The Gilded Hour (72 page)

The smile faded. He turned in his seat to look at his wife, his brows raised.

“
Schon recht,
” she said to him.
“Macht nichts.”
To Jack she said, “The boys and Henry, what’s to become of them when you take me away?”

Anna had never seen a human being so terribly frightened. Not even the sickest patient with nothing but death to look forward to, not parents
with a desperately ill child. Mabel Stone wasn’t frightened for herself but for the people who depended on her. Anna was about to tell Jack and Oscar that some other solution had to be found when Jack spoke up.

“We’re not here to arrest you,” Jack said. “You went with Mrs. Campbell and her sons because you were asked to, and you took the money she gave you to look after the boys. Between us I think we can find a way to get you and Henry back to those boys. Safely.”

“With the bonds,” Oscar added. “Campbell will have stolen them somewhere, that’s something we’ll look into down the road, but you don’t have to worry about it. He’ll never be punished but it’ll eat him alive, the idea that she got the better of him.”

Mrs. Stone looked between them, studying their faces until she seemed satisfied.

“You’d think I’d run out of tears.” She folded her damp handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. “If you mean it, then God bless you.”

“We mean it,” Jack said.

Anna said, “Can I ask one more question?”

“Anything,” Mrs. Stone said.

“Do you happen to know if Mrs. Campbell ever traded at Smithson’s, the druggist across from the Jefferson Market?”

At Mrs. Stone’s blank expression Anna said, “Never mind, it was just an idea.”

“But I do know Smithson’s,” Mrs. Stone said. “It’s where my mother traded and where I go. When Janine first moved down here from Maine I took her there too, to introduce her. It can’t be Mr. Smithson who hurt her. He’s as gentle as a lamb and just about as strong. And retired, too, since last year.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that Mr. Smithson had anything to do with Mrs. Campbell. It’s something else, that may be related.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“Nobody is in trouble,” Jack said. “Except the person who operated on Mrs. Campbell, and we don’t have any idea yet who that is. But if you think of anything she might have said, no matter how small—”

“I will come see you. Or write to you, if we are already away. When do you think we could leave here? I do need to get back to the boys. And Henry misses them so.”

Oscar said, “Could you leave now?”

Mrs. Stone’s expression stilled. “We don’t have much luggage, and it’s been packed for weeks. Do you mean it?”

“I do. I can put you two and Montgomery somewhere safe tonight and tomorrow I’ll see to it you get onto the first steamer headed in the direction of Sakonnet Harbor. I’ll need a half hour or so, so sit tight. Jack, you’ll want to stay.”

Anna could almost hear the silent discussion that went back and forth between them. No doubt Campbell had seen them entering the Stones’ house, and by now he would have suspicions. Anna was glad Jack was staying behind.

Oscar grinned. “I won’t be long,” he said. “You’ll be free of Campbell before you know it.”

•   •   •

A
FEW
MINUTES
later when Mrs. Stone had gone to check over their luggage, Anna said, “Do I want to know what he’s up to?”

Jack shrugged. “You never know with Oscar. He can be inventive, on both sides of the law. But he’ll get them to Rhode Island and Campbell will be none the wiser, you can put money on that much.”

“We set out to find an answer to one question and instead we found the answer to a different one altogether.”

Mrs. Stone came back into the parlor, her agitation and excitement plain to read in the way she sat and then jumped up again.

Anna said, “Will your husband have trouble adjusting, do you think? You’ve been in the city for a long time.”

The older lady sat down again. “He loves those boys so, I don’t think he’ll care where he is.”

She looked at her husband, who had fallen asleep in his rocking chair. “All these years I have missed the Henry I married, but just now it’s better this way. He hardly understands what’s happening, but you should have seen him as a young man. He had a gift for numbers, he could add and multiply and divide in his head, big numbers, too. And he was so strong, it was a joy just to watch him working. When he first came from Germany he came to see my father—he was from Munich too—to ask about work. He came into the shop, and I was at the counter helping a customer. He smiled at me, and that was that.

“As a girl I hated that we spoke German at home, but Henry made me glad of it, that I could talk to him. I was the one who taught him English, and he made good progress. With other people it was harder sometimes.” She smiled with such sweetness that she looked much as she must have the day Heinrich Steinmauer came into her father’s shop so many years ago.

“Once he wanted to buy a fish for supper—” She stopped. “It’s an old story, you won’t want to hear it.”

Jack said, “I’m always up for a good fish story.”

“Yes,” Anna said. “If you don’t tell us I’ll be wondering for days.”

Mrs. Stone started again. “We were at the Fulton Street market because Henry wanted fish for his supper. There was a big trout he liked the look of, but the fishmonger wanted a dollar for it, and Henry thought it was too much. You see, the fishmonger was rude because of us being German; that used to be even worse than it is these days. So they got to arguing and they both dug in, like bulls. ‘A dollar,’ says the fishmonger. ‘One American dollar.’ Now back then when Henry lost his temper his English got lost too. So he’s yelling in his big deep voice, ‘That is a shame! A shame!’” She pushed out her chest and thumped it manfully.

“And everybody was looking at us and the fishmonger, but Henry was too mad to notice. He bellows, ‘Behold your fish! I can become a fish myself for two bits, just around the corner!’”

Anna laughed, a great bark of laughter that would have embarrassed her in other company. Jack’s expression was vaguely confused, a man who dearly wanted in on the joke and would have been glad of the reason to laugh. For some reason Anna couldn’t explain, that made her laugh all the harder.

•   •   •

T
HAT
EVENING
AS
they got ready for bed, Jack expected Anna would talk, finally, about her brother. Some small thing that would be a start, the first crack in the dam that held back all the sorrow that ate away at her still, so many years later.

It was the last night they would sleep under her aunt’s roof. Tomorrow night they would go to bed in their own place. He liked the idea of a fresh start, getting the worst and saddest memories out in the light of day.

But she went about getting ready for bed, talking about the surgery she
would perform in the morning, the hiring of a housekeeper and cook, where she would find the time for Italian lessons, wanting to know if Jack would be in court this week, if he was scheduled for night duty. She didn’t mention Mrs. Stone or Archer Campbell, and Jack had the idea that she needed to talk to her aunt before they took up the subject.

He loved watching her when she didn’t realize she was being studied. There was economy in every movement and she managed still to be graceful, in the way she bent from the waist to sweep her long hair to one side, her fingers moving rapidly as she began to plait, working each twist with precision until a long rope fell down her back, and orderly as a rosary but for the stray hair that escaped to curl on her neck, another at her brow.

“Jack?”

He started, coming back to himself with a jerk.

“Sorry,” he said. “My mind wandered.”

One side of her mouth quirked so that a single dimple popped to the surface. She knelt on the edge of the bed and bowed down to kiss his cheek, his temple, the corner of his mouth.

“Let me guess where it wandered to,” she said, and hiccupped with laughter when he grabbed her wrists and flipped her onto her back.

“Wait,” she said. “Wait, there’s something I need to ask.”

He kissed her soundly until he felt her begin to forget what she had been wanting to say, and then he drew away and settled beside her.

She hated to surrender control, or had always hated it. He liked to think that she was coming to see that occasional surrender had its rewards. He watched her make a concerted effort to return her breathing to something more normal.

“Forgot already?”

She elbowed him, hard. Then she sat up again, cross-legged, and faced him.

“Bambina. She is so bad tempered at times, really terrible.”

“So I hear.”

“From the girls?”

He nodded. “They are very concerned. They like Baldy-Ned—”

“Oh, no.” Anna put a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh.

“It’s your fault,” Jack said. “Baldy wasn’t a good enough name, so you
saddled him with another one. The results are already out of your control. So I was saying, they’re afraid that Bambina scared Baldy-Ned away, and they like him.”

“He’s very personable with the girls.”

“He’s personable with girls of all ages.”

That made her pause. “Bambina never met him before today.”

“That doesn’t seem to matter. He’s got a way of looking at young women that turns their heads. In Bambina’s case that means she’s going to go on the attack.”

“Something has to be done.”

He turned toward her. “You’re afraid that if he’s around more she’ll do what, exactly?”

Anna frowned.

“You don’t need to worry about him. He’s had a lifetime of standing up to far worse than Bambina.”

“That’s just it,” Anna said. “She’s too fragile for the kinds of games he plays.”

“Bambina. Fragile?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. I see that the male mind is not nimble enough to deal with this situation.”

“But yours is?”

“Of course. Wait,” she said, as he reached for her.

“I completely forgot to say that there was a letter from Sophie and Cap yesterday. There were separate letters for everybody, and this one for you and me. I waited to read it with you.” She leaned back to take an envelope from her bedside table. “Do you want to hear it?”

She was already opening the envelope.

Dear Anna and Jack,

We are arrived here in reasonable good health and are, I think, settled. Or as settled as we can be. I know Anna will want all the details about the clinic and treatment plan, but for the moment I will just say that I am very satisfied that Dr. Zängerle knows what he’s doing and has some promising ideas.

The journey was almost more than Cap could bear, and for the first two days I feared the trip was a mistake that would take a quick and unhappy
end. Then on the third day he rallied, as he has done so often in the past. Now he is distinctly cranky, and what a fine thing it is to have to listen to complaints about the rug on his lap and the sound of cowbells coming from higher pastures in the night. I said I found the cowbells oddly comforting, an alpine counterpoint to the screech of the omnibuses he slept through so easily at home. That made him smile. No one here is put off by his mood, and thus he has already given up on it.

This morning we sat on a wide balcony overlooking the mountains and valley below, the air cool and refreshing and the sun mild enough to be pleasant. I was reading aloud from a newspaper, when I realized that he had fallen asleep. He looked no older than seventeen, one arm thrown up over his head and his face turned away from me.

For one moment I thought he had gone. That he had slipped away without a word of farewell, and I sat struck dumb. I remember thinking I shouldn’t begrudge him a peaceful end to such a terrible and drawn-out illness, but in my heart I was so angry at him for going without me. Then he stirred, and my heart began to beat again.

Now, many hours later, I realize that this trip is as much for me as it is for him. I am learning what it will be like, and when it does happen, I think I will be able to bear it.

This letter was meant to offer you the kind of comfort I took from the day’s events. I hope I have succeeded.

Tomorrow or the next day I will write with more details. In the meantime ask the girls about their letter. They have a story about a cow in the garden and the very, very ugly dog who sits next to Cap at every opportunity, tail thumping hopefully for the tidbits Cap gives him.

We are together, and content to make the most of the time left to us in this beautiful place.

With great affection and love from both of us.
Your Sophie and Cap

Postscript. Cap instructs me to say that he wants news of the Campbell situation, gossip from Waverly Place, and a report on how you find marriage. I just want to know that you are happy.

O
N
F
RIDAY
MORNING
Jack asked Anna over breakfast if there was a difficult case that was robbing her of sleep. It was true that she was sleeping badly, but she had made every effort to keep her restlessness to herself.

“Nothing so worthy,” she told him. She thought for a moment and chose her words carefully. “Life is so full, it feels like a waste of time to be sleeping.”

“What we need is a rainy Saturday,” he said. “With no chance of being called out on an emergency. You might remember then how nice it can be to spend time in bed. I could remind you.” He waggled both brows at her.

She made a face at him. “You’re not talking about sleeping.”

“I am. Maybe not exclusively, but sleeping—” He stopped and smiled widely. “In between.”

“So then, Detective Sergeant. Order up a rainy Saturday, would you?”

Mrs. Cabot came to refill their coffee cups and Anna reminded herself to send Jack’s aunt Philomena a thank-you note for finding them the housekeeper. She had sent three; Mrs. Lee had interviewed them one by one and hired Eve Cabot, a Yankee of the first order, born and raised in Maine, an excellent housekeeper and cook. She moved into the bedroom off the kitchen with one suitcase, a pot of violets she put on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, and Skidder, a genial Jack Russell terrier who hung on every word she said.

Anna liked Mrs. Cabot for her dry humor, her refusal to be taken aback by the oddities of the household, and the easy way she was with the girls.

“Anna,” Jack said, and inclined his head toward the pocket watch he had put on the table.

She jumped up, kissed Jack’s cheek, gathered up her things, and rushed out, but not before Ned came in the kitchen door. He had had his breakfast
under Mrs. Lee’s watchful eye, and now would allow Mrs. Cabot to feed him too. It made them happy, and he lived for nothing so much as pleasing the women who fed him.

Anna waved a hand over her head, meant for both hello and good-bye, and studiously ignored the question that followed her out the door. She was almost as far as the Cooper Union when Ned caught up with her, brushing bread crumbs from his shirt.

“I don’t have time to stop,” Anna said.

After a full minute of silence she realized why he was walking along with her, and what he was waiting for.

“You are a sincere and dedicated teacher,” she said to him. “And I pay your fees happily. But sometimes Italian can’t be the first thing on my list of priorities.”

She had stopped in spite of herself, and now set off again.

He said, “What’s going on with Staten Island?”

That made her pause again, but only momentarily. “What do you mean? Jack and I got married on Staten Island.”

“There’s something more,” he said. “I heard Margaret talking about it to Mrs. Lee.”

Anna had no intention of telling Ned about the Mullen family. They hadn’t even decided on how, or whether, to tell the girls. The inability to come to an agreement was starting to fray the nerves on all sides, but Margaret was having the hardest time.

Ned said, “Does it have something to do with the Russo boys?”

That did bring her up short. “What exactly did you hear?”

“Not much.” But he looked away.

“I will strangle Margaret,” Anna said, without heat. “In the meantime we need to keep Rosa especially clear of such conversations.”

“So it is about her brothers.”

Late as she was, Anna stopped to consider this young man who was fast being drawn into both households on Waverly Place, simply by making himself indispensable. He spent his afternoons working for the Howells at the newsboys’ lodging, but the rest of the day he was busy making himself welcome among the Savard and Mezzanotte clans. He was a favorite of Margaret, who loved having a young man to mother; of Aunt Quinlan, who liked his banter and quickness of mind; of Mr. Lee, because he was as
tireless as a workhorse and would turn his hand to anything; of Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Cabot, who alternately fed and scolded, ordered around and spoiled him. He was polite but more formal with Chiara and Laura Lee when they were working in the house, probably, Anna thought, because he knew the danger of showing favoritism. Jack had had more than one private conversation with Ned to be sure he understood the boundaries, but Anna hadn’t asked for details.

Bambina was the only person he hadn’t won over. When she and Ned were in the same room she made a science of expressing her dislike and disapproval in such a way that it was hard to correct or admonish her. Even this didn’t seem to worry Ned. Just the opposite.

Jack thought Bambina was jealous because the girls were so enamored of him, and Mrs. Lee agreed. “Things come so easy to him. He only has to snap his fingers and the little girls let everything else drop. We’re going to have a talk, Mr. Baldy-Ned and me.”

Everyone was talking to Ned. Anna was as sure as she could be that he would behave himself. Now it seemed like the time had come to take him into closer confidence.

“Can I trust you to do what you can to keep the girls safe and calm?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Staten Island does have to do with one of the boys, but it’s a very delicate situation. Telling Rosa at this point would make things much more difficult, but we do need a plan. We can talk about that tonight once the girls are asleep. I’m trusting you to keep an eye on things until then.”

He gave a sharp bow from the shoulders, as neatly as a soldier. “I’ve got to get back. Bambina is coming over to hang some curtains, and you know how she looks forward to insulting me.”

Anna watched him run off, switched her Gladstone bag to her other hand, and picked up her pace.

•   •   •

E
LISE
GENERALLY
SAW
little of Anna during the workday, and when they did cross paths she made herself small. She had begun to make some friends among the nurses and medical students; she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that Dr. Savard—who frightened almost everyone—had taken Elise under her wing. They were likely to accuse her of getting special treatment, which was in fact the case.

But there was another truth, one she reinforced with all her energy and concentration, every day: She didn’t take advantage. She worked very hard, asked no favors, and offered her help wherever she could, both at the hospital and on Waverly Place. And still today, just as she was finishing her shift Anna sent for her. Elise found her with her advanced medical students, all of them getting ready to leave the building.

“I thought you might want to come with us,” Anna said. “To see a thyroidectomy. It’s a very challenging operation. I myself have never done one. Not yet.”

Ten minutes earlier Elise had been looking forward to the garden and putting her feet up for the twenty minutes she allotted herself; now she felt as though she could sprout wings and fly.

They set off for New-York Hospital on foot, matching Anna’s quick pace. Elise was curious about the surgery, but she kept her silence and listened to the snatches of conversations that came to her about exams, a visit home, a lost notebook, a recent case they had been called on to write up as an assignment and how strictly Dr. Savard marked their efforts.

She wondered if these young women talked about Anna when she was out of earshot, and decided that they almost certainly did. About her classes and expectations, but also about her recent marriage. One of the nurses had approached her and asked straight out was it true, Dr. Savard had married an Italian? Because she couldn’t indulge in irritation, Elise feigned confusion. Better to be thought a little dim than to gossip about the person who had made this new life possible.

Even when the subject wasn’t forbidden, Elise often found herself at a loss, listening to the young women talk among themselves. They were hardworking, ambitious, and serious about their studies; they had made choices knowing full well that the goals they set for themselves would likely cut them off from the things most young women hoped for. Some of them would marry, according to Anna, but most would not. And still they admired men, and thought of them as potential mates, or at least bed partners.

Chiara had been the one to point out to Elise that men watched her.

“Watch me? Why?”

“Why not? You’re pretty.”

“I’m odd looking.” She ruffled her short hair.

“You’re pretty in an uncommon way, and you move like a ballerina.”

Upon close questioning it turned out that Chiara had never seen a ballerina except on a poster, but she stuck stubbornly to her assessment.

“I am a dumpling in the making,” Chiara insisted. “It’s the family curse. Age fifty, I’ll blow up.” She puffed out her cheeks to demonstrate. “But you’ve got long legs and a long neck and skin like silk. Men watch you because you’re nice to look at.”

The whole subject made her uncomfortable, but Chiara had started something that Rosa picked up on. When they were out in public together they kept a constant vigil and pointed out every admirer, some of which Elise truly believed they manufactured solely to fluster her. On the omnibus, a fair-haired man with a stack of books on his lap. A clerk at the notions counter at Denning’s Dry Goods with ears that stuck out from his head. The grooms standing outside Stewart’s stables, cheeky monkeys, every one. They swore that there were three different young men living in the Jansen Apartments—just across the way—who had gotten into the sudden habit of walking past the house at least twice a day, morning and evening. Chiara made up names for each of them, and jobs too: Alto was the tallest one and an assistant manager at a bank, Bruno had a big dark brown beard and taught at the Academy of Music, and Bello, with a face like an angel, was a passenger agent on the White Star Line. And all of them lived for a glimpse of Elise.

“If you’re right about this,” she wanted to know, “why haven’t any of them said a word to me?”

“Because you are pretty but distant. What’s the word—”

“Uninterested.”

“That’s not it.
Distante.
Aloof!”

Elise wondered if it was true. Did strangers see her as arrogant? Conceited? These were serious character flaws that were dealt with summarily in the convent. Had she learned them in the few weeks since she left?

This line of thought stayed with her until they reached the hospital, where they filed through the doors like so many schoolgirls. The smell of carbolic and lye soap stripped away all the trappings and just that easily they were physicians in training, sober, observant, somber.

It was a relief to be back in a familiar environment, where there were things to occupy her beyond the mysteries of men. There was, in fact, a
delicate, dangerous procedure that involved wielding a scalpel to remove the thyroid, cocooned in veins, embedded in the platysma, sternothyroid, and sternohyoid muscles at the base of throat, without damaging carotid arteries, leaving the trachea and the larynx intact. She wondered if they might get a piece of the tissue to study under a microscope.

•   •   •

A
NNA
SENT
HER
students back to the New Amsterdam and went in search of an orthopedic surgeon she knew, hoping he’d have a minute to discuss a case. His office door stood open and the office was empty, but she could hear a conversation going on farther down the hall and so she went to investigate.

Dr. Mayfair stood with two colleagues in a triangle, their heads bent together. She began to back away, but David Mayfair looked up and caught sight of her.

“Dr. Savard.” He gestured for her to come closer. “Let me introduce you.”

There were reasons for her to be on her way, but it was a rare opportunity to meet with male colleagues who saw her not as an upstart or a threat, but as an equal. It made her nervous, she could admit that, because she so much wanted to be accepted. Striking the right tone was far more tiring than surgery, this kind of interaction.

“We were just talking about one of Dr. Harrison’s cases,” Dr. Mayfair said. “A young mother, and a terrible loss. You do more gynecological surgery than anyone here, maybe you could make more sense of it.”

All thoughts of the cuneiform osteotomy she had wanted to discuss disappeared. She cleared her throat. “What kind of case?”

Emil Harrison was a slight man of average height with a luxurious head of hair and the habit of picking at his beard. Anna couldn’t recall ever hearing his name before, but there were so many physicians in the city, that was nothing unusual. He seemed to be hesitant, and Anna was ready to excuse herself when Albert Wesniewski spoke up.

“I’d like to hear her opinion.”

“Fine, let’s go have a look.” Harrison didn’t sound as though he relished the idea.

David Mayfair said, “It’s too bad your students have gone already, Dr. Savard. This would have been an excellent experience.”

•   •   •

T
HE
PHRASE
THAT
kept coming back to Anna later was
excellent experience
. David Mayfair wasn’t purposefully trivializing what had happened to the dead woman, and in fact he was more respectful than most. But it was an irritation, and one she could do nothing about, especially when he had gone out of his way to include her. Young women studying medicine would have to learn this lesson as well.