“Your sweet mother? I remember her well. I hope it’s not very serious.” Mr. Treadway said with exaggerated alarm.
“Not very,” Leo said stiffly.
“I wish her a speedy recovery.”
“How kind of you,” Leo replied in the other man’s exact tone and manner, matching false concern with false appreciation. Claudine found it most unpleasant to witness this new side of Leo’s personality.
“Your mother lives in America, but your unmarried sister lives in France. How bold of her.” Mrs. Glendenning’s tone sounded anything but admiring though she should have been the first to stand up for a fellow independent woman. So much for sisterhood.
The French businessmen’s conversation trailed off. Claudine drew her soupspoon in a delicate arc through her vichyssoise as more eyes focused upon her.
“She’s been at finishing school.” Leo’s quick explanation seemed to satisfy all concerned.
Mr. Treadway smirked. “Cloistered away, were you? Then you must not waste a moment getting into the thick of things in New York.” He announced this last point mainly to Claudine’s décolletage.
She longed for a menu or a shawl to act as a shield, but she had neither. She wasn’t accustomed to wearing such low-cut dresses and feared the champagne silk faille and lace gown the saleswoman picked out for her might be too daring.
“I’m afraid your crowd would be a tad too thick for Madeleine,” Leo said dryly.
Mr. Treadway took the dig with surprisingly good humor. “How I’ve missed your quick wit, old friend.”
The shovel king decided to acknowledge the playwright then, and conversation thankfully turned to less personal topics: the Panic, economic malaise, and rampant unemployment (about three minutes), the Wentworth-Howe’s costume ball at the Waldorf Hotel (ten minutes), and all the reasons for Vigilant’s likely triumph over Valkyrie II in October (a monologue by Mr. Treadway which lasted at least twenty minutes). It took Claudine at least half that time to realize he was talking about a yacht race.
The courses kept coming: Lobster à la Newburg, Sweetbreads a la Dreux, Roast Lamb with Mint Sauce. Finally, a waiter in a white uniform set a plate of Pineapple Royale before Claudine, and she knew the end of the meal was blessedly near.
“Maybe I can put you up for membership at Chapman’s when we get back or, better yet, you must both come down to Briarcote one weekend,” Mr. Treadway said between spoonfuls. “You know Helen and her parties. Do try. She’ll be delighted to meet your family.”
Leo’s mouth tensed into a tight line. Was Helen another of his women? If so, he clearly had no wish to see her again. How many had there been, and why did he see fit to discard them?
“We’ll see,” he replied. “I’ve been working in the city most weekends. My new theater is scheduled to open in September, and there are endless details and problems to be worked out.”
“Another one? When will you learn to relax and simply enjoy life?” Mr. Treadway’s gaze dipped once again to Claudine’s cleavage. “Your sister certainly deserves some of your attention after such a prolonged separation. A few days at Briarcote would be just the thing. I’m going to tell Helen I invited you for the Fourth of July. Then you’ll have to come. You know how put out she gets about any perceived slight.”
Leo’s former chum was playing a game with them. He clearly didn’t believe their charade. Claudine concentrated upon her dessert and tried to scrape a bit of meringue from the top, but it was rock hard, utterly impenetrable. Curious.
She set aside her spoon and looked up to find multiple pairs of eyes studying her and “her brother” with obvious suspicion. They’d been foolish to even attempt to carry off such an unbelievable lie, but now that they had, they were stuck.
Chapter Six
Claudine tried not to think about Leo, the mysteries of his past or the tawdry affairs of his present. She told herself the Leo of her youthful infatuation was nothing more than a fictional character drawn from her own imagination.
The sincere and altruistic young man had become a cold, self-serving opportunist. His entire interest in her rested upon his delusion that she could somehow make even more money for him. The moment she failed to do so he would find some excuse to be rid of her.
Yet at night she lay awake, dissecting all their interactions thus far for clues to the contrary. He’d been kind to her from the moment they met regardless of his motivation. Sometimes he seemed exactly like the caring young man she used to know.
She listened well past midnight for the sound of his footsteps or the creak of the stateroom door opening. She was forever on edge, waiting for him to return, and when he did, her inner turmoil grew even worse. What had she gotten herself into?
By Tuesday, she’d had enough of her pathetic behavior and decided to spend as much time as possible outside of their shared stateroom. The first-class amenities gave her much to explore: the Turkish baths, the squash courts, the gymnasium, the café. The reading and writing room appealed to her the most.
She spent most of the morning perusing books until Mr. Treadway showed up and tried to engage her in conversation. “How pretty you look today.”
The comment caught her off guard because she’d been so eager to leave the stateroom that morning she’d barely taken any time with her appearance. She was wearing her navy travelling costume again, and her hair was twisted into a chignon.
He scratched his protruding chin while his doll-like green eyes dwelled upon the ruffled collar of her white blouse and lowered to the V of her jacket. “I noticed you don’t have a maid with you. However do you manage?”
“The chambermaid assists me,” she said in order to halt any further discussion of the subject. But truthfully, she didn’t need help. She’d mastered the skill of dressing herself, and she was proud of that.
He asked a few more questions about her activities at finishing school, and she made up reasonable sounding answers, based upon Jacqueline’s experiences. His voice boomed in the quiet surroundings. Several other passengers gave her exasperated looks until she felt she had no choice but to leave.
Unfortunately, he followed her. “Where are you off to now?”
“I left my grammar book in my stateroom, and I really must study.”
“Study what?” Sunlight glinted upon his large front teeth and shiny silk ascot as they stepped outside.
“English.”
“What nonsense. You speak English better than many Americans I know.”
Did she? She’d have to take care to adapt her speech from now on, especially around Leo. He doubted her explanation of how she’d come to be so proficient. Perhaps she could make some tense errors here and there and draw out the “learning process” at least until they arrived in America.
“It’s an uncommonly fine day. Why not take a stroll with me first?”
His persistence and boldness unnerved her. “No, I’m not inclined to exercise at the moment. Good day, monsieur.”
His thick lips twisted as he tipped his hat to her in a mocking way. A shiver ran down her spine as she strode away with the sense that he continued to watch her.
She thought about returning to the stateroom to retrieve the grammar book for the sake of appearances, but she was reluctant to risk running into Leo so she wandered and found herself in an unfamiliar part of the ship.
A few gentlemen were standing at a rail overlooking a lower deck. Most of their conversation was drowned out by the wind, the crashing of waves, and the rhythmic chug of the engine. Every now and then, they’d toss coins down to the lower deck.
Curious, she approached the rail and peered down upon the scene below. Among the massive ship’s machinery, steerage passengers played games, ate, slept, and played music in the wind and sun. She noticed two separate groups of dancers. Toward the stern, a group of girls skipped and turned to the tune of an accordion. On the opposite end, two boys bounced and kicked a jig to a tin whistle and flute. They weren’t competing; they were just oblivious to each other.
The
gentlemen were watching her now in a speculative sort of way that made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t completely surprised. Her conduct called her character into question. The other first and second-class female passengers didn’t move about the ship so independently.
She waited until the watchman was away and climbed down the stairs. The steerage deck was impossibly crowded, and the warm breeze carried the scent of engine oil. She heard a variety of languages but little French. Many of the passengers were from far away regions of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and the idioms they spoke were incomprehensible to her.
A small red rubber ball rolled across the deck and bounced off the tip of her boot. As she bent down to retrieve it, and looked around for its owner. Two children, sitting cross-legged up the deck among scattered toy jacks, eyed her anxiously. She took a few steps and leaned over to return their ball to them. “I used to love this game.”
“Would you care to play?” the older girl asked in French. She had dark hair and a sweet face with dimples and a slightly upturned nose. “I’m trying to teach my little brother, but he’s not very good.” The boy, adorably unkempt with rumpled hair, a wrinkled sailor shirt, and blue knickers, looked bored with the game at hand.
Claudine’s skirts pooled about her as she sat beside them. “Maybe just a few rounds.” Her skills were rusty. She lost the ball a few times and clumsily scattered the little metal pieces while attempting to sweep them into her hand.
Embarrassed, she tried to excuse herself, but the girl insisted that she stay. Clearly, she was in need of the companionship of other females her age, a feeling Claudine knew all too well. “Where is your mother?”
“Over there, nursing William. Being in our berth makes her feel sick.”
Leaning against some machinery about ten feet away, a haggard and slightly greenish-looking woman with a baby in her arms watched them. She gave a small nod in acknowledgement.
“We’re going to New York so Papa can open a saloon,” the girl said, folding her hands neatly against her white pinafore.
Claudine felt an instant connection with these children. “I’m going to live in New York too.”
“Where are your parents?” the boy asked.
Would they have returned by now and discovered her disappearance? What if they didn’t find her letter? They’d be worried even if they did. Her explanation for her decision omitted all the facts she could not bring herself to acknowledge. Her assurance that she would henceforth support herself sounded lame as it lacked any details as to how.
She’d only meant to spare them from her disgrace, but she could see how they might view her actions as cold and heartless. They’d believe she’d deserted them on a whim. They might never forgive her. “Far, far away,” she muttered.
Perhaps she could write them another letter once she was settled in New York. She would leave off the return address so they wouldn’t try to find her, but at least they’d know she was alive and well. “I’m going without them.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“A little, but I’m also excited. I’m going to be a professional singer, and I’ve always dreamed of that.”
The girl’s huge brown eyes sparked with fascination. “Will you sing for us?”
Claudine didn’t wish to interrupt the music and dance already in progress. Nor did she relish the prospect of bored or annoyed reactions. “I can’t. Not now. There are too many people here.” As soon as she uttered that last sentence, she realized how absurd she sounded, claiming she wanted be a professional singer yet refusing to call attention to herself.
“She probably can’t sing at all,” the round-faced boy said.
His sister glared at him. “She might be famous one day, and you’ll be sorry then that you weren’t nice to her now.” She looked up at Claudine with wide, imploring eyes. “Show him.”
After her last performance, her vocal abilities were much in doubt. Claudine feared she might disappoint the girl.
“Please.”
If she hoped to make any sort of life for herself, she’d heave to overcome her fear and insecurities. Today, at this very moment, she was going to force herself to at least try. “Perhaps very quietly. What song would you like?”
The girl clasped her pudgy hands in anticipation. “Do you know Au Clair de la Lune?”
“Of course!” It was a famous song from the prior century, often sung to children as a lullaby, and she knew it by heart as all French children did.
Claudine began singing softly. By the time she finished the lullaby, a crowd had gathered around her. They applauded her enthusiastically and urged to sing another.
She didn’t have a repertoire, but she sensed refusal would have seemed ungracious so she launched into “Summers Gone By,” a song she’d written about the innocence of childhood and the longing for simple joys of youth. She’d never sung it before an audience before and wasn’t certain what gave her the courage to do so now.
Gradually, the other performances on deck petered out. More people wandered over to encircle her. The appreciation on their faces raised her confidence and ignited her passion. Unfiltered emotion infused her words as she released feelings long repressed.
She looked directly into the faces of everyone around her even as she thought how strange it was that she was bold enough to do so. Her audience stared right back at her, their expressions mirroring her own emotions. Some of the women began to dab at their eyes.
At the end of her song, there was a beat of silence before thunderous applause erupted. Elation like she’d never known swept over her, and she realized there were tears upon her cheeks. She’d touched people, reached them in a way she never had before. Amazed, she wiped her face with the back of her hands and made a belated curtsy.
Then she saw Leo on the far edge of the crowd. His dark and brooding expression remained fixed upon her as the steerage class passengers drifted away. Had she done something wrong?
The children pleaded with her to sing another. “I think that’s enough for today. I’ll look for you tomorrow.”
As Leo approached, several women moving in the opposite direction turned their heads to stare. In his charcoal gray plaid morning suit and homburg, he looked at first glance like a gentleman of leisure, but something about his lithe stride and determined expression set him apart from that class.
“So this is where you go during the day,” he said as he reached her. “You’re building a following already.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I had no notion so many people would be interested. Are you angry?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Your expression.”
He looked genuinely surprised. “My thoughts were most complimentary.”
She didn’t believe him. He was concealing something, but that was nothing new. “I doubt most of those people even understood the lyrics.”
“I wouldn’t assume that. In any case, the passion is more important than the words.”
She thought of Nicolina. “So I’ve been told. I’ll have to improve in that area.”
Leo looked down at her suddenly, surprised. “You have nothing to improve upon. Your passion is innate. I heard it in your voice the first time I heard you sing. That’s why I had to meet you. I never would have set foot in that dive otherwise.”
The warmth in his eyes, nearly green in the sunlight, made her stomach flutter. Silly ideas about fate swirled in her head.
“How is it you have no idea how enchanting you are?” he murmured.
Heat rushed to her face as she struggled to put the compliment in perspective. He shouldn’t say such confusing things to her. He seemed to realize that as he broke eye contact to adjust the perfectly tied knot of his patterned four-in-hand.
“To be honest with you, my sister is the enchanting one. Everybody says so.” Alex was the mercurial prodigy. Jacqueline was the clever beauty. Claudine was just tall.
“It’s almost time for luncheon.” He hooked her arm with his and led her to th
e stairs. “Where is your sister now?”
Jacqueline would be in her third year of finishing school in Switzerland, but that wouldn’t do as an answer. His presence behind her made her self-conscious as she climbed.
Claudine tried to picture the farm she’d been to when her mother and she visited a friend who lived outside of Paris. She wished she’d paid more attention. “Probably feeding the pigs, rounding up the chickens, that sort of thing.”
“Rounding up the chickens?” he asked behind her.
They reached B Deck, where parasols and walking sticks were once again the norm among strolling passengers. “Someone has to get them back into the coop now that I’m gone.”
His eyebrows arched in amused disbelief. “I can’t quite picture such an occurrence, but I suppose if you endeavored to round up chickens, you’d manage the task very sweetly.”
She could tell he didn’t believe a word of her background, but it was too late to invent another story. “Farm work is difficult. There’s nothing sweet about it.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that. I spent a few months laboring on Midwestern farms in order to make my way west.”
Nothing could have surprised her more. Was that after he’d left college? There had to be more to the story, and she was dying to know the rest. “When was that?”
“There you are, Mr. Barnett!” They both looked in the direction of Mrs. Glendenning’s distinctive breathy voice.
With her frilly parasol bobbing as she swayed over to them, she gazed at Leo in a frank and proprietary way. Her sunshade exactly matched her beautiful glass beaded turquoise silk travelling costume. Her honey blonde hair had been coifed into an artful swirl culminating at her crown.
Her singular focus shut out everyone but Leo. “I’ve been searching all over for you. I’m afraid I must once again importune you for your assistance. I’m having the most vexing difficulty opening my porthole and my cabin is in dire need of ventilation. Do you suppose you could lend a hand?”
Some unpleasant emotion burned inside Claudine’s chest. There were dozens of stewards about to attend to such matters. Mrs. Glendenning’s request pertained to a different matter altogether, and they all knew it.
The Rake's Proposition Page 7
