City of God

by Swerling, Beverly

  “Very well, perhaps that would be best. Three weeks ago I made a substantial loan to your husband. I took as security the deeds to two properties on Cherry Street, numbers—”

  “Thirty-seven and thirty-nine,” Carolina supplied. “I know the buildings.”

  “Yes, I thought you would. You will then know as well that their combined value is perhaps twenty-five thousand dollars. That did not collateralize the full loan, Mrs. Devrey. This house was to provide the balance of the security. Mr. Devrey naturally enough presumed it would come to you on the death of your father. And that as your husband, of course he could…”

  Belmont allowed the words to trail away. He obviously felt it unnecessary to spell out the extent of a husband’s control of his wife’s property. A horrid law, Carolina thought. Women should rise up and insist it be changed. “Of course,” she agreed. “But I am sure, Mr. Belmont, that you’ve been apprised of the terms of my late father’s will. Nothing whatever has come to me. Everything has gone into trust for my son, Zachary. Including, as it happens, this house, which my father before his death sold to his grandson.”

  “For the sum of one dollar. An excellent bargain.”

  “Indeed. What then is the purpose of your visit, Mr. Belmont?”

  “I understand you are the sole trustee of your son’s estate.” She nodded and Belmont continued, “I am also told that you are a clever and accomplished woman and that already you are taking steps to both guard and increase the fortune that has been left to the young heir.”

  “If you mean that I am selling the leather interests and holding the property, that is, I presume, public knowledge on Wall Street.”

  “It is, madam. Which is why I’ve come here today to ask if you wish to retire your husband’s loan.”

  In a million years he could not seriously think she would pay Sam Devrey’s debts. All New York knew she would not. Neither for love nor duty. “That is always a possibility, Mr. Belmont. Though, frankly, one that is remote. However, if we’re to discuss it further, shouldn’t you tell me the exact amount involved?”

  “With interest, madam, I am owed seventy-two thousand dollars.”

  “A great deal of money, and scant collateral. They tell me you are a man of uncommon astuteness, Mr. Belmont. So perhaps you will tell me why you made such a loan.”

  Belmont had merely toyed with his sherry thus far. Now he drained the glass, refused the offer of a refill, and sat forward. A ray of weak winter sun wreathed his almost bald head, rather like a halo, Carolina thought. But she did not mistake him for an angel.

  “Your husband, Mrs. Devrey, is John Jacob Astor’s man. And Mr. Astor, despite his eighty years, remains a force to be reckoned with.”

  “The Astor fortune, Mr. Belmont, will always be a force to be reckoned with. Mr. Astor’s son, Mr. William Backhouse Astor, can be relied upon to see that continues to be true. I do not, however, see what that has to do with me.”

  “I believe it has a great deal to do with you, madam. Because it is my belief that you mean the future Mr. Zachary Devrey also to be a force to be reckoned with.”

  Carolina smiled. “Pray continue, Mr. Belmont.”

  “I am sure it will not surprise you to learn that having made a not inconsequential loan to your husband, I made it my business to discover why he needed so much money so quickly.”

  “I am not surprised in the least.”

  “Apparently, Mrs. Devrey, your husband has embarked on a venture in shipbuilding. It’s meant to be secret, but I have it on good authority that a new keel is already on the ways at a yard some distance from the town.”

  “Parker’s auxiliary yard at Thirty-fourth Street,” she said at once, making the rapid calculation that he probably already knew, and if he did not, it mattered more that she be seen as knowledgeable. “It has to be Parker’s. They have been Devrey’s shipwrights for generations.”

  “You are correct about the yard, but this ship is commissioned not by Devrey Shipping but by Samuel Devrey personally. That much I know, and it is what I find so interesting about the undertaking. I was, however, able to learn little about the ship itself. She is, as I said, being built under terms of strict secrecy. In any case, shipping, or more precisely the building of ships, is not my line of country, Mrs. Devrey. But seeing as how, given the name he bears, it is likely to be in some manner your son’s…”

  Belmont shrugged and once more seemed to count on her divining the rest of his sentence. A business technique, Carolina realized, a way of never saying more than he meant to. “Please tell me exactly what you are proposing, Mr. Belmont. I am, after all merely a woman. You must realize that such matters as these are not always entirely clear to me.” I can bat my eyes at you, Mr. August Belmont, as well as any debutante you meet at a ball, and were I not wearing this dreadful high-necked black mourning frock I should lean forward and give you a good look down my bosom.

  Belmont glanced at the clock on the mantel. “If that timepiece is correct, Mrs. Devrey, your husband’s debt comes due in precisely four minutes.” He removed two documents from the inside pocket of his frock coat. “At that time I am free to sell these two properties.”

  Good God! She’d expected Belmont to say he was the owner of the properties and in return for something—she wasn’t sure what—he would turn out her husband’s mistress and his bastard child and to all intents and purposes Samuel himself. A joy indeed. But that she might be able to do it herself…The surge of pleasure was so exquisite it made her palms tingle; Carolina had to fold her hands primly in her lap to keep them from trembling. “How much are you asking for those houses, Mr. Belmont? Presuming, of course, the debt to you is not paid in the next four minutes.”

  “Three minutes now,” Belmont said, glancing again at the clock. “I will take the princely sum of one dollar each, madam. Exactly as was paid by your son for this house.”

  “Why?”

  “If I say for the love of mankind and concern for a newly bereaved daughter and grandson you are, I expect, unlikely to believe me.”

  “Entirely unlikely, Mr. Belmont.”

  “Very well, I am offering you the Cherry Street houses in return for two dollars, and ownership of the instrument of your husband’s debt for thirty thousand more. Plus a twenty percent interest in this mysterious ship being built at Mr. Parker’s yard.”

  “Please explain exactly what that means. Not the deeds, Mr. Belmont. I understand about the deeds.” She would immediately sell both houses to Zachary and make them part of the trust. “As for the ship, I may be only a woman, but I know investors take a part interest in ships every day of the week.” But for that to matter to her, first she must own one. There were intricacies here that could defeat her if she were not careful. “I need to understand the matter of my husband’s debt.”

  “It’s quite straightforward, madam. Here is the note your husband signed.” Another piece of paper appeared on the table in front of Belmont. “I propose to sell it to you. In financial circles you would be said to have bought the paper that indicates Mr. Devrey’s indebtedness. Of course it is not the paper that matters, only that by owning the paper you own the claim. Mr. Devrey would then owe, not to me but to you, seventy-two thousand dollars, less whatever you may realize from the sale of the two houses on Cherry Street.”

  “If I chose to sell them.”

  “Yes, of course. If you chose to sell them.”

  It had to be a truly extraordinary ship. Samuel would not otherwise have incurred such an enormous debt, and August Belmont would not be paying such a high price for an interest in it. “You say you know nothing of the vessel Danny Parker is presumably building for my husband, yet you are prepared to cancel a substantial debt for less than half of what you’re owed, plus ownership of a fifth part of this same mysterious ship. May I ask why that is, Mr. Belmont?”

  “Money, Mrs. Devrey. The entire waterfront is buzzing with stories of new sorts of oceangoing clippers being built at a few of the yards. Some say they’re
going to revolutionize the China trade.”

  “And what do others say, Mr. Belmont?”

  “That the entire scheme is madness and these new ships will go to the bottom on their maiden voyages. But,” he said, leaning forward again and looking directly at her (as if she were a man, Carolina thought), “I, Mrs. Devrey, believe it worth a gamble to have a piece of such a ship. If for no other reason than that I’ve no doubt Astor will, whether it’s the son William or the father Jacob. I do not choose to be completely out of any game my competitors are playing.”

  Carolina took a long breath. “One more question, Mr. Belmont. If indeed I buy this paper as you propose…Can a husband be legally indebted to his wife in that way?”

  Belmont smiled. “Frankly, I don’t know, but I doubt it. However, I do not believe that to be your interest in this matter. And I do not think it will require a court to get you what you want once you are in possession of such weapons.”

  The narrow stairs were not well lit. Carolina drew her skirts closer as she climbed. Thirty-nine was the building the whore lived in. Nick had told her so, though he’d taken a good deal of persuading.

  I do not like it, Carolina. Not any part of it. You are independent of him now. Zachary’s birthright is protected, at least on his maternal side. Why should you seek revenge? It is beneath you, my dearest. And frankly, Mei-hua doesn’t deserve it. None of this is her doing.

  Very well, Carolina thought, but lord knows, it was all Samuel Devrey’s doing. How could Nick understand? How could he have any idea of the extent to which her husband had shamed and degraded her? Though sometimes she thought he suspected that it was fear rather than morality that made her refuse to allow him to become her lover. Terror that Nick would take her in his arms and she would see not his face but Samuel’s, and that his caresses would feel like the stinging pain of a riding crop.

  The top floor of number thirty-nine, Nick had said at last.

  She lives there with the old servant, the one you saw the night of the fire. Ah Chee she’s called. The little girl as well. Her name is Mei Lin, she’s almost nine. And Samuel? Carolina asked. Samuel also, Nick confirmed. At least so I believe.

  The fourth-floor door was in front of her. Carolina took a moment to compose herself, then she lifted her hand and knocked.

  Mei-hua half-rose from her chair and stretched her neck to see over Ah Chee’s shoulder. She had expected the knock to announce one or other of the men. They did not disturb the tai-tai frequently, but sometimes they had business of some sort with the lord.

  It was the big ugly yellow hair. The concubine. Mei-hua saw the top of the yellow hair’s head over Ah Chee’s gray one when Ah Chee opened the door. Surprise brought her all the way to her feet, then she realized what a loss of dignity it would be to stand in the big ugly’s presence and sat down. Good thing she was sitting in the throne chair. Good thing the gilt canopy was over her head. Good thing she was protected either side by the dragon-claw arms. Never mind that she was holding them so tight her fingers hurt.

  She was supreme lady tai-tai. The big ugly yellow hair was concubine. Her lord had told her so. “Tell her she is too late,” she said. Ah Chee did not turn around or otherwise acknowledge the command. She was speaking to yellow hair in the strangle-sound words of this place, and they seemed to have stopped her ears. Mei-hua spoke again. At the top of her voice this time, to be sure Ah Chee would hear. “Tell her a concubine comes to pay her respect to supreme lady tai-tai before she goes to the husband’s bed. Not good to come so long after. Tell her supreme lady will not receive her and she must go away.”

  Ah Chee ignored the steady stream of words coming from the throne chair behind her. Ah Chee did not believe big ugly yellow hair had come to show the plum blossom long overdue deference. She had come to do them harm. Ah Chee was not only sure of it, she knew why. Yesterday, when she was frying wonton, some drops of water got into the fat and it spattered all over. Couple of drops landed on the hem of the garment of Zao Shen, the kitchen god. She had known right away that something bad would happen as a result. She’d offered him three of the wonton by way of apology, not just the customary two, and burned five sticks of incense to prove how sorry she was. Much sorry. Much sorry. Didn’t matter. Bad stuff happen anyway.

  “What you want?” she asked, as she had been asking over and over since she opened the door. “What you want? What? What?” All the while trying to close the door.

  Carolina could not understand one word the strange little creature spoke. “My husband,” she repeated for the fourth or fifth time, enunciating the words as slowly and clearly as possible. “I have come to see my husband.”

  “What? What?” This time Ah Chee leaned her whole body against the door and closed it to within only the space of one of her gnarled old hands. “What? Go. Go.”

  Carolina put both her palms flat on the door and pushed back against the slight weight of the old servant. “Don’t you dare close the door on me. I am your new landlady.” It was not strictly true; she merely represented their new, underage landlord. But that was too complicated to explain. Besides, she had managed to force the door further open and she could now see inside the room. There was the whore with the ribbons in her hair, and over by the window Samuel’s bastard daughter. She was sitting with her head bent, pretending, Carolina realized at once, to neither see nor hear a word of what was happening. Ceci would act the same way if she were frightened. “I wish to inspect the property,” Carolina said. “And to see my husband, Mr. Samuel Devrey.”

  At the sound of the name mother, daughter, and servant seemed to startle, as if the barrier of language that separated them had suddenly been pierced. “My husband,” Carolina repeated still more loudly and forcefully, “Mr. Samuel Devrey.”

  This time Mei-hua stood up. “Guen, ni guen.” Get out, roll away. It was the command made to an unwelcome dog. “Guen. Guen.”

  Ah Chee was annoyed with the plum blossom for losing her dignity and addressing the big ugly directly. “Be quiet. Be quiet. I will tell.” But it was a big mistake to take attention from the door and put it on the plum blossom. Big ugly push harder. She was in the room now.

  “Guen, ni guen,” Mei-hua repeated. “Right now. Go. Go.” Her heart was beating very fast. Why had yellow hair come after so much time? After Mei-hua made herself not think about the concubine, after she made herself believe what both her lord and Ah Chee told her, that things were different in this place. Not good. Not good. She turned away from the big ugly and looked at her daughter.

  Mei Lin sat by the window where the light was better for the embroidery her mother was making her practice. You eight-year-old girl, almost nine. Almost time be tai-tai. Who will want you when you make big clumsy stitches? Make big clumsy dragon breathe fire down instead of up. Who? Who? Who would want her anyway? The Lord Samuel would not permit his beautiful daughter to have beautiful golden lilies, so whose tai-tai could she be? Another sadness for another time. Right now only getting rid of the big ugly mattered, and for that her daughter was required. “Ni lai,” Mei-hua said, summoning the child to her. “Mei Lin, ni lai.”

  The girl put down the embroidery and came to stand beside her mother. Mei-hua put an arm around her shoulders but addressed herself to the yellow hair concubine. “Ta bu zai, Lord Samuel.” He is not here.

  “She does not understand, Mamee,” Mei Lin said. “Does not understand Ah Chee either.” A year and a half at the Convent of the Sacred Heart had made Mei Lin not only more fluent in multiple languages—under the tutelage of the Madams she was adding French to Mandarin and English—but given her some inkling of the mysteries of accent. “I will tell her what you are saying. Can?”

  “Yes, tell her right now. Right now. Tell her go. Tell her supreme lady says go. Supreme lady will tell Lord Samuel to beat her very hard otherwise.”

  Sometimes when Mother Duquesne who had charge of the youngest girls turned her back for a moment and one of her classmates pinched Mei Lin really hard and Mei Lin sque
aled because she couldn’t help herself and Mother Duquesne whirled around and demanded to know who had made that awful screeching sound, Mei Lin was tempted to open her mouth and say it was her and say why. But of course she did not. She was being educated to the highest standards. That meant learning when to tell the truth and when to fib. Not lie of course. A lie was a bad sin and must be confessed to Father; otherwise you would burn for all eternity in the fires of hell. A fib was what you said instead. It was a forgivable sin. Mei Lin dropped a quick and exceptionally graceful curtsy, the only kind Mother Stevenson permitted in deportment class. “It is kind of you to call, madam. But my mother says to tell you that Mr. Devrey isn’t here.”

  Carolina caught her breath. The child’s voice, clear and without the edge of anger and hostility she had heard in the voices of the two older women—of herself, come to that—was like a shower of fresh, cool water. And not only did she have excellent manners, she spoke perfect English. Why would she not? She had been born here, just as Ceci had, and not, as Nick repeatedly pointed out, through any choice of her own, also like Ceci, whom she had never blamed for the terrible circumstances of her conception.

  “Do you know,” Carolina asked, “where he can be found? It is very important that I see him. I shall have to wait here otherwise,” she added in a burst of inspiration.

  Mei Lin turned to her mother. “Take her next door? Can? Take her to see Baba? If I take her she will go. Otherwise stay here and wait.”

  Mei-hua looked to the statue of Fu Xing, the golden god of happiness who presided over this room. He was smiling. But Fu Xing always smiled. When she nearly bled to death after they stole the son from her womb and the red-hair yi came and saved her, Fu Xing smiled. When that same red-hair yi pulled a live baby out of her and transformed it from a son to a daughter, Fu Xing smiled. When her lord took their daughter away to a school where they caused her precious Mei Lin to think it a bad thing to show respect to the gods—the child had absolutely refused to give moon cakes to the kitchen god at the new year festival, and she wouldn’t burn even one joss stick—Fu Xing continued to smile. Now, Mei-hua realized, if yellow hair big ugly stayed in this place, all the bad things she could feel hovering around them would happen, and Fu Xing would still smile. I am supreme first lady tai-tai. She is concubine. My lord said so. “Take her next door,” she said. “Go quickly, mei-mei,” calling the child little sister as a mark of affection and putting her hand lightly and quickly on Mei Lin’s cheek, ignoring the soft growl of disapproval she heard from Ah Chee. “Do not be afraid, mei-mei. Take her to Baba. Now. Now.”