Woman's Own

by Robyn Carr

  The music stopped and he released her. He bowed and she curtsied. They laughed together as he escorted her to the edge of the dance floor, bowed over her hand, and turned away. She let her eyes follow him for a moment. The longing, she decided, would be her lifetime curse. But she would stay busy and challenged. She looked away.

  While Lilly danced, her eyes had been so securely locked into Andrew’s, her conversation so animated, so familiar, and their dancing so natural, neither noticed that the other dancers gave them room and many interested parties closely observed. There was a commonly held conception in society that strangers never argue or overexplain. People not well acquainted do not shock each other or laugh deeply together. The intensity of their conversation, the laughter, the frowning, widening eyes, and serious discussion had created some suspicions.

  Amanda locked her arm into Lilly’s. “Have I told you, love, how much I approve of your birthday request?” Lilly looked at her in confusion. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show such wisdom.”

  “What do you mean, Grandmother?”

  “Never mind, sweetheart. Let’s see now--are there any young men you would like to get to know better? Look around now.”

  “Oh Grandmother, don’t be ridiculous! I haven’t time for young men!”

  “I wouldn’t want you to become lonely.”

  “I haven’t time to be lonely! I simply can’t wait to get moving again. Now this silliness is finally over!”

  “I see,” Amanda said. “I see.”

  When the bride was finally ready to retire to the third-floor suite that had been prepared for the couple, Amanda and Emily accompanied her to say good-bye. Lilly remained behind with Fletcher, who would escort the women back to the city. The guests began to request their cloaks. The day had been long, entertaining, and exhausting.

  Mr. and Mrs. Devon said their farewells to Wilson Montaine, his young wife, Deanna, who was slightly tipsy, and to Lilly and Fletcher. Their coach waited, and Andrew helped Brenda up. When they were seated on opposite sides and the driver jolted them into motion, she spoke.

  “You seem to have more than a passing interest in young Miss Armstrong.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a clever girl, and entertaining.”

  “And attractive. Tell me, Andrew, have you slept with her?”

  His eyes moved to her face, leisurely appraising her. “Would you honestly care if I slept with most of the women in the city?”

  “Ah, yes, adultery! The male privilege! The male prerogative! Of course not, darling. Not if you could be discreet. My reputation is very important to Mother.”

  “Does Mother know about the blacksmith? The groundskeeper?”

  Brenda laughed at him. “That was all so long ago, Andrew. Don’t be cruel--I’ve been so good!” Andrew looked away. His hands rested on his knees, and he clenched them. “You know I have. Mother told me you had me followed. There was nothing to report!” She laughed again.

  “Shut up, Brenda.”

  “Oh, darling, how it must upset you not to be able to get rid of me! Especially now that there’s a lot more to interest you. I saw the way you looked at her. You were never very good at concealing your--”

  “Shut up, Brenda!”

  “I don’t think Lady Nesbitt will allow you to dally with her granddaughter. You’ll have to be very secretive if you plan to continue your seduction.”

  Andrew looked coldly at his wife. “Nothing could be further from my plans. I assure you.”

  “Well, then neither one of us has had much…amusement lately.”

  Brenda had been his wife for four years. When he met her and fell in love with her, he had been overwhelmed with passion, adoration. Brenda amazed him as no other woman had. This demure little southern belle who could charm the skin off a snake and appear to have almost nunlike chastity in public could do things to him in bed that left him shaken in the cool morning light. She was more than most men dared dream of: a lady on his arm, a vixen in his bed.

  A few months after their wedding he had sensed something was wrong; Brenda had become less passionate, more irritable and morose. He witnessed odd behavior--wheedling and seductive one moment, she would show an evil temper the next. She became so unpredictable he found himself worrying what he would find when he went home each evening. He hoped pregnancy caused these bizarre changes; a son would make him happy and fulfill a long-held desire. But when he happened home earlier than usual one day, the truth changed everything. He overheard his mother-in-law scolding her daughter. “I don’t care if you can’t stand it! Pretend! And if you ever go near that actor again, I’ll whip you myself!”

  Andrew left his house without ever letting them know he had overheard. He learned how shockingly unfaithful Brenda was--she had liaisons all over town. He confronted her when he should have divorced her instantly. Drugged by her physical allure and shaken by what he felt was a personal failure, he merely threatened divorce--a divorce he knew would be difficult for him to pursue, given the strong convictions of the Catholic Church on that issue.

  Completely fooled by her tears, her begging and promises, he gave her another chance. He soon found himself with a wife who did not wander, but met his advances passively. By the time he realized the futility of their marriage, the complete absence of affection, her adulteries were behind them.

  Brenda’s behavior was difficult for Andrew to understand, she seemed to sweep suddenly from lethargy to wild energy. He rarely knew what to expect of her; she was seldom balanced or affable. He left her disposition to her mother, Mrs. Waite, who seemed to have no trouble controlling her. Sometimes weeks would pass without Andrew and Brenda speaking a sentence to each other. The tense arrangement he had made, not with his wife but with her mother, was that if Brenda would behave as if she were a good wife, Andrew would publicly and economically act the part of the husband, and they would not attempt intimacy.

  For at least three of the four years of his marriage, Andrew had welcomed any reason to be away from home.

  Patricia was left in the bridal chamber. Fresh flowers surrounded her, and she wore a long satin dressing gown of muted gray trimmed with pink piping. Midnight had come and gone and as the hour grew later and she was still alone, she climbed into the bed. Amanda and Emily had escorted her to the bedroom and left her. She remembered, as she rested her head on the pillow, that Emily had tried to comfort her and Amanda would not allow it.

  “Patricia, darling, if--”

  “Emily,” Amanda sternly reproached. “Patricia is on her own now.”

  “But if…if something should…oh, darling,” Emily had said, embracing her daughter, “I do love you. I hope you can be happy.”

  She had listened to the large house slowly grow quiet, but Dale did not join her. Perhaps he wouldn’t, she thought. Of course that was her preference, that he ignore her, so long as he behaved himself in public and managed to get them a lot of invitations. She dozed, uncomfortable in this bed, this house. A loud crashing sound startled her, and she bolted upright. The lamp was turned low but still illuminated the room. She heard four chimes on the gold and crystal clock that sat upon the mantle. Her husband stood unsteadily at the foot of the bed. His hair was mussed, his shirt partially unbuttoned and askew, and he held a glass in his hand.

  “Well, pretty bride,” he slurred, “are you ready?”

  “Dale, you’re drunk!”

  “What did you expect? You thought I couldn’t wait!” He laughed, the sound fading into a boyish giggle. “A little gin will make this easier. Get undressed. And hurry. I don’t want to spend too much time.”

  “Dale, just go to bed,” she said, lying down again.

  He weaved toward her, lifted his glass, and drained it. He made an attempt to place it on a bedside commode, but it slipped to the floor and lay on the thick carpet. He pulled at his shirt, ripping the buttons off, and began to undo his breeches.

  “Dale, if you think you’re going to assert yourself in this condition, you--”

>   He reached down and flung back the satin quilt. “My father wants a grandson, Patricia. And you decided to be the one to give him one.” He grabbed the neck of her nightgown and ripped it. She shrieked at his violence and attempted to cover herself. But Dale flung himself atop her and began to squirm around. He tried to free himself from his breeches, and she struggled against him.

  His face was buried in her neck, and he grumbled unintelligible words. Raped, night after night, she thought. She forced herself to lie still and quiet. She hoped he would be quick at least. She steeled herself against the inevitable pain while Dale made clumsy attempts to fondle her and get himself out of his pants.

  Suddenly he was still. It would be too much to hope he was dead. She remained motionless; it was hard to breath under his weight, but she willed herself to take shallow breaths and wouldn’t move. When several minutes had passed, he snored. She eased herself out from under him with great difficulty. She stood at the side of her nuptial bed and looked down at him. He sprawled across the bed, arms flung wide, feet hanging over the edge, completely gone to drunken stupor.

  She slipped into her dressing gown and began to ease off his shoes and stockings. His breeches were a much more difficult matter and took a long time, but she finally had them in her hand. She tossed them down on her rended sleepwear on the floor. Dale lay naked and unconscious on their wedding bed. She picked up the glass and sniffed it. Then she gathered two pillows and dragged the quilt to the daybed. She curled up there, quite content, and made a resolution to always be sure there was plenty of gin stocked all over the house.

  Emily, Amanda, and Lilly went to the railroad station on the Monday morning following Patricia’s wedding. Wilson Montaine’s private car, complete with sleeping compartments, would carry the newlyweds to Saratoga where they would enjoy two weeks at a pleasure resort. Emily had hardly slept the past two nights, anxious to see how Patricia had fared her first two days as a wife.

  When the women all came together, Emily was amazed by Patricia’s confidence and apparent happiness. They all embraced on the platform while Dale, quiet and sullen, supervised the loading of their trunks. Patricia embraced each one, kissing their cheeks. “Grandmother, darling, thank you so much for the wonderful wedding! Lilly, my dear, how wonderful you look; I adore your new hat! Mother, Mother, you’re tired…you mustn’t work so hard now that Grandmother is here to take care of you!”

  Emily pulled Patricia aside. “Patsy, are you well? You feel all right and you’re happy?”

  “Mama, everything is going to be just fine…as I knew it would,” she whispered. “Dale hasn’t bothered me in the slightest. Oh, he means to, but actually he becomes so roaring drunk that he…well, drops off to sleep!” She giggled conspiratorially.

  Emily frowned. “Do you think that will go on for long?” she asked her daughter.

  “I imagine for some time, Mama. And from what I hear about Saratoga, he will be far too busy and too drunk to pester me!”

  “Oh, Patsy, what kind of life have you gotten for yourself?”

  “Well, probably the closest to perfect I could ask for.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Now promise not to worry about me anymore. I know what I’m doing. After we’ve returned, we’ll have a grand summer party with food in the garden and dancing in the ballroom, and we’ll invite everyone we’ve ever met or heard of! Good-bye, darlings. I’ll send you a letter packet soon! I’ll bring you all presents!”

  The women waved as the private coach pulled away. Emily wept all the way back to the Grafton Hotel.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lilly did not try to change the Grafton Hotel in a day. The first order of business was to supply the place with a better staff. She knew within a week of her grandmother’s ownership that she could not change the attitude and energy of the existing group of bellmen, waiters, maids, and kitchen staff. But when she had discharged fifteen of the worst, the others were a mite more eager to please.

  The next thing she did was to improve the dining room. She had it enlarged, refurnished, and carpeted for the very first time, and she purchased all new table appointments. Reorganizing had to be done on the ground floor of the five-story hotel in order to accommodate the expansion. The office of the proprietor was eliminated so Lilly and her grandmother shared the large desk in a room converted to a study in their suite. The ballroom was reduced in size, and the kitchen area was extended into the alley. The project took nearly three months of constant work and the price per room had to be temporarily reduced to account for inconveniences suffered by the guests.

  The cost of providing each suite of rooms with a water closet was too high so Lilly satisfied herself with refurnishing, enlarging, and fixing up dressing rooms complete with tubs, china basins, dressing tables, and portable pots. The work was done one floor at a time.

  Lilly was pleased not only with the progress, but by the effect all this work had on her family. Emily had insisted that a traditional New England breakfast be served every morning, despite the work it required of the staff and the expense of the food. Oysters, eggs, potatoes, sausage and ham, a variety of baked goods, gravy and biscuits, whatever fruit could be found was prepared daily, supplemented by Emily’s own jellies, jams, and preserves. Emily rose early to supervise, and her own recipes were used. The color on her cheeks became robust again, and her skin took on a healthier glow than ever before. She visited with guests in the dining room, eager to see that each table was pleased, and worried about Patricia much less. And the enormous breakfast became popular. Whole families arrived on weekend mornings to partake, and the restaurant business alone was quickly becoming successful.

  Amanda was rapidly infected by the business. She approached sixty years of age and knew only too well that there were two choices for her daughter and granddaughter: to exist on whatever fortune she could leave behind, or establish a legacy of business they could maintain after she was gone. Having been dependent on men, having been made poor or rich according to the skills or absence of skills of a certain husband, she found the decision simple. She made a routine of having her driver take her all around the lush green hills surrounding Philadelphia in search of the perfect landscape for a large luxury hotel. She invited businessmen, politicians, and old family friends to the new restaurant to dine, had the ballroom carpeted and furnished like a large parlor for afternoon soirees, and studied building plans.

  Lilly asked her mother and grandmother to reserve time for her one afternoon so that she might bring a guest to tea. Emily nearly lost her composure and openly wept when she was reunited with Sophia Washington. They embraced like long separated sisters.

  “It took some doing, Mama, but Sophia is willing to work for us again. I had to promise her the moon.”

  “And all the stars!” Emily quickly agreed.

  Sophia became Emily’s right arm, just as she had been in the boarding house. Within two months of following Emily around the hotel, Sophia made rounds on her own. It didn’t take more than a single test for the staff to learn that Sophia’s praise or chastisement carried all the weight of Emily’s. Sophia, in fact, was still more demanding of perfection. Having had Sophia as her best friend for so many years, working side by side with her for so long, Emily was never fooled by a worker who blamed Sophia if the task was poorly done. Emily knew how good Sophia was at managing.

  The fifty-year-old black woman was hard to convince, but she soon relented to afternoon suits with blouses and more attractive shoes, but she would not part with the colorful turbans that covered her woolly gray hair. And, finally, she moved into the hotel, although giving up her garden was a terrible loss for her.

  When it became apparent that Sophia was taking a supervisory role, some employees became disgruntled. Lady Nesbitt was visited after tea one afternoon by three chamber maids, two of whom were mature women. Lilly and Emily happened to be in the room, and the boldest of the three asked for a private conference.

  “I’m afraid not,” Amanda said. “In fact, the mos
t responsible for your job is Miss Armstrong,” she said, tilting her head toward Lilly. “So, state your business or leave.”

  The spokeswoman, a stout, grandmotherly woman in her fifties, wearing a crisp white apron and eyelet cap, separated herself from the other two. “We don’t like taking orders from a colored woman,” she said, matter-of-factly.

  Emily’s face became pink and her lips tight.

  “I see,” Lilly said. “Is Mrs. Washington too strict? Hard to please? Abusive?”

  “Yes, she’s all that and more.”

  “More?”

  “She’s a Negress. It don’t sit well with some of us to take orders off her.”

  “Ah, I see. How many, would you say, have trouble working to please Mrs. Washington?”

  “Mostly all,” the woman said, straightening her back, the others doing the same behind her.

  “Well, that can be easily resolved. If you’ll tell each one who cannot happily work to satisfy Mrs. Washington to simply come to Mr. Drake’s office tomorrow at two, we’ll take care of the matter.”

  “You’ll be getting rid of her then?”

  “Certainly not,” Lilly said with conviction. “Mrs. Washington is not only the best supervisor available, she is a trusted and valued friend. But at two tomorrow I will be prepared to give final pay to each maid, cook, or waiter who dislikes working to please her. I don’t think I’ll have a great deal of trouble finding willing staff in a city that is plagued by joblessness. Good day.”

  When not one appeared, Amanda whispered to Emily, “I think our young King Solomon will enjoy great success.”

  One day while Sophia stood in the women’s suite looking out the window into the square, Emily asked her if she mourned her garden. “Well, Miz Em, I do miss that little plot was all mine, but my thoughts were more ‘bout that newspaper office yonder. Seems to me this would be a good spot for a newspaperman to live…save a mite in horsecar fare.”