“Lizzie!” Emma shrieked and slapped a hand against her mouth. “Father will have kittens!”
“Kittens? Oh, I think not. He’ll have a cow or maybe a dragon. Aye, he’ll have a dragon if he sees boys chasin’ after you!”
“A fire breathing dragon!” Emma shouted in delight.
“Aye, little missy, so no flirtin’ with silly rascals,” Lizzie teased with a twinkle in her eyes.
Emma adored Lizzie and was thrilled that the spirited Irish girl had come to Ravenscraig. Young and pretty with bright red hair and deep green eyes, she was nothing like the older, more serious members of the housekeeping staff. She was the only one who didn’t treat her as though she were too young for everything.
Father’s voice carried to the top of the stairs as he barked orders at Mrs. Butterfield and Mr. Chadwick. A grand dinner party was to be held at Ravenscraig in honor of the new mayor in just three days and there was apparently much to yell about this early on.
“Oh, don’t even give him a second thought,” Emma patted Lizzie’s arm, as though she was very grown up. “Father is always yelling. He doesn’t really mean anything by it.”
“Well, that’s fine, but we don’t want any unneeded delays addin’ to his concerns,” Lizzie urged her along. “Here’s yer coat, Miss Emma.”
Rupert Willows loved control almost as much as he adored being the center of attention. Hence, the order was given to the stable that he would drive the sleigh himself this evening. He was intent on setting the gossips atwitter upon his entrance at the Drewry party and arriving in the driver’s seat would accomplish this most directly.
The entire party would know in short order that he had acquired a new, fantastically expensive coach, and most important, that he had the dash to take the place of his driver. He had instructed his eldest sons, Alfred and James, to go on ahead to the party in a hired sleigh. In this way his own rig would not be overloaded and his sons would be on hand to gauge the reaction to his arrival.
While Rupert reprimanded the household staff, Henry readied the coach, absent-mindedly muttering and whistling as he settled the horses into position. The excitement, or perhaps it was better described as tension, was felt equally by the family upstairs and by the servants below stairs at the Willows home.
Horses were so much easier than people, Henry mulled. One had to stay on one’s toes around the likes of Rupert J. Willows, Esquire, but after six years in his employ, Henry could read the signs and catch the signals.
Tonight the Willows family would travel up to Redwood House to ring in the New Year—the new century, in fact. This was the famed home of Edward Drewry, a respected city leader and alderman as well as owner of the highly profitable Red River Brewery, risibly known as the Drewry Brewery. There was no doubt this party ranked at the top of the list of society events being held in the city on this special night.
“Not the usual class of party for His Nibs, wouldn’t you say, Charlie?” Henry reflected as he affectionately rubbed the lead horse’s muzzle, and puzzled over how this invitation must have come about. Willows was a tyrant dressed as a gentleman. Oh, he knew his way to a dollar all right, but God help those who stumbled into his path.
As Henry heaved the buffalo robes into the sleigh, he thought about the strange world of the wealthy in Winnipeg. There would be no fewer than eight millionaires at this party. Willows was not officially part of that elite club of successful leaders, Henry knew, but he was clearly desperate to gain his way in.
“He’s a study, that one,” commented Henry to the horses as he rubbed their necks and cast a practiced eye over the rig to see that everything was in perfect order. Mr. Willows had been quite sharp in delivering his instructions. Henry patted the chestnut gelding and pulled out a cloth to give the brass door handle a swift polish. He glanced at his pocket watch then moved into the expected military posture. One minute to go. Henry stood at attention, his shoulders squared, eyes forward.
As if on cue for a grand entrance, the heavy front door of the house swung open and Mr. Willows appeared with his wife at his side. He stood for just a moment, as if applause would follow, and she paused at his side, much as a well-trained poodle might wait to match the step of her master. Then with great show, he gallantly escorted her down the grand stone staircase and brought her to the carriage. She smiled and Henry tipped his hat in greeting, quite relieved that so far everything seemed to be trouble free. Just as Mrs. Willows was getting settled in her seat, the door of the house was flung wide, and fifteen-year-old Elliot bounded down the stairs and hopped up into the driver seat, grabbing at the reins.
“Move aside, Elliot, I’ll be taking those reins,” called his father, as he helped Beth arrange her dress in the carriage. “Now, where is Emma?”
“I’m here, Father. I’m here.”
Emma clambered up through the doorway into the coach and snuggled down, the fur of her mother’s new mink coat tickling her nose.
“Mummy, I could just burst, I am so happy. I will remember this evening for the rest of my life,” she gushed.
Radiating beauty and fine taste, Beth knew that no one at the gala would capture her husband’s attention the way she would this evening. She almost giggled as she hugged her daughter close. “I, too, expect we shall have a wonderful time. Now, Emma, I do know you will be careful to remember your manners, you know how important this party is to your father.”
Redwood House was magnificent. It was very modern, one of the first in the city to have electric lights, steam heat and a telephone. The Drewry parties were known to be exceptional, and the details were often discussed in the society pages.
Father was terribly anxious that they would make a good impression. He had spared no expense in selecting the clothes they wore that night. So there they were, dressed like the Rockefellers and warned to be on their very best behavior as they made their arrival. Rupert had determined that tonight he would change the course of his future.
The footman lifted Emma from the sleigh and placed her down gently on the packed snow of the roadway. Elliot gathered her up, tossed her up onto the crook of his arm and headed smartly up the path following the others, the enticing sound of scrunching snow beneath his footsteps.
“A lady can’t be getting her new button-down shoes wet on the eve of the new century,” he whispered into her ear.
“Elliot, do you think I’m old enough to dance tonight? Do you think I will be allowed? I’ve been practicing so much. Do you think I could?”
“Emma, dear Emma, what would be the point of wearing your pretty new shoes from Chicago if it were not for the opportunity to dance in them?” he smiled into her frowning concern. “Of course you must dance! And I would be truly honored to show our fellow guests what a fine dancer you are. Shall it be a schottische or the Red River Reel? Or would you fancy a jig?”
Relief and anticipation washed over Emma as she broke into a giggle. Emma “oohed” at the lights spilling out onto the snow from every room in the house. She strained to look into the drawing room, filled with finely dressed guests as the Willows family rounded the corner to the grand entrance of the home.
She saw her brother, Alfred, ahead of them, and they waved at each other. James must have already disappeared into the house. Emma knew her older brothers had more important things on their minds than to worry about their little sister tonight. This was, after all, such a delicious opportunity for wealthy young men to show off. In fact, Father would expect it.
Everyone who was important was there. Emma knew this because her father had told them so. Since Alfred was a little boy, Rupert had been in the habit of picking out highlights from the newspapers to read out loud after dinner, determined to ensure that his children would understand that their position in life was a privilege and in many ways now a birthright that needed to be protected at all costs. They needed to know with whom they could associate and with whom they could not. The daily discourse on the goings on of the upper class was considered part of their education.
The Willows children all learned at a very young age that what others thought of you was more important than anything. That was the key to success according to R.J. Willows, Esquire.
Emma reminded herself not to get too carried away with having fun. Father wouldn’t be pleased.
Rupert guided his wife into the drawing room and swelled at the approving and envious glances. The exquisite emerald velvet dress he had chosen for Beth had been dreadfully expensive and well over his intended budget, but was clearly worth the investment. Hand-made in Paris and trimmed in Austrian crystals, it was not only the latest European fashion, but the most splendid gown in the room. Beth, accustomed to Rupert’s expectations, carried it magnificently. She beamed at her admirers as if the party was in her husband’s honor. Rupert was greatly pleased and made an elegant show of placing his name on her dance card.
“There’s the new mayor,” Rupert whispered as he interrupted his scan of the ballroom to raise his glass in acknowledgment of the nodded greeting from Horace Wilson.
Rupert had a system. Upon arriving at a social gathering, he always took the time needed to look the room over and rank the people there in the order of their importance. He discovered, early on, that this way he would minimize the amount of time he would have to spend with people “who had nothing to offer” and maximize his opportunity to exploit the acquaintances that might advance his growing business and political ambitions. The fact that he was able to do this without being truly offensive was evidence of the degree of sophistication he had cultivated so carefully to mask his past and secure his ascent to wealth. He was shrewd, ruthless and callous, but carried it off in a way that allowed him to garner the admiration of his peers.
Rupert was a natural at creating an impression. He drew eyes as a flame draws moths. The power was in the fact that there was never the slightest hint that he did anything deliberately to gain attention. It was not an act. It was an aura.
Now, watching an intoxicating display of wealth and beauty at this glittering party, Rupert positively brimmed with his own cleverness and magnetism. Life was grand indeed. And here he was, now an alderman in one of the fastest growing cities in the Dominion and, perhaps, in all of North America. If things went as planned, not only would his position on city council give him a direct line to new business, it would also lead him to take the mayor’s chair. What possibly could hold him back? Perhaps he would even be prime minister of Canada. The opportunities were limitless.
Intent on getting across the room to be seen speaking with Sir James Aikins, a leading member of Winnipeg society, Rupert gently guided his wife past polite hellos, stopping only long enough with the no-accounts not to be thought entirely rude. Beth was a well-mannered asset. While in Rupert’s presence, she knew to say as little as possible and look as pretty as possible at all times.
“Good evening, Mr. Aikins. Do you remember my wife, Beth?” he asked.
“Of course, how lovely you look this evening, Mrs. Willows,” replied Aikins, as he took her hand with a slight bow. With a smile and nod he turned his attention to Rupert. “I had the most interesting discussion with your son, Alfred. That young man has a real sense for business, I say.”
Swiftly calculating the best opportunity to heighten his profile with this influential icon, Rupert considered how much pride to manifest and decided a humble and quiet laugh would be the perfect prelude, “Yes, indeed. Now that he has graduated from Harvard, there’s no telling how quickly he’ll be wanting to push me aside and take over the company.” The discussion went directly to business and droned on as young Emma slipped away from her mother’s skirts and headed off to find Elliot.
Her heart danced with the spectacle of it all. She tried to remember not to gawk as she worked at burning every detail of the evening into her memory. She noted the songs the orchestra played and the pungent linger of cigar smoke as she made her way past the conservatory to the entrance to the billiards room. She peeked through the doorway and saw several men in a heated discussion on the cost of labor, waving off white-gloved servants offering hors d’oeuvres.
“I hear that McEwan fellow is planning to increase wages to twelve dollars a week at his furniture factory. You know how fast word will get around. I’m expecting to lose my best foreman to him,” harrumphed a stout man while chewing on his cigar.
“Good God. That’s more than six hundred dollars a year!” came the boisterous response. “And McEwan”s already got his workers leaving at four o’clock on Saturdays. They barely put in fifty hours a week.”
Emma’s eyes opened wide, as she eased back behind the doorway so as not to be seen. Six hundred dollars for a year’s wages? She must have heard wrong. That’s what she heard Father tell Mummy he had paid for her pretty green dress.
“He must be daft.” A third man hawked and spit, just making the spittoon by the corner of the table. “Even five hundred dollars a year is too much. We are overflowing with people flooding into the West, wanting to make a home here and looking for work. Have you been to the railway station lately? You can’t breathe for the smell of them. And the federal government is just heating up its campaign to bring in tens of thousands more. You mark my words. Nothing is ever going to stop Winnipeg’s growth and that means an endless supply of workers.”
Emma recognized the speaker as Archibald Montgomery. He was an alderman, and she had seen him in her home playing cards with father and some other businessmen. Mr. Montgomery’s heavy face, rimmed with bushy auburn sideburns, was getting very red. She wondered if the thick vein in his neck would pop open and spurt blood all over his white shirt. Shaking with rage, and chewing hard on his tobacco, a tiny stream of spittle started to leak out of the corner of his mouth as he continued his tirade.
“They need jobs. They come from poverty. Peasants and paupers they are. Most of them don’t even speak English for pity’s sake. They expect a hard life here. Why would we want to spoil them? No, sir. Ten dollars a week is the top wage I would ever pay. They can take it or leave it.”
“Right you are, Archibald.” The man with the cigar slapped him on the shoulder in agreement. “There are plenty more immigrants who will take the work for even lower pay. To hell with the greedy bastards.”
“To hell with the greedy bastards,” Emma repeated softly to herself, tasting the words of angry men and wondering what a bastard was as she moved along the hallway back toward the drawing room.
Emma stood back against the mahogany wall and watched a group of women descend the grand staircase returning from the ladies’ lounge. She was captivated by the sparkle of the jewelry, the swish of the bustled skirts and the expensive perfumes wafting by. The empty chatter about fashion and children from the society matrons stood in sharp contrast to the bluster and ranting from the men. Emma continued on to the drawing room and near the door she came upon her mother who was conversing gaily with a group of well-dressed women. Mummy seemed quite at home amidst all the glamour, and Emma wondered if she would ever grow up to become as much of a lady.
Beth fluttered about, dropping her flowery words about nothing into one conversation after another as one might scatter seeds for pigeons. In time she found it tiring to be so charming, and it came to her that a glass of sherry would be most enjoyable. How on earth was she to manage that among these drumbeaters for the temperance movement? She glanced about and spotted one of the younger members of the wait staff. Then, like a southern belle holding court among suitors on a cotton plantation, she flashed a smile and danced her fan coquettishly against her bosom. Oh, yes. It appeared the young man would only be too happy to accommodate Mrs. Willows.
On the other side of the grand hall, Emma soaked up details and impressions of her fellow guests. Ethel Fortune, beautiful in burgundy silk and pink cheeks, gained quite a bit of notice from the available young men. Emma rolled her eyes at the silly look on Clifford Young’s face, as he stuttered his way through a besotted attempt to gain Ethel’s attention. Making her way back to the drawing room, Emma wondered at w
hat age boys lost their ability to think. Or was it a spell that pretty young debutantes had the ability to cast? She thought she must take this up with Lizzie tomorrow. Lizzie certainly knew a lot about boys.
The sound of the music in the drawing room redirected her attention. The orchestra broke from the standard fare of popular quadrilles and struck up a toe-tapping favorite she had been practicing with Elliot. It was a spirited new song called The Maple Leaf Rag. Unfamiliar to the audience, a few brave young dancers remained on the floor and jumped along to the rollicking music while skirts flew in a garden of colors.
“It’s ragtime music!” shouted the orchestra leader. “Does anyone know how to dance the Turkey Trot?”
“It’s our dance, Emma!” Elliot’s strong arms encircled her and suddenly he was wheeling her about in the center of the room. Elliot had learned the new dance on a recent visit to New York, and he was so enchanted with ragtime music that he had brought home a phonograph recording to practice with Emma.
“I can’t believe they are playing this!” Emma squealed.
“I asked them to play it!” he answered, and she shrieked with enjoyment at the very courage of such a thing. Emma hopped and whirled, guided by her brother’s superb dance style. The others cleared the floor to admire the performance of the talented youngsters. Round and round they spun with the confidence and freedom known only to those who never give a second thought to creating the right impression. The intricate steps and perfectly timed flicking of their heels prompted hearty approval. Hoots of encouragement came from their fellow party guests entertained by the skill and grace of the elfin dancer among them. Thoroughly enjoying her vainglorious venture into the world of grownups, Emma looked across the floor to find her father.
As her eyes met his, she felt the blood drain out of her tiny body.
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