by R. J. Koreto
“I think I have it wrong,” she said.
“You admit you made a mistake, and I was here to bear witness. Lord be praised,” I said.
She glared. “That comment was insulting and unnecessary. When I admitted a mistake, I meant we needed to change directions, not that my thesis was incorrect. What have we learned? We now know the Van Schuylers are bullies. They employ a thug, or maybe a team of thugs, who operates as the Archangel. Fearsome and horrifying, I’m sure. Meanwhile, they operate as the Great Erie & Albany to hide their deeds, but their disguise isn’t perfect. Clerks know. Someone betrayed them. Probably more.”
“Where do the anarchists fit in?”
She shook her head, unable to grasp my stupidity. “You said the clerk was terrified at the mention of the name of the Archangel. He works for the Van Schuylers. That much is clear. But what if the Archangel isn’t battling the anarchists? What if he’s using them?” And she looked very proud of herself.
“Miss Alice—I don’t see how that could be. If there’s one thing everyone agrees on, it’s that the Van Schuylers—that no one upstate—have no use for the anarchists.”
“Oh, but look at the anarchists. They’re gullible and foolish. Everyone said Czolgosz was practically simpleminded. I admit Emma Goldman is pretty sharp, but I bet many of them are easily led astray. If a mysterious man shows up and offers them money and materials to destroy property, many anarchists would think he was a hero, a supporter of their cause. It wouldn’t occur to them that they were just tools of powerful and wealthy men.”
I poured some more coffee and had some more eggs.
“Well? Say something,” said Alice.
“I’m trying to figure out a reason for you to be wrong, and I can’t,” I finally said, and that seemed to make her very happy. She gave my hand a squeeze.
“Now, let’s think about that picture that Dunilsky had. The Archangel had those printed up, let’s say, as a calling card for those he was terrifying. How else would Czolgosz and Dunilsky know that lurid picture was connected with the man, or men, we’re calling the Archangel. So why was he upset that these particular men had it?”
“Because Czolgosz could put the picture together with the man who sent it. Even if he didn’t have a name, Leon Czolgosz could say, ‘That’s the man who handed out this picture.’ Czolgosz could make the connection—something none of the other workers could do. And maybe whoever killed Dunilsky, probably the Archangel himself, feared that Czolgosz had told him his identity.”
“Exactly!” cried Alice. Under the table, I felt her kick her feet up in joy. “I just know the anarchists are involved. I’m still putting the pieces together, but I know.”
“Maybe they are. But we’ve come a long way from Emma Goldman and Leon Czolgosz. Still, what does this all have to do with McKinley’s death?”
But I couldn’t dampen her enthusiasm. “I don’t know. Not yet. Doesn’t it happen in battle—people getting shot you didn’t mean to hit or artillery hitting a building by accident? McKinley got in their way somehow.”
“Well, yes. But killing a president? That’s a hell of a sideshow, Miss Alice. I just don’t see—”
“Well, it’ll come together. I never said I was done, just that we were making progress. We need more information from the Van Schuylers. And we have to keep following. We started this because someone who eliminated one president might eliminate another.”
“You’re not going to get it from old man Van Schuyler or Shaw Brantley. Preston doesn’t know anything. And Julia—she’s just crazy.”
“Not that crazy. She knows things, but she was drugged and tired. If we could get her alone for a little while . . . I bet she’s heard things, seen things, that her husband hasn’t even realized. She’s probably alone in the house today.” She stood. “Let’s get the car. We’re going to pick up Preston, who will get us into the house again to see Julia, and we’ll see what we can get out of her now.”
So it was over to the University Club to pick up Preston. It was funny, thinking about Julia Brantley, Mrs. Cowles, and the women I’d met since coming to New York. Before I had even met Mrs. Cowles, Mr. Roosevelt talked about his sister—how he admired her, trusted her, and sought her advice. I wonder if a little bit of the West had rubbed off on him. If you run a ranch or farm out West and you don’t get your wife’s opinion when making a big decision, you’re a fool. But in New York, you just never knew. There were women like Mrs. Cowles, and there were others, who only seemed interested in dressing up nice, attending the opera, and discussing menus with their cooks.
I guess when you’re rich and live in a big city, a wife who’s nothing but decorative is a luxury you can afford.
We pulled up front to the club, and Alice said she’d only be a minute, and I should not bother parking, just wait out front. I imagine Preston now had Alice on the “visitors list.” Or he did if he knew what was good for him.
I figured I had time for a cigarette and rolled one quickly while another car pulled up right behind me to let out a well-dressed middle-aged gentleman. His chauffer watched his employer go inside, then produced a ready-made cigarette and asked me for a light. I hope I never get too lazy to roll my own cigarette, but it takes all kinds, and I was happy to oblige.
“Who do you drive for?” I asked, being friendly.
“Jasper Sperforth,” he said.
“The guy who owns all the copper?” I asked. I had heard his name, and the chauffer seemed pleased I recognized it.
“And you?”
“Alice Roosevelt. The president’s daughter.” He looked me up and down and decided to take me at my word.
“But you dress like that?”
“I used to be a cowboy out West and expected to spend the rest of my life doing it, just like my father, God rest his soul. And yet one day I turn around and here I am driving Miss Alice all over Manhattan. I can’t figure out half of it. What chance do a couple of workingmen like you and me have in understanding the world of the rich? It’s an uncertain world, pal.”
“Yes it is,” he said, nodding, and we smoked in companionable silence.
Alice came out a minute later with Preston. I bid good-bye to the chauffer, and we all squeezed into the small car. Preston seemed a little stunned. I gathered Alice had practically kidnapped him.
“Alice, could you tell me again what this is about?”
“I don’t think I’m going to get any more information from your uncle or Shaw Brantley. But I think Julia knows more than she’s said about the business and their suspicious doings. I just need to get her alone for a little bit, and I’m sure Mr. Brantley and your uncle will be out. Now, would she find you a comfort?”
He thought about that. “As I said, I didn’t know her very well once we grew up. I was off at school, then college. But I can get you inside. I don’t know what Shaw would say.”
“He’s her husband, not her jailer. You’re telling me that in 1902 a woman can’t entertain another woman, from another good family, in her own home?”
“The maids will have been told not to admit you. She won’t fight them on that.”
“No, but you will. You’re a Van Schuyler. They can leave us on the doorstep, but not you.” He sighed. I had a little sympathy for him, but not much.
I parked out front, and the car had barely stopped when Alice jumped out and was ringing the bell, even ahead of Preston. A maid admitted us, and we swept in.
“Mr. Preston, we weren’t expecting you,” said the maid.
“We happened to be in the neighborhood and thought we’d visit. Is my cousin available? We just thought we’d warm our feet and say hello,” said Preston, full of cheer. We headed in to the parlor where we’d talked last night and made ourselves comfortable.
“I . . . ah . . . I believe Mrs. Brantley is still in bed, sir. If you’d like some coffee, sir, I’ll get some, however.”
“We’d appreciate that,” said Alice. “And even more, we’d appreciate it if you’d tell Mrs. Brantley
to join us.”
“But she doesn’t usually leave her room, miss, and I don’t know—”
“Roosevelt. Miss Alice Roosevelt. Please fetch your mistress.”
“But miss—”
“I’m not accustomed to arguing with servants. Do what you’re told and fetch your mistress.”
I watched the blood drain from the young woman’s face, and I thought she might cry. She spun on her heels and practically ran out of the room, leaving Alice staring smugly after her.
I was just shaking my head, but Preston said, “Alice, please. She’s been serving our family for years.”
“And conspiring with your uncle and Julia’s husband to keep her drugged.”
“Julia was always a nervy girl. She needed something, or she’d fall to pieces.”
Alice gave a wave of her hand to indicate she was tired of the conversation. Another maid came by with some coffee and little cakes, but Alice was too irritated and impatient to have any.
Eventually, we were rewarded with Julia’s presence. She looked a little tired but was dressed, and her hair was done up. Her eyes were clear: She hadn’t had any “medicine” that morning, so the conversation might actually be productive. But she still had an unhealthy pallor to her skin. One way or another, this was not a healthy woman.
“Miss Roosevelt . . . Preston. They told me you were here. But why . . . ?”
“We had such a nice chat over dinner. I thought to visit again. Do let’s sit and renew our friendship.”
Mrs. Brantley gave her a look that was a little bit shy and a little bit grateful. We all sat again, and the ladies had some coffee. Alice took a cake, but Mrs. Brantley did not.
“Of course, Miss Roosevelt. I do appreciate having some time, just woman to woman.” Those gentle eyes landed on me and Preston, and the meaning was clear. Julia would talk, but only with Alice.
I stood and motioned to Preston. “Come on, let’s see if there’s any beer in this house.” Preston looked a little reluctant but came along, and together we started to leave the room. But first, I met Alice’s eyes, and the look she gave me indicated that she didn’t want me to go.
“Mr. St. Clair, before you go, it is very chilly in this room. Please move these chairs by the fire for us.” They were large chairs with tall backs, and I moved them in front of the hearth, which was toward the far end of the room. The ladies made themselves comfortable, and then I slipped out with Preston, closing the door behind me.
“So if you’re looking for a beer . . .” said Preston.
“Maybe later,” I said. “I’m sure in a house of this size you can find a place to put your feet up for a bit. I’m going to step back inside and listen. Tell the maids we’re not to be disturbed.” I didn’t wait for a reaction but quietly turned the doorknob and entered the room again. I shut it behind me and sat in another chair by the door where I’d be all but invisible in the dimly lit room.
Although Alice had arranged things so Mrs. Brantley wouldn’t notice me, I could hear them talking.
“. . . but it must be so hard for you, with Shaw gone so much of the time and you here all alone,” Alice was saying. Her voice was full of sympathy.
“I’m glad you understand, Miss Roosevelt.”
“Please, call me Alice.”
“Thank you. You know, I would like to have more people over, but I get tired, and Shaw and Father worry about my health, and they discourage me from entertaining. My nerves get worked up. That’s why I have to take . . . that’s why the doctors . . .” And her voice trailed off.
“But do you go out with your husband or father? Dinners at other houses, or even theater parties with other families?”
“No, very rarely. Shaw has to go out many evenings, and Father just works in his study. Shaw is very busy, you know.”
“So he goes to business meetings and leaves you alone?”
“I don’t mind—I usually fall asleep early.” She paused. “Preston is awfully fond of you, you know.”
There was another pause while Alice thought of how to respond to this new conversation. “Preston and I have known each other since we were children. I am fond of him, too.”
“No, I mean very fond of you. He talked about you a lot after a long visit with you last summer. I think he’d like to marry you.”
I found that very entertaining, Alice being at the receiving end of an awkward question for once, but I felt bad, too, because she had to answer it knowing I was listening.
“I won’t be ready to marry for a while,” she said. “And as much as I like Preston . . . but nevermind. Now, when you do go visiting—”
“But I’m not sure he’d be the right person for you. Preston . . . he can be somewhat strong-willed.”
“I wish I saw more of that,” said Alice.
“It’s hard for him in this family. I think . . . but you won’t tell him I said that? Or Shaw or my father?” Some fear crept into her voice.
“Of course not,” said Alice. “This is just two women talking together. Now, when you do go out—”
But Julia jumped in again. It took something to be able to continually interrupt Alice.
“Now, about Mr. St. Clair,” she said.
“What about him? He’s my bodyguard. Because of who my father is, I always have to be with a bodyguard.”
“He doesn’t say much, but he seems like a kind man, and the two of you looked at each other over dinner. I think you and Mr. St. Clair would match each other nicely. You know, people don’t think I see anything because I’m unwell, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes and ears.”
I was curious to hear more about her plans for me and Alice, but that wasn’t to be, as Julia rolled on.
“Everybody thinks I don’t know that Shaw has a mistress. Or maybe he just doesn’t care that I know. I probably haven’t been the best wife for him,” she said with the same tired, worn voice. “But he was already working for Father before we met, and Father thought it would be a good idea for us to marry, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. That’s where Shaw goes so much, after work. To his mistress.”
“I am sorry,” said Alice eventually. “No man should do that to his wife.” And I could just hear her unspoken comment: Or he should at least be discreet about it.
“How did you find out?” Alice then asked.
“Snatches of telephone conversations, when he thought I wasn’t around. Notes on hotel stationary that he left lying on his dressing table. The Wellman Arms—you could walk there from here. He didn’t think I would look. Or maybe he just didn’t care.” That second option was by far the worse, I guessed.
Alice might’ve gotten even more out of her, but I heard the faint sound of the front door opening and words in the entranceway. I thought it would be a good time to leave. I quietly and quickly stood and slipped out the door, closing it behind me. Down the hall, I saw a maid greeting Shaw Brantley at the door.
“. . . I’m home for lunch after all. Is Mrs. Brantley upstairs?”
“She’s in the parlor, sir, with a visitor. Miss Roosevelt from the other night.”
“Miss Roosevelt?” He seemed surprised, and not happy. Then he saw me.
“Mr. St. Clair? A pleasure.” It clearly was not. Still, he shook my hand. And then Preston entered from the direction of the kitchen.
“And Preston?” That seemed to make him even more unhappy. “Is there a party going on?”
“Yes. Alice came to visit me at the club, and I mentioned how Julia liked having another woman around, so we all came up together in Mr. St. Clair’s motorcar.”
Brantley looked like he was really trying to master his anger. “While I do want to thank Miss Roosevelt for her kind gesture, she doesn’t realize that my wife is very fragile, and overexcitement can lead to a complete breakdown. Preston, be a good boy and tell Julia and Miss Roosevelt their conversation needs to end very quickly so my wife can rest.”
“You can’t tell her, Shaw?” he asked with just a hint of a smile.
Brantley was right on the edge, and I watched his hands make, and then release, a pair of fists.
“Preston, I have some business to take care of with Mr. St. Clair. I’d greatly appreciate your doing this.”
Preston shrugged and left, and Brantley looked relieved as he turned to me. “I see some bruising, Mr. St. Clair. Were you the victim of a crime?”
“Yes. After seeing Miss Roosevelt home after your bountiful dinner, sir, I went downtown for a drink and was attacked. Fortunately, I was able to overcome my attacker and left him facedown in a room. It was near where your new boat is about to be launched. I wonder if you’ve heard anything about it.”
He gave me a considered look, then pulled a card out of a silver case in his pocket. “We have something in common, Mr. St. Clair.”
“I can’t imagine what, sir,” I said.
He laughed. “Fair enough. But I was referring to the fact that I think we look to the business at hand and don’t take things personally. I’m sure you like your job, but I think I can offer you a better one, managing security at our operations. Think about it.” I took his card and thanked him. It was the second job I’d been offered in a week, and that made me wonder why it was so hard to find local help. Mariah would say it was because New Yorkers don’t trust each other.
Or maybe this was just an elaborate bribe.
Alice, Preston, and Mrs. Brantley came out of the parlor. Julia looked a little cowed at seeing her husband there.
“I wasn’t expecting you till this evening,” she said in a whispery voice.
“I thought I’d have lunch at home because I have some uptown customers I’ll want to see later anyway,” he said. “If you’re well enough, we can have lunch together,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m not very hungry, and I should probably just go back to bed.”
“If you think that’s best,” Brantley said. He snapped for the maid, who quickly saw her mistress up the stairs.
Brantley looked at Alice and seemed to remember himself. “I was wondering if you had a chance to speak with your father yet about our ship launching. I can have our operations manager work with your father’s private secretary to see about a mutually suitable date.”