Now I was sure Caroline was putting ideas in his head. Fortunately I was prevented from answering by a burst of laughter from the direction of the punch table. We both turned to look. Augusta was engaged in a lively conversation with Franklin and Charlotte Harper. Even though Caroline and Harland danced past together several times, she didn’t glance in her former lover’s direction once.
‘I can’t imagine your aunt being in love with Harland Hunter,’ I told Douglas. ‘She has dignity and pride, whereas he is crass and self-seeking.’
‘I’m glad you haven’t succumbed to that man’s charms, Miss Lacasse. He knows instinctively what people need to hear and how to manipulate them through their vulnerabilities. The more esteemed and respectable the woman, the more he enjoys breaking her heart.’
‘He sounds like a villain! Still, your aunt seems to be handling him the best way — by ignoring him.’
Douglas arched his eyebrows. ‘Don’t be fooled that my aunt will give you a clue as to what she is truly thinking. From the time she can walk, a society woman is taught to smile even if she wants to murder the person she is smiling at.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind. I am used to artists who wear their hearts on their sleeves.’
‘Do they?’ He gazed at me with a fascinated expression. ‘Yes, I suppose they must in order to create art. But in society, the truth is never articulated. Everything is indicated through signs. You have to be able to read those signs.’
‘I’m not sure I will master the signs,’ I said. ‘I’m like a foreigner who will forever speak English with their native accent.’
He laughed. ‘I believe you will do very well, Miss Lacasse. And I’m pleased to know you aren’t fooled by men like Harland Hunter.’
‘We all have our blind spots,’ I told him. ‘Although none of us likes to admit it.’
Newton Graham asked me to join him for the next dance, a waltz. The program continued with gallops, more waltzes and a sprightly mazurka that I had to withdraw from after my wide skirt knocked over Gideon Potter.
Eventually, a footman blew a trumpet and Oliver announced that supper was to be served in the dining room in quarter of an hour.
The women retired to Caroline’s boudoir so their lady’s maids could dab their perspiring faces, straighten their wigs and fix stockings that had fallen down. The scene reminded me of the dressing room at the Théâtre de l’Oeuvre during interval. The chit-chat of the women tinkled like a thousand bells.
‘This ball is a heavenly dream!’ said Mrs Warburg to Mrs Schorer. ‘An event that happens once in a generation.’
Retouched and repinned, the ladies joined their partners again for a stately procession down the staircase into the dining room, which Harland and his assistants had transformed into the Garden of Versailles. The internal doors to the salon, library and music room had been opened up to extend the dining room and create one huge, grand space, and the walls were a solid mass of roses, lilies of the valley and evergreen boughs. The mirrors were framed with garlands of ivy wired with glowing electric lights. Pots of orange trees lined the room, while a fountain with rose-scented water bubbled in its centre. The overall effect was so evocative of a spring garden that I could almost hear birds twittering and see butterflies flitting between the leaves.
‘This is incredible!’ said one of the old elite guests, Mrs Dumonceau.
As well as the long table, which was now covered in white damask cloths, wreaths of lilacs tied with gold ribbons and bowls of sweet-smelling violets, twenty smaller tables, as beautifully decorated, had been added.
‘Lilacs are my favourite flowers,’ I told Grace, breathing in the richly floral scent. ‘They evoke a dewy garden full of nymphs and fairies.’
Caroline’s French chef had brought ten chefs from Paris to help him with the evening’s menu, which included chestnut soup with truffles, caviar-stuffed oysters, lobster, canvasback duck and suckling pig.
‘Is it true Caroline spent thirty thousand dollars on the flowers alone?’ Bessie Graham asked me. ‘She has certainly thrown down the gauntlet for Permelia Frances to dare to outdo her.’
‘I heard that Permelia tried to bribe the Duchess of Dorset with twenty thousand dollars to get her an invitation,’ said Charlotte Harper.
‘There was no chance of that,’ replied Helen Potter, chewing on a piece of pork in imitation of a little dog for my entertainment.
‘That was the other side of Versailles,’ Grace whispered to me. ‘Intrigues, gossip, excess and eccentricity.’
‘Perhaps humans can’t stand too much beauty before they feel compelled to somehow pollute it,’ I replied.
She nodded. ‘You may well be right.’
After consuming three thousand bottles of Moët et Chandon champagne, which had been especially shipped from France for the occasion, and a dessert of bombe glacée, chocolate mousse, petits fours and fruit, the guests returned to the ballroom in an enlivened mood. The dancing recommenced with a cotillion that should have been majestic but yelps rang out as toes were stepped on by unsteady dancers.
Afterwards, Lucy oversaw the passing out of party favours. Instead of the usual antique coins, reticules, tiepins and card cases, the guests were given gold cufflinks and shirt studs, pearl brooches, sapphire earrings, silver desk sets and jewelled table clocks.
Isadora, flushed from all the attention she was getting, touched my arm. ‘Please could you find Father for me, Aunt Emma? I’ve been dancing non-stop and I’d like to do the gavotte with someone who doesn’t scare me half to death.’
‘Where is your mother?’ I asked. ‘And Harland for that matter?’
‘Mother’s having a nap so she can be fresh when she sees off the guests. I don’t know where Harland is.’
‘I don’t blame her, she’s been working hard. I’ll find your father.’
Oliver’s smoking room had been turned into a men’s cloak depository, and so he was sitting with some of the male guests in an enclosed colonnade adjacent to the ballroom. Through the glass door, I saw that he was handing out one-hundred dollar bills for the men to use to roll their tobacco.
‘Despite all the doom and gloom in the press, business has been splendid,’ he said in his booming voice. ‘It’s time for us to celebrate!’
I was about to tap on the glass to get his attention when I noticed one of the hired staff in courtier dress behaving oddly on the other side of the colonnade. He was hiding behind a palm plant so he could observe the men without them noticing. I waved to the men and knocked to get their attention, but they were engrossed in conversation and didn’t hear me above the music from the ballroom. It would have been unseemly for me to walk into a group of men smoking, so I went to find Woodford.
‘What’s the matter?’ Grace asked when I re-entered the ballroom.
I described what I’d seen to her. ‘I’m looking for Woodford so he can inform Oliver.’
‘Let’s find one of the detectives instead,’ she suggested. ‘Caroline said they’re wearing purple rose boutonnières.’
‘Detectives?’ I said, astonished. ‘Did Caroline anticipate the hired staff would be thieves?’
‘She’s not worried about the staff — they’re carefully checked by the agency. No, it’s the guests. Just because they’re the wealthiest people in New York, don’t be deceived they’re above going home with “souvenirs”. Dear Mrs Sommer is a known kleptomaniac, for example. There’s been a female police agent stationed in Caroline’s boudoir all night to make sure nothing goes missing.’
‘You can’t possibly be serious, Grace! Are you playing a joke on me?’
Her eyes flashed with amusement. ‘My dear Marie Antoinette, I’ve read in history books that you were quite innocent and now I see that you are! At my debutante ball there wasn’t a cigarette case, bath soap or silver teaspoon left in the house after the guests left, and there wasn’t anybody there who wasn’t worth at least ten million.’
We found one of the detectives and alerted him to what I’d se
en, but when we returned to the colonnade the mysterious courtier had disappeared. Oliver came out and asked what was the matter. When I explained it to him, he gave the detective orders to search the house and sent Grace and me back to the ball.
The dancing continued until six in the morning, when a buffet breakfast of sausages, eggs, ham and fishcakes was served. But after all the champagne and the chocolate mousse I had eaten only a few hours ago, the greasy odour turned my stomach.
Caroline and Harland entered the dining room looking refreshed. Caroline’s hair had been redone and her dress had been ironed, while everyone else resembled survivors of shipwreck, with wigs askew and powder settling in the creases of their faces. Oliver, Isadora, Lucy and I lined up with Caroline and Harland in the great hall to farewell the guests.
‘This has been the most stupendous, the most beautiful, the most entertaining ball I have ever attended in my life!’ Mrs Warburg exclaimed, taking Caroline’s hand. Then, noticing Augusta standing within hearing distance, she quickly added, ‘Except for Augusta’s annual balls, of course. They are very elegant affairs too.’
I was glad that at least one of Augusta’s devotees had maintained her loyalty.
Then I noticed that Augusta was chatting with Grace. ‘I have missed our conversations,’ I heard her say. ‘Please do call on me, Grace.’ It seemed they were mending their friendship, and I wondered what had brought about Augusta’s change of heart.
The other guests voiced similar views — ‘Magical!’; ‘Unequalled!’; ‘Never to be forgotten!’ — as we waved them off, and their footmen, valets and lady’s maids guided them down the red carpet to their carriages.
The early morning light gave the glistening snow a golden hue. Soon the city would spring to life: shop shutters would open, workers would head to their offices and street vendors would be calling out their wares. But I was sure the ball guests would all be going straight to bed.
‘This is my favourite time of day,’ Douglas said to me as he bid his farewells. ‘Fresh with new possibilities.’ He hesitated then added, ‘I’m off to California for a while to attend to some business matters there. I would like to call on you when I get back.’
‘We will be so pleased to see you,’ Caroline said, before I could respond. ‘You are welcome in our home any time.’
Douglas bowed in the manner of the French court before getting into his carriage.
‘Honestly, Caroline,’ I said, ‘you are creating an awkward situation for that poor man. I told you that I’m engaged.’
‘Really?’ She lifted my left hand. ‘Where is your ring? Or can’t he afford one?’
Despite being surrounded by guests, I was tempted to tell Caroline to mind her own business and stay out of mine. But then I remembered my promise to myself about being more patient with her.
After the last of the guests had left, Isadora, Caroline, Oliver and Lucy retired to their rooms. Isadora was swaying on her feet with fatigue, but I was too full of music and food to contemplate going to bed. I sat in the library, watching the male servants taking down the decorations and putting the furniture back in position, and the maids beginning to clean the house. When would the staff get a chance to rest?
Finally succumbing to a yawn, I went into the great hall to make my way upstairs. The door to Oliver’s office opened and the suspicious courtier I had seen earlier sneaked out and slipped into the ladies’ reception room, closing the door behind him.
My mind snapped to alertness. ‘Stop, thief!’ I cried and, without thinking, ran after him. I entered the reception room in time to see him open the window and put his foot to the sill. ‘Stop!’ I cried again, this time much louder.
The courtier hesitated and turned around, his mouth open in an expression of surprise. ‘Emma!’ he said in a feminine voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
I stumbled back a step. The features under the white powder became suddenly familiar. ‘Cecilia! I live here! What are you doing?’
Footsteps pounded outside in the great hall. Some servants had heard my cries and were running to my aid.
Cecilia gave me another puzzled glance before climbing out the window and dropping the short distance to the pavement below. I shook my head, unable to believe what had happened. I ran to the window and peered out, but a snow storm had begun to blow and Cecilia had vanished into the whiteness.
Woodford burst into the room accompanied by two footmen and a maid. ‘Where is the thief, Miss Lacasse? Where did he go?’
I pointed out the window but they would never catch up with Cecilia now.
‘Did you get a glimpse of the scoundrel’s face?’ Woodford asked.
I paused, then shook my head. ‘No, he was too fast.’ Whatever Cecilia West was doing, no good would come of
it, of that I was sure. I was also certain that my association with her would make whatever she had discovered ten times worse.
TWENTY-ONE
While Caroline basked in the success of her magnificent ball the following day, and Isadora received bouquets of American Beauty roses from potential suitors, I twisted at the emerald ring on my finger and fretted over the chance of something going terribly wrong. Why had Cecilia been at the ball? She was a ‘muckraker’, so what dark secret was she endeavouring to reveal? As I ruminated over the possible scenarios, I realised how terrible it would be if she revealed a connection to me. Caroline would view me as a traitor. And the consequences of that were too ghastly to imagine.
After luncheon, Caroline called me, Isadora and Lucy to her so we could review the newspaper reports together. Each time one of them discovered another article, a creeping dread stirred in me.
‘Look, here’s a comment in the New York Times,’ said Caroline. She smiled as she read the words aloud: ‘Mrs Hopper is no doubt the new leader of New York society, and so she should be. Her taste is irreproachable. One only has to take in the lavish details of her home on Fifth Avenue to see that.’
‘Oh, wonderful!’ cried Lucy. She read from a piece in the New York World: ‘Mrs Hopper’s ball in honour of her daughter was an event without equal in the social annals of this city. She spared no expense to create a brilliancy of dress and decoration that far outdoes anything that has come before it.’
Caroline and the ball were likewise praised in the New York Herald and other smaller publications. I racked my brain to remember the publication Cecilia had said she was writing for — McClure’s Magazine, wasn’t it? I had never come across a copy in the house, so it was unlikely that Caroline read it, but if it did carry a scandalous story, the daily papers were likely to pick it up too. Cecilia had said she was writing an exposé of wealthy men who exploited foreign labour. I remembered Florence’s reaction when she’d first found out I was related to the Hopper family. Was there some wrongdoing I didn’t know about? If so, what would be the effect of its revelation on Isadora? Caroline had warned me that my niece had already suffered two nervous collapses.
My fear only grew worse when I received a note from Florence in the last post of the day: Please come and see me tomorrow at ten o’clock on a matter of urgent importance. Plan to spend the whole day.
It was with trepidation that I arrived at Aunt Theda’s house the following morning at the appointed time. My fears weren’t allayed by the serious expression on Florence’s face when she greeted me at the door instead of Nora.
‘Come in, Emma,’ she said in a weary tone. ‘Cecilia is waiting for you.’
Cecilia? I hadn’t expected her. Was she going to grill me for information? I could counter that she had trespassed in my family’s home, and if I identified her to Oliver he would press charges.
Cecilia must have realised that too from the wary way she regarded me when I followed Florence into the drawing room. How different the mood was from the last time we’d been together for the Confirmed Bachelor Girls’ social night.
‘Well, Emma, you certainly surprised me,’ she said. ‘I knew you and Florence were hiding something, but I didn’t imagi
ne for one second that it was the fact that you’re related to the Hopper family.’
I didn’t answer. When I’d first arrived in New York I might have launched into an explanation about how Caroline and I had been estranged for years. Now I had too much invested in Isadora’s welfare to dissociate myself from Caroline and Oliver.
Cecilia pressed harder. ‘As you know, I’ve been writing stories on the robber barons of New York. Oliver Hopper, being one of the wealthiest, is of particular fascination to our readers. I’ve gathered quite a bit of information on the Hopper family and none of it is good, I’m afraid. But out of respect for Florence and her friendship with you, I’ve agreed to keep your name out of it — on one condition. That you spend the day with me and Florence and keep an open mind to the circumstances we present to you.’
I didn’t like being cornered, but I had to tread carefully. My first priority was that Cecilia didn’t write anything about Isadora that would hurt her or ruin her chances of a happy marriage. Caroline and Oliver were robust, but my niece was sensitive.
‘You’ll have to change into something plainer,’ Florence told me. ‘I’ve laid out a suitable outfit for you in my bedroom. Please leave your jewellery with Nora. I’ll let your coachman know that we’ll take you home at the end of the day so he’s free to go.’
Upstairs I found a grey woollen suit-dress on Florence’s bed, along with a black coat, scarf and lace-up boots. Where on earth were we going?
I had become so used to the beautiful garments that Caroline had bought for me that putting on the grey skirt and jacket made me feel as if I was going to prison. But I had done nothing wrong. I removed my emerald earrings and ring and put them in the box that had been left for me.
Despite the cold and the snow, which was hardening and turning slippery, we didn’t take a carriage or sleigh to our destination. Rather we walked for some distance in silence before coming to a junction of the elevated railway. I had to cover my ears against the deafening rattle of a train passing overhead. Florence bought our tickets and we climbed the slippery iron steps to the platform. A transit officer, bundled in a coat with only his eyes showing through the scarf wrapped around his face, took our tickets and we pushed our way through the stiff turnstile. The wind stabbed at me like icicles and I was glad when a train screeched to a halt next to us.
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