“Yes, I hope you don’t—”
“Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous? How do you know I will like it? How do you know it will fit? How—” A bit flustered, she stopped.
“Are you finished, Mary?”
“For now, but I reserve the right to revisit this.”
“Of course, but now I need to speak….First of all, if you don’t like the dress or don’t want to attend this dinner, it’s perfectly fine with me. But you must understand this. I have traveled the globe and have met all kinds of people from all walks of life. And you, Mary Handley, are the dearest, most precious person I have ever encountered. I would never consciously do anything to harm you, and my every waking thought is to honor you in the best way I know how.”
Mary melted. “God, you always know the perfect thing to say.” She kissed him. When they broke, she declared, “I’m going to wear it. I don’t care if it doesn’t fit.”
“But it will, Mary. I know it will.”
And it did. Naturally, George was current on all the latest fashions and knew what would suit her. It was a slim-fitting, full-length red velvet dress that was cinched at the waist to show off Mary’s lovely figure. The only part of the dress that was not red velvet was a piece of very light beige silk that extended from just above the breast and looped over her left shoulder. Of course, George had also brought a diamond necklace and bracelet that he had borrowed from his mother, who wasn’t feeling well and had passed along her regrets. They went perfectly with her outfit.
Cornelius Vanderbilt II lived on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Seventh Street, just five blocks from George’s abode on Fifth and Fifty-Second. It was the largest private residence ever built in New York City, a multifloored mansion with many rooms for every occasion imaginable and adorned with the finest furniture and art from all over the world. Cornelius had a competitive mindset about his home. He always had to have the biggest and the most prestigious.
As George had described, it was indeed an intimate party, a total of eight—the Rockefellers; the Carnegies; and Cornelius Vanderbilt and his wife, Alice, along with George and Mary—and they were sitting in the drawing room, sipping aperitifs of dry champagne, except for the Rockefellers, of course, who clung to their glasses of club soda as if they were beacons in the dark. Rockefeller was a devout churchgoer who disapproved of drinking, smoking, card playing, dancing, the theater, and many other activities.
Mary had quipped to George earlier that evening, “If it involves fun, Mr. Rockefeller is clearly against it.”
“That’s not so,” George had replied. “He truly enjoys counting his money.”
As always, the men were discussing business, and Mary made the mistake of feeling comfortable enough to express her opinions, which were decidedly sympathetic to the worker and the small business man. Rockefeller had an immediate, knee-jerk reaction.
“Surely you do believe in the rights of the individual, don’t you, Miss Handley?” Rockefeller said as he sipped his club soda, mistakenly thinking he would trap her with his savvy.
Mary paused before answering him. She wanted to make sure she didn’t begin her relationship with her future in-laws by offending their guest, but she also was not one to back down from her views. She had to word her response carefully.
“I most certainly believe in the rights of the individual, as long as those rights do not include denying other individuals their rights.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” responded Rockefeller. “Every person should have a chance to compete. Survival of the fittest will take care of the rest.”
Mary could see this conversation might lead her into making disagreeable statements, at least in this crowd, and decided not to respond. She felt she wasn’t being rude, because Rockefeller had made a statement and wasn’t asking a question. George instantly picked up on Mary’s discomfort and decided to come to her rescue by changing the subject.
“Have any of you been following the Brooklyn Bridegrooms? They switch leagues and they’re still in first place. Quite a team, eh?”
There was a brief lull in the conversation. The second the words were out of George’s mouth he knew it was a mistake. This was certainly not a baseball group. Mary appreciated George’s effort to divert the conversation, but even she had to stifle a chuckle. George was one of the least likely people to be a baseball fan.
“No,” replied Cornelius drily, “but thank you for the update, George.”
“So, Miss Handley,” Rockefeller said, continuing, “do you believe in survival of the fittest?”
Mary started to feel a bit light-headed. “I believe Mr. Darwin’s Theory of Evolution on the animal kingdom is a brilliant treatise.”
Cornelius jumped in. “I don’t think Mr. Rockefeller was referencing animals.”
“Well then, if you mean the human race, one must consider advancements in medical science. People who might not have survived in a different time are still alive and leading fruitful lives. I suspect that will only continue to improve.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I put in my two cents,” Carnegie interjected.
“Go ahead, Andy,” interrupted Rockefeller. “You always do, and it’s usually four.”
They all laughed at Rockefeller’s attempt at humor. In a way they were encouraging him, because he was usually so dour. Mary tried her best to force a reaction approximating laughter. George was better at it. He had had more practice.
“If I may be so presumptuous,” Carnegie interjected, then looked at Rockefeller, who held off on another witticism at Carnegie’s expense—his words had made it too easy—“I think my good friend John was referring to the business world, though why he would ask a delightful young lady like you about such matters is beyond me.”
Carnegie’s comment exhibited a total disrespect for and disregard of women’s abilities, as if they were pretty things to be seen and not heard, or at least not heard about anything consequential. Needless to say, it took significant biting of her lip for Mary not to respond.
“I agree wholeheartedly with you,” said Alice Vanderbilt, addressing Carnegie. “Business is such a boring topic, but feel free to discuss it all you like after dinner when you gentlemen retreat with your cigars and cognac”—she turned to Rockefeller—“or whatever your preference. That’s when we women can return to more pleasant conversation.”
Her comment made Mary dig deeper into her lip, but in a way it was a relief. She hoped it had ended this discussion. She also wasn’t feeling 100 percent and was afraid she might say something she would regret. Mary reasoned that the cause of her upset might be drinking champagne on an empty stomach, so she stopped, holding the champagne glass as if it were a theater prop. But Carnegie and Rockefeller were not going to let it go.
“Actually, Andy,” Rockefeller said, “I would like to hear Miss Handley’s response.”
“Of what consequence could any of my words be? There are captains of industry present here, and I am but a mere lady detective.”
“I am always interested in the opinions of the God-fearing, churchgoing public.”
Although Mary believed in God, she would never consider herself part of the category in which Rockefeller had placed her. Too often it was associated with blind belief, a lack of logic, and intolerance. She caught George’s eye, and he ever so discreetly nodded for her to go ahead.
“All right, if you insist. I think that survival of the fittest could and should be applied to business. The person who builds the most efficient enterprise with the best product should always prevail, but there should be certain restrictions.”
“Restrictions?” Rockefeller asked. “Do you not believe in laissez-faire capitalism?”
“Oh please, John,” Alice Vanderbilt interrupted. “How can you expect we women to know about laissez-faire capitalism? You’d have much better luck asking us about the latest fashions.”
That was it. Mary was no longer going to hold back her opinions or intellect. She couldn’t swallow what t
hese people were serving.
“If by ‘laissez-faire’ you mean fair competition to determine the market, I’d say yes. However, if that practice means that large companies can, with impunity, artificially lower prices, receive special rebates from other companies, and engage in ruthless and illegal practices to limit competition, I’d say no.”
Mary knew she was in for a fight. Both Carnegie and Rockefeller were known for their questionable business practices. In fact, rumors abounded about Rockefeller’s minions forcing people to sell their oil land at gunpoint for less than the market price.
“And where did you get such foolish notions about business?” Carnegie asked.
“Oh, those aren’t my notions. I was quoting Senator John Sherman of Ohio. I expect you know he’s proposed a bill called the Sherman Antitrust Act that is before Congress now and is expected to pass in the next month or so.”
A silent pause followed. Rockefeller and Carnegie hadn’t expected her to be so knowledgeable on the subject. Rockefeller harrumphed his displeasure but Carnegie spoke up.
“I’m sure you think you’re being clever, but your notions of business are merely the chatter of a naïve and silly young woman.”
Mary was feeling even weaker, and she no longer had the strength to filter her words. “Oh, am I no longer delightful?” she quipped.
George jumped in. “Actually, I think Mary’s being quite clever, Mr. Carnegie, or you would have responded with something more substantive than name-calling.”
Cornelius saw that his party was turning into a disaster and came to the defense of his more successful guests. “It’s easy to be judgmental, Mary, but we are more than one aspect of our lives. Are you aware of what these men are doing for the world now?”
She tried to fight it but Mary’s speech was getting slower and faces were becoming blurry. “Yes…I’ve read Mr. Carnegie’s treatise…The Gospel of…”
“Wealth. The Gospel of Wealth.”
“That’s it. Spend your life making it, and at the end, give it away.”
“Then you know that he and Mr. Rockefeller are engaged in donating a sizable portion of their fortune to charity, educational institutions, and helping the less fortunate.”
“I…think it’s incredibly commendable…generous, and…selfless. I…applaud them.” Mary started clapping her hands in a slow, offbeat motion. After three claps, one hand missed the other. George became concerned.
“Mary, are you all right?”
By now the room was spinning. Faces and furniture flew by her like a merry-go-round at a fair. “I also think that…guilt is a great motivator.”
Then Mary passed out and collapsed to the floor.
30
THE DOCTOR HAD no idea what had caused Mary to faint. The Carnegies and Rockefellers had left and George had carried her upstairs to put her on a bed in one of the guest rooms. She was awake but still groggy when the doctor decided that she might benefit from bloodletting. Fortunately, that jogged George’s memory, and before the doctor could start the process, George informed him that she had given a good deal of blood to her brother that day.
“I’m glad you told me that,” said the doctor. “We could have had a catastrophe on our hands, and we wouldn’t want that.” George wholeheartedly agreed as the doctor prescribed a simple cure.
“Make sure she gets a healthy meal of meat or fish and drinks plenty of nonalcoholic beverages. Her recovery should be almost instantaneous.”
The doctor was right. Halfway through her meal, while sitting in Cornelius Vanderbilt’s dining room with George later that night, Mary felt her energy return.
“You told me you gave blood to Sean,” George said, recounting the events of the day, “but you neglected to tell me you hadn’t eaten all day.”
“So much was happening that eating didn’t enter my mind.”
“Well, the important thing is you’re all right.”
“You’ve saved my life twice now. Is this going to be a habit with you?”
“I hope not. I’m not sure if my heart can take it.”
“If yours fails, you can always have mine.” Mary paused for a second then cringed, her face crinkling up, “My lord, did I really say that?”
George nodded. “Most definitely.”
“It’s tragic. Look what you’ve turned me into: a sappy, lovesick fool.”
“It’s catching. I’m similarly afflicted.” He took her hand and kissed it as Cornelius entered.
“Well, it looks as if you’re feeling much better, Miss Handley,” Cornelius said.
“Yes, thank you, and please call me Mary.”
“Of course, Mary.”
“I’m sorry for anything I might have said this evening. I wasn’t myself.”
“You know what they say about people who are out of sorts or even drunk?” He stopped and stared at her. “That’s when their true selves are revealed.”
George turned to Cornelius and gave him a disapproving look. “Since you are not out of sorts or inebriated, dear brother, I will assume this is not your true self, and I forgive you for your behavior.” He held out his hand to Mary. “It’s time for me to take you home, Mary.”
On the way back, Mary and George sat for a while in the carriage without speaking until she broke the silence.
“Well, I certainly made a wonderful impression on your family.”
“Don’t mind Cornelius. He’s a twit, and a pompous one at that.”
“I can’t completely blame him. I did insult his guests.”
“They pushed you into a corner. Did he expect you to lie or to not have an opinion? That’s part of what I love about you, Mary. You don’t shy away from your beliefs.”
“Thank you, George, but telling Andrew Carnegie and John D. Rockefeller that their charitable instincts were motivated by guilt might have been going a bit too far.”
He laughed. “I so enjoyed the looks on their faces. Then you had to go and spoil it all by fainting.”
“I am quite the spoilsport.” She laughed too, then they both got quiet, almost solemn.
“Mary, don’t let my brother bother you. He’s very old-school and a monumental hypocrite. He talks about the importance of associating with persons of breeding and substance, yet he prefers the company of ruthless businessmen like Carnegie and Rockefeller. They both came from very poor backgrounds, and Rockefeller’s father is a bigamist, a cheat, and an all-around flimflam man. In essence, what Cornelius admires is wealth and power. They earned theirs, and he’s insecure that he inherited his.”
“I just don’t want his silly prejudices to affect you in any way.”
“They do. They provide me with constant humor.”
When they arrived at Mary’s tenement building George walked her upstairs and kissed her good night, but not before getting her to promise to rest the next day. After all, it was Sunday. Mary agreed and was eager to get some sleep, which took a while to happen. She had an anxious feeling. It might have been her worry over Sean’s predicament, or possibly not. But something was off.
Had she looked out her window and gazed across the street, she would have known what that something was: Shorty, standing in the shadows, watching her. He had decided to follow Mary like he had her brother. Then he could determine the right time to act, and he was sure it wouldn’t be long.
31
AS USUAL, HUGH McLaughlin was the first one in the office Monday morning. The first, that is, after Liam Riley. Liam was always there, waiting for him in case he had some pressing work for him to do. McLaughlin didn’t on this particular Monday, but under his arm he was carrying the architect’s drawing for his North Shore home, given to him by its former owners, and he wanted Liam’s opinion. He started talking as he entered the outer office.
“Liam, my lad, I need yer fine eye. The question is, where in blazes do I put my swimmin’—” He stopped as he looked up for the first time and saw Liam’s anxious face.
“You have a visitor, Mr. McLaughlin.” Liam nodded in t
he direction of the corner where Collis Huntington was seated.
“I heard you were an early riser, Hugh, though not as early as me apparently,” said Huntington. Instead of standing, he sat back more comfortably in his chair.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Collis fuckin’ Huntington. What the hell do ya want?”
“A word to the wise: you really need to clean up your language if you intend to mix in with the North Shore crowd.”
“Oh, ya know about that, huh?”
“I know more about you than your little lackey here.”
“This is the second time ya attacked Liam here for no good reason. Are ya put out ’cause no one gives a rat’s ass about ya or is it that I have a loyal fella who—”
“Please stop,” said Huntington as he stood up and straightened his clothes. “Whatever kind of perverse activity the two of you engage in is of no interest to me. What does interest me, and should also interest you, is that you’re being investigated for multiple murders and some very shady financial dealings.”
McLaughlin looked at Liam, who shrugged his shoulders. “Yer lyin’,” he replied.
“Am I? You’ll find out.” He started to slowly stroll toward the door.
“Who cares? I didn’t kill anybody.”
Huntington stopped and turned. “So that’s your defense: maintaining that you’re just shady and not a killer? You may want to reconsider that.”
“I don’t need a defense. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m surprised, Hugh. Surely you’re aware it doesn’t matter what you did or did not do. It’s what they can prove that counts.” He started to go once more but soon stopped. “Oh, and another word to the wise: I’d put that swimming pool in the backyard instead of the front, or your neighbors will think you’re très gauche.”
“Très fuck ya. Is that French enough for ya, Collis?”
“Language again, Hugh. Language.”
—
HAVING THOROUGHLY ENJOYED his short stay, Huntington felt chipper enough to bypass the elevator and walk down the three flights of stairs. As he exited the building, he saw a familiar face heading for the entrance.
Brooklyn on Fire Page 20
