The Test of Gold

by Renee Yancy

  They ascended the grand staircase as the oboe sounded a penetrating note, and the orchestra tuned their instruments. The main opera house had the usual horseshoe-shaped audience area, with tiers of boxes around its outer perimeter. The grand proscenium arch delineating the stage shimmered in the glow of crystal chandeliers hung from the center of the saucer-domed ceiling, itself a marvel of gilt plaster.

  An usher in crimson and gold livery escorted them to the duke’s box, which wasn’t a box at all but contained a small sitting room for gentlemen who wished to partake of a whiskey or a cigar. The loge from which they would observe the opera lay beyond the sitting room, with crimson velvet drapes pinned at the sides and three gilded chairs placed at the front.

  A maid took their cloaks, and they entered the loge. The auditorium lay below them, nearly filled with patrons. The women shone like jeweled butterflies as they greeted friends and exchanged air kisses. Mama immediately drew her opera glasses and scanned the audience. “Oh, there’s Minnie, directly across from us! My, what an ugly gown.”

  The duke smiled. Lindy grimaced and studied the program while Mama continued to survey the audience. “There’s Elizabeth Rockefeller, in a perfectly hideous shade of green. It makes her complexion look positively jaundiced.”

  “Mama, please!” She made a sideways motion with her eyes at the duke.

  Vera rolled her eyes and subsided. “Very well.”

  The duke laughed. “Please don’t stop on my account. Your American candor is refreshing.”

  Vera smiled complacently, and Lindy swallowed the temptation to roll her eyes. Fortunately, the curtain went up and spared her from further speech. The lights dimmed, and the audience took their seats. The plaintive notes of the prelude drifted over the audience like the touch of a gentle breeze.

  The “Libiamo” of act 1 began, an exuberant song extolling the pleasures of life. Lindy tapped her foot in time to the music. When the heroine, Violetta, pondered her experience with Alfredo and sang about falling in love, Lindy's heart soared with the coloratura soprano’s notes. She wanted to be in love like that too. From out of nowhere, the winsome brown eyes and dimpled smile of Mr. Winthrop came to her.

  Then the crescendo of Violetta’s aria “Sempre Libera” cascaded through the room. “I must always be free!”

  Thrilled, Lindy glanced sideways to gauge the effect of the aria on her mother and snorted. Mama had fallen asleep in her chair. Shouts of “Brava!” and a spontaneous burst of thundering applause crashed over them, and Mama jerked awake in time to see the curtain fall. Lindy stole a sideways glance at the duke. He fixed his attention on the stage, but a tiny smile played about the corners of his mouth.

  Act 2 brought the songs of two people deeply in love, and Lindy hung on every note. And when Alfredo’s father, Giorgio, appeared to convince Violetta to give up the love of her life, Lindy wished she could rewrite the opera.

  “One day, his passion will die.” Giorgio's voice hammered at Violetta to forsake Alfredo.

  Finally, Violetta is persuaded to give Alfredo up. But Alfredo must never know. She writes a letter to Alfredo telling him she’s returning to Paris. When Alfredo comes in unexpectedly, she gets flustered. She sings, “Love me, Alfredo, love me as much as I love you!” The desperation in Violetta’s voice pierced Lindy to the marrow.

  In act 3, Violetta won’t return to Alfredo because of her promise to his father, although Alfredo pleads with her. He doesn’t understand, thinking she is in love with the Baron, and he becomes despondent. Then Violetta sings, “Alfredo, you don’t know how much I love you. But someday you will know, and I will be dead.”

  Act 4 began with Violetta on her deathbed, reading an old letter from Giorgio. Alfredo knows all and is on his way to her. Violetta sings, “Addio del passato.” “It’s too late. Goodbye to all my sweet dreams, I only want Alfredo.” Tears fell from Lindy’s eyes, and an aching pain welled up inside her as the mournful notes of the oboe lingered.

  Then the door burst open—Alfredo enters, and the lovers are reunited.

  Lindy recoiled at a sharp poke in her side. Mama leaned in close. “Let’s leave now.”

  Lindy shook her head. “This is the most important part. It’s almost over.”

  Her mother frowned and settled in her chair, her face looking like curdled milk. On the pretext of rearranging her skirts, Lindy managed to turn her chair away from her mother.

  Alfredo tells Violetta they will leave Paris, and she will get well. But it’s too much for Violetta. Knowing she will die soon, she takes her portrait from her locket and gives it to Alfredo. Alfredo is overcome. Giorgio confesses his mistake and asks Violetta to forgive him. All three sing—soprano, tenor, baritone in tragic harmony. Violetta sits up, feeling stronger. “I’m going to live!” she sings. Then she falls dead on her couch. The music in the auditorium built to a fortissimo. Lindy’s heart thudded along with the dramatic drum rolls. The curtain fell.

  Deafening applause ensued. Lindy leaped to her feet, her hand at her throat. Tears streamed down her face. She and the duke clapped as shouts of “Bravo!” and “Brava!” filled the auditorium. The curtain opened, and the singers took repeated bows. The stage floor disappeared under bouquets of lilies and roses thrown upon the stage, and the stage manager presented the coloratura soprano with a huge bouquet of red roses.

  Finally, the curtain fell and remained closed. Lindy’s hands tingled, and she took a deep breath to calm herself, her heart filled with the conflicting emotions the opera had engendered.

  The duke turned to her, smiling. “That was superb. Quite possibly the best I’ve ever heard it performed.”

  Lindy nodded. “Oh, I agree! My heart is still pounding after that final aria.”

  “Yes, it was wonderful. And now I hope you will be my guests at a late supper I’ve arranged at the Savoy?”

  “We’d be pleased, Your Grace.”

  “Thank heavens,” whispered Vera into Lindy’s ear. “Why do these things have to be so long? And all that caterwauling! Like bedlam in a barnyard.”

  ***

  The Savoy dining room was as full at midnight as it had been earlier in the day. A table laid with crystal and silver awaited them in a quiet corner. Hand-written menus lay at each place setting, silver ink on rose-colored paper.

  Canapés de Caviar

  Oeufs Mirabeau

  Poulet de Grains Grillée Diable

  Pêches Rose Chéri

  When they were seated, the duke leaned toward Lindy and smiled charmingly. “I took the liberty of ordering earlier today.”

  He seemed quite sure of himself. The duke and her mother exchanged a glance, and Lindy frowned. Something didn’t feel right.

  Vera nodded at the duke, the feathers in her hair bobbing like a rooster’s wattle. “I’m sure whatever you’ve chosen will be delicious, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you for your confidence in me. One of the finest chefs in all of Europe is here on London soil. The Savoy has lured Monsieur Escoffier from his beloved Paris, and we are all the richer for it. Perhaps we shall meet him tonight. He often comes out to greet his diners.”

  Champagne arrived at the table, a Moët & Chandon, in its own block of ice set in a silver urn. The waiter deftly covered the top of the bottle with a white cloth and uncorked the wine with a soft pop! He poured the sparkling wine into crystal flutes and replaced the bottle in its ice bucket.

  The duke looked at Lindy and Vera and smiled. “To two beautiful American ladies!”

  Her mother took a sip of champagne. “I hope we shall meet again. This has been a lovely evening, Your Grace.”

  The duke turned to her. “And what about you, Miss Lindenmayer? Is it your wish to meet again?”

  Not for nothing had her mother tutored her all these years to engage in mindless conversation. “I would be most pleased, Your Grace, should you choose to honor us with your company.”

  Her mother frowned. Perhaps Lindy had been two obsequious? The appetizer arrived then, and Lindy
ignored her mother’s glare. Mama had obviously set her cap for a duke. This duke.

  The waiter set three tiny silver plates on the table, holding round pieces of toast covered with a piping of butter and a plump mound of black Beluga caviar in the center.

  “The Canapés de Caviar, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  The canapés were delicious, as was the next dish, eggs gently cooked in anchovy butter and stuffed with tarragon cream.

  “I trust my selections are light enough for a midnight supper, ladies?”

  Lindy nodded, but this wasn’t her idea of eating lightly. Two dishes so far with three kinds of butter. She would definitely be taking a long walk in the morning.

  But she couldn’t restrain herself when their waiter served the Poulet de Grains Grillée Diable. Tender slices of chicken with a mustard and cayenne pepper crust, surrounded by thin slices of lemon and served with a sauce of shallots and white wine.

  “Mmmm.” Then she blushed. “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

  “You like it?”

  “My goodness, it’s absolutely delicious.”

  The duke patted his mouth with his napkin. “I’m so glad.”

  The waiter whisked away the dishes and refilled their champagne glasses. A distinguished older man with a drooping white mustache approached their table, clad in striped trousers and an immaculate black frock coat. He carried a silver timbale, which he set in the middle of the table with a flourish.

  “Monsieur Escoffier!” The duke rose to his feet and shook the gentleman’s hand. “I congratulate you on another feat of gastronomic genius.”

  Monsieur Escoffier bowed. “Merci.”

  “May I introduce my supper guests? Mrs. Lindenmayer, from America, and her charming daughter, Miss Evangeline Lindenmayer.”

  Monsieur Escoffier kissed the hand of each lady. “Charmed, madame et mademoiselle.” He gestured to the timbale on the table. “Maintenant, s’il vous plaît, le Pêches Rose Chéri.”

  He bowed again and left them to the dessert—peaches poached in vanilla syrup, covered with a puree of pineapple and champagne, and served icy cold.

  When they had finished, Lindy lifted her champagne flute. “A delicious end to a memorable meal. Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “It has been my pleasure.”

  They left the dining room, walked into the lobby of the Savoy, and paused at the sparkling fountain that threw dazzling drops of water three stories high.

  The duke bowed. “I will bid you good night then, ladies.” He smiled at both of them, but his glance lingered on Lindy. “Adieu!”

  He turned and left them, a sprightly erect figure with a noticeable bounce in his step.

  “That went well.” Vera snapped her fan shut and smiled at her. “You were perfect.”

  Lindy raised an eyebrow at her mother as they walked toward the lift. “Indeed.”

  “I’m sure he’s interested in you, Evangeline.”

  The feeling wasn’t mutual.

  The lift door opened, and they entered the wrought-iron cage that would take them to their suite.

  Lindy yawned. She wanted to unpin her hair and shed her corset, get into bed, and not think about anything.

  “Well, Evangeline?” Her mother gazed expectantly at her.

  “Hmm?” Had she missed something?

  “I said,” her mother jutted her chin, “I think he fancies you.”

  “Well, bully for him.” Oops. That was a mistake.

  Her mother’s face inflated like a balloon, seeming to expand as she thrust it into Lindy’s face. “I haven’t come all this way and made my plans for nothing, Evangeline.”

  Don’t I know it. “Mama, I understand.” The lift door opened, and she hastily stepped into the carpeted corridor. “All I want to do now is go to bed. You don’t want me to look pasty tomorrow, do you? Who knows whom we shall meet?”

  “True,” her mother said. Mama drew the room key from her bag and unlocked the door. “You had better go straight to bed.”

  Lindy sent up a silent prayer. Thank you, Lord. Without another word, Mama opened her own bedroom door and retreated.

  “Oh my.” Lindy opened the bedroom door and leaned against it, suddenly exhausted.

  Claudine poked her head up from the sofa in front of the fire. “How was your evening, chérie?” She sat up and stretched, then came over to Lindy. “Let’s get you out of this.”

  Lindy laid her evening bag down and turned so Claudine could unbutton her. “I suppose it was a success—if you asked my mother.”

  “And if I asked you, chérie?”

  Lindy hesitated. “I... don’t know anymore.” Claudine lifted the bodice away, and Lindy stepped out of the skirt. Claudine rapidly finished undressing her, and Lindy gasped when the unlaced corset fell away from her, and she could finally take a deep breath. At the dressing table, Claudine unpinned her hair and removed the jewels, and then brought a long silk nightgown. Lindy fell into bed.

  “Good night, chérie.” Claudine tiptoed out after opening the window near Lindy’s bed.

  A crescent moon hung in the sky outside her window. Her throat thickened, and astonished, she realized tears smarted in her eyes. Why?

  Suddenly, she longed to be home, curled up in her chair in the library, not having to bother with all this formal stuff. It signified nothing. Talking endlessly about boring matters like the weather and who was going where and with whom. The season had just started, and all she wanted was for it to end.

  Mr. Winthrop’s cheerful face popped into her mind, and her heart gave an eager thump. To be able to speak to him right now and have a discussion that meant something. The realization rose like an iceberg to the surface of her mind, and she sighed.

  I miss Mr. Winthrop.

  Chapter 23

  A squeal from her mother’s bedroom next door woke Lindy the next morning. It was still early, according to the sun slanting through her window.

  Vera burst through the connecting door, her thinning hair in a careless knot. “You’ll never guess! Oh, it’s wonderful!” She dropped an envelope on the bed.

  Lindy yawned. “It must be something special to have you this excited this early.” Normally her mother never appeared before noon after a late evening out.

  A lion and a unicorn on the envelope caught her attention. She pulled out an invitation with the same coat of arms stamped at the top.

  His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales

  Requests the pleasure of your company

  For a weekend at Sandringham House, Norfolk

  October 24 to 26, 1897

  Vera snatched the invitation out of Lindy’s hands. “Isn’t it marvelous?” She clasped a hand to her throat. “We’ve only been here a fortnight, and already we’re invited to the Prince of Wales’s estate!”

  “How astonishing, Mama. Perhaps you should cable Papa and tell him the stupendous news.”

  “A capital idea. I’ll do it at once.” She turned and hustled into her bedroom, calling for Hortense.

  Claudine shook a finger at Lindy, who shrugged.

  ***

  Three days later, Lindy and her mother, accompanied by Claudine and Hortense, took the train north from London on their journey to Sandringham. There were several other American girls on the train, accompanied by their mothers and maids.

  Mama sniffed. “That’s Edith Pendleton.” She nodded toward the front of the car. “It’s only last year they were finally admitted to a Patriarch’s Ball.” She lowered her voice. “And now they’re here in England. Do you suppose they’re headed for Sandringham?”

  “It’s quite possible, Mama.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Because the Prince of Wales is interested in Americans. American girls, in particular.”

  “Hmm.” Her mother stared at Mrs. Pendleton and her daughter sitting several seats in front of them.

  “Mama, did you think we would be the only Americans invited to the weekend?”

  Her mother turned
her gaze away from the Pendleton’s. “I hadn’t thought about it at all, Evangeline. It doesn’t matter. You’ll outshine them all.” She patted Lindy’s arm.

  Lindy concentrated on the emerald fields and hedgerows passing outside the train window. What would her mother do if her carefully made plans came to naught? If the right earl or duke didn’t materialize? If I refuse to do her bidding? Chilly fingers grazed Lindy’s neck. They would have to go through all this again. The balls and open houses, the trips to Paris for the most fashionable dresses. The endless rounds of dinners and parties. She groaned mentally.

  Help me, Lord. All I want to do is go home.

  ***

  The train pulled into the Wolferton station with a hiss of steam. Mama gathered her things, humming, and brandished her umbrella. “I’m so glad I won’t be needing this.” She stepped out of the train car and took a deep breath. “It’s a perfectly glorious day!”

  Lindy followed her. The trees on the hillsides blazed in shades of scarlet, orange, and gold against a deep cerulean blue sky. A flock of wooly white sheep grazed in the distance, and the air held the crisp tang of wood smoke and apples. Lindy took a deep breath. If nothing else, the English countryside proved spectacular.

  That evening the Prince of Wales greeted guests at the head of the receiving line before the ball, with his wife, Princess Alexandra, at his side.

  He winked at Lindy when she approached with her mother. “My American friends! I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation.” He turned to his wife. “My dear, the American ladies I told you about.”

  Mama and Lindy dipped a curtsy. “Mrs. Otto Lindenmayer, and my daughter, Evangeline.”

  The Princess nodded. Her blond hair had been woven into a regal coronet to fit inside her diamond tiara. “So nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay at Sandringham House.”

  Vera and Lindy stepped away, and a woman in coral silk velvet came up to them. “Vera, you’re here! I have some very eligible men lined up to meet Evangeline.”

  I don’t want to be here. I’m suffocating.

  The woman turned to Lindy, appraising her dress and outfit. “My word, child! What a beauty you’ve turned out to be.” She smiled at Vera. “You should have no trouble finding her a husband, dear. Put your fears to rest.”