“Welcome to the Banff Springs,” said the manager. Blanche had encountered plenty of men of this type—diplomatic and cordial but no nonsense. He held her letter of credit in his hand. She smiled. He continued, “I am Mr. Mathews. My associate, here, tells me that you have no fixed plans as to the duration of your stay with us. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” she said, replacing the mirror in her handbag and clasping it with a snap. “I understood from your wire that there was sufficient accommodation for myself and my maid for the duration of the season, if I should decide to stay that long.”
“That is so, madam. Would you care to step into my office for a moment? I should hate to give unnecessary publicity to this little mix-up.”
“With pleasure.”
Ah yes, publicity—a term to strike fear in the most discreet bosom. If the publicity and the notoriety it nurtured were of the right sort, it could open doors, not close them. If the Banff Springs Hotel was indeed becoming the world’s crossroad that publicity portended, it would suit her purposes admirably. If there was one thing publicity had done for her, it was to inoculate her against discretion.
When the office door was closed, he spoke first.
“You realize it is customary that an excess of funds be made available to guarantee your stay.”
Of course she realized it. What did he think she was, a fool? O’Casey’s money may be gone, but she would see to it that the New York World’s small investment would reap dividends.
“I should think the two thousand that this letter indicates that my paper guarantees, plus the three hundred and fifty I have in hand, should be sufficient for the time being.” Her eye was fixed as steadily on him as his was on her and her smile just as fatuous.
“I hardly need say, madam, that the Springs is attracting a very select clientele, which I’m sure was why it appealed to a lady such as yourself.” He gave the last three words the barest emphasis. “The usual letter of credit for our guests can be many times this sum. Though I don’t deny that the Springs holds many attractions for a wide range of enthusiasts with a wide range of means, I’m sure that you, as well as we, would find the stay much more enjoyable knowing that all eventualities were provided for.”
“I couldn’t agree more. That is why I said to your associate that my editor, Mr. Julius Chambers at the New York World, will see me guaranteed.” Her gaze was steady. “Of course, if an additional reference would ease your mind, I believe Mr. Connor O’Casey is a guest here. You may ask him.”
“The comfort and enjoyment of our guests are the Springs’ foremost concerns. To that end, you will understand that we make it our business to ensure that our clients are spared any inconvenient associations that might put them under unwelcome obligations.”
The smile was disappearing from his lips, but not from hers.
“Oh, I assure you, Mr. Mathews, that Mr. O’Casey and I are very old, and I might even add, intimate friends.” It was she who gave emphasis to the last words this time and added a carefree shrug. “I am positive that he will be only too glad to relieve all parties of any unnecessary embarrassment.”
“If that is the case, you won’t object if I have Mr. O’Casey paged, will you? I’m sure we can clear up this matter in no time.”
“I welcome the opportunity.” She smiled again.
He opened the door and called to a nearby bellboy, “Please run and find Mr. O’Casey and give him this note”—he jotted it hastily, blotted it, and sealed it in an envelope—“and ask him, with my compliments, if he would come and see me as soon as possible. Now,” he said, turning back to her, “won’t you sit down, Mrs. Wilson.” They waited.
Blanche rose as Connor entered the room.
“Connor, darling.” She touched his arm gently as she tilted her head up to kiss him on the cheek. “Why, what’s the matter, darling? You look like you’re about to burst a blood vessel.” She brushed a bit of fluff off his lapel, glided over to the settee, sat down, and patted the empty space next to her. “Why don’t you come and sit a little?”
Connor stood ramrod straight and looked like black powder before the explosion. The manager’s note was crushed in one hand. With the other he pointed to Blanche, but he looked only at Mr. Mathews.
“I want this woman thrown out.”
“Oh, darling, don’t be silly. You’ll get yourself all worked up for nothing. Mr. Mathews, do you think we might have some drinks?”
Connor stared at her. She took her time and drew off her gloves.
“I think Mr. O’Casey needs one and I certainly wouldn’t take the offer of a drink amiss. In fact champagne might just suit the occasion.”
“Have you gone mad?” said Connor in a low growl.
“Oh, Connor,” she said in mock reproach. “He’s such a kidder, Mr. Mathews, don’t take any notice of him. He always begins this way when he’s a little put out.”
“Put out?” Connor walked to the settee and stood over her. “Put out? I’ll have you put out, Blanche! I don’t know what you’re playin’ at, but I’ve had enough already. I want you out of here, now.”
“Oh, but darling,” she cooed. “To begin with, I have more than two thousand dollars that says I can stay, isn’t that so, Mr. Mathews?”
“Two thousand dollars wouldn’t keep you in shoe leather for a week,” said Connor.
“Only if your stay were calculated to fit within your means, madam,” the manager began.
“There, you see?” she said.
“And,” he continued, “if your presence does not create a nuisance—”
“I want her out,” said Connor, turning to the manager and continuing to point at Blanche. “She’s a nuisance just being here—and I’m not the only party who would find her so. The sooner she’s gone the less likely anyone will know she’s ever been here.”
“They know already.” Blanche felt ten feet tall. “Will you ring for the drinks, Mr. Mathews, or shall I?”
Connor turned. “What?”
“They know already,” said Blanche, trying to contain her immense satisfaction. “I saw them in the lobby, while this gentleman was fetching Mr. Mathews. And they saw me, which I fear is more to the point. One attempted to look dignified, one looked completely reserved and unmoved as one might expect, and the other looked almost amused. Yes, darling, you’ll have a little explaining to do, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, hell.”
“Oh my, have I committed a little faux pas? Now then. Why don’t you come over here and sit down and we’ll have a nice little chat.”
The manager asserted himself.
“Mr. O’Casey, I cannot allow this type of incident to disrupt the management of this hotel or disturb the comfort of our guests. If this can’t be resolved reasonably, I’m afraid I must ask you . . .”
Connor stayed on his feet.
“Would you leave us, please, Mr. Mathews?” he said, regaining a measure of composure. “We’ll soon get this sorted.”
It was really all Blanche wanted in the first place.
“Now what’s this all about?” demanded Connor when the manager and the clerk had withdrawn.
“I’m surprised you have the audacity to ask,” said Blanche. Her tone had lost its gaiety, but retained a grating satisfaction. “Ever since you left me at midnight, standing on the pavement in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, alone and friendless, I’ve been trying to think how you could assist me in getting back on my feet again.”
“I left you with plenty of cash, Blanche. You were supposed to go off to Italy to your sister’s.”
“Fate intervened, it seems.”
“I can’t help that,” said Connor. “If you had minded your own business instead of going off with the wrong crowd and getting yourself tangled up—”
“Yes, and what was I supposed to do, sit in the hotel all day and wait for you to throw me a few crumbs? You never lifted a finger to help me, to win me the approval of your friends. You didn’t even try.”
“Why go raking
all this up? What in God’s name did you do with all that money? No, no, don’t tell me. Obviously it’s gone. I don’t want to know where. But what did you think you’d gain by following me here? If you think I’d marry you—”
“Marry?” Blanche started to laugh. “Me? Marry you? That’s very funny. I admit that at one time I wanted exactly that. No, you can rest easy on that score, I don’t want to marry you. The Lund creature is welcome to you, if you think she’ll have you. What I want from you now is quite different from what I wanted then.”
“Meaning what?” Connor said.
“I want the help you wouldn’t give me in New York. You can introduce me around to the friends you’re cultivating here. You introduce me and I’ll do the rest. In return I promise I’ll stay out of your hair. I mean to come out well, O’Casey. The fact is I can’t do it alone.”
“And if I refuse?”
“More than two thousand dollars buys me enough time and credibility to be of use to those New York reporter johnnies I’ve become friendly with. Chambers and the New York World are paying handsomely for exclusive stories for the society pages about the wonders of the Banff Springs Hotel and its exclusive clientele and the scandal it’s supporting under its very roof.”
“You’re bluffing, Blanche.”
“Oh am I? After the stunts Pulitzer paid Nellie Bly to perform for them? If she can telegraph them from Hong Kong, what’s to stop me telegraphing from Banff? Five days across country and two more for the mail to reach New York for an interview or a colorful feature—what’s that to Chambers or to me when I can be feeding them a story every week? It’s a simple proposition—I send them stories, they send me money. Even if I had to set up camp by the Bow River I fancy I could gin up enough to keep them interested and my name in the papers. All that peace and quiet you were seeking away from the omniscient New York society will be for naught. Don’t you see? The sooner you help me, the sooner I’ll be off your hands—and so much the better for both of us.”
She sighed deeply and relaxed.
“Now, I think we should ask Mr. Mathews to come back in. What about that champagne?”
CHAPTER 45
Condescension
If you are a gentleman, never lower the intellectual standard of your conversation in addressing ladies. Pay them the compliment of seeming to consider them capable of an equal understanding with gentlemen.... When you “come down” to commonplace or small-talk with an intelligent lady, one of the two things is the consequence, she either recognizes the condescension and despises you, or else she accepts it as the highest intellectual effort of which you are capable, and rates you accordingly.
—Decorum, page 68
“So, that was the lady,” said Esther. “What has happened, Francesca?” Esther sat on the settee in front of the fire, her face impassive but for an almost imperceptible animation in her eyes. “I can’t imagine that he could be completely ignorant of her intentions.” “I don’t know. This must be some contrivance on her part, Aunt Esther.”
By the time the ladies had retired to Francesca’s suite she was in no mood to deal with Connor and Blanche. It was as if she and Connor and Blanche were wind-up toys that had developed an annoying habit of walking in circles and bumping into each other.
A knock came at the door. Francesca opened it to the outstretched hand of Jamie, proffering a note and saying, “For you, if you please, ma’am.” She received it with thanks and closed the door, opening the small envelope and drawing out the sheet of thick paper emblazoned with the hotel’s crest. She walked to the window and read.
“He’s prompt, I’ll give him that,” said Esther. “Let’s hope he’s truthful as well.”
“He wants me to meet him in the little parlor in ten minutes,” Francesca reported and looked at the clock on the mantelshelf.
“Certainly not alone,” said Esther.
“I think we should go with you. Bother propriety. Her presence affects all of us,” said Vinnie. “Besides, Aunt Esther and I can’t sit here and leave all the unpleasantness to you.”
“The parlor is public territory,” said Francesca. “Does anyone honestly think we’d go there to misbehave ourselves when there are plenty of private rooms?”
“Well, I think we should all go anyway,” said Vinnie, making for the door. “Are you coming with me? Or will I be the one facing Mr. O’Casey alone?”
A bellman directed them to one of several small parlors for the private use of hotel guests. Connor was waiting. Francesca opened her mouth to speak, but he paid no heed.
“I’ll thank you not to start,” he said, leaving her agape and frowning.
“I don’t like your tone, Mr. O’Casey,” Esther retorted.
“Let’s not begin like this,” said Francesca, determined not to let tempers run unchecked while fearing hers might be the first to go. “Let’s give Connor the courtesy of a hearing first.”
Esther and Vinnie retired to a settee, but Francesca remained on her feet.
“Thank you, Frankie.” He drew a deep breath and began. “I know you saw Blanche. I just saw her myself a few minutes ago.”
“Quite a fast worker, isn’t she?” Esther said to no one in particular.
“Goodness, already?” blurted Vinnie.
“She sought you out?” asked Francesca.
“She caused a ruckus about money and the management called me in to get it sorted,” said Connor.
“What does she want exactly?” asked Esther. “We understood that she intended to go to Italy.”
“So did I,” Connor replied. “Unfortunately she’s managed to get herself attached to the New York World as a reporter. She’s here covering society in Banff for the newspaper.”
Variations on, Oh, for heaven’s sake, were spoken by all three ladies at once while Esther threw Francesca a look with a glint of I told you so.
“I can understand why she didn’t go to Italy,” said Francesca. “If I were in her place I wouldn’t want to admit defeat in front of family.”
“You’re not serious,” said Connor.
“But with the kind of life she’s led . . .” began Esther.
“Yes, exactly because of the kind of life she’s led,” Francesca continued, a little uncomfortable that Blanche’s ally in infamy was standing in the same room, but having begun she went on. “With her last prospect for a respectable marriage gone, whom can she face or to whom can she turn for help? She probably thinks you owe it to her.”
“I don’t owe her a thing.”
“Oh, really?” said Francesca, the heat rising. “I’m not sure I agree. She certainly put up with you for a goodish while and I suppose one is justified in arguing to whose advantage. A woman always pays more heavily than a man.”
“I’ve paid her plenty.”
“That makes it right? A simple cash transaction? I’ll bear it in mind in the future.”
“Frankie, that’s not fair and you know it,” exclaimed Connor angrily.
“Kindly refrain from telling me what I do and do not know.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a gesture of frustration. “I’m sorry. I just can’t see how she managed to get you on her side.”
“I’m not on anybody’s side,” said Francesca, trying to regain her control. “Just because I don’t care for the woman doesn’t mean I wish her ill. I’m simply saying that I can understand why she might feel this way and why she might come to you, that’s all. It’s a shame that she should choose you, but she has.”
“Charity aside,” said Esther, turning to Connor, “if you feel no obligations to her why didn’t you simply send her packing?”
“You think I didn’t try? You think I stood there and let her run roughshod over me?”
All three ladies looked at him.
“All right, all right.” He sighed and collected himself. “She threatened me.”
“She threatened you?” asked Vinnie. “How on earth—”
“With publicity. She wants introductions, help in nav
igating through society at Banff so’s she can get her stories to send back to the World. If I—or we, most likely—if we fail to help her, or even try to freeze her out, she’ll spill the whole story about our connections in New York. There’ll be a storm of publicity that’ll completely undo our stay here.”
“Unfortunately, she’s very good at publicity, if you’ll recall,” said Vinnie. “She certainly isn’t afraid to get her name in the papers—and now that it’s in her professional interest—”
“That’s monstrous,” retorted Esther.
“Oh, Esther,” said Francesca, “publicity is at once the fair-haired child and the dark demon of all society. Half the society matrons of New York know too well how to set the publicity pump going, a skill for which I have no facility.”
“You’ve had your share of publicity,” said Vinnie.
“Not of my own making. None of my family ever sought it. I don’t know whom Jerry had to pay off to see that the press treated me sympathetically over Mother and Father and Oskar, and to treat me well through—through all the recent business.”
“That’s not so hard when you’re the victim,” Vinnie said, then caught herself. “I’m sorry, Francesca, I didn’t mean . . .”
“I know, dear, don’t worry. Vinnie’s perfectly right. ‘Victim’ is certainly one way to portray someone—or oneself—when seeking favorable publicity. Mrs. Alvarado is only doing what hundreds of others do. She intends to bring everything we’re trying to escape from in New York to Banff if Connor doesn’t cooperate.”
Decorum Page 36