would be sculptures and paintings, mineralogical exhibits, and metal works. He strutted with pride under the surprised gawking of his fellow workmen.
Cassandra began to regret that they hadn’t planned their trip for later in the summer so they could see it all, but reasoned that they probably would have never gotten a hotel room. They went as far as the center dome, and looked up to admire its soaring height, but as the floor wasn’t finished in the other wings, they could proceed no further. Mr. Marshall escorted them back out onto Forty-second Street, and told them to come back anytime while they were in New York, that he would always welcome them as special guests. They thanked him heartily and shook his hand.
They had grown hot in their many layers of clothes and were hungry. There was a stand selling meat pies for the workmen, so they bought two and sat down in the shade of a tree to eat. A young boy came by selling tin cups of fresh, foaming milk. They paid him two cents apiece for the cups, which he collected from them later to reuse. Cassandra tried not to think about when they might have been washed last, or who might have used them. After eating, they began walking back down the avenue, but gave in to fatigue before they’d gotten very far, and hailed a hackney coach.
Bumping along the road, both women gazed out their respective windows, Cassandra thinking about all the things she wanted to do and see in the city.
“What do you think about dropping by All Angels now?” Evie queried abruptly.
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“Because I need a nap.”
“I could go by myself, I know for sure how to find it now, and I could take a cab there and back.”
Cassandra considered the beautiful face of her charge. “I think it is clear how bad an idea it is for you to wander around the city by yourself.”
“Because of my color?”
“Mmm, not so much. I do not think anyone perceives you as black, but you are a beautiful young woman and as such, you ought not to go places alone.”
“I am not beautiful,” Evie demurred.
Cassandra almost laughed out loud. She was certain the famous young woman was fully aware of her personal charms. “Look out the window,” she said.
They were approaching Fifteenth Street, the center of the city’s wealthiest area. Folks were out for their afternoon strolls. All the young women were accompanied by brothers and sisters, mothers, maids, boyfriends, or husbands. Even the serving women went on their errands in pairs. Only one girl was walking alone, in shabby clothes, carrying a basket of rags to sell.
“I see what you mean,” Evie allowed.
“Seriously, Evie, you were very lucky you were not attacked and raped the other morning.”
Evie’s eyes grew wide as she looked at Cassandra. “I was certainly afraid, but I did not think I was in danger of such an atrocity!”
“I realize that where we come from such things are virtually unheard of anymore. But not here, Evie. I fear you did not study the history well enough, although I gave you volumes to read.”
“I am an artist, Cassie, I experience with my heart and my senses, not through words on a page.”
“Then let your experience of Five Points guide you heretofore.”
“Very well.” Evie sat back in the seat, staring straight forward.
“I tell you what, when we go out to look for somewhere to have dinner, we will wander by All Angels to see if anyone is around. We will pretend to just be in the neighborhood.”
Cassandra was rewarded with a brilliant smile. “Thank you, Cassie,” she said, and squeezed the scientist’s gloved hand.
But their foray into the neighborhood that evening proved unproductive. The churchyard was dark and the front doors shut tight. They ended up eating in a restaurant that looked promising from the outside, but served food that was stale and greasy. The woman who waited on them slapped the dishes down without comment, and gave them silverware that looked as though it hadn’t been properly washed for a long time. The other diners stared at them unrelentingly. Cassandra picked at a plate of tough pork chops, boiled potatoes and mushy peas. Evie was examining her mug of ale, reached in, plucked something out, and flicked it onto the floor. She thumped the mug down on the table with disgust.
“I have never had such a horrendous meal!”
Cassandra sighed. “I have an idea,” she began.
“What,” replied Evie, waving away a fly.
“Why don’t we eat somewhere spectacular tomorrow night?”
Evie’s eyes lit up. “Really? Where?”
“How about Delmonico’s.”
“Ooh, I love Delmonico’s; I eat there all the time! I did not know it was so old!”
“It has changed considerably in the future, is even in a different building, but it is probably the finest restaurant in New York at this time.” She thought she saw something crawl down the wall behind Evie’s chair. “Tomorrow morning we will send a messenger to make a reservation. We do not have to put up with this kind of place; we have money.”
“A reservation? I never make reservations; they always have a table for me.”
“Yes, but here, you are not the celebrity artist are you?” Cassandra whispered.
“Oh, no. That is true.”
“But it will probably be much like what you are used to. They have five-star service; the finest food. It will be amazing.”
“Anything would be better than this,” Evie said, pushing away her plate of half-eaten soggy noodles and stringy chicken.
“Also, it will distract you while we are waiting to go back to All Angels on Thursday.”
Evie smiled and Cassandra congratulated herself on her own sensitivity.
“Ugh, I don’t feel well,” the young woman suddenly said, grasping her stomach.
“Did you not take an antibacterial today?”
“No, I did not think I would need it.”
“Here,” Cassandra fished the wilted rosemary from her bag. “Eat this.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it will settle your stomach.”
Evie took the plant and looked at it askance, but nibbled a piece off. “It is too strong!”
“Trust me, you will be glad you ate it when you are not vomiting in the gutter five minutes from now.”
The young woman wolfed the sprig down, chewing it thoroughly, but with a sour face. By the time they paid the check, she had declared with astonishment that her stomach ailment was cured.
Wednesday morning Cassandra sent a messenger from their hotel to see if they could get a reservation for six o’clock at Delmonico’s, and he returned with an affirmative answer. That afternoon, after a morning of sightseeing, they went back to the hotel and bathed, then dressed in their finest outfits. A half an hour was required to re-do each other’s hair, and by five-thirty they were ready. Cassandra thought Evie looked spectacular in her white, off-the-shoulder gown, fringed with delicate lace, the skirt tiered like a wedding cake, flowing out of the tiny waist of the bodice. Her own gown was pale yellow, with a low neckline that showed off her shoulders and the tops of her modest breasts. The palest pink roses gathered up the sleeves to expose her arms and then ran in a line down the front of the bodice. Three vertical rows of the flowers down the front of the skirt gathered up the silk fabric in front in a shirred effect. A hat was not required for evening, but they each donned a silk shawl for modesty’s sake, and slipped on their white, kid leather evening gloves. They both had a beaded bag and delicate silk slippers of light color to match their dresses.
They rustled down the stairs and asked the bellman to hail a coach for them. In five minutes it was at the door. They crammed themselves in amidst all their petticoats and were on their way.
Upon approach to the grand, columned building at #2 William Street, a couple of blocks below Wall, they were met by a doorman who looked surprised to see two ladies unaccompanied. Cassandra knew it was unusual to go out to dine in such an establishment unescorted by a gentleman, but she also knew they had the money to thwart any objections. Indeed, the raised eyebrow of the maître-d’, who had not understood that the reservation under the name of Reilly was to be two ladies, was lowered again when Cassandra slipped him two dollars. He led them through the dark-wood paneled, chandeliered dining room to a discreet table, out of the way of the prying eyes of other customers. The hour being early for fashionable dining, the restaurant was not yet busy.
“Sir,” Cassandra said to him as they were seated, “we are entirely in your capable hands. Bring us the best dishes you have in the order you deem fit, and the wines that accompany them.”
“But what if I do not like—” Evie began to whisper, but Cassandra held up a hand.
“Trust me.”
She pulled her gloves off finger by finger as the delighted maître-d’ scurried off. A waiter came to the table shortly thereafter with aperitifs and plates of oysters Béchamel. The women eagerly consumed the delicate cream dish, and then were presented with white wine to go with a cream of celery soup. Next was a savory assortment of small pickles, salted almonds, olives, and radishes. A string quartet on a dais struck up the opening notes to a Haydn minuet.
“Oh, this is a nice one!” Cassandra began to hum along until a glance from Evie quieted her.
The waiter swooped toward them with a fillet of flounder Milanese and a cucumber salad for each. After they finished both dishes, the head waiter reappeared with two glasses of lemon sorbet to cleanse the palate and offered the ladies a choice of entrees. Cassandra chose a venison steak in port wine sauce, and Evie a Boston gosling in orange compote. With it they were also given a choice of vegetable side dishes.
“May I ask,” Cassandra said to the waiter looking over the choices on the menu, “where your vegetables come from this time of year?”
“I am not certain, ma’am, would you like me to ask the chef?”
“Yes, if you please.”
In moments he was back. “There are several greenhouses in Brooklyn and up the island that begin to grow spinach, lettuces, peas, and beans in March,” he said as if reciting from memory. “The cucumbers are lightly pickled and jarred from the year before, and the potatoes are stored by the farms in—”
“Oh yes, thank you. I was just wondering how you had fresh greens, and the tomatoes I see being served over there, so early in the season. I will have the sautéed spinach and a baked potato with butter and shallots.”
“And I will have the potato, as well, with the green beans,” said Evie.
The waiter bowed deeply and hurried off while the sommelier approached the table and presented them with a bottle of French Bordeaux. When the main course arrived with its accompaniments and the wine was sampled, they both expressed their astonishment at how perfectly it complemented the game they had chosen.
By the time the women had finished with the main course, they declared themselves well stuffed, though there remained a watercress and tomato salad to eat.
At last the waiter brought coffee and, as they sipped it, Cassandra tried to probe Evie’s thoughts. Why was this trip so important to her? What did she hope to gain from meeting her ancestors? Try as she might to get Evie to specify her purpose, she always came back to one thing: she just wanted to meet them, to know them well, to know their work. Cassandra felt unsettled. There was something missing. And yet even after all the wine and the relaxing effects of the food, she couldn’t get Evie to talk more about what she hoped to accomplish for the trip.
Eventually the head waiter suggested dessert. Evie ooh’d and aah’d over the tray of sweets he presented. She chose a slice of warm cinnamon-caramel cake and Cassandra a light-as-air chocolate mousse. A glass of champagne accompanied each. They shared bites, and just when Cassandra thought that they were finished with the meal, the waiter appeared once more with a plate of fine cheeses, nuts and dried fruits, and two delicate glasses of sherry. The women looked at each other wide eyed but tried some morsels from the plate and sipped at the sherry until the waiter ceremoniously presented them with the check on a silver tray. The total came to twenty-six dollars and seventy-five cents. (Between them they had brought along one hundred, knowing they couldn’t possibly spend anything close to it; back at the hotel room, approximately five thousand dollars was locked safely away in the false bottom of each of their suitcases.)
Cassandra extracted thirty from her bag and laid it on the plate, knowing that the more than ten percent tip would be seen as very extravagant by the waiters and would secure their welcome back in the establishment at any time.
“How about going shopping?” Evie finally suggested.
“Shopping?”
“Yes, on Broadway I saw some stores that caught my eye. There was a department store down near Chambers Street, I remember, with women’s clothes in the window. We can take a carriage, wander around inside for awhile, then get some lunch later. It will be fun! A ladies’ day out.”
Cassandra looked at her companion with amusement. Perhaps this was all there was to it. Evie just wanted to be a lady of the 1850s, and meeting her ancestors was an excuse to do it.
“You are really getting into the spirit, aren’t you?” she said.
“Yes! I am enjoying it so much. Life is so elegant and refined. Our dinner last night was one of the best I have ever had.”
“Very well, why not do some shopping? We have already worn four of the five outfits we have brought. Maybe we will find something else we like. Oh, and I also remember in that same area, seeing the original Tiffany’s! Let’s take a peek in there, too.”
They dressed in the modest clothes they had been wearing on the evening they arrived, thinking they would be appropriate for the evening’s lecture as well, donned their cloaks, grabbed their umbrellas, and set off in a hackney coach, which turned south onto Broadway. The dreary day did not slow commerce on the busy thoroughfare in the least, but rather, the dampness seemed to aggravate the general confusion. Well-dressed shoppers and businessmen picked their way along the street through the wet manure that was spread farther and more efficiently by the rain. Though not heavy, the drizzle brought forth umbrellas, slowing the pedestrian traffic even more.
They alighted in front of A.T. Stewarts, which resembled a Renaissance palace of white marble. On the first floor were house wares and furniture. On the second, the time travelers tried on clothes, made their selections and submitted to alterations. In the men’s department on the third floor, Cassandra examined a hand-embroidered set of handkerchiefs for Nick, realizing it was the first time in many days that she’d thought of him. Perhaps, she thought, she should end it with him when she returned. She put the handkerchiefs down.