by Renee Yancy
She must have fallen asleep and woke when Mama rapped sharply on the front wall of the carriage. “Where are you taking us, James? Stop at once.”
The carriage jerked to a stop. Lindy lifted the lace curtain over the glass. The fog had dissipated, but the sky remained gray and cloudy. Instead of Pier 54 and its bustling three-story terminal, this wharf seemed abandoned. Weeds grew between the cracks of the rough planking, and the smell of neglected fish nets penetrated the glass.
The carriage door opened. James stood, clutching his hat in his hands, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry, madame,” he sputtered. “I’m afraid I’ve taken a wrong turn in the fog.” He swallowed. “I’ll step over and speak to one of those sailors to set me right.” He pointed to a few men loitering about the wharf.
“Step smartly,” snapped Mama, and James slunk off. Mama leaned against her seat. “Just wait until I speak to your father about this. Close that door.”
Lindy reached for the door handle and then stopped. The broken windows of the decaying terminal leered at her like eyes in a scarred face. She shivered in the cold air and peered harder at something moving on the ground. Lindy gathered her skirts and stepped out of the carriage.
“Where are you going, Evangeline? Come here!”
“Just a moment, Mama.” She shut the carriage door, cutting off her mother’s remonstrations, and crept toward the ramshackle building in the lightening gloom. A rusty iron fence ran along one side of the building out toward the dock. Old newspapers and dead leaves blown by the wind had collected on the lee side, and there lay three sleeping boys, barefoot and threadbare, sleeping on a pile of rags. Lindy gasped. They couldn’t be more than six or seven. Their dirty faces were pinched, even in sleep, and their poor little feet were grimy and calloused.
“Oh dear,” she whispered.
“Miss Lindenmayer.” James appeared at her elbow, accompanied by a man in striped socks, a wool seaman’s cap, and several days’ growth of beard. “Come along now. We’ll be late.”
“Wait.” Lindy turned to the sailor. “What are these boys doing here?”
The sailor glanced at the children. “Well, miss, looks to me like they’s sleeping.”
“But... but what are they doing here?”
The sailor raised his eyebrows. “I don’t take your meaning, miss.”
“Where are their parents? How could they have left them alone in such a...” She pulled her collar closer about her neck. “In such a terrible place?”
The sailor blinked. “They don’t have no parents, miss.”
“What? Then where do they live?”
He shrugged. “They lives right here. They’re wharf rats.”
Lindy exhaled. “Wharf rats?”
“Yes, miss. Why there’s gangs of ‘em, roaming the docks. Orphans or abandoned, all of ‘em.”
Lindy shook her head helplessly. “But how do they live?”
The sailor’s eyes narrowed. “What’s an orphan or two?” His contemptuous gaze flicked over her body and returned to her face.
James pushed in front of the sailor. “That’s enough, you scallywag. Go on about your business.”
The sailor retreated a few steps. Lindy stared at the abandoned boys. How could she help them? Then she remembered the small change purse in her reticule and fumbled for it in her coat pocket.
Her fingers closed over the coins. She pulled them out and faced the sailor. He stared at her, a cocky grin on his face.
She swallowed hard. “Sir... would it be possible... could you—”
Her mother opened the carriage door and glared through it like a gorgon. “Evangeline!” she screeched. “Come here at once.”
James cast a nervous look back. “Please, miss,” said James. “She’ll sack me for sure.”
Lindy held out her hand to the sailor. “Could you buy them a hot meal? And perhaps... some shoes if there’s enough left over?” She dropped the coins into his palm.
The grin left the sailor’s face, and he stared at the silver dollars in his hand. “Are you sure, miss? This is a lot o’ money.”
“I’m sure.”
The man’s lips twisted. “Alms for the poor, is it?” He turned and spat on the wood planks at his feet. “Trying to clear your conscience? It’ll take more than this.”
“It’s all I can do for the moment. I’m sorry to have to ask you to do it for me.”
The sailor scrutinized her, and then his face softened. “Blimey, if I don’t believe you.” He laughed shortly, then pulled a silver medal on a chain from under his shirt and kissed. it “On my life, and the Blessed Virgin, I’ll do it.”
Next to her, James’ foot tapped with suppressed impatience. “Please, Miss Lindenmayer, we must go. Now.”
“Thank you.”
She steeled herself not to turn and look at the boys again and allowed James to lead her to the carriage.
“What’s gotten into you?” Her mother glared at her. “What were you doing?”
Her mother would never understand. Lindy didn’t answer, but shook her head and closed her eyes instead.
She understood the concept of poverty. She’d read about it in books and the newspapers. But never before had she been starkly brought face to face with it as she had just now.
She groaned inwardly. The image of the poor starving boys had been indelibly branded on her soul.
Chapter 20
London, England
They had been at the Savoy Hotel in London for two weeks, in a pleasant suite of rooms that overlooked the River Thames, all tapestries, blue and gold silk damask, and gold taps in the bathrooms.
Mama bustled into Lindy’s boudoir with a triumphant smile on her face. “I’m so pleased about the invitation to the ball tonight.” She sank onto the bed, waving the card in her hand. “Thanks to Minnie Paget. Lady Paget, I should say. She has proven to be most true to her American friends.”
Mama heaved her considerable bulk off the bed and went into the dressing room. “The Prince of Wales will be there. I must find a way for you to be introduced to him. Claudine, come right away, I need you.”
Claudine looked up from the linen she had been folding and winked at Lindy. “Mais certainement, madame.”
Mama paused at the doorway. “Evangeline.”
“Yes, Mama?”
“I do hope you’ll perk up for the ball. You’ve been positively gloomy since we arrived. Remember—”
“I know, Mama. No one likes a dour debutante.”
“Well then. I hope to see an improvement in your attitude.”
“Yes, Mama.” Lindy turned to the mirror at the dressing table. Even amid all the fuss of docking in Liverpool and the traveling to London, checking in at the Savoy, and getting ready for a full docket of balls and luncheons, she hadn’t been able to expunge the memory of the ragged boys asleep on the cold ground. Their pinched faces and chilblained feet had even appeared in her dreams. Mr. Winthrop had said there was much work to be done in the poorer sections of New York. And now I’ve seen it for myself.
Lindy grimaced at her reflection. Another ball tonight. Another endless evening of introductions to English men looking for a rich wife. She’d already received three proposals. Of the three, her mother favored Lord Higginbottom, but his liver-colored lips and reddened eyelids repulsed Lindy, and she had refused to consider it.
Mama had received the rejection with good grace. “This is only the beginning, Evangeline. And he’s only an earl, after all. You’ll have other offers.”
Lindy rolled her eyes. An earl wasn’t good enough for her mother. It had to be a duke.
Her mother’s stringent voice followed her through the connecting door to her own suite. “I’ve chosen the white and silver tulle for you.”
Lindy shut the door and sighed as Claudine emerged from the dressing room. “What is it, chérie?”
“Nothing. Only Mama and her usual fuss over things that have no import.”
Claudine glanced out the window. The sunlight had disapp
eared. “It’s getting late. We must begin if you are to be punctual.”
After a long soak in a scented bath and Claudine’s administrations to her coiffure, Lindy stood before the mirror while Claudine dressed her in the ball gown.
“Magnifique!” Claudine clapped her hands. “C’est fabuleux! You will be the belle of the ball tonight, chérie.”
“Only one of many belles.” Lindy examined her reflection. The elegant silver-spangled tulle gown showed her waist to perfection. She had chosen the aquamarine and diamond pendant as her only jewel, although she had allowed Claudine to weave a single strand of diamonds into her dark hair.
“You will be the most beautiful of all.”
Lindy laughed and kissed Claudine’s cheek.
“I want to hear all about the Prince when you return.”
“It will be quite late. Why don’t you go out this evening and explore? I’m sure Pierre would be happy to escort you, hmm?”
Claudine blushed. “Merci. I will then.”
Mama opened the connecting door and entered the room, resplendent in a burgundy velvet gown trimmed with gold lace and a collar studded with diamonds and rubies at her throat. More diamonds adorned her wrists and coiffure.
“Mama, you needn’t wear all your jewels at once. You won’t be able to move with all that on.”
“Don’t be cheeky.” Mama’s gaze fixed on her. “Apparently, I need to wear the jewels to represent the Lindenmayer family as you have decided not to. I want you to make a good impression on the duke.”
“He’s already married, Mama, to a princess.”
“Don’t you think I know that? Honestly, Evangeline, do you have any interest in your future at all? The Prince may introduce you to an eligible suitor.”
She did have an interest. It’s just wasn’t the same as her mother’s.
Mama snapped her fingers at Claudine. “Bring the cases. She needs something else.”
“No, Mama. This is enough. Perhaps I will dazzle the Prince with my simplicity.”
Her mother sighed. “You’re quite wearying, Evangeline. My mind cannot keep up with your strange ideas.”
“It’s not my idea, Mama. It’s Leonardo da Vinci’s. He said ‘Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.’”
“I don’t care a fig who said it. Let us be off.”
She swept through the doorway and disappeared. Claudine slipped the evening cape over Lindy’s shoulders. “Do try and have fun, chérie,” she whispered.
***
The Grand Ballroom of the fashionable Langham’s hotel on Regent Street gleamed in colors of cream and gold. Towering Renaissance pillars circled the room, and shimmering crystal chandeliers lit the gay scene. Several American families were there, including the Goulet’s. Maddie waved to her across the ballroom, and Lindy noted with amusement that a troop of admirers already surrounded her pretty friend, including the rejected Lord Higginbottom. Lindy’s own dance card soon filled up.
Her current dance partner, a young baron with prematurely gray hair and a lisp, had stopped near the French doors bordering a garden. Out of breath after a waltz and a mazurka, Lindy excused herself and walked onto the terrace. The scent of night-blooming jasmine intoxicated her, and although she knew she shouldn’t go anywhere unaccompanied, the garden lured her like a hummingbird drawn to the throat of a lily.
Bay trees lined the twisting paths, adding their subtle scent to the fragrance of roses and jasmine. She passed one alcove and started as two intertwined figures shifted and moved. She hurried to the terrace to sit on one of the marble benches, drinking in the scented air.
“All alone, my dear?”
A short and stout figure with a luxuriant white beard beamed at her. Medals and ribbons covered his chest, and his bald head gleamed in the moonlight.
She rose to her feet and swept a curtsy. “Your Grace!”
The Prince of Wales waved a hand at her. “Prettily done. May I join you?”
“Of course.” She moved over to make room, and he sat his considerable weight onto the bench with a little sigh. “I’m not as young as I used to be. These dances are murder on my feet.” He smiled and pulled a silver case out of his pocket. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all.”
The Prince lit a slim cigar, puffing a few moments until it drew. “You’re an American girl, then. Are you enjoying your stay in our ‘Merrie Olde Englande’?”
“Yes, Your Grace, very much.”
“Here to find a husband?”
Lindy grimaced. “If my mother has her way.”
The Prince guffawed. “Oh, you American girls. I quite enjoy my conversations with you. Always have something to say, don’t you? Not like our homegrown English roses.” He crossed his legs. “So, who have you set your cap for, then?”
“No one, Your Grace. If I could choose, I wouldn’t marry right away.”
“Indeed.” He scrutinized her. “Which family are you from?”
“The Lindenmayers, sir. I am Evangeline Lindenmayer.”
The Prince puffed on his cigar. “Ah, yes. The Lindenmayers. Your father made a fortune out West, wasn’t it? Mines or something?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Silver and copper.”
“Hmm. Still at it, is he?”
“Yes, he stays quite busy.”
“Is he here with you tonight?”
“No, sir. I am here with my mother.”
“She sounds formidable, Miss Lindenmayer. I should like to meet her.”
Lindy repressed a grin. That would send her mother to exalted heights. “She would be honored, Your Grace.”
The Prince of Wales stood and threw his cigar into an obliging rosebush. “Then do let us go in.” He held out his arm.
Oh, my. Won’t Mama be surprised?
All eyes focused on them when they walked in from the terrace. The Prince of Wales turned and contemplated her face in the glow of the chandeliers. “Why, you’re beautiful, my dear. Perfectly charming.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Mama stood in an alcove near the French doors, ecstasy blooming on her face.
“I see my mother, Your Grace.”
He turned his head as Mama approached, her plump body encased like a sausage in her burgundy silk gown. She dipped a deep curtsy to the prince.
“Your Grace, may I present my mother to you. Mrs. Vera Lindenmayer.”
The Prince of Wales took her mother’s gloved hand and dropped a kiss on the back of it. “I’m charmed to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Lindenmayer. I am enjoying the company of your dazzling daughter and her frank speech.”
The beaming smile on Mama’s face turned into a frown. “I do hope she didn’t offend you, Your Grace.”
The Prince shook his head. “Au contraire, Mrs. Lindenmayer, she is a delightful young lady, to be sure.” He looked up. “Ah, Hampshire is here. I’ll introduce you.”
A man in impeccable white tails approached. High of forehead, with wavy blond hair and a cleft in his firm chin, the man smiled, revealing beautiful white teeth.
“Ladies, this is the ninth Duke of Hampshire, James Alexander Bentley.” They dipped a small curtsy. The duke took each of their gloved hands in turn and kissed them.
Her mother’s breathing quickened, and the diamonds on her bosom flashed. But she didn’t reply immediately. No doubt, the shock of meeting not one but two persons of English royalty had rendered her temporarily speechless.
“Hampshire, this is Mrs. Vera Lindenmayer and her daughter, Miss Evangeline Lindenmayer. They are here to enjoy our brief London season.”
“How lovely to meet you both.” Mama recovered her powers of speech. “Such an honor.”
The Duke of Hampshire bowed to them. Fresh-faced, with a straight nose and hazel eyes, he had a disarming smile. “How pleasant to meet you.” His gaze settled on Lindy as the notes of a waltz sounded in the ballroom. “Do you like to dance, Miss Lindenmayer?”
“It depends on the partner.” She caught a glimpse of her mother
watching her and flashed the young duke a brilliant smile.
“I think I’m up to the challenge.” He held out his hand, led her to the dance floor, and proceeded to whirl her through a waltz with so many dizzying turns that she fell breathless into a chair when it ended.
She plucked the ivory fan hanging from her sash and waved it with vigor at her hot cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve ever danced a waltz like that.”
Hampshire laughed and took the chair next to her. “Then, you approve of my partnering skills?”
“You passed with flying colors.”
“Shall I bring you some refreshment?”
“No, thank you, I’ll just sit here a bit to recover.”
“Where is that famous American vigor I’ve heard so much about, Miss Lindenmayer?”
“I’m afraid I left it on the dance floor.”
“I hope you’re able to retrieve it, for I fully intend to dance with you again.” He smiled at her. “How long will you be in London?”
“Another week, perhaps two.” Until we meet the desired aristocrat.
“Excellent. Perhaps I will have the pleasure of seeing you again.”
“That would be lovely.”
Her mother lurked behind a potted palm not far away, peering through the fronds. The diamonds in her coiffure glinted as she nodded and whispered to Mrs. Goulet next to her, fabulous in a gown of emerald brocade.
Lindy turned away from her mother’s smiling face and cast about for some suitable topic of conversation.
But the duke spoke first. “You live in the city of New York, I understand?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you do there for pleasure, Miss Lindenmayer?”
“I read a great deal. And bicycles are becoming quite popular.”
The duke jaw dropped. “You don’t mean to say you ride a bicycle?”
She laughed. “No, but I’d love to try.”
The duke smiled. “I can’t picture a lady on one of those contraptions.” The notes of a quadrille struck up. He stood up. “Would you do me the honor?”
There was no help for it. She stood and took his arm. The duke commandeered the rest of her evening, insisting on rewriting her dance card until the gong sounded at midnight, announcing dinner.