The Social Graces

by Renée Rosen

  “Alva?” She heard Willie K. calling to her from downstairs. “Hurry up now, darling. We mustn’t be late for dinner.”

  “Just finishing up,” she said, still sorting through her closet, pausing over the dress she’d planned to wear to Mamie’s fish fry, the dress she would have worn to Mrs. Astor’s clambake had she been invited.

  Alva pulled out the gown and held it up beneath her chin, wondering if the neckline was high enough and the sleeves long enough to cover the remnants of her scars and bruises. Thankfully the one on her face had faded from purple to jaundice, barely noticeable anymore especially if she wore a bit of powder. But her muscles and joints still protested each time she moved, and it had been a week.

  But truly, what hurt even more—what refused to heal—was the way Mrs. Astor had treated her that day. Though, in her defense, Mrs. Astor hadn’t realized that Emily had been on Cliff Walk, a mere slip away from death had Alva not come along. Mrs. Astor didn’t know any of that but still, she had treated Alva as if she’d been a delivery boy dropping off a parcel. And of course Emily had been too afraid of her mother to speak up. Two days later James Van Alen had stopped by to convey a message from Emily. She’d wanted to thank Alva again and hoped to see her soon. Not a word about her mother, nothing about the clambake.

  Alva moved over to the mirror, holding up her elbow to examine the scab that had formed. She’d been fighting with herself to keep from picking at it, which was proving harder to do than keeping her promise to Emily.

  For all of her flaws—and Alva knew she was no angel—she did take promises seriously. Mrs. Astor would never know that Alva had saved her daughter’s life. There was no going back on that, which just meant Alva would have to find another way to get the Grande Dame’s attention.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Caroline

  The orchestra was warming up, musicians tuning their violins, violas and other instruments. Christine Nilsson, in an ivory silk faille gown, stood off to the side, practicing her vocal scales—Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha. Caroline’s first footman, dressed in elegant green livery—ordered specifically for this event—was stationed at the front door, ready to inspect invitations before admitting each guest. A second footman, also dressed in livery, was off to the side, waiting to adhere white boutonnieres to the gentlemen’s lapels. Sixty round tables with gilded chairs were stationed on the lawn, overlooking the cliffs. Each table was graced with a white damask tablecloth, the edges fluttering in the breeze, the napkins weighted down with fourteen-karat-gold cherub rings. A spread of silverware flanked the china at the place settings, and a dozen American Beauties sat at the center of each table. It was a flower that Caroline had introduced to this country, and at $2 a stem, American Beauties were a rare extravagance. Few hostesses could ever convince their husbands that the expense was necessary.

  Normally Caroline’s parties didn’t begin until eleven in the evening, but her clambake was called for five o’clock, with supper being served at eight, followed by dancing till dawn and two buffets, one at midnight and a second one at six a.m.

  Even at this hour, the day’s heat was nearly unbearable. Caroline stood at the foot of her yard with Ward McAllister, waiting to receive their guests. Among the first in line was Caroline’s brother-in-law.

  John Jacob Astor III stepped forward. He had bristly muttonchops and a mustache that had already turned gray despite his dark brown hair. He took both her hands in his. “Caroline” was all he said.

  She didn’t expect more. Her reply was simply “John.”

  Her sister-in-law, Augusta, was next. She had a squarish, boxlike face but beautiful blue eyes that drew you in. “The letter . . . ,” Augusta said, her mouth twisted up, giving Caroline a pitying glance, the rest implied. “I prayed for you. And for William, too.”

  There was something ever so smug in her delivery, as if she had taken some pleasure in writing that letter. Caroline pressed her lips together and raised her chin, remembering the Augusta who once loved hunting and gun collecting before trading all that in for the Bible. How many times had Augusta forced Waldorf to his knees, making her son repent for singing or playing hide-and-seek in the dumbwaiter with his cousins on a Sunday?

  Waldorf was next in line. He had grown into a handsome, politically ambitious man, now in his twenties with his eye on the United States Senate. “Aunt Lina,” he said, planting a perfunctory kiss on her cheek before walking off, just as dismissive as his parents had been.

  Caroline turned to her other guests, pleased to see everyone enjoying themselves; admiring the view along the cliffs, women gingerly removing their gloves just long enough to nibble a clam or prawn before replacing them, men holding their boaters in place while playing bilboquet or croquet. Young ladies fluttered about with dance cards fastened to their wrists, penciling in the names of gentlemen to whom they’d promised dances when the ballroom opened.

  After receiving so many guests, Caroline was hoping William would join her on the lawn but he was nowhere in sight. Instead, she somehow found herself walking alongside Ward McAllister and Mamie Fish—of all people. Although she’d wanted to keep an eye on Mamie, knowing she had hopes of rising up in society and taking Caroline’s place. She wasn’t threatened, though. It would take a much shrewder and more powerful woman than Mamie Fish to replace her.

  Caroline now observed Mamie with great curiosity. She was wearing a gown so heavily embellished with diamonds and pearls that she appeared to have a difficult time walking. The brim on her hat was wide enough to provide shade for Caroline and Ward, too. Caroline would have expected this from new money, but that day, she noted that the smart set wore gowns that were equally ornate. Everywhere she looked Caroline saw more sparkled beading, rays of sunlight glinting off the jewels. Everyone was fascinated with those Worth gowns. Nowadays gemstones and trinkets were becoming as essential to a society lady as her calling card.

  Caroline looked down at her own dress, regretting that she’d changed. For once, her mother had been wrong. Times were changing and Caroline was torn, caught between two worlds: her mother’s and her own. Admittedly, she didn’t know what to do with her own world. As the head of society, she’d been so busy preserving the etiquette and traditions from the past that establishing any sense of modernity hadn’t occurred to her. She had many strengths and talents when it came to her role, but being an innovator was not one of them. She sometimes felt like someone with no imagination and absolutely no artistic abilities standing before a blank canvas. She had no clear vision for the future. She certainly couldn’t have predicted that women would ever dress as eccentrically as they did now. And what if she, too, had appeared that day in a Worth gown? So what? It might have been refreshing, might have shown her guests a lighter side of her. Her mother wouldn’t have approved no matter what she wore, and with all the gossip about her marriage, if ever there was a time for Caroline to sparkle, it had been then.

  A group of gentlemen in linen summer suits and straw boaters were off to the side playing battledore and shuttlecock. Mamie’s husband, Stuyvesant Fish, was among them and had nearly collided with August Belmont. The two of them were now batting away and still missing the shuttlecock. Well, that got Mamie laughing. And oh, that laugh! People turned to see where all the noise was coming from.

  Caroline could take no more and excused herself, heading for the stone stairs overlooking her yard. Doing a lighthouse sweep of the lawn for William, Caroline observed her youngest, Jack, plucking canapés off a footman’s tray. The boy’s appetite was insatiable. He was only twelve but ate more than most grown men. And to think, of all her children, he’d been the smallest at birth, weighing a little over five pounds. She sometimes blamed herself for trying to fatten him up, but the doctor assured her he was just a growing boy. Still, Caroline worried and summoned his governess. “Keep Jack away from the hors d’oeuvres. He’s going to make himself sick, eating like that.” The governess scampered across
the lawn to reprimand Jack, who’d gotten hold of one last prawn before being tugged away.

  Caroline still couldn’t locate William. She hadn’t seen him since the guests began arriving, which wasn’t a good sign. She feared he was in a drunken stupor and that people were talking about his affair. The only way to quash the gossip was for the two of them to appear together, unified, with smiles in place.

  She went inside to look for him, passing her butler, standing regally in the grand foyer. “Mr. Astor is in the library with Miss Charlotte,” Hade said without her even having to ask.

  Sure enough, there was William, in the library, sitting in his leather armchair with a glass of whiskey at his side. Charlotte was with him, the two of them playing cards.

  Of all her children, Charlotte was William’s favorite. He made no attempt to hide it. He called her Charlie, and unlike the others, William had taught her to fish, golf, how to shoot and clean a gun. In many ways, Charlotte was more like a son to him than Jack.

  “Who’s winning?” Caroline asked, sliding the pocket door shut behind her.

  “We’re tied,” said William.

  “Not for long.” Charlotte played the king of spades and that was that. Game over.

  “Good thing this wasn’t poker,” said William. “She’d have cleaned me out.”

  “Oh, poker!” Charlotte lit up. “Let’s play.”

  “Oh, no. No you don’t,” said Caroline. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re entertaining guests, and you, young lady, should be outside. You too,” she said, eyeing William.

  “Oh, Mother, must I? Those people are so boring.”

  “Charlotte.”

  “I agree with Charlie. Must we?” William laughed as he gathered up the cards.

  Part of Caroline would have loved to stay and play a hand or two with them, avoid the small talk outside, the exchange of pleasantries, the adoration as well as the scrutiny. “Yes,” she said, “you must join the party. Both of you.”

  “Well,” said Charlotte, “maybe I’ll go down to the stables first and see what Duncan is—”

  “Charlotte!”

  “Oh, Mother.” She burst out laughing. “Don’t worry. I’m teasing. I would never do that.” She dramatically stood up, palms faced out. “Look—I’m going back to the party—see? I’m going.”

  After she left, Caroline turned to William, who was roaring with laugher, pointing. “You should have seen the look on your face.”

  “You shouldn’t encourage her. She’s becoming a little too familiar with that coachman. I don’t like it,” she said, noticing with some minor irritation that someone hadn’t put a book back where it belonged on the shelf. Is it so hard to line them up according to height? she thought as she crossed the room to fix it, the orchestra music filtering in from outside. “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “You should be mingling with our guests.”

  “They’re your friends.” He set the cards aside. “Besides, I doubt any of them would notice if I was out there or not.”

  “You promised, remember?” Caroline was about to say something else when the pocket door slid open and in walked James Van Alen. Hade appeared behind him, breathless—as if he’d rushed down the corridor after him—apologizing for the interruption.

  William waved off the butler’s concern, and Caroline braced herself. There was only one reason why Van Alen would dare approach William, and she couldn’t bear to witness it. “I’ll leave you two gentlemen to your business.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” William glowered at her.

  Of course, this was the moment he wanted her by his side. Obviously, William knew what was coming, too. Their dislike of James Van Alen was one of the few things they agreed on these days. Though she was certain that William was blaming her for inviting Van Alen to the clambake. At that moment, she was blaming herself, too. In a rare show of wifely obedience, Caroline dropped into the chair near the window.

  “Forgive me,” Van Alen said, adjusting his monocle. “I was hoping I might have a word, good sir.”

  “I’m occupied,” William said, polishing off his drink.

  “But it is a matter of great importance.”

  William sighed. He was a prankster with a vicious streak, and just then he had that look in his eye. Caroline knew Van Alen would soon regret ever stepping foot inside that library. “Well, in that case”—William motioned to the butler and held out his empty glass—“a refill for me, Hade, and one here for Mr. Van Alen.”

  Van Alen politely raised his hand. “Ah, actually, I don’t drink—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not a whiskey man,” said William, incredulous.

  For all of Van Alen’s faults, Caroline and William both knew that drinking wasn’t one of them.

  “Ah, yes,” said Van Alen, poorly hiding his trepidation. “Whiskey. Capital idea.”

  “Oh, and, Hade, leave the bottle,” William said as he handed Van Alen his drink.

  After Hade disappeared, William raised his glass. “To your health, young man.”

  Van Alen took an obligatory sip.

  “It’s not a cup of tea, you know,” said William. “If you’re going to drink, drink.” He clanked his glass against Van Alen’s. The young man winced after taking a healthy swallow. “Now that’s more like it,” said William, who continued talking at length—something about the best whiskey he’d ever had—and kept gesturing for Van Alen to keep drinking.

  “Well then, Mr. Astor, Mrs. Astor,” he eventually managed to slip in, offering a slight nod to them both, “I wanted to talk with you about my intentions for your—”

  “Excellent intentions, I am sure. Let me top that off for you,” said William, reaching for the bottle.

  “No, no, I’m quite fine, thank you.” Van Alen covered the glass with his gloved palm.

  “Oh, nonsense.” William pushed Van Alen’s hand aside and refilled his glass.

  “Thank you, sir.” Van Alen took another sip. “The reason I wanted to speak with you is—”

  “Now there’s a man who appreciated a good glass of whiskey.” William cut him off, pointing to a photograph of his grandfather resting on the fireplace mantel. “John Jacob Astor,” he said with a puff of pride. “Yes sir, he appreciated his whiskey.”

  “I believe Emily mentioned that.” James smiled weakly. “And speaking of Emily, I wanted to ask you about—egads,” he said while William refilled his glass yet again and motioned for Van Alen to drink up, which he reluctantly did.

  “Now as I was saying.” Van Alen adjusted his monocle. “I’ve been seeing a good deal of your daughter and well . . .” He paused and took another sip for courage. “Well . . . well, you see . . .” He began to ramble, repeating himself. “Mr. Astor, I’ve grown awfully fond of the girl. Awfully, awfully fond of her. Actually, it’s more than a fondness and—”

  “Tell me,” William interrupted, “how’s the general doing?”

  “The general?” Van Alen’s eyes flashed so wide his monocle nearly slipped.

  “Yes, yes,” said William. “Your father, the general. How is he?”

  William despised General Van Alen.

  “My father’s doing very well.” Van Alen tucked a couple of fingers inside his collar to loosen it as he took another long pull. Caroline observed that his whiskey appeared to be going down more smoothly now. “And I should make you aware that I’ll be inheriting a good sum of money. Upwards of one million, plus—” Van Alen stopped, as if he’d lost his train of thought. He pressed his glass, sweating with condensation, against his forehead. “It’s suddenly rather balmy in here, isn’t it?”

  “Balmy?” William turned down his lower lip. “No, I don’t find it balmy at all. I’m actually quite comfortable. Dear?”—he turned to Caroline—“are you finding it balmy?”

  Van Alen removed his gloves, using them to pat the perspira
tion from his brow. “I’m s-s-suddenly verry warm.”

  “Perhaps we should table this conversation,” suggested William. “You seem to be in the cups at the moment.”

  “Nooo, no, ssssir, not at all,” he slurred just before coming out with it: “By golly, it’s love. Forsooth there’s no one I love more than your daughter, sssssir, and I’ve come to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  “I beg your pardon.” William leaned forward, hand to ear. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”

  “I s-said, sir, that I’ve come to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  William sat back, cracking a sly smile. “I’m afraid I’m already spoken for.”

  “Nooo, noo, noooo.” Van Alen shook his head. “What I meant was—”

  “I know what you meant, and not only can you not have my hand in marriage, but you cannot have my daughter’s, either.”

  “But, good sir, I—”

  “You, good sir, are an ass, or as you might put it, an arse. I don’t care about you inheriting your father’s millions. The Astors and the Van Alens shall not mix. I will never let my daughter marry into your moneygrubbing family.” William called for the butler. “Hade? Hade, get him out of here.”

  Van Alen mumbled something as Hade got him to his feet and escorted him out. “Well now”—William dusted off his hands triumphantly—“that was jolly grand fun.”

  “Good show, ole chap,” Caroline quipped. “But your work here isn’t done yet. Supper is about to be served. And you will be joining us.”

  * * *

  —

  The orchestra continued to play as the guests took their seats. The candles on each table were lit as the sun began to set, flickering in the breeze, illuminating the yard.

  Caroline’s family, along with Ward McAllister, were seated at the head table. She was aware of her mother watching her, just as she was watching her own children. Her daughters were lovely, with William’s beautiful eyes. The two oldest girls, Emily and Helen, were just a year apart and looked so much alike—the same dark hair, dramatic dark eyes, cherub-like faces—they were often mistaken for twins. Carrie, her youngest daughter, had worn her light brown hair pinned up that night, like her older sisters did, accentuating her long neck. It was the first time she’d styled her hair that way, and Caroline felt a tinge of sadness to see her growing up so fast.