Decorum (25 page)

“Love the smell of the turf then, eh?” asked Mr. Gage, as if savoring the aroma.

“I do, sir, I must confess.”

“Must be a wonderful thing to have the leisure to follow such a pursuit,” said Mr. Calloway, “and the capital. Horses can be an expensive business, whether raising them or racing them. No wonder it’s called the Sport of Kings. I haven’t ventured onto the turf much myself, though Mr. Jerome here tries to twist my arm on occasion.”

“And I twist it back for him,” said Mrs. Calloway, to which the party laughed.

“Own any horses, Mr. Tracey?”

“Not recently, no. As you say, it is an expensive undertaking. A trainer who knows his business is expensive and the training takes time.”

“Yes, everything seems to come down to time and money. Some of us poor fellows have to work for a living,” Mr. Gage continued amicably.

“I agree,” said Tracey gravely as he raised his glass to his lips. “The pursuit of wealth can be a full-time job.”

Blanche was mortified. How could Tracey dare to expose his feelings in such company? Each lady and gentleman stole an embarrassed look at Francesca. Scarlet spread across Francesca’s chest and up through her neck and cheeks as she lowered her eyes to the plate in front of her.
How could he be so oblivious to his discourtesy?
thought Blanche. Tracey merely signaled to a waiter that his wineglass was empty.

“Sometimes a job can be mixed with pleasure,” said Connor, barely skipping a beat. “Mrs. Alvarado has been after me to become more engaged in acquiring the paintings and other furnishings for the Excelsior. I feel a bit on shaky ground, what with the likes of the formidable Mrs. Worth and her excellent taste to compete with.”

“Mr. O’Casey has a good natural eye,” said Blanche, regaining her composure. “He only needs a little tutoring.”

“Yes, I agree,” said Mrs. Worth. “Besides, this isn’t a competition. This is a hotel.”
There you’re wrong,
thought Blanche.
This is every bit a competition
.

“I’ve been trying to persuade Mr. O’Casey that a European tour might be in order,” Blanche continued. “My sister and her husband live outside Milano, such an excellent cultural center. I’m hoping to visit them in the not-too-distant future and persuade Mr. O’Casey to join us there for a time, when his other business engagements permit. It would be an excellent opportunity for Mr. O’Casey to study some of the most famous art in the world in its own venues. I have yet to see the Galeria myself, which I understand is exquisite, and La Scala is incomparable. Of course Florence is splendid, as are so many cities in Italy. I adore it there. And if the Excelsior is to be stocked with art and antiquities, what better place to purchase them?”

“How thrilling, Mrs. Alvarado,” said Mrs. Calloway. “I’m sure you would be an apt tutor.”

“It’s odd that you should be talking of travel, Mrs. Alvarado,” said Francesca, whose color had regained its clarity and whose voice was even and sure. “I’m thinking of taking a little excursion myself.” Blanche could have leapt for joy, had it not been for the surprise on Tracey’s face. The Jeromes and the Worths exchanged looks. Tracey stared at Francesca.

“I don’t recall your mentioning it, duchess,” Tracey said.

“Did I not, dear?” she continued, meeting his gaze. “It occurred to me that the next time I have the opportunity for travel, it will be with you—which certainly has its attractions.” The party chuckled. “But I thought to myself, What a pity I never took advantage of travel with a party of ladies. So many young women travel together and I’ve really seen so little of the world. I thought I might just work in such an excursion before we’re married. I suppose I’ve merely been waiting for just the right place to capture my imagination. I think I’ve found it.”

“In sunnier climes?” asked Blanche cautiously.

“No, Mrs. Alvarado. In another direction completely, as a matter of fact. It’s that new place in the Canadian Rockies called Banff.”

Blanche might have rejoiced had Francesca’s pending departure not threatened to tip the balance of Tracey’s fortunes and possibly her own and was, therefore, no cause for rejoicing. She watched as Connor’s glass stopped in midair for a split second before continuing to his lips, his eyes on Francesca.

“Oh, how thrilling. How brave of you, dear, to choose the wilderness for your holiday,” said Mrs. Calloway enthusiastically.

“I’ve heard of this Banff place,” said Charlie Gage. “Quite exclusive, I understand. Hardly pitching a tent and cooking one’s meals over a fire, though I hear that it’s quite remote. Not thinking of following Nellie Bly’s example and trekking across half the world, are you, Miss Lund?”

“It has its appeal,” said Francesca pointedly.

“I understand it takes two weeks just to get there by train,” said Mrs. Calloway.

“Only five days across Canada, as it happens,” Francesca replied.

“That’s not so bad then,” responded the lady. “I do abhor long train journeys. How splendid for you, dear. When do you plan to leave?”

“I hope before the end of May. The arrangements haven’t been fully made as yet.”

“You don’t mind the cooler weather and all that snow?” asked Blanche. “But of course, that cool Scandinavian blood makes you naturally immune.” No one laughed and Blanche sensed that the party did not appreciate her attempt at humor.

“On the contrary, Mrs. Alvarado. One has to be quite warm-blooded to keep out the cold.” Blanche was tired of being grateful for Francesca’s grace. Francesca continued, “I love the mountains and the cooler climate, much more so than the hot weather. If the season started early enough, I’d enjoy catching the tail end of the winter, as well as the spring.”

“Weddings don’t plan themselves,” said Maggie pointedly, looking from Francesca to Tracey and back again. “What with dresses and trousseaus and the church and all, you hardly have time to go traipsing off to the wilderness. You’ll never be ready by Christmas, even if you don’t go. I’m sure Edmund will have something to say about it.”

“When I have the opportunity,” said Tracey as he eyed Francesca.

“There’s no point in being hasty,” Jerry broke in. “I can understand the desire to have one last fling. Young men embark upon the Grand Tour before they settle down, don’t they? No reason young ladies shouldn’t, too. There’s no reason some of the wedding plans can’t be in the works while she’s away. We do have modern communication, you know, or don’t they have telegraph wires in Banff?” Jerry’s tone was light but unconvincing.

“Ladies don’t have fittings for dresses by telegraph, Jerry,” retorted Maggie.

Blanche raised the linen napkin to her mouth and discreetly daubed the little beads of perspiration that had begun to collect on her upper lip. She directed a question to Francesca. “Whom have you chosen to accompany you, Miss Lund?”

“Two ladies. A dear friend of my mother’s, Mrs. Esther Gray, my aunt Esther from Boston. You remember her, don’t you, Mrs. Worth?”

“An excellent woman,” said Mrs. Worth. “Very level-headed. Though I expect she will be the last to throw a wet blanket on your adventure.”

“Yes, exactly. My other companion is Miss Lavinia Lawrence.”

“Oh, what a splendid opportunity for her. She has had so few opportunities of this kind. Such a sweet young woman. What a splendid little threesome you will be.”

“How very jolly,” said Blanche with the barest edge of sarcasm.

“Yes, I’ve read about this Banff place,” put in Mr. Calloway again. “You can’t beat it for scenery, so they say. To my mind, outstanding scenery is as good as an old master any day. I expect to hear reports that these three ladies have taken Banff by storm. Banff should attract a good set of people. You should expand your horizons considerably there.”

“Three women in the wilds of the Rockies. I can just see it,” Connor said. “Black bear and white avalanches. Are you going armed with shotguns and pistols?”

“You don’t have to worry about Miss Lund, Mr. O’Casey,” said Blanche. “I’m sure she can fend off any trouble that comes her way. Besides, I’m sure there will be gentlemen willing enough to help a damsel in distress.” Blanche could have shot herself for adding to Tracey’s troubles, especially when she caught his angry eye. Jerry looked as though he could rear up over the table to grab Tracey by the throat. Connor’s eyes smiled over the rim of his wineglass.

Mr. Worth’s face was nearly purple with indignation under his wreath of white hair and his blue eyes flashed under the thick white brows, but his voice was gentle. “I hope this won’t mean you’re giving up all your charity work in favor of world travel.”

“Oh, no. Not at all, Mr. Worth,” Francesca said with faltering ease. “In fact you may be able to advise me regarding a little idea I have. I’m thinking of endowing some sort of music society that will encourage promising young artists and provide for their musical education. You recall my mentioning it to you, don’t you, Edmund?”

“I don’t recall the details. Perhaps you can enlighten all of us.” Blanche felt the room squirm, all except Connor.

“A twofold plan,” she continued. “The music society would be for the older students. I myself would like to help develop the musical interests of younger, school-aged pupils.”

“I know some excellent private schools where you might find apt pupils, Miss Lund,” said Mrs. Calloway.

“I’m sure, but I would prefer to help children who have fewer opportunities to discover whether they have any musical aptitude. In fact, I propose to offer piano lessons myself, for free, to schoolchildren. If they show interest and promise, I might sponsor them for the further study, and enable them to become eligible for support from the society.”

“Very admirable, Francesca. Very enterprising—and very ambitious,” replied Mr. Worth. “Indeed, you’ll need much guidance with something as involved as you’re proposing. Have you anyone in mind to work with you? Perhaps Mr. Tracey will join you in building this dream of yours, won’t you, Mr. Tracey?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t the musical aptitude that my fiancée so obviously possesses.” Blanche could have stopped Tracey’s mouth for his sullenness and lack of grace.

“But certainly your guidance will be invaluable when it comes to the financing.”

“Finance rarely enters our conversation these days,” said Tracey. Blanche felt she was watching his prospects and a future with him crumble before her.

“Some scoundrel’ll see you coming a mile away if you’re not careful, Miss Lund,” said Connor. “You may as well be handing ’em your purse.”

“Perhaps,” said Francesca. “But I must try. Music interests me and helping people interests me. So, why not put the two together? Besides, it’s my money, and I suppose I may lose it however I choose.”

“A bold statement, however foolish,” said Connor.

“Fools rush in, Mr. O’Casey.”

Everyone laughed uneasily. Everyone but Edmund Tracey.

C
HAPTER
30

The wait for carriages and cabs following the debacle at Sherry’s was most unpleasant. Not until the Jeromes’ brougham drew up did Jerry make it clear that Tracey would be going home alone, the latter fuming and abandoned to hail a cab. Maggie’s injudicious remarks were met with Jerry’s angry look and a crisp, “Not now.” Francesca’s good-byes were cool and unapologetic. Four years’ habit dictated that she bear up under Maggie’s tirade, but in the shadow of the evening’s humiliating spectacle it was all she could do to keep from stumbling into the carriage.

“Never in my life have I seen such a display,” Maggie said, as they pulled away. “I was ashamed and disgraced and I’m sure Edmund was too.”

“I think we’ve had enough of Edmund Tracey for one evening,” Jerry retorted.

“What on earth could have possessed you, Francesca? You certainly have come to think a lot of yourself and your ideas, haven’t you?”

“Enough, Maggie,” said Jerry.

“I blame you, Jerry,” said Maggie, turning on him. “I blame you very much, you know I do. You egg her on and champion her cause at every turn.”

“I said
enough.
”

“What on earth is all this business about going away?” Maggie continued. “Why did you say nothing to us before? Because you know we’d never have approved, that’s why. I never heard of anything so ridiculous. An engaged young woman. Your place is here, seeing to your wedding, not gallivanting off to some godforsaken place with two women. And what about Edmund? What is he supposed to do while you’re halfway across the world sitting on your mountaintop? Have you even considered how he might feel, being left here, alone, having to face all of New York society and explain your neglect?”

“
My
neglect?” said Francesca incredulously. She leaned against the corner of the carriage and raised a gloved hand to her head and massaged her temple. “
My
neglect?” she repeated softly to herself.

“God Almighty, woman,” Jerry said to Maggie, “has that scoundrel managed to dupe you so? Can you honestly tell me you’d side with a man who has persistently embarrassed and disgraced someone as dear to you as your own flesh and blood? Edmund Tracey should be horsewhipped.”

“How dare you—”

“Not another word, Maggie,” Jerry shouted.

Francesca couldn’t cry, not yet. She sat motionless with her eyes fixed on the seat next to Maggie that Edmund might have occupied. With each deep breath she felt dizzy, as if she were standing on a precipice, looking for a way down that would cause the least damage. She was slipping from herself, just like before when the Jeromes brought her to their home. Then as now, she had fought to wrest control of her life from them—from Maggie—to decide for herself what her life might be. She caught herself. Not their home, thank God, not this time—but my home, my sanctuary, my life. She could not wait to get home. They sat in miserable silence until they reached Sixty-third Street and Jerry left Maggie to stew while he saw Francesca into the house.

When they were well inside, Francesca stopped and began to tremble. Slowly at first, then faster, the tears came. Jerry stood in front of her and took her hand. John, waiting to take her wrap, faded into the background as Jerry gently motioned him away.

“There, there. You were splendid tonight. Splendid. I was proud of you, proud of you.” He squeezed her hand. “You held your own and more. You can’t ask any more of yourself than that. It’ll be good practice for Banff. For anywhere. With anyone. After tonight you don’t have to be afraid of anything or anybody.”

“If it’s like tonight, I shall hate it. I don’t want to go. I shall hate every minute of it.” She kept sucking in air in uncontrollable little gulps.

“No, you won’t. Esther won’t let you. Nor Vinnie. You did right, you know.”

“I know. I know.” Then suddenly she pushed out from the center of her being, “That bastard!”

Jerry chuckled. “That’s the spirit. You just remember that.” He dug for his handkerchief. “Have you written to Esther yet?”

“No, not yet. I hoped I wouldn’t need to. I thought I was mistaken about Edmund. Maybe I am responsible for this horrid mess just as Maggie says.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment, and neither should you.”

“You think I should make good on this jolly little holiday?” she said. “Won’t that be a juicy little scandal—give people something to sink their teeth into.”

“You sound like Vinnie,” he chuckled again. “Let them sink their teeth into it. You’ll be gone, away, out of New York.”

“What happens when I come back?” Her brain was overtired and words were flailing in her mouth. “Or don’t I have to come back? Maybe I’ll build a cabin and shoot myself a black bear and learn to live like a mountain woman.”

“Don’t think about that now.” Jerry put his arms around her in a bear hug. “Go upstairs, have a hot bath and a good sleep. Then tomorrow, you write to Esther and post that letter just as fast as you can. Have you asked Vinnie? Is she game? Shall I speak to her parents? I can write to Esther, too, if you like.”

“No, let me write to Aunt Esther first. Then you and I can talk again.”

“Fair enough. I’d better go, dear, before Maggie comes in after me. Don’t worry. In a few weeks Esther will be here and before you know it you’ll be off on a great adventure. You were right tonight, you know. You have seen so little. You can’t restrict your view, when you’ve got the whole world before you.”

May had been waiting, discreetly out of sight. She came forward now and helped Francesca with her wrap and guided her up the stairs to her room.

“I wish I were a drinking woman,” said Francesca.

“No, you don’t,” said May. “And if you start I’ll clear out the liquor cabinet and throw away the key. What you want is a nice, steaming bath and some chamomile tea. I’ll give your hair a good, long brushing and I’ll rub your shoulders a bit. Then we’ll roll you into bed. You’ll drop right off and I won’t wake you till noon.”

The storm of people and words had exhausted Francesca. The only storm that threatened now was the storm of words in her head. She walked out of her shoes at the bedroom door and stood in the middle of the room like a mannequin as May undraped her weary frame. The firelight flickered across Francesca’s hair and skin and made May’s white blouse nearly glow.

Layers of clothing accumulated in an elegant, perfumed heap on the bed where the orange tabby cat and his brown tabby brother nested as May removed Francesca’s feminine armor. She unhooked the bodice of the blue-gray gown and peeled away the tight sleeves from Francesca’s slender, white arms. The silk swag that hung like petals folded around her hips was unpinned from around her waist. The heavy skirt nearly stood supported by its own weight as May unbuttoned it and pushed it down around Francesca’s feet. Layers of fine linen and lace petticoats that swathed her in a filmy chrysalis dropped away and May unhooked the corset, Francesca’s freed breasts falling natural and voluptuous underneath the short chemise. She slipped a warm dressing gown over Francesca’s shoulders and led her to the bathroom, where a fragrant bath was steaming. May held up the dressing gown to shield her eyes as Francesca shed the final layers of chemise, pantalettes, and silk stockings, and stepped into her bath.

Francesca stretched her full length in the enormous tub and relaxed her limbs one by one and cried and drenched her face and lay there till the water was cold. May helped her towel off and slip into her nightclothes and then guided her to the dressing table where she brushed Francesca’s hair until the wet ends dried.

Francesca sipped the tea and looked into the mirror. A sad, familiar face looked back at her, like the first days of her grief, desolated, but calm. She had stepped back a few paces from the precipice, she thought. No explosions or ghostly images would disturb her sleep tonight. They were going to Banff—that was something at least. From this vantage, it seemed a monumental effort, like rolling a boulder up a mountain, but she had made up her mind. Once the preparations were begun, once the wheels were set in motion, she would not shrink from her decision, but own it.

“I’ll only wake you if you sleep past noon,” said May as she guided Francesca to bed. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see. You’ll be away soon and everything will be different.” Clearly, May had overheard.

“Good night, May. Thank you.”

“Good night, miss.”