The next stateroom was where Esther’s belongings were set out—Mrs. Worth’s usual stateroom of purples, mauves, and gold.
“You must excuse the dining room,” said Mrs. Worth as the hallway opened up to the car’s full width. “John uses it for business meetings and his office as well as for our family dining.” She indicated the carved tiger oak table, eight chairs, and china cabinet.
“My wife always complains that the big boys can be as hard on the furniture as little boys,” said Mr. Worth with a laugh. “We’re nearly at the end. Allow me.”
Mr. Worth knocked at the last bedroom door. Upon being admitted they peered in and found May unpacking and hanging a few clothes in the closet and on hooks. The upper berth was stowed away. Rosemary was arranging her belongings around the plain porcelain washbasin. Vinnie was abundantly thankful for her own small space.
“Don’t let the small size deceive you,” said Mrs. Worth, as they finally came to the kitchen. “Our chef has managed quite sumptuous meals here, hasn’t he, dear? I’m sure you will find it adequate for the journey.”
“We’ve even laid in a few stores for you ladies,” said Mr. Worth, opening the doors to cupboards and the icebox. “Though I’m sure the Canadian Pacific will have made some provision along the way.”
As they descended the steps and the ladies walked the Lawrences to the front of the Caprice, the conductor gave a piercing blast on his whistle. “All aboard! All aboard! Last call, ladies and gents!” Steam began to cloud the platform.
Vinnie’s muddled emotions welled up in her throat. Eager to leave yet loath to go, she seized her mother around the waist and kissed her hard upon the cheek. She could barely hear the words of parting offered her, for all the clanging bells and slamming doors and sharp whistles. She quickly hugged her brother and Anne as Francesca and Esther made their farewells to the Worths and the Lawrences. With tears in her eyes, Vinnie threw her arms around her father’s neck, shouted, “I love you, Papa,” in his ear, and kissed him good-bye. He handed her up the steps and she raced to join Francesca and Esther at the open window of the observation room before her courage failed her. She drew out her handkerchief and leaned on the windowsill.
In that moment of noise and hurry, Vinnie was overcome by an enormous sense of well-being. As she looked upon those she loved most in the world, she knew it was going to be all right. She didn’t know how, or why, or who would cause it to happen, but that didn’t matter. Her heart soared.
“Good-bye! Good-bye! I love you!” she shouted and kissed her hands toward them as they kissed their hands toward her. “I love you!”
Good-byes resounded up and down the platform. Handkerchiefs waved from every window and door.
“Good-bye! I love you,” Vinnie repeated as the engine began its great chug forward and the successive pull of each car brought the mammoth train to attention. With each belch of steam the train drew them farther and farther apart till she could hardly hear them over the clamor. Then, to her joy, her father’s voice rang out clear and sweet.
“Good-bye, my dears,” shouted Mr. Lawrence, waving. “Good-bye, my dears, and God bless you.”
CHAPTER 42
A Little Inconvenience
When you are traveling, it is no excuse that because others outrage decency and propriety you should follow their example, and fight them with their own weapons. A rush and scramble at the ticket office is always unnecessary. The cars will not leave until every passenger is aboard, and if you have ladies with you, you can easily secure your seats and afterward procure the tickets at leisure. But suppose you do lose a favorite seat by your moderation! Is it not better to suffer a little inconvenience than to show yourself decidedly vulgar? Go to the cars half an hour before they start, and you will avoid all trouble of this kind.
—Decorum, page 138
Connor stood on the platform at Grand Central Terminal with Jerry Jerome and Charlie Gage, who had come to see him off. Charlie’s offer to bring a carriage to take Connor and Jamie to the station had saved Connor no end of trouble, especially by sparing him the parting words of disapproval Jerry surely would have lavished on him had the two of them been alone.
“You’ll escape the city just in time,” Charlie shouted over the platform’s uproar. He adjusted his brown bowler hat and squinted up at the taller men and shifted so that Connor gave him shade in the bright sunlight. “I envy you that cool mountain air already. Have you heard from the ladies, Jerome?”
Ten days had passed since Francesca, Vinnie, and Esther Gray had left New York. To be honest, Connor was glad of the respite from daily wonder about whether he should call at Sixty-third Street. His own preparations, though simple, had kept him busy. He had secured a first-class stateroom for himself and would make do with the first-class fare the restaurant car offered. Nonetheless there were travel details, last-minute purchases, and what seemed to him like relentless packing to attend to. More than once he had caught the patient and efficient Jamie muttering to himself about needless worry and undue haste.
Now, on the railway platform, Connor’s spirits were buoyant. He was leaving the scrutiny of New York to pursue the last goal on the quest that had brought him here nearly a year before. Business and society had embraced him, however cautiously. Francesca had not said yes to his proposal, but neither had she rejected him outright—a chink in the wall that Connor felt sooner or later he might just squeeze through. He was gambling his future on this venture in Banff, exposing her not only to his amiability, but also to his temper, his stubbornness, and all his other faults. Yet living with a woman and being able to please her, in spite of that outcome, gave him hope that he would not fare so poorly.
“Oh, yes,” said Jerry without enthusiasm. “Francesca wired from Toronto to say they had arrived there safely and the varnish had transferred to the Canadian Pacific line without mishap. They planned to see something of the city before leaving for Banff.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t try to make at least half the journey cross-country here,” said Charlie. “Maybe head north at Minneapolis or somewhere.”
“I had suggested something of the sort, but having determined to see Canada, they decided to see it from stem to stern.”
“I can’t say as I blame them,” said Charlie. “You decided to follow suit, I see, O’Casey.”
“Indeed,” said Connor. “I’m unfamiliar with that part of the world, so as the ladies have done, I intend to make a good job of seeing it. The ladies should be there by now, I should think.”
“I expect so,” said Jerry, looking up and down the platform.
“What’s eating you, Jerome?” asked Charlie. “You look positively dyspeptic. Something not agree with you?”
Connor laughed. “He’s just jealous he’s not going. I said that he and Maggie should be heading for Florida. When are you off, Charlie?”
“I can’t get Cora to make up her mind where she’d like to go—unless it’s the courts of Europe,” he chuckled. “I told her we’re not moving a muscle until she’s decided between the Grand Hotel in Michigan and that place in New Brunswick. This is not a pleasure trip, I told her—not strictly speaking.”
The conductor gave a blast of the whistle and called passengers to board.
“All aboard, gentlemen, please,” he said as he passed them. He consulted his railway pocket watch. “The train’ll be leaving in two minutes. All aboard.” He sauntered the length of the platform admonishing stragglers.
Connor shook the men’s hands, accepted their good wishes of safe journey, mounted the steps of the first-class carriage, and turned to face them.
“All secured and correct, Mr. O’Casey, sir,” said Jamie in his ear as he came up behind him. Connor nodded and Jamie disappeared into the depths of the carriage.
“I wish you weren’t abandoning the Excelsior like this,” said Jerry—much less than he wanted to say, Connor suspected—“just when we need you most.”
“Nonsense. I won’t be out of touch,” said Conn
or. “What do you think modern communications are for, man? I’m told that telegraph wires extend to Calgary at least, and no doubt to Banff itself. You’ll find me right enough.” Connor was jubilant. “And don’t worry, I’ll find you.”
“What about Europe?” shouted Jerry. “What about all this talk of furnishings and searching out fifteenth-century rooms?”
“Don’t worry,” called Connor as the train slowly pulled away from the platform. “With any luck, I’ll be going there on my honeymoon.”
“May I help you, madam?” The gentleman stood up from his desk and came forward.
“Yes,” said Blanche. “I have a reservation on the Etruria and wanted to inquire as to whether it is too late to cancel it.”
The attention of two other booking office clerks, who were assisting customers, was diverted long enough to note the striking woman standing at the counter. Posters adorned every inch of wall space, announcing special fares and limited-time offers, including a ten-day package tour of the Caribbean for the bargain price of forty-seven dollars.
“Of course, madam. Won’t you please come through.” The man opened the low swinging gate for her to enter. She took her seat in front of the desk.
“Now, madam, how may I be of assistance?”
“I have a passage booked on the Etruria on June twenty-fifth to Liverpool via Queenstown and from thence to London, where I shall stay for a few days, from whence I should be traveling by the boat train for the Continent.”
“Yes, madam. Did this agency handle the booking?” The man peered at her over his spectacles.
“Yes, I believe so,” said Blanche. “The matter was put into the hands of a friend who handled the booking for me.”
“A single passage, madam?”
“And my maid, of course.”
“And your name, please, madam.”
“Mrs. Blanche Wilson de Alvarado.”
“Wilson?”
“Most likely under Alvarado.”
“A-l-v . . .”
“A-r-a-d-o.”
“Thank you. One moment, madam.” The man consulted a card file, a register, and a passenger list before returning to his customer.
“Yes, madam, we have you listed for a first-class stateroom on the Etruria departing on twenty-fifth June. The booking came to one hundred dollars.”
“Yes, well, unfortunately, I have experienced a rather drastic turn of events and find that I am prevented, sadly, from traveling to Italy. I’m heartbroken, of course, but I’m afraid the change simply cannot be avoided. Would it be possible to cancel the reservation and have my money refunded?”
“Well, I’m very sorry, madam,” the man said, feigning embarrassment, “but I have a note here that indicates that the booking was paid for by a check from the other party. So I’m afraid that unless that party wishes to cancel the reservation and claim the refund, we shall not be able to accommodate you.”
Blanche tried to hide her displeasure. Connor had bought the ticket himself, no doubt to make sure she left the country. “But you see, I gave my friend the money with which to buy the ticket. The silly man must have deposited the money to his own account and then wrote a check against it.” Her smile was as seductive as her annoyance would permit.
“Yes, madam, but I’m afraid that we are powerless to deal with anyone but the signatory.”
“Even though the reservation itself is in my name.”
“I’m afraid so, madam.”
Blanche was silent for a moment, her brow furrowed. “Dear me. Surely, I don’t want to inconvenience my friend.”
“Of course not, madam.” The man looked at her, clearly prepared to wait as long as necessary.
“This is rather trying.” She bit her lip and tried to look helpless, not an attitude that came naturally. “You see, my friend has already left the city and is therefore unable to conclude the business himself.”
“Is it possible to send your friend a telegram and apprise him of your change in plans? If we could obtain instructions from him as to where to deposit the money—which I’m sure would be to your own account, madam—we may be able to conclude the business for you satisfactorily.”
“Oh, no, no. He is quite out of reach at the moment—on a hunting expedition.”
“Indeed. I’m so sorry, madam.” The man continued his blank and unhelpful expression. He evidently was not moved by an attractive woman in peril.
The cash Connor had left should have supported her for months, but these resources were so drained from the trial that she had little left for a good showing before her sister. The well would soon run dry. To arrive at her sister’s home with a rich man on her arm was one thing. To arrive with no prospects and no money was quite another.
“Well, I suppose that is that.” She rose and prepared to leave.
“Unless you have alternative arrangements you wish to make.”
“What?”
“Alternative arrangements. If your change in plans calls for alternative arrangements for travel, I see no reason not to use the sum already committed toward the alternative.” The man looked at her with a more hopeful expression. She thought for a moment.
“Why, yes. Yes,” she said slowly, settling back on her chair, “as a matter of fact, I must make alternative arrangements. How kind of you to remind me.”
“Indeed, madam.”
“Would it be possible, can you tell me, to cancel my sea voyage and book a railway journey to Banff?”
CHAPTER 43
Politeness, Ease, and Dignity
If, in traveling, any one introduces himself to you and does it in a proper and respectful manner, conduct yourself towards him with politeness, ease, and dignity; if he is a gentleman, he will appreciate your behavior—and if not a gentleman will be deterred from annoying you; but acquaintanceships thus formed must cease where they began.
—Decorum, page 31
Francesca stood on the steps of the Caprice and inhaled deeply. The opiate of fresh air, crisp as a starched pleat, filled her lungs with the heady scent of earth and pine. As the train made its way across the seemingly unending sweep of Canadian plains, she could feel the pull of the mountains. Like gravity, once in the Rockies’ grasp, Francesca’s spirit was helpless to resist.
With each westward mile her wonder grew at how the tiny fragment of earth that was New York could chain her to so restricted an orbit of a single set of people. Even in Toronto she still felt the tug of the American East and struggled daily to break free of its associations. She could not bring herself to jot but a few words in the journal Vinnie had bought her, confining her remarks to “weather hot” and “roast pork fine” while Vinnie flooded the Lawrences with notes and postcards and chronicled each day’s minutia. New York held no one with whom Francesca wished to share her thoughts. She left to Esther the decorum of keeping the Jeromes apprised of their journey’s progress. Besides, she told herself, she had brought her childhood friend with her; no need to confide her feelings to a bit of paper. Amused and a little envious, she looked on as Vinnie sent the Lawrences a telegram on their last day in Toronto, her eagerness spilling out over a dozen words.
Now, with the Rockies within reach, she was impatient to shed the remaining vestige of New York. In Banff, the Caprice would be uncoupled from the other cars and moved to a siding to await the next eastbound train back to New York. The train was at the last of the Canadian Pacific Railway’s dining stops before the final dash to Banff.
“I must admit,” said Esther’s voice behind her, “I shall be sad to lose the Caprice. Apart from its amenities, one doesn’t appreciate one’s privacy until it’s gone.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Francesca mused aloud. “We’ll be in the mountains after all. What more does one need, really, besides a decent bed, decent food, and a bit of hot water now and then? I might even give up the food—not all of it, but you know what I mean, the cordon bleu business—if I could be surrounded by a landscape unlike any other as part of a steady diet. The solitude—
that’s what is so powerful.”
“Solitude and privacy are vastly different things,” said Esther.
“You’re quite right, of course,” Francesca continued, “but to be in a place where one can achieve some inner solitude. That’s what I hope I can carry with me.”
Francesca could not bring herself to add, “to New York,” and all it represented.
“I take your point, my dear,” said Esther. “There is much to be said for a still center in oneself, but for the moment I will leave the philosophical side of our journey to your care and settle for a little privacy.”
“Privacy is all well and good,” said Vinnie as she joined them, “but I for one can’t wait to see who else might be traveling to Banff. With all the comings and goings at each stop it’s hard to tell who might be going as far as we are.”
The three ladies alighted and began to walk down the platform toward the substantial log structure that comprised the dining room and kitchen, with guest rooms on the second floor and construction underway on a new wing. Another varnish was moored on a nearby siding, nearly as large as the Caprice, with a green-and-black lacquered finish trimmed in gold. It bore no frivolous moniker, but a coat of arms with an inscription—Nec spe, nec metu. Without hope, without fear. A dark, well-built young man of medium height, presumably a servant, was gathering sundry sporting gear on the vestibule.
“Well,” said Vinnie in a low voice to Francesca as another man emerged carrying a collection of hunting gear.
He was somewhat older than the first, in his forties perhaps, but striking in appearance and command, with olive skin and black eyes. His hair was close-cut about the ears and neck, nearly all silver gray save for a thick wave of dark brown across the crown, which he was covering with a Tyrolean-style hat. The loden-colored European tweeds clothed a slim, muscular form and the knitted stockings below the buckled knickerbockers showed legs well used to exercise. Francesca, whose ear for languages was good, placed their speech in the eastern part of Europe—a Slavic language perhaps or a German dialect she did not recognize. As the two men descended the steps and made their way toward the platform, Francesca saw the same crest emblazoned in some fashion on cases and gear they carried. Stopping to let the ladies pass, the tweedy gentleman gave them a brief, courteous inclination of the head and his servant gave a slight bow. Was it her imagination, or did the gentleman’s eye seem to single out Francesca? What an attractive man.
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