A Splendid Ruin: A Novel

by Megan Chance

  Presumably they were meant to make the room look like an old hunting lodge. Skulls, not trophy heads, which would have been bad enough.

  My uncle lowered the paper. “Well, it seems that at least one of my family has deigned to make an appearance. Good morning, May.”

  I could not help thinking of him at that table in the Palace Bar, with his mistress beside him while Aunt Florence waited in her sitting room with cold tea. But I knew nothing of their relationship, and here was my uncle smiling up at me, and I should not judge, especially when he’d been so kind.

  “Good morning, Uncle Jonny. I’m sorry I missed dinner last night. I fell asleep.”

  “Dinner?” He seemed surprised at my apology. “Oh, well, no harm. No harm at all. I’m afraid I wasn’t here.”

  Again came the image of Mrs. Dennehy smoking her cigar, the flashing diamond. I searched for something to say that wasn’t about that. “You’re not reading the Bulletin? Goldie will be disappointed. She’s hoping the ball was mentioned on the society page.”

  I’d been half joking, but my uncle laughed with a scorn that took me aback, a bitterness that clashed with the good nature he’d previously shown me. “The Bulletin? I leave that trash for my daughter.”

  “Oh. Oh, I see . . . I . . .”

  His smile came quickly, reassuring. “It’s all right, my dear. It’s not the society page I despise. It’s the paper’s editor. Please, get something to eat. Sit down. Let us get to know one another.”

  I went to the sideboard, which was laden with more food than I’d ever seen in one place. Eggs, both scrambled and poached, a carved breast of turkey, steaks and bacon, roasted potatoes and tomatoes. I had no idea how my uncle stayed so trim presented with this bounty each morning.

  “Has the Bulletin editor offended you in some way?”

  “My dear May, it’s very good of you to pretend to be interested, but I know young women aren’t much for business. No one really wants to listen to me drone on about Fremont Older.”

  Earnestly, I said, “But I am interested. I know so little about the city. I wish to truly be part of the family, Uncle. I want to know everything about you.”

  He chuckled. “Well, perhaps not everything. Young ladies should not be saddled with such worries.”

  I took eggs and tomatoes, but the staring skulls on the walls made the thought of meat suddenly distasteful. “What worries are those?”

  Uncle Jonny studied me as he rose to pull out my chair. “Why, you’re quite serious, aren’t you? It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with, I assure you. The usual business things.”

  I sat. “It’s only that, with my mother . . . I’m afraid I’ve grown used to worrying.”

  “Well, we’ll have no more of that.” He took his seat again with a dramatic flair, a trait reflected, more boldly, in his daughter. “I’m here to see that those days are over.”

  I took a bite of the eggs, which were buttery and soft and so delicious it was all I could do not to shovel them into my mouth. When I’d swallowed, I said, “What is your business, Uncle Jonny?”

  “Construction. Sullivan Building, to be precise. We’ve built several of the buildings you’ve seen downtown. Many office buildings. A few stores.”

  “Government buildings?”

  His brow furrowed. “We built city hall, yes. Why?”

  “Someone mentioned it yesterday when Goldie and I were in town.”

  He seemed honestly perplexed. “Who? What did they say?”

  “Some man on the street. Nothing really. Something about contracts.” All I could see was how my explanation would lead to the Palace Bar, and my instincts, as well as Goldie’s reaction yesterday, told me to change the subject. Quickly, I said, “You were telling me why you disliked Mr. Older of the Bulletin.”

  My uncle paused. Those pale eyes of his were a little too probing, and I looked down at my food and busily stirred my eggs with my fork.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, of course. Mostly I dislike him because Older is an enemy of our good mayor Schmitz and Schmitz’s right-hand man, Abe Ruef.”

  Again I remembered yesterday, the man at my uncle’s table. Abe Ruef, Goldie had said. “Nothing in this city gets done without him.” “I see.”

  “Older has been trying to rile up public sentiment to investigate this fairy tale he imagines of corruption in city government, but no one wants such a thing. The mayor gets things done, and Ruef too. The city is growing; we don’t need a bunch of blown-up scandals and investigations and trials slowing things down.”

  Uncle Jonny’s words came quickly, clipped. I had the impression that, in his enthusiasm, he’d forgotten he was speaking to me. “Older’s not pro-business, and we need someone who is. Not someone who thinks a city beautification plan drawn by some garden planner out of Chicago is the best thing for San Francisco. We can be the queen of the West without all that. Who’s going to stop us? Seattle? Ha! Putting in all those boulevards and statues will only slow us down. The only good thing the plan does is get rid of Chinatown.”

  I perked up, remembering the Chinese writing on the shop windows, the embroidered silks reflecting the light. “What happens to it?”

  Uncle Jonny shrugged. “Who cares? It’s taking up valuable land. The best locations in town. Imagine what could be there if it was gone. Hotels like the Fairmont for one—you’ve seen it, haven’t you, going up just down the street?”

  I nodded.

  “If we could get the Chinese out . . . Well, just think of it! We’re running out of good building sites. Prime rental properties. There’s money to be made, no doubt about it.” He cleared his throat. “The city should give it to the rest of us, for the good of everyone. I’ve got a new project myself, on one of the last good lots left—or I will have, as soon as the architect accepts my commission. But no, proper city growth isn’t what Older wants to talk about. All he cares about are his graft hobgoblins.”

  My uncle cleared his throat. “Pardon me, my dear, I do tend to get carried away. You’ve just arrived; you can’t know any of these people. As you may guess, it’s somewhat of an important topic for me.”

  “I’m interested, truly. If San Francisco is to be my home, I think I should know about it.”

  “Such complications are best left to men.” His voice changed from businesslike to regretful as he raised another subject. “I am sorry you’ve not yet had an opportunity to meet your aunt. She is often poorly. I’m sure Goldie has told you.”

  “Oh, but I have met her. Yesterday. We had tea together.”

  Uncle Jonny’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Tea?”

  “When Goldie and I came back from shopping.”

  “Goldie was there as well?”

  “She’d already gone upstairs. It was only me and Aunt Florence, at least until Shin came with the laudanum.”

  My uncle sat back in his chair, looking oddly stumped. “I heard nothing of this.”

  I buttered a piece of toast and dipped it into a pool of sagging tomato. “We had a very pleasant time.”

  “Did you? What did you talk about?”

  “Mama, mostly. Has she told you anything about my mother?”

  Uncle Jonny shook his head. “When we met, she told me her parents were dead. She said nothing about a sister. I was very surprised to find she had one.”

  “You only discovered it when my mother sent the letter?”

  He frowned. “The letter?”

  “Goldie said Mama had sent one and that was how you knew I existed.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes of course. The letter.” My uncle tapped his well-manicured fingers on the newspaper as if the action aided his recollection. “It was addressed to your aunt, and she told me what was in it and that she wished to send for you. I’d forgotten all about it.”

  “Do you think I might look at it?”

  “If it can be found. I’ve no idea where it is. No doubt your aunt has it somewhere.”

  “Perhaps she’ll remember where she put it.” I wa
s not at all confident in my aunt’s memory. “I’ll ask her the next time we have tea.”

  “The next time?”

  I nodded. “She’s asked me to take tea with her once a week.”

  Now he sighed heavily.

  Quickly, I added, “I promised Goldie I wouldn’t do so without talking to one of you first. I’d hoped, since neither you nor Goldie know anything about her family”—or my father—“that I might ask her some questions.”

  He waggled his head, visibly weighing his uncertainty, and I thought how deliberate seemed his actions, his way of dressing, as if he were aware of observation at every moment. “I think it best that I consult with Dr. Browne before I allow such a thing. She is so easily confused. Did she seem lucid to you?”

  “Somewhat, at first.”

  “Then you were very lucky. You witnessed a rare event.” My uncle pushed his plate away and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Let me save you from a painful lesson, May. Flossie’s moments of clear-mindedness are few and far between, with or without the laudanum. Your aunt is a hysteric, unfortunately. Obviously this is a private matter, and not for society gossip.”

  “Of course.” I had hoped he might tell me something different from what Goldie had said, or what I’d seen myself. “Goldie says she’s been this way since her headaches began?”

  Another sigh. “There were aspects before then, I’m afraid, but yes.”

  Uneasily I addressed the fact of my invitation here, just to be certain. “I do hope my arrival was not a surprise to you. I don’t wish to be a burden—”

  “Oh good God, no! When Flossie told me of your circumstance, I was the first one to say you must come.”

  I was relieved.

  “But your aunt is ill, and in fact, I think you can help her best by following the doctor’s orders, as do we all. He suggests we keep her on a steady regimen of laudanum, and I believe he knows best in this. She is less restless, more at peace.” His pale eyes came to mine; I did not miss the grief in them. It made me forget about his mistress and believe in him. “I wish it were otherwise, May. I wish it with my whole heart. Your aunt has been everything to me. If not for her help, I would have none of this.” He waved at the room. “She has been a good wife and I want only the best for her. Do you know where I started, May?”

  I shook my head.

  “My father was a forty-niner. He came over from Ireland to strike gold, but he never found more than a few flakes of it. He saved it, and when he died, he left it to me. He had no genius for money, he told me, but he thought I did, and he wished me to make something of myself.”

  “No doubt he would be proud now,” I offered.

  “He was a liar and a thief, but I have him to thank for your aunt. One day I saw her coming from the City of Paris. My father told me she was so far above me in class that I had no chance with her. So I went up to her, just to prove him wrong, and do you know what, May? If I had a genius for money, your aunt was my equal. Together, we made our fortune.” He went quiet, lost in his own thoughts, and I waited for him to elaborate, the questions loud in my head—what talent had my aunt? What had she been doing in the City of Paris? Had she money of her own before she met my uncle? Had my mother been here with her? But when he spoke again, my uncle said only, “What do you think of San Francisco so far? Are you enjoying yourself?”

  I tried to gather myself at the abrupt change of subject. “Yes. Very much.”

  “You have nothing of which to complain? You don’t miss home?”

  “Not at all.” That was honest. “San Francisco is very different, but it’s invigorating.”

  “It is a good place to start fresh. San Francisco doesn’t hold your mistakes against you. There are always opportunities. Always. You just have to take advantage of them when you see them.” Again, that studied gaze. “I do hope you understand.”

  So it had not really been a change of subject at all. Still, I was bemused. “I—I think so.”

  “There are many opportunities in a life. It’s not a failing to take whatever comes one’s way. In fact, I rather think it a strength.”

  Sometimes people tell you exactly who they are, but I was not listening, distracted as I was by his story about my aunt, and my own questions.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the office awaits.” My uncle folded the newspaper and got to his feet. “You’ll wait until I speak with Dr. Browne before you take tea with your aunt again? Perhaps I can arrange a meeting, and you can ask him any questions you have.”

  “That’s not necessary. But I would very much like to see my mother’s letter.”

  “I’ll make inquiries.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. “One last thing, May. If you’re in need of anything, anything at all, you mustn’t be afraid to ask. You’re part of the family now. I wish for you never to forget it. You’re a Sullivan in everything but name.”

  Such generosity. “You’re so very good to me, Uncle Jonny. All of you.”

  He patted my shoulder reassuringly. “Here comes your cousin. I’ll leave the two of you to your gossip.”

  I glanced toward the doorway to see Goldie, dressed in a green-striped shirtwaist and deep green skirt. She offered a cheek for her father to kiss, which he did before he whispered something to her and left the room. She meandered to the sideboard; when she came to the table, she had only toast and a few strips of bacon.

  She looked tired. Not so fresh faced as usual. I could not help my curiosity, and given her talk about friends and how she’d confided in me about Mrs. Dennehy yesterday, I didn’t think she’d mind my questions.

  “I’m surprised you’re still not abed, given how late you must have been out.”

  Goldie sat across from me and poured a cup of coffee. “Late? I came home when you did, remember?”

  “I meant after that.” I lowered my voice. “I saw you go out again later. Where did you go?”

  Goldie lifted her brow. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I went to bed and didn’t move the entire night.”

  “But I saw you—”

  “You must have been dreaming.”

  “You were wearing a dark coat and a hat, and—”

  “Do we need to call a doctor?” My cousin peered at me as if she could not decide whether to be worried or amused. “Do I see—ah, yes, perhaps I do. Absolutely. Definite signs of lunacy.”

  She laughed, teasing, and I smiled wanly. “Well, I—”

  “Friends trust each other, don’t they, May?”

  “I suppose they do.”

  “You don’t sound certain.”

  “I’ve never really had a friend.”

  “Never? I don’t believe that.”

  “Mama didn’t allow it.” My isolation and loneliness were hard things to admit. I had spent so much time trying to pretend that they didn’t exist, that I didn’t need the friendships I’d read about in novels, or that the people I watched from the windows didn’t inspire envy. I had rebelled now and again—what child didn’t?—but my mother’s anger and disappointment had not been worth it in the end, and it was easier to do as she asked. When she died, the hardest thing to face was the fact that now that I was free to do whatever I wanted, I had no friend to turn to. “The neighborhood where we lived wasn’t of our class. It was mostly immigrants. She didn’t like me to have anything to do with them.”

  “You can’t mean it,” Goldie said.

  “She meant well. She didn’t want me to tarnish my pedigree.” I laughed a little bitterly.

  Slowly, Goldie put down her coffee. “Your pedigree? I thought—Papa said you were—”

  “A bastard? Yes. I never knew my father. I still don’t. He could be William Vanderbilt, for all I know.”

  “You don’t mean it. Really? Vanderbilt?”

  Another difficult-to-make admission. But if I meant to have honesty from Goldie, I must offer mine in return. “Mama said he was from one of the oldest families in New Yo
rk, and very rich.”

  “She lied?”

  “I don’t know. I think . . . well, honestly, I think she trusted him too well. She said that one day I would have the life I was born for. She made some kind of bargain with him. I never knew what it was. Whatever promise he made, he never kept, at least not that I know. We lived in a boardinghouse. Mama did piecework. I worked in a shop. I asked Mama a hundred questions. She would never answer them. She refused to tell me anything about him or her life before I was born, or her family. When she died, I gave him one last chance. I put the notice of her death in the newspaper. It was a waste of time and money. He never appeared or sent any word at all.”

  Goldie stared at me as if I were telling her some incredible tale. “I had no idea. I suppose I should have known by your clothes. There are no trunks coming, are there?”

  I shook my head.

  “But your manners are so good and you speak so well, and—” She cut herself off. “Well, your mother sounds quite mad. Like mine. Perhaps it was all a fantasy.”

  An easy explanation, but I shook my head. “No, I never saw that. I think he lied to her. She believed in him. She died believing in him. She never loved anyone else.”

  “You really have no idea who your father was?” Goldie asked.

  “None, and I’ve considered everyone. I used to study the pictures in the society pages and magazines to see if anyone had my nose, or my eyes. A hundred times, I imagined someone did, and I’d dream of it that night, and when I woke in the morning I’d see that I was fooling myself.”

  “Well, you don’t need a father. Not when you have us.” Goldie jumped to her feet. “Starting right now, I appoint myself your official guide to a new life and to new friends. We will keep you so busy, you won’t have time to remember New York at all. Come now, stand up! First, we’ll go skating at the Pavilion—have you ever tried it? It’s fabulously difficult, but so much fun. The rink is right across the street from city hall. It’s the most beautiful building in San Francisco—Papa’s company built it. Then we’ll go to Golden Gate Park. We’ve already two suppers to attend this week. Do you like opera?”