Archie led the Tafts to a knoll beneath the “1886-1911” electric light canopy and set up the receiving line. He stationed himself just behind the First Couple, who greeted and shook the hands with as many of the six thousand people as they could. The one person they did not greet, the person who was conspicuous in his absence, was Theodore Roosevelt, who skipped the event to stay at Sagamore Hill and work on a pamphlet for the American Museum of Natural History entitled “Revealing and Concealing Coloration in Birds and Mammals.” Roosevelt’s official reason for not attending was that he wanted to stay out of the limelight of politics and political events.
John Astor did attend. It was the first time he had taken Madeleine to the White House and he was determined that it be a special night. And it was. The pomp, the gaiety, the guests, the electric atmosphere – there was no doubt that on this night the center of the universe was at the White House. And at the center of the center was William Howard Taft and Nellie. When John Astor and Madeleine finally reached the front of the reception line – it took over an hour – Astor shouted above the din, “Congratulations, Mr. President on twenty-five years of wedded bliss. My fiancée, Madeleine, and I hope that we may enjoy the same longevity and happiness in our marriage that you have enjoyed in yours.”
“Thank you, Colonel Astor,” Taft answered. Nellie Taft echoed her husband’s rapid appreciation then both turned away to greet the next in line. Astor needed more acknowledgment than a perfunctory “thank you.” “Major Butt,” Astor called to Archie, who was standing behind the President. Archie tried to look away. Astor tugged Madeleine over to Archie, “This is my…”
“Fiancée,” Archie cut him short. “You’ve introduced me to her before.”
“Oh, of course.”
“You’ll excuse me, Colonel Astor, but I’m quite busy now.”
“I just wanted to thank you for attending our meeting and to bring you up to date on the project.”
“Now is not the time or place,” Archie said, trying to be polite.
“Yes. I understand. George Vanderbilt or I will call at a more convenient time. And if there’s anything you want or would like to know, do feel free to call.”
“Thank you, Colonel Astor,” Archie said, already turning away. But then an impulsive thought struck. “Actually, there is something I’d like to know.”
“Great. What is it?”
“Did you know a man named Mick Shaughnessy?”
The muscles in Astor’s face went slack. He looked down at the ground and began stroking his chin. “Mick Shaughnessy?…Mick Shaughnessy?…” Astor shook his head, “…No, I can’t say that name rings a bell.”
“At one point he was suspected of bombing your house on New Year’s Eve.”
“Oh, yes! I knew that name was familiar. I heard he was blown up. That’s what happens when you play with fire, I suppose.” Astor snickered at the little joke he made then quickly stuck out his hand and took Archie’s. “Well…good talking to you, Major. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.” He turned, took Madeleine’s hand and scampered away.
After an hour, the faces of those greeting Taft began to blur together to Archie. They became less individual people and more a continual flow of wide smiles and vigorous handshakes that undulated past like a long river. Archie’s mind wandered, random thoughts of people ricocheted through his head. Mick. Astor. Vanderbilt. Emma. Haywood. Greener. Belle. There was a connection, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was. Archie was startled back by the sight of a woman in an elegant black satin dress shaking Taft’s hand. “Congratulations,” Belle da Costa Greene said to the President. “Mr. Morgan is in Europe and asked me to extend his regrets that he couldn’t attend this grand celebration. He hopes my standing in for him will suffice.”
“Your beautiful presence will more than suffice, Miss Greene,” Taft answered.
Her eyes cut toward Archie. He wanted to call out, say something – but what? Make amends? Tell her that her secret was safe with him? Or…? Too late, she was gone before he could utter a word, swept downstream by the moving current of people.
The Tafts greeted the well-wishers for three hours, then Nellie got wobbly on her feet. Archie escorted the President and First Lady to Cross Hall in the White House, where the anniversary cake sat. The cake was an enormous, multi-tiered extravaganza decorated with spun sugar flowers, hearts, cherubs and fifty miniature American and Presidential flags that encircled the largest layer. The happy couple was photographed cutting the first slice, then left the remaining work to the servants. From there they circulated through the various staterooms of the White House, mixing with their guests.
During this slow parade through the White House, Archie slipped away from the Presidential party. He ambled outside and gazed over the throng of celebrants. It was so different from the usually tranquil atmosphere at the White House. The grounds were crawling with people that were chattering gaily, dancing and drinking. Archie’s thoughts meandered again. Astor’s behavior was strange. On the other hand, Astor was a strange man. And Belle? Her cutting glance and quick retreat stung. Archie believed his infatuation with Belle was over. Yet she could affect him like no one else alive. A loud whistle cut through the air. Archie looked up to see a fiery red streamer shoot into the night sky. The firework exploded into a sparkling bouquet of red, white and blue florets that glittered like a thousand stars.
Back inside, Archie wandered through the State Dining room then into the East Room, which was turned into a large ballroom for the occasion. Archie’s gaze was drawn to the center of the dance floor where Alice Roosevelt, Theodore’s daughter, shimmied an odd dance while everyone else was doing a foxtrot. Alice was 27 years old, slim, attractive and compulsively flamboyant. Watching Alice cavort about the dance floor allowed Archie to quiet his restless mind, but only for a moment. His attention was drawn back to the present when he glimpsed Belle chatting with a young army officer in a dark corner of the room. The handsome soldier took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. The band struck up a waltz. It was not a dance Archie had a desire to watch. He decided to find the Presidential party and started across the length of the East Room. But for the second time that evening, a sudden impulse struck him. He angled onto the dance floor and wove his way between the waltzing couples, making a beeline for Belle and her partner. “Excuse me,” Archie said, tapping the soldier on the shoulder. “I must cut in. Do you mind?”
The young soldier did mind until he saw the sparkling white dress uniform and immediately recognized Archie. “No sir, yes sir,” the young man stammered. “Please excuse me.” The soldier saluted then hightailed away. Archie wrapped his arm around Belle’s waist and began leading her in the dance.
“That was rude, Major,” Belle said tartly.
“No ruder than the charade you’ve been playing with me,” Archie shot back.
“And what might you be referring to?” Belle answered like a tiger daring Archie to engage in a fight. Rather than being cowed by her aggressiveness, he felt emboldened.
“You, Miss Greene. Your charade.”
“I’m sorry, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. So if you’ll now excuse me…” Belle stepped out his hold and started to leave when Archie reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Don’t walk away from me like that. We’re not done with the dance.”
“I believe we are, Major Butt.” She tried pulling her arm from his grip but Archie wouldn’t release her. The tense moment hung suspended between the two as they stood statue-still amid hundreds of couples twirling around them. “I talked with your father,” Archie said. “He’s a brilliant man.”
Belle looked at him uncomprehendingly. “My…my…?”
“…Father, Miss Greene. Or should I call you, Miss Greener?” Belle’s face dropped, her eyes skittered in a sudden panic. “It’s quite a secret you’re carrying around,” Archie said pointedly.
She started shaking. The fortress that Belle da Costa Greene had safely co
nstructed for herself suddenly developed a giant crack. “But you couldn’t have,” Belle whispered. “How?”
“At the Marshall’s Hotel. Your father delivered a lecture there. You were there also.” Belle put her hand to her mouth. Archie saw fear in her eyes. “Does Morgan know?”
Belle shook her head and spoke in a barely audible whisper: “No. No one knows.”
“If you want to keep it that way, I need you to help me.”
A surprised gasp escaped from Belle. “What are you saying?”
“I need the truth about you and Emma Goldman and Bill Haywood and Mick Shaughnessy and that whole anarchist lot. No more games.”
“I’ve never played games with you,” Belle said, her voice quavering.
“Of course you have. You’ve been playing games with me since the day we met. And it’s going to stop now, because if you wish to keep your deepest secret hidden, if you wish to continue the life you’re currently enjoying, then you’re going tell me everything I ask of you. If not, well…let the chips fall where they may.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you do me a favor and I’ll do you a favor. I think your boss, Mr. Morgan, would call it a simple business proposition.”
“I’d call it blackmail.”
“Call it what you’d like. My only desire is to find the truth. I’m asking you to help because I believe you know more than you’ve told me. And if you refuse, well, like I said, some unknown piece of your history may somehow emerge.”
“Please, Archie, that won’t benefit either of us.”
“It’s up to you, Miss Greene,” Archie said then reached into his coat pocket. “My personal card.” He handed it to Belle. “I’d like to be contacted outside of my office when you’re ready to be square with me.” He bowed, and then stepped away just as the last note of the waltz faded out.
The Tafts continued greeting guests and accepting congratulations until one in the morning. Nellie Taft hardly sat down and was growing weary. Archie escorted the couple up to the White House’s second floor living quarters. Nellie went to her bedroom, but Taft lingered. “Don’t go, Archie. Come, stay with me for a while,” Taft said, and then ambled into the Lincoln sitting room. He flung the window open.
“Do you need anything, Mr. President?” Archie asked.
“No,” Taft said, gazing down on the revelry that was still in full swing below. “I have everything I want tonight. Everything.”
Archie departed an hour later, leaving Taft alone at the window. Even after the last guest left, Taft continued to stare out over the White House grounds, not wanting the magical evening to end. So he decided it wouldn’t. The next morning there was a Presidential announcement that the entire party would be repeated, this time for the general public. That evening, June 20, 1911, the White House’s grounds and staterooms were thrown open to any citizen who wished to walk through the gates. The bands played again, the lights twinkled, the fireworks exploded overhead. And while the President and the First Lady couldn’t have greeted everyone, they stood on the portico for over an hour, waving and saluting the crowd below. For Nellie Taft and her husband William, June 19 and 20, 1911, were the happiest two days they spent in the White House.
CHAPTER 34
Archie arrived at his townhouse well past three in the morning, exhausted but still charged by the excitement of the evening. He needed a nightcap and went for the bottle of Jim Beam above the kitchen sink. He poured a healthy shot for himself then traipsed back through the living room when a voice jumped from nowhere. “That’s rude, Major.” Startled, Archie whirled and saw a dark figure sitting in his favorite rocking chair. “Pouring yourself a drink and not offering me one. Rude and inconsiderate.”
“Miss Greene!” Archie blurted. “What are you doing here?!”
“You invited me.”
“ I did not!”
“Yes, you did! I believe your words were to get in contact when I was ready to be square with you. Well, here I am! Square and ready.”
“I didn’t mean this evening.”
“You didn’t say that. Besides, I have to return to New York tomorrow morning. I would think you would want to take advantage of this golden opportunity while you can. Now, are you going to be a gentleman and offer me a drink?”
“Please, Miss Greene, it’s late…”
“The time of night secrets are revealed,” Belle said coyly. “I believe you’re drinking bourbon. I would like the same.”
Archie sighed and headed back into the kitchen, flipping on the living room light as he left. Belle squinted in the brightness.
Reaching for another tumbler, his hand landed on a cut crystal glass, one that hadn’t been used since New Year’s Eve, 1907, when he shared a drink with his mother. He took that glass and carefully mixed the drink as he did years before – one half bourbon, an equal amount water. He placed the crystal glass on a tray with a folded silk napkin and brought it into the living room.
“Thank you, Archie,” Belle said, taking the drink off the tray. He sat on his sofa across from her.
“Cheers,” Belle chimed, clinking Archie’s glass to hers then taking a deep swallow. “You know, I rarely drink bourbon. I forget how delicious it is.” She smiled and cocked her head to one side in a way that oozed self-confidence. The quivering, shaken girl that Archie had walked away from on the dance floor, Belle Marion Greener, had retreated. Sitting across from him was Belle da Costa Greene in all her glory – beautiful, assured, commanding.
“You know Archie, when you grabbed my arm on the dance floor and wouldn’t let me go, I was furious…and never so much attracted to you. Showing a backbone does add an allure to a person.”
“At this point, I don’t give a damn about my allure, Miss Greene.”
“What about your backbone?” Belle replied in her low, smoky voice. She looked down into her glass, took a finger and dipped it into the bourbon then glided it around the lip of the crystal tumbler. A slow, haunting note emerged, changing pitch slightly when Belle quickened the pace of her finger along the glass’s ridge. “They don’t make crystal with such purity anymore. An old Southern heirloom, I suppose?”
“My mother’s.”
“Your mother had fine taste.”
“Exquisite taste. Now, can we get down to business?”
“That’s what Mr. Morgan always says. ‘Can we get down to business.’” Belle lifted her jade eyes from her drink, locking onto him. “Yes, Archie, let’s get down to business.”
“Do you know who killed Mick Shaughnessy?” Archie asked bluntly.
“No. I believe I told you that,” Belle answered, then threw her head back and laughed. “You know, Archie, there are too many candidates for that list.”
“Sue Mann?”
“Who?”
“Sue Mann. Do you know who she is?”
“No idea. One of his girls, I suppose. Who knows how many women he went through. The woman who had the most reason to murder him was his wife. My god, what that man put her through.”
“So you think a woman killed him?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, there are so many candidates.”
“Who else?”
Belle thought for a moment. “The anarchists knew he was a spy. And they don’t take kindly to rats, no matter how charming they might be. It’s all a game to them.”
“Games don’t end up with people being killed,” Archie said, annoyed by Belle’s cavalier manner.
“Oh, but they do. You should know that. You’ve been to war.”
“War is not a game.”
“No?” Belle challenged. “What is it if not a ridiculous game? Men gleefully killing each other for no reason.”
“I don’t think you would understand, Miss Greene. But I believe we’re getting off the point. How do you know all this? Are you an anarchist?”
“No, Captain, I’m a librarian. That’s all. Just a librarian.”
“Then why were you at those meetings with the radicals
?”
“Come on, Archie, put two and two together. Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, it really isn’t obvious,” Archie said defensively. “Unless you are an anarchist.”
“Or a spy, like Mick Shaughnessy…or maybe, just maybe I was trying to protect someone. Someone very near and dear to me.”
“Your father?” Archie said, finally catching Belle’s drift.
She nodded, then grew pensive. “As you said, my father is an extraordinary man. He was a lifelong Republican, just like you. And the Republican Party saw him as a fine, upstanding Negro who would cooperate with them, toe the party line and follow orders. But when he started speaking up and asking questions, the people he served decided he was getting a little too uppity. So they rewarded his service by giving him a consular post in Vladivostok, Siberia – as far away from the United States as possible – lest his words corrupt other colored folk.
“When my father finally saw what the government was doing, he became angry. There were fights at home, horrible fights with my mother. When she left him and took us, he became bitter as well. He tries not to show it, but a rage feeds his soul. Not that he has lost any of his ideals. He still believes that equality for the Negro is possible even as his own life has been destroyed because he fought for equality. But he no longer believes that the government will deliver that equality. So he searches. One day in Chicago a friend invited him to hear Emma Goldman speak. She has a golden tongue, you know that. The evening my father first saw her speak, she talked of a society where everyone would be equal. He thought perhaps he had found his true allies. He visited her and they struck up a friendship, more out of mutual needs than anything else. The anarchists tell him that they believe the Negro is as good as the white man and in the new world they plan on creating, equality will be the order of the day. But even as they talk of creating a new world, their methods are about violently destroying the old one. My father doesn’t care that they talk about violence and destruction in the same breath as they talk of brotherhood. All my father wants is to see a day when he is equal to everyone else, when he can walk into a store and be treated as a man, not as a Negro. Or check into a hotel, or...”
The Titanic Plan Page 21