by Anne Perry
‘Much too long,’ Mr Farrell agreed. ‘But then the Atlantic is very wide, as I am sure you are acutely aware at this moment. However, you are most welcome.’ He turned to Jemima. ‘And you also, Miss Pitt. You will find New York a marvellous city, full of life and adventure, a meeting place for the world.’ He followed the porter across the open space of the wharf towards the way out, and the road.
‘Mr Albright has made sure that all the necessary paperwork is attended to,’ Farrell told them. ‘You will have nothing to do but show it to the officials as we leave.’
Phinnie smiled. ‘I shall thank him. He is so very . . . thoughtful.’
‘That would be Mr Rothwell Albright,’ Farrell corrected her gently. ‘He is a man of great influence here in New York. But there is no doubt you are already aware of that.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Phinnie nodded, covering her error easily. ‘My father speaks of him often, and with greatest regard.’
Farrell took her arm to help her up the steps, but he did not reply.
Jemima followed after them. Farrell did turn a couple of times to make certain she was not struggling, but the way was easy enough.
The ride from the dockside to the centre of Manhattan where the Albrights had their residence was so fascinating Jemima felt no wish to speak at all. The buildings were large and handsome, but newer than those she was used to at home, and taller. She counted one on Fifth Avenue at least twelve storeys high. How odd such fine streets should have numbers and not names.
But it was the people who held her attention. At a glance they were much like those of London. She was interested and somewhat comforted to observe the same fashions. At least she would not look as much a foreigner as she felt.
But there were also differences.
Once they were off the main thoroughfare she saw lots of shop signs not only in foreign languages but in lettering she did not recognise: Russian perhaps, or Hebrew? Some were undoubtedly Chinese.
On the narrow pavements groups of young men walked with a little swagger, an air of confidence. They looked around them, surveying their territory, as it were. Was that nervousness, or the arrogance of those who feel they have destiny in their grasp?
It was too late in the year for open carriages, but there were plenty of horse-drawn vehicles around, especially the wagons of tradesmen. But she also saw more motor vehicles than she could remember in London. Sputtering loudly, they moved at what she judged to be no more than ten miles an hour, not as fast as a good carriage horse.
‘It is your first time to New York, Miss Pitt?’ Farrell asked her.
Reluctantly she turned to reply. She was missing the sights. ‘Yes, I have been to Paris once, but never to America before.’
He smiled. ‘And how do we compare with Paris?’
She smiled back at him. ‘I think my American will be better than my French,’ she replied.
He laughed outright. ‘I deserved that. I have never been outside America, but I hear Paris is marvellous.’
‘I think this will be marvellous too,’ she said warmly.
They were passing through a more affluent area now and soon arrived at the Albright mansion. Jemima and Phinnie alighted from the carriage with only a moment to stare at the gorgeous façade before following Farrell up the steps and into the entrance hall. The chandelier hanging from the high, arched ceiling was the largest Jemima had ever seen. She made an instant decision to be charming, complimentary and unimpressed. She owed it to her national honour not to stare as if such things were not common at home.
They were met by Miss Celia Albright, a rather thin lady of uncertain age, who was to be their hostess.
‘Welcome, my dear Phinnie,’ Miss Albright said warmly. ‘And to you, Miss Pitt. I hope you will be comfortable here. Mr Cardew wrote to us to say how kind you had been in offering to accompany Phinnie so she would not have to travel alone.’ Her face was a trifle too bony to be handsome, and certainly neither her gaunt figure nor her rather ordinary clothes were those of a comely woman. Yet her thick, wavy hair was truly beautiful, and she moved her hands with grace. ‘I do hope you will enjoy your visit with us.’
‘I am sure I will,’ Jemima replied. Phinnie had told her only a little of Celia Albright. She was Mr Rothwell Albright’s unmarried sister yet, meeting her, Jemima thought she seemed to lack the confidence that such a close relationship would give. Perhaps there was some personal story she did not know.
Miss Albright turned again to Phinnie. ‘May I show you to your rooms? The footman will bring up your cases later. I hope you will find all that you need has been provided.’
Phinnie followed Miss Albright up the wide, sweeping staircase. She looked very small behind the older, far taller woman. Suddenly, Jemima, a few steps behind, had the feeling that Phinnie was a lost child, far from home, seeking a new safety. It was ridiculous. Phinnie was going to marry a young man who loved her and was offering her a new and wonderful life with every comfort she could wish. It was not as if she were among strangers. The Albrights and the Cardews had been in highly successful business together since long before Phinnie was born. It was almost like a dynastic marriage within an extended family, aristocrats of the financial world.
Jemima was the stranger here, the daughter of a senior policeman, but the granddaughter of a gamekeeper, for all that. Her mother was well born, but of gentry, certainly not either wealth or nobility.
But none of that was supposed to matter, here in the New World where all men were equal, where it was the future that mattered, not the past.
She drew in a deep breath of the clean, brisk air and followed Miss Albright onto the landing and to the first bedroom, which was to be Phinnie’s until the wedding.
When Phinnie was settled Miss Albright took Jemima to another, smaller room further along the passage. She opened the door and allowed Jemima to walk in past her.
The room was a surprise. It was dominated not by the charming dressing table, but by a window that looked out to the branches of a bare tree. She imagined in the summer it would be gorgeous, but even in the winter its fretwork of dark limbs against the sky was of great beauty.
‘I love it!’ Jemima said in delight. ‘It’s full of life!’ She swung around to face Miss Albright, and was startled to see the pleasure in her face. ‘I know that’s silly to say of a leafless tree,’ she went on, to cover what she thought was a moment of strange, deep emotion in the other. ‘But I love bare branches. It is as if the tree reveals its true self.’ She tried to think of further explanation, and saw in Miss Albright’s face that it was unnecessary.
‘I don’t know Phinnie very well,’ Jemima picked her words carefully, ‘but I am very close to my own mother, and I cannot imagine how lonely I would be if I were to come to a new country, no matter that they spoke my language, without at least one person I could confide in.’ She smiled. ‘Even if it were only to tell them how happy I am, and for them to tell me when I don’t look my best, or need advice. It is both a privilege and an adventure for me.’
Miss Albright relaxed at last. ‘I hope it will be both. If you wish to take a short rest before, dinner will be at eight o’clock. Your cases will be brought up and Betsy will unpack them for you. She is the lady’s maid who will be looking after Miss Cardew. We dress formally for dinner, but Betsy will advise you which of your gowns will be the most suitable. I dare say you would like a cup of tea?’
Jemima accepted with gratitude.
The dinner was, as Miss Albright had said, very formal for a meal that involved no one outside the family except Jemima. She had accepted the advice of Betsy, who proved to be both efficient and knowledgeable, and had suggested a warm gown of dark green silk velvet with a wide skirt and a most flattering cut at the waist. Jemima was concerned that she might outshine Phinnie, but she need not have been. Phinnie came down the stairs in a gown of apricot silk, which murmured seductively as she walked, and the warmth of its shading reflected on her skin, making her seem to glow with happiness.
Or perhaps she really did?
Brent Albright stood at the bottom of the wide staircase watching her. He was less tall than his elder brother, Harley, who waited a little further back, as suited the occasion.
Harley had thick, fair hair, and a strong face that was not well enough proportioned to be handsome. Brent, on the other hand, was almost as handsome as Phinnie had said he would be. His hair was darker than Harley’s, his eyes a deeper blue. But it was his smile that engaged immediately. He held out his hand to Phinnie and she took his arm as she reached the last step, brushing close to him for a moment. Then she lifted her chin and sailed on to be presented to Mr Rothwell Albright, who stood underneath his own magnificent chandelier, the light of it making his silver hair into a kind of halo.
‘Welcome to New York, my dear,’ he said to Phinnie. ‘I wish your father could be here to join our celebrations, but I understand his reasons for remaining at home. I hope he recovers fully and soon.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Phinnie said modestly. ‘I am sure he will do. The doctors are hopeful.’
Mr Albright turned to Jemima and regarded her with quite open interest. ‘And you are Miss Jemima Pitt, I believe. I am told that your father is a policeman of some considerable distinction. Is that true?’
‘Yes, sir, it is,’ Jemima said, and was about to add more, but realised that it was not appropriate at the moment. This evening was in honour of Brent and Phinnie. ‘I am glad Mr Cardew spoke so well of him,’ she added.
‘Indeed. But I have known Edward Cardew for more years than I care to recall. I trust him completely.’ He offered his arm. ‘Would you care to accompany me in to dinner, Miss Pitt?’
She accepted his offer and rested her hand on the fine wool cloth of his sleeve as he led the way into the richly decorated dining room.
Miss Celia Albright followed with Harley, and Phinnie with Brent.
Jemima had determined not to be impressed, but she was unable to help it. The room was beautiful, but that was merely an expression of money, and a degree of good taste. There was far more to the room than that. The silver on the table was old and had an elaborate ‘A’ engraved on all the handles. The condiment sets matched. Nothing had the unused look of being new. Contrary to her preconception, the Albrights had generations of being élite.
‘I hope you had a pleasant voyage?’ Miss Albright said to Phinnie. ‘The Atlantic can be a little rough at this time of year.’
‘Not enough to be uncomfortable, thank you,’ Phinnie replied.
It had been unpleasant at times, but of course Phinnie knew better than to say so. Jemima wondered if all their conversation was going to be so polite, and generally meaningless. She had a fear that some people’s lives were like that: words skimming across the surface of reality, like birds over the waves, without ever getting wet.
‘Our voyage to the Bahamas will be quite different,’ Brent promised with a smile at Phinnie. ‘We shall bask in the sun, as soon as we are far enough south. Have you ever seen a flying fish?’
Phinnie’s eyes opened wide in amazement, and yet total belief. She would have accepted anything he said.
Jemima thought for a moment how marvellous it would feel to be so much in love with anyone. Then she wondered if she could ever feel this overwhelmed with emotion. Perhaps she was already too old for it, a little too realistic. Or was it cynicism? That was an ugly thought. How could you find magic if you did not believe in it? She knew people who could look at the most amazing and beautiful things and not see them. She must not turn into someone like that. In a way they were the walking dead, passing through life untouched by its joy.
Celia Albright was talking to her, and she had not heard what she said.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I was daydreaming.’ She should add some explanation. She smiled. ‘We have been looking forward to this for so long it seems hardly real now that we are here.’
Phinnie shot her a look of gratitude.
‘We will show you some of the sights of New York,’ Harley Albright offered, although there was no question in his voice. ‘Miss Cardew will have arrangements to make, and I dare say Celia will accompany her. She knows everyone. Perhaps you would allow me to take you to luncheon at Delmonico’s, or the Hotel Astor? A walk in Central Park, if the weather remains clement?’
It seemed like a thoughtful offer, and it would be terrible to be here in this so very vital city and not see as much of it as possible.
‘That is most kind of you,’ Jemima accepted. ‘I should be delighted.’ He was a couple of years older than Brent, and she had no idea if he worked in the family business, or had as much leisure time as he wished. America was different. She had the idea that everyone was always busy, unlike half of London society, but that might be mistaken. ‘If I am not intruding?’ she added, and then wished she had not. The look on his face was gentle, but mildly patronising.
‘Not at all, Miss Pitt. You are our guest, and I should be delighted to show you something of our city, and perhaps a little of our history. There are parts that are very beautiful, others less so, but still of interest. We have just this year opened our subway, which is like your underground railway system. It has twenty-eight stations across town and has made an amazing difference. We really are one city now.’
She saw the pride in his eyes, the absolute certainty, and knew that anything but acceptance would be discourteous.
‘Then I am very happy to accept,’ she said warmly.
‘We have so many people to meet.’ Brent took over the conversation, looking at Phinnie as he spoke. ‘I am looking forward to showing you off to my friends. I don’t mean to rush you, but they are all so keen to make your acquaintance, and they are people we shall know for the rest of our lives.’ He let that observation hang in the air for a moment, so she might take the full meaning of it.
Phinnie lowered her eyes. ‘I look forward to it.’
Jemima knew he was letting her know that all New York high society was to be their social circle, and first impressions mattered.
Miss Albright mentioned a few names, ones that Jemima had heard even in London, or at least read in the court and social columns of The Times. Harley added a few more, and Brent continued with details of who was married to whom.
Jemima looked across the table and caught Celia Albright’s eye. There was humour in her, and a sadness. The Albrights were letting them all know exactly where they fitted in, at the top of the social hierarchy. It was a welcoming and conversational way of stating their family’s position, and their thinly masked pride in it.
Jemima looked occasionally at Phinnie and tried to read her expression. After doing so the third time, she was satisfied that Phinnie was happy and excited, and very little awed by the prospect of living up to such a role. Her eyes shone with trust as she looked at Brent, and there was a flush of happiness in her cheeks. This evening she looked truly beautiful.
Did Jemima envy her? Perhaps.
Did Celia Albright envy her? That was a harder question to answer. At moments Celia’s face reflected sorrow. Had she ever found anyone she could have loved, and who had been equal to the Albright heritage and pride? Or had she loved and lost someone whose heart she had never touched?
Did Jemima want to belong to this privileged circle? Only momentarily, as she sat at this family table and was the only stranger. The world she wanted was far bigger, more dangerous, and perhaps also lonelier. Might she end up like Celia, on the edge of things? And was it her own awkwardness, looking for a love like that between her parents, that put her there?
‘Do you have an opinion, Miss Pitt?’ Mr Albright was saying. It had been a political question about Europe and Jemima had not heard it except the last sentence.
‘Not yet,’ she replied with a smile. ‘I would like to learn a great deal more before I form one.’
He looked impressed. ‘How wise of you,’ he approved. ‘I should have known Cardew would pick a young woman of fine judgement to accompany his daugh
ter on the way to her wedding.’ He seemed about to add something more, then quite clearly changed his mind; in fact, it was obvious from the sudden silence that followed. He could have mentioned Phinnie’s mother’s name without surprising any of them. The thought of her hung in the air like a presence.
‘Maria would have been very proud of you,’ Celia said gently, breaking the awkwardness and yet seeming to make it worse.
Mr Albright smiled at some memory he did not offer to share.
Harley raised his eyebrows and his voice when he spoke was chilly.
‘I doubt it, Aunt Celia. She contributed nothing whatever to Phinnie’s charm or spirit. They are entirely to her own credit, as we all know. Even Maria would not claim to have had anything to do with it.’
A dull stain of colour marked Celia’s face and she struggled for a moment to keep her temper.
‘I said “would have been”, Harley,’ she corrected him. ‘Any woman would be proud of such a daughter.’
Jemima was acutely embarrassed, both for Celia, who had been so publicly criticised, and for Phinnie, who hardly ever spoke of her mother, and only with pain.
Brent reached out his hand and laid it over Phinnie’s on top of the table where the gesture would not be missed.
‘You are about to become part of our family,’ he said to her, but sufficiently loudly for everyone to hear. ‘You will be mistress of the house, and mother to whatever children we may have. We shall all be proud of you.’ He looked at Harley, then at Mr Albright. He did not look at Celia.
Jemima wished she were anywhere else. The reference to Maria Cardew had been turned from a passing remark into a painful issue, and poor Celia had been publicly and very sharply reminded that her own place as hostess in the Albright house was about to end. How long it had existed Jemima did not know. Presumably since Mrs Albright had died, but she did not know when that had been.
Was the title ‘aunt’ literal, in that she was Mr Albright’s sister, or was she some more distant relative, perhaps a cousin, and it was merely a courtesy? Did she even have another place to go? How many female relatives were used that way, as unpaid servants, and only until someone else took over?