Henry’s whole body went slack. He remembered Penelope’s coming there in her dramatic dress. He rested his forehead against his fist and listened as his father issued a swift, firm dismissal to Hilda. He could barely watch as Hilda gave a reverential nod, and turned for the hall, taking with her the sloshing pitcher of sweet orange juice that might have soothed his parched throat.
“I didn’t think she’d need to hear this next bit, Henry.” The elder Schoonmaker crossed his arms across his chest. “Do you remember how you got home?”
“No, sir,” Henry croaked.
“A hackney dropped you off,” Mr. Schoonmaker spat.
“You had bruises on the left side of your body, and cuts consistent with an unfortunate meeting with a rosebush. Any of this sounding familiar?”
Henry shook his head. “I was drunk,” he said, trying to sound both ashamed and firm in this belief. He remembered the rosebush incident very clearly, of course, but he knew that sneaking to the bedroom window of his fiancée’s little sister wasn’t something he wanted to explain to his father. Sometimes, Henry reflected, being taken for a perpetual drunk was sort of convenient.
“Henry, I am not a fool. I know very well you were drunk. Now, would you like to tell the story or should I?”
“You seem bent on it,” Henry answered bitterly.
“Read it yourself.” His father’s head snapped back in obvious disgust as he threw the newspaper in Henry’s direction. It made a rustling noise as it soared through the air and hit him on the forehead. Henry picked it up dutifully, avoiding eye contact with his father, who was, in any event, walking furiously back and forth across the elegant parquet floor. The paper was folded to the item in question, from that overwrought gossip column in the Imperial. It had been circled in red ink.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Henry said, when he had read it. Despite his ironic tone, he did in fact mean this. The picture of him as a drunk dandy about town was starting to bore even him. But more pressing at the moment was how very desperately in need of something to drink he was. If only he could get some liquid to his dry mouth, he might be able to handle this deteriorating situation.
“I should say so,” his father replied in a voice that matched, if not bettered, Henry’s sarcasm. Henry watched as his father slowed his pacing and walked toward the casement windows that overlooked Fifth Avenue, his arms stilled behind his back. He lowered his voice, which made it no less menacing. “Would you like to know where I was last night, Henry?”
The son kept his eyes on his father, and said nothing. He knew the answer would be forced on him sooner or later. Sooner, likely.
“I was at the Waldorf with the governor and Admiral Dewey himself. You know they say he may run for president? It was a tremendous political opportunity. Not that I expect that to mean anything to a wreck like yourself.”
Henry shifted on the couch. He tried to smooth his shirt with his hands and look indeed a little less like a wreck. His father turned back from the window and glowered at him again.
“I was expecting all the city was expecting to see you and your lovely fiancée acting like a couple at the Waldorf. Can you imagine the disappointment felt by all when you neglected to show up? It was an evening when the entirety of New York’s gossip-seeking class was out looking for color. And you gave it to them. You have proved yourself a liability yet again, Henry.”
The older man rocked on his heels with a look of regret, and Henry, still parched and deeply uncomfortable, could think of nothing to say that might make his father view him as something less than a disappointment. He watched as his father collected himself, and then went on in the usual, irritable, businesslike tone.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Henry. Your little escapade last night made the engagement look like a sham, which some people surely take it as already. But the sham-engagement story won’t stick if we overwhelm them with an even bigger story.”
Henry, who had always made a dashing figure in the papers without really trying, looked up at his father with what he hoped was not a thoroughly confused expression. His father came walking slowly toward him. Henry contemplated the great red face, with its unfortunate contrast to the slicked, black hair, and wondered if he would ever make the old man happy. “A bigger story?” he repeated mechanically.
“Ah, you follow. How nice. Yes, an even bigger story. You go make nice with the Hollands tomorrow. I will send Isabelle to talk to Mrs. Holland this evening an advance guard, if you will. It’s perfect, really. And it only took from the time I woke up till breakfast for me to come up with it.”
Henry had been trying to appear attentive, but he was getting an increasingly sick and nervous feeling in his stomach. “So…what is this idea?”
William Schoonmaker turned his animated eyes on his son. He smiled, spreading his dark mustache across his face. “We’re moving the wedding up. The greatest wedding of the nineteenth century, that’s what they’ll call it in the papers. People will like that.”
“You’re talking about my wedding? To…Elizabeth?” Henry asked. His face had gone cold, and he could not get his mouth to shut. “Moving it up to what date?”
Henry watched as his father pulled his gold watch from his pocket. He was smiling, clearly amused by his own stunt, confident in his genius. He was enjoying this, it seemed, making Henry as uncomfortable as possible.
“If you prefer to be disinherited, I would oblige….” Henry’s father paused to give him a pointed look. “I’d rather not, but I will if it comes down to it.”
“No, sir, I wouldn’t prefer that.” Henry lowered his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to feel the full brunt of his cowardice.
“I mean, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Well then, Henry, my boy, if you don’t have any other plans next Sunday that will be the eighth of October we’ll make you a married man.”
Henry watched as his father’s mouth spread into an almost gruesome grin and knew that, despite his misery, he had finally run out of time.
Thirty One
A certain young bride-to-be is said to be looking a little brokenhearted after her fiancé’s less-than-amorous showing during the celebrations of the Dewey holiday.
— FROM THE SOCIETY PAGE OF THE NEW-YORK NEWS OF THE WORLD GAZETTE, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1899
TWO DAYS OF PARADES AND PARTIES HAD DEPLETED New York, and on Sunday a collective hangover kept her citizenry docile and indoors. Elizabeth could feel the lull without even looking out the window of her family’s drawing room. Even those principled types that dropped by for tea and idle chatter during the Hollands’ Sunday visiting hours were looking a little glassy-eyed. Elizabeth had not read the papers, but if she had, she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to deny that she was looking a little brokenhearted. It was a relief, though a thin one, that the world already knew her official excuse.
Apparently, it had not occurred to her childhood friend Agnes Jones, however, that nobody wanted to talk about the parade anymore.
“And the aerial regatta was too divine,” Agnes was saying, her hands folded over her tartan skirt. “Who even knew that there was such a thing in this city as a kite expert, or that they could do a thing like that with what are really just elaborate toys….”
Elizabeth smiled faintly at her, and wished that Aunt Edith, who was sitting by the fire and pretending to be disgusted by that Friday’s Cité Chatter, would join in and carry part of the conversation. Agnes’s eyes were bright and delighted with her own conversation, and her chestnut hair was tucked back, with a few squiggles loose at the ears. This did nothing for her overripe chin, which Elizabeth might have found a gentle way to communicate to her if only she had had the strength.
“And all the little ships covered in lights! I had never seen anything like it.” Agnes paused and lowered her eyes, in a show of considering whether she should say what she was thinking or not. “So…are you very angry about Henry’s not showing on Friday night?”
“Oh,” Elizab
eth said slowly, her eyes moving from the window back to Agnes. She’d found herself staring at the window often that afternoon, hoping for the appearance of an unexpected figure. “Not very, thank you for asking….”
“Not very is better than very,” Agnes said enthusiastically.
Elizabeth exhaled in an anemic show of agreement. She didn’t know how Agnes had grown into such tactlessness. Elizabeth had always taken in friends, no matter how rough they were. This was the Christian thing to do, she told herself, and you never knew where a true friend might be hiding. Just look at Penelope. Despite her rough manners when they first became acquainted, she had proved herself such a loyal friend, agreeing to be Elizabeth’s maid of honor even though Elizabeth was being so wretched to her by marrying her crush.
Agnes brought Elizabeth out of her thoughts by taking a noisy slurp of tea. “You will have to do something really spectacular to get attention if you’re having the wedding this season. I’ve heard of three engagements this weekend alone. Martin Westervelt proposed to Jenny Thurlow….”
Elizabeth tried to stay alert as Agnes gave her the matrimonial report. It was no wonder that Diana was avoiding visitors in her room, reading ridiculous novels and talking to herself. Only two nights ago Elizabeth had heard her carrying on a whole conversation in her room when nobody was around. She really did have to finish her studies with a tutor, Elizabeth thought, or she was going to end up completely wild. This was some consolation to Elizabeth at least her inertia would benefit the family. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about her younger sister ending up like…Agnes.
Mostly, though, Elizabeth felt overwhelmed and numbed by the loss of Will. Her appetite was gone entirely.
“And Jenny just looks so happy, Lizzie, you would cry if you saw how happy she was….”
Elizabeth nodded vaguely, thinking that Agnes was probably correct in that regard. But news of her peers becoming engaged through the normal flirtations and anxieties and parental blessings gave her no pleasure. It just made her think of Will, and how strong and right he was, while she walked around in a fog of her own creation, dishonestly calling what was hardly an acquaintance the beginning of marital love.
“Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth focused her eyes on the hall door, where Claire stood waiting. Elizabeth looked around the room and realized that Claire had been calling to her for several moments already. This always happened when Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted to Will she looked up and a whole room was gawking at her.
“Yes, Claire?” Elizabeth straightened in her bergère chair, instinctively putting her hands over the armrests, where the gold leaf was chipping away.
“Mr. Schoonmaker has just sent up his card.”
“Oh!” Agnes winked in Elizabeth’s direction. “I’ll be going then.”
“Thank you for paying me the visit,” Elizabeth said, managing a little smile at her old friend.
Agnes bent to kiss her on the cheek, and when she pulled back, she said, “Look a little happy, for goodness’ sake. Your fiancé is here to see you.”
Elizabeth’s face fell she couldn’t help it and then she watched with relief as Agnes left the drawing room.
“You can show Mr. Schoonmaker in, Claire.” Elizabeth watched the red-haired maid bow her head deferentially, and was reminded how horrid Lina had been on Friday night. “And Claire, don’t think you have to do everything around here. Your sister is perfectly capable of making tea and fetching coats.”
Claire blushed slightly and nodded, before backing into the hall.
Elizabeth checked the little buttons of her burgundy blouse and brought her knees together under her long ivory linen skirt. When she looked up she saw Henry in the doorway. He was wearing a dark gray cutaway jacket and matching slacks, and he was actually looking at her somewhat earnestly, which Elizabeth found new and discomforting. His straight brows were drawn together, and the creases on his flat, handsome face were deeper and more obvious, even from across the room.
He bowed his head in her direction, and she returned the gesture. Then he walked across the room, took her hand, and kissed it.
“Won’t you sit?” she asked him.
“Thank you.” He gave a quick glance about the room before taking the matching chair beside hers. She wondered if he was assessing the embossed, olive leather over the wainscoting as old-fashioned, or if he thought of the crowded gold picture frames and the layered Persian carpets on the floor as clutter.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, tea would be wonderful.” His answer sounded stiff to her, but then she had to admit that she wasn’t being particularly warm either.
Elizabeth wondered if Henry kept looking over his shoulder because of Aunt Edith, who was seated near the large marble mantel. She might have found a way to whisper that Edith wasn’t paying any attention if she had thought he might have anything remotely interesting to tell her. But she did not.
“Miss Holland, I just wanted to tell you that I am very sorry about Friday night.”
“Oh no, that’s quite all right ”
“It isn’t.” Henry’s voice was mechanical, but there was something in his face that suggested genuine remorse. “It was awful of me to stand you up like that, and even if I didn’t hurt your feelings, I am sure it has been an embarrassment.”
“A little,” Elizabeth acknowledged as she moved her gaze to her hands.
“But I don’t want you to think I am nervous about marrying you,” Henry said slowly, as though he were having trouble finding the words.
“No?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised involuntarily.
“No, not at all. In fact, I oh, thank you.” Elizabeth watched as Lina appeared over Henry’s shoulder and began to pour him a cup of tea. She was wearing a face of quiet servitude, but even in benign form the sight of her brought back the anger Elizabeth had felt Friday night. “No cream, thank you,” he said, and then took the little blue porcelain cup with the hand-painted gold rim.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Lina asked.
“Yes, please, with sugar and lemon,” Elizabeth replied in a businesslike tone. “Mr. Schoonmaker you were saying?”
“I was saying that, well…” Henry paused, frowned, and then let his gaze meander again across the many objects in the room. Elizabeth leaned forward as she waited for him to continue. Eventually, his eyes came back to her he seemed almost surprised to find himself looking into her eyes and then he continued in a halting voice. “I wouldn’t want you…thinking that I was getting cold feet. And, well, the fact of the matter is I really am eager for us to be…married. And anyway what would you think about moving the wedding up?”
“Up?” Elizabeth said, barely comprehending. The idea of marrying Henry Schoonmaker at all was incomprehensible; that it could come any sooner was beyond her powers of imagination. But then an image darted through her mind her mother sleeping blissfully for the first time in months. Elizabeth had nothing left to do but please others, anyway. She was trying to form a response when she was distracted by Lina’s clumsiness as she moved forward with the tea.
“Yes, to next Sunday. I understand my stepmother has already discussed it with your mother. The logistics, I mean….” Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat before going on. “The advantage is that that way, everybody would be so surprised and ” He suddenly broke off, moving uselessly toward Elizabeth. “Careful!”
Elizabeth was already in a state of surprise and confusion when the boiling hot water hit her thigh. She cried out and pulled the soaked skirt away from her leg to stop the burning. She looked up slowly, her eyes falling first on the dainty gold-rimmed teacup dangling from Lina’s finger, and then on Lina’s smirking face.
“Oops,” Lina said flatly.
Before she could think what she was doing, Elizabeth grabbed the teacup off Lina’s finger and clutched it protectively in her hands. “I loathe your incompetence,” she said in a low, hateful voice that must have come from some very remote corner of herself. It was
like no speaking voice she had ever uttered. “Get out of my house.”
“It was an accident,” Lina explained, in an even tone.
Henry was looking at the ground, and Aunt Edith was staring at Elizabeth, shocked by her outburst. Claire appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with fright. Elizabeth didn’t care what anybody thought. “It was not. You are a sloppy girl and a liar and I will not have you in my family’s house. Claire, I am sorry, but she leaves within the hour.”
Lina stood still in the middle of the room, giving Elizabeth a hateful glare. “It was an accident,” she repeated unconvincingly.
“Thank you for your commentary,” Elizabeth said. Her voice was crisp and even now. She could feel the brown stain of the tea spreading across the light fabric of her skirt, but she refused to look at it. “You’re still fired. Mr. Schoonmaker, I am so sorry you had to witness this unpleasant scene. Please pretend it never happened. If you’ll excuse me, I am going to my room to collect myself.”
Elizabeth picked up her skirt and walked quickly across the room to the far hall door. She could feel the tears coming already, but willed them back for a few moments. The fact that Lina had been there to witness anything between her and Henry, much less wedding talk, made her feel both furious and ashamed. She sniffed and turned back to see Henry, Lina, Claire, and Edith all frozen in their positions.
“Thank you for coming by, Henry,” she said quietly from the doorway, “though I am sensing that I may in fact need to lie down for some time, to compose myself. Perhaps Miss Diana will do to entertain Mr. Schoonmaker for the rest of his visit?”
Henry’s face, which had previously been drawn downward by concern and discomfort, brightened considerably. There was a healthy shade coming back into his cheeks. “You should by all means get your rest.”
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