Jeremiah bathed before dinner and attempted to have a nap, but as he lay on the large canopied bed in his hotel room, all he could think of was the tiny woman with the raven black hair and huge dark eyes, almost as dark as the jet beads on the suit she wore the night that she met him. Why was it that he could remember every detail about her dress? He had never done that before. But she was elegant and so beautiful and sensual that he wanted her desperately and he felt a knot in his throat, which he tried to dissolve with another mint julep, but nothing seemed to chase her from his head and Jeremiah found himself wondering how he was going to do business with his head so full of her. But this evening was just a matter of social amenity. He knew that he wouldn't be expected to begin discussing their business deal until the next day. Southerners were far too correct to mix business with pleasure. This evening would more than likely be a quiet dinner at Beauchamp's home, to show the uncivilized Westerner a little Southern hospitality. Jeremiah smiled at the image as he put on his jacket and looked at the white suit in the mirror. It seemed in sharp contrast to his deeply tanned skin, and dark hair, the same color as Amelia's ' Amelia ' Amelia ' Amelia ' he wished he had never gotten off the train, as he walked down to the lobby and out to the waiting carriage Orville Beauchamp had sent for him.
The footman was quick to jump to the ground and hold open the door for Jeremiah, and then he hopped up beside the coachman again as elegant ladies swept past them in glittering evening dresses, accompanied by well-dressed men on their way to dinners and concerts and the other social events that made up the night life of Atlanta.
The carriage sped down the broad splendor of Peachtree Street and into the residential section of the city, to the Beauchamp house, which stood in small but stately splendor farther down on Peachtree Street. It was a relatively new house, obviously built since the war, and it was not wildly extravagant, but it was definitely handsome, and Jeremiah was suddenly sorry that Amelia wasn't there with him to share the evening. They could have gone back to the hotel afterward and discussed the various costumes and foibles of the guests, and laughed as they sampled more of the wine he had brought with him from Napa. And it was Amelia he was thinking of as he shook hands with Elizabeth Beauchamp, Orville Beauchamp's once pretty but now faded-looking wife. She was a washed-out blonde with pale skin the color of milk glass, and eyes that seemed to water with despair. The impression Elizabeth Beauchamp left one with was one of extreme fragility, as though she might not live out the week, and one wasn't even sure she would care to. She had a plaintive, sad little voice, and talked constantly about the days before the war, and life on her Daddy V plantation. Orville seemed not to hear anything that she said, except that now and then he would snap, That's enough, 'Lizabeth, our guests don't want to hear about life on your daddy's plantation. That's all gone now, but the very words seemed to strike her like a whip, and she would seem to subside silently then into her own reminiscences. Orville himself was of an entirely different breed, obviously less aristocratic than his wife. He had a rough edge to him, with eyes narrowed constantly as though he had just thought of something important. And it was clear that the only thing important to Orville was business. His hair was as dark as Jeremiah's, his complexion almost swarthy. He explained that his grandparents had been from the south of France, and had first come to New Orleans before moving to Georgia. And he made no secret that they had had nothing when they'd come, nor had his father some thirty years later. It was Orville who made the family's first fortune, who profited from the industrialization of die South during and after the war. He had built himself a small empire, which he admitted was not yet as large as he wanted it to be, but would be one day, especially with the help of his son, Hubert, named after Orville's grandfather.
But it was Jeremiah's impression that Hubert was not nearly as bright as his father. Instead, he had his mother's annoying whine and he seemed far more interested in spending his father's money than in making any of his own. He talked about a string of racehorses he had bought in Kentucky, and the brothel he liked best in New Orleans. All in all, it was a tedious evening for Jeremiah. And two of the other members of the consortium he would do business with were there too, quiet older men with strong opinions and uninteresting wives who talked to each other in hushed tones for most of the evening. Jeremiah noticed that they spoke little or not at all to Elizabeth Beauchamp, and she seemed to ignore them completely. It was easy to see that she thought them far beneath her, given her aristocratic beginnings on her Daddy's plantation.
The other thing Jeremiah noticed in the course of the evening was that the Beauchamp family was singularly obsessed with everyone's fortune, how much who had and how they had made it. Elizabeth had lost everything she might have ever had during the war. Her father had shot himself after the destruction of his plantation, and her mother had died shortly after of grief, perhaps more for the fortune they had lost, Jeremiah thought, than for her husband.
The Beauchamps apparently had a daughter, whom Orville claimed was a perfect jewel, but given what he'd seen, Jeremiah sincerely doubted it. She was at a grand ball somewhere that night, with every boy in Atlanta nipping at her heels, no doubt, the proud papa said, before adding, They should be ' the dress she has on cost me a fortune. Jeremiah smiled blankly at his words, tired of their obsession with money, and all he could think of as the evening droned on was that he wished he were with Amelia in Savannah, seeing her grandchild for the first time, and visiting her daughter. What a different and far more genteel atmosphere that would have been, and then he laughed at himself. It wasn't the gentility of the scene that appealed to him, but the chance to be near Amelia, to inhale her sensuous perfume, kiss her lips, and spend hours looking into her eyes. Just thinking of her brought a smile to his lips, which Elizabeth Beauchamp thought was meant just for her, and she patted his hand limply before getting up to lead the ladies into the other room, while the men smoked cigars and drank brandy. It was only then that the deal that had brought him to Atlanta was mentioned, and it was almost a relief to talk business after the incredibly boring evening.
He was relieved when the first guests left shortly after eleven o'clock, and he was able to seek refuge in the excuse that he was exhausted from the long trip and anxious to return to the hotel to rest before they began negotiations the next morning. The Beauchamp carriage took him back to the hotel, and half an hour later he was standing on the terrace looking out over the city. He thought back over the hours he and Amelia had shared and it seemed almost like a dream, as he looked out over Atlanta. The Beauchamps were already forgotten. All he could think of was her.
Good night, little love, he whispered as he went back inside, thinking of her words again' . Get married, Jeremiah ' have babies. But he wanted no babies now. He only wanted her. I love you, she had said to him ' I love you ' powerful words from a powerful woman' . His mind and his heart seemed full of her as he drifted off to sleep in the elegant canopied bed a short while later, feeling desperately lonely.
JEREMIAH'S dealings with Orville Beauchamp's consortium were extremely successful, and within a week of his arrival in Atlanta, the deal had been made. Nine hundred flasks of quicksilver were to be sent to them for distribution, among them, for the manufacture of bullets and assorted minor war machines, and for mining throughout the South. Jeremiah had made slightly more than fifty thousand dollars on the deal. He was extremely satisfied with the terms, as was Orville Beauchamp, who took a commission off the top for making the deal. In fact, he had made several subdeals, involving the resale of his portion of the quicksilver. Unlike the others, it was not for use in factories of his own. He was more of a middleman and a wheeler-dealer, and he was interested in big money and quick deals. The deal complete, Beauchamp extended his hand to Jeremiah. I think we ought to celebrate tonight, my friend. From the moment the negotiations had begun, their socializing had ceased. Jeremiah had dined each night in his hotel, and the Beauchamps had not extended another invitation to dine, but now there was cause fo
r celebration. The seven Southerners and their wives, as well as Jeremiah, were invited to dine at his home. Lizabeth will just be so almighty pleased, he insisted as he beamed. But Jeremiah couldn't imagine her being anything of the kind, particularly to have fifteen business people come to dine. But that was Orville's problem, not his, and he was tired after the long week and anxious to get home. He had been unable to get a satisfactory train connection for another three days, and he was trapped in Atlanta through the weekend with nothing whatsoever to do, and he was less than pleased about it. He wanted to get home as soon as he could.
Once or twice he had toyed with the idea of going to Savannah for a couple of days while he waited, but he didn't want to embarrass Amelia. She was visiting her daughter and the sudden appearance of a strange man on the scene would have been difficult to explain. So he was faced with cooling his heels in Atlanta, and he just hoped he wouldn't have to see Orville Beauchamp much after tonight. It had definitely been a very long week, albeit a profitable one for him.
The carriage picked him up once again at eight o'clock, and this evening he had been asked to wear formal dress. Apparently Beauchamp was going all out. Jeremiah had to admit when he got to their home that everything looked lovely. There were hundreds of candles ablaze in the chandeliers and sconces along the walls, huge bouquets of flowers everywhere, orchids and azaleas and jasmine and heavily scented blossoms that Jeremiah had never even seen before, which seemed to add a heady fragrance to the air as the candles danced and the guests arrived, covered in silks and satins and heavily bejeweled.
You're looking very well tonight, Mrs. Beauchamp. But he knew instantly that it had been the wrong thing to say. Looking well was never an effect that Elizabeth Beauchamp strove to achieve. She seemed to enjoy her ill health and her pallor.
Thank you, Mr. Thurston. She drawled over the words as her eyes wandered to the next guests arriving. Jeremiah stepped aside and began speaking to one of the men he'd been doing business with all week, and they were joined a few minutes later by Hubert, who was full of some tale of a horse he wanted to see in Tennessee. Jeremiah wandered aimlessly through the group, chatting with the men, being introduced to their wives, and eventually to a pretty young blonde whom Hubert had invited to join them. She was a livelier, healthier, much prettier version of his mother, and Orville seemed to find her particularly attractive as they got ready to go in to dinner. It was only then that he noticed that their numbers were uneven and called across to his wife.
Where's Camilie? His wife looked faintly nervous and Hubert laughed before answering his father.
Probably out back with one of her beaux! Neither the laughter nor the comment were tainted by brotherly kindness, and his mother was quick to scold him.
Hubert! She turned to her husband then. She was upstairs dressing when we came down. Orville frowned and spoke quietly to his wife, and he was obviously displeased by Hubert's comment. Camille was the apple of his eye, a fact that was no secret to those who knew him. Tell her, 'Lizabeth, that we're ready to go into dinner.
I'm not sure she's dressed. ' Elizabeth detested confronting her daughter, and giving her orders, even if they were not her own. Camille did as she pleased at all times, and tonight would be no exception.
Just tell her we'll wait for her. The guests didn't seem to object to the opportunity for another mint julep, and Elizabeth Beauchamp disappeared upstairs and returned a few minutes later looking relieved as she whispered something to her husband. He nodded and seemed satisfied with the answer, none of which impressed Jeremiah very much as he strolled about among the guests, catching bits and snatches of conversations as he wandered around. And at last, he walked through the handsome double French doors into the garden and stood enjoying the balmy spring air, before going back inside.
But as he crossed over the threshold this time, he stopped, fascinated by what he saw: a tiny delicate young woman with raven black hair and skin so white she looked like a snow queen as she stood there. Her eyes were as blue as a summer sky and she wore a pale blue taffeta gown and a string of blue topazes about her neck, which only enhanced the sparkle and the color of her eyes still more. She was the most dazzling-looking creature Jeremiah had ever seen, and the amazing thing was that she was the perfect combination of both her parents, her father's dark hair, her mother's milk white skin and blue eyes, and yet from two perfectly ordinary people had sprung this tiny goddess, this vision who floated between them now, almost dancing as she went, kissing and flirting and laughing. And Jeremiah was suddenly aware of the beating of his heart as he watched her. She took one's breath away, and it struck him that she looked a little bit like Amelia ' the same dark hair, creamy skin' . She could have been the girl that Amelia had once been, but he concentrated on Camille now as she pranced among the guests and made them laugh, flirting with the men, teasing the women, and linking her arm adoringly into her father's.
You're still an impossible child! Jeremiah heard one woman say, not totally without venom, but it was easy to see that she must have been. And it was equally easy to see that she made her mother very nervous, and was clearly the object of her brother's hatred. But somehow Jeremiah found that amusing as he watched her cavort, and could easily imagine that she had been playing the same games since she'd been old enough to walk, and it was equally obvious that her father adored her.
Mr. Thurston. Orville Beauchamp pronounced his name as though he were about to give him an award. May I present you to my daughter, Mr. Thurston? He beamed. Camille, this is Mr. Thurston from California.
How do you do, Miss Beauchamp? Jeremiah graciously kissed her hand and watched the sparkle in her eyes. She was indeed a naughty little girl, but she had an enchanting quality about her, like a mischievous elf, or a slightly wicked fairy princess. He had never seen a creature as devastatingly lovely as she, and wondered how old she was, and he decided that she couldn't be more than seventeen. In fact, she had turned seventeen in December, and since then her life had been an endless round of parties and balls. Her tutor had been dismissed on the first of the year and Camille was enchanted.
Good evening, Mr. Thurston. She curtsied prettily to him, giving him a fine view of her firm young breasts as she did so, and knowing full well that she had. There was very little Camille did without planning it beforehand. She was witty and wise, and canny about her effect on those around her.
Dinner was announced immediately after her appearance, and Jeremiah went in on Elizabeth Beauchamp's arm, feeling as though his whole world had just turned upside down. And he was surprised and delighted to find himself seated between Camille and another lady. And the other lady being engaged in conversation to her right, Jeremiah found himself with only Camille Beauchamp to talk to. He found her to be bright and amusing and just as flirtatious as he had suspected, but he was surprised to discover that there was something more to her too. She seemed to have an extraordinary understanding of practical matters and she had an excellent head for business. She asked a number of very intelligent questions about his most recent deal, and he was surprised at how much she knew about her father's business. And how much Orville himself had told her. It certainly wasn't what Jeremiah would have discussed with his daughter, had he had one.
Has he taught you all that? Jeremiah was startled. It would have seemed that he'd be more interested in teaching Hubert, although he was undoubtedly not as avid to learn as his sister.
Some of it. She seemed pleased by his appreciation of her extensive knowledge. Some of it I've just listened to.
She smiled with an air of false innocence, which amused Jeremiah.
You've done more than listen, young lady. You've sorted it out and come to some very interesting conclusions. She had said one or two things that he thought amazingly perceptive, and he didn't usually like talking business to women, especially not very young ones. Most girls would have tittered and stared had he even attempted to discuss one tenth of what had just passed between them.
I like hearing about men
's work. She said it matter-of-factly, as though she had just said she liked hot chocolate for breakfast.
Why? He was intrigued. Most women find it very dull.
I don't. I like it. She looked him square in the eye. I'm interested in how people make money. It was a shocking thing to say, and for a moment Jeremiah was too startled to answer.
What makes you feel that way, Camille? What went on behind those bright blue eyes and pretty black curls? Surely not the usual thoughts of a seventeen-year-old girl. She was surprisingly blunt about her views, but it was actually refreshing. There was no pretense, no hiding behind a lace fan. She said what she thought, even if it was shocking.
I think money is important, Mr. Thurston. She said it with an enchanting drawl. And it makes people important. And when they don't have it anymore, they stop being important.
That's not always true.
Yes, it is. She was brutal in her verdict. Look at my mother's father. He lost his money and his plantation and he was no one and he knew it, so he shot himself, Mr. Thurston. And look at my Daddy, he's got money and he's important and if he had more money, he'd be more important. And then she stared him straight in the eye. You're a very important man. My Daddy says so. And you must have an awful lot of money. She made it sound as though he had barrels of it, on his front porch and in his basement, and the image of what she said made him laugh in embarrassment as much as amusement.
I have land more than money.
That's the same thing. In some places it's land, in other places it's cattle ' it's different things in different places, but it means the same thing. He knew what she was speaking of, and wondered if she really did too. It was almost frightening if she did. How could she know so much about business and money and power?
Thurston House (1983) Page 6