“But why that manuscript? And why now? Surely you know how special it is to me?”
He stiffened. “I do know. But an unpublished Johann Strauss waltz is worth a considerable amount of money. As I have only just become aware of its real value, I feel the need to investigate it further. I know this sounds impulsive to you, but may I remind you that I have built an empire on these sorts of feelings and impulses.”
Caroline sat back down in the dressing table chair. “It was your wedding gift to me,” she said softly. “Even if it were worth no more than a penny, I would cherish it with all of my heart.”
His eyes met hers again, blue and inscrutable. That inscrutability was what made him a successful businessman. And a sometimes horrible husband. He brought his hands in front of him, showing her a square, black velvet box. “I thought this might make you happy.”
She felt nothing as she reached for the box. He was always buying her baubles, great, big, expensive, gaudy baubles that she secretly hated and never wore, preferring her great-grandmother’s heirloom pearls at her throat instead. Not that Gilbert noticed enough to stop.
She opened the lid and stared at the diamond tiara inside, not knowing what to say.
“I thought you could wear it tonight. So everyone could see that you’re my queen.”
It was when he spoke such naïve thoughts that Caroline loved her husband most. Yet she still couldn’t envision putting the diamond tiara on her head to be paraded about downstairs. She could only imagine what their guests would say behind their backs.
“It’s lovely. Thank you. But Jones has already done my hair. I’ll have her pack the tiara so that perhaps I can wear it on the ship.”
She saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes. Good. She felt guilty for the thought, but only until she remembered what they’d been arguing about. She stood again to face him, feeling slightly wobbly on her feet. She put her hands on his arms, her fingers only able to reach halfway around them. “Please, Gilbert. I will never ask you for anything else. But please don’t make us take this journey. I don’t have a good feeling about it.”
“There is nothing to be afraid of, Caroline. The Royal Navy will give us an escort when we are in international waters. And besides, the Germans wouldn’t dare torpedo a ship carrying American citizens. The last thing they want is to encourage American involvement in the war.” He paused, as if trying to find a way to make his next words more palatable before apparently giving up. “My decision has been made,” he said brusquely, pulling away from her. “Our guests will be arriving shortly. May I suggest you wear the ruby necklace I gave you for your last birthday?” With a stiff bow, he left, the door shutting loudly behind him.
* * *
A half hour later, Caroline stood next to Gilbert receiving their guests, wearing her great-grandmother’s pearls. Gilbert appeared not to have noticed, too caught up in playing lord of the manor and gracious host. He bade everyone to enjoy themselves and to make themselves comfortable, although Caroline was quite sure the latter would be impossible.
She found the French Renaissance monstrosity, in its enviable location on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Sixty-First Street, cold and foreign with its Italian marble, Tudor paneling, and gilded extravagance. It was too different from the Greek Revival home of her childhood, a place of creaking wide-plank pine floors and wraparound porches filled with rocking chairs and flowers that spilled over the edges of their pots like rainbows. When Gilbert had presented her with the house as a first-anniversary gift, she’d wanted to love it because he wanted her to. But try as she might, she could only shiver inside its lofty opulence and wonder how long it would take before it felt like home.
She greeted their guests, aware of their scrutiny, feeling not a little like one of the caged animals at the Central Park menagerie where Gilbert had taken her earlier in their marriage. Caroline realized that since she was a Southerner, people were eager to meet her, to ask her what she thought of the recent heat wave, and to hear her pronounce certain words. She’d been uncomfortable at first, until she’d felt Gilbert’s gentle touch on her back, on her arm, encouraging her. Reminding her that he was nearby.
That’s how it had started between them, all those years ago when she’d been in finishing school in Philadelphia with his younger sister and her best friend, Claire. Although Caroline’s father had been a Telfair of the Savannah Telfairs, it was an impoverished branch and her widowed mother, Mrs. Annelise Telfair, had sold a rare Chippendale sideboard to send her daughter to the best finishing school money could buy, and to meet the sort of people Annelise envisioned her daughter hobnobbing with as an adult.
And so Caroline had, but not in the way her mother thought. As an only child and knowing no one at the school, Caroline had been quickly befriended by Claire Hochstetter. New money, as Annelise had sniffed with derision, when Caroline had introduced her to Claire and her brother Gilbert on one of Annelise’s rare visits up north. With only her mother to claim as family, her father having died in a riding accident when Caroline was a little girl, Caroline had been lonely and aloof, a rudderless boat until Claire had introduced her to Gilbert. He was the type of person who dominated a room just by being in it, who took charge of any situation, who was quiet and smart, his size alone making him a beacon of strength and protection not only for Claire, but for Caroline as well.
She looked at her husband now, admiring his size and strength, and wondered when things between them had changed. But maybe that wasn’t right at all. Nothing really had changed. He still treated her as a rare and precious object that needed his protection. Even though they’d been married for four years, he still saw her that way. Not as a wife or lover, but as a rare bird in a gilded cage.
He looked down at her and smiled, and it was the smile she’d first fallen in love with, making her heart stutter inside her chest. Maybe this trip was a way for him to take them both away from the pressure of their busy lives in New York. A way to reconcile. Perhaps a chance to conceive the child they both so desperately wanted.
The massive front doors closed behind them as the orchestra began to play. She looked up at her husband and smiled back, to let him know that she would go willingly. That she’d understood his purpose for this trip. That it was for both of them. “Dance with me,” she said.
Gilbert was no longer looking at her, but at a small group of men on the far side of the room, near the door to his study. They appeared to be waiting for something, and when her husband nodded in their direction, Caroline understood they were waiting for him.
“I can’t, my darling. I have urgent business I need to attend to before we depart tomorrow.” He leaned down to briefly kiss her cheek. “Enjoy yourself.” He walked away from her, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor seeming louder than the music coming from the orchestra.
She wondered if it was the wine that made her feel so close to tears as she quickly ran to the music room, her one refuge in the large mansion. Her Mason & Hamlin grand piano had been brought up from Savannah for her, and every time she sat down to play was like visiting an old friend. It was the one thing that calmed her, the one thing that helped her feel not so alone in a city and house full of strangers.
A single lamp was lit on the chest between the tall windows, but Caroline didn’t need to see. She sat down on the familiar bench and removed her long white gloves before placing her hands on the ivory keys, the cool touch of them an immediate panacea to her mood. Without thinking, her fingers began to dance over the keys, the haunting melody of a Chopin nocturne singing out in the darkened room, her voice where she had none.
Something soft and warm settled itself on her shoulders, and she startled, lifting her fingers from the keys.
“Don’t stop. You have such a gift for music.”
She looked up at the familiar voice and smiled with relief. “Robert Langford! What on earth are you doing here?”
“From the looks of it, making sure you don’t die of pneumonia. Is the house alw
ays so cold?”
“Sadly, yes.” She patted the seat on the bench next to her and he obliged. She didn’t stop to think of the propriety—or impropriety—of it. They’d known each other for years—ever since he’d held her hair out of her face as she’d vomited into the rosebushes at Hamilton Talmadge’s garden party. The incident was her greatest embarrassment and his biggest secret. Not that he’d ever ask for payment. It had been the year she’d been sent to finishing school, the episode no doubt being one of the reasons Annelise had decided Caroline had needed it. At the time, Robert had been visiting the Talmadges in Savannah. Although British and aristocratic, he was from an untitled family and unlikely to inherit anything more than a leaky roof, as Caroline’s mother had made clear. Annelise had bigger plans for her only child.
Not that Caroline had been interested. Her humiliation had been so intense that she hadn’t found the courage to speak to Robert until their third meeting, at a ball celebrating her engagement to Gilbert.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, meaning it. “How is it that you never change? You’re still that handsome young man who saved my reputation and dignity all those years ago.”
“And you’re as beautiful as ever,” he said softly. His eyes reflected the light from the lamp, obscuring his expression.
“And you’re as much of a flatterer as you’ve always been.”
He put his hand on his heart. “I only speak the truth. How is it that some women become more and more beautiful with age? You must sell your secret. I understand there’s at least one actress on board the Lusitania—I’m sure she’ll be interested.”
Caroline laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. So, what on earth are you doing here?”
“Same reason you are, I suspect,” he said with a disarming grin. “I’m sailing on Lusitania. Family affairs that require my attention across the Pond, I’m afraid. Probably more scolding from my father regarding my unfortunate choice of journalism as a career. But why are you going? In case you’re not aware, there’s a war going on.”
“I know,” she said, drawing nearer to him for warmth. “My husband is looking to sell a rare piece of music—an unfinished waltz by Johann Strauss.”
“Really? That’s rather an important piece of music, I’d say.”
“It is. Which is why he’s looking to sell it.” She began plucking the middle C key with her index finger, her long, white digits unadorned by any of the rings Gilbert had given her except for the plain gold band on her left hand.
“And you’re not happy about it.” It wasn’t a question.
Caroline shook her head. “I don’t understand why this particular object, and why now. Gilbert believes I should be protected from anything unpleasant and therefore won’t confide in me. I’m baffled, I’m afraid, but don’t have any options.”
He grinned, his teeth white against the darkness of the room. “At least you’ll have me. We’ll keep each other cheered up while on board. That’s something to look forward to, isn’t it?”
She returned his smile. “It is. And I’m rather embarrassed to say how relieved I am to know this now. I won’t dread boarding that ship quite as much tomorrow.”
He studied her for a moment, suddenly serious. “I’d love to see the manuscript—if it’s not too much of a bother.”
“Do you still play?” she asked.
He appeared to have been taken off guard by her redirection. Smiling quickly, he said, “Of course.” He placed both of his hands next to hers on the keyboard. “Do you know ‘The Celebrated Chop Waltz’?”
In response she began playing the bass part of the duet while he immediately joined in with his part on the upper register of the piano. It soon became a race, with each of them playing faster and faster until they both collapsed in giggles as their hands came crashing down on the keyboard.
He was watching her with an odd gleam in his eyes that she wasn’t completely sure was a trick of the dim lamplight. She sobered quickly, realizing how close they were sitting, how near his face was to hers, and how she didn’t blame the wine for wanting him to get closer.
A burst of laughter from somewhere outside the door brought her to her senses and she immediately stood. “If you’re serious about seeing the manuscript, I have it in here. I was being childish and took it from my jewelry safe this morning and hid it in the piano bench. I was hoping Gilbert wouldn’t look for it before we left tomorrow and assume it was packed with my jewelry. But even I know that he’s not one to overlook details.”
Robert stood and lifted the lid of the bench, revealing an oilskin pouch bound with leather ties. “May I?” he asked.
Caroline nodded as Robert pulled out the pouch and slowly lowered the lid. Carefully, he unwound the leather ties then slid out the almost parchment thin papers with amber-colored musical notes covering the hand-drawn staff lines of the treble and bass clefs. Notations written in the composer’s native German were scribbled in the margins.
“This is remarkable,” Robert said, his words saying the right thing, but their intonation saying something else entirely. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to let this go.” He turned to her. “Do you know what these words in the margins say?”
“I don’t speak German, and Gilbert wasn’t keen on the idea of me showing this to anyone who might. It’s very valuable.”
“Of course.” He studied the piece for a moment, a frown contracting his brows. “Have you played it?”
She took the sheets and placed them on the music stand of the piano before reseating herself on the bench, and began to play. Even though it was dark, she didn’t miss any notes. She’d played the piece enough times that her fingers remembered where to fall, her mind remembering the picture journey in her head that led her from one note to the next. For a moment she forgot where she was, and who she was with, until she’d finished and Robert was clapping.
“Stunning,” he said. “Simply stunning.” And when she looked at him, she wasn’t completely sure if he was referring to the music.
“Thank you,” she said. “Although now I’m sad once more, knowing I’ll most likely never have another chance to play this again.” She carefully placed the music into the pouch then stuck it back in the piano bench, reminding herself to return it to her jewelry safe before they left the following morning. It was easier than waiting for Gilbert to ask her for it, as he surely would.
“May I get you some champagne to lift your spirits?” he asked just as the orchestra began to play a tune that made Caroline’s feet itch to dance again and her to remember that Robert was a wonderful dancer.
“No, but you could dance with me.” As she slid her hands back into her gloves, she had a brief thought of Gilbert, heading to his study with those men, and hoped he’d step out long enough to see her dancing with someone else. With Robert, her old friend, handsome, accommodating, fun, and familiar. And who she imagined seemed to be looking at her in the same way Gilbert once had.
He smiled. “That would be my pleasure,” he said, taking her hand and leading her from the music room while Caroline tried to pretend it was the claret that made her feel the warmth of his touch right down to her feet, which had already begun to move in step with the music.
Chapter 3
Tess
New York City
Friday, April 30, 1915
“You, there! Move along!”
Music and light spilled from the open doors of the Hochstetter house, but the invitation they provided was an illusion. Police manned the cordons that kept the hoi polloi, their breath misting in the cold night air, a safe distance from New York’s aristocracy. Modern motor-cars and old-fashioned barouches inched their way along Fifth Avenue, the smell of horse manure vying with the scent of hothouse flowers out of season, Paris perfumes, and Lyons silks. The crowd pressed closer with each new arrival—a Whitney! a Vanderbilt!—only to be pushed back again by the police, every inch hard won and just as quickly lost.
Tess Schaff wiggled her way up to the barricade
, weaving between the sightseers and the avid members of the press scribbling in their notebooks, recording this one’s jewels and that one’s dress. A flashbulb exploded in front of Tess’s eyes, wreathing her with rainbows. Tess bit off a curse. She couldn’t afford to lose any of her senses tonight, thank you very much. Not when this was the biggest job of her career.
Not to mention, please God, the last job of her career.
Blinking away the last of the glare, she tugged at the nearest policeman’s arm, pressing against his side just a little. Just enough.
“Do a girl a favor, will you?” And then, as he frowned down at her, with a quick laugh, “Not that kind of favor! I’m with the staff from Delmonico’s. The restaurant? I was meant to be here an hour ago, but . . . I had to come in on the El from Brooklyn and there was a breakdown near Canarsie.”
Tess had no idea whether there had been a breakdown near Canarsie or not. But it was the sort of thing that might have happened. One of the first pieces of wisdom she had learned at her sister’s knee: Truth is a poor second to a convincing lie.
Ginny had also taught her how to produce the same card from the pack nine times out of ten, how to lie without breaking a sweat, and how to kick a man where it hurt and run like hell. She was hoping that last skill wouldn’t come into play tonight.
“Aww,” the policeman began.
Tess shivered dramatically, rubbing her arms to draw attention to the tight-fitting sleeves of her uniform: black dress, white pinny. Was anything less calculated to raise suspicion? She was coal in Newcastle, a marble tile on a hall floor, a feather on a hat, as commonplace as that. She did her best to exude “commonplace,” which was made easier when you had muddy blond hair and mid-brown eyes, the opposite of memorable. She was pretty enough, she knew, with the rounded curves and cheeky charm of a girl on a billboard inviting you to enjoy the seaside. They were the sort of looks that invited a man to try his luck with a wink and a grin, but nothing that stood out of the ordinary, nothing that lingered in the mind after the moment had gone. At least, she hoped not.
The Glass Ocean Page 3
