Harland snatched the watch from the man without a word, then looked about the hall and shouted the butler’s name. ‘Aston! Where is the damn carriage?’
The butler glanced at me, clearly humiliated that a guest was witnessing such a scene. ‘I am coming, sir,’ he called back. ‘The carriage is only around the corner. We had to move it for the street sweepers.’
Harland dashed out the door without saying any more. Aston returned to the reception room and cleared his throat, again promising to inform Grace I was there. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead and he kept patting his pocket and shaking his head as if he had forgotten something. Poor man, to have Harland as a master. It would break anyone’s nerves.
He disappeared and a few minutes later, Grace arrived. She was shaking like a leaf and there was a red welt on her cheek.
‘Grace!’ I cried, standing.
She threw herself into my arms. ‘Emma, thank goodness you are here.’
We sat down together and I took her trembling hand in mine. ‘Tell me what’s happened. What was that all about?’ I brushed my fingers against her cheek. The skin was burning hot. ‘Shall I tell Aston to get some ice?’
She grasped my hand harder and began to cry. ‘I don’t know if I can stand this any longer. For years I’ve avoided Harland’s temper by not doing anything to upset him. I’ve let him lead his life, and I’ve led mine as best I can. But this morning he stormed into my bedroom, sent my maid away and shut all the doors, then raged at me for over an hour, listing all my character flaws. I hoped if I kept quiet and let him rant he would run out of steam. But when I didn’t respond, he slapped me across the cheek.’ She paused for breath. ‘He’s never struck me before, Emma. The abuse has always been verbal. Things are getting worse. Dear Aston knocked at the door to tell him the carriage was ready, but really to get Harland away from me. Poor Aston. He was originally my late husband’s butler — he must be appalled at what’s become of me.’
My head throbbed. I was burning with anger that Harland had hit Grace, but I controlled myself. My adding fuel to the fire wouldn’t help.
‘What set him off?’ I asked.
Grace dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and sighed. ‘An article in the Journal of American Architecture. It accused him of turning New York into a replica of Europe, and praised instead the younger architects who are creating original buildings that reflect a modern city.’
‘And you were unfortunate enough to be close at hand — an object Harland could unleash his anger on instead of the people he really wants to rage at?’ I said.
Grace lowered her eyes and nodded.
‘Caroline is getting worse too,’ I told her. ‘I wonder if people like my sister and Harland regress with age. Perhaps they sense they’re losing their youthful charm and so they resort to intimidation.’
Grace considered what I said, then nodded. ‘That’s a keen observation. And perhaps now your sister is back, she and Harland can spend their time intimidating each other and leave the rest of us alone.’
I could tell that Grace was using her characteristic wry humour to soothe her fear, but I was worried that things were escalating between her and Harland. I made up my mind to introduce her to the women of Charles Garrett House. She was intelligent and good-natured and I was sure Florence and Cecilia would like her. Grace needed friends like them, and I wouldn’t be in New York for much longer.
As I made my way home after sharing some tea with Grace, I wondered what would happen if Caroline and Harland did turn on each other. My sister’s anger was a bottomless pit — Isadora had warned me of that. Harland was probably the same. It would be a savage battle.
The following morning, I received in the post my first piece of good news in weeks. The American Literary Journal had accepted my short story about the bear that escaped from the Bronx Zoo. The editor was full of praise for it: I found the story a rare combination of the whimsical and the powerful and I’m sure our readers will enjoy it. We hope to receive more of your stories.
The payment was to be on publication. I turned to the accounts slip enclosed with the letter and saw that it was for thirty dollars. I had been expecting no more than ten if it ever got published at all!
Later, when Rebecca arrived for her and Isadora’s supposed French lesson, I told the young women I was taking them to the zoo instead. ‘It will be fresh air and more inspiration for us all!’ I said.
When we arrived at the bear enclosure, I left the two friends alone to sketch and chat and went off for a stroll around the other exhibits. At least Isadora was more confident in herself now and might find it easier to make friends in England — if the Duke didn’t keep her isolated at Lyndale.
I was on the path to the aviary when I heard a voice call out, ‘Miss Lacasse! What are you doing here on your own?’
I turned to see Douglas Hardenbergh with his children. Auberon was eating cotton candy. Mabel was riding a hobby horse.
‘Good afternoon,’ I replied. ‘I’m not here on my own. I came with my niece and her friend, but I’ve left them to spend some time together on their own.’
Douglas straightened his shoulders. ‘Then allow me to accompany you. Unfortunately the zoo sometimes attracts unsavoury types. I’m not looking forward to the day the new subway reaches here — then we will get mobs of every description.’
By ‘mobs of every description’ I understood he was referring to the kinds of people who lived in his tenement buildings. I wanted to say something, but decided not to upset his children.
Auberon took my hand in his sticky one. ‘My cousin Edwina has a rocking horse that becomes a real pony at night,’ he told me.
Mabel glanced at him and I thought she was about to scold him for being silly. Instead she elaborated the story further. ‘I think Edwina said it became a unicorn. In fact, I’m quite sure it was a unicorn.’
Douglas and I exchanged a smile.
‘When I write fantasy stories the child in me comes alive,’ I told him. ‘It’s a pity that we lose our sense of magic when we reach adulthood.’
‘I believe that magic is simply a higher understanding of life,’ he replied.
An artist with a sketchpad beckoned to us. ‘What a handsome family! Let me sketch you all. Only one dollar for a fine memento of the day!’
Douglas pretended not to have heard. From the way he kept his attention strictly ahead I could tell he was as acutely embarrassed as I was.
When Mabel and Auberon ran ahead of us to look at a sloth, he cleared his throat. ‘When I married Nancy, I expected we would grow old together.’ He glanced fondly towards his children and shook his head. ‘It shouldn’t be this way. Mabel and Auberon shouldn’t be growing up without their mother.’
‘She sounds like an exceptional woman,’ I said, uncomfortable with the intimate turn of the conversation. I had an inkling Caroline had spoken to him about me again and he was letting me know that there were high expectations to live up to.
‘That’s what gives me comfort,’ he said, ‘that we made the most of every day. We never held grudges. We forgave each other everything.’
‘You were fortunate to have loved like that,’ I said. ‘Not many people experience that kind of love.’
He nodded, as if satisfied he had conveyed his point clearly. ‘How are you progressing with your writing?’ he asked.
‘I’ve just had a story accepted by The American Literary Journal.’
‘That’s quite prestigious! Congratulations!’
Mabel and Auberon rejoined us, and we came full circle to the bear enclosure.
Rebecca picked up Auberon. ‘Goodness me, this little fellow is solid,’ she said. ‘He’s as heavy as a sack of potatoes!’
‘Indeed,’ laughed Douglas.
‘I’m solid too,’ said Mabel, standing on her tiptoes.
‘You have grown since I last saw you,’ Isadora told her. ‘Soon you will be taller than me!’
The zoo was about to close, so we made our way to
the entrance and parted ways to take our separate carriages. Douglas helped his children into the brougham and waved to us as it moved off. I realised how much my perception of him had changed. He was by all accounts a chivalrous and pleasant man, yet I wondered how he could feel so deeply for his lost wife and his own children while at the same time showing such lack of compassion for the people who lived in his tenements. Spouses dying, children being orphaned and starvation were daily occurrences on the Lower East Side. While Cecilia had said Douglas was one of the better landlords, he was still squeezing people for maximum rent.
The words of the French writer Michel de Montaigne came back to me: I write to keep from going mad from the contradictions I find among mankind — and to work some of those contradictions out for myself. That Caroline considered I could ever be happy married to someone like Douglas only showed how little she knew me. But then my sister’s main criterion for marriage was not happiness.
My heart was heavy as I sat down in the carriage next to Isadora. I wished she were like the bear in my story and I could whisk her away in a private railcar. But that was a fantasy story too far-fetched for even me to conceive.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Whatever courage Mr Gadley, Rebecca and I had tried to instil in Isadora vanished when the Duke arrived in New York. Who could blame her? When I saw him standing in the great hall with his twenty-five trunks of clothes and sporting attire that Caroline had paid for, a chill ran through me. He was a dark cloud looming on an otherwise beautiful day.
‘Good morning, Isadora,’ he said, taking her hand.
His cool eyes appraised the furnishings and paintings with a keen interest that he didn’t show in his soon-to-be bride, who was pale and trembling.
The Duke’s Christian name was Mervyn, and now that he and Isadora were engaged we, as her family, were free to use it. But I couldn’t bring myself to think of him as anything other than ‘the Duke’. He had brought Mr Whitlock with him, but his brother and sister wouldn’t be arriving until a few days before the wedding so we didn’t even have those two cheerful spirits to lift the mood.
‘Oh God,’ Grace whispered to me after meeting him that evening, ‘he’s like an undertaker. Doesn’t the man have any sense of humour at all?’
The ball in honour of the Duke and to announce his and Isadora’s engagement had been organised for the week after Easter. To build the anticipation, Caroline made sure that everyone in society had a chance to view him. He and Isadora were paraded in a carriage in Central Park, with Isadora dressed romantically in an organdie gown, and the Duke in a top hat and day suit and carrying a walking stick that he didn’t need. They could have been wax figures on top of a wedding cake: smartly dressed, attractive and totally devoid of expression.
‘For God’s sake, Caroline, you’re making them look old-fashioned,’ Harland told my sister one day when we were riding with him and Grace in the carriage behind Isadora, the Duke and Lucy. ‘Why not do something more modern, like a motor car parade?’
It wasn’t the usual tone Harland used when he spoke to Caroline but she was so enthusiastic about the idea of a motor car parade that she didn’t notice. But I did. Was he still out of sorts because of the article in the architecture journal? I glanced at Grace, but she was staring off into the distance. She had a way of drifting into her own world whenever she was forced by circumstances to be with Harland and Caroline. ‘That’s brilliant, Harland,’ Caroline said. ‘That way the whole city can admire the Duke. I’ll organise it with Lucy for Palm Sunday, before the Easter Parade can steal the show.’
‘Isn’t the commemoration of Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem an odd date to choose for the motor car parade?’ I said to Grace afterwards when we were having afternoon tea together. ‘Is Caroline expecting the public to lay down palm branches before the Duke?’
The idea appealed to her sense of humour. ‘Well, with any luck they’ll crucify him the following week!’
Later, on my way to my room to dress for dinner, I was surprised to hear Oliver speaking in a raised voice to Caroline in the drawing room.
‘I don’t want some uppity noble with an aversion to hard work as a husband for Isadora! If you’re so determined for her to marry an Englishman, why not that affable Lord Randolph? He studied law, didn’t he? I could set him up in his own business in New York. That would be preferable to sending our only child to live on the other side of the Atlantic!’
Oliver was finally standing up for his daughter.
I stood still, my whole body tense, waiting for Caroline’s response. I didn’t hear it, but whatever she said it must have been the final word. The next day the preparations for the ball and the wedding continued with no change. Oliver’s stand had made no difference.
On the day of the motor car parade, the participants assembled in Central Park after the morning church service. Teddy supervised an army of white-aproned maids putting the finishing touches to the Hopper family’s automobiles. Oliver’s car was so heavily decorated with blue hydrangeas, cornflowers and clematis that it was barely recognisable as a vehicle. Caroline had bought the Duke a Daimler too, and the maids had adorned it with red roses as befitted a young couple ‘in love’. But it was Caroline’s touring car that was the pièce de résistance. Attached to either side were two metal and tulle butterfly wings. From the windscreen sprang a pair of wire antennae embellished with tiny lights, while two upturned bowls served as the butterfly’s eyes.
The other participants arrived in their De Dion-Boutons, Renaults, Panhards and Fiats, all the cars elaborately decorated with garlands of flowers and vines twisted around arbours. Together, they resembled a postcard I’d seen of the Mardi Gras parade in New Orleans.
Those who didn’t come in automobiles arrived in their elegant carriages. To many in society, motor cars were a novelty that would never replace the horse. Among those in the carriages were Harland and Grace, although Harland was going to ride with Caroline in her motor car, while Grace would travel with Oliver in his.
‘Is that such a good idea?’ I overheard Lucy ask Caroline. ‘You don’t want any whiff of a scandal now the Duke’s here. The attention must be on him and Isadora.’
‘It’s very fashionable for couples to mix at these events in America,’ Caroline assured her. ‘No one will think anything of it.’
Alarm flashed in Lucy’s eyes but she quickly covered her concern with a smile. ‘Yes, I’m sure you are right,’ she said, sounding unconvinced of her own statement.
Did Caroline believe that the rules of society no longer applied to her, I wondered.
Newton and Bessie Graham arrived in a motor car covered in yellow and white daisies. Lucy was to ride with them, while I had been assigned to Douglas Hardenbergh’s vehicle. My heart turned over when I saw his automobile was lavishly decorated in lilac blooms.
‘Oh, look at that!’ said Caroline. ‘He’s chosen your favourite flower, Emma. It must be a sign.’ Giving me a wink, she added, ‘Perhaps after Isadora and the Duke are married there will be another society wedding to plan!’
I knew perfectly well that Caroline had told Douglas that lilacs were my favourite flower. The fact that he’d gone along with her was what concerned me. Up until then, Douglas had been dallying with me but remained distant. But as he helped me into the passenger seat the twinkle in his eye confirmed a change in his demeanour towards me. My stomach tensed when I noticed that the wedding ring he always wore on his right hand to signify his widowhood had gone.
Once everyone had arrived, we proceeded along Fifth Avenue towards Bryant Park in order according to Teddy’s instructions, which Caroline had dictated to him the previous evening. This was no casual affair and the order was purely hierarchical. Only the top fifty people in society had been invited.
Dozens of policemen had been assigned to the route to stop people crossing the road in front of the automobiles, but children slipped between the adults’ legs and darted in front of us to wave. Although we were driving slowly, my ima
gination conjured an image of Angus Dempsy being crushed under the wheels of Oliver’s motor car.
‘Be careful of the children!’ I said to Douglas. ‘Can’t we go slower?’
He seized the occasion to display his manly calm. ‘I assure you that you are in safe hands, Miss Lacasse. We are not travelling above five miles per hour.’
The rumble of the engines, the gasoline fumes and the crowds were making the horses jittery. Some of them stepped backwards, trying to turn and bolt. I forced myself not to imagine the carnage that would result from a stampede, or if one of the drivers put their motor car into the wrong gear and ploughed into the crowd.
To add to my unease, Douglas took the opportunity to spout his philosophy on men, women and marriage.
‘It’s all very well for a woman to have a career when she is young and free,’ he said, giving me a significant look. ‘But matrimony is the sweet surrender of a woman’s mind and body to one who, with his greater knowledge and wisdom, is most fit to determine what is best for her. Don’t you agree?’
I wasn’t sure which of my preferred responses would plunge me deeper into the hole Caroline had dug for me: to refute him or to ignore him. So I merely smiled and changed the subject.
‘There’s a definite touch of spring in the air today. The gentle transition between seasons is my favourite time of year.’
At the conclusion of the parade, there was a picnic in Central Park. I was glad when the gathering finally dispersed and I could escape back to the house. An afternoon of intense writing would be required to clear my head of Douglas and his platitudes.
When I sat down at the escritoire in my room, I discovered to my horror that the picture of Grand-maman had disappeared. I searched behind the desk and in every corner of the room, but couldn’t find it. Where could it have gone?
It was Jennie’s day off, but it occurred to me that the frame might have been broken when the maids were cleaning and taken to the housekeeper for repair. I rushed downstairs to find her.
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