by Radha Vatsal
Alva Belmont looked up at Kitty. “That was a petition to say that Mrs. Sanger can’t have a fair trial unless women are allowed to serve on the jury… You do know of Margaret Sanger and her Family Limitation pamphlet?”
“I’ve heard about her, yes. Hasn’t she been charged with criminal activities?” Kitty didn’t really keep track of such matters.
“By the post office,” Mrs. Belmont said drily. “For distributing information on birth control by mail. Her friends have organized a dinner for her at the Hotel Brevoort on Monday before she goes to trial. She and other prominent activists will be speaking. Would you like me to arrange a ticket for you?”
Kitty tried not to be derailed. “I was hoping you could tell me about your plans for the operetta, Mrs. Belmont. And Miss Baehr said I could come see a rehearsal next week.”
“That you certainly must, Miss Weeks.” Mrs. Belmont hunted through a pile of papers on her desk. “Here is a copy of Melinda and Her Sisters. Miss Elsa Maxwell has written the music and lyrics. You might care to read it in advance.” She handed Kitty a typewritten, bound copy of the manuscript.
“May I ask what inspired you to join the suffrage movement, Mrs. Belmont?”
“Well…” The older woman adjusted her collar. “My daughter Consuelo, the Duchess of Marlborough, first opened my eyes to the cause. But here’s the thing. My interest stems from my own history. I divorced Mr. Vanderbilt in 1895—almost thirty years ago now. The practice is slightly more common these days, but when I did it, I created a furor. My own lawyer warned me that I might be undermining the foundation of our society by showing up the shortcomings of the rich. But why should I have to put up with my husband’s affairs when I wouldn’t have been allowed the same conduct?
“Men of a certain class feel they can do whatever they like,” she went on. “Keep that in mind when you start thinking of marriage, Miss Weeks. Society never let me forget that I had the temerity to walk away—and the women who were most savage in their opposition were the ones with the most unhappy marriages.”
Kitty reminded herself to breathe. Mrs. Belmont wasn’t known for her reticence. She would say what she had to say, and Kitty would have to remember it—but the philanthropist’s strong views gave Kitty a better appreciation for Miss Busby’s hesitation.
“I’ve been a rebel my entire life.” Mrs. Belmont’s eyes blazed. “And after my second husband died—I knew no happiness like I knew with Oliver—I realized that I could no longer remain idle.
“I believe that if you want a thing well done, you must do it yourself. I spared no effort in raising my children and designing my home, and now I spare no effort in promoting the cause of suffrage. Something needs to be done, Miss Weeks.” She banged her fist against the glass-topped coffee table so that it rattled. “We must convert the multitudes. Half of our population cannot be treated as less than the other. The cause requires publicity as well as a definite program. My program is to champion a federal amendment to the constitution and to use my wealth and my position in society—for in the end, no one turns their back on money—to create news, to create publicity for us all. The operetta is just one of my many activities. Do you find it hard to speak?” She looked at Kitty.
“I’m not sure what to say,” Kitty replied, overwhelmed by the older woman’s vigor and passion and swayed by her words.
“I’m not surprised that you’re silenced—so much of what we have been taught to say is what men think is fitting for a woman to say.”
Kitty found her voice. “How did you break the habit?”
“Thankfully, I never had the habit. But I’m getting old, while you, Miss Weeks, are the next generation. And it pains me to see so many girls your age not jumping on the bandwagon. Not realizing that if change has to come, they must be part of it.”
“Are you suggesting that I’m shirking my responsibilities?” Kitty knew full well that she wasn’t involved in the fight for suffrage, but she was also certain that her father would have a fit if she took on another set of commitments in addition to her job.
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Belmont replied. She smiled. “But don’t look so worried. Your coming here, your speaking to me is a first-rate beginning. Give my girl your address, and she’ll have a ticket sent over to you for the Sanger dinner. And you will be back next week to watch the rehearsals?”
“Yes, Mrs. Belmont.”
“Don’t forget the manuscript. Tell me what you think when you’ve read it.” And Mrs. Belmont dismissed Kitty with a wave of the hand.
• • •
Miss Busby didn’t expect Kitty back at the Sentinel, and Kitty needed to burn off her excess energy, the tension that had built up over the course of the interview. If it had been warmer, she would have walked home. Instead, she asked Rao to drive her to the Vanderwells.
Mrs. Vanderwell greeted Kitty warmly but with some surprise. “I’m so pleased to see you looking well.” She wore a dress with an S-shaped silhouette from the nineties, which made her look her age, and a bracelet of Amanda’s baby hair wired with silver around her wrist.
The older woman patted the seat beside her on the couch. “That scar on your cheek—”
Kitty touched her face. “It will take a few weeks to disappear… So Amanda will be here soon?”
“Oh yes, I couldn’t be happier. By the way, you never told me how your appointment with Dr. Flagg went. Did he reassure you about Elspeth’s somnambulism?”
“In a manner of speaking. He made me worry about my own health. But things have happened since then that have made me wonder.”
“About what?”
“Whether there’s more to it than just sleepwalking.”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Vanderwell fidgeted with her bracelet. “I take it you’ve heard about Mr. Emerson then.”
“No.” Kitty sat up straight. “I haven’t.”
“He used to be Dr. Bright’s assistant. Then he was fired, but from what I gather, he continues to be a regular visitor. You wouldn’t forget him if you saw him. He’s the handsome, chiseled type. I, for one, would never have hired a young man like that with a daughter in the house, even if she only came home on holidays.”
“You think he and Elspeth—?”
Mrs. Vanderwell knitted her lips together. “People talk. I don’t know if any of it is true.”
“What do they say?”
“The usual things. I leave it to your imagination.”
“And he’s handsome.” Kitty recalled the young man by the fireplace when she and her father visited.
“Like a Greek god.” Mrs. Vanderwell glanced toward the heavens. “In my younger days, I might have swooned. But of course, he’s entirely unsuitable. And from all accounts, a very volatile fellow.”
“I see.” This Mr. Emerson added a new angle to Kitty’s picture of Elspeth. She had briefly considered the idea of a secret beau during her conversation with Prudence Marquand but had given it up in part because she had no insight into Elspeth’s private affairs.
“There is one other matter.” Kitty filled Amanda’s mother in on her meeting with Alva Belmont and the tickets she’d been offered.
“Oh my goodness.” Mrs. Vanderwell’s hand flew to her heart. “You’re considering attending a talk by the family limitation woman? Mr. Vanderwell would have me out on the streets in a second. I had no idea you knew about such things, Capability. You can’t be seen there. You have your reputation to consider.” She took Kitty’s hands in her own. “Promise me you won’t go.”
“I thought it was time I learned more about what’s really happening in the world,” Kitty said. “Not just wars and such, but other things.”
“You can’t cross that line.” Mrs. Vanderwell’s usually placid face hardened. “I’m speaking to you like the mother you don’t have, Capability. You must consider your future. It’s all right for the Alva Belmonts of the world to say and do
what they want. But you don’t have her clout. You won’t be able to withstand the repercussions.”
Kitty left the brownstone, pondering Amanda’s mother’s advice. The sun had come out, and although it was chilly, she decided to take a walk to clear her thoughts. Central Park was only a few blocks away.
She asked Rao to wait and then headed toward Fifth Avenue, which ran alongside the park. A stone wall, no more than about four feet high, bordered the perimeter of Olmsted and Vaux’s magnificent creation. Beyond it, the ground sloped downward and was planted with now leafless shrubbery and trees to obscure views of the surrounding buildings and dull the relentless sound of traffic.
Kitty stopped at the pedestrian entrance on Sixty-Ninth Street. That must have been where Elspeth walked in. Kitty could see the Brights’ home halfway down the street, which dead-ended into the park. The automobile lane through the greenery ran a few blocks farther north. A cold gust of wind made Kitty shiver. She walked to where she imagined Elspeth had died. The snow had melted, and stalks of grass poked their way up through damp soil. Kitty closed her eyes and tried to channel the dead girl to ask her what had happened that night, but all she heard was the sputtering of a motor car and the thin chirp of a bird foolish enough to be out in winter.
She crossed Fifth Avenue and headed toward the Brights’ home. The butler ushered her in.
Dr. Bright looked out of the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned when she entered.
“My wife is resting, Miss Weeks,” he said, “or else I’m sure she’d want to thank you in person. But frankly, I’m surprised to see you here. Your father let us know in no uncertain terms that he didn’t care for us telephoning or making contact in any other way and that he didn’t want you to continue this relationship. And I must say, I think he is correct.”
If Elspeth’s father was grateful that Kitty had pulled him away from the oncoming motorcar, he hardly showed it.
“I’m a bit worn out,” Kitty said. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Please.” He gestured toward a chair.
“I wonder if you would talk to me about a few matters that have occurred to me.”
“Given all you’ve done, I suppose I can hardly refuse you.” He remained on his feet.
Kitty didn’t allow his guardedness to deter her. In fact, it spurred her on. If he had been kinder or more gracious, she might have considered that she ought to be more sensitive to his feelings. Instead, she came straight to the point. “I know that Mr. Edison is working on new batteries for the submarine fleet,” she said, taking note of his look of surprise. “I was wondering whether he submitted a proposal to the Naval Consulting Board, and whether Miss Bright knew about it.”
Dr. Bright backed up to a chair and dropped down. “For a Ladies’ Page reporter, you do have unusual interests,” he said finally.
Kitty saw no need to justify herself. “Did Miss Bright know about Mr. Edison’s work? Had she read his proposal?”
He reacted strongly. “That is no concern of yours.”
Kitty gaped at him. “You asked to meet me to speak about Miss Bright’s work, sir. You wanted to know what I knew about her investigations into batteries. At first, I thought it was just some scientific hobby. Something she was tinkering with in the laboratory. But to be honest, your questions have made me doubt that.”
“In what way, Miss Weeks?” He didn’t bother to conceal his anger.
“In a way that involves Mr. Edison and submarines and navy contracts. Is it a coincidence that Miss Bright, who was working on batteries herself, died three weeks before Mr. Edison’s batteries were about to be tested?”
“How do you know about the tests?” Dr. Bright said.
Kitty ignored him. “What really happened, sir? What did the two of you argue over that night?”
Dr. Bright hung his head. “It was such a waste. Such terrible timing.”
“What was a waste, sir?” Kitty felt she must get him to tell her more.
“Elspeth’s death of course. So unnecessary. She was such a clever girl. Too clever perhaps. She thought she understood…”
“What did she understand?” Kitty persisted.
“There’s nothing more to it!” He jumped to his feet. “We fought. She walked out in her sleep.” His voice wavered. “Do you think I don’t feel it? She wasn’t yet eighteen, my firstborn, my only daughter. Do you think I don’t miss her with all my heart?”
Kitty was touched by his pain but plowed on. “So you don’t believe her death has anything to do with the Naval Consulting Board or Mr. Edison?” There, she had come out and said it.
“I am certain that Mr. Thomas Alva Edison, the greatest inventor of our times, did not lure Elspeth to the edge of Central Park.”
“You’re right.” Kitty rose. Either the man was willfully misunderstanding her or he couldn’t bear to admit that his daughter’s death might be connected to his professional affairs.
“Edgar—” Mrs. Bright entered the room in her robe and stopped when she saw their visitor. “Miss Weeks, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I was about to leave,” Kitty said.
“Why did you come?”
“Miss Weeks had some questions,” her husband replied.
“I wanted to learn more about Mr. Edison and his batteries and Miss Bright and her work,” Kitty replied. “But Dr. Bright seems to know as little about it all as I do.”
“Is that true?” Mrs. Bright turned to her husband, who didn’t answer. “You owe her something, Edgar. After all, we involved her—”
“You involved her,” he corrected.
“—and she saved your life.” Mrs. Bright completed her sentence. “What can we do for you, Miss Weeks? We’d like to thank you properly.”
“Oh, there’s no need—” Kitty began. And then she had an idea. “Can I… I’d like to visit the navy yard this Saturday.”
From the look of annoyance that flashed across his face, Kitty could tell that Dr. Bright wasn’t pleased.
“I’m sure Edgar can arrange it, can’t you, my dear?” his wife said. “You used to love to bring Elspeth and show her around.”
“That’s the day of the tests, but you knew that, didn’t you?” Dr. Bright frowned at Kitty.
“Now, now, Edgar. You will do it for me.” Mrs. Bright reached out and squeezed her husband’s hand. “Come on Saturday, Miss Weeks, and my husband will take you.”
The conversation had produced far better results than Kitty could have anticipated. From nothing concrete, just questions and speculation, she would now have the opportunity to see the new batteries being tested, perhaps even catch a glimpse of a real submarine. For the duration of the trip, she would be immersed in Elspeth’s world, and who knew what she might learn.
Chapter Seventeen
“So how was the interview?” Glowing with anticipation, Miss Busby welcomed Kitty back to work the following morning.
Kitty handed the editor two sheets of paper. “It went well, I think. Mrs. Belmont did most of the talking. Here is my summary.”
“Wonderful,” Miss Busby said. “I’ll take a look, and we can discuss when I’ve finished.”
“She wants me to come in next week to watch rehearsals.”
“Next week?” Miss Busby’s voice went up an octave. “That means I won’t have anything to print until”—she peered at her calendar—“January 22 at the earliest. Can’t you squeeze in another visit sometime today or tomorrow?”
“If you’d like to speak to her secretary, Miss Busby, please go ahead. I, for one, would prefer to leave plans as they are.” Kitty had no intention of getting on Mrs. Belmont’s wrong side.
Evidently, neither did the editor, because she relented. “Fine, but you must be prepared to write quickly in that case. The Saturday after is the twenty-ninth, and we can’t have a January feature that runs at the
end of the month.”
“Not to worry, Miss Busby.”
Helena Busby sighed. “And any thoughts for February?”
“I’m working on it.” Perhaps, Kitty thought, if the trip to the navy yard went smoothly, she might suggest some sort of naval theme—a tribute to “Our Men in Uniform.” But first things first. She hadn’t yet completed the January story.
“Rumor has it,” Miss Busby said, “that the president may be coming to New York to promote his preparedness plan. If that’s true, we could try to work it up from a woman’s angle.”
Kitty couldn’t resist a little dig. “Will Mrs. Wilson be accompanying him?”
Miss Busby didn’t appreciate the humor. “I’ve told you before, Miss Weeks, and I hope never to have to repeat myself. As far as the Ladies’ Page is concerned, Mrs. Galt is no one. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Miss Busby.” Kitty realized that if the president was visiting, that meant Soames might be in town as well. Would he come to see her? She tried not to raise her hopes. He was sure to be busy with no less a personage than the president of the United States to protect. And New York City demanded all one’s attention under the best of circumstances.
• • •
Two letters waited for Kitty on the silver tray in the foyer. One was from Mrs. Belmont’s suffrage headquarters and included two tickets to the Sanger dinner, along with a covering note signed by her secretary, Miss Baehr. The other came from Westfield Hall. Kitty took it to her rooms and slit the envelope open. It contained a short note from Georgina Howell, saying that she had received Kitty’s letter and that she planned to be in Manhattan on Monday or Tuesday. She asked if she might drop in at the Sentinel so that they could speak in person.
Kitty wrote a reply to say yes and included her home address in case she wasn’t at work. She folded the letter paper into thirds, slipped it into an envelope, and ran down to the post office on Broadway to stamp and send it off herself. Soon, she’d have some answers.
She may have gone down the rabbit hole on this Elspeth Bright business, but she reassured herself that in the next few days, she would be back on solid ground.