Bless the Bride

by Rhys Bowen

  She went back to her sewing, one neat little stitch after the next.

  “With your sewing skills, let’s just hope that it’s a Roman toga,” she said at last.

  I laughed dutifully, although I couldn’t tell whether she intended to make a joke.

  “I’ll be back in good time to help you with the wedding preparations and to do the final fittings on my dress,” I said.

  “And I take it you’ll be staying for our luncheon with the Misses Tompkins and croquet with Clara Bertram today?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I wouldn’t dream of missing out on luncheon with the Misses Tompkins.”

  And this time she looked at me to try and guess whether I was joking.

  Two

  As the train gathered speed through the woods of Westchester County, heading south, I felt as if I had been released from a straitjacket (and trust me, I had been in one of those once—not an experience I wished to repeat in a hurry). I found I was smiling at my reflection in the window glass. I was going to be married soon, going to be a bride, and I was finally looking forward to my wedding. It was true, as Mrs. Sullivan had reminded me, that I had precious few guests of my own, but that didn’t matter. Those few who were coming were dear to me: old Miss Van Woekem, for whom I had once worked. Mrs. Goodwin the female police detective and her young protégée I had rescued. Gus and Sid, of course. I had put my foot down at that. No Gus and Sid, no wedding. But I felt a wave of sadness that I hadn’t heard from Seamus and his little family. There had been a time when they had been big part of my life, but I had had only sporadic contact with them after they moved out to Connecticut for Bridie’s health. She would have made such a perfect flower girl, I thought wistfully. Better than the Van Kempers’ granddaughter any day. And I smiled to myself, again.

  I can’t tell you how good it felt as the train rolled across the bridge over the Harlem River and into the upper reaches of New York City. No more luncheons and croquet parties at which I had to watch my words, mind my manners, and put up with what I took to be veiled barbs. Maybe I was being oversensitive, but then, maybe not. And anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m certainly not used to being the demure miss. It had been taxing. And now I was about to be back among my friends with the added prospect of a lucrative assignment. And I might even have a chance to see Daniel—a jarring thought came to me. Daniel would not be pleased that I’d deserted his mother. And of course he couldn’t know if I took on that case. So a brilliant plan came to me. It probably wouldn’t be wise to stay in my own house if it was newly painted and plastered. Besides, it would hardly be fair if I occupied it alone before my wedding. Sid and Gus’s guest room would be a much better idea, I thought to myself as the train went into the tunnel before arriving at Grand Central Depot.

  Before I went to Westchester County the city had seemed unbearably hot and stifling and I had longed to escape to the countryside. It was still hot, to be sure, but I saw only the bustling life of the streets—a city that was vibrantly alive. Patchin Place was by contrast a quiet backwater, while city life teemed around the Jefferson Market building and along Greenwich Avenue. I stood on the cobbles, feeling the heat radiating back from the rosy brick houses on either side of me, thinking how grateful I was to Daniel for giving in to me and allowing us to start our married life here. I knew it was a sacrifice for him. I knew he wanted a more prestigious address. I knew he worried that I would be unduly under the unhealthy influence of Sid and Gus. But he had seen how much the house meant to me, and how much I valued my friends, and had agreed to give it a try. I had pointed out to him that the house would probably be too small after a year or two, when the babies started arriving and we’d need a servant. He wanted me to hire a servant now, but there really was no need for one if I was home, doing nothing all day. And frankly I didn’t want the intrusion on my newly married life—certainly not somebody sleeping in the spare bedroom.

  I hoisted my carpetbag and picked my way over the cobbles to my house, eager to peek inside at Daniel’s renovations. I was about to put the key in my front door when I had second thoughts. I should find out first if anyone was inside. I didn’t want workmen reporting to Daniel that I had made an unscheduled appearance. It was hard to see past the net curtains, so I decided to go across the alleyway to Sid and Gus first. They seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of what was going on and would surely know if any workmen or painters were in my house.

  I knocked on their bright red front door and felt a rush of pleasure at the thought of seeing them again. Eventually I heard the sound of feet and the front door was opened, revealing the strangest of apparitions. It was Gus, wearing a robe over what appeared to be a black lace corset and suspenders, holding up fishnet stockings. Since Gus was the more demure of the two, this in itself was shocking, but the fact that it was topped off with a police constable’s helmet made it even more astounding.

  “Molly!” Gus’s face lit up as she recognized me. “We didn’t expect you so soon. How absolutely lovely to see you.”

  “And you too. But do you make a habit of coming to your front door dressed like that?”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, gathering her robe about her with only the mildest hint of embarrassment. “I hadn’t realized that my sash had fallen off my robe. Thank heavens it was you and not some man.”

  “Most young women of your upbringing would have fainted dead away by now,” I said.

  “Most young women of my breeding are currently being good wives and mothers and spending the summer in Newport or Cape Cod. I am already a lost cause in their eyes. But how rude of me to leave you standing in this awful heat. Come inside, do. Sid will be delighted.”

  She ushered me into the cool darkness of their hallway and then called up the stairs. “Sid, put down that pen immediately. We have company.”

  Footsteps came down the stairs and Sid appeared, wearing bloomers and an open-necked white shirt. “Molly,” she exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you. Isn’t it wonderful, Gus.” Then she noticed what Gus was wearing. “Dearest, did you actually open the front door in that extraordinary outfit?”

  “I was trying it on,” Gus said. “I thought my robe was securely fastened.”

  “But the policeman’s helmet?”

  “Oh, yes.” Gus put her hand up to her head. “I’d forgotten about that. You see, Molly, we were trying to decide on a theme for your party. We thought a policemen’s and prostitutes’ ball might be fun, in honor of Daniel, you know. So I was just trying out whether I wanted to be a policeman or a prostitute.”

  I started to laugh again. “My future mother-in-law was so impressed that I was going to a party hosted by one of the Boston Walcotts,” I said. “If she could only see you now!”

  They joined in my laughter. “As stuffy as you feared, is she?” Sid asked, leading the way to the kitchen and taking a jug of lemonade from the ice chest.

  “Worse,” I said. “My sewing skills are a disaster. I’ve had to have luncheon and tea with any number of her friends, where it has been hinted that Daniel was expected to make a much better match than me. You would have been so proud of me—I remained calm and demure throughout. Not one hasty word passed my lips. Close to sainthood, I’d say. But I couldn’t have stood it much longer. Any moment I was about to scream and hit someone with a croquet mallet. So your letter was a godsend.”

  They were still smiling at me, as if I was an adored child returned to the fold. Sid led us through to their conservatory at the back of the kitchen and indicated that we sit in the shade of large potted palms that gave the space the feel of a jungle. She brought through a tray with lemonade and glasses.

  “So you fled at the first opportunity,” Sid said.

  I nodded. “It was the excuse I was waiting for. Honestly, I’m not designed for genteel idleness. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when I’m married and have nothing to do but cook for Daniel and keep the house clean.”

  “So you are going to remain true to your promise then.”
>
  “I have little choice. Daniel’s career must come first.”

  “Why?” Sid asked.

  “Because—because he is the man and the breadwinner, and because he already has a flourishing career,” I said with slight hesitation.

  “I suppose so,” Sid agreed with a sigh. “So you will have no interest in the calling card Gus mentioned in her letter. We should just throw it away, should we?”

  They were watching me expectantly. I saw the smile twitch on Sid’s lips.

  “I’m not married yet,” I said. “I can still make my own decisions. And if this proved to be a lucrative proposition—well, I think it’s healthy for a bride to start marriage with some money of her own, don’t you?”

  Sid shook her head, smiling, went back into the house, and returned with the calling card.

  “Frederick Lee.” I examined it, then looked up. “Is this the card of the important man or his emissary?”

  “The emissary,” Gus said. “He wouldn’t give his employer’s name. Rather secretive about it, in fact.”

  “And no hint of what kind of assignment this was?”

  “None at all. I didn’t take to him, if you want to know—there was something in his air that seemed to say that you should be honored that he had selected you, and that there was no way you’d turn down the commission.”

  “Probably a divorce then,” I said. “A rich man who didn’t want his identity known. In which case I won’t take it. I don’t care how much he offers me. I find it too sordid sneaking around and trying to catch people in compromising situations.”

  “Hear, hear!” Sid said. “Our laws are so antiquated. When a couple no longer wishes to remain married, they should be able to shake hands and part amicably, without all this ridiculous subterfuge. If Gus and I ever decided to part ways, I know we’d be most civilized about it. Wouldn’t we, Gus?”

  “I don’t want to think about it.” Gus turned away.

  “Not that we ever will,” Sid said hastily.

  I turned over Mr. Lee’s card. “His office is on the Bowery,” I said. “Hardly the best of addresses. I wonder what his employer does for a living?”

  “I agree it’s not Fifth Avenue, but it’s quite respectable in its upper reaches around Cooper Union. Perhaps the employer is a lawyer,” Gus suggested. “I know I’ve seen law offices around there.… So are you going to pay him a call?”

  I looked up from the card. “Why not? What have I got to lose? Just as long as Daniel doesn’t find out.”

  “Our lips, as always, will be sealed,” Sid said.

  “Now you must let Sid show you the wonderful articles she is writing,” Gus said. “The history of the suffrage movement. Most edifying and illuminating. Take Molly upstairs and show her the one you are writing at the moment, Sid.”

  “I haven’t polished that one yet,” Sid said. “The prose is still rather rough. But she can read the one that was published this week.”

  “It’s her best yet,” Gus said, sitting beside me as Sid went upstairs.

  I had been the model of calmness for two weeks. Now my naturally impatient and curious nature had risen to the surface and was threatening to boil over again. I was dying to see what Daniel had done to my house and I wanted to find out about the mysterious Mr. Lee and his lucrative assignment. Sid and Gus were dear friends. They had been very good to me, but they had no concept of the word urgency. Life to them was one long game to be enjoyed and savored. I accepted the magazine that Sid offered me and read. Actually it was extremely interesting to read about the various states that had passed laws allowing women full participation in the governing process. Unfortunately New York was not one of them.

  “This certainly reveals how far we have come,” I said, handing it back to her.

  “No,” she said. “It shows how far we have to go. For every state that acknowledges women as rational beings who can only enhance the political process, there are four or five who think us fit only to scrub floors, bear children, and give tea parties.”

  I nodded.

  “We are hosting one of our meetings tonight,” Gus said, “so you will meet our fearless warriors for yourself. If you are here, that is, and the important Mr. X has not invited you to dine with him at Delmonico’s.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that is likely to happen,” I said. “But I have to confess I’m impatient to find out more now. And I’m also anxious to see what Daniel has done to my house. Have you had a chance to peek inside yet?”

  “No, we were not invited to have a look and one can see almost nothing through the net curtains.”

  “I know,” I said. “I tried to look through them myself. I didn’t like the idea of going inside, in case someone was working upstairs.”

  “I believe they are finished,” Gus said. “We haven’t spotted anybody for the last few days, have we, Gus?”

  “As quiet as the grave,” Gus said. “And we have to admit to being equally curious. We’re dying to see if we approve of Daniel’s taste in decoration.”

  “Then let’s take a look, shall we?”

  They needed no urging to follow me across the street. I opened my front door cautiously and listened for signs of activity. The smell of new paint made my nostrils twitch, but there was no sound. I stepped into the front hall, followed closely by Sid and Gus. As Gus had predicted, the place looked brand, spanking new. The hallway was light yellow, the parlor, which previously had contained one rather dilapidated armchair, now boasted a new sofa and attractive striped wallpaper.

  Sid gave a grunt of surprise. “The man has remarkably civilized taste for a policeman,” she said.

  “And look, Molly. You actually have a dining room,” Gus said, peering through the next door.

  “So I do.” The dining room now contained a dining set, complete with an impressive sideboard carved with grapevines. I had no idea where it came from. It certainly hadn’t been in Daniel’s rooms.

  “Holy Mother of God,” I exclaimed. “I’m going to be the mistress of an elegant house.”

  We went upstairs and the first thing I caught sight of through an open door was a large new four-poster bed.

  “My, but that’s a handsome object,” Sid commented. “It’s clear what’s uppermost on his mind, isn’t it? And yours too, I expect.” And she chuckled.

  To my annoyance I felt myself blushing. The young ladies I had been playing croquet with would have swooned at such a remark and had to reach for the smelling salts. Sid and Gus seemed to think it was perfectly natural to discuss such matters, as I suppose it was in bohemian society.

  “Well, I say that Daniel has done you proud, Molly,” Gus said, wanting to spare my feelings. “I think the redecoration and the furniture are splendid. But you’re not thinking of sleeping here before the wedding are you?”

  “I don’t think I should,” I said. “It wouldn’t be fair to Daniel when I’m sure he wants to surprise me. I was hoping I could stay with you until the party.”

  “Of course you can. That way Daniel won’t even have to know that you’re in town,” Sid said. “Come on then. We should make our escape just in case the eager groom puts in an unexpected appearance.”

  I glanced back at that bed as the other two made their way down the stairs. It certainly was impressive—so high and large that I couldn’t imagine how the moving men had carried it up the narrow staircase. For a moment I pictured Daniel and me.… I rapidly reined in where that thought was going. I had kept Daniel at arm’s length for too long, knowing how quickly the fire between us ignited. And now the waiting was almost over. I’m sure it wasn’t proper for a young lady to look forward to her husband’s lovemaking. Mrs. Sullivan had tried to give me gentle hints, warning me of men’s appetites and how we women must endure it for their sakes. To my credit I had managed not to smile.

  Three

  When we returned to Sid and Gus’s house, I was itching to seek out the mysterious Mr. Lee, but had to mask my impatience a little longer while Sid and Gus took me up to
my room, fussed around making sure that the pillows were to my liking and I had sufficient drawer space, then swept me downstairs to prepare luncheon. In truth I enjoyed eating with them, especially because the meal consisted of crusty French bread and what Sid described as her four-P meal: pâté, Port Salut cheese, pears, and peaches. After Mrs. Sullivan’s stodgy and filling meals it was delightfully informal, but that business card was burning a hole in my dress pocket. Fortunately as soon as the meal was over, Sid was anxious to finish her article, so I took the opportunity to escape, making my way southward to the office on the Bowery.

  The street number indicated that it would be at the bottom part of the street, where it joined Chatham Square, not at the more respectable northern end after all. So my curiosity was aroused even further. What very important man would have offices in an unsavory neighborhood south of Canal Street?

  The day had now become uncomfortably hot and humid, with the threat of a thunderstorm later in the afternoon. I had no wish to walk a step further than necessary and tried to evaluate whether I’d be better off taking the trolley down Broadway and then cutting across Canal Street, or walking from my house to the Third Avenue El and not having to walk at the end of the trip. I decided on the latter and walked in the sedate quiet of Eighth Street, past Astor Place and the Cooper Union building to the nearest El station. I regretted this decision instantly as the train arrived already crammed full, and I was forced to stand between a large Italian woman who reeked of garlic and an equally large laborer who smelled as if he hadn’t taken a bath for weeks. All I could think was thank heavens the line was now electrified or we would have had smoke blowing in through the open windows to add to the mixture of unpleasantness.

  I can’t tell you how glad I was to fight my way to the carriage door at Chatham Square. I came down the iron stairs into that teeming mass of humanity that is the lower Bowery. Trolley cars inched their way up the middle of the street, bells clanging impatiently to force delivery wagons, hansom cabs, and the occasional carriage out of their way. A constable stood on the corner, swinging his billy club in what he hoped was a threatening manner, as crime was rife around here.