Decorum (39 page)

“Of course, but your own agreement is of the first importance. Once you yourself are ‘sold,’ shall we say, upon the idea, it should be very easy to convince your editor. I’m sure you can be
very
persuasive when it suits you.” The voice was serious but the eyes were almost playful.

“Tell me,” Blanche said. She paused and put one hand on her hip, mimicking his easy posture. “You wouldn’t be looking for an unnamed peak to christen as ‘Mount Király,’ would you? I suppose it is a possibility that would give the expedition even more cachet—scaling new mountains, fording new rivers, letting the public in on it, that sort of thing.”

“You may be amazed to learn, Mrs. Wilson, that this object never occurred to me. I do not deny its appeal. However, there is another alternative that may be even more appealing to your readers than ‘Mount Király.’ ”

“And what might that be? I’m prepared to have you amaze me.”

“I was thinking perhaps of ‘Mount Blanche.’ ”

Francesca read the letter aloud to Esther and Vinnie, who had joined her for a late breakfast in her suite. The day began cold and wet, postponing morning exercise in anticipation of the afternoon sunshine that usually followed. The small fireside table where the ladies sat perusing the early post had been laden with porridge, ham, eggs, and toast.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” said Esther, looking up from her own letters, her pince-nez in one hand. “About Jerry, of course.” She replaced the pince-nez and resumed reading.

The subject of Edmund Tracey that had played out in tears and condolence had settled into a dull silence in the days it took for Jerry’s letter to arrive. Francesca thought he might have taken a little trouble to find out more, then she repented, turning the accusation upon herself for having left New York as much as she might accuse Jerry, who had stayed.

“I’m glad for Jerry,” said Vinnie, looking sheepish as she spread marmalade on her toast and looked from Esther to Francesca. “For all her good points, Maggie must be a very difficult person to live with.”

“I’m sure we’re all difficult in our own ways, dear,” said Esther.

“That’s true enough,” said Vinnie.

“Unfortunately,” said Francesca, replacing Jerry’s missive in its envelope, “it often happens that neither party knows the true nature of the difficulty until it is too late—or nearly so.” The statement could be applied either to Jerry or to herself.

Esther continued to read her letter, though Francesca detected a slight movement that indicated Esther had heard and understood.

“I’m glad for Jerry, too, actually,” she continued.

“Do you think they’ll divorce?” asked Vinnie. “What a scandal that would be.”

“I hardly think Jerry would put Maggie in such a position,” said Esther. “For all his faults he’s too much of a gentleman to allow Maggie to be branded a divorcée.”

“A scandal generally involves a third party,” said Francesca.

“You’ll have to tell Connor about Jerry,” Vinnie continued.

“He probably knows already,” said Esther.

“Yes,” said Francesca. “Jerry will have told Connor that he’s going to Mackinac at the very least. If Jerry’s mentioned that he’s going alone I’m sure Connor can guess the rest. But yes, I’ll have to tell him—officially—that they are”—she searched for a term—“giving things time to rest.”

Francesca ate the rest of her porridge and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“It’s hard to say what Jerry might do in the end,” she said, sitting back in her chair and taking a sip.

“It’s almost inconvenient that there’s no third party,” said Vinnie.

“Really, dear,” said Esther.

“Well, it is, from a practical standpoint. There aren’t many options left to him and I can’t see Maggie letting him go quietly. As to a third party,” said Vinnie, “I’m sure Jerry could remedy that if he has a mind to. I can’t see Maggie perpetrating such a thing, though that’s probably only wishful thinking on her part.”

“Lavinia dear, how dreadful,” retorted Esther.

“I can’t blame Vinnie,” said Francesca. “I’ve thought precisely the same thing. I sometimes wonder why Jerry hasn’t if he’s so miserable.”

“Maybe you prevented him,” said Vinnie matter-of-factly as she raised a forkful of egg to her lips.

“I?” asked Francesca, taken aback. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Just that you were in their house for two years,” said Vinnie. Francesca’s thoughts took a moment to adjust to this new way of approaching the Jeromes.

“You mean people think that Jerry and I—”

“Well,” Vinnie replied, “not
exactly.
”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

“Well, for one thing, your being in their house may have delayed his leaving,” said Vinnie. “He would hardly have left you alone with Maggie, would he?”

“No,” said Francesca, continuing to take in the many facets of Vinnie’s suggestion. “No, he wouldn’t have done that.”

“I know I’ll regret asking, but what else are you implying, Lavinia?” asked Esther.

“Oh, Aunt Esther,” said Vinnie a little disdainfully. She set her knife and eggy fork on her plate and looked at Esther as if she were addled. “Surely you can guess what half of New York was speculating about Francesca’s relationship with the Jeromes.”

“What half of New York?” demanded Francesca.

“The half of New York that minds other people’s business, perhaps?” asked Esther, looking pointedly at Vinnie.

“I’m simply saying that having a handsome young woman in a house where the husband and wife are not on the best of terms was bound to make people speculate. How can you be so blind, Francesca? Weren’t Maggie and Jerry constantly fighting about you?”

“Yes, but it was usually over my ‘position’ or finance or marriage or something. Jerry was simply doing what you yourself suggested—protecting me from Maggie.”

“How do you suppose Maggie felt about that?” asked Vinnie. “Oh, Francesca, for heaven’s sake. Jerry has been protecting you as long as I can remember. If enough of that happens—especially if it happens in public—it can certainly look as if he prefers you over his own wife. It doesn’t take a great leap in the imagination to conclude—”

“Yes, thank you, Lavinia,” said Esther with resignation in her voice. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I have to agree on that point.”

“Why do you think I worked so hard to get you out of their house?” asked Vinnie.

“Very commendable in the circumstances, Lavinia,” said Esther.

“I can’t think—”

“No,” said Vinnie with emphasis, “that’s just the point. You
couldn’t
think. With Maggie calling the doctor every five minutes and doping you with laudanum till you could hardly stand up and Jerry in a state over you, I was afraid you’d either wind up in a scandal or an asylum—or maybe even dead.” Vinnie breathed out a sharp sigh. “When the settlement opportunity came up, I thought it was heaven-sent—a sign that something could finally be done.”

Francesca stared at Vinnie as the latter continued eating and regarded Francesca with a look of complete self-satisfaction. Vinnie took a bite of toast, chewed with deliberation, and sipped the coffee. Francesca and Esther could only wait.

“Father helped arrange it, you know.”

“Your father?” asked Esther. “I thought it was pure rebellion on your part, dear. I had no idea.”

“I was going to attempt it myself, but then one evening Father and Mother were saying how concerned they were for you, which gave me the chance to talk about the idea. Mother was dubious, but Father felt strongly that it was a solution, and one he could help arrange. I was more than happy to have everyone think as Aunt Esther has done—that it was my harebrained scheme—and no one need know Father and Mother were involved.”

“Even Jerry didn’t know?” asked Francesca.

“We couldn’t risk it. If Jerry tried to protect you from Maggie, how much more do you think he would’ve tried to protect you from Forsyth Street and the settlement? The only thing to do was to get you out of their house altogether.”

Francesca put her head in her hands, and rubbed her forehead and then her face until her hands met over her mouth. How could she have been so stupid?

“Was it you or your father who made the arrangements with May and the other servants at Sixty-third Street?” asked Esther.

“That was Mother. Father dealt with Forsyth Street while Mother dealt with May and Sixty-third Street. I think Mother was happy to be useful, especially when we realized how much effort it would take to orchestrate everything.”

“And Anne and Michael?” asked Francesca.

“Oh yes, of course.”

“I must say,” said Esther, “this has given me a new appreciation for your fortitude”—she leaned over and touched Vinnie’s arm—“and your friendship, dear. It’s a great relief to my mind to know that your parents joined you in being Francesca’s guardian angels. I admire you, Lavinia.”

“Thank you, Aunt Esther.”

“Do you mean to tell me that all this time you’ve let me think that you and Anne had gone out by yourselves and found a flat to let, and that you pulled up in a carriage one morning and whisked me away—all of your own accord? I can’t even begin to fathom what I owe your family.”

“Nonsense, Francesca, you know perfectly well you don’t owe us a thing.”

“That’s not true,” she said, despairing of her own failure. “You saw so many things I didn’t have the power to see. Dear God,” she said, “if nothing else I owe you my sanity. Quite probably I owe you my life.”

“We were overjoyed that we could
do
something. We couldn’t sit by and watch you suffer.”

“I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten,” said Esther with regret.

“You couldn’t possibly have known,” said Vinnie. “What could you have done from Boston? You could hardly have come to New York to pick a fight with Maggie Jerome.”

“Nevertheless, I do feel awful about it,” said Esther. “It makes me even gladder that you were looking out for your friend—and continue to do so.”

“Well,” said Vinnie, looking at Francesca, “if you’ll allow me to interfere—”

“After this, anything,” said Francesca.

“Of this I’m certain—the sooner you marry Connor, the better off you’ll be.”

Esther sighed.

C
HAPTER
48

“But my dear Blanche—I assume I may call you so, Mrs. Wilson? We agreed that by dinnertime you would give me your answer.”

Sándor Király had met her at the entrance to the restaurant. The immaculate black tailcoat hugged his muscular frame. His handsome face glowed bronze above the white collar and tie, the coal-black eyes flickered with mischief, a shock of white hair crested into a wave like the snow on a majestic peak.

“Yes, Sandy,” she said, matching him arrogance for arrogance and taking a liberty that had not been formally given to her. “I did agree to tell you by dinnertime
tomorrow,
not today. I have a previous engagement with friends this evening.”

As she spoke she drew the folded fan of ecru feathers through her gloved hand and then swung it on its braided cord from her wrist. She played with her beaded bag as if making sure it contained the requisite lace handkerchief. Though the climate made a fan superfluous and the bag was nearly so, Blanche chose her accessories with care, finding them as handy for expressing emotion as an actor finds his properties.

“I’ll meet you here at this time tomorrow,” she continued. “If the answer is no, I’ll be dining with other friends again. If the answer is yes, we’ll dine together and you can order the champagne.” She brushed the impeccable shirtfront lightly with the fan in a playful gesture of dismissal. Király bowed and called for the maître d’.

In spite of this bravado, Blanche had feared that dinner with Király would be a seven-course recital of his entreaties of the morning. Király had all but diverted their walk to include the Banff telegraph office to send Chambers a wire forthwith. With strenuous effort she held him to his promise of a day and a night to think and plan.

In fact, as soon as Sándor Király was safely in his room, she sent Chambers a telegram from the hotel. “Propose series. Seven peaks in seven weeks. Adventurer Sándor Király to guide self in small party. Please advise.” Within hours the wire would reach the editor’s desk in New York. She expected an enthusiastic reply, but needed to know before speaking to Király again whether she could leave the
World
on tenterhooks for seven weeks with little or no communication as each peak was conquered. Chambers would, no doubt, think of every problem, every angle—it was what she counted on. The
World
had endured periods of silence while Nellie Bly traveled from point to point for seventy-two days, but could Chambers wait for half so long before a word from Blanche Wilson? If she had misjudged the
World
and the answer were negative, she needed to know before tomorrow night. No, Király must wait.

The telegram dispatched, Blanche had felt at a loose end. To want to pour out her excitement and misgivings was only natural, but to whom? To seek out O’Casey was awkward and she had already strained any budding bonds of friendship with other guests by her incessant quest for stories. To her own amazement and annoyance, she found herself in need of something else, something she never had needed before—the counsel of other women. Not counsel perhaps—she knew what her answer to Király would be if Chambers agreed—but she needed something from them she could not quite put her finger on.

Blanche had always found friendship with her own sex difficult. From her point of view, women filled two functions: They either provided entrée or obstacle into society or competition for the attention of men. Being female, they understood Blanche and her motives too well to be either conspirators or confidantes. Now, however, with the prospect of weeks alone in the wilderness with a difficult man, cut off from the world, risking injury or worse, she needed someone more than Julius Chambers, or even Connor O’Casey, to worry about whether she returned. Whether anyone would bestow a blessing or a curse-and-good-riddance at her departure, Blanche felt she must leave with something. Moreover, a handful of ladies with the story from her own lips to keep her memory alive was more desirable than to become the minor subject of a few days’ hotel gossip.

That afternoon she had sought the help of the one person on earth to whom she had never thought she would turn. Blanche left a note with May requesting the ladies’ company that evening and hoped she did not sound as desperate as she felt. Francesca’s short reply assured her that she, Esther, Vinnie, and Ida West would dine with Blanche.

Having dismissed Király, Blanche waited for them at the restaurant’s entrance. A few moments later Francesca appeared, leading her small brigade. Francesca smiled and extended her hand, and with an amiable, “Good evening,” shook Blanche’s fingertips. She met Blanche’s eye with a barely perceptible inquiring look, as if she were ready to take Blanche’s cue whenever she chose to give it.

“Mrs. Wilson, I believe you have met Mrs. West,” said Francesca. Ida and Blanche shook hands. “And you may know Mrs. Gray and Miss Lawrence, though I don’t know if you’ve ever made their acquaintances formally.” They, too, shook hands with Blanche.

“I’m very glad you could join me,” said Blanche with mixed sincerity and trepidation. She felt some small talk was necessary, but feared her conversation might run dry before they were even seated.

“I understand you ladies went for a drive,” she began.

“Yes,” offered Vinnie. “We started before dawn, if you can believe it, but we had to. We had a long drive up the Bow Valley.”

“The packers, poor dears, were up well before us,” Esther chuckled, “but they had attended to all the provisions and the guides were waiting for us as we emerged from our
warm, comfortable
rooms,” this with emphasis and a significant look at Francesca, “cheerful as anything, though I myself could hardly drag one eye open.”

“A flask of hot coffee did the trick,” said Ida, leaning forward on her walking stick and lowering her voice. “And a flask of something else to put in it later.”

“Even I might have done with a hot toddy at that hour,” said Vinnie.

“Bracing, I call it,” said Francesca. “It was wonderful.”

“In any case, they had us well wrapped up,” said Esther, “and by midday the sun was very warm.”

“What a lovely gown,” said Vinnie, admiring Blanche’s creamy velvet with its cascade of satin rosettes, seed pearls, and bugle beads across the bosom and falling to the hip. “Goodness, you two look like salt and pepper.”

“Salt and pepper?” asked Blanche.

“Yes,” Vinnie replied. “Your white gown and Francesca’s black moiré. You complement each other beautifully.”
Another first,
thought Blanche. The contrast was not lost on her—Francesca with her flaxen froth of hair, black silk gown, black beaded bag, and black gloves left Blanche feeling like the White Queen. The ladies laughed politely.

“Shall we go in?” Blanche said.

The elder ladies preceded her as she and Vinnie, and particularly Francesca, exchanged a few words as they made their way across the restaurant. With all eyes upon them, she was anxious to be seen as an intimate. As they passed, Király looked like a man whose bluff had been called, and Connor’s astonished face softened into amusement.

Seating, presentation of menus, and the quick order of aperitifs left the ladies to themselves.

“I understand you’ve been kept quite busy with gathering stories for the
World,
” Francesca began. “Successfully, I hope.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Blanche, drawing off her gloves and laying them across her lap. “Do you see that couple?” She indicated with a glance a handsome middle-aged man with gray at the temples in the company of a younger raven-haired beauty.

“Oh, yes,” said Ida. “I’ve been wondering about them. Diplomat, isn’t he?”

“I suppose King Leopold does need a good stock of diplomats,” said Blanche. “Though I doubt that he’s been employing them to good effect in the Congo. No, he runs some of the crown’s business affairs there—the rubber plantations mainly.”

“Pretty brutally, too, as I understand it,” said Francesca.

“Yes, well, that’s hardly a subject for the society columns,” said Blanche. “They’re here on holiday from the rigors of life in the Congo Free State.”

“Not an easily negotiated topic,” said Esther. “My hat goes off to you.”

“What about those people?” asked Vinnie with a nod just past Blanche’s shoulder. “They look as if they’re trying to catch your eye.”

As Blanche turned, the two people in question smiled broadly, the man nodding and the woman effecting a discreet wave of the hand.

“Don’t mind them,” said Ida, raising a hand as her glance met theirs. “They may not exactly be your idea of ‘society’ but they will be, if they have anything to say about it. It might be prudent if you got on their good side.”

“Mining?” asked Vinnie.

“No, lumber—from the upper Middle West,” answered Blanche, as if the American Midwest were purgatory.

“From what I hear they’ve added a couple of railroads into the bargain,” added Ida. “I wouldn’t underestimate the influence they may have if you’re inclined to be charitable. Like most of us they’re a little baffled as to how to go about it.”

“Anyone exotic?” inquired Esther.

“As a matter of fact, yes, but I don’t see him here. He tends to take his meals in his suite. An Egyptian gentleman, a cousin of Ismail Pasha a couple of times removed. Educated at Oxford, not Paris. A very polished and refined gentleman. He’s here as part of his Grand Tour, having done Europe and North Africa already.”

“How on earth did you get an interview with him?” asked Vinnie.

“I would like to think it was my magnetic personality, but I think it was the novelty of an interview by a woman that piqued his interest,” admitted Blanche. “There’s a gentleman dining alone on the far side of the room.”

“Oh, yes,” said Esther. “I see him nearly every night. He listens to the music after dinner and smokes a cigar. Occasionally I see him walk down to the town, but he’s always alone and seems not to join in any activities. Has he no companions?”

“I happen to know he’s a former intimate of Virginie Oldoini—the countess of Castiglione, you know. But that was a very long time ago. He haunts the Springs nearly as she haunts Paris at night. I doubt very much that he’s here to make new friends.”

“I noticed you in conversation with Sándor Király,” said Vinnie. “What made him condescend to an interview? My impression was that he had no time for such antics.” Blanche was grateful the subject had emerged so naturally.

“I imagine he hasn’t been the easiest interview you’ve ever given,” said Ida. “He’s a cagy monkey and very hard to pin down.”

“Yes,” said Francesca. “You’re lucky you were able to speak with him at all.”

“I think he tests people to see if they can keep up with him,” said Ida. “The only thing that saves me from that kind of test is my gamey lower extremity, if you’ll excuse my mentioning it. Instead I put him through his paces in speaking English, but he seems good humored enough. Even so, he can’t be an easy man to be around for long.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Blanche, with a portentous pause, “I am quite likely to be around him for a considerable time.”

Clearly she had captured the ladies’ attention, for they all stopped, exchanged looks, and then stared at her in silent chorus.

“Sounds intriguing,” offered Francesca. “Are you at liberty to tell us?”

“I suppose not,” Blanche said, “not really.”

“Even more intriguing,” said Vinnie.

“Oh come, Mrs. Wilson,” Francesca said in a more relaxed tone. “You don’t mean to invite us to dinner just to tease us, do you?”

“No, of course not,” said Blanche. “Sandy Király has concocted a new expedition here in the Rockies and has invited me to cover it for the newspaper.”

“Oh, Blanche—Mrs. Wilson—that’s wonderful,” cried Francesca.

“Now, please,” said Blanche, holding up an arresting hand as similar exclamations of pleasure and excitement came forth. “I’ve wired my editor in New York and am waiting to receive confirmation from him.” A sudden qualm overtook Blanche. What if Chambers did not confirm? “Of course, he may not like Sandy’s project in the least,” she added.

“Now you must tell us,” said Esther. “How are we to judge his likely reaction? Do we not represent your readership? If we think it is a good idea, how can it fail with him?”

“If he balks, you can tell him we said so,” said Ida. “Out with it. What has Sandy talked you into?”

A great weight lifted from Blanche’s being. Unwittingly, the ladies had helped to frame the subject in such a way that for the present these events lay beyond her control. Moreover, if Chambers turned her down the responsibility lay with him.

“Sandy has proposed an adventure he is calling ‘Seven Peaks in Seven Weeks.’ He proposes to mount a small expedition to conquer seven peaks—and take me with him.”

“Not climbing, too,” said Francesca.

“Yes, climbing, too.”

Again the ladies stopped and stared, this time with more caution.

“What is your own opinion of the scheme?” asked Esther, in a tone that hinted some misgiving.

“I must admit to a good deal of surprise when he suggested it. He said at once that many ladies of the best society in Europe have taken up mountaineering. He believes there are many peaks here suitable for a beginner—challenging certainly, but not impossible. He has also assured me that though he will certainly push me, he will not push me beyond my ability. I’m quite determined.”

“Sandy may be keen on climbing,” said Ida, “but he’ll be equally keen on bringing you back in one piece.”