The Gilded Years (25 page)

“Agreed,” said Caroline from Anita’s other side. “She can dictate my comings and goings all she wants after this.” Anita nodded, though she had never doubted that the good that Lottie effected far outweighed the bad.

When Lottie had returned from greeting several women in a neighboring box and had finished arranging her dress around her chair, she motioned for them to lean in and covered her mouth with a fan.

“Ladies, do you see across from us in the east box, with the most direct view of the stage, the woman in the Prussian blue and black silk, diamonds everywhere? That is Mrs. Lucretia Montgomery Schotenhorn, very much the gatekeeper of all this. The man sitting with her is Thornton Force, newspaper columnist. Paid to do, well, you can imagine what.”

“I don’t think I can imagine,” said Belle, trying not to stare. “Carry on a scandalous affair with Mrs. Schotenhorn?”

“Oh, Belle, not with the old horn,” said Lottie, covering her face with her fan. “Don’t even say that. It’s well known that her breasts hang all the way to her waist when she’s not wearing a corset. Her maid has to roll them up every morning like slices of salami.”

“Lottie, that is vulgar! And it is no way to speak about—” said Anita, but Lottie waved her and her kindness away.

“Plus, it is also well known that Mr. Force prefers the company of men. Young ones, if possible.”

“Is he a homosexual?” asked Caroline, turning her opera glasses on him.

“Do not stare!” Lottie hissed. “My mother will behead me if we end up in the newspaper as impertinent spies rather than elegant attendees. And of course he’s a homosexual. Only a homosexual could enjoy both the opera and the company of Mrs. Schotenhorn in such large quantities.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a homosexual before,” said Anita, taking the lorgnette from Caroline.

“Anita, of course you have,” said Lottie. “Rumors do fly about some of the teachers at our dear ladies’ college. I dare say Miss Salmon could be one. I’ve heard it whispered that her friendship with Adelaide Underhill is of an intimate nature.”

“You’re just fabricating scandal,” said Anita, frowning. Miss Lucy Maynard Salmon was a history teacher at Vassar who was doing her best to replace the practice of rote memorization in her field with primary source research and criticism. She was one of the students’ favorite professors.

“I wouldn’t dare concoct such a rumor! And think about it a minute, Anita. The great majority of our female professors are unmarried, even the most beautiful like Miss Wood. Our dear physician is one of the only ones who is and she had to marry a Swede. More advanced in their thinking over there. Let’s just state the facts, even the most modern men fear a woman who works. Homosexual women, on the other hand, do not,” said Lottie. “Now everyone stop and speak of something more civilized or we will be in terrible trouble. The opera walls absorb everything, and they report directly back to my mother. I think they know how to send telegrams. And my poor dear mama, one of her main dreams in life is to sit in that box there, where the old horn is so well settled.” They all turned to look at it again, sandwiched between the Morgan and Whitney boxes.

“But surely you have enough money for that one,” said Caroline.

“Money has nothing to do with it,” Lottie said. “It is the Schotenhorn box, and it will always be the Schotenhorn box, even if no Schotenhorn ever chooses to sit in it again. They reigned over the old Academy of Music opera house,
and though they were loath to buy into the Metropolitan at first, they bit and now hold court here, too.
The faces in New York change, but the last names seldom do.”

“New York is an odd place, isn’t it?” said Caroline, looking across at the ample shoulders of Lucretia Schotenhorn. “She’s a horrible-looking woman.”

“I think New York is magical,” said Anita. “I’d sit under the stage of the Metropolitan Opera if I were invited to. Or in the attic pulling the ropes. I’ve never seen a more beautiful room. Such a shame that some of the boxes are empty.”

“I’m glad you like it so,” said Lottie. “Because we will be stuck here for the next four, long, painful hours. As for not using things one owns, that is the sole purpose of owning things in New York. Half of the houses we passed today are unoccupied. And it’s only worse up at Newport. Mother is looking into purchasing a home in California to store her art collection, not that she would ever live there. They’re a wasteful bunch, these women. That’s why after Vassar I’ll be fleeing New York in favor of the world.”

“Here’s to seeing the world,” said Anita, though she was thinking that if there was one place that could keep her in America, it was New York.

Lottie turned around to see if anyone might be coming to greet them in their box, then spun back in horror.

“Ladies, do not look up. I repeat, do not turn around. Mr. Wallace Peters is approaching us through the smoking lounge with the eyes of a madman. He has been pestering me since birth. For several years I had him convinced that we were first cousins and shouldn’t marry, but he produced papers proving otherwise. Can you imagine! Hired a man and everything—Oh, hello, Wallace!” said Lottie, pivoting gracefully in midsentence. “What a most welcome surprise.”

She held out her hand to him and introduced her companions.

“Ladies, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintances,” said Wallace, with a strong lisp. His opera tuxedo, waistcoat, and white tie were crisper than the air outside. “Louise is always surrounded by such beautiful women.”

“Yes, I do pride myself on the company I keep,” said Lottie, trying to bat Wallace away with her fan. “And the company I don’t keep. Do tell me, Wallace, how is your mother?”

“She is most well, indeed, thank you for inquiring, Miss Taylor. Now, am I wrong in thinking that you should be at school? Up in Poughkeepsie?”

“Yes! I should be. In fact, I must be getting back. Ladies, let us go at once,” said Lottie, standing up.

“Lottie!” said Caroline, shocked. “She’s such a wit, isn’t she?” she said, glaring at Lottie, who finally sat back down. Caroline turned to their new companion, whose light hair was worn center-parted to show off his natural wave, and explained that they had taken leave for a long weekend.

“Then you are all students at the college?” Wallace said with interest.

“Yes, of course they are,” snapped Lottie. “In fact, you will find Miss Caroline Hardin of most interest to you as she spent her entire childhood as a prisoner in Syria and you are so passionate about the Phoenicians. I do remember hours of conversations with you about antiquities where I had to amuse myself by staring at the wallpaper.”

“A prisoner in Syria!” Wallace stuttered, nearly pushing Anita over the railing to move closer to Caroline. “How ever did you escape?”

“You’ll have to do her chemistry for the next week to make up for that lie,” Anita whispered to Lottie, who could barely repress her glee.

“I don’t mind. Did you see his expression? Imagining poor Caroline locked away in a dungeon. Besides, now the pest is busy, and we still have ten minutes until curtain. Let Caroline swim in his sea of saliva for a change. I’ve done my part.”

Belle edged closer to them, and Lottie sat up, visibly pleased to be holding court again.

“Who is that gentleman there?” said Belle, looking straight across at a man with jet-black hair who had been gazing their way since they arrived.

“That one, there?” asked Lottie, taking her glasses. “I believe that’s, oh, of course, that’s Marchmont Rhinelander. Whatever is he doing here? It’s shocking of him to attend.”

“Why?” asked Anita, squinting to see him. “Should he be off living in exile?”

“You can live right in New York and be in exile,” said Lottie. “I imagine the New York exile is the worst kind of all. But no, Mr. Rhinelander should not be in exile, exactly. I’m just surprised to see him at the opera, as he very recently jilted Lucretia Schotenhorn’s homely daughter, Estelle. She has the face of a horse and no personality to speak of, so it wasn’t surprising when he broke their engagement, but it was only a month ago. It’s in very poor taste for him to appear in public so soon.”

Lottie put her lorgnette back on her lap and said, “Ladies, we can do all we want now, there won’t be one inch of room in that newspaper column of Force’s to talk about a thing but Marchmont Rhinelander’s appearance. How impertinent of him to come! Maybe he isn’t such a bore after all.”

“I think he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” said Belle. “I’ve been taken by his profile since we arrived. He looks like a Spanish dancer.”

“
Luckily for your parents, he’s nothing of the sort. He hasn’t worked a day in his life. Perhaps we can make introductions after this interminable performance is over,” said Lottie. “Anita, what language is this dreadful opera in?”

“Italian,” said Anita, smiling. “Four hours in Italian.”

“Do wake me when it’s finished,” said Lottie, closing her eyes.

As the lights dimmed, Wallace Peters stood up and said his goodbyes.

“Leaving us so soon?” said Lottie. “And I was just starting to memorize the wall coverings. Do give my fondest to your mother. Tell her I will call on her soon.”

“Does he not catch on that you’re ridiculing him?” asked Anita, after he had left.

“Not everyone is as clever as you, Anita Hemmings. I think he truly believes that I feel passionately about wall coverings.”

The four hours of opera, including two intermissions, passed, and Belle and Anita, the music lovers, were in tears when it concluded.

“Don’t tell me that this nonsense brought you two to this state!” said Lottie, looking at their pink faces when the lights came up.

“Lottie Taylor, you have no appreciation for the arts,” said Belle, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “Anita and I have more elevated minds than you.”

“I prefer my art on paper,” said Lottie. “It doesn’t take as long to appreciate it.”

After the four had stepped daintily out of their box, they were helped into their coats by the footman and moved with the small crowd downstairs.

“There is that man again!” said Belle, spotting Marchmont Rhinelander entering the box holders’ lobby, where
patrons were waiting for their carriages. The girls followed her gaze, and Lottie pinched her.

“Belle, you have all the subtlety of a foghorn. One false move in this company and you will be a headline for a week.”

“You should invite him to Founder’s,” said Anita, watching him cross the room.

“A man like that at Founder’s Day!” said Belle. “But he must be nearly forty years old, Anita. He would never bother himself with one of our little school dances.”

“It’s not just any dance,” said Anita, “It’s famous. I’m sure he’s familiar with it, since it makes the
Times
every year.”

“It would do him good,” said Lottie. “At least he would be in the newspaper for something other than jilting old pony-face.”

“Let’s speak to him,” said Belle, moving forward. Anita watched her admiringly but stayed where she was.

“Why not?” asked Belle, seeing her friends stuck to the floor like houseplants. “No one else is. It’s terribly sad to see him alone.”

Lottie sighed and motioned for them all to catch up with Mr. Rhinelander before he left the building. She reached him first and placed her hand on his arm, her fingers stroking the sleeve of his cashmere coat.

He stopped and looked down at Lottie and her pleasing face. “Miss Taylor. What a welcome surprise. Aren’t you kind to come and say good evening?” Marchmont removed the hat that had just been brought to him. “None of the other young ladies in attendance would dare.”

“It’s not that they don’t desire to,” said Lottie. “It’s that their mothers don’t want them to. Or not quite yet. The brush-off you gave Estelle made a stir that’s going to keep on stirring until another scandal trumps it. If I were you, I’d
pay off one of these men to do something unforgivable. Preferably in the presence of Mr. Force and his venomous pen.”

“Now there’s a grand idea,” said Marchmont, smiling for the first time that night.

“Why did you come this evening?” asked Lottie after she had introduced her guests. “If you don’t mind my speaking so. You looked quite a sad sight all alone in your box like a ghost. It will obviously cause a sensation.”

“Quite honestly, Miss Taylor, I wanted very much to see
Mefistofele
. It just came here from Italy. That’s truly the reason. Art beckoned me to my death. And between you and me, I’ve stopped caring about the rest of it.” He indicated the patrons around him.

“I found it wonderful,” said Belle, blushing at the sound of her own voice.

“Belle is quite a talented singer herself,” said Anita, as Marchmont nodded, though he was looking at Anita rather than Belle.

“Miss Hemmings, did you say it was?” he asked. “Have we met before and I’ve rudely forgotten? Your face is familiar to me.”

“I don’t think so,” said Anita, nerves sweeping over her. She looked down and tried to recall if they had ever met.

“She is from Boston,” Lottie offered, to Anita’s annoyance. “From which part, Anita?”

“I am—I—I’m from the Back Bay,” said Anita, damning herself for her flustered hesitation.

“That could be it,” Marchmont said, smiling. “I do quite a bit of traveling up and down the coast. Perhaps I was introduced to you or passed you on the street and never forgot.”

“Perhaps,” said Anita shyly, thinking of the people she had walked through Boston with. If he had seen her there, and if she hadn’t
been alone, it was certain she had been in the company of a Negro.

“Belle, I would like to hear you sing one evening. Lottie will help arrange it,” Marchmont said, recovering his manners. “Now, I must be off before these other women have me shot for social impropriety.” He put his hat back on and escaped through the crowd.

“He’s fascinating, isn’t he?” said Belle giddily, watching him climb into his carriage. “I would love to marry a man just like that.”

“Just marry that one then,” said Caroline as they headed to the Taylor carriage.

As Anita tucked the carriage blanket around her, she chided herself for the freedom she had felt in Boston over Christmas. She had walked all over the city with her darker-skinned sister, Elizabeth, and hadn’t thought a thing of it. She needed to remember that all roads led back to the world of Lottie Taylor.