Madame Presidentess

by Nicole Evelina

  Aperitifs in the Vanderbilt house were more than fancy drinks consumed at table. Mr. Vanderbilt had a passion for whist, which we played for more than an hour while Tennie and our soon-to-be employer indulged in imported cigars and outrageously expensive liquor. I nearly spilled my rum punch when William, who had been pressed to be my partner because we needed a fourth, laid down a winning hand and Tennie let out a curse so foul it wasn’t spoken in most bordellos. I cringed, barely able to look at Mr. Vanderbilt. Beside me, William stiffened.

  “Praise God!” Mr. Vanderbilt hooted around a hardy laugh that reddened his cheeks and shook the table. “After seventy-three years, he finally sends me a cherry, not one of these prim, powdered persimmons. Tennie, you are my kind of woman.” He squeezed her rump, eliciting a delighted giggle from Tennie.

  “Father, I do not think such behavior is appropriate from either of you,” William chided.

  “Settle down. We’re just having fun.”

  The butler announced dinner then, and Mr. Vanderbilt led Tennie into the dining room. William took my hand, but instead of following his father, he pulled me aside into an alcove.

  “Why, Mr. Vanderbilt, if you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was ask,” I teased, giving him a flirtatious smile and batting my eyelashes while praying that wasn’t what he was really about.

  William made a show of holding me at arm’s length. “I am not after that, you cussed devil. I wish to make a deal with you.”

  “Pray tell.”

  “I have made it no secret that I do not want you in my father’s life. As you do not seem keen to heed my wishes, I will sweeten the deal. My offer is this—one year in Europe for you and your sister, first-class, fully paid. In exchange, you will never bother my family again.”

  I nearly rolled my eyes. What a sneak! So the esteemed heir to the Vanderbilt fortune thought he could buy me off. Well, he’d have to try much harder to oust either one of us from the house now that we finally had our hands on a well-paying client.

  “No, I do not think we will accept. We may never be able to convince you of it, but we’re not after your father’s money. There are far easier ways to a man’s fortune than through his employ.” I stepped around him in the direction his father had gone. “I do so look forward to the day you realize we were in earnest from the start,” I called over my shoulder before entering the dining room unescorted.

  William did not meet my gaze and spoke very little throughout the lengthy meal, during which Mr. Vanderbilt and Tennie flirted like a courting couple, and was quick to make his excuses once the candles burned low. The very room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when he departed, taking his ire with him.

  We repaired to a small sitting room, where Mr. Vanderbilt addressed me, rubbing his hands together as though hatching some grand scheme. “Well now, if you’re amenable, I would be obliged if you would show me more of your skills with the spirits by speaking with my mother.” He nodded at a painting above the fire.

  I followed his gaze, and a plump woman with dark eyes stared back at me. The painting had to be old, or at least the woman favored outmoded fashion because she wore the dress of a much earlier time, her hair and face nearly obscured by a bonnet that hugged her forehead and squeezed her cheeks like a nun’s wimple. A heavy shawl with one broad stripe across the center was pulled close around her shoulders. A Bible lay in her lap.

  “Of course,” I said as Tennie and I took seats opposite Mr. Vanderbilt. “What is your mother’s name?”

  “Phebe Hand der Bilt.”

  “Hand der Bilt?” Tennie questioned, brow scrunched in confusion.

  “That was how our last name was pronounced in the old country. My mother liked it better than the Americanized Vanderbilt, which I prefer.”

  I nodded. “The spirits are attracted to music. Is there a favorite song that might lure her to us? You do not have to sing; humming will suffice.”

  Mr. Vanderbilt hummed a tune that took me back to the unpredictable, outdoor revival meetings of my youth, my mother shaking in ecstatic prayer, babbling nonsense she swore was the language of the angels.

  Pushing aside those memories, I clasped his gnarled, wrinkled hands and closed my eyes. Within a few heartbeats, Demosthenes was beside me, and I relaxed, now fully able to concentrate, knowing he would protect and guide me as I sifted through the unfamiliar spirits who reached out to anyone open to their touch.

  I concentrated on contacting the woman in the portrait. I wandered through a sea of gray formless beings. Then Demosthenes signaled for me to stop. He bowed before the plump, stern woman and introduced me as the one who would mediate communication with her son Cornelius. The woman acknowledged his words with a slight nod.

  “She is with us,” I said.

  “Ask her to tell me something you couldn’t possibly know.”

  I listened, a small smile tugging at my lips. Mrs. Hand der Bilt was handing out a tongue lashing, half in English, half in Dutch.

  “She is a little cross to be tested,” I said. “She wishes me to say that your family’s loyalties were split during the Revolutionary War.”

  “That is correct. We had one dissenter who joined the king’s army.” He was quiet a moment then cried out, “Oh, she is here. I can smell her scent.” He inhaled deeply. “Strong soap and lavender. Takes me back to my boyhood.”

  “She is not keen on being asked questions but wishes to advise you to be wary of your children for they are plotting to force you to take a new wife.”

  “Not surprising.” Mr. Vanderbilt bit back his annoyance. “But she needn’t worry. I have no plans to do any such thing.”

  In my mind, Phebe carried on.

  “She also says to be careful whom you back in public lest a kitten turn out to be a lioness.” Once a mother, always a mother. She is still trying to protect her son. How sweet.

  But then Phebe clarified that she was referring to me.

  “Your mother does not like me and wishes you would ‘stop taking in strays.’ Those were her exact words.”

  Mr. Vanderbilt chuckled. “She said that to me so often as a child.” The audible groan of his chair suggested he had shifted position, and the nearness of his voice indicated he was leaning toward me. “Why does she not trust you?” His voice was grave.

  I shook my head slowly, trying to get the departed Mrs. Hand der Bilt to stop yelling long enough that I could ask her son’s question. “She says I will one day shame you and you will regret the day we met.”

  I brought a hand to my head, which was beginning to pound. Between the long day, emotional whirlwind, and this shocking revelation, my powers were flagging. I gestured to Tennie, who placed her hands on mine in a gesture of support. I would have to draw strength from my sister to continue.

  As if sensing the situation, Mr. Vanderbilt said, “Perhaps that is enough for one sitting. I do not wish to overtax you so late in the day.”

  I thanked the spirit of Mrs. Hand der Bilt and bid her farewell. Slowly, I made my way back through the spirit realm into the present. I opened my eyes and blinked rapidly, eyes tearing up from the sudden brightness of the fire. My mind was full of cotton, opaque as though I had just woken from a dream.

  Mr. Vanderbilt said nothing, only pressed the thumbs of his interlaced fingers to his lips for a moment as though deep in thought. Eyes unfocused, he reached into his breast pocket and produced a can of chew and a small piece of white paper. He studied the paper for a moment before handing it to Tennie. “I nearly forgot I was going to give this to you.”

  I peered over Tennie’s shoulder as she turned it sideways then around completely, trying to make meaning of the series of dots and dashes separated by spaces.

  “What is it?” Tennie asked.

  “Today’s closing stock prices for Canada Southern.” His words were a bit garbled by the wad of tobacco in his cheek. “Mrs. Woodhull’s prediction was spot on.”

  “You learned all of that from this?” I asked when Tennie handed it to me.
“Can you teach me to read it?” I scooted to the edge of my chair, holding the paper between us.

  “Me too,” Tennie chimed in.

  The commodore chuckled. “Not all in one day, but yes, I can teach you the symbols. They aren’t too hard. We’ll make that a part of each visit. Once you’ve consulted the spirits or done your healing, I’ll teach you a bit of Morse code—that’s what it’s called.”

  “Will you also teach me how to know if a stock tip is good?” I asked.

  Vanderbilt’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “You want to learn about the stock market?” He guffawed. “But you’re a woman.”

  I stood. “Indeed I am. But if I am going to be giving you tips, shouldn’t I at least know if they are worth relaying? No one ever said the spirit world doesn’t deceive. Look at what happened to poor Adam and Eve.”

  “You have a point.”

  “If I’m told something that seems wrong, it is best if I can question the spirit then and there. That way we may unmask it for what it truly is. Unless you wish to follow the advice of the spirits blindly, something I doubt you tolerate with any of your other advisors.”

  Mr. Vanderbilt rose, looking down on me sternly. I cringed, bowing my head. He was going to reprimand me for failing to hold my tongue as a respectful woman should.

  Instead, he wagged a finger at me. “There are two things I admire: horses and pluck. And you, my lady, have pluck. Keep giving me arguments like that, and I’ll start thinking you missed your calling in a court of law.” He offered a hand to each of us and threaded his arms in ours as he walked us toward the hallway. “There are books in my office that may serve as a good starting place. You’re hired, by the way.”

  I paid my first visit to the Broadway brothels several weeks later, standing in for Tennie, who had her first date on the town with Mr. Vanderbilt. She was well on her way to securing her desired position as his mistress.

  Freshly painted with neatly trimmed fauna adding a splash of color on either side of the stone staircase, the exterior of Miss Wood’s establishment was like any other house on the block off Broadway. A porter dressed in the height of finery greeted me with a small bow and, after I relayed my business with Miss Wood, escorted me inside.

  Far above, on the soaring ceiling, dozens of cherubs frolicked. Some carried bunches of roses. Others prepared to take aim at unsuspecting patrons with their arrows de l’amour. Chandeliers of beaded crystal hung in stately rows, each set with fresh, fragrant beeswax candles. The walls were white but patterned with gilded carvings of flower garlands, lions’ heads, and naked couples in sex acts that defied the flexibility of the human body.

  Before I could take it all in, Miss Wood greeted me with a light kiss on each cheek. “Thank you so much for coming, dear. Tennie told me you were every bit as talented as she.” The madam’s voice was sultry and deep, and the way she rolled certain letters gave her a catlike purr. She gave me an appraising once-over. “And you’re just as beautiful. A little thin maybe. The men here like their girls with some meat.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not here for the men.”

  Miss Wood laughed. “Speaking of men, I understand your sister has caught herself a rich fish.” The woman raised a reddish-gold eyebrow.

  Word traveled fast. But why did Miss Wood care what Tennie did? She was fishing for something. Best not to give away too many details. “She and Commodore Vanderbilt are quite companionable, yes.”

  Miss Wood tapped my arm gently, her black lace shawl slipping off one shoulder of her low-cut crimson dress. “Honey, please, you can be honest with me. If I’m going to lose my best healer to a man, I should at least get to know if she’s a lightskirt.”

  “You know my sister. She’s a flirt, but this one seems different.”

  “Those are the truly dangerous ones,” Miss Wood huffed, leading me down a hallway tiled in light blue and white toward a large room decorated to resemble a French salon.

  Around the room, women in sumptuous gowns with feathers and jewels in their upswept curls talked in small groups or entertained well-dressed men in three-piece suits who gazed at heavy gold pocket watches with as much adoration as they did at their partners. A pale brunette looked up from her perch across the back of a rose-patterned divan as Miss Wood approached. Her pose, so elegant yet careless, was that of a leopard sunning herself. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t place what it was.

  “Mrs. Woodhull, I’d like to introduce you to our most popular girl, Miss Josie Mansfield.” Miss Wood wedged herself between Josie and her client, effectively separating the two.

  “Victoria? Victoria Woodhull?” Josie leapt to her feet and let out a squeal quite incongruous with the refined atmosphere. “What are you doing in this part of the country?”

  “I could ask the same of you. The last time I saw you, you were on a stage in San Francisco.”

  “As were you,” Josie said as we embraced.

  “It appears you have already met.” Miss Wood glanced at Josie then at me, a slight depression marring her brow. “Josie was Tennie’s scheduled client today, so I will leave the two of you.” She turned to the man, whose red face and clenched fists betrayed his opinion of the interruption. “Come now, Mr. Fisk. Let’s see if we can’t find something to soothe you. I have a fine imported brandy I’ve been saving for a gentleman such as yourself.” She led away the mustachioed client.

  “Come, come.” Josie giggled, dragging me by the hand into yet another hallway. “We must catch up.”

  Once inside her spacious bedroom suite, Josie plopped onto the bed, and I sank next to her into the down-filled mattress, running a hand over the heavy material of the duvet. It was finer than anything I’d ever seen.

  “You sleep here?” I asked.

  Josie gave a snorting laugh and rolled onto her side to look at me. “Among other things. It’s meant to look like Marie Antoinette’s rooms in Versailles.” She shook her head, regarding me as though peering at a long-deceased relative. “I cannot believe you’re here. When you ran offstage that night in the middle of the performance, I thought for sure you’d gone mad. Then when no one heard from you, we feared the worst.”

  “It was nothing like that.” I propped my head up on my arm. “I had a vision of my sister Tennie calling me home, so I went.”

  “Tennie is your sister? I had no idea.”

  “One of several but the only one I like.”

  “Miss Wood called you ‘missus.’ Does that mean you’re still married to that drunk bastard Canning?”

  “Oh Lord, no.” I put a hand to my chest. “I use the name because it suits me. I didn’t want to be associated with my family so I couldn’t use my maiden name, and now that I am re-married, I believe using Woodhull shows I am my own woman, not beholden to my husband.”

  I filled Josie in on the last decade of my life, including returning to my family, meeting James in St. Louis, our torrid affair and my subsequent divorce from Canning, all the way through coming to New York and becoming employed by Cornelius Vanderbilt.

  Josie put a hand to her head as if to ward off dizziness. “My, you have had an exciting few years.”

  I went to her side, concerned. “Are you unwell? What is it Tennie is treating you for?”

  Josie attempted to wave me way. “Nothing of great concern. I have these headaches that sometimes give me the vapors.”

  Slipping around behind her, I placed my hands on either side of her head, close but not quite touching her, and directed my magnetism into her as we talked.

  “What’s your story? It can’t be any less dramatic than mine.”

  “You’d be surprised.” She picked at the lace edging of a pillowcase. “After divorcing the actor who brought me to New York, I was broke. I tried to turn back to the stage but without much success.”

  “Oh, Josie, I’m so sorry.” I placed my hand over Josie’s. “I know how happy you were in the theatre.”

  She shrugged. “This is its own form of acting, plus it
pays better. Jim, Mr. Fisk—that’s the man who was with me earlier—has been around ever since. I’m sorry about him, by the way. He is a good fellow, not that you would know it from his reaction just now.”

  “So Mr. Fisk doesn’t mind what you do?”

  Seating herself at the dressing table, Josie frowned at her reflection. “He must not since he keeps coming back. At first I held him off. The longer he couldn’t have me, the more enamored he became, especially when he had to watch me bring other men back to my room.” She picked up a silver brush and ran it through her hair. “Now he’s so smitten he’s pledging to buy me a house of my very own with his next big stock windfall. He tells me about his plans all the time.”

  Johnny’s comment about being able to get tips easily in a brothel danced through my mind. If it worked in journalism, why not in stocks? This might be the break I needed. “He’s in the stock market?”

  Josie ginned at me. “He’s one of the big bugs, right up there with your Mr. Vanderbilt. Those two don’t like each other much, not after Jim nearly bankrupted Mr. Vanderbilt over that Eire stock. It was a right awful thing to do, but that’s Jim for you. He’s all greed, especially in the bedroom.”

  I knelt beside her now so I could look her in the eyes. “What would you say to a little deal that would benefit both of us?”

  Josie stopped brushing. “What are you proposing?”

  “Thanks to my no-good father, Mr. Vanderbilt thinks I can predict the stock market with my clairvoyance. I can’t bear to tell him the truth—that the spirit world tells me many things but the direction of the market isn’t one of them. How would you like to be my ‘spirit’? I’ll pay you, of course.”

  Josie stared at her reflection, considering the offer. “It wouldn’t be too hard to get information out of him. It’s one of the things Miss Wood trains us to do. She wants to know exactly what business her clients are up to so she can use it to her advantage. Can’t say I blame her.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  Josie nodded, turning away from the mirror to face me. “Here’s your first tip: tell Mr. Vanderbilt that Central Pacific Railroad is going to go up.” She linked her arm in mine. “If you thought the two of us knocked ‘em dead onstage in San Francisco, just wait. New York isn’t going to know what hit it.”