Deception by Gaslight

by Kate Belli

  “Mother, did you receive the usual invitations for the weekend?”

  Anna glanced up from the pad upon which she’d been writing, undoubtedly a draft of the rousing speech she intended to give at the upcoming rally. “Yes, yes. I haven’t answered them all yet,” she replied distractedly.

  “Might I look through them?” Genevieve hesitated, feeling a trifle unsure. She shot a quick glance at her mother, who had returned to scratching frantically upon her pad. Another glance confirmed that her father was now consulting one of their many volumes on Egyptian history, as he often did after receiving a letter from Gavin.

  “I thought I might attend the Bradleys’ ball on Saturday.” She carefully studied her fingernails, pretending to be suddenly deeply concerned about her manicure. She fervently hoped her parents would remain engaged in their pursuits and give her the quick and distracted “Of course, darling” that typically accompanied any announcement of plans from their adult children.

  Genevieve risked a peek up from her cuticles. No such luck. Both Anna and Wilbur were gaping at her, mouths slightly ajar, nearly identical looks of utter astonishment on their faces.

  “Elmira and Amos Bradley?” asked Anna dubiously, blinking. “The Koola bird Bradleys?” She looked at her daughter as if she were a rare specimen of bug from Egypt come crawling out of Gavin’s letter: with surprise bordering on shock, fascination, and an underlying vague, intellectual distaste.

  Genevieve nodded. “Yes, and yes,” she muttered, giving her fingernails her full attention again.

  Her mother gave her own slow nod. “I see. And were you encouraged to attend by anyone in particular?” she asked delicately, seeming hesitant herself now.

  After a slightly puzzled pause, Genevieve realized her mother was asking if a potential suitor wanted to accompany her to the ball. Her gaze flew back to her mother’s face, which now held an expression of vague intellectual distaste mingled with slight apprehension.

  “No,” she said firmly. “It’s for work.” Which, she consoled herself, was not entirely a lie. “Someone will be in attendance with whom I ought to speak.”

  Genevieve felt her mother’s keen eyes bore into her forehead as she carefully picked chocolate crumbs off her skirt.

  The quiet moment seemed to drag on for years as Genevieve continued to inspect her skirt for stray biscuit, but probably lasted only fifteen seconds or so. Finally Anna answered, “Well, I suppose that’s fine, if it’s for work,” and turned her attention back to her speech writing.

  Genevieve exhaled quietly, relieved that part was complete. Now she just had to get through the ball itself.

  * * *

  Leaning appreciatively into his deep, red leather office chair, Daniel propped his booted feet onto his large mahogany desk and read Genevieve’s article on a best-baby contest again. Damn, he thought admiringly. She was good. Very good. She’d caught the essence of the whole event: the alternating boastfulness and boredom of the show parents, the slight pathos of poor families in their barely clean best clothes hoping for a premium, the wild exuberance of the children, and the utter ridiculousness of the entire affair, with a subtle wit that was clever enough to be noticed by most readers but not so sharp that it was condescending.

  Ah, Miss Palmer, he thought, folding the newspaper carefully and putting it aside. Genevieve. He’d thought of her more than he liked to admit in recent days.

  Would she be an asset or a hindrance? Only time would tell.

  A light knock sounded on his door, interrupting his train of thought. Daniel sighed and removed his boots from the furniture.

  “Yes?”

  Asher, his personal secretary, thumped into his office and handed him a note. “This just arrived.” He glanced at the desk and frowned. Daniel followed Asher’s disapproving gaze, guiltily noticing the dirt and scuff marks his boots had left behind on the expansive surface.

  “I’m sure Mrs. Kelly will be able to get the scratches out,” Daniel said, brushing some of the dirt away with his hand.

  “Probably, but I’m the one that’s gonna get an earful about it.” Asher shook his head at Daniel and stalked out of the room. Daniel sighed. The majority of the people who worked for him were people he’d known growing up in Five Points, and they had no reservations about informing him when he’d acted like an ass. Asher had been a prizefighter in his younger days, and his enormous size, scarred face, and often angry countenance had seriously frightened several of his clients. But Asher, like all those in Daniel’s employ, was hardworking and exceedingly loyal. Daniel figured anyone who couldn’t handle his staff’s often less-than-polished manners didn’t need to be a client of his. Another luxury of Jacob’s money: he could afford to be choosy.

  Returning his attention to the newly arrived note, Daniel flipped it over and noted it was from Rupert.

  He read the missive quickly, and felt his mood, already made introspective by the confounding Miss Stewart, plummet.

  Cursing under his breath, Daniel tossed the note aside and leaned back in his chair again, feeling his jaw clench in helplessness and frustration.

  It was done, then. Rupert reported he’d come close to not going through with it, but in the end he had proposed to Esmie Bradley, and she had accepted.

  Daniel closed his eyes. His friend was deliberately choosing an unhappy life for the sake of family duty.

  Didn’t you do the same? The thought floated into his mind and lodged there stubbornly.

  Daniel frowned, swiveling his chair to stare contemplatively through the window at Gramercy Park’s trim paths.

  It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t forcing himself into a loveless union.

  But you’re forcing yourself to be alone, his mind whispered back.

  He pushed back from the window more violently than he’d intended. “Asher!” he bellowed.

  Asher’s scowling visage popped into view. “Yes?” he growled.

  “My evening clothes are ready for this weekend?”

  Asher nodded.

  “Good. The engagement will be announced after all.”

  Asher grunted impassively, then turned to go.

  “And Asher?”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Is the other matter I asked you to take care of finished?” he asked quietly.

  Asher’s homely, ravaged face softened into what was almost a smile. “Yeh, it’s all set,” he replied. “Paddy and Billy got that family outa Cherry Street and resettled uptown.”

  “Good,” Daniel said, leaning back in his chair again. He folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, brooding. It was good, a bright spot in what seemed like a dark, thankless world today. “Good.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Daniel blinked at what was the most lavish ballroom he’d ever encountered. Outside of some royal palaces in Europe, that is.

  Which was clearly the association Elmira Bradley sought to invoke.

  The grand room was massive, two stories high, the walls decorated with paintings in the French Rococo manner. Though as Daniel peered at one more closely, he reassessed: they were originals, undoubtedly brought over from France, as were the majority of the furnishings and other decorations, he’d wager. Probably even the marble under his feet.

  Where was Rupert? The sole reason he was at the Bradleys’ monster of a house—and the elaborate exterior matched the opulence of the interior; there were pointed towers on the thing—was to support his friend through what undoubtedly would be a spectacle of an engagement announcement.

  An added bonus, of course, was that this was a social event at which he was unlikely to run into Genevieve Stewart, given her family history with the Bradleys. For almost two weeks, he had expected his revelation about his origins to result in a story in the paper, but as with their encounter in the alley, she’d surprised him yet again.

  Which was both impressive and disquieting, in equal measure. He wanted her to stay away from investigating Robin Hood, even if portions of his past had to be the pro
verbial sacrificial lambs. So far, she hadn’t taken the bait.

  Daniel delved deeper into the crush of bodies representing many of New York’s most exclusive families. Except for the Astors, of course. The Bradleys were still new money, after all, and far too gauche for the likes of the closest thing New York had to royalty.

  “Mr. McCaffrey,” Mrs. Bradley trilled, emerging from the crowd in a blinding flash of peacock-blue silk and a headdress with matching feathers. “How wonderful to see you. It’s so refreshing when gentlemen support our young ladies by attending functions. So many are too concerned with business matters to keep these late hours, you know,” she added with a significant glance at the cigar-chewing man dutifully trailing in her wake. “I believe you know my husband?”

  Amos Bradley clasped Daniel’s hand in a shake so firm it was just short of uncomfortable. He had met the man on several other occasions, and liked him. Amos was, physically, everything his wife was not: a towering figure with a large, well-earned belly, in contrast to Elmira’s diminutive, bony form. He moved and spoke slowly and with deliberation, while she darted and feinted among the crowd, her sharp eyes constantly roving, seeking the person or persons she believed could best advance her family’s place in society.

  True to form, Mrs. Bradley excused herself and flitted away, leaving the men to converse alone. Amos watched her disappear, then slid his heavy-lidded gaze back to Daniel, lazily chomping his unlit cigar.

  Daniel wasn’t fooled by Amos’s somnolent manner. His indolent appearance and large size had initially lulled many of New York’s businessmen into believing Amos’s mind was as slow as his body, but Daniel knew Amos possessed one of the sharpest brains in all of industry. He’d built a massive fortune, reportedly from nothing, on copper mines in Montana. In business practices he was known to be precise, ruthless, and exacting.

  He was also quite funny. And though most of society merely tolerated his wife, he seemed truly smitten with her. Part of how the Bradleys had climbed the social ladder so far, so fast, was by husbands badgering their wives into accepting Mrs. Bradley’s invitations, as the men were keen to stay in Amos’s good graces.

  “Seems your friend will marry my daughter,” Amos said, watching Daniel with assessing eyes.

  He nodded in return. “I have heard so, yes.”

  Amos nodded back, moving the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. “I know he’s penniless, despite that fancy title everyone’s so impressed with.” Daniel could not think of a suitable reply to this. Rupert kept up appearances, but since his father had died the year prior and his already-meager allowance had stopped, Daniel had taken over paying for much of his friend’s wardrobe and his bachelor quarters at the Benedick, a lodging house frequented mainly by artists on Washington Square’s east side.

  “He’d better be good to her, or I’ll rip his head off,” Amos remarked, as if commenting on the flower arrangements. A frisson of unease settled between Daniel’s shoulders. He knew, despite the casual delivery, that Amos Bradley was serious as death.

  “Make sure he knows, will you?” Amos continued, allowing his lazy gaze to travel the ballroom.

  “I shall,” Daniel replied, just as neutrally. He did not want to make an enemy of Amos Bradley.

  “Elmira’s happy.” Whether Amos meant with the engagement, the ball, or both was unclear.

  “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  “What do you think of the old pile of bricks?” Amos gestured around the room with his cigar before firmly clamping it between his teeth again.

  “It’s impressive,” Daniel replied honestly.

  “Elmira wanted it to look like a French chateau.”

  Daniel made a noncommittal noise of assent.

  “She’s happy,” Amos remarked again. “Once Esmie marries, she wants to put Rupert’s family crest on the door.” Daniel had noticed a crest upon his entrance and now realized it had been fabricated for the Bradleys. “Speaking of, there’s your friend.” Amos languidly gestured his grand head behind Daniel’s shoulder. “Go tell him what I said, won’t you.”

  It was a command rather than a suggestion.

  Daniel obeyed, turning on his heel and making his way through the press of bodies toward Rupert, who pounced upon him gratefully.

  “Daniel! I’ve been looking for you. Come, we need to speak.” Daniel fought his way through the crowd again, following his friend out of the ballroom, across the grand entryway, and through a massive mahogany door into a hushed library.

  Rupert shut the door firmly behind him and leaned his back against it. The library had walls of bookshelves that spanned floor to ceiling along all four walls, with what appeared to be recessed reading nooks carefully inserted halfway down each wall, and large, comfortable-looking leather armchairs arranged in the center of the room. As Rupert made his way to a sideboard and poured each of them a large snifter of brandy, Daniel inspected the books curiously. They were old, leather-bound volumes, but the shades of each binding had been carefully coordinated, and Daniel wondered whether they were actually read or simply for show.

  Rupert handed Daniel his glass with a hefty sigh. “I had to get a moment of quiet.”

  Daniel accepted his drink. “How are you holding up?”

  Rupert waved the air about him, dismissing the question. “How are you?”

  He’d confided in Rupert about Genevieve, and Gerry Knox’s body in the alley, and about his run-in with Tommy Meade. His old friend was perhaps the one person alive, with the exception of his cousin Kathleen, who knew his true origins.

  Who knew how he’d inherited Jacob’s fortune.

  “I don’t think she’s here,” Daniel replied, swirling his brandy. Rupert raised his brows.

  “That’s a stroke of luck. Do you think she’s getting closer?”

  “I’m not sure. I thought I’d put her off, but … I don’t know. She’s tenacious.”

  “At least your pursuer is attractive.” Rupert snorted into his own glass. “Can’t say the same for mine.”

  Daniel was shocked. Rupert was often flippant, but this unkindness was unlike him.

  “Don’t be an ass,” he said shortly. “Where is your intended?”

  “She’s around here somewhere, buried under mountains of yellow shiny stuff.” Rupert gestured wildly at the area around his neck and shoulders in an apparent attempt to visually describe the offending gown. “Looks like a pile of scrambled egg.” He shot Daniel an accusing look. “Why is it that you Americans insist upon everything being so over-the-top?”

  “We’re inspired by the grandeur of our own landscape?” Daniel suggested, his reply falling on deaf ears as Rupert built his complaint into a tirade.

  “God, man, the misery of it. You don’t know the teas, the musicales, the luncheons I’ve had to endure these past weeks. Esmie’s all right, I guess; I wouldn’t know, the girl hardly says two words together. We’re rarely without that shrew of a mother of hers, who talks enough for the whole city, and the both of them always decked out in the most garish of getups.” Rupert closed his eyes briefly, jaw muscles clenching for a brief moment. When he opened his eyes again, he smiled brightly at Daniel. “But congratulate me, my good friend. She’s now wearing my grandmother’s diamond.” Rupert stared into his drink for a moment, pondering. Daniel allowed the silence to unfold between them, letting Rupert gather his thoughts.

  “We’ve nothing, mate, you know that, don’t you?” Rupert glanced at Daniel inquisitively. “My family, I mean. Not a sodding farthing. Father squandered it all. The entire Milton fortune.” Daniel, who had visited Rupert’s crumbling family estate during school holidays, nodded somberly. “And if it was just me, I’d say blast it all and try my luck in the West, or take up some trade, or … I don’t know.” He looked at Daniel helplessly. “But I’ve got younger sisters. And a mother. And I’m the only one who can carry on the goddamn family name.” Rupert’s jaw muscles clenched again, and Daniel noticed his friend’s knuckles whitening as he gripped his g
lass as well. Daniel tensed, wondering if he’d have to make his excuses and take Rupert home before his friend did something he’d regret. But even as he reached out to touch Rupert’s elbow, suggest they find a quiet tavern where they could talk until he was calm, Rupert relaxed again, and offered Daniel a lazy half smile.

  “And I’m a coward. And I like good food, and good champagne. So I’ll marry the scrawny wench dressed in egg yolk, force myself to bed her a few times, and perhaps I’ll get lucky and she’ll insist upon spending a lot of time in the country, doing whatever it is she likes to do.” With another bitter smile, Rupert tossed back his drink and headed toward the sideboard for another. “They do keep good liquor in the house, I’ll give that …”

  Rupert stopped abruptly, reddening in the face and looking over Daniel’s shoulder in shock. Daniel turned and saw Esmie standing behind him, having just emerged from one of the shadowed reading nooks, and by the stricken look on her face, she’d overheard everything.

  “Esmie,” Rupert said in a harsh whisper, looking stricken himself. “Please, Esmie, I didn’t mean …”

  Esmie stood half in the nook and half out, her hand over her mouth and her face deathly pale. She held her hand out to stop him from speaking, then slowly straightened her spine and lifted her chin, somehow looking dignified under mounds of orange-yellow lace. She suddenly appeared much older than her twenty-four years.

  “Yes, you did mean it, every word,” she said in a low, halting voice. Tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to overflow. “You know, I don’t particularly wish to marry you either. And you know, I … I don’t pick out my own clothes,” she blurted. The tears that had been threatening began to stream down her face, and Esmie turned on her heel and quickly but quietly left the room.