Decorum (35 page)

“You’ve met him, then?” asked Francesca.

“Oh, yes,” said the woman. “You probably saw his varnish on the siding. He and his manservant have been here for a few days, hiking and hunting and such. I stopped off here for two days to break my journey and stretch my limbs. He’s keen on all sports. He used his varnish but came in here to take his meals. He was kind enough to take coffee with me one evening and we got to chatting.”

“How very interesting,” said Vinnie.

“Will he be staying on here for very much longer?” asked Esther.

“It looked like they were preparing to hitch his varnish,” added Francesca.

“That’s right. They’re joining this train and will travel to Banff for the sport. I understand from him that he’s climbed almost everything there is to climb in his native land and thereabouts, so he means to begin on the Rockies.” She chuckled again.

“It sounds as if we shall all be in Banff,” said Vinnie.

“It does indeed,” said Francesca with a raised eyebrow and a look at Esther.

“In that case, it would only do to introduce ourselves,” said Esther on cue. “My name is Mrs. Gray, and these are my companions—Miss Lund and Miss Lawrence.”

“Thank you kindly,” said the new acquaintance. “I’m very pleased to meet you, I’m sure. I’m Mrs. West—Mrs. Ida West.”

C
HAPTER
44

Francesca had suggested that Mrs. West dine with them in the main restaurant of the Springs. The ladies had been coolly polite to Ida West at first, not wishing to foster an acquaintance that might prove to be a nuisance. Mrs. West, however, did not assume a single meal at a remote dining stop was the basis for fast friendship. Her plain speech and ensemble of tweeds and pearls may have caused a smile, but she was kind to all and appeared to be sensible and discreet, of which the sensible Esther could only approve. Sándor Király had dined with Mrs. West the first evening, and through his introductions she had made desirable connections. Indeed, it began to appear that better acquaintance with Mrs. West might be advantageous. After three days in Banff with no alarming incidents, Francesca thought it would be churlish to exclude Mrs. West.

By nine o’clock, the four ladies were well settled and waiting for the main course, having feasted on an aperitif, soup, fish, salad, and wine. A new crop of visitors had arrived that afternoon, the Banff Springs’ tallyho having transported the guests while wagons followed, laboring under trunks, valises, portmanteaux, and sporting goods. Like the first night aboard ship, the newcomers wore their Sunday best, not full evening dress, their servants working at full throttle to unpack and prepare silks and jewels for the following evening.

“Why, I never,” said Mrs. West in some surprise. She sat upright, both hands on the table, staring across the room.

“What is it?” asked Esther, following her gaze to the entrance, where the maître d’ had just engaged a familiar figure.

“I can’t believe it. Connor O’Casey. As I live and breathe.”

“You mean you know him?” asked Francesca, with astonishment shared by Esther and Vinnie.

“Land, yes,” Mrs. West replied in a low voice, clearly preoccupied with the sight before her and the memory he stirred. “Though I haven’t seen him since . . . land sakes, I don’t know when. Must be three years now—going on four maybe. He and my late husband were business partners together in Leadville. Connor was in the mine disaster that killed my husband.”

“Oh, my heavens,” said Francesca, still fixed on the thought of a mutual acquaintance in the person of Connor O’Casey. A thousand contradictions passed through her mind. What sort of disaster was it—physical or financial or something else she couldn’t grasp? Was Connor a cause or a remedy applied too late? Did he possess virtues with which Esther had been loath to credit him, or was she justified in thinking him a fiend?

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” said Esther with genuine feeling, as she laid a tentative hand on Ida’s wrist.

“Connor nearly died, too,” said Ida. “He was laid up for months, poor soul.”

The three ladies looked at each other in alarm.

“Connor? Nearly died?” echoed Francesca. “I can hardly believe it. He’s never said a word.”

“Do you think he would?” asked Ida. “How does a man talk about a thing like that, lives taken before his eyes, and knowing he was nearly one of them?”

As Connor was shown to his table, he spied them at their table by the window. It was as if Francesca, Esther, and Vinnie didn’t exist, his eyes were so clearly on Ida with a look—of compassion? Francesca wondered. He diverted his steps as the maître d’ continued to his table and waited there to seat him.

As he approached, Ida raised a hand and he took it in both of his and held it as he stood close by her and looked into her face. Before he uttered a word, he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. His open demonstration of regard took Francesca by surprise. She looked at the other ladies as if she mistrusted her own heart and hoped to gauge by their faces how she herself should feel. Esther’s face was serene and betrayed no indignation, no sidelong look or hint at impropriety. Vinnie, too, looked on in wonder, oblivious to the attention the display had drawn.

“Hello, Connor.”

“Hello, Ida,” he said. “You’re looking well.”

He squeezed her hand and a smile of old friendship passed between them.

“You too.”

She clasped his hand and shook it, and, as if remembering herself, released him.

“I believe you know these ladies,” Ida said, motioning around the table.

“I do indeed. Mrs. Gray. Miss Lund. Miss Lawrence,” said Connor, nodding to each lady in turn. “It’s good to see you, Ida. It’s been far too long—and entirely my fault.”

“No matter,” said Ida, shaking her head. “We were each living our own lives.”

“And Mary, is she well?”

“Married off, you scoundrel.”

“No, not really,” said Connor in mild surprise. “A good match, I hope.”

“I think so. I hope so. It should have been you, you know. I always said so.”

“Well then, my loss,” said Connor graciously. “I see they’re holding my table. Don’t let me disturb you. We’ll catch up by and by. Ladies.”

He bowed and left them. Francesca felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her.

 

“How long do you intend to be with us?” said the pleasant but professional clerk.

“As long as necessary,” Blanche said as she stood at the registration desk, her pen poised over the guest book. She wrote her name—Mrs. Blanche Wilson. The clerk looked puzzled behind his professional reserve. The letter of credit she bore for two thousand dollars would guarantee her admittance to the Banff Springs Hotel; it would remain to be seen whether it would cover a prolonged stay.

The clerk didn’t challenge her. Financial matters required delicate handling—and social matters no less so.

“Excuse me while I call the manager, madam. He may wish to assist you personally.”

“Certainly.” Blanche expected no less. She turned and looked at the spacious and lofty lobby, with its tiers of balconies from which guests were observing the hotel’s activities. Others were seated in comfortable chairs or clustered about making plans or recounting the day’s exhausting occupations. She pulled a small mirror from her handbag. First-class sleep in a first-class train carriage and a brisk tallyho drive to the hotel had left her spirits refreshed and her skin clear. She half-expected to see O’Casey himself saunter through the lobby. Indeed, she had fantasized about their first encounter and her delight at the shock her presence would administer.

Among the seekers after fresh air and exercise was a small, chestnut-haired young woman who walked into the lobby, drawing off her gloves and unbuttoning her jacket. Blanche knew this woman instantly—the little Busy-Body from the milliner’s who was attached to the source of all her problems. If the Busy-Body was here, the Iceberg wasn’t far behind. She turned to chasten her companion, and in so doing turned toward the registration desk. In the same moment, Blanche turned away, raised the mirror high, and pushed a black wave under the brim of her hat. At the movement of the electric blue of her traveling suit, the Busy-Body stood stock still and looked. By the time she remembered herself, two companions had joined her. The Iceberg’s look drifted to the registration desk. A quick whisper apprised a third lady of the object of their attention. This lady hastened the younger women through the lobby and up the stairs, circling the balcony before disappearing. Through the mirror she saw the clerk approach with the manager. She turned.

“Welcome to the Banff Springs,” said the manager. Blanche had encountered plenty of men of this type—diplomatic and cordial but no nonsense. He held her letter of credit in his hand. She smiled. He continued, “I am Mr. Mathews. My associate, here, tells me that you have no fixed plans as to the duration of your stay with us. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she said, replacing the mirror in her handbag and clasping it with a snap. “I understood from your wire that there was sufficient accommodation for myself and my maid for the duration of the season, if I should decide to stay that long.”

“That is so, madam. Would you care to step into my office for a moment? I should hate to give unnecessary publicity to this little mix-up.”

“With pleasure.”

Ah yes, publicity—a term to strike fear in the most discreet bosom. If the publicity and the notoriety it nurtured were of the right sort, it could open doors, not close them. If the Banff Springs Hotel was indeed becoming the world’s crossroad that publicity portended, it would suit her purposes admirably. If there was one thing publicity had done for her, it was to inoculate her against discretion.

When the office door was closed, he spoke first.

“You realize it is customary that an excess of funds be made available to guarantee your stay.”

Of course she realized it. What did he think she was, a fool? O’Casey’s money may be gone, but she would see to it that the
New York World
’s small investment would reap dividends.

“I should think the two thousand that this letter indicates that my paper guarantees, plus the three hundred and fifty I have in hand, should be sufficient for the time being.” Her eye was fixed as steadily on him as his was on her and her smile just as fatuous.

“I hardly need say, madam, that the Springs is attracting a very select clientele, which I’m sure was why it appealed to a lady such as yourself.” He gave the last three words the barest emphasis. “The usual letter of credit for our guests can be many times this sum. Though I don’t deny that the Springs holds many attractions for a wide range of enthusiasts with a wide range of means, I’m sure that you, as well as we, would find the stay much more enjoyable knowing that all eventualities were provided for.”

“I couldn’t agree more. That is why I said to your associate that my editor, Mr. Julius Chambers at the
New York World,
will see me guaranteed.” Her gaze was steady. “Of course, if an additional reference would ease your mind, I believe Mr. Connor O’Casey is a guest here. You may ask him.”

“The comfort and enjoyment of our guests are the Springs’ foremost concerns. To that end, you will understand that we make it our business to ensure that our clients are spared any inconvenient associations that might put them under unwelcome obligations.”

The smile was disappearing from his lips, but not from hers.

“Oh, I assure you, Mr. Mathews, that Mr. O’Casey and I are very old, and I might even add, intimate friends.” It was she who gave emphasis to the last words this time and added a carefree shrug. “I am positive that he will be only too glad to relieve all parties of any unnecessary embarrassment.”

“If that is the case, you won’t object if I have Mr. O’Casey paged, will you? I’m sure we can clear up this matter in no time.”

“I welcome the opportunity.” She smiled again.

He opened the door and called to a nearby bellboy, “Please run and find Mr. O’Casey and give him this note”—he jotted it hastily, blotted it, and sealed it in an envelope—“and ask him, with my compliments, if he would come and see me as soon as possible. Now,” he said, turning back to her, “won’t you sit down, Mrs. Wilson.” They waited.

Blanche rose as Connor entered the room.

“Connor, darling.” She touched his arm gently as she tilted her head up to kiss him on the cheek. “Why, what’s the matter, darling? You look like you’re about to burst a blood vessel.” She brushed a bit of fluff off his lapel, glided over to the settee, sat down, and patted the empty space next to her. “Why don’t you come and sit a little?”

Connor stood ramrod straight and looked like black powder before the explosion. The manager’s note was crushed in one hand. With the other he pointed to Blanche, but he looked only at Mr. Mathews.

“I want this woman thrown out.”

“Oh, darling, don’t be silly. You’ll get yourself all worked up for nothing. Mr. Mathews, do you think we might have some drinks?”

Connor stared at her. She took her time and drew off her gloves.

“I think Mr. O’Casey needs one and I certainly wouldn’t take the offer of a drink amiss. In fact champagne might just suit the occasion.”

“Have you gone mad?” said Connor in a low growl.

“Oh, Connor,” she said in mock reproach. “He’s such a kidder, Mr. Mathews, don’t take any notice of him. He always begins this way when he’s a little put out.”

“Put out?” Connor walked to the settee and stood over her. “Put out? I’ll have you put out, Blanche! I don’t know what you’re playin’ at, but I’ve had enough already. I want you out of here,
now.
”

“Oh, but darling,” she cooed. “To begin with, I have more than two thousand dollars that says I can stay, isn’t that so, Mr. Mathews?”

“Two thousand dollars wouldn’t keep you in shoe leather for a week,” said Connor.

“Only if your stay were calculated to fit within your means, madam,” the manager began.

“There, you see?” she said.

“And,” he continued, “if your presence does not create a nuisance—”

“I want her out,” said Connor, turning to the manager and continuing to point at Blanche. “She’s a nuisance just being here—and I’m not the only party who would find her so. The sooner she’s gone the less likely anyone will know she’s ever been here.”

“They know already.” Blanche felt ten feet tall. “Will you ring for the drinks, Mr. Mathews, or shall I?”

Connor turned. “What?”

“They know already,” said Blanche, trying to contain her immense satisfaction. “I saw them in the lobby, while this gentleman was fetching Mr. Mathews. And they saw me, which I fear is more to the point. One attempted to look dignified, one looked completely reserved and unmoved as one might expect, and the other looked almost amused. Yes, darling, you’ll have a little explaining to do, I’m afraid.”