by R. J. Koreto
The elevator took us up to the apartment, where a maid, alerted by the doorman, was already opening the door for us.
“Miss Alice, your aunt was asking for you. Your dress is laid out.”
“Very good,” said Alice. She handed the maid her coat and gloves and turned back to me. “I’ll see you later,” she said, disappearing down the hall. I like the entranceway to the apartment. It’s probably bigger than my room downstairs, with a chandelier like something out of a hotel. One of the pictures on the wall is of Mr. Roosevelt’s ranch back in the Dakotas, and I never tire of looking at it, the plains and the sky going on forever.
The maid seemed a little unclear about what I was to do next. They still haven’t learned where I fit in socially.
“If it’s all right with you, I’ll just make myself at home in the kitchen,” I said. And she watched me to make sure I went where I was supposed to go and not where the guests were gathering.
“You again,” said Dulcie.
“Good to see you, too,” I said. I hung up my coat, hat, and pistol in the service entrance hall and loosened my jacket. That was the worst part of the job. Mr. Harris says all agents have to wear a proper suit—something I didn’t even own before I started—and Mr. Roosevelt kindly advanced me the money to buy one.
“Any chance for some food?” I asked, going for charm, but Dulcie wasn’t having any of it. She turned. Her round face was red and sweaty, and there was a knife in her hand. I had no doubt she had the strength and will to gut me like a salmon.
“You know the rules. You leave your tobacco and your flask in your coat. No smoking or drinking. And I’ll see what I can do.”
“Even the president smokes and drinks,” I said.
“He ain’t president here. I’m president of this kitchen. You have a problem with that?”
“No, ma’am.” I sat down at the kitchen table, and it didn’t take long for her to drop a plate in front of me with some chicken, cabbage, and potatoes. Dulcie isn’t as good a cook as Mariah, but I doubt the Roosevelts’ guests would be interested in what Mariah cooks, so maybe I’m being unfair.
“Very good, ma’am. Much appreciated.” She grunted and went back to her stove and cutting board. When I was done, I found yesterday’s newspaper in the trash and figured that would keep me busy until the evening was over. I looked at the kitchen clock and wondered if Alice would be able to win back her quarter by getting Emma Goldman’s address—and what I was going to do if Alice wanted to visit her.
I’d gotten comfortable and even managed to coax a slice of apple pie and a cup of very good coffee from Dulcie when Alice burst into the kitchen. She had cleaned up nicely for sure, looking a lot more like a young lady of fashion than the naughty schoolgirl who was reading a beer-stained Racing Form in the office earlier.
“Miss Alice, what are you doing here?” asked Dulcie. She glared at me as if this was somehow my fault. “This is my kitchen, not a reception area.”
“I’m just fetching Mr. St. Clair, and then we’ll both be out of your hair.” She grabbed my hand and started dragging me out.
“Miss Alice, I can’t go out there.”
“Oh, don’t be difficult. There are lots of people I want you to introduce you to and who will love to meet you. And I want you to see me win my quarter back. I’m sure we can find someone. And if you help me, I may call it even.”
More than a few people looked up as Alice led me into what was called “the game room.” It had a pool table, comfortable chairs, and a small bar. I had never been in it, but Alice had mentioned it as the place where the younger set gathered during parties. We found it well populated with men in evening suits and ladies in fine dresses, and everybody seemed in good spirits.
“Everyone! This is Mr. St. Clair, who’s in charge of making sure nothing horrible happens to me.” I was then introduced to the sons and daughters of the best families in New York. Everyone was nice enough, but for the most part, the names went in one ear and out the other.
I found myself standing with a young woman called Clemmie who had a pair of lovely china-blue eyes and a magnificent mane of chestnut hair. She gave me a knowing look.
“We haven’t met before, Mr. St. Clair, but I’ve heard all about you. Alice talks about you all the time.”
“Does she really?” I asked, amused to discover that while I’m sitting in some mansion’s kitchen, Alice is in the ballroom talking about me.
“Oh, yes, she told us you were a deputy sheriff and a cowboy working for her father and then a hero on San Juan Hill with the Rough Riders.” Then she looked a little sly. “She told us how handsome you were, but now I can see that for myself.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, but Clemmie kept rolling along, now glancing at my feet.
“Are those real cowboy boots? Where are your spurs?”
“They tear the carpet up something awful,” I said, and that gave her a moment’s pause before she laughed. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Did you fight Indians out West?” she asked. “But actually, Alice said your grandmother was a full-blooded Cheyenne.” And there was quite a sparkle in those eyes.
Meanwhile, Alice was jumping from man to man like a bee among flowers in the field, talking and smiling, gently touching arms with her long, white fingers.
Clemmie now leaned over close to me. “Can I trust you with a secret, Mr. St. Clair?”
“Unless you’re trying to kidnap Miss Alice, yes.”
She giggled. “No. It’s something else. I think you have a rival for Alice’s affections.”
“I don’t have any rival regarding Miss Alice, unless he wants my job,” I said, and I was serious, but Clemmie seemed to find that funny.
“Preston van Schuyler is coming. He practically lived at Sagamore Hill last summer.” That was before my time, so this was news to me.
“So something like a romance?”
“Something like—on his side, anyway,” said Clemmie. “He’s very charming and amusing, and the Van Schuylers have piles of money. She’ll pretend it’s nothing, but she can’t help but be aware of his attentions.” But then again, Alice expected everyone to pay attention to her, so that was nothing new.
“You’re a pretty sharp young lady, Miss Clemmie,” I said. “Would you like to join the Secret Service yourself?”
“Oh, Mr. St. Clair,” she said and laughed loudly. She placed a glove-clad hand on my arm.
At that point, Alice’s darting eyes landed on me and Clemmie. She frowned and made her way to us. “And what are the pair of you discussing?” she asked a little sharply.
“Oh, Alice, your Mr. St. Clair is just as you described him.”
Alice just gave me a hard look. “Well, aren’t you chatty this evening? We’re supposed to be trying to find someone who can help us with some inquires. Clemmie—what does your father do again? Something in banking, isn’t it?”
“He’s a director of the Chase National Bank,” said Clemmie, full of pride. “He’s been to London and Geneva and lots of other places.”
“I’m sure he’s a marvelous banker, but we need someone in law. Is your father a lawyer? Does he know any lawyers?”
“Of course he knows lawyers. My cousin Norris is a lawyer, too.”
“Where does he work?” asked Alice, seeing a promising lead.
“He’s at one of the best law firms in New York.”
“But does he know any criminals?” persisted Alice.
“He’s not that kind of lawyer,” she said, a little hurt. Alice just shook her head.
A young man stepped over and linked his arm into Clemmie’s. “Come on, we need a fourth for bridge.” He led her away, but not before I had a chance to wink at her and watch her blush. Alice saw the whole thing and gave me a dirty look.
“But nevermind. This is a waste of time. We need someone with a connection to Buffalo. That’s where Czolgosz killed McKinley, so I’d imagine authorities in Buffalo are more likely to have a record of Emma Goldman than New
York authorities, even if she does live here. Now who do I know who’s familiar with Buffalo?” She looked around the room, frowning, but then her eyes landed on a slim young man talking with a group of other boys who had just entered. They were laughing about something. He stepped over to us.
“Alice! I’m so glad to see you.” He greeted her warmly and gave her a kiss on her cheek. He was almost as tall as I was, but of a lighter build and closer to Alice’s age than mine. He wore his suit like he was used to it.
“So glad you made it, Preston. It’s been too long.”
“And such a dull winter so far. But when the Roosevelts throw a party, I know a good time will be had by all.”
“With everything, of course, I don’t think we’ve seen each other since you came out to Sagamore Hill for the end-of-season house party and we went bathing in the ocean.”
“I know. My father has kept me busy. We must do it again, unless . . . you’ll be in Washington soon?” And he raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps,” she said, and then she suddenly seemed to remember I was there. “Preston, this is Mr. St. Clair of the Secret Service.”
He looked me up and down. “Is that a uniform?” he asked.
“That would sort of defeat the purpose of being secret,” I said. It got a smile out of Alice.
“Of course,” said Preston, and he reached out his hand. I took it and squeezed it harder than necessary. “Preston van Schuyler. We’re old friends of the Roosevelts.”
“Do you also live in New York?” I asked. In that set, there were two kinds of people: those who lived in New York and the rest of the world.
“Yes, I do, not very far from here. I take it that you are not a native of the city?”
“Just beyond the river,” I said.
“The Hudson?”
“The Mississippi.”
“Ah. Well, we’ve been here for some generations. Although we have properties in Buffalo as well, where we have extensive interests.”
“Oh, yes, Buffalo. I forgot about Buffalo. And all the connections your family has. You know everyone,” said Alice. “Mr. St. Clair and I are in the middle of an investigation, and no one seems to be able to help.”
“An investigation?”
“Oh, absolutely. I’ve become very curious about some of the loose ends left after President McKinley’s assassination and am trying to find certain people who can help us.”
Preston looked back and forth between us and then settled on me. “Isn’t this more in your line, Mr. St. Clair?”
“Miss Alice is taking her own path in this. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Exactly,” said Alice. “We’re looking for a woman named Emma Goldman, and—”
Preston looked shocked. “Emma Goldman? Alice—she’s an anarchist, a known troublemaker who narrowly escaped a murder conviction. You can’t possibly want to see her.”
“She won’t be boring, I’m sure.” Alice looked over her shoulder. A couple of the young men were shooting pool and doing a pretty bad job of it. The bridge game seemed lively. “So what do you expect me to do?” she continued. “Attend party after party like this? Where’s your spirit of adventure? But what can I expect from a boy who graduated from Yale?” Mr. Roosevelt had gone to Harvard, and apparently there’s this big rivalry.
“What makes you think I can help?”
“The Van Schuylers have almost as many connections as the Roosevelts and are even better known in Buffalo. Can you call someone there? There must be an office of the attorney general in Buffalo, and they’d do a favor for the Van Schuylers.”
“For God’s sake, Alice, I can’t just call up and ask something like that out of the blue.”
“Oh, where’s your sense of adventure? You were so much fun last summer.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Alice, you don’t know what you’re asking. What are you going to do? You can’t mean to visit her?”
“Why not? I’m curious. Everyone tells me that it was an anarchist who killed McKinley, and I had to be kept on a short leash while they made sure they weren’t going to kill me, too, so of course I want to meet one.”
Preston looked a little stupefied at that and then appealed to me again. The fun was over. “Mr. St. Clair, this is your doing. I’ve known Alice for years, and this is nothing a Roosevelt would do.”
“Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think,” I said. Alice smiled slyly at that and gave me a sidelong glance.
“I’ve known her since she was six,” he said. And I thought, Maybe you never really listened to her.
“If you two silly men would stop arguing, we have things to do. Preston, can you make a telephone call tonight? I’m sure they’ll have records of her in Buffalo, since that’s where McKinley was killed.”
He sighed. “First thing in the morning.”
“Surely you can do it tonight. I remember Father always said that there was a night clerk at major state offices in case of emergencies, and you can call tonight so I can take care of this tomorrow morning. Come—both of you. There’s a telephone in Aunt Anna’s parlor.”
And without waiting to see if we were following, she took off. Preston and I both shrugged and headed after her. Aunt Anna’s parlor was another room I had heard about but never seen. It was an odd little room, actually. The furniture was something you’d expect from any well-born lady’s room, but the desk contained neatly stacked account books, a collection of pens, and the telephone. Mrs. Cowles worked here.
Van Schuyler looked at the telephone and seemed to be weighing something in his mind, but I couldn’t figure out what. “It’ll be a few moments, Alice. I have to call a friend of mine who will know the right supervisor for this case, and hopefully he has what you want and can put me in touch with the night clerk.” And then, with little enthusiasm, he picked up the phone and started dialing.
We didn’t want to breathe down his neck, so we stepped to the other side of the room by a small bookcase, and Alice pushed the volumes to one side to make a space.
“While we’re waiting, you can roll me a cigarette,” she said.
“I thought the agreement was you’d take care of your own smoking needs.”
“Look at how I’m dressed. Do you think I carry around tobacco and rolling paper in an outfit like this?”
I fished out the tobacco and began rolling her one. We heard Preston murmuring into the phone.
“You don’t like him, do you?” she said.
“What makes you say that?”
“That’s a nasty trick, answering a question with a question. You’re jealous, I think.”
“Because he grew up in a fine house and went to Yale, and I left school when I was fourteen? He ain’t the first rich person I met, Miss Alice.”
“No, not that kind of jealous. I mean jealous because you think that I like him more than I like you.”
“I get a nice salary for being with you. What Preston gets out of it is beyond me,” I said.
Alice did not like that answer, and I got the icy glare for it. “Once again, I have a good mind to strike you,” she said.
“Assault on a federal officer is a felony.”
“Aren’t you being amusing tonight?” she said and then thanked me for the cigarette and paused so I could light it for her.
She puffed away in contented silence for a few minutes, and I reviewed the novels on Mrs. Cowles’s shelf until Preston hung up the phone. We watched him write something on a piece of notepaper and fold it in half before standing up and coming over to us. He wore a satisfied smile. He began to hand it to Alice but snatched it away. She pouted. “It isn’t free,” he said. “Cal Atherton did you a favor, and he wants it repaid. He’d like a job in Washington. Can you talk with your father?”
“I’ll write him tomorrow,” she said as she snatched the paper. Van Schuyler laughed. “Oh, good, right here in Manhattan. Easy for a visit. Meanwhile, what do you get out of this?” she said.
“Helping you,” he said. Alice rol
led her eyes.
“You flatter me, but it’s because now he owes you a favor for giving him a chance to do me a favor, which means I have to get my father to introduce him to someone in Washington.”
“You’re your father’s daughter,” said Van Schuyler, laughing again. “But do be careful, Alice. Emma Goldman is known to be vicious. And she has vicious friends.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Mr. St. Clair will be protecting me. He carries a revolver, you know, and he’s terribly good with it.”
“Are you, indeed?” said Preston dryly. But he put on a brave face. He gave Alice a quick kiss on her cheek, nodded to me, and left. I reached for the same quarter she’d given me earlier and flipped it back to her.
“So you bartered for it. Nicely done,” I said.
“You don’t have to sound so sullen about it. Anyway, I’ll buy you some more tobacco to make up for it. The thing is, I have the address, and that’s what’s important. You can take me there tomorrow.”
“But I thought it was just to win the bet.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course we’re going.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. And for that, I once again got the steely-eyed look.
“What do you mean that you won’t take me? You’re my bodyguard, not my nanny.”
“I can’t guard you properly with those people in the neighborhoods they live in.”
“How dare you tell me where I can and can’t go!” She was gripping the back of the chair so tightly, I thought she’d break it.
“Listen, I’m just a workingman. I have to get up early tomorrow. I’m going back to my room downstairs before your aunt catches me and wonders what I’m up to. Good night, Princess,” I said.
“I hate you calling me that. I hate it.”
I saw myself out. Deciding it was too late to bother Mariah, especially as I had already eaten, I just went back to my room. I gave myself a final cigarette and shot of bourbon and went to sleep. Alice and I both knew it wasn’t over and that she’d eventually get her way.
