by R. J. Koreto
“Mercy? Do you really think I’ll suffer any consequences? My God, you are naïve, Alice. I wouldn’t have thought it. So what if I admit I’m behind the death of Dunilsky in jail? You have no idea how easy it is to get at someone in jail. Or that Italian assassin. I was going to use him, make him rich, but he decided to blackmail me instead. He never expected a man who wore evening clothes would carry a gun. You think anyone cares about either of them? You think I’ll even come to trial?”
“That night—what happened the afternoon the president was killed?” she repeated. “How does McKinley come into this?”
“Oh, very well, Alice, I’ll tell you. You figured out everything else. My God, it was easy to rope in Czolgosz and Dora. I convinced them I was the good son, fighting for the workers against Uncle Henry. He was the enemy, not me, I told them again and again—we were battling Henry van Schuyler, and I would turn the company into a worker’s paradise. Czolgosz was practically an imbecile; he’d believe anything. I told him I was the Archangel and that’s what he should call me. He knew my face, but I didn’t want him to know my real name. Dora believed me in the beginning, but to my regret, she was smarter than I gave her credit for.” He smiled sadly. “Just like you, Alice. How interesting. And that’s the best part of the story. I realized that Dora had betrayed me by stealing some very embarrassing documents. The stupid girl.” He now shouted: “If only she had given them to me, she’d be alive today!” It takes a lot to chill my blood, but that did it.
“And then that idiot, Leon, who was always hanging around, came stumbling in while I was trying to figure out what to do with Dora. I needed to get rid of him—as well as Uncle Henry. So I sent Leon to where the president was to kill my uncle—for God’s sake, Uncle Henry was the enemy. I didn’t give a damn about McKinley. I told Leon it was my uncle who had Dora killed. But I guess Leon got the wrong end of the stick, he couldn’t find Uncle Henry, so he did the next best thing a dazed would-be anarchist could do: he killed the president. Lord, no one would believe how history got made that evening. Czolgosz, history’s most famous imbecile.”
And he started to laugh. He was insane. But Alice stood up tall, smiled back at him, and slapped him as hard as any woman had ever slapped a man. It really stunned him, and I imagined his head was ringing. My eyes then went to Preston’s revolver, still lying on the table. But before I could move, Alice grabbed it and pointed it right at his head. He bit his lip.
“If you say one more damn thing this evening, you won’t have to go to trial. I’ll shoot you right in this room.” And he knew she wasn’t joking.
I stepped over, and she let me take it out of her hand. I emptied the chambers and stuck it in my coat pocket. Preston started breathing again.
I didn’t fancy squeezing him into the car and taking him to some Brooklyn precinct or on an even longer trip to the Tombs, but the decision was taken out of my hands by the sound of footsteps outside. I dragged Alice with me against the wall and drew my revolver. As soon as the man stepped in, I had the barrel against his head.
I admire him for not flinching.
“Good evening, Mr. St. Clair. I don’t think firearms will be necessary this evening.”
“Tell that to your nephew, Mr. Van Schuyler. He brought one here, and I had to take it away from him.”
“I’m sure. But you seem to have everything settled now.” He was dressed in a black business suit and carried a small case. He looked at Preston, cuffed in the chair, and shook his head sadly.
“Uncle! I’m in a bit of trouble again,” said Preston. “Would you explain to Mr. St. Clair and Miss Roosevelt why they have to let me go?”
Van Schuyler ignored him and turned to us. “I suppose I should ask how you two came to be here. The president’s daughter—I’m sure that’s quite a story.”
“I was wondering how you got here as well, sir,” I said.
“We finally decided, a little too late, to not only watch the club but have Preston followed if he left his usual Manhattan haunts. My agent reported back to me earlier. Has he killed anyone here?” he asked, as casually as if he was asking whether we had eaten dinner yet.
“Not here,” said Alice, “but he will hang for the killings he did commit. And if not for those, for being the agent that sent Czolgosz to kill McKinley. That’s treason. And if I may say, Mr. Van Schuyler, you will be following him to prison as well.”
I briefly took the derringer out of my pocket—the one we took from the man who threatened Alice at the Rathskeller. “You sent someone—someone very expensive, I’m sure—to threaten Alice. We’ll trace the money you paid. Even if that’s the only thing you did, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison for that.” I put the derringer away.
Van Schuyler turned to Alice. “I am sorry. It was nothing personal. We had to stop Preston, had to control him before you exposed him, and you were getting too close. He wanted you to find the papers the Comptons had stolen from him. I had to stop him before the whole company was destroyed.” He was very calm about it, and I realized lunacy ran in the family.
Preston turned to his uncle. “From the moment we had her followed to her having her bodyguard kick in the door, it seems we both underestimated Alice.” He was half disappointed, half admiring. “So I guess Shaw has made a run for it? It’s just you and me now?”
Van Schuyler didn’t react to that right away. He just nodded and seemed lost in his own thoughts. “I told him to grab what he could and get out of the country, but I don’t know if he took my advice.”
“With Mrs. Brantley?” asked Alice, raising her eyebrow.
“Julia doesn’t like travel, Miss Roosevelt,” he said. “But to the business at hand.” He sat down at the table and put his case on it. He looked at me. “I realize that there will be consequences, but for the sake of the family, I’d like to get Preston out of here.”
“For the sake of the family? Or because he’s the worst witness against you?” taunted Alice.
Van Schuyler smiled at her. “I’d support women getting the vote just to see you someday become president like your father. Yes, you can look at it that way. But my business is with you, Mr. St. Clair. I can write you a check for enough money to send you back home to Wyoming and buy your own sizable ranch.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’m happy right here in New York for now. And it’s Miss Roosevelt’s show anyway.”
“But she’s a young girl, and you’re the man with the gun and the badge. Anyway, I’ll write out the check. Sometimes just seeing the numbers changes a man’s mind.”
He reached into his case, and Alice knew what was happening before I did. I don’t think she could’ve seen it, but she just knew it.
“No!” she shouted. My Colt was out less than a second later, and I shot the whisky bottle right off the table in a shower of splintered glass and liquid. The sound echoed, and afterward, we just stood there. Preston looked terrified, but not Alice and not Van Schuyler, who both were waiting to see what would happen next. There were a few cuts to his face, but they didn’t seem serious.
“You missed,” said Van Schuyler, who had his own revolver, a twin of Preston’s, half out of the case.
“Mr. St. Clair never misses,” said Alice. “He decided to let you live.” She was right about that. My shot had stopped him from pulling the revolver out. He wasn’t going to shoot us—we were to his side. He had no shot there. But he had almost killed his nephew.
“He’d have been better off shooting Preston,” said Van Schuyler. “You have no idea how evil he is, how far gone he is.”
“That’s quite a compliment coming from you,” said Alice.
“For God’s sake, take his gun away,” cried Preston, but Alice just looked at him coldly.
“Mr. St. Clair, what would you do if I finished pulling out my revolver and shot him? Would you really kill me?”
I held my arm steady. “Yes, sir. That gun moves one more inch and you’re dead.”
He looked closely at me. “Yes, you
would shoot.” He let it fall back into the case. I holstered my Colt, seized the case, and emptied Van Schuyler’s weapon. I didn’t have a second pair of handcuffs, but Van Schuyler looked deflated—a man who had played his last card at the end of the evening and still knew he was going to come out a loser.
I was wondering what to do next—there was no way I could get all four of us into the motorcar—when I heard a neighboring door open and a boy, I’d guess around sixteen, peeked into the open door to Compton’s apartment, cautious and wide-eyed.
“My God,” he said, grinning and taking in my clothes. “It’s a Wild West show.”
“You want to earn a dollar?” I said. “Go find some cops and bring them around.”
He gave me a casual salute. “Sure thing, Sheriff,” he said and ran off.
Alice pulled up a chair and disappeared into herself. I was a little worried about her. She didn’t seem to see anything, and I couldn’t guess what she was thinking about. There could’ve been a hundred things going through her head. Preston looked like he was about to talk a couple of times but wisely decided not to. Van Schuyler just closed his eyes.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually I heard heavy police boots on the stairs. I prayed Alice would listen.
“Miss Alice, go into the bedroom and stay there. The cops may recognize you, and there’s no need to make this bigger than it is.”
I didn’t know if she’d heard, but then she nodded and stepped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Three cops walked into the room, along with the kid, and I had my badge out already. “St. Clair, Secret Service. These two men are under arrest. Take them to lockup. Captain O’Hara in Manhattan will collect them tomorrow. Until then, they’re not to speak to anyone or each other.”
The senior cop seemed surprised but said, “Yes, sir.” I took back my cuffs and handed them the bag and the two guns. “Hold them on illegal possession of firearms, disturbing the peace, and whatever else you can think of.”
“I know everything about the Van Schuyler business,” Preston said to me, to the cops, to the world at large. “I can bring down this whole company, and I can make a trade. I’ll be free tomorrow.”
“Shut up,” I said. “Just shut your goddamn mouth.” And he did. I think Preston was going to find the Van Schuylers had far fewer friends than they thought, and I scooped up the ledger and the reports. I’d turn them into the Secret Service office for investigation tomorrow.
Van Schuyler didn’t say a word as the cops led them away. The boy, seeing the fun was over, went back to bed, and I fetched Alice from the bedroom.
“Come on, Princess. Time to go home.”
She was still quiet as we walked down the stairs, and she watched wordlessly as the paddy wagon slipped along the street.
Alone now on the sidewalk, Alice showed no sign of wanting to get back into our car; she just continued with her thousand-yard stare into the night. It wouldn’t be until later that Alice would realize she had been right all along. There had been a force behind Czolgosz, and Preston came within a hair’s breadth of taking over the company. God only knew what havoc he would’ve caused then and how many other people would have ended up as casualties of his ambition if Alice hadn’t thrown a spanner into his plans. With his deep feelings about fair play in business, Mr. Roosevelt might’ve been next.
After a few minutes of silence, she suddenly turned and stepped over to me. I still had my coat open, and Alice quickly reached into one of my inside pockets.
“Miss Alice, what are you—”
“If you think that I don’t know you carry a flask with you, you are sadly mistaken,” she said, and she quickly removed it.
“I don’t think that’s what you want,” I said.
“Don’t patronize me, Cowboy.” She twisted off the top and drank—then spit it out.
“Bourbon!” she cried. “I’d rather have kerosene.”
“You bought it for me. What did you think was in there—lemonade?”
“You are charged with taking care of the president’s daughter,” she said, “so you might be expected to leave your damn bourbon at home and travel with something civilized like brandy. My God,” she called to the heavens, “what a horrible night.” And then she launched herself at me, threw her arms around me for the second time that night, and squeezed.
“Don’t leave, Joey,” she said, her face buried in my chest. “I won’t have it.”
“I won’t, Miss Alice. I promise.” And I held her for a while, until it got cold, and she let me lead her to the car. She didn’t say anything while I tucked the blanket around her, and then I started the car. She leaned against me, gripping my arm tightly, and rested her head on my shoulder.
As we approached the bridge, I felt her grip grow slack and her head nod off, and I knew she was asleep. I drove to the middle of the bridge and stopped the car. I was able to reach for the flask without disturbing her and gave myself a long drink. Why couldn’t she appreciate a good bourbon? But she was very young.
I thought about Preston. It seemed funny, looking back, how everyone was pleased he didn’t turn out like his father and uncle. But he had, of course. We had clues people weren’t just annoyed with him but afraid of him—Shaw had told Alice on the ship to be careful about things not always being what they seemed. It hadn’t been a threat but a warning. And Elsie de Maine and Julia Brantley had hinted there was more to Preston. Women look at men differently, I think, and I wondered how Alice had missed that. But then, I think part of her knew, although she didn’t want to admit it to herself.
We see what we want to see. We believe what we want to believe.
I had hidden Alice from the police, but it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Cowles found out what Alice and I had been up to. I was going to have to start a very difficult conversation later today.
Just my luck, I thought, stuck between Alice Roosevelt and Anna Roosevelt Cowles, the only two people in the country the president couldn’t control.
Alice half woke up and curled up against me even tighter.
“I won’t let you go. I mean it,” she murmured.
I sighed. “Miss Alice . . .”
“What?” Her eyes opened briefly.
“Nevermind.” Not tonight, not tomorrow, but we’d need to have a real talk.
Soon, she fell back asleep. I gently disengaged her and tucked her in again with the blanket, as I would with a child. I put the car into gear again as the black sky turned to gray, tinged with a hint of pink in the east. Dulcie would be turning on the stove soon, and I found myself hoping there would be waffles and sausages for us in the breakfast room.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to everyone who helped me bring Alice Roosevelt to life: my wonderful agent, Cynthia Zigmund, for her support and wise counsel; the great team at Crooked Lane Books—Matt Martz, Dan Weiss, Sarah Poppe, Heather Boak, and Elizabeth Lacks—for their editorial help and unflagging enthusiasm; and the wonderful folks at Kaye Publicity for spreading the word. And finally, thanks also to my family, as always, for their patience and understanding. Most of all, thanks to my wife, Elizabeth, for years of support and never doubting that I would be a published novelist.
HISTORICAL NOTE
When people read a novel where historical and fictional characters are mixed, they want to know where reality ends and fiction begins. Here is a brief description, character by character.
Alice Roosevelt was one of the most colorful and outspoken figures in Washington during her long life. She was a bright but ungovernable young woman, and indeed, Theodore Roosevelt once commented, “I can either run the country or I can attend to Alice, but I cannot possibly do both.” She really did smoke cigarettes in public and visit bookies, and she did keep a pet snake.
Her aunt, Anna Roosevelt Cowles, was one of the most remarkable members of the family. Intelligent and strong-willed, she was the only one who could manage Alice and was an important influence on her. Anna was also a lifel
ong confidant of her brother’s, and Theodore consulted her on many important decisions through his presidency. For the sake of the plot, I have her and Alice in New York during this period, although they spent much of their time in Washington.
Eleanor Roosevelt was Theodore’s beloved niece and the same age as her cousin Alice. The two women had a long and difficult “frenemy” relationship, based as much on personality and family issues as on political differences.
Emma Goldman was one of the most important and celebrated members of the anarchist movement and was briefly held after McKinley’s assassination. It is not likely she and Alice ever met, but Theodore condemned her in the strongest terms.
Nicholas Longworth, who makes a brief appearance, eventually entered Congress. Although in reality he probably met Alice later, they did marry, and he became one of the most influential Speakers of the House in history. Their marriage, like most of Alice’s relationships, was a contentious one.
Although the Secret Service did start protecting the presidential family around this time, Joseph St. Clair is a fictional creation. He is loosely based on real Rough Rider troopers, but there is no evidence Alice had any kind of friendship with any bodyguard. Mr. Wilkie, who makes a brief appearance at the start of this novel, really was Secret Service director at this time. Although this encounter is fictional, I have a feeling Alice drove him to distraction.
Leon Czolgosz, McKinley’s assassin, was quickly tried and executed. However, much remains unknown about his motivations and mental state.
The rest of the plot is fictional, including the Van Schuyler family. Although there are still questions about McKinley’s assassination, the conspiracy I’ve devised around it is also fictional.
Finally, a note on Theodore Roosevelt and women: Alice, Eleanor, and Anna were all remarkable women and, in their own highly individual ways, outstanding contributors to American political and social life. I think it’s no coincidence that Theodore, surrounded by these examples, was one of the first major US political figures to call for women’s suffrage, as early as 1912.