by R. J. Koreto
“Very good, miss. Please follow me.” We walked up the stairs, and on the landing, I saw a portrait of a woman in clothes from my grandmother’s day. I assumed that was Mrs. Wissington, and she certainly was a looker in her day.
“Stop staring,” said Alice in a harsh whisper.
“I’m just admiring,” I said.
The servant knocked on a door and opened it without waiting for a reply. It was a sort of sitting room, and there was a very old lady sitting in a comfortable chair. The room was overwarm, but nevertheless, the old lady was well wrapped in a quilted jacket. Her hair had been done up right, and even nestled in that big chair, you could sense the strength of her personality. And right now, she didn’t look any happier than Mrs. Cowles had yesterday afternoon.
“Miss Alice Roosevelt . . . and companion,” the servant said. We took our seats, and he left.
“Good morning, Mrs. Wissington,” said Alice, but we didn’t get a greeting back.
“You were a difficult, willful child, and I see little has changed. Why are you planning to visit Quentin?”
“My father thought it would be a good idea for me to see a bit of the country.”
Mrs. Wissington didn’t say anything right away, and then she said, “You’re lying. You have no idea where Quentin is and no intention of seeing him. I can tell that now. But why do you want to see me?”
“Why don’t you want to see me?” Alice responded. Mrs. Wissington didn’t say anything immediately but spared a glance at me.
“Who’s he?”
“My bodyguard. Mrs. Wissington, this is Mr. St. Clair of the Secret Service.”
“A pleasure, ma’am,” I said, but I got very little response either.
“I don’t envy you your job. But back to you, Alice. I don’t suppose that you will understand, but I’m tired of people.” She sighed. “But you’re here, and it’s easier to suffer you than to go through the bother of throwing you out. So suppose you tell me why you went to so much trouble to visit me?”
“You know everything. And everyone. There are some people I want more information about, and I think you can help me. You’re a Wissington. You’ve been a central figure in this city all your life.”
“Once I was, Alice. When I was hostess to so many—to you, your father, and his father before him—all the best families. But that was a long time ago. Family problems . . . but you know what happened, or part of it. My grandson Quentin, his mother’s marriage . . . but nevermind. After a while, I didn’t wish to see anyone. I doubt if I know the people you are interested in.”
“Oh, I’d wager you know what is happening in society. Old habits die hard. I’m sure you know more than you pretend. There are others I could’ve come to, Mrs. Wissington, but I came to you because the family I want to know about has also had problems.”
“‘Had problems’—what a way to describe it. You were a terribly behaved child, and you’re an impudent young woman.”
That didn’t affect Alice, who just leaned back in her chair and smiled. “My Aunt Anna says that you found me amusing as a little girl.”
“Did she now? How is your aunt? I hear she married, which none of us expected. She also had a difficult childhood—‘had problems,’ as you’d put it.”
“She is well, thank you, and she spends much of her days helping and advising my father. As I will someday. But for now, I want to know about another family. The Van Schuylers. I know there’s something scandalous in their family history, but I don’t know what. I want you to tell me.”
“The Van Schuylers. My goodness. That was a long time ago.” She got a shrewd look in her eye. “I heard about the son, Preston . . . oh, dear me!” She started to laugh, and Alice looked surprised and then annoyed. It was not the reaction she expected. “He’s courting you, and you’re trying to find out about the family. Well, you’re a little young to think about marriage, but why not? You could’ve told me what this was about, and I would’ve seen you without all this nonsense.”
It was all I could do not to laugh myself. Alice gave me a deadly look, but it was her own fault. I could’ve just as easily been drinking coffee in the kitchen and getting to know a maid or two.
“I assure you, there has been no offer of marriage or even a casual engagement between me and Preston van Schuyler.”
But she was still laughing. “It’s no concern of mine whom you marry, but I pity your husband, Alice.”
Alice was going to come back with something nasty, I could tell, but then remembered why we were there and pulled back at the last minute, for which I was both proud and grateful.
“Let’s just say there’s a friendship, and before it develops further, I’d like to know a little more about the family. It’s something my father might do if he wasn’t so busy.”
“Very well, let me see what I can tell you. Of all of them, I knew Preston’s mother best—her name was Sophronia. He was a little boy when she died. I’d be surprised if he even remembered her. Her people were from Virginia, an old family. The men fought with Robert E. Lee and, before that, in the War of Independence. She was gracious and kind, and why she married John van Schuyler, I’ll never know.”
“What was wrong with him?” asked Alice.
She considered that for a moment. “It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with him. But he was a hard man. The Van Schuylers were always hard. They’re Dutch, a mercantile people. Like the Roosevelts. And they meant to succeed. I don’t think Sophronia ever adapted to that, accepted that. It was not an entirely happy marriage, I’m afraid. The story was that she wanted to raise Preston as a Southern gentleman, and John wanted a boy who would take over and expand the family empire.”
“Well, he took after her anyway,” said Alice, a little defensively. “Preston is a gentleman.”
The old lady shrugged. “That’s welcome news. And surprising, considering that family. I’ll take your word for it. The last time I saw him, he was still in short pants and getting bread and jam all over his shirt.”
“How did she die?”
“I don’t remember the details after all this time. Tuberculosis, I think, but she was so worn out, there was no fighting it.”
Alice nodded, and it seemed to affect her. “What about the rest of the family? Do you know them? I know he has a cousin, a little older, but he never talks about her—his Uncle Henry’s daughter.”
“That would be Julia. I don’t know much about her. Her mother was from a good Philadelphia family and also died young. The women in that family don’t have much luck. Maybe if either Henry’s or John’s wife had lived. But Julia, she married a man named Shaw Brantley. I heard he was from Chicago, but I don’t know anything about him. They don’t mix much in society. They don’t have children, and she has some sort of illness like her mother and aunt.” She shook her head. “I sometimes thought there was a curse on that house.”
“I think we bring curses on ourselves,” said Alice.
“That’s a very . . . odd thing to say,” said Mrs. Wissington. “As I said, you were willful and difficult, but you weren’t stupid. But you could break the curse. I bet you could stand up to the Van Schuylers if you married into that family.”
The old lady had a malicious gleam in her eye, but Alice didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “You said the Van Schuylers were hard. How so?”
Mrs. Wissington considered that. “Your grandmother, your father’s mother, was a Southern girl, a gracious and beautiful lady. Her brothers both fought for the South. But she died when your mother did, so you never knew her. A pity. It was an odd time, those years after the war. We tried to find a sense of balance. But John van Schuyler had nothing but contempt for the old Southern culture. He was heard to publicly tell his wife he wouldn’t see his son grow up as a useless Southern aristocrat, a remnant of a beaten and broken society.”
“How hard?” persisted Alice. “What were they capable of, the Van Schuylers?”
Mrs. Wissington seemed to be enjoying herself
now. There was color in her cheeks and a glint in her eye, and it was clear that, intentionally or not, Alice had done a good deed by bullying her way into the house.
“Oh, there were stories. I could sit all day and tell you the gossip. Did you know how Preston’s father died?”
“I heard he drowned in a swimming accident. That’s what Preston told me.”
“Ha! That’s the public story. But the two brothers were terribly competitive with each other. John was going to sail on a newly launched ship, but the captain didn’t like the look of the weather, so the story goes, and wanted to delay. John agreed. Henry taunted him, called him a coward, so John ordered the boat to sail. A storm hit, and the ship capsized. Everyone, including John, died. They didn’t tell Preston then. I don’t know if anyone ever did.”
“That’s . . . horrible,” said Alice. “It’s unimaginable. Gambling with lives like that.”
“You’re young. There’s a lot you haven’t seen.” The old lady turned to me.
“You there—where are you from? You’re not from around here. I’ve never seen a man look as uncomfortable in a suit as you do.”
“I’m from Wyoming, ma’am—born and raised. I worked for Mr. Roosevelt on his ranch and fought at his side in Cuba.”
“You know what it means to be hard, Mr. St. Clair, I can tell. I’m getting tired. Explain it to the girl sometime. Are you married?”
“No, ma’am. Still haven’t gotten around to it.”
“There’s plenty of time. Meanwhile,” her eyes were full of merriment, “Alice, I’m thinking your husband will have to be a man of real strength and spirit.” She turned her gaze on me. “In fact, I’m wondering if she’d be better off with you than with Preston van Schuyler.” And she laughed long and loud at that.
We got what we came for, so we said our good-byes and were shown out. Mrs. Wissington said she’d always be at home for us, and why not? We had probably given her more entertainment than she’d had all year.
But Alice was still in a snit over the way it had gone with the old lady—the way it had ended. And I was still blushing. The old lady must’ve been a piece of work back in the day.
“Oh, cheer up. We learned something useful. Even in society, the Van Schuylers are known as hard men. And your Preston isn’t. He’s more like his mother, apparently.”
“Will you please stop making remarks about him?” she said.
“I’m on your side, Princess. So Preston is a nice guy—nothing wrong with that. But did it ever occur to you that he’s a threat?”
“To whom?”
“To his family—what’s left of it. I’m no lawyer, Miss Alice, but where I come from, there are people who own land and people who don’t, and what happens to it when you die is important. Now, Preston’s father and mother are dead, so he must own half the business. Even if he has no interest in running it, he still owns it.”
Alice stopped in the street at that and cocked her head at me. “That’s a very shrewd observation. I never . . . I mean, I didn’t ever really stop to think about who owns a business, or how much, or where the money comes from.”
We slipped into the car. “You wouldn’t,” I said.
“That’s a nasty remark, Mr. St. Clair. There’s no call to resent me because I was born into a wealthy family.”
“I don’t resent you. I’m just reminding you that other people think about different things than you do.”
“It’s also true of you,” she retorted. “You have no idea how people of my class think.”
“I’m learning that every day I’m with you. Now, where are we going next?”
“We have another appointment today, but for now, head to Park Avenue, and then we can have some lunch.”
We drove through the park, and Alice looked thoughtful, as if she was framing how to tell me something.
“Do you know about my late Uncle Elliott, Father’s younger brother? He died when I was a little girl.”
“He had some health problems, I understand,” I said cautiously.
“That’s one way to put it. He was a drunk and a philanderer. Aunt Anna would have a fit if she knew how much I heard when no one thought I was around and listening.” Someone else might’ve discussed this as a tragedy or in whispers to avoid a family scandal, but Alice discussed it with the delight of a child doing something she wasn’t supposed to do and getting away with it.
“They had to lock him up at one point, and my father had to take over his affairs. Uncle Elliott still managed to find time to father a bastard.”
“Are you supposed to be telling me this?” I asked.
“You know I can tell you anything.”
“Maybe Mrs. Cowles would disagree. But about your Uncle Elliott—he was Miss Eleanor’s father, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Poor Eleanor.” And there was a mix of pity and satisfaction there. Sharing isn’t one of Alice’s strong suits, and she didn’t much like her father’s attachment to his niece.
“She was at the house last Christmas. Seemed like a good sort. Well-spoken, serious, dutiful.”
“Yes, everything I’m not,” said Alice with glee. “I suppose she’ll do. But we’ve lost track of what we were talking about—what happens to some men and the way they turn out, why my father has done so much and Uncle Elliott ended up as he did. And you wonder that about the Van Schuylers and Preston. Anyway, we have one more thing to do today, but first, let’s have ourselves a nice lunch.”
“What’s the ‘one more thing’?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you over lunch. You can leave the car. We’re just going a few blocks to dine. It’s a present—for you.” Her eyes glittered, and I should’ve been curious, even happy, but this had the sound of a bribe, not a thank-you, and I wondered what for.
CHAPTER 16
Still, I was pleased when we stopped in front of Burton’s. I had heard about it, of course, but there was no way I could afford it on my wages. They said it was the best steak in New York, and it wasn’t lost on me that with all my years of driving cattle, I had found myself in a city where I couldn’t afford to eat beef.
For all the high prices, it wasn’t too fancy inside, with brass railings, wooden booths with high backs, and sawdust on the floor. The maître d’, as Mariah had told me he was called, was standing behind a tall table. He was dressed in one of those tuxedo suits that were now popular, and his eyes lit up when he saw Alice.
“Miss Roosevelt, a pleasure to see you.” She extended her hand, and he actually kissed it.
“Frankie, it has been too long since I was here. I so miss the lunches I had here with my father when he still lived in the city.”
“We miss him as well but are pleased that he has risen to such heights. Are you here for lunch today?”
“A table for two, if we may,” she said. Frankie’s eyes took me in quickly. Even though they served steaks, I don’t think he’d had too many cowboy customers. Alice looked amused. “But you seem busy, so if you don’t have a table . . .”
“Miss Roosevelt, there is always a table for you,” he said. He snapped his fingers, and a waiter came by, also dressed in a tuxedo, but with an apron around his waist instead of a jacket. A few quiet words, and then he led us to a booth.
I looked around. Alice may well have been the only woman in the place. Men came here to talk about business over a big lunch. I imagined Mr. Roosevelt coming here with his daughter, laughing with delight at the place and joking with other patrons and the waiters.
The waiter handed us menus, but Alice just waved them away. “What we always had,” said Alice. “And make his the biggest you have. Also, beers for both of us.”
“Of course, Miss Roosevelt,” he said, and with a nod, he headed off to the kitchen.
“They know me here,” she said a little smugly.
“So I gathered,” I said.
“You’ll love it. Father would take me here every week once upon a time.” She had a dreamy look for a few moments. Our beer arrived shortl
y, in chilled glasses, which was a treat. Alice took a sip, then gave me a look.
“Now, we have one more appointment today, as I said. Tomorrow is the Van Schuyler dinner, and there’s a little detail I didn’t go over with you. You’re invited too, it seems.”
“Well, of course I’m going. You know the rules. I accompany you outside the house at all times.” I had done it enough times before, eating dinner in the kitchen and, if there was enough staff, maybe getting in a quick card game.
“That’s not exactly it,” said Alice, looking a little evasive. “You see, you’ve been invited too—but as a guest. Preston made that clear in his letter, saying you were to come to dinner.”
“For God’s sake, Miss Alice, you know I can’t do that. What was he thinking?”
“Maybe he likes you. It’s an offer of friendship. Even if you don’t like him.”
“I don’t really dislike him. But . . . it’s a little odd, you have to admit.” I figured he was doing it to somehow embarrass me, but there was no point in starting a fight with Alice over it.
“I suppose. But I could use an extra pair of eyes and ears over dinner. Now, at a house like the Van Schuylers’, men dress for dinner, as you’ve no doubt noticed.”
I grinned. “Well, I guess I’ll have to cancel. I don’t own evening clothes.”
“I’m ahead of you, Mr. St. Clair. I called your boss, Mr. Harris, right after I got the invitation and told him you needed to be with me at a large event, and with a little persuasion, he agreed to cover the cost. Not a purchase, of course, but there are establishments where you can rent a suit for the evening. We’ll go after lunch.”
“I can’t tell you how little I want to do this,” I said.
“You’ll love it,” said Alice, full of confidence, and I felt a little better when the biggest steak I had seen in years was placed in front of me. With a side of fried potatoes and spinach, it was a real restorative on a cold and busy day, and I was in a better frame of mind when it was time to head to the tailors’.
