Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4

by Jenny Wheeler

  They wandered through a handsomely furnished lobby with deep brown leather couches, large framed mirrors, and potted palms in bronze urns — the image, in fact, of a wealthy gentleman’s club. On one side of a mahogany counter, a sign indicated the cloakroom, and beyond it the changing rooms where they would don ‘bowling costumes’ they could hire for a $5 ticket.

  They’d been to play bowls here on half a dozen occasions, but Elanora still found herself giggling as she looked at herself in the mirror when she’d finished dressing. In white bowling pants, a blue blouse and a black cap on her head she looked like — what — Eustace’s driver?

  “What are you laughing at?” Amelia’s face crinkled up in puzzled lines.

  “Just thinking about what William would say if he could see me now. If he thought I was undesirable before …”

  “Oh, Ellie, let’s go and have that coffee and talk. There’s a lot that needs to be said.”

  Elanora’s heart felt like a stone in her chest. “I’m not sure talking will do any good, Amelia. It’s not going to change anything.”

  “Not about William’s attitude perhaps. But it can change how you see it.”

  “You’ve been such a good friend to me through this, Amelia, you really have. But you’ve got your own things to — you know — think about.”

  They settled into a privately situated banquette and ordered coffee and cake.

  While they waited they surveyed the hall. The banquettes where they were sitting lined the outside wall, with the bowling alleys running down the center of the room. Activity was moderately busy, but Elanora was glad to see there was no one she really needed to talk to. Once the fragrant hot brew and lemon poppy seed bread was on the table, Amelia hesitated and looked around.

  “You mentioned about me having my own things to talk about … There’s been a development there I need to tell you about. I know you love Connie, so please don’t be mad at me.”

  “Honestly, Amelia, I’m not even sure how much of Connie I’ll be able to see in the coming months … I’ve no idea.”

  “Don’t be silly. Aunt Coco will always want to see you. You’re like a second daughter to her.”

  “Well, maybe. But when Eustace marries …”

  Amelia hesitated. “About that. Eustace marrying. Forgive me for commenting on something so intimate, dear Ellie, but I eavesdropped on Mother and Father last night when they came back from dinner. They were talking in their room and they didn’t realize I was still awake. Their door was open. I heard everything.”

  Elanora’s stony heart felt as if it had been engulfed in a wave of fear. She didn’t know if she wanted to hear what was coming next. She struggled to find her voice and cleared her throat nervously. “Talking? What about?”

  “They were shocked at William’s rudeness. Absolutely shocked.”

  Amelia looked pale in the bowling alley gas light. “Ellie, if they ever had any idea about William and me … Well, they’d murder me. You’ll never tell anyone, will you?”

  Elanora shook her head. “Of course not. For your sake. Not for his. He deserves whatever’s coming to him.”

  Amelia frowned. “I suppose … Anyway, mother said the way he embarrassed you publicly was completely uncalled for. And father said it was all because he wanted everyone — Eustace, Connie and your father — to understand that Eustace would be marrying to advance family interests, and not for any other reason.

  And father said …” she paused and grimaced. “I’m sorry Ellie, but he said your father’s estate brings nothing to Mountforts. So even if you were Helen of Troy herself he wouldn’t let Eustace marry you.”

  The fear that she had felt a few seconds before flared into red hot fury. “He ‘won’t let him?’ Eustace is nearly twenty-four, for goodness sakes. He doesn’t have to be beholden to his father for every dollar.”

  Amelia reached over and patted her arm. “Easy to say, Ellie. Easy to say. But look at it from his point of view. He’s been born and bred to take over the family business. Father says they’re positioned for huge growth in the next couple of years. New York’s doubling in size every decade.

  “Fortunes are being made every month. The Mountforts can’t afford to be overtaken. And William will find the best alliance he can for them.

  “You know how it is … Father says any businessman worth his salary understands who you marry can be the most important decision of your career. And your father — poor sick old man that he is — he’s not the alliance William is looking for.”

  Amelia stopped suddenly, like a runaway horse baulking at the next brush fence. “I’m sorry, Elanora. I know it must be hard to hear. But can you see it from William’s point of view?” She looked around anxiously as if seeking reassurance from some unidentified source.

  “Father says marriages are even being taken into consideration by the Dun credit agency when they’re assessing the value of a firm — so you can’t blame William for being concerned.” She affected a shrug and forced a smile. “You’ll probably be married long before Eustace is anyway, so I’m sure it will all work out.”

  Elanora felt the hot rush of tears; her throat was so choked she could barely croak out a response. “I had no idea … I hadn’t thought …” She steeled herself to stay calm. To not break down. She took a deep shuddering breath. “Anyway, enough about me. I’m glad you told me, Amelia. I really am. But what about you? You mentioned a ‘development’?”

  Amelia’s cheeks flushed bright pink. “Yes, well … William has said he will send me to Paris for the summer. Like on a full art scholarship. He’s going to be discussing it with my parents later this week. Says I’ll be able to leave in the New Year, long before … you know … anything shows.” She blushed bright pink.

  “He has someone I can stay with there — a mademoiselle with a respectable private hotel for young women. And I can study at art school for a few months and then come home when it’s all over. He says he will come and visit me while I’m there.”

  Elanora’s mouth dropped open. She stared at Amelia in disbelief.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Amelia’s face scrunched up with uncertainty. “Have I said something?”

  Have I said something? The words echoed in Elanora’s head like buzzing bees. She grabbed her forehead between the fingers of her right hand and pressed the temples hard, as if hoping the exerted pressure would clear her mind.

  She wasn’t sure what stunned her the most about what Amelia had just told her. William Mountfort’s hypocrisy at touting his son’s marriage prospects while ruining the young daughter of one of his senior business partners.

  Or Amelia’s blithe acceptance that she would just pop out a baby, presumably leave it behind to be fostered out somewhere in France and then return home as if nothing had happened.

  “Um. Amelia, I hope it all works out for you. I really do. It all seems … Well, it seems a bit far-fetched to me to be honest. Do you really think you will be able to keep this all a secret from your parents forever? And what about when you meet someone you want to marry? What then?”

  Amelia’s pretty mouth formed into a pout. “I know it must be hard for you, Ellie. I mean things working out for me, and not for you.”

  She stood, as if she’d just remembered they were there to play bowls.

  “Besides, I have met someone I want to marry.” She shrugged, as if the next statement was inconsequential. “It’s a pity he’s already got a wife, but William says everything will work out if I’m patient.”

  Seven

  Elanora gazed blindly out of the carriage that was taking her and Amelia home from Lottie’s, her head so full of Amelia’s chatter she was barely aware of her surroundings. Her father had lost his will to live since her mother’s death. She knew that.

  But she’d never considered his illness would harm her marriage prospects. He was comfortably off, a former solicitor who no longer practised his craft but still — she had thought — held a place of respect in New York’s business circles.r />
  She’d taken her family’s place in the upper echelons of New York’s commercial and professional life for granted. They rented a pew in Trinity church. She’d gone to the right private school, attended the favored dancing classes.

  She knew what cutlery to use, understood the admonition for a woman to be modest at all times — everything in her upbringing prepared her to expect she’d take her place at the top table. To hear her father dismissed in the way Amelia had, admittedly based on her parent’s hearsay, shocked her.

  The carriage came to a sudden jolt in the Broadway traffic, and she realized with a start that they were heading downtown towards Trinity and the wharves, not uptown towards their homes closer to Fifth Avenue. She turned to Amelia in alarm.

  “Where are we going? I thought you said we were going home?”

  “Oh, we are, but father asked if we could go via the office and pick him up on our way. He said he’d be finishing about the time we were planning to leave, and as we’ve got his carriage …”

  At the mention of Amelia’s father, Elanora felt nauseous. The last thing she wanted was to share a ride home with a man who’d so unflinchingly dissected what a poor prospect she was as a rising merchant’s wife.

  “But I need to get home. Father will start worrying.”

  The tight band across her forehead made her frown. “Really, Amelia. I’m not feeling well.”

  “We can’t turn back now. We’re nearly there.”

  Sure enough, they were rounding the square closest to Mountfort’s offices — Mountfort and Wollander she didn’t doubt soon — and fleetingly wondered if Wollander had a daughter William was lining up for Eustace.

  She clenched her hands in her lap and fought to appear nonchalant as their ride drew to a halt outside.

  “I’ll stay here,” Elanora said. “No need for me to come inside.”

  “Sure. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Amelia’s eyes had a bright anticipatory gleam. The girl was head over heels in love, Elanora saw with a lurching heart. Poor Aunt Coco. Did she have any idea? Did she care?

  A tap at the window startled her out of more day dreaming. Eustace stood outside, alert and eager. “Elanora! Amelia said you were outside! Can I have a word?”

  She was shaking her head before he’d completed his sentence. “No, Eustace. I’m not feeling well. I’ve got a funny tummy. Not now.”

  He opened the door anyway and leaned in. “Dear Elanora, I’ve wanted to see you so much. After that dreadful scene with Father … I’m so sorry …”

  He sucked in his cheeks and his eyes darted past her. She’d never seen him so ill at ease.

  “It was awful, Eustace. It really was, I can’t pretend otherwise. But this isn’t the time or place.”

  “Why not? I want you to know …” He gave her a longing look. “It doesn’t change anything, Ellie. You know, about the way I feel …”

  The words she’d secretly been hoping to hear. He’d said them.

  But instead of the weight on her heart lightening, instead of the great wave of sadness rolling away, she felt a strange blocked sensation in her ears, as if she’d gone deaf.

  The man leaning adoringly over her was nearly twenty-four years old, as she kept reminding herself. He should be a man capable of making his own decisions, of raising his own family. And he was lolling against the doorway spouting nonsense. She licked her lips and waited for the funny silence in her head to disappear, while he gazed at her expectantly. And suddenly her head cleared and she was furious.

  “Perhaps you feel the same way, Eustace,” she said with a waspish tone. “But what about your father? That paragon of moral rectitude and politesse?” Have his feelings changed?”

  Eustace took a step back, his jaw slack.

  “Oh, come on old girl, what’s got into you? That’s not like you …”

  “So has your father explained to his son and heir that the Travers blood line isn’t good enough? How a sick old invalid isn’t going to be of any benefit to the firm?”

  A guilty, shamed expression skittered across his face, and she knew William had said something exactly like that.

  “I can’t believe you would go so far as to … as to …” her voice faltered, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. “Well, as far as giving me that ring the other night. When you knew he will never allow it.” She said the words quietly, emphatically, trying to finally grasp the certainty of her disaster and not let go.

  “He will never allow it.”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “Why did you do that?”

  He stood in shamed silence, his mouth open, lost for words. She thrust up from her seat, stepped through the doorway and pushed past him into the busy late afternoon street. A curse on all the etiquette books that stipulated a lady was never to push past a gentleman.

  “Elanora, you can’t … Where are you going?”

  “As far away from you as I can Eustace. It doesn’t matter to me where that is, just a very long way away.”

  She plunged blindly onto Broadway, grateful to have her misery engulfed in the bright energy of the surging crowds of Christmas shoppers which had become such a thing over the past few years.

  Stores stayed open till midnight on the days leading up to Christmas, and the pavements were crowded with visitors, some shopping for toys, fruit, and baubles and treasures of all kinds, others content to window shop the gorgeous succession of storefronts piled high with tempting merchandise.

  She followed some boys who were busking Christmas carols with a flute and guitar, collecting dimes from cheery passers-by. They led her into a magical street lined with lit Christmas trees. She was wondering if she should buy one and take it home, and then as quickly realized there was no one at home except her who would appreciate it.

  She wandered listlessly, basking in the happiness of those around her, barely aware of her progress until she found herself on a quiet back street. She paused and looked around, an uncomfortable sensation of someone at her back bringing her to sudden alertness. Ten yards or so back up the street a man with lank shoulder length hair loitered, his shifty eyes refusing to make eye contact.

  She felt a shiver of discomfort and wheeled around to cross the street and move away from him. But when she glanced back, he was shadowing her progress, hanging back in the shadows but purposefully tailing her.

  She castigated herself for her carelessness. There was no one else around, nowhere she could escape, and she was well off the routes where the hack cabs picked up random fares. Most of the premises in this neighborhood faced the street with block fences and locked gates.

  She surged on, for the first time feeling a rising panic inside. She was being driven further and further away from the busy thoroughfare, and deeper and deeper into a dangerous unknown.

  Then she saw it, up ahead, the glass front of a building that opened onto the street, some sort of merchant’s premises or artist’s studio?

  She could hear her stalker’s footsteps closing in; she glanced around wildly and saw he was coming up fast behind her. He was cross-eyed, leering at her through blackened teeth, reaching out an arm to grab her elbow.

  In one quick move she got her hand to the one door she’d passed that opened to the street. An overhead bell jangled as she stumbled into a cavernous low-lit room and stood there, waiting for her heart to stop racing and her eyes to adjust to the reduced light.

  Along the walls black and white portraits hung, each artfully highlighted, and with a rush of relief she realized she’d chanced upon one of the many daguerreotype studios that had opened on and off Broadway — she’d heard fifteen or more of them in this area alone.

  The portraits on the walls were overwhelming in their intense simplicity, and the panicky fear she’d felt moments ago lifted like a weight from across her shoulders as she gazed toward them. The big room was silent, as if wrapped in a blanket of serenity and protection. She hastily glanced to where she’d come in. The door was firmly shut, and no one had f
ollowed her.

  With a deep sigh of gratitude, she tiptoed across the room and sank onto a leather covered ottoman, clearly placed there for visitors to sit and contemplate the images. She felt as if she’d arrived in a safe harbor, but wasn’t sure if she was permitted to dock. It was like slipping past St Peter to gain entry to heaven. For now, she was just glad to be free of the lout tailing her.

  Through a doorway at the back, the dimness was pierced by sparkling pin points of light. A myriad of slender candles, fixed with an array of other twirling red, yellow, blue decorations shone out from the branches of a fresh smelling Christmas tree. The clean pine fragrance reached across the space and dispelled the final threads of jittery panic that had enveloped her.

  Her ragged breathing slowed back to normal, and a wave of calm wellbeing flooded in. This was her world. She recognized some of these people — well known burghers and politicians. She thought she even spotted a former US President among them.

  She allowed herself to slump with relief into the soft padded leather. She was safe. She was strong. She was unhurt. And her philandering once-upon-a-time father-in-law was not going to destroy her.

  Rafael Castellanos y Ordonez was putting the finishing touches to a photographic plate in the back room of the Philip Haas Gallery when he heard the street door jangle its warning alert.

  The gallery space at the front was elegantly fitted out, but out the back was much more utilitarian. Here were the operating rooms where young boys cleaned and buffed the metal plates, where the cameras were set up, and where trained technicians developed, fixed and framed the images.

  Funny. They weren’t expecting their visitors to start arriving for another half hour. His German colleague Haas was a celebrated daguerreotypist with a flair for sales, and tonight they were holding a Christmas reception for key clients and enthusiasts with all the festive trimmings from Haas’s homeland.