by Robyn Carr
“Yes,” Emily said, smiling.
By the time eight months had passed, the hotel was refurbished and redecorated. Amanda was busily socializing, but for an entirely new reason: to increase the numbers of influential people who would pass through her doors and enjoy her hospitality. Emily had Sophia with her again, and John Giddings had taken a room with them.
The first of February arrived, a little more than nine months since the women had begun. Fletcher and Lilly sat on opposite sides of his large desk, more burdened with paperwork than ever before. It was after nine, and Fletcher’s man, Michael, brought them each a brandy.
“It’s official,” Fletcher finally said. “Your first profitable month.”
“Thank God!” Lilly said, tired, drained, and elated.
“Many debts remain,” he advised her.
“But they can be paid by the hotel itself rather than Grandmother’s savings if we continue to carry this number of guests?” she asked, pointing to the ledger he had opened.
“Yes, the hotel can pay for itself now; we shouldn’t require any more loans from the estate.”
“Oh, there were times I wondered if we could do it. You did it, Fletcher. You, more than any of us.”
“I believe you called it a formidable team. None of us could have done this alone.” He stood up. “Forgive me, Lilly. I’m tired.”
She stood as well, lifted her glass toward his, and took a sip. Then she held out her hand to shake his.
She used her own key to open the door of the suite she shared with Amanda and Emily and found what had become a typical scene within. Emily worked on a sampler, no longer sewing for pay. Sophia knitted something for a grandchild. Bertie and Amanda sat at the table with their cards, a cloud from Bertie’s pipe hanging in the air.
“If I called my debt now, I could live out my days in fashion,” Bertie said.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with fashion,” Amanda accused.
“Hello,” Lilly said. She raised up the heavy, bound ledger book when they turned toward her. “It’s happened. We’re making money.”
Lilly did not spend as much time at the lending library as she had in years past, but when she did go, she had a purpose. She spent every afternoon there for two solid weeks, browsing, looking over the newer books, examining the newspapers. And the patrons. She followed a woman out of the library and watched her find a bench near the horsecar stop.
“Excuse me,” Lilly said. “I’ve seen you in the library a few times now. I’m Lillian Armstrong.”
The woman looked up at her in surprise. Lilly’s coat, hat and gloves gave her a status the young woman did not share. Though they were approximately the same age, the woman said, “How do you do, ma’am.”
“And your name?”
“Elizabeth Hartly, ma’am.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Elizabeth. May I sit down?”
“Oh…oh yes, ma’am,” she said, pulling her gray wool coat against her thigh and sliding over on the bench.
“You must be very fond of reading. Have you gone to school?”
“Primary school, ma’am. But I’m a working girl, ma’am, and I don’t have the… means. But I do love books, when I can borrow them.”
“What are you reading?”
“Oh, ma’am, it’s…it’s--”
Lilly presumptuously lifted the book she held in her lap and the woman’s cheeks grew pink. Lilly smiled. “Amelia! Elizabeth, you’re romantic!”
“Ma’am, I--”
“I loved Amelia. I have no intention of ever being as patient and long suffering, however. Elizabeth, you’re wearing a uniform. Do you work as a maid?”
“Yes, ma’am. A kitchen maid. A residence kitchen maid, ma’am. I begin very early in the morning and am free before dinnertime most days.”
“Do any of your family rely on your income?”
“Yes, ma’am, why--”
“You don’t wear a ring,” Lilly said, lifting her hand, which was quickly becoming bright red from the cold. Lilly released her hand and began slowly to remove her hand-sewn leather gloves. “You’re not married.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Elizabeth, I am planning to hire an unmarried woman as an attendant. Some of the chores will be maidlike, but I’m really not accustomed to having anyone besides myself take care of my personal things. I was not prosperous while growing up, and my mother owned a boardinghouse. I always fixed my own bath, my own hair, and mended my own clothes. I’m far busier now and could stand some assistance. Someday I will need a very capable assistant who can write letters, make travel plans, and even balance some simple accounts. Here,” she said, handing Elizabeth Hartly her first pair of expensive gloves. “Take these. You need a pair of good gloves before your fingers turn blue and fall off. If you think you might like to work for me, come to the Grafton Hotel tomorrow afternoon at four, and we’ll discuss the possibility over tea. And bring along a list of your favorite books!”
Elizabeth’s lips were parted in amazement, and her eyes were wide. “Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Is your husband a wealthy man, ma’am?”
“No,” she laughed. “I am not married. I have a business. Do you think you’ll come to see me tomorrow?”
“Yes, ma’am…if--”
“Oh, I’ll pay you more than you’re earning now. We can talk about that tomorrow.”
“But, Miss…Miss…”
“Armstrong, Lillian Armstrong.”
“How did you…why did you…?”
“Do you realize in two weeks of afternoons at the lending library I saw only four women borrowing books to read? Oh, there were house girls borrowing books for their mistresses, not for themselves--I asked Mr. Wendell about the withdrawal cards. But of the four women I saw, three were elderly! There it is--a building filled with books to be loaned, and who borrows them? Schoolchildren and men! Well-to-do women send someone from their staff! You were the only young woman interested for herself. I never thought it would take so long to find a woman with initiative. I fancied I would be able to interview several young women. It appears, Elizabeth, you’re the only one in the city suitable!”
She smiled shyly. “My mother says I waste my time.”
“But you knew she was wrong!”
Elizabeth Hartly was eighteen years old, shorter than Lilly by three inches, heavier by a few pounds. She had a pleasant round face, alert eyes, honey-colored hair that had a springy quality she attempted to control. She was the second of three daughters, and her father worked long days as a clerk in a banking house. Elizabeth’s older sister was married, her younger sister helped their mother at home, and the family occupied a humble two-story house in South Philadelphia. Over tea Lilly discovered that Elizabeth was patient, good natured, somewhat shy, and not very confident. But she was hired.
Elizabethrode the horsecar to the Grafton Hotel every morning and departed every evening. She was instructed to follow Lilly around through her routine, unless she was given a specific chore that had to do with mending, pressing, tidying, or adding a column of numbers. Lilly found she had to take some time to make Elizabeth more proficient, but she improved steadily and responded very well to praise.
Lilly, always purposeful in what she did, had taken this time to be sure Elizabeth would be a competent assistant so that she could travel with a companion and helper. She told her grandmother that now that there was a profit at the Grafton, Sophia and Emily had control over the daily operation of the hotel, Amanda had a number of eager builders begging to draw up plans, and Lilly would have to start traveling. Patricia approached her first anniversary, and though she didn’t exactly thrive, she wasn’t in need of constant help.
Lilly presented her grandmother with an itinerary. She meant for the hotel to be better than a profitable operation; she wanted a fantastic success. She planned to tour Bath, Baden-Baden, Aix-les-Bains, the Riviera, the Gastien Valley, Lake Balaton, and finally all the best and largest hotels in the northeastern United Stat
es. “It will be expensive, Grandmother, but I promise to test their abilities to the limit and bring home every scrap of knowledge.”
“But Lilly, I’ve already visited many of these places.”
“I know, but not with your attention focused on the operation of the hotels. You were a guest, not a spy! I mean to look closely at how every single hotel pleases and displeases.”
Her plan would take over six months. She refused a farewell party and made her grandmother promise there would be no fuss. She said good-bye to the staff, to Fletcher, and John Giddings. She had tea with Patricia, an unavoidable formality that left Lilly feeling cynical and cold; there was hardly anything they had in common. And once again Lilly and Amanda stood at the station to say goodbye.
When Lilly had been gone three months, a large area in Fairmount Park was cleared to begin the construction of a five hundred-room hotel to be named the Armstrong Arms…for Lilly.
Patricia rarely got out of bed before one o’clock. There was no reason to get up early. She would rise, have her tea and toast, take her bath, dress for the afternoon, and occasionally she would have the driver take her into Philadelphia to the Grafton Hotel for afternoon tea. She did this less and less often as her mother and grandmother were too busy to idle for long; they were far more interested in their stupid hotel than in her. On rare occasions she had the company of the Devons at dinner, only because she begged Andrew to bring his wife along when he dined with Wilson Montaine. But Patricia did not like the woman or her mother, Mrs. Waite. Both had a syrupy sweetness that Patricia immediately identified as wholly deceitful. Mrs. Devon always made such a fuss over Patricia. At first that had been fun, but her experience made her aware that it was false.
Patricia had invited Mary Ellen Jasper Markland to her home for tea, not to watch her grovel as had been her original intent. She wanted a friend, any friend. But Mary Ellen declined as she was near confinement for childbirth and was not being seen in public.
The Montaine household was either quiet as a tomb or trembling with quarrels--between Dale and his father, Wilson and his wife, Dale and Deanna, or Patricia and any one of them. Wilson Montaine liked his work, his meals, his cigars. Amassing a fortune was a game; he was friendless but for Andrew Devon and did not care. His anxiety to grow rich had obsessed him since childhood. He would far rather beat someone out of property than have a dinner guest. Patricia quickly saw the futility of trying to convince him to have parties. Deanna Montaine was a brassy, rough-mouthed woman in her mid-thirties who seemed to be in a constant poor temper. Sometimes she tippled all afternoon and fell into bed early, missing the evening meal. And Patricia never sought Dale’s company, though it was occasionally forced on her late at night.
Patricia kept wondering where the three hundred who drank at her wedding had gone. She attended fewer social gatherings every month, largely because her grandmother hostessed fewer. The only invitations she received came from Amanda. She discovered something unexpected and unfortunate: she was disliked. People tolerated her, even complimented her, but they never even pretended they would be inclined to include her in their events. Wilson Montaine would never be accepted, and his son had been grudgingly tolerated because there were a few socially prominent, financially distressed families who could profit from a clever marriage. But Dale had nothing to offer now. He spent his days and nights holding off boredom with riding, hunting, gambling, drinking, and his favorite pastime of sporting young girls. When Patricia realized Dale was still victimizing women, she did not feel the relief she expected. Rather, she encouraged his jaunts to Saratoga where gambling and drinking could keep him out of trouble. Dale favored the races and gin.
Patricia had been married over one and a half years. Christmas approached and Lilly would soon be home from her long tour, but Lilly would be less inclined than ever to socialize. It was Lilly’s fault, Patricia believed, that her life had become so dull, so boring. If Lilly had not begun this insanity of hotels and businesses, there would be parties to attend.
Patricia felt ill and tired all the time. Her anger with the farce her life had become gnawed at her. She wanted it behind her. To that end, she went to see her grandmother at the Grafton Hotel. She had never been so lonely.
“Grandmother, I want to come home,” she said.
“Ah, do you?” Amanda replied. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, dear.”
“Grandmother, I’m unhappy! Please!”
“Tell me, darling, what makes you so unhappy?”
“Everything! I have no friends! My family is too busy for me! My husband is a drunkard! My father-in-law is a ghastly, smelly, sloppy jobber-done-good! All those people who gave me gifts for my wedding snub me! I have nothing to do!”
“You’ve been married how long?” Amanda asked, knowing almost to the day how long it had been. She had been ready for this much sooner, a fact she would not be sharing with Patricia.
“One and a half years. I can’t stand it!”
“And what would make you happy, Patricia? What would finally make you happy?”
“I want to divorce Dale and live with you again.”
“And do what? Work with us to establish a hotel? Where do you think you could be most useful?”
“Well,” Patricia began, falsely encouraged, “I don’t have all the skills Mama and Lilly have, but I can be a good hostess, I know I can. I know you wouldn’t be ashamed to have me come to your parties and teas. I know I could--”
“That’s what I expected, Patricia. I’m sorry, there is simply no such chore…therefore, no place for you here.”
Patricia’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at her grandmother in complete horror. Her eyes began to well with tears.
“I wish you would have listened to me, Patricia. I truly did put your happiness first. But you see, you are still expecting to be indulged--to be the prettiest, most popular, best gowned, and to have perpetual fun. I warned you quite explicitly; I told you you would not find society to be the grand and friendly group you envisioned. I told you they would be cruel--”
“They’re not cruel to you,” she said, tears sliding down her face.
“I haven’t betrayed them.”
“How did I--”
“You crept into their secure little world and selfishly snatched the richest bachelor there, and worse, you only wanted his money. You tried to best them all, for greed and…for revenge. You wanted not only to be accepted by them, you wanted to be the best among them. You wouldn’t believe me, would you? I told you a hundred times, you can only be born into their world--”
“But you were born into society…and I’m--”
“The unfortunate daughter of Ned Armstrong and a working-class owner of a boardinghouse.”
“But your granddaughter!”
“It won’t do you any good. They are somewhat careful of me, they accept my hospitality graciously, and I have a few friends among them…but Emily and Lilly understand only too well the limits of my name, a name long since removed from their lives. That’s the reason for the hotel, Patricia. Because when the name is gone and the money runs out, there must be work. There must always be work!”
Patricia put her hands over her face and cried. “Oh, Grandmother, how terrible of you! Won’t you let me come home? If I promise to work?”
“Do you think you can?” she asked.
“Yes!” Patricia promised, looking at Amanda with her tear-stained face and desperate eyes.
“If you think you can work, darling, go home and see if you can mend something with your husband. Perhaps you can build some kind of family with him. Perhaps you can remove the liquor rather than stock it to keep him docile and unconscious. Perhaps you can improve that dark house and fill it with the laughter of children. Failing that, perhaps you can put your new fortune to good works. There are hungry people in this city, children who cannot read, orphans who have nowhere to live. But I am telling you this, Patricia, as long as you think the world was created for your amusement and requi
res nothing of you but your willingness to attend, you will suffer this unhappiness. And it will only get worse.”
Patricia swallowed her tears and fixed her grandmother with a cold, angry stare. The tracks of tears marked her face, but despair was no longer what she was feeling. “Betrayed,” she finally said, “by my own family.”
“No, Patricia,” Amanda said calmly. “You betrayed us…and yourself. You used me, my money and influence, to buy yourself the sort of life you think you deserve. I told you long ago my purse has a bottom that will not be reached by indulging you, and you were foolish to doubt it. Now go home. See if you can make something useful of your life. You have greater means to do that than anyone I know. Happiness or misery is entirely up to you; you cannot buy it, steal it, or have it bequeathed to you.”
Patricia took a handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed at her eyes. “Is it divorce you find so abhorrent? Do you know that my husband, when not drunk, continues to play the ladies?”
“Oh, Patricia, you knew he would.”
“Help me get free of that place! Must I beg?”
“No amount of begging will change my mind, Patricia. This was what you wanted. You have it. Make use of it.”
“Why is it that Lilly can do whatever defiant, mad thing in the world she desires and she is admired? Send me traveling then! Send me away on a long, long trip--”
“Patricia! Lilly is about business! Visit when you like, but you have taken on a marriage, and I will not be a party to your changed whim!”
“I hate her. She’s always been the lucky one. No matter how outrageous she is, she is approved of. Praised.”
Amanda sighed. “And now I suppose you hate me as well, and your mother.”
“No,” she said sadly. “But I am hurt by your refusal to help me.”
“The pity is that I tried to help you. The greater pity is that you would find in Lilly more compassion for your predicament than you will ever find in me. You can still change your dreams, Patricia, into something that will give you satisfaction. It’s up to you.”
