by Joanna Shupe
“Shutting us down?” Eva cocked her head, calmly addressing the superintendent. Carew and Milliken also closed in. “What seems to be the issue?”
Weller cleared his throat, glancing over all the anxious faces surrounding him. “The height. Your building will collapse from the weight.”
Hyde had come up with a unique and clever plan to support the height of the building. The entire structure would be supported with a grid of Bessemer steel, allowing the interior to carry the weight instead of the outside walls. Phillip had verified the structural viability with no fewer than four engineers, Carew included.
“No, it won’t,” Eva said. “The weight is sustained by the internal frame. The hotel will weigh one-third of a building constructed in the old manner, where the weight was carried in the outer walls.”
“You assume.”
She stood up straighter. “No, I know. Even if I hadn’t run the calculations, they’ve already used this method in Chicago for taller buildings,” Eva pointed out. “Both the Tacoma Building and the Home Insurance Building—”
“Miss Ashford.” Weller said the words distastefully, as if he’d smelled a pile of horse droppings left baking in the summer sun. “We are not in Chicago. They may play fast and loose with the rules there, but in New York City we are more careful. We cannot have a fourteen-story building collapsing in midtown.”
“Thirteen floors,” she corrected. “And two buildings in Liverpool, England, have also used the same method. There is no chance this building will collapse.”
He gestured toward Eva but addressed Phillip. “This is pure hubris and considering Mr. Hyde is not even here to defend it—”
“I am here.” Eva crossed her arms over her chest. “And I’ll happily defend it.”
“I do not mean to offend you, miss, but why would I take the word of a secretary?”
Phillip leaned in. “She is Hyde’s assistant, not his secretary, and is as well-versed with these plans as Hyde himself. She—and Mr. Carew—can answer any questions, allay any fears you might have.” God, he hoped that was true. He had three million dollars and his reputation at risk.
“I’ll gladly show you my calculations once more,” Carew put in. “Hyde’s design is solid.”
“I happen to know,” Phillip said, “that Pulitzer’s using the same framing structure—and he’s building upward of twenty-three stories.” In fact, the engineers for Pulitzer’s building had checked over Hyde’s plans last year. “Why aren’t you downtown, verifying his plans?”
Weller shifted, his gaze bouncing. “We’ve spoken with Mr. Pulitzer and are satisfied that his building’s structurally sound.”
Suddenly Phillip knew exactly why Weller was here instead of downtown. Fucking Tammany Hall. Keene and Croker were stirring up trouble to make a point. He took a menacing step forward, crowding into Weller’s space. “I don’t know how much they paid you,” he said softly, “but I’m aware of exactly who is behind this. Think twice before you make an enemy of me, Weller. I also have friends in high places—high legal places.”
“Mr. Weller.” Eva once again stepped in front of Phillip, blocking his path to the superintendent. “Perhaps you, Mr. Carew, and I should retreat somewhere to discuss this. Review the plans once more before we all make rash decisions?”
Weller appeared less sure of himself now. “I don’t know . . .”
“Have you ever enjoyed a true English afternoon tea?”
At Eva’s question, Milliken’s jaw fell open while a heavy frown transformed Carew’s usual easygoing expression. Similar surprise jolted through Phillip, though he attempted to hide it. Tea? They were talking about tea? Had she lost her mind?
Weller appeared taken aback. “No, I cannot say that I have, miss.”
“Then I insist you join me today for proper afternoon tea. Mr. Carew will attend as well and we’ll discuss this in greater detail.”
Weller glanced at Phillip then back at Eva. “I suppose we could do that. I must insist that you halt work on the site until we do so, however.”
Phillip’s fists clenched. “Absolutely not—”
“Fine.” Eva placed a hand on Phillip’s arm, quelling his argument. “Mr. Milliken, let’s give the men the day off, with full pay of course.”
A string of curses ran through Phillip’s head but he said nothing, merely gritted his teeth and tried not to send an uppercut into Weller’s pointed jaw. She’d better have a good reason for all this. Rolling over to Weller’s demand went against everything Phillip believed.
“Mr. Mansfield?” Mr. Milliken looked to Phillip for confirmation. He gave a quick nod, and Milliken spun on his heel to shut down excavation for the day.
“I have a meeting at two o’clock, so perhaps you may come at four?” She handed Weller an embossed card, then passed one to Carew as well.
Weller studied the address. “I suppose I can do that.”
“Excellent. We shall see you then.”
Weller left with a final nod and Phillip rounded on Eva. “Carew, give us a moment.”
The engineer raised his hands and started backing away. “I’ll see you at four, Miss Ashford. Mansfield.”
“I am attending that meeting,” he informed her as soon as they were alone.
“No, you are not. Weller doesn’t like you and it’s clear the feeling is mutual. You also cannot control your temper around him, and I cannot be worried you’ll undo all my sweet talk during the meeting.”
“Sweet talk?”
She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Phillip, there are times when acting like a bully gets you nowhere. This is one of those times. Did you not see Weller? He expected you to bark and snarl at him, and he was ready for the fight. He has the power here, and we have to find a way to gain a little of our own. That’s why I want him off the construction site and in an unfamiliar surrounding.”
“You cannot think a pot of Earl Grey and a few crumpets are going to fix this mess, do you?”
“That just proves you’ve never had really good crumpets. Stay away from this meeting.”
“No.”
“Do you trust me?”
He set his jaw and tried to think of a careful answer. “Again, it has nothing to do with your abilities. This is my hotel, my money. I cannot twiddle my thumbs this afternoon knowing the fate of such an important decision is out of my hands.”
“That is too bad because I’m barring you from the Cortlands’ house.”
“Eva, I am in charge—not you. If I want to be there, a brigade of armed soldiers could not keep me out.”
“You may speak with Weller separately if I am unable to appease him. How about that?”
“No. I need to be at this meeting.” He supposed he could bend a little. For Eva. “What if I promise to sit quietly and not say a word?”
“Are you capable of such an astounding feat?”
Annoyance rippled through him. “Yes—and since you cannot stop me from coming, it’s the best you’ll get from me.”
“All right, but not one word, Phillip.”
“Fine.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where is your two o’clock meeting?”
She lifted her skirts and started to walk away. “That is none of your business. I’ll see you at four.”
Chapter Eight
The Mansfield matriarch lived in a mansion in the heart of Millionaire’s Row. The house was designed in the style of the French Second Empire, with lacy iron edging around a tall mansard roof with elaborate dormers. An impressive stone staircase and balustrade led up to the main entrance. The house was understated when compared to the opulent Vanderbilt and Astor mansions in the neighborhood, but the owner’s wealth could never be questioned.
The door opened before Eva used the gilded knocker. “Miss Ashford,” the slim butler said, waving her in. “Mrs. Mansfield is expecting you.”
“Thank you.” The marble entry was impressive, all white Carrara marble, accented with Italian sculptures, lush carpets, and notable pa
intings. A huge skylight with opalescent stained glass rested four stories above, its colored light bouncing off the crystals of the ornate chandelier below. A majestic staircase swept gracefully to the higher floors, curving to harmonize the space and dominate in a purely theatrical way. Eva would congratulate the designer, if it were possible.
She deposited her parasol with the butler and then followed him to the salon. The house was quiet, with no voices or footsteps save her and the butler. Not even the ticking of a clock could be heard. It was a bit like a tomb—a beautiful, priceless tomb.
The first thing Eva noted in the drawing room was the gold ceiling. She blinked against the brightness. Then she saw Mrs. Mansfield, who wore a pale blue gown that nearly matched the wallpaper. “Miss Ashford. Do come sit down,” the older woman said and gestured to the sofa.
As Eva sat, she noticed there were long rolls of paper on the low cherry table. These were traces, the architectural drawings completed on transparent paper. This must be the project on which Mrs. Mansfield needed input. Eva’s fingers itched to open the rolls and investigate.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Ashford. I would prefer not to waste time with small talk, if you do not mind.”
Eva appreciated the older woman’s forthright approach. As she had another meeting in less than two hours, expediency suited her as well. “Indeed not. How may I help you?”
“I wish to consult with your employer regarding a small addition to my Newport cottage.”
Eva knew enough about Americans to know “cottage” really meant mansion. And she knew enough about New York ladies to know “small” really meant “obscenely large.”
“You’ve had plans drawn up already, I see.”
“Indeed, I have.” Phillip’s mother reached for the rolls of paper. “I want the east wing torn down and enlarged. The architect has presented me with something absolutely untenable. Your employer has such a remarkable reputation, and I am hopeful that he might be willing to consult on this project.”
Eva’s curiosity was piqued. “Untenable?”
“Most definitely. I’ll show you.” She started to unroll one of the traces on the tea table. “The house was built over thirty years ago. We had a small family then and I also hadn’t considered how much Newport would change in that time.”
Ah, so Mrs. Mansfield wanted bigger and better, a house commensurate with her status in the city. Eva nodded and gestured toward the drawings. “I understand. Let’s see what they’ve proposed.”
First she was shown the current floor plan and façade. Stoneacre was an English Georgian in the Palladian style, typical of houses completed early-and midcentury. She let Mrs. Mansfield talk about the new design, how the expanded wing would improve on the livability. Bigger bedrooms, new showers in all the bathing rooms, a new cooling system that would provide relief in the hot summer months . . . There were also several smaller bedrooms, “for the grandchildren,” Mrs. Mansfield explained. Eva tried not to think about Phillip filling those small bedrooms with perfect children, undoubtedly created with a prim and proper wife who never dug about in the dirt with her bare hands.
Ridiculous how much that idea bothered her. She didn’t want to marry, not even to a man so handsome and driven as Phillip. Yes, he understood architecture and had a love of building things, as she did, but they were ill-suited beyond that. He would try to control his wife’s every move . . . and Eva would never stand for it.
“So,” Mrs. Mansfield finished, “what they’ve proposed doing is wrapping the current house in sort of a stucco and cocooning it. Then we’ll build out with some of the beaux arts details that are so current right now.”
Eva frowned at that. “Have they tested the foundation and the center of the house to ensure it’s structurally sound?”
“No,” Mrs. Mansfield confirmed. “But I’m not happy with any of the exterior design. It looks . . . slapdash to me.”
Eva agreed. The idea was a bit like taking an apple pie and wrapping it in sponge cake. Underneath would be a mess. “Was this method proposed to save on building costs?”
“They had a generous budget. All I asked was that they retain as much of the original building as possible but update it.”
“In my opinion, what they’ve proposed is a mistake. The foundation has to be able to support the additional weight. In theory, whatever was built thirty years ago would still be sound but one never knows. I’ve seen buildings less than ten years old begin to crack.”
“So how do we find out?”
“Take the measurements and do the calculations. The structure should be examined carefully.” She studied the tracings. “Tell me, if you want a beaux arts style, why not just tear down what’s there and rebuild?”
A strange, almost pained look passed over Mrs. Mansfield’s face. “My husband had this house built for me as a five-year anniversary present. I am loath to lose it.”
Who would have guessed the tough old lady to be so sentimental? Eva had seen it before with other clients. “What if you kept the center portion, this part here?” She pointed to the entrance hall, flanked by the drawing and dining rooms. “Tear down everything on both sides and build out new wings. Perhaps add a loggia in the back to capture the sea air and connect with the bedrooms.”
“That sounds wonderful but more than I need. Perhaps your employer would have a solution?”
Eva leaned back against the sofa, reminding herself that Mrs. Mansfield assumed she was nothing more than Hyde’s assistant. “I am happy to consult with his lordship, but what you are asking for is a delicate balance. You want to modernize a structure that has emotional value to you, mixing two completely different styles, and therefore nothing will satisfy you. You cannot have it both ways. If you try, the redesign is doomed from the start.”
The woman’s jaw fell a bit, clearly not expecting Eva to put the situation so plainly. But Eva could tell that Mrs. Mansfield was setting everyone up for failure: the architect, the contractor, herself. No one would be happy with the results—and the house deserved better.
Mrs. Mansfield turned her gaze toward the windows, where the busy Fifth Avenue afternoon traffic passed by. Carriages, carts, broughams, and the occasional man on horseback tottered along this main thoroughfare. Seconds ticked on the clock, loud in the quiet room and even quieter house.
“I suppose you’re right,” the older woman said after a long moment. “I hadn’t quite thought of it that way but it makes sense.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the house as it is. It’s a lovely summer cottage.”
“Yes, it is.” She glanced at the traces. “So many happy memories there. But I need to look to the future, not the past. My Walter would understand.”
“Good for you. I’m certain your architects can revise your plans—”
“No, I’d like you to do it.”
“Me?” She nearly laughed but thankfully stifled the reaction in time. “Oh, you mean E. M. Hyde.”
“No, Miss Ashford. I nearly always say what I mean. I mean you.”
Eva didn’t know what to say. Say yes, you fool. You desperately need the money and besides, this could be your first design under your own name. Instead, what came out was, “Why?”
Mrs. Mansfield settled more firmly into the sofa and folded her hands. “My son speaks quite highly of you and he is not one to suffer fools lightly, especially women. If you were incompetent, he’d already have replaced you. And it’s clear from our meeting that you can speak your mind—and God knows I appreciate a strong woman who is able to speak her mind.”
Eva couldn’t argue. She’d never learned the art of dissembling or acting polite for politeness’s sake. “Thank you, then. I would absolutely love to do this. I’ll draft something and have it to you as quickly as possible. Would I be able to visit Stoneacre in the meantime? I’d like to get a feel for the space and what we might be able to salvage.”
She could tell the idea pleased Mrs. Mansfield. “Of course. I plan to return to Newport on Wednes
day. Come visit anytime.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“How are you finding working with my son?”
Eva swallowed and tried to think of an appropriate response, all the while willing her pale skin not to turn pink. “He is fair. Well versed in architecture in addition to the construction process. He’s much more involved than I imagined.”
“You sound as if you aren’t certain whether that’s good or bad.”
“That’s because I haven’t quite decided,” she said honestly and Mrs. Mansfield laughed.
“He’s very driven, my son. Didn’t use to be that way, you know. He wasn’t always so hard. But I’m afraid that’s what a broken heart can do to a young man.”
“A broken heart?” Eva nearly fell off the sofa. Phillip had been in love?
“Oh, yes. I’m not certain he’d be happy with me sharing the story, however. It was quite well-known at the time. He finds it humiliating, though nothing was his fault. It taught him a valuable lesson, however, that people are often not what they seem.”
Guilt thickened Eva’s tongue as she struggled to form a response. Phillip had been duped in the past—and by a woman he’d considered marrying? Goodness, she could only imagine the blow to his pride.
And now Eva was lying to him about her father’s health and the true architect behind the new Mansfield Hotel. He would be livid if he ever found out the truth.
He must never find out. No matter what happened, she had to ensure he never learned what she’d done. She didn’t want to ruin this . . . friendship they had developed. It was important to her.
She realized Mrs. Mansfield was staring at her oddly. “Well, I shall certainly keep that in mind when dealing with him. I should be going, as I have another meeting soon. I’ll cable you regarding a visit to Stoneacre. Perhaps Sunday?”
Mrs. Mansfield stood, the long strands of pearls around her neck clacking gently. “That would be lovely. I’ll look forward to it.”
He witnessed the entire meeting, but Phillip couldn’t have said exactly how she managed it.
Over bland tea and fancy cakes, Eva charmed Weller right out of his concerns over the structural integrity of the hotel. More importantly, she thoroughly won him over to their side. Tammany Hall would not stand a chance in corrupting Weller again.
