The Jewel Cage

by Jane Steen

  “I’ve never worn a tiara,” I mused. “I wouldn’t ever want to be the sort of woman who drips with jewels. I’m sure Mama would not have agreed with the excess you see in this town.”

  “We live in a decadent age.” Martin shrugged. “And as a merchant, I intend to make the most of it. So, since those gathered around this table represent a majority of shares, is my outrageous expense approved?”

  Joe spread his hands in an expressive gesture. “It makes good business sense to install a vault now rather than later. I vote to approve.”

  “Mrs. Rutherford?” Martin gave me a sidelong smile.

  “If Joe says it’s all right, I have no objection.” I pushed the newspaper away from me.

  “Approved, then.” Martin looked pleased. “And Joe can go comfort Sol Bermann. Give him our good wishes, Joe, and tell him I’ll call on him when he’s feeling better.”

  I turned from watching Joe leave the room and was surprised by the expression on Martin’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You’re staring at that drawing as if it were something dangerous or disgusting.”

  “Am I?” Martin looked up, his brow clearing. “It takes me that way at times, I suppose. I just wish—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I wish it didn’t have to be a cage.”

  “Oh.” I understood at once. Martin had spent too many weeks looking out from behind bars, accused of his first wife’s murder, and the experience had marked him. I rose to my feet and closed the office door carefully before crossing to my husband’s side, slipping a hand across his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I didn’t realize the memories were still affecting you. You’ve been so—well, quiet about it all.”

  “It doesn’t befit a man to shake and tremble over a drawing.” Martin smiled up at me. “I must enter the confounded vault to inspect the work, so I’m trying to get used to the idea by degrees.” One side of his mouth twitched up, sardonic, self-mocking. “Don’t tell anyone that your husband’s a coward.”

  “You’re not.” The hard hug I gave Martin matched the vehemence in my voice. “Is that why you slept so badly last night? I thought you might be having bad dreams.”

  “Just the old nonsense about being back in jail.” Martin rose to his feet and cupped a hand around one side of my face, stroking the skin under my eyes with his thumb. “I’m sorry I kept you awake. You didn’t seem to sleep well either. Your eyes have shadows under them.”

  “I was worrying about the Lombardis.” I sighed. “And to be completely honest, about the notion that you might try to prevent me from traveling alone. I don’t like cages any more than you do, Martin.”

  “Ah. I suppose I deserve that.” Martin let go of me, depositing a kiss on my forehead. “Look, I don’t want to worry about you. I don’t want to put you in a box marked ‘mine,’ even to keep you safe.”

  “Then don’t.” I met his gaze with a hard stare. “No one person should have the power to limit another’s actions, even if the first person rejoices in the name of ‘husband’ and the second person is a wife.” My restless mood was creeping back, intensified by the growing heaviness of the air as the day’s heat built toward a storm.

  “You’re not just my wife.” Martin frowned. “You also have a responsibility to Sarah—and Tess—and—” He stopped, biting his lip.

  “And?”

  “And any other person who might come into our family.”

  I turned on my heel, moving toward the window so I could stare out at the gathering clouds visible between the tall buildings. There it was, then, and not for the first time. Martin had told me, back in Kansas when he had confessed to me that his marriage was a failure, that he dreamed of a son. He had married Lucetta because she claimed to be carrying his child. When she had been murdered, the news that she’d been pregnant with a boy child—another man’s baby—had shaken him profoundly. I’d assumed I understood this desperate need of his, but now that I was the person on whom that eventuality depended, it was hard to bear the responsibility for his happiness.

  “I’m not a broodmare, Martin. You can’t keep me penned up in your stable.”

  I was trying to maintain a light tone, but I didn’t miss the note of bitterness that crept in with the second sentence. I loved Martin with all my heart, but I was learning that being joined in marriage to a man was more complicated than merely loving him. I swallowed hard and tried again.

  “Knowing that you’re waiting for me to announce that I’m carrying your child makes me feel . . . inadequate. We’ve only been married two months. I might have conceived Sarah easily, but I can’t guarantee—”

  “No, no.” Martin held up both hands in a defensive gesture. “If anyone should feel inadequate, it should be me.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I turned around to stare at him, my voice high with indignation.

  “Yes. Add that to my list of inadequacies.” Martin looked sulky.

  I stood looking at him for a long moment, the man who had been dear to me, in different ways, since I was a tiny child—and suddenly my lips twitched with the desire to smile.

  “This is probably not a partners’ meeting we should be having in your office.” I did smile as I watched a variety of emotions flit across his countenance, unguarded in my presence. “And it’s maudlin nonsense to think yourself inadequate, whether you sire twenty sons on me or none.”

  Martin stared at me for a long moment, and then his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I did sleep poorly—worrying about the strike in the east and our consignments from Baltimore being delayed, and then it all turned into fretting over you, and I gave myself bad dreams. It wasn’t the vault that did it.”

  I walked over to Martin, squeezing his hand hard and kissing him on the cheek, watching his face relax into a rueful smile. “I’m glad to hear it. It’s just a room, after all. But listen, I must attend to Elizabeth’s gown. There’s only an hour and a half till her fitting. Let’s continue this discussion at home, where I can demonstrate my belief in your manliness more effectively.”

  “Nell, your talent as a designer of gowns is astonishing. I’ve never seen anything I like better than the train on this dress.”

  Elizabeth Parnell twisted around, looking over her shoulder at her reflection as I angled the cheval glass. The fitting rooms in the temporary store were as bright as we could manage, but we didn’t have enough natural light. The storm that had blown in over the last half hour had necessitated lighting the gas, its yellow flare making the ivory silk seem sickly to my eyes. Not that Elizabeth seemed to notice.

  “However did you imagine those rosebuds and petals tumbling down the train like that?” Her cornflower-blue eyes shone. “I thought it was the cleverest thing when I saw the sketches, but now that the train’s attached to the dress and I can see the full effect, words fail me. It makes me picture the trellis around my parents’ summerhouse after a storm.”

  “That’s what inspired me. Although the real credit should go to Magda and Mei Ling.” I smiled. “I couldn’t do my job nearly so effectively without the superb embroiderers we employ. Now stand still while I pin this. You have to stop losing weight.”

  It suited her though. Some of the flesh had melted from her waistline and rounded cheeks without an inch disappearing from her well-formed bosom and nicely proportioned hips. She was both elegant and womanly, with the fresh, smooth skin of a country girl but the poise and self-command of a sophisticate.

  “There.” I put down my pincushion. “David is going to fall over with delight when he sees you. I declare you grow more beautiful every day.”

  “With anticipation.” Elizabeth grinned at her reflection. “I can’t wait for the moment when my husband takes me into his arms and—has his way with me.” Dimples appeared in her cheeks as she raised her eyebrows in mock censure of her own words. “I can barely eat for thinking about it.”

  “Don’t get too thin, will you? We only have time for one more fitting, and then only if I
absolutely must. If I take the dress in much more, it’ll spoil the line.”

  “I’ll make a point of eating more cakes this week.” Elizabeth loved sweet things. “Just you wait till I’ve had six children and am as fat as a pie cook. You’ll rue the day you ever encouraged me to eat when you’re cutting a simply enormous gown for me.”

  “Not at all.” I began to undo hooks, taking care not to disturb the pins. “The larger the dress, the higher the price. Besides, I enjoy dressing generously proportioned ladies. They have presence, and they carry bold colors and patterns so well.”

  I slipped the wedding gown over a form that stood in one corner of the room while Elizabeth contemplated her reflection. She was a charming sight in her layers of finely stitched petticoats; David was a lucky man indeed. He would have a wife with many personal charms in her youth and a lively personality and sharp, inquiring mind to carry her into the future, fat or thin.

  “You’re not really intending to have six children, are you?” I interrupted her reverie. “I thought you were rather against them.”

  “Well, I still have the useful little book my sister gave me.” Elizabeth’s cheeks dimpled again. “About how to avoid having too many babies. But David is very keen on fatherhood, and our income will support a family. David’s promotion was splendid news, and Father is being generous, the dear man.”

  I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. I’d hoped that Elizabeth’s Feminist principles would bolster my own determination to continue working rather than sink in a sea of children and domesticity. Alas, those principles appeared to be wavering in the rosy light of love.

  “I look forward to having the—the presence of a married woman,” Elizabeth mused. “I don’t believe society takes unmarried women seriously; we’re still girls in the eyes of the world. I envy the way you sweep through this store and people notice you as a person, not just as a pretty face.”

  “You’ll be the center of attention on your wedding day.”

  “Well, yes, but as the ‘beautiful bride’ and not as someone who contributes. Don’t you see what I mean?” Elizabeth turned away from the mirror and stepped over to the dress, running a finger over the ivory silk. “All I have to do at the church is not fall over and remember the words I’m supposed to say. I feel sometimes that my role is purely decorative. And much as I love this dress, I admit to a little guilt that it’s costing Father so much money, even with the discount you gave him.”

  “I have to pay my workers.”

  “It’s the workers I’m worried about.” Elizabeth turned back toward me, the levity gone out of her voice. “There’s so much suffering everywhere. Your Miss Baker says the railroad workers are starving to death, and now they’re forced to go on strike. The B&O Railroad has cut wages three times this year, imagine that.”

  Well, it was reassuring to find that thoughts of her wedding day—and night—had not entirely vanquished Elizabeth’s social preoccupations. There was a great deal in the newspapers about the current unrest.

  “There hasn’t been enough work around since ’73,” I agreed. “And things seem to be getting worse. The Panic made me richer, but it ruined so many people.”

  Including the Lombardis. I glanced out of the high window, where a sudden glare of lightning split the cascade of rain.

  “I know it’s hard on merchants like you when your goods don’t get through, but it’s far harder for the workers.” Elizabeth’s voice returned me to the present. “Five years of hardship—and all the companies do is send in gangs of toughs to break up meetings by force.” She crossed to the chair on which I’d placed the clothes she’d arrived in, glancing back guiltily at her wedding ensemble.

  “You’re paying the wages of several women with that gown, if it soothes your conscience,” I said, guessing at her thoughts.

  “Seamstresses are so badly paid.”

  “Not in this store.” I stepped forward to help Elizabeth dress. “We expect the best, and we pay well. And the lodging houses we provide are healthy and safe. Madame Belvoix personally inquires into the circumstances of every woman under her care. She constantly pesters Martin over extra payments for doctor’s bills and the like.”

  “That’s true.” Elizabeth grinned. “You’ve said it often enough; she will not ’ave ’er ladies falling down with ze ’unger. You know, if she ever says that in front of me, I’m quite certain I’ll howl with laughter. I won’t be able to help myself.”

  “Don’t you dare.” With a quick glance to ensure Elizabeth was fully dressed, I opened the fitting room door and beckoned to my assistants to collect the gown. “Come along, Elizabeth, it’s late and I have a family waiting for me. I’ll take you to the Palmer House before I go home.”

  “I’ll miss being so far away from Rutherford’s when we’re living on Twenty-First Street.” Elizabeth carefully inserted a jeweled hatpin through the straw hat, decorated with an explosion of ostrich plumes like a small feather duster, that perched atop her thick blond hair.

  “But you’ll be near me in our new house. Do come along—I still have to run upstairs to fetch my things, and I’m afraid the storm’s going to circle back around.” I nodded a farewell to the assistants. “It’ll be pleasant to be far away from noise and streetcars. Imagine being able to hear yourself think when you’re walking along the street.”

  “The hushed and perfumed purlieus of the rich.” Elizabeth’s voice came from behind me as I hurried toward the back of the store. “At least your street will be fragrant with money. We’ll be a little less exalted.”

  3

  Donny

  We headed north on State Street to take Elizabeth to the Palmer House Hotel. So numerous were the horses and assorted vehicles that it took us a full twenty minutes to travel two blocks. I watched as Elizabeth disappeared behind the doors of the ladies’ entrance and waited for Mr. Nutt to climb back onto the driver’s seat.

  The air was redolent of wet dirt and horse dung, its heavy feel promising more storms to come. I was tired, hungry, and quite ready to turn my back on the commercial district. I knew I would arrive late for dinner, and the thought of disappointing Sarah was a weight in my chest.

  Another twenty minutes and we were past the temporary store, its doors now firmly closed. We soon entered the unattractive area to the south of the shopping district. After a couple more blocks heading south, the traffic thinned out. I sighed with relief as we picked up speed, but all too soon the carriage slowed again.

  From the window, I glimpsed burly men digging a hole in the road. That would explain the delay. I was trying to see what was happening when the carriage door opened.

  “Lookie here! We got a pretty one.”

  A wave of alcohol fumes swept into my face. A shabbily dressed man was heaving himself through the door, looming over me. Worse, I knew from the way the rockaway was listing to one side that someone else was climbing onto the driver’s seat. Was he threatening Mr. Nutt?

  “What do you want?” I did my best to sound confident.

  “What’ve you got, sugarplum?” He leered unpleasantly at me.

  A second man stuck his head through the door on the other side of the carriage. I had no way of escape. I was being robbed; and I didn’t have the faintest idea what to do.

  “Here.” I only had a few coins in my reticule; they weren’t worth risking my life for. I picked the bag up and offered it to the man. He was standing too close, inspecting me as if I were a piece of meat.

  “Take your gloves off.” He stuffed the bag into his pocket and turned to spit tobacco juice onto the street through the open door. A gobbet landed on the carriage window. The breeze had died down, and it was hot again; the odors of tobacco, drink, and rotting breath filled the small space and made me nauseous.

  He would take my engagement and wedding rings. I’d had them for such a short time. I froze, summoning thought.

  A shout from above and a violent rocking motion suggested that Mr. Nutt was trying to defend himself and me. I rose to m
y feet, encouraged.

  “Leave us alone!” I screamed the words as loudly as I was able. Surely someone would hear me and come to our aid? My face was on a level with the leering man. I wondered fleetingly if I might push him out of the carriage.

  “Now then, sweetheart.” The second robber, who I’d thought was still standing in the road, gripped my clothing firmly and pulled me backward, toward him. I sensed the drop to the street behind my heels. “We ain’t going to hurt you.”

  “Not if you’re a good girl.” His associate smirked. “Just give me your rings and that pretty pin, quick now.”

  I kicked out hard at his shins, clinging to the sides of the open door to stop the second lout pulling me out. The man I had kicked grunted and aimed a sharp cuff at my right ear that set my head ringing. The top of my ear grew hot; the second man’s hold on my clothing tightened. I was losing my grip on the door. I screamed again.

  There was a dull noise of an impact behind me. Suddenly I was free, falling forward. At the same moment, unseen hands grabbed the man who had been in the carriage with me. The next moment he’d been dumped unceremoniously into a puddle.

  “Ya took too long this time,” said a triumphant Irish voice. “Donny! Grab the other feller.”

  I turned to see the man in the street shake off my second rescuer and run, slipping on the muddy road before gaining traction.

  I lost sight of them both as the carriage rocked perilously and I nearly fell out of the door again. As I threw myself back onto the seat, a huge black-haired laborer came into view, his massive fist clenched around a large stone. He swore fluently as the thief he’d thrown into the puddle scrambled to his feet and made good his retreat. I heard the voice of a third man, presumably the one who’d been on the driver’s bench, cursing loudly as they ran off.