She Walks in Beauty (35 page)

“Not at the table? It will end up in our own parlor before it’s all done. He’s out to ruin a perfectly good system.”

I could not keep from speaking. Not after the conversations I’d had with Mr. Douglas about Tammany Hall. “But if it’s based on corruption … ? Isn’t that what politicians protect us from?”

Father let the newspaper drop to the floor and then folded his hands on the table and leaned forward over them. When he spoke it was as if he thought he were speaking to a young child. “Here is the way that it works. Everything in the city is run through Tammany Hall. You need a factory built? Or a gas line extended? You can stand in line for a permit at City Hall or you can just go down to Tammany Hall, talk to a few people, and the job’s done before your permit’s even been approved.”

That sounded congenial … if I hadn’t known the facts. “
Talk
to a few people?”

“And pay out a bit of money. But in the end, isn’t it worth it?”

“Worth it to pay for a permit that would be approved anyway?”

Father smiled. “Ah, but there’s the trick. It might not get approved. Not if you don’t find your way to Tammany Hall first.”

“So … you’re required to
pay
? For business the city should conduct as a matter of course?”

“It’s how politics has always been conducted.”

It didn’t sound quite right. I didn’t know very much about politics, and it wasn’t as if I would ever vote on anything, but still it seemed quite removed from the concept of democracy that Miss Miller had preached.

“And where do you think I got my workers for Dr. Carter’s?”

“For the factory?”

“I went to Tammany Hall and told them how many workers I needed. The next day they showed up at the door. And a foreman to go along with them.”

“But … where did they come from?”

“Does it matter? They’re immigrants.”

Didn’t it? If I ran a factory, I’d want to know who I was employing. Although … I’d seen Father’s factory once. Miss Miller had pointed it out one day in passing. It didn’t seem like a bottling plant, although I’m sure I didn’t know what one ought to look like.

It must have been much more sanitary on the inside than it was on the outside.

“I might have paid for the privilege, but I pay the workers less than I would have otherwise. Everyone wins.”

Everyone except the poor immigrant.

“Aren’t you ready?” Aunt stopped in my room the following evening to collect me for the night’s events. An opera followed by a private reception at the Astors’.

“Almost.”

“What’s wrong? The bloom has gone off your cheeks.”

“Nothing.”

Aunt approached me. Took my hand up in hers. The cool chill of it seemed to spread ice through my veins. “What is it? You can tell me.”

I looked long and deep into her eyes and realized that, perhaps, I could. “I don’t know if I can put up with Franklin for the rest of my life. He’s quite … unbearable. And I just don’t see how I could stand him.” I hadn’t meant to cry, but tears unbidden had blurred my vision.

“Oh, my dear! Marriage is nothing like the season. In marriage you’ll have a whole host of obligations to distract you from him. Just think of them: You’ll have your at-home days, your calls to pay, and your clubs. There will be rooms to redecorate and furniture to buy. Gowns to be fitted for and parties to plan. Newport in the summer and Europe in the autumn.”

Europe. Maybe even Italy.

But Europe seemed too little a reward for being married to Franklin. It wasn’t that he was a mean person. Or even a truly bad sort. He was just so … not someone like … Harry.

Aunt put a chill hand to my cheek. “You think too much. You worry too much. Marriage is not meant to be a paradise. It’s an institution. One which you are destined to enter. Don’t suffer such gloomy notions. Not when a season is in progress. This is the best part. Save the work, the brooding, for later.”

30

HARY SIGNED FOR two dances. His waltz came first. It was a welcome relief to dance with him. I didn’t have to try to interpret or anticipate his steps. It just seemed as if he went the right direction at the right time and I happily followed along.

“You look a shade paler than normal.”

“I worry about Lizzie.”

“Lizzie’s fine. She should be worrying about you.”

“Why?”

“I should think
I
would be if you were intent on marrying a suitor out from under me.”

I sighed. At least he seemed to accept the situation now. “I wish she were here.”

“You won’t be able to share him forever, you know.”

There was no need to clarify the “him” of whom Harry spoke. “I know.”

“What will you do when he has to make a choice?”

“I wish . . .”

“What? What do you wish?”

I smiled. “Nothing.” I was going to wish that Franklin could be more like Harry, but that would have been foolish. “I’m a girl, Harry, I don’t have many choices. I debuted this year. I have to marry. If I don’t, then I would be like … a hat that’s seen one too many seasons.”

“But what if you weren’t a girl? What if … what if you were me?” He quickly reversed the dance and moved us in the opposite direction.

“If I’m … you … then who are you?” I was having trouble keeping up. With both the change in the dance and the change in the conversation.

“I’m you.”

“Well, then . . .” That was simple. “I’d marry me!”

“You’d marry … you’d marry me?”

“Of course. I’d call you my darling. My darling Clara.”

Harry twirled me. “And then I’d call you dear Harry. No. No. I’d call you
dearest
Harry.”

“And we could talk all we wanted, forever even, and never worry about making calls or attending balls, or operas, or private dinners.”

He guided me effortlessly on the dance floor. “And we could go to Europe. We could live there.”

“Where?”

Harry raised a brow. “England?”

I frowned.

“Italy?”

I nodded.

“And I would … I would love you forever, dearest Harry.”

“And I you, my darling Clara.”

We stared into each other’s eyes for a long instant, and then I began to giggle and he began to chuckle and soon we were laughing together.

When the dance had finished and Harry escorted me back to Aunt, we were still laughing. Hard enough that I was finding it difficult to breathe. And not from the corset. The only thing that saved me was that I saw Franklin. He was standing against the wall, staring at us. And the look in his eyes stifled any mirth that I had felt.

Aunt and I went to claim some cups of punch. As we drank it, the swirling, chattering crowds seemed to press in upon me and their bright gaiety proved more than I could bear.

I handed Aunt my cup. “I think I . . .”

“Clara?”

“I just need a bit . . .” Spurning convention, I walked from the ballroom toward the parlor in search of a bit of solitude, for a few brief moments, so that I could recompose myself. Before me, I saw Harry duck into an alcove. Curious, I came up upon it softly so that I could know what it was that he was doing.

“You don’t think so?” Franklin’s voice was surprised. Astonished.

“No.” Harry’s voice was flat. Serious.

“Truly?”

“Truly. All in all, I have to say that I prefer Lizzie Barnes to Clara Carter.”

Harry’s words hit me like a blow to the stomach. I stood there for one long moment, and then I began to run.

I ran as fast as my satin-slippered feet would let me for as long as I found the space. I ended up, finally, in the kitchen—hiding my face as I pushed through the startled servants and let myself out the back door.

Harry preferred Lizzie to me? Really?

Truly
. That was what he had said.
Truly, all in all.

But … how could … Harry prefer her to me?

Across the lawn, by the garden wall, arose a scratchy feline yowl that I might have believed originated in the depths of my own soul. It was joined by another. And back and forth, up and down the scale, those two cats hollered and spit until at last the chorus ended in a shriek and a hiss.

I let myself down on a stoop and sat there, spent.

Harry preferred Lizzie.

What more was there to say?

If Harry preferred Lizzie to me, then … good. Fine! It made giving myself to Franklin that much easier. Why had I worried so much about Harry’s feelings? Though it seemed he had quite a few of them, apparently none were directed toward me.

Good.

Fine!

I would go back into that ballroom, and I would dance with Franklin, and God willing, sometime this week or next he would propose to me. And I would say yes!

Yes, Franklin.

Yes, Franklin, of course I’ll marry you.

Yes, Franklin, I’d be delighted to marry you.

Yes, Franklin, my heart’s desire has always been to marry you.

But if it had always been my heart’s desire, then why was I crying as if the moon had just fallen from the sky?

One of the cats slunk away along the wall and the other scrabbled its way up a tree.

I took off a glove, turned it inside out, and used it to dry my tears. It was much softer, much more comforting than my impractical lace handkerchief. I took a faltering breath. And another one. Then I put my glove to rights and pushed to my feet.

I checked the front of my skirt and brushed off the back. Made sure my bosoms were in place. And then I mounted the steps and went back into the house.

I took a pencil from my reticule and lined out Harry’s name from my dance card.

On my way back to Aunt, I found Mr. Lorillard and tapped him on the shoulder. “I find I have been relieved of a dance partner for the first dance after intermission. Would you like to take his place?”

He bowed. “Of course.”

I offered him up my card. “Just there. The lancers.”

“Thank you.”

As the music began, I made sure I was by Mr. Lorillard’s side. He took my hand in his to begin the first steps.

But we were stopped by Harry.

“This is my dance.”

“Miss Carter said—”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I thought you had gone.”

“Gone? But I’ve been here all night.”

“My mistake. So sorry.” I pulled at Mr. Lorillard’s hand, turned from Harry and did not look at him for the rest of the night.

When Franklin came to claim me for the last waltz, I made certain I closed my eyes and leaned into his chest just the way he liked. Only this night I leaned especially close.

And I felt his hand creep up around my side.

As the dance ended, he bent close to whisper in my ear. His breath tickled my ear. “You darling!”

That night, abed, my thoughts would not rest. And my memory would not lie. It kept replaying, in perfect detail, the conversation I had overheard.

Had Harry just been … pretending? Pretending to hold an affection for me? But if so, why? So that he could remain in close contact with Lizzie? For where I was, she was never far behind. But surely he knew that her parents would never let her marry him. Just as surely as he knew my father would never let him marry me.

And honestly, what could he possibly see in Lizzie?

Hair that glistened like gold?

A laugh that rang out as clear as a bell?