by Jen Turano
Harrison smiled. “I’m sure we can find another outing that would be suitable for both you and Mrs. Davenport. Perhaps I can take you down the coast. I have numerous business matters to attend to up and down the coast, and I can’t recommend the beaches strongly enough.”
Considering him for a long moment, Gertrude tilted her head. “You’re a good friend to me, Harrison. And while I know I’d enjoy visiting different beaches, I don’t believe it would be prudent for us to go off on an adventure together, even with Mrs. Davenport accompanying us. The gossips have evidently begun remarking on the friendship we share, and I fear that gossip would increase tenfold if word got out we’d begun taking trips together.”
Harrison opened his mouth, but paused when Gertrude held up a hand.
“You’re a very kind gentleman, Harrison, and I will not abuse that kindness by making you the subject for wagging tongues. It would only ruin our friendship in the end.”
Not wanting to distress Gertrude further because he thought he detected just a trace of moisture in her eyes, Harrison settled for nodding, even though he was less than willing to accept her refusal. He knew she spoke nothing less than the truth—but that truth was not sitting well with him.
“Besides,” Gertrude continued as she summoned up a smile and turned his way, “I don’t know if you are aware of this, but I’ve recently begun teaching classes in deportment at Miss Snook’s School for the Education of the Feminine Mind. Even though school is not yet back in session, due to Miss Mabel and Miss Henrietta generously donating their very large mansion off Broadway to Miss Snook as the new location for the school, I fear my spare time this summer will be spent making that mansion more hospitable for the young ladies who are soon to begin taking classes there.”
“I would be more than happy to lend my assistance to the school if you need someone who happens to be somewhat competent with building things,” he heard himself say before he could stop himself.
Gertrude blinked. “That’s a very generous offer, but I was under the impression you have limited time at your disposal.”
Realizing he was acting rather curiously, what with his being so tenacious about trying to secure Gertrude’s company through one invitation after another, Harrison felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead and begin sliding down his face.
Dashing it aside, and wondering what in the world was wrong with him, he forced a smile when he noticed Gertrude was watching him somewhat warily, then breathed a sigh of relief when the carriage suddenly turned onto the drive that led to the hotel. With that turn, Gertrude stopped watching him, turned to the window, then let out a bit of a gasp as she pressed her nose to the glass.
“Good heavens, I had no idea the Manhattan Beach Hotel would be so very fine, nor did I imagine I’d see such a wonderful manicured lawn leading up to the hotel. Why, even though it’s quite dark outside, I would have to imagine that grass takes hours to tend to, and . . . goodness . . . I do believe I see a croquet field, and . . . on my word, it looks like there are guards up ahead, and . . . are they stopping the carriage?” she asked right as the carriage began slowing down.
Harrison looked out the window. “Those aren’t simply guards, Gertrude. They’re Pinkerton detectives.”
Gertrude drew in a sharp breath and pressed her nose against the glass again. “Why in the world would Pinkerton detectives be lurking around the outside of the Manhattan Beach Hotel? Has there been some type of disturbing incident that requires their presence here?”
Moving over to join her on her side of the carriage, Harrison reached for her hand. “There’s no need for such concern, Gertrude. The owner of the hotel regularly hires Pinkerton men to protect it. I’ve been told that man feels it’s well worth the cost because it gives his cherished, and need I add wealthy, guests peace of mind.”
If anything, his disclosure had Gertrude looking less than peaceful as she began smoothing out the folds of her skirt in what could only be described as an agitated manner.
“Is something the matter?” he finally asked when she started muttering under her breath, something having to do with another disaster in the making.
Looking up at him, she summoned a smile that looked less than convincing. “What could possibly be the matter? It’s a lovely evening. I’m attending an engagement celebration of one of my dearest friends, and I’ll be safely guarded while I’m enjoying that celebration by what sounds like an entire brigade of Pinkerton detectives.”
“Why does the presence of the Pinkerton detectives seem to concern you so much? They’re here for your protection.”
Gertrude’s smile faltered, but then she hitched it back into place and gave an airy wave of a hand. “Of course it doesn’t concern me. If you’ve forgotten, I’m well acquainted with the Pinkerton agents, or at least the ones Asher hired only a few months back when his life was threatened, especially Agent McParland.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Now, that would really put me at ease if he was on duty here tonight. He seems to be a most competent sort, and . . . understanding.”
Harrison heard nothing after Gertrude mentioned a Pinkerton by name. “You remember that Pinkerton’s name?”
“Of course. He was a lovely man. . . .” Gertrude said almost absently as the carriage began slowing before it came to a complete stop directly in front of the main entrance. Barely turning her head to send him a nod, which Harrison found somewhat curious but didn’t question since he was still pondering the Pinkerton disclosure, Gertrude then pushed open the carriage door and disappeared through it before he, the driver, or even the doorman had an opportunity to assist her to the sidewalk.
Not quite understanding what had caused her to behave in such an unexpected fashion, even as the unwelcome thought sprang to mind that Gertrude may have decided she was anxious to discern whether Agent McParland was present at the hotel that evening, Harrison slid across the seat to the carriage door. He then simply sat there and watched Gertrude trundle up the walkway, calling over her shoulder to him about needing to see to her hair.
Whatever else she said, he didn’t catch since the wind took that moment to gust around the carriage, taking the rest of Gertrude’s words with it.
Ducking through the carriage door that was now being held by a very confused driver, Harrison exchanged a commiserating smile with the man before he lifted his head and settled his attention on Gertrude again.
She’d almost reached the entrance, and if he wasn’t much mistaken, she seemed to be moving at a pace that was practically a run. That curious state of affairs, and coming so quickly after she’d suffered a troubling bout of debilitating stitches in her side, left Harrison wondering if he’d somehow managed to miss a clue regarding why Gertrude was suddenly behaving as if something was horribly, horribly amiss.
Chapter
Ten
Pressing a hand against a side that was developing another stitch, Gertrude vowed there and then she was going to have to make a diligent effort to participate in more vigorous activities, especially since it did appear as if a pattern was evolving—one that kept seeing her dashing hither, thither, and yon on a far too frequent basis.
She was also going to have to find a moment to seek out a retiring room, and once there, pray that someone would be around to loosen the laces of her corset just a touch. Otherwise, she might very well become the classic portrait of a swooning lady, falling to the ground with a hand fluttering over her forehead. Truth be told, it was quickly becoming apparent she was not a lady who could exist for an extended period of time without a normal amount of air.
Managing a nod to the doorman at the main entrance to the hotel, an impressive four-story wooden structure built in the Queen Anne style, Gertrude hurried over the threshold and then moved across an entranceway that had been built to impress even the most jaded of guests.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the arched ceiling of the lobby, and thick oriental rugs covered large areas of the marble floor, where the bits of marble showing were polished to such a
n extent that they gleamed in the light cast from the chandeliers. The furniture was upholstered in pastel colors, most of those colors being different hues of yellow paired with a good deal of white, and plants that reminded a person they were enjoying a holiday at the seaside were placed in a charming fashion around the room.
A stone fireplace was flanked by floor-to-ceiling glass doors on the far side of the lobby, ones that unquestionably led to the covered verandas Gertrude had glimpsed as she’d gotten out of the carriage. On the wall adjacent to the fireplace was a long wooden counter. Standing behind that counter was a gentleman formally dressed in a well-cut navy suit, lending him the appearance of a gentleman in authority.
Gertrude made a beeline for that gentleman, then soon found herself ushered through the hotel by a member of the staff. That man, Mr. Jackson, informed her he’d been employed as a bellhop from the very day the hotel opened, and he turned out to be a very talkative sort.
“Is this your first time to the Manhattan Beach Hotel, Miss Cadwalader?” he inquired as he walked with her down a long hallway, gesturing with his hands time and again to areas of the hotel he thought she’d find interesting.
Gertrude nodded. “I must admit it is, and do know I’m suitably impressed with my surroundings.”
“I’ll be certain to pass along your praise to the owner, Mr. Austin Corbin.”
Before Gertrude had an opportunity to ask a single question about Mr. Corbin, Mr. Jackson launched into a speech about the hotel and its owner, a speech Mr. Jackson had obviously delivered many, many times since he recited it in a voice that might be described as rehearsed.
“. . . and then, after he’d purchased this very land we’re standing on, although it really was nothing more than a swamp at that time, Mr. Corbin used his influence as the president of Long Island Railroad to construct the New York and Manhattan Beach Railroad, which has brought the seashore to within one hour of uptown New York.”
“How ingenious,” Gertrude said when Mr. Jackson stopped talking and sent an expectant look her way.
“Indeed, and if you’ll believe this, Mr. Corbin was then able to get former president Ulysses S. Grant to attend the grand opening of the hotel on July 4, 1877, which was my very first day escorting guests and their luggage about the hotel.”
“It sounds as if you truly do enjoy your position.”
“I do, and—” Mr. Jackson continued with barely a breath taken—“I’ve been privileged to escort Mrs. Astor to her room, as in The Mrs. Astor. And I’ve even carried the luggage of Mr. Ward McAllister, earning a bit of praise from that gentleman when he proclaimed himself delighted that I’d not banged up his favorite traveling trunk while whisking it off to his room.”
“Mr. McAllister is known to be rather stingy with his praise, so you should take great satisfaction in having gotten that out of him.”
Mr. Jackson motioned Gertrude down another hallway before beaming a smile at her. “Oh, I do take satisfaction in that, Miss Cadwalader, although I do wish high society would spend more of their summer at our resort instead of only dropping by for a day or two.” His smile faded ever so slightly. “Do you believe, being a member of that society, there will come a day when Long Island is considered just as fashionable as Newport?”
“Since Newport society is incredibly selective regarding who it’ll allow into their hallowed midst, I see no reason for Long Island to not become increasingly fashionable as more of the nouveau riche descend on this part of the country,” Gertrude said. “Although, because race tracks have begun taking a firm hold on Long Island, there will be some members of the more established Knickerbocker set who will never embrace this location because they are vehemently opposed to gambling, race tracks, and all that comes with those pursuits.”
“Speaking of the race tracks, did I mention to you that the Jockey Club uses this hotel as their summer headquarters?”
“You did not, but what a lovely hotel for the Jockey Club to have at its disposal,” Gertrude said before she frowned. “However, on a different note, why did you assume I’m a member of high society? I don’t recall saying anything that implied as much.”
Mr. Jackson waved away her question. “Your name, of course, Miss Cadwalader. Everyone knows the Cadwalader name is well-regarded throughout New York.” He slowed his pace, much to her relief since the stitch in her side had yet to fully disappear, and smiled. “I do hope we here at the Manhattan Beach Hotel can now count on you to sing our praises to your family, which I would have to believe will go far in convincing them to visit this fine, fine resort.”
Unwilling to admit to the overly earnest gentleman smiling so expectantly her way that she wasn’t on what anyone would consider overly familiar or good terms with her extended relations, Gertrude settled for simply sending Mr. Jackson a nod before she turned the conversation right back to talk of the hotel.
Mr. Jackson was more than happy to speak further on that subject, which allowed Gertrude to remain silent as he rattled off one interesting tidbit after another. In the process, Gertrude found herself possessed of knowledge that now included that the Manhattan Beach Hotel possessed over one hundred and fifty guest rooms, numerous shops that sold a wide variety of goods, and restaurants to tempt every palate; for those guests who enjoyed taking a dip in the salty sea, the hotel provided over twenty-five hundred single bathing huts that were located at the edge of the ocean. For the guest who preferred to bathe in the ocean with his or her friends, the hotel also had additional bathing huts that could accommodate up to six guests at a time.
As they turned down yet another hallway, Gertrude felt just a smidgen of relief when Mr. Jackson finally came to a stop, especially since she was getting a bit winded from trying to keep up with his long-legged pace, that pace having increased with every new tidbit that passed his lips.
“Here you are, Miss Cadwalader,” he said with a flourish of his hand toward a door before them. “You’ll find your friends in that ballroom, and I do hope you enjoy your evening and come back and visit us soon.”
Presenting her with a bow, Mr. Jackson turned and walked away without another word, leaving Gertrude smiling fondly after the man who’d imparted what seemed like the hotel’s entire history in the span of time it had taken them to reach their destination. Heading for the room she’d just been shown, Gertrude nodded to another staff member who stepped forward and held the door for her, finding herself a mere moment later standing in a lovely ballroom.
It was not an overly large setting, which leant it a welcoming atmosphere, that atmosphere aided by the chandeliers that were responsible for the soft light flickering around the room. Gazing around, she found round tables draped in fine linen set up along the very edge of a parquet floor, those tables set to perfection with crystal glasses and highly polished silverware. A breeze tinted with the scent of the sea glided in through open doors that faced the ocean.
Mixed in with the scent of the sea was a hint of the meal that was undoubtedly soon to come, one that would certainly be nothing less than delicious. Given the tightness of the laces that were squeezing her somewhat relentlessly, though, she was resigned to the idea she’d be able to do nothing more than merely nibble her way through a portion of that delicious meal, even if she could find someone to loosen her laces a little.
Craning her neck, Gertrude resorted to standing on tiptoe as she tried to find Mrs. Davenport, but before she got so much as a glimpse of her target, she was distracted by the sight of Clementine marching her way, smiling far too brightly.
“There you are!” Clementine exclaimed, surprising Gertrude when she pulled her into an unexpected hug, the surprise disappearing straightaway when Clementine began whispering urgently in Gertrude’s ear.
“May I dare hope that your tardiness is a direct result of you having a little chat with Mr. Sinclair—one that revolved around me and my desire to have that gentleman turn his affections my way?”
“Ah” was all Gertrude seemed capable of summoning up, which ha
d Clementine taking a telling step away from her as her smile dimmed and her eyes turned hard.
“You didn’t even bother to broach the topic of me to Mr. Sinclair, did you?”
“I do think your name was broached, but . . .” Gertrude released a breath. “I’m afraid I must tell you some most distressing news—Mr. Sinclair proclaimed himself uninterested in forming an attachment with any lady at the moment, stating that he’s far too consumed with matters of business to be distracted with matters of the heart, or . . . er . . . something similar to that.”
Clementine’s mouth dropped open for a second before she pressed her lips together, then nodded before she drew in a breath and moved closer to Gertrude again. “Am I supposed to believe that you told Mr. Sinclair that I was interested in procuring his affections, and then he said all that instead of proclaiming himself delighted to learn of my interest?”
“I wouldn’t say I was quite that specific with Harrison,” Gertrude began. “It was more a case of the crowd gathered with us speaking in a general manner about ladies and attachments, and then he proclaimed himself currently uninterested in those very attachments.”
Clementine gave a sad shake of her head. “You were hoping he’d declare himself interested in you, weren’t you? And now you’re trying to convince me that the gentleman is not interested in ladies in general, which, in your twisted spinster mind, must have you believing you still stand a chance with him.”
“I don’t recall mentioning anything about me hoping he’d declare himself. But speaking of twisted . . . why in the world would you have told Harrison that I was intending to steal his painting? You know I was intending nothing of the sort, and besides, do you really believe that was a prudent move with you still apparently wanting me to help you?” Gertrude asked, annoyance sliding through her when she realized Clementine wasn’t listening to a word she was saying because she was absorbed with something over Gertrude’s shoulder.
