“Undoubtedly a good book is what the countess has in mind,” Joe quipped, which occasioned laughter from almost everyone.
It was nearly eleven by the time their six-course dinner ended. Joe herded Drs. Genworth and Sorrel, along with Franklin, into the drawing room for a nightcap and a cigar. Abigail chose to excuse herself at the first possible opportunity, intent on retiring to her room before the women could engage her in their usual frivolous conversation. But first, she wanted to stop into the library to retrieve the book by Thomas Gallagher, In Pursuit of Human Perfection. She had decided that if the subject of eugenics should come up again, she would be better prepared to challenge its tenets.
She hurried down the hall, passing by the drawing room. The four men, standing before one of those horrid nude portraits, were engaged in animated conversation. She continued past the billiards room, its well-appointed bar stretching along an entire wall, and then the music room with its sprawling concert grand, crouched like a silent black beast ready to pounce. She wondered if it had ever been played or was there only to make an impression.
Joe’s office came just before the library. The door was wide open. Casually, or at least for no particular purpose of which she was aware, she stopped to peek inside. Immediately, something on Joe’s desk caught her attention. It was a camera—similar, if not identical, to the one Ludwik had carried that morning when she encountered him on the path to the gazebo.
“Are you lost?”
She spun around. “I—I was just admiring your office,” she said with a nervous smile. “Forgive me for being nosy. But then, I suppose it’s a woman’s prerogative, is it not?” she said, assuming Joe would readily agree to an observation so demeaning of the fairer sex.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” His gaze rolled over her in a way that made her cringe. “You’re welcome to step inside with me, if you like.”
“That’s not necessary, thank you. I can see it well enough from here.” Her eyes involuntarily came to rest again on the camera. “You know, a man’s office often says a lot about him.”
“Oh? You really think so?”
“Yes, I believe it does.”
“And what does mine say about me?”
She paused, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground. “Well . . . if this were my office, I expect I would have the desk positioned so I could look out the window, onto that glorious rolling landscape. But I see that you prefer to be facing the door.”
“Ah, so you think I have no appreciation of beauty? Or maybe it’s just that I don’t like anyone sneaking up on me.”
She smiled coyly. “One could draw either inference.”
“Well, it’s really not so hard to figure out. I positioned my desk to make best use of the light. It’s all about the light, you know. But then, I remember you said you’re a photographer. So you should understand what I mean.”
Her mouth went dry. “Indeed.”
“I do a bit of photography every now and then myself. Since you missed your chance to examine Ludwik’s equipment, maybe you’d be interested in seeing mine.”
She looked away, not wanting him to sense her unease. “Thank you for the offer. Perhaps in the morning, though. I’m rather tired tonight.”
“But you came down here for something.” He raised his brows, waiting. It felt like he was setting a trap, though she was fairly certain she already was ensnared.
“I was just going to borrow a book from the library to take upstairs. But, on second thought, I’d probably be asleep before I could make it through the first chapter.”
“Well then, I won’t invite you to join us in the drawing room,” he said, though Abigail knew he had no intention of doing so. Women were not meant to feel welcome in a room full of cigar smoke.
“I wouldn’t dream of intruding, even though your newest guests are such fascinating men, obviously brilliant. I do hope my questions at dinner didn’t offend them.”
“I’m sure they weren’t offended in the least. They’re accustomed to it. As an inventor, so am I. One always has to answer to the skeptics—and to those who lack imagination.”
She was sure he meant to insult her. And this was the man by whose grace she must forge her future at the Rome Institute! “So I take it you’re in sympathy with what the doctors wish to accomplish.”
“You’re not?”
“I don’t profess to understand it, and presently I haven’t the inclination to give it much thought. My mind these days, like Dr. Rome’s, is entirely on plans for the Rome Institute.”
“Is that so? Hmm.” He nodded slowly. “I would think a woman of your age would be more concerned with marriage and children.”
She hoped Joe did not intend to lecture her on the virtues of domesticity. “Not every woman has such aspirations. Especially these days, when there are so many new opportunities.”
“But one can’t delay marriage forever. It encourages rumors, you know. Speculation about this and that—never very flattering, I’m afraid. Pretty soon no decent fellow will want to chance it. Men are funny that way. They put great stock in being the first to raise the flag on conquered ground.”
She was taken aback by his comments, which, even for Joe, were shockingly malapropos. Was he hinting that he knew the nature of her relationship with Franklin? Could it be that everyone did?
“As I said, marriage has never been a concern of mine. And I have no particular affinity for children, though I admire those who do. I’m afraid my fascination has always been medicine.”
“Isn’t it odd, then, that you’ve developed such an interest in the Siamese twins?”
She steadied herself. The twins were a subject about which she could easily become emotional, especially after what she had heard at dinner. “I must admit, it surprised me to learn that you wish them to stay.”
“Oh yes. I’m afraid my fascination has always been the macabre.”
Abigail shuddered at his mocking tone. So this was how he thought of his new charges! “Well, it’s been an enlightening evening, just as you promised. But now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll say good night.”
She forced a smile before turning away and walking as quickly as she dared down the hall toward the foyer.
“Good night, Abby,” he called out brightly. “Sleep well and sweet dreams.”
CHAPTER 16
Up in her room, Abigail stood in front of the open window. A light breeze brushed over her face like butterfly wings, bringing with it a hint of sweet lavender from the garden. In the distance, she heard the screech of an owl. Surely, she thought, those doctors from Indiana would never dare to question the beauty surrounding them here in the Scarsdale countryside. It was only the beauty of their fellow man to which they seemed blind. Yet nature was overseer of both. What gave them the right to question its wisdom? And how could they find it admirable to turn one human being against another, to denigrate the unique qualities that make each of us special in God’s eyes?
And Joe. He seemed to think himself such a master of efficiency! Perhaps he was when it came to dispensing with anyone who might get in his way. Their encounter in the hallway had been chilling. He’d practically admitted it was Ludwik’s camera on his desk. Or, if not, at least he seemed to delight in letting her imagine so. And the rest of his comments—about marriage and children, rumors and raising the flag on conquered ground! How was she ever to carry on her work if she must answer to someone like that, a man who clearly had little respect for women in general and seemingly less for her!
What he’d said about the twins was most disturbing of all. A fascination for the macabre! To use such a word to describe those girls, for whom he and Lillian were now responsible, was itself ghoulish. But why should she be surprised? Joe had applauded the misanthropic preachings of his new friends, Dr. Genworth and Dr. Sorrel—men who couldn’t possibly have the slightest appreciation for the special beauty of Melilla and Valencia. Their intelligence, their courage, their hopes and dreams—none of it mattered. The
y were nothing more than defectives for which society had no use.
Wearily, she closed the window, pulled the drapes. She suddenly felt so alone. She had tried to avoid judging Franklin’s behavior, but there was no denying that it troubled her. Why had he not spoken out more forcefully against Dr. Genworth’s assertions? And the way he’d seemed to enjoy the countess’s silly flirtations! It bothered her to think he was so in need of admiration, so anxious to prove to everyone how very desirable he was.
But perhaps there was more to it than that. The memory of that awful night in the library still gnawed at her. She had been so hurt when he failed to come to her room, leaving her to assume the worst. Would he fail her again tonight?
She was still awake at half past two when he finally appeared. Making no apology for the hour, he quickly shed his clothes and crawled into bed, casually draping his leg over her with an air of entitlement. She had worked herself into a frenzy over his absence, convinced he was not coming. Though she was relieved to see him, it was all she could do not to barrage him with the myriad of questions that had tormented her for the past several hours.
“Tomorrow you’ll go over to the Institute with us,” he announced, perhaps preemptively, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
The maneuver worked. “Really? Joe invited me?”
“Don’t get too excited. Seems the main purpose of our excursion in the morning is to show Genworth and Sorrel what Joe’s been doing in the north wing.”
She raised herself up on one elbow. “What do you mean—the north wing?”
“You’ve seen how the building spreads out from the center, north and south? Joe is going to use the first floor of the north wing for his museum.”
Joe’s museum of human oddities, the project that Ludwik believed he had abandoned, was to occupy the same building as the Rome Institute of Transformative Surgery? “But that’s absurd. I thought the whole building was to be your hospital.”
“Don’t worry, it will be fine.”
“How can you say that?”
He yawned, giving his head a shake. “I’m not particularly happy about it, but this museum is Joe’s obsession. And don’t forget, he owns the building. If he wants to use part of it to house his collection, I can’t stop him. Besides, there’s plenty of room left for the Institute—all three floors of the south wing and the upper two of the north.”
“But do you know what Joe’s collection is?”
“I’ve not seen it yet, but yes—I know, more or less.”
“And what will your patients think?”
“I expect Joe will keep it locked up most of the time. It’s not as if it’s going to be open to the public. It’s more for his personal entertainment. I imagine he’ll do a tour of it every once in a while, just to impress his guests or the few people who might have a scientific interest in it. Like Genworth and Sorrel.”
She was glad he had mentioned them again; she wanted to hear what he would say about the doctors from Indiana. “Dr. Genworth seems not in the least impressed with beauty surgery.”
Franklin snorted contemptuously. “Those fellows, especially Genworth, are a little too puffed up for my liking. They obviously have no understanding of what I do. No concept whatsoever of beauty. I’ve made a great study of it, as you know, and I can tell you without a doubt that it is the mixture of different types that creates the most compelling beauty in a woman. That’s why the Gibson girl is so admired. She’s a composite. The artist himself said she’s the product of America’s melting pot. She’s unique. That’s what I keep emphasizing to everyone—there is no single standard of beauty. And yet these so-called scientists—Genworth and Sorrel—they would have us all go back to the Mayflower. Their vision is for every woman to be bred to look just like her grandmother. I don’t know too many modern women who would be happy with that!”
She was relieved to hear him speak in such a way. If he had seemed a little too accepting of them over dinner, it must have been only that he’d seen no point in being disagreeable.
With a sigh, he climbed on top of her. “But I’ve had enough of talk, haven’t you?”
Slowly, he kissed her neck down to her clavicle, and then he moved to her breasts, caressing them, circling her nipples with his tongue.
“Franklin—” Perhaps it wasn’t the most opportune time, but there was another pressing matter on her mind. She could not ignore it any longer. “I have to ask you something.” She hesitated. “Do you find Alexandra attractive?”
He raised his head, clearly annoyed at the interruption.
“Are you serious? You wonder if I’m attracted to Alexandra?”
“Yes.”
“And where, may I ask, is this coming from?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a few things she’s said—and Joe’s occasional comments. As if there’s some sort of joke about it. You haven’t noticed?”
She was ashamed of her jealousy, but she wasn’t sorry to have asked. She should have done it sooner. She had a right to know. “Are you and Alexandra lovers? Have you ever been? That night in the library, when she was intoxicated and you took her upstairs—did you spend the night with her?” Her tone was becoming more and more urgent. Why was he silent? “And what about the last time you were here, when you came alone? Were you with her then?”
With an air of disdain, Franklin rolled off of her and onto his back. His head on the pillow, he stared up at the ceiling.
“Franklin?” She hated the way she sounded—like she was pleading.
Slowly, he turned his face toward her. His expression was neither amused nor angry. It was unreadable. “Alexandra is a striking woman and obviously taken with herself. I’ve known many like her. They become tiresome quickly. As you’ve already pointed out, she’s a drunk. As to whether she and I are lovers, or have been—” He paused. “What if we were? Would it matter to you? Would it change anything?”
She looked away, tears threatening. “Yes, I suppose it would.”
“And why is that?”
“Because—” She stopped. She had always been afraid to utter the words, thinking he should be the first. But what did it matter now? She already had sacrificed her pride. “Because I’m in love with you.”
He fell silent again.
“Surely you’re not surprised,” she said, suddenly feeling defensive, embarrassed.
“What never ceases to surprise me is how women seem to equate love and possession.”
She turned to him, her indignation rising. “And men don’t?” she shot back. “It seems to me that marriage is all about a man possessing a woman, and not so much the other way around.”
He smiled. “Which is why I thought that you, as a modern woman, might be beyond all that. Apparently, I was wrong.”
“I wasn’t aware that being in love had become outdated. And I doubt that human nature will ever change.”
“Then I guess you weren’t listening too closely tonight to the good doctors from Indiana. They certainly think it can, and it must.”
Was he trying to avoid answering her question? “I still want to know,” she said stubbornly, “and I won’t apologize. Have you been with Alexandra?”
He seemed taken aback by her insistence. “No, of course not.”
Her heart was beating fast. Too fast.
“But what about that night in the library? You came looking for her. You took her upstairs, and you never returned. You didn’t come to my room.”
“Yes, all that is true. It looks incriminating—I’ll give you that. But does it prove that I took Alexandra to bed?”
“So you didn’t?”
Abruptly, Franklin sat up. “How many times do I have to say it? Do you want a sworn statement, signed in blood? Look, Abigail, I’m not used to being cross-examined by a woman—any woman. I never promised fidelity. But when I tell you that I haven’t been with Countess Alexandra, I expect you to believe me.” He paused. “Just as I would believe you if you told me there was nothing between you and the baron.”<
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She reacted with a mixture of astonishment and guilt—the latter of which she tried her best to hide. “Why would you ever think such a thing?”
“I have my reasons. But it’s not important.” Suddenly he rolled back on top of her. With a quick motion, he lifted her arms above her head, pinning her wrists as if daring her to resist.
Perhaps she might have, had she not once again been swept away by a force stronger than pride.
The desire to belong to Franklin.
It was nearly three when they finished making love. Afterward, they lay silently together, until finally Franklin sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. They had left the bedside lamp lit. Abigail watched as he walked over to the chair where he’d draped his clothes, admiring his physique, which seemed to her like that of a much younger man. How she adored the graceful curve of his back and waist, his broad shoulders and muscular calves. She even loved the funny little strawberry-shaped birthmark on his left buttock.
Already she had forgotten that she’d ever doubted him.
Abigail awoke at eight. She only vaguely remembered Franklin leaving. The last thing she recalled was his parting kiss—and that he had whispered something in her ear that sounded like I love you. But she was half-asleep and she’d not been sure, and even if she could have roused herself enough to ask that he repeat himself, it would have been awkward. She’d made enough of a fool of herself for one night.
She washed and dressed and was downstairs by ten, only to learn that Joe, Franklin, and the two doctors from Indiana had long ago left for the Institute. Apparently, the gentlemen had an early train to catch. That didn’t lessen her disappointment, or her annoyance, that the invitation for which she’d been so grateful seemed to have been summarily revoked. Lillian suggested that Eric, the stable master, drive Abigail over in the horse cart, and she quickly accepted the offer.
It was terribly hot in the open cart, and the wheels stirred up so much dry dust that she had to hold a handkerchief over her nose and mouth the whole way. She was glad when they finally pulled up in front of what soon would be the Rome Institute and Joe’s museum of human oddities. She still couldn’t quite accept the incongruity of both under the same roof. From what she knew of Joe, it was unlikely he meant to draw some vaguely allegorical connection, to imply that beauty lies on a continuum or that beneath the surface we are all the same. No, his intentions surely were as Franklin had described: simply to amuse himself.
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