Anna Godbersen - Envy

The housekeeper, when she opened the door, did not at first have anything to say.

“Don’t worry,” Carolina said with a smile that showed off every one of her teeth. “I am not here for my back pay. Nor will I ever be.”

The older woman’s eyes darted down the hall, and she was evidently nervous, because she had to pause to wipe the sweat on her palms against her dress. “I don’t think Mrs. Tilt will be happy to know that you came here.”

“Oh, I don’t give a fig about that!” Carolina laughed. “And anyway, I didn’t come for her. Is Mr. Wrigley here?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good.” Carolina brushed past the woman and into the hall, where she turned just enough so that her long, lavender skirt could twist up sculpturally behind her and catch all of the electric light from the ceiling. “Where are they?”

The housekeeper glanced at her hands. “First-floor parlor.”

“Ah, yes.”

Carolina entered the room with her furs still on and her face incandescent with victory. She knew perfectly how well winning looked on her, and posed in the doorway so that Mrs. Tilt and her friend Tristan could take in the full glory of the effect. At that moment, all of her suspicions about her own greatness seemed to have been confirmed, and so she had no trouble at all using one of the tricks of fine ladies everywhere, the proper employment of which had eluded her until that evening. Her timing was all right.

“I told you never to return here,” Mrs. Tilt said eventually, and though she was trying very hard for cold, the strain melted some of the ice out of her tone. Tristan, sitting next to her in a red and white upholstered wing chair, appeared uncomfortable for perhaps the first time in their friendship. She was gratified to see that he was already dressed up, however, in a black jacket and waistcoat, and with his light-colored hair more neatly arranged than usual.

“Did you? Since I have no desire ever to return to this place, I believe I shall be able to do as you ask.” Carolina leaned insouciantly against the doorframe. “Tristan,” she went on, lowering her voice and taking her gaze permanently off Mrs. Portia Tilt, “come with me.”

Tristan’s chair scraped against the floor as he adjusted awkwardly, but he did not yet stand. “Mrs. Tilt and I were planning on dinner at the Waldorf. We were just having a cocktail to begin the evening and then—”

“Nonsense. You are having dinner with me, at Sherry’s. You see”—and here she paused to smile Carolina’s smile—“I have just inherited a great fortune, an amount higher than I think your Mrs. Tilt even knows how to count to, and I want to toast myself.”

Tristan did not hesitate after that. He came to Carolina’s side without so much as acknowledging the western lady, and they left the room without bidding her goodbye. Carolina did decide to glance back at her one last time, and the look of wounded pride and indignation that her former employer wore at just that moment was something the Longhorn heiress would have paid quite dearly to see. As it turned out, though, this was a sight Carolina was able to enjoy for free.

“It will be in all the papers tomorrow!” she called over her shoulder.

Tristan helped her into the hansom, and as they sat beside one another being jostled by crosstown traffic, she found that all of a sudden she had run out of things to say. The story was too large to begin to tell, and she only wanted someone to celebrate with for a night. Her old friend the Lord & Taylor salesman would do very well for that — not for much else, she had come to realize over the last few months, though he had been very useful in putting Mrs. Tilt in her place. She would have preferred Leland a thousand times over, of course, but she had read in the paper that afternoon that he was already on a ship many miles out into the Atlantic, and so she had resigned herself to waiting a few more months before their romance resumed. For now, the rain had cleaned the air, and she was dressed regally, and her escort — whoever he was — looked very handsome indeed. The night was young, and so was everything else.

More than one new society bride is with child, although I am not yet at liberty to say which ones….

— FROM CITÉ CHATTER, FRIDAY, MARCH 2, 1900

THE FIRE SNAPPED, AND ELIZABETH’S BROWN EYES twitched upward to meet her mother’s. Neither woman flinched, and they went on staring at each other for a long minute. The rain was again falling outside after clearing for a time that afternoon, and Diana was still asleep upstairs despite the fact that the evening was nearly upon them. Edith had the look of death about her, and could form no words about the party at the Hayeses’ the previous night. So they had run out of things to talk about, and now the elder of the Miss Hollands could do nothing but try to keep warm by the fire and suffer her mother’s accusatory glances. She felt a little nervous and unsure of the future, but now she had something greater than herself to protect, and it made her feel less frightened.

“Mrs. Holland,” Claire said, adjusting the pocket door as she came through it. The shadows of a gray day played across her milky face.

Edith made a grunting noise and covered her eyes. “For God’s sake, be mindful of my headache and keep a little quiet,” she said, even though Claire had most certainly spoken in a quiet tone to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” Claire whispered. Since Mrs. Holland steadfastly refused to look up from the hearth, the maid glanced at Elizabeth, who nodded for her to go on. “There’s a guest here.”

“Who is it? We’re in no state to receive anyone,” Mrs. Holland went on sharply. Edith groaned, but did not mention her headache again.

“It’s Mr. Cairns.”

“Ah!” Mrs. Holland’s expression changed. “Show him in.”

Elizabeth straightened as he entered the room. She had been so absorbed in her own troubles that she had not noticed the outdoorsman’s absence since her return from Florida, and indeed his thick features, and the extreme paleness of his blond hair, were almost unfamiliar to her. She felt a little bad about this, because he had done so much for her family, and she tried to smile more broadly at him to make up for it.

“Mrs. Holland, Miss Holland, Miss Elizabeth,” he said and bobbed his head.

“How lovely that you’ve returned to the city,” said Mrs. Holland as she rose from her chair. She looked less worried somehow, and Elizabeth felt grateful to him for it. Her father’s old associate had such a knack for showing up when the family was in the greatest need, she observed, and that made him seem not so strange to her. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back.”

“Yes, and I plan to stay awhile. I know how compulsively hospitable your family is, and I didn’t want to disturb you until I had settled in. I have taken an apartment at the Dover on the park — it is not as charming as all this, of course, but it will do for a man like me.” His gaze was steady on Elizabeth, who turned to her mother, who looked at Snowden. “I received your cable,” he added, addressing her mother, Elizabeth assumed, although he went on watching her.

“Welcome back to New York, Mr. Cairns,” Elizabeth said sweetly as she stood, touching her belly unconsciously as she did. She hoped that that was all that was required of her in the moment, but she was not to be so lucky. His gaze covered her whole body, and then he crossed toward her and sank on one knee.

Elizabeth’s eyes darted to her mother, but that lady was facing elsewhere now.

“Elizabeth, I hope you don’t think it is overly forward of me to say that I know of your situation and that I feel I can be of service to you. I know how you loved Will — after all, it was I who married you. Of course you must have his child. But you will do that child, and the late Mr. Keller, a disservice if you bring it into the world outside of the traditional covenant of marriage. I know you do not love me, at least not as a wife loves a husband, and I do not expect you to try.” He paused, to adjust his knee’s position on the floor, and looked up at her cautiously, as though his words might unintentionally do her harm. “I want to settle here in the city, and have a home. I think that if we wed, we could form a family of a kind — I could offer you protection from the world’s censure, and you would make this city a happy place for me….”

He trailed off, and Elizabeth closed her eyes. For a moment, the room was quiet and there was only the sound of the flames snapping and, outside, the rain against the pavement. Then he spoke again. “Will you marry me?”

Her mother had raised her to be such a marriageable girl, and so she had seen not a few men on their knees before. It was a bizarre twist that this man — perfectly acceptable, but hardly the social ally a debutante should seek out — was to be her husband in the end. Elizabeth knew Mrs. Holland would have preferred Teddy Cutting, though not as much as Elizabeth herself would have. But Teddy was nowhere in sight.

The full meaning of Snowden’s offer swept over her slowly, and when she realized everything it would mean to her, and what a sacrifice it was for him — for he would give up any chance of finding true love himself, to protect her and Will’s unborn child — she reached out for his hand.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

When she opened her eyes again, he stood and, still holding on to one hand, kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I will give you a good home, Elizabeth.”

She could not quite bring herself to smile, but she did nod. Then her mother came over to them and put her hands over their hands.

“Mr. Cairns,” she said. Her dark eyes flicked rapidly as she stared at him. “You must take good care of my child. She is everything I live for.”

Then she embraced him. Edith had come across the room, and though her headache was still obvious in her face, she tried to smile a little. She put her arms around the young couple-to-be and whispered her congratulations.

“I remind you that I knew Mr. Holland not a little,” Mr. Cairns said to none of them in particular. “And I know how he would want me to treat you right.”

Elizabeth nodded again. The world was such a marvel — it gave you trials, but if you were still and concentrated, if you tried to do the right thing, it always provided you with salvation. She had imagined that a solution lay in one direction, but that didn’t matter now, for the road to there hadn’t yet been built. It was not to be. This was to be, and it was just as well. She was going to be a mother — the thought suffused her with joy.

“I think you will agree with me that it must be done quickly, to avoid suspicion, and that in fact we should move as soon as possible….” Snowden was saying to Mrs. Holland, or maybe Aunt Edith — Elizabeth wasn’t paying attention anymore; she was thinking of Will, of his honorable nature and his willingness to work hard and everything he had done for her, and how perhaps she would finally be able to do right by him.

Many of my usual sources have been silent at this quiet time of year, although some of my new friends have pointed out to us the striking presence of the younger Holland sister, Miss Diana, at the Hayeses’ last night, where she was said to be the special guest of the family scion, Grayson. Whatever could it all mean?