The Shadow Queen (22 page)

Slapping her napkin down on the table, she rose to her feet, her eyes flashing angry sparks. “Remember what another of our presidents said, Henry? America would neither interfere with existing European colonies nor meddle in the internal concerns of European countries. Well, what was good enough for President Monroe is good enough for me—and I bet a dime to a dollar that it’s good enough for the wives and the mothers of the men who, if America entered the war, would be the ones doing the fighting!”

And on that note she swept out of the dining room, leaving both Henry and Wallis staring after her openmouthed—Henry because Corinne had never before ever spoken to him in such a fashion in front of another person, and Wallis because she’d never before known Corinne to voice an opinion on a serious subject, and the fact that Corinne even knew about the Monroe Doctrine, let alone could quote it, was a surprise so startling as to be almost unbelievable.

Later, when she thought about it again in the privacy of her bedroom, she wondered if Corinne had heard someone else recently quote it. She also wondered who the person in question could be, and, for the first time, if her beautiful, golden-haired cousin was secretly spending time with an officer on the air station and wasn’t being entirely faithful to her much older husband.

S
pring at Pensacola was a time of great beauty. In the Mustins’ yard a riot of jasmine clothed the fencing in impenetrable tangles of scented yellow blossoms. On the terrace, decorative pots overflowed with red and gold zinnias, delicate sky blue larkspur and, Wallis’s favorite, pale lilac anemones with deep indigo hearts.

In the countryside, pink dogwood was everywhere, and it seemed to Wallis as if the entire state of Florida were perfumed by the heady white blossom of the orange trees.

Her relationship with Win was growing more intense week by week and month by month and, impatient as she was for a proposal of marriage, she now had no doubt that there would be one.

When cocktail-making lessons at the Mustins’ began to pall—and when only Corinne and other guests were present and Henry was absent—Win began teaching her how to play poker. Considering how abysmal she was at math, under Win’s expert tutelage she took to the card game like a duck to water. What thrilled her most about it was that the money she won wasn’t money that came from an allowance paid by Uncle Sol, or money that came from the small amount her grandmother had left her. It was money gained by her own skill and her own efforts, and the fact that she soon became known on the air station as a poker player to be reckoned with amused Win vastly.

Something that didn’t amuse him was when men paid her admiring attention. When they did so, his reaction was always instant and fierce—and on one occasion it was so fierce it scared the life out of her.

It happened on an evening when, instead of dining at the country club, they had gone into Pensacola for dinner.

A man in his early twenties, in civilian clothing, had wolfwhistled her as she and Win had been about to walk into a restaurant.

Wallis hadn’t found the attention in the least insulting, but Win’s reaction had been instantaneous.

With an ugly blasphemy he had spun around, closing the distance between himself and the man in swift strides. Couples strolling nearby, sensing that an altercation was imminent, had speedily scattered.

Wallis, sensing the same thing, had run after Win, shouting that the wolf whistle didn’t matter.

Ignoring her, he had seized hold of the man and then, to her horror, had grabbed him by the throat and slammed his head hard against a wall.

With blood trickling down his face, the man had buckled at the knees, slumping into a huddle at Win’s feet.

Women had screamed. A crowd had gathered. Win, not troubling to see how badly injured his victim was, had brushed his uniform down and then pushed his way through the spectators to where Wallis was standing, almost senseless with shock.

All he had said, as he had taken hold of her arm, was, “We have a table booked for eight. We need to be on our way.”

“But shouldn’t we call for an ambulance?” She hadn’t been able to see if the man was still so dazed as to be semiconscious because of the crowd that had gathered around him, but even if he wasn’t she knew he must still be bleeding.

“If he needs one, someone will call one.”

He’d propelled her into the restaurant and had ordered himself a stiff brandy. Minutes later the police had arrived and Wallis had been forced to admire the way Win dealt with the situation. He had made it sound as if his reaction to her having been insulted was the only possible reaction for a man of honor. While the questioning was going on, news had come that the man was on his feet and the police officers, mindful of the gold stripes on Win’s uniformed shoulders, had shared a drink with them and left.

From then on she had appreciated just what it was Archie had tried to tell her. Win had a hair-trigger temper, and people crossed him, or insulted her, at their peril.

I
n June her conscience about not having seen her mother since Christmas pricked her so strongly she could no longer ignore it.

“I’m goin’ to have to make another trip to Baltimore, sweetheart,” she said to Win, hoping, because he had missed her so much the last time she had paid a visit home, that he wouldn’t make a scene about it.

For a moment she thought he was going to do so. His thick black eyebrows drew together in the way they did whenever things weren’t going the way he wanted.

“I won’t be gone for long, darling. A couple of weeks at most.”

“I’m due leave.” His eyebrows were still pulled together, but this time she knew it wasn’t because his mood had suddenly changed, but because he was thinking. “How about I come with you to Baltimore? Meet your folks?”

Wallis’s inner elation knew no bounds. Win would never have made such a suggestion if he weren’t intending asking her to marry him. If she showed that elation, though, he would know the reason for it, and she had enough savvy to know that displays of overeagerness for marriage had scuppered many an imminent proposal.

“That would be great,” she said, with the same intonation in her voice as if he had suggested they go to Electric Park or Santa Rosa. “Mama loves socializing with new people, and Aunt Bessie will be thrilled to be told all about airplanes from the only aviator she is ever likely to meet.”

To her mother and her aunt she wrote that she would be visiting soon—and that Win would be accompanying her—but that they were on no account to behave as if she and Win were already engaged.

… because it could just possibly spoil everything and I do so want to become a Navy wife. Just treat him as my beau—which he most definitely is—and leave all talk of marriage till after he has finally popped the question
.

Her big decision, as the date of their trip drew nearer, was whether to introduce Win to her Uncle Sol, because she had absolutely no idea what her uncle’s reaction would be. Would he be pleased that she had a beau who, in traveling from Florida in order to meet her family, obviously had marriage in mind and who came from a family able to trace its lineage back to the 1600s—and who, into the bargain, was a naval officer holding a very responsible position at Pensacola? Or would he be furious that she was considering marriage to a man who was neither a member of Baltimore high society nor conspicuously wealthy?

In the end, she knew the introduction would have to be made. A sudden announcement, made from Pensacola, that she wished to become engaged to someone he had never met would mean he would, on principle, instantly oppose the match.

When the day came for them to travel north, they did so by train, sitting in a compartment, her hand tightly held in his. There were other people in the compartment, but their handholding couldn’t be frowned on, because she was wearing a pair of kid gloves and so no one could tell that there were no rings on the third finger of her left hand.

As the train steamed out of Florida into Georgia, Wallis was sure that this was exactly how it would be for the two of them when, after their wedding, they left by train for their honeymoon destination. Which would be where?

Their wedding would, quite obviously, take place in Baltimore. Unless there were very unusual circumstances, brides always married in their hometown and at the church where they had been confirmed and at which their family were regular attendees, which, in her case, was the Episcopalian Christ Church.

She knew Win was longing to say loving words to her, but with other people in the compartment it was impossible, and he had to content himself with occasionally giving her hand a very hard, meaningful squeeze. Meanwhile, she continued to daydream and make plans.

Whom would she have as her matron of honor and her bridesmaids, and how many bridesmaids would she have? Too many, eight or ten, would be seen as being vulgar. Six would be the most acceptable number.

She knew from Win that he had a sister, Ethel. Even if Ethel was plain as a pot, she would most definitely have to be invited to be a bridesmaid. Her cousin Lelia would also, without question, be another, and, if she had a Montague cousin as a bridesmaid, then she would have to drum up a Warfield cousin. She would also need to have a couple of friends from her Oldfields days, Alice Maud Van Rensselaer or Phoebe Schermerhorn or Ellen Yuille.

As the train sped out of Georgia and into South Carolina, she mused on the difficulty of the fact that, prestigious as their families were, none of them were Baltimoreans. A bridesmaid from a high-society Baltimore family was an essential. The answer came to her instantly. Edith Miller. Edith could be her fourth bridesmaid, Ellen Yuille her fifth bridesmaid, and then she’d have to choose between Alice Maud and Phoebe as her sixth bridesmaid.

“Another half hour and we’ll be in North Carolina,” Win said, breaking in on her thoughts.

This time it was she who squeezed his hand. Win was a striking-looking man and, in his naval uniform, would attract all eyes when they got off the train in Baltimore.

She took little notice of the distinctive countryside of North Carolina, for she was now thinking about her chief bridesmaid or, if the person she decided on was married, her matron of honor. From age six until a little over a year ago, there had never been any question as to who that would be.

It would be Pamela.

It was a promise they had made to each other as schoolgirls and which she had never remotely imagined would ever be broken.

It had been well and truly broken now, though.

As the train continued to rattle nearer and nearer to Maryland, she wondered whom Pamela had had as her chief bridesmaid or matron of honor when she had married John Jasper. Though she didn’t give any outer indication of it, her mood changed from the happiness she always felt when with Win to one of bleak desolation. The rawness of her hurt over John Jasper had long since gone, but the hurt over Pamela’s betrayal and the consequences of that betrayal—the shattering of a friendship she had thought would last for life—was as deep as ever.

Corinne, of course, would be delighted to act as her matron of honor.

Much as she loved Corinne, though, it would not be the same as having Pamela as her matron of honor.

Dimly she was aware of Win saying they were crossing into Maryland.

This time she didn’t merely squeeze his hand. She stretched her free hand across her body so that she could squeeze hold of his arm. She wasn’t going to let thoughts of Pamela spoil the joy she was taking in planning her wedding. She was going to put Pamela firmly where she belonged. In her past.

“When the train approaches the station, can we lower the window and lean out?” she asked. “Mama and Aunt Bessie will be there to meet us, and they’ll love it if they can see us waving toward them as the train nears the platform.”

“We can do anything you want to do, Wallis.” He patted her hand lovingly.

Wallis’s heart soared.

When Win was in a good mood, no man on earth could compare with him, and she was going to allow no one—not Uncle Sol, not another woman, no one—to take him away from her.

J
ust as she had predicted, her mother and Aunt Bessie were on the station platform, awaiting their arrival in a frenzy of excitement.

“Oh, Wallis darlin’! It’s so
good
to see you!” Her mother laughed and cried at the same time, hugging her tightly.

“It’s wonderful to see you too, Mama, but I must make introductions.”

Slightly embarrassed by what she hoped Win wouldn’t think was her mother’s lack of good manners, Wallis laughingly extricated herself from her mother’s arms and said, “Mother, may I introduce you to Lieutenant Earl Winfield Spencer? Win, my mother, Mrs. Alice Rasin.”

She then introduced Win to her Aunt Bessie and, as he shook hands with them, he treated them to one of his rare broad smiles. “Please call me Win,” he said. “As your daughter’s beau, I’d much appreciate it.”

Alice’s eyelashes fluttered as if she were a girl of sixteen, not a twice-widowed matron in her mid-forties.

Bessie felt herself relaxing. She had been very much afraid that because his photograph had reminded her so much of the distant cousin who had been such a bully, she would take an immediate dislike to Wallis’s beau. True, Earl Winfield Spencer had an almost overwhelmingly strong personality—and certainly didn’t look the kind of man anyone would choose to antagonize—but as they had shaken hands, no sixth-sense alarm bells had rung.

As they left the station and piled into her Ford motorcar, she decided to give Win the benefit of the doubt, for it was obvious by the glances he kept shooting across to Wallis that he was deeply in love with her. As for Wallis … Bessie had never seen her niece looking so radiant.

She let out the Ford’s clutch and put her foot on the accelerator pedal. A wedding in the family would be a welcome change from funerals. She only hoped Win would pass Solomon Warfield’s scrutiny as easily as he had passed hers.