She Walks in Beauty (39 page)
I was pondering more humiliating, more vile things to do to him when I remembered that Harry had not been at the Schemerhorns’ that night. But if The Tattler was not Harry, then … ?
Aunt burst through my door at that moment. “Disaster has befallen us!” She sagged back against the doorframe, looking as if she might faint. “Brother has been felled. By apoplexy.”
“Apoplexy?”
She nodded, eyes wide in her pale face.
“Where is he?”
She tried to reply, tried to speak, but no sound passed her lips.
“Father?” I pushed past her into the hallway. “Father!”
I heard a cough come from behind me and turned to see Aunt’s maid. She curtsied. “In his study, miss.”
I found Father there, slumped in his chair. A trickle of drool slid from his lip and lost itself in his beard. I might have knelt beside him, but my corset would not allow it.
“Father?” By casting myself forward over my toes, I was able to lean low enough to take up his hand.
There was no response, no corresponding squeeze.
I tugged on it and he fell forward toward my legs.
Trapped by my corset, I could neither push him back into the chair nor could I keep him from sliding from it. I could do nothing but let him fall over himself to the floor.
“Help me. Somebody. Help me!” Holding on to his hand, trying to pull him to standing, I caught a glimpse of the maid, lurking in the hall. “Summon a physician. Quickly!”
But before she could do my bidding, Aunt appeared. “No.”
No?
Pale, but in command now of her faculties, she entered the study and shut the door behind her. Taking Father’s hand from me, she lowered him to the floor. “No. There will be no one summoned. If the other physicians in the city find out that he is ill, then they will steal his patients.”
“But … what if one of his patients falls ill? What if he had appointments scheduled? Someone else will have to attend to their needs.” Courtesy required it.
“Then we must simply say that he was taken from the city on an emergency.”
“And those who need prescriptions filled?”
“He has a closet filled with
Dr. Carter’s Tonic
. We’ll fill them ourselves.”
“But—”
“I said no!” Panic swam in her eyes. “He wouldn’t want anyone to know of this. He might yet revive.”
We spent the next day, Aunt and I, in Father’s bedroom, at his side. And during that time, it became apparent that he could not move. Neither could he speak. He could do nothing at all, save drool. And eat a bit of bouillon, if the broth was carefully spooned into his mouth.
The next day, Aunt beckoned me from his room. When I joined her, she looked up the hall and then down it. When she finally spoke, her voice was low. “I must be frank.”
I closed my eyes at her words. She was going to say what I had been desperately trying to deny. “He won’t recover, will he?”
“It is not of that which I speak. My connection to the Stuart family was only able to crack open the doors of society to you. It was your father’s vast knowledge that caused them to swing wide in welcome at your debut.”
“I know Father is a respected physician—”
“It was not what he knew; it was
who
he knew.” She folded her hands in front of her and looked down at them. “And what secrets they wished to keep.”
Secrets? Why was she speaking to me of secrets? “What do you mean?”
She raised her head. Looked at me with impatience. “Did you never wonder how Brother kept such a fashionable house? On Fifth Avenue?”
“He made his fortune in tonic.” Of course I’d known that.
“The tonic was the least of his assets. He was paid, and quite well, for keeping all of New York City’s secrets.”
“I don’t understand what—”
“Are you so naive, Clara? It was that knowledge, those secrets, that have kept you in society!”
“But—”
She looked at me. A look that bored into my soul. “It was your father’s knowledge that would have purchased you a marriage.”
“Purchased?” If I said it with horror, it was because I felt exactly that.
“All marriages are purchased in one way or another. There’s no shame in that.”
“But there is shame! There is great shame when he would seek to use people’s … secrets … for his own advantage.” How could he have!
“And that is just the point. He can use nothing to his advantage. Not any longer.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“If you hope to make a brilliant match, if you hope to recover the family’s honor—”
“Honor? You speak to me of honor? We have none!” But Aunt continued on as if I had not interrupted her.
“—then it must be arranged within the week. Before word gets out that your father will never be able to reveal any of his secrets. To anyone. Ever again.”
I felt a curious freedom lift inside of me as the shackles of the family’s honor fell away. There was no honor; there was nothing left to defend. Nothing to regain. I was free. “And if I don’t … ?”
“If you don’t? If you don’t, then who do you think will marry you once word gets out? No one will have any time or any dances or any invitations for the daughter of a tonic salesman. If you don’t marry now, then chances are you never will. Of course, that might not be all bad. I’ve heard there is always a position for a governess or companion for the right person who wishes a small income for their many troubles and a room that they can never truly call their own.”
“Surely Father must have made some provision—”
“He did. And they were all leveraged away in calculation of your success.”
My success? But I hadn’t obtained any. Not yet. And who knew if I would? “I don’t know if Franklin will—”
“He
must
. He must propose. You have no other prospects.”
“But … but how about Mr. Hamilton? Or Mr. Lorillard?”
“They haven’t called in weeks. I sent them all away. In favor of the De Vries heir. Because that’s what we had planned. The De Vrieses gambled our money away during the Panic, and we were going to make them pay for it. We were going to regain our honor by your marriage. Now is the time. You must not fail.” She gripped my hand between her own. “Mr. De Vries is your only hope.”
“No. He’s not my only hope. He’s your only hope.”
“Don’t be a fool! You’re nothing without a man, without marriage. You have no money. You have no prospects. None but him.”
“But … he doesn’t … I don’t . . .” I didn’t like him. And any preference he had shown me I now knew to be only perfunctory. Because he had been made to. By my own father.
“Oh, my dear. I can see your vanity has suffered. But know this: Our work would have been difficult indeed had you been one of the chinless Vandermeres or a bulbous-nosed Sturbridge. Your looks have done you well—the heir seems to truly like you. But Brother’s knowledge has guaranteed a proposal … or would have. You should be delighted.”
“I’m mortified! How can I ever look him in the face knowing that the whole season has been a charade?”
“Surely he knows you well enough by now to know that you knew nothing of it.”
“But I know now!” And that made all the difference.
“If anything, it should make you more secure in your conquest.”
“But it’s no conquest—it’s an ambush. If I have gained anything at all, it’s been by treachery, not virtue.” How could she expect me to carry out such plans?
“There is nothing else in these circles. Believe me: Marriages have been contracted for far worse reasons.”
“But what sort of marriage can I expect to have? In these circumstances? What is there to base it on but secrets and extortion?”
“At least you have something to hold over his family’s head. I had nothing. And look where it got me!”
“I can’t do it.” I couldn’t.
Her last words were uncompromising. “You must.”
Dearest Julia,
A marriage is being arranged for me by means so treacherous that I cannot write of them. To begin what is to be a sacred union in such a despicable way seems to me to be contrary to every good and decent thing that marriage represents. Father is
I paused in my writing, uncertain of what to say, unsure of how much I should admit. Which only showed me just how well I had learned my lessons. To be so devious with one I knew so well!
suffering a fit of apoplexy. He cannot work. He cannot move. He cannot speak. And so you see, I am his only savior. I must succeed at what I am to undertake. I have no other choice. I do not know why I write to you. Perhaps it is only to explain to myself why I must do what is to be done. Please do not feel a burden to respond to my private miseries.
I hope that this letter finds you well and happy and that if ever you chance to think of me, it is with fond memories of our time together.
With kind regards
,
Clara Carter
As I wrote the letter, I had come to one conclusion: There was no other way. Not for me.
I might have fought for Harry once, but it was clear that he preferred Lizzie. And so why shouldn’t he have her? The only option left me was Franklin. And as Aunt had said, there was so little time. If I couldn’t elicit a proposal in the next few days, then all was truly lost.
I WAS ABLE to secure Franklin that evening during an intermission at the Music Hall. Several minutes later, I saw Lizzie approach us from the side. It was now that I would normally trade places with her. But with Father’s condition and Aunt’s admonition still ringing in my ears, I pretended that I did not see my friend. “Shall we walk to the other end of the hall, Franklin? It’s so noisy here.”
“If you’d like.”
“I would.” Swiftly, I pulled him around and away from Lizzie.
As we began walking, I saw her standing in the middle of the floor alone, hurt written in her eyes. Poor Lizzie. It was well and good to play at sharing beaux, but in the end, someone had to win Franklin’s hand.
And in the end, that person had to be me.
T
HE
N
EW
Y
ORK
J
OURNAL
—S
OCIETY
F
EBRUARY 23, 1892
Especially stunning was Miss Carter, in a costume of white brocaded satin decorated with hand-embroidered silver butterflies. As she promenaded with Mr. De Vries during the intermission, all hearts were heard to sigh.
T
HE
T
ATTLER
F
EBRUARY 23, 1892
It seems the battle for one of the city’s most distinguished heirs has tipped decidedly in one of our young debutante’s direction. Having given up any pretense of bonhomie or friendship, this young miss has firmly pushed all competition away. Well done, my dear. But one must wonder: Has the best woman won?
I crumpled up that page of the paper after I had read it and threw it into the fire.
Has the best woman won?
No. Because Lizzie was the best woman. But trust and loyalty and friendship would not last long in these circles. If I wanted something, didn’t I have to reach out and grasp it? Franklin certainly hadn’t signaled that he had come to any decision, and neither had Lizzie. The season had almost come to an end. Someone had to make a decision; someone had to do something.