An Embarrassment of Riches

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘You might have no business affairs to attend to, but I do,’ he said curtly. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow morning.’

  Charlie raised his eyebrows slightly. There were times when he didn’t understand Alexander. There was no such thing as business affairs that couldn’t be handled by someone else and Alexander had business managers and financial advisers by the score.

  ‘I’m serious,’ he said, adjusting the cushion behind his thatch of blond hair and stretching his legs out on one of the long, deeply comfortable drawing-room sofas. ‘I can’t imagine why I used to think Henry a dried-up old prune. He plays a mean game of poker and he knows nearly as much about horse-flesh as you do. I’d much rather stay here with Henry and Maura and yourself than go high-tailing it back to New York and Ariadne Brevoort’s boring old birthday ball.’

  Alexander’s frown of irritation deepened. He crossed the room, throwing another log on the fire. Henry and Maura were making their daily visit to the stables and if he were going to pursue the subject of the Brevoort Ball with Charlie, now was as good a time as any. He settled the log with his booted foot and as sparks flew upwards he said with apparent indifference: ‘Have invitations already gone out?’

  Charlie blew a curl of fragrant cigar-smoke into the air. The ability to do so without being banished into a study or a smoking-room was one of the things he enjoyed about Tarna. Maura never complained about a whiff of cigar-smoke. Maura never complained about anything trivial.

  ‘Mine came with the Brevoort Christmas greetings. It’s to be fancy dress. A little bird told me that Ariadne intends presiding over the proceedings as Marie-Antoinette, so Henry was rather spot on with his remark about lavishness and Versailles.’

  ‘He probably knew,’ Alexander said, one foot on the fender as he stared broodingly down into the flames.

  In all the time that he and Charlie had been buddies, he had always been top dog. It had always been Charlie who had been envious of him. Now, for the first time, he was feeling envious of Charlie.

  ‘I haven’t been invited,’ he said bitterly. ‘Goddamm it! I haven’t been invited to anything for months!’

  Charlie floundered into a sitting position, staring at him in bewilderment. ‘But I thought you didn’t mind? I told old man Rhinelander you didn’t when he asked after you at the Hone Club.’ He began to chuckle. ‘Old Rhinelander is such an asshole. He said all you had to do was renege on your marriage and everything would be fine and dandy.’

  ‘We were married by a priest,’ Alexander said tersely, not turning to look at him. ‘Maura is a Catholic. She would never agree to divorce.’ He paused for a moment and then said with naked truthfulness, ‘And besides, I don’t want to divorce her.’

  ‘I know that,’ Charlie said, annoyed at being treated as if he were a first-class fool. ‘I told Rhinelander so and he said divorce wouldn’t be necessary. He said no-one knew who the priest was, that a priest aboard ship was probably no priest at all, that you hadn’t been married in church and that all you would have to do to be welcomed back into the fold was to declare that the marriage was just a jape and that Maura wasn’t your wife but your mistress.’

  He waited for Alexander’s amused laughter but none came. ‘I told him he was cracked,’ he said helpfully. ‘I didn’t let the old buffer think that he was talking sense.’

  Alexander turned away from the fire. ‘Thanks, Charlie,’ he said appreciatively. ‘We’d better go and unearth Maura and Henry from the stables and tell them we’re returning to town tomorrow.’

  Charlie heaved a disappointed sigh and rose to his feet. He had never hankered after the married state, but if these last few weeks at Tarna had been an example of what a quiet way of life could be like, then he was all in favour of it. First of all though he would

  have to find a girl like Maura. And among New York society that

  would not only be hard, it would be impossible.

  Maura returned to New York with deep reluctance. For nearly two months she and Alexander had been as happy as they had been in the first few months of their marriage. Tarna was good for them. At Tarna there was no stress; no constant reminders of the poor living cheek by jowl with their own excessive riches; no reminders for Alexander of his social ostracism. Because the river was ice-bound they travelled to New York by train. As she stepped from the station into the waiting Karolyis carriage she wrapped her sable coat closer around her throat. If only Alexander would cease to care about his altered social standing and care instead about the conditions of the Karolyis tenements, then their happiness would be flawless.

  ‘I love you,’ she said suddenly as a minion closed the carriage door after them. ‘I love you with all my heart.’

  He squeezed her hand, flashing her a down-slanting smile. ‘I love you too,’ he said, but his eyes were vague, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

  She felt a surge of hope, wondering if he was thinking about the meeting he had arranged with Lyall Kingston, wondering if he was at last going to commit himself to joining the Citizens’ Association.

  Alexander allowed his fingers to remain intertwined with hers, thinking about the Brevoort birthday ball; thinking about the advice old man Rhinelander had given to him via Charlie; thinking about how he could have the best of both worlds, his former social popularity and Maura.

  It was Lyall Kingston who was indirectly responsible for the quarrel that was to plunge them again into bitter discord. Three weeks after their return Maura was walking down the grand staircase after her afternoon rest. The baby was due in two weeks’time and she had begun to suffer increasingly with nagging backache.

  Below her Lyall Kingston was crossing the vast marble-floored hall with Stephen Fassbinder, Alexander’s young secretary. Alexander was nowhere in sight. A footman dutifully helped Lyall into his astrakhan-collared coat and handed him his top hat.

  ‘Don’t forget to tell Mr Karolyis that a copy of the Citizens’ Association doctor’s report is on his desk, will you?’ Lyall asked Stephen as another footman opened the giant front door for him.

  ‘No, sir. I’ll tell him as soon as he returns, sir.’

  Lyall nodded and stepped out of the house into the snow.

  Maura held on tight to the banister rail, so overcome with euphoria that she didn’t know whether to laugh with joy or cry with relief. Alexander had done it! He had realized his obligations and he had joined the Citizens’Association!

  As swiftly as the baby allowed her to she sought out Haines.

  ‘Did my husband say when he would be returning, Haines?’ she asked, praying that it would be soon.

  ‘Mr Karolyis has not left the house, madam’He imparted the information with frosty reluctance. Although several other members of the staff had now forgotten her birth and background, he had not done so. She was Irish, the soft, smoky lilt in her voice left no doubt of it, and he found being deferential to a Paddylander demeaning.

  ‘Are you sure? I’ve just seen Mr Kingston leave and he gave Stephen Fassbinder a message for him …’

  ‘Mr Karolyis expressed the wish that Mr Kingston be told he was unavailable and that he was to conduct his business with Mr Fassbinder.’

  She waited impatiently for him to tell her where Alexander was. He remained silent.

  ‘And where is my husband at this present moment, Haines? she asked, knowing full well why he was being so obdurate and controlling her temper with difficulty.

  ‘The billiard-room, madam.’

  The nagging pain in her back was now so pronounced that, although she wanted more than anything to run to the billiard-room, she could only walk. She wondered if she looked as ungainly as she felt and comforted herself with the thought that it wouldn’t be for much longer. In another week or so her baby would be in her arms. Excitement bubbled up in her, mixing with her joy over Alexander’s change of heart. The future was so golden that it was dazzling. On a cloud of happiness she burst into the billiard-room, longing to feel Alexander’s arms around her, longing to tell him how
much she loved him.

  He was alone, potting balls with deep concentration, his white linen shirt open at the neck, his hair tumbling down over his brows.

  As he finished playing his shot and looked up at her, she said euphorically: I know what you’ve done. I overheard Lyall Kingston talking to Stephen.’

  He stared at her, his cue in his hand. In the green-shaded light of the room it was as if the skin had suddenly tightened on his cheekbones.

  She crossed the room towards him, wishing he would put the cue down in order that he would be easier to hug. ‘I can’t tell you how happy it’s made me, Alexander. There’s so much you’re going to be able to do now, for so many people …’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  He looked ridiculously tense. As if he had been expecting the conversation to take a quite different turn and was still unsure it wasn’t going to do so.

  She stood in front of him, looking up at him with shining eyes. ‘The Citizens’Association. I know that you’ve joined. I overheard Lyall Kingston asking Stephen to bring some of their reports to your attention.’

  Something very like relief flooded his eyes and then he moved away from her, lining his cue up to take shot.

  ‘I did ask to see a copy of one of their reports,’ he said, shooting a ball into a far pocket. ‘But only in order to be forewarned as to the kinds of legislation they might be hoping to bring in.’

  This time it was her turn to stare at him. ‘You mean you haven’t joined? You don’t intend making improvements in your properties?’

  He avoided looking at her, stretching far out over the billiard-table as he lined his cue for a difficult shot. ‘No,’ he said indifferently. ‘I’ve told you of my feelings as to the slums. They are created by the people who live in them. I’ve spoken to my business managers and they say that whenever improvements have been made in the past, the partitions and indoor privies have been dismantled by the tenants and sold, piece by piece. As I have no intention of allowing them to repeat that action there will be no further improvements. End of story.’

  He potted the ball and surveyed the table, dark-eyed.

  Her disappointment was so crushing, so total, that she felt giddy. She pressed a hand to her temples, willing herself not to faint. ‘You can’t mean that, Alexander. You wouldn’t if you would only go and look at the conditions for yourself. There are rats in Karolyis tenements that are better fed than the children, the walls are thick with vermin …’

  He turned to look at her, his finely sculpted, high-cheek-boned face hard and uncompromising. ‘Is that why you married me, Maura? So that I would serve as a private bank for you to act the lady bountiful to your fellow Irish?’

  She gasped, her eyes widening. Never before had he made such a preposterous allegation. Never, in any of their previous passionate disputes, had he withdrawn from her as she sensed he was withdrawing now.

  ‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say!’ The pain in her back was no longer nagging, but severe. ‘I didn’t know the kind of wealth you had when I married you! Nor did I know the conditions my fellow Irish were living in in New York!’

  She was beginning to feel nauseous as well as giddy. She looked around for a chair to sit on and couldn’t see one within easy reach.

  He slammed his cue down, saying grimly, ‘I’m not so sure. Since the day you realized who I was all you’ve ever done is demand that I build model tenements for bog Irish who foul the tenements they already have!’

  ‘Because it’s your responsibility! Because your wealth derives from the extortionate rents your tenants pay …’

  ‘My wealth is my own affair!’

  Harsh-faced and glittering-eyed he snatched up his jacket.

  ‘And it isn’t at your disposal, or at any of your Irish friends’ disposal!’

  He stormed past her to the door, yanking it open savagely, slamming it behind him with such force that it rocked on its hinges.

  Maura staggered towards the billiard-table and held on to it, gasping for breath. The pain in her back had now moved round to the front. Something hot and wet trickled down between her legs. Her waters had broken and the baby was coming and it was at least two weeks early.

  She forced herself to move from the support of the table; to cover the distance between herself and the door. She wrenched it open, shouting desperately, ‘Alexander! Oh please, Alexander!’

  There was no response. The corridor was empty. There wasn’t even the sound of retreating footsteps.

  She leaned against the wall, panting deeply as another wave of pain suffused her. The baby was coming and Alexander was striding further and further away from her. She clenched her hands tight, wishing to God that she had never overheard Lyall Kingston’s conversation; wishing that Alexander’s grandfather had never invested a dollar in real estate; wishing that his father had willed the Karolyis fortune elsewhere.

  The gripping pain began to ebb and she pushed herself away from the wall, hurrying as best she could to the nearest bell-rope. If she didn’t want her baby to be born on the carpet, she had to get help before the next pain came. And she had to send someone after Alexander with the news that their baby was about to be born.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As he slammed his way out of the house he could hear her calling his name. He didn’t halt and he didn’t pause long enough for a carriage to be brought to the door. He took the bronze lion-flanked steps three at a time and strode across the snow-powdered courtyard hatless and coatless.

  Why the hell had she dragged up the subject of the bloody Citizens’Association today of all days? Why couldn’t she have left it alone? What did it matter for Christ’s sake?

  The great golden gates leading on to Fifth Avenue were opened at his approach by two little black boys, well muffled against the freezing temperatures.

  He swung north, no destination in mind, wanting only the relief of violent physical activity and a chance to justify his actions to himself.

  He had known it was going to be a hell of a day ever since he had made up his mind to attend the birthday ball being held that evening. He had spent the whole morning rehearsing how he would explain his decision to Maura. It had all seemed very reasonable. Even if the hard-won invitation had been extended to herself she couldn’t possibly have accepted, not with the baby due any day. There was a distant family connection between Brevoorts and Schermerhorns and in view of his own family connection with Schermerhorns, his attendance was surely only to be expected.

  He crossed East 14th Street and kept on walking. No doubt she would have accepted his explanation with sweet reasonableness. There was no reason why, as he had had no intention of telling her how he had come by the invitation, that she shouldn’t have done. And now, because of her stupidity in bringing up the old hoary subject of the Citizens’Association, the chances of his making such an explanation were shot to pieces.

  He strode passed the Belmont mansion at the corner of 18th Street. August Belmont certainly wouldn’t have any scruples about fudging the issue of his marriage if it meant lording it over the city’s élite. What Belmont wanted, Belmont got, and Alexander had always admired the Rothschild banker for it. A door opened as a visitor departed and Alexander caught a glimpse of a life-sized Bouguereau nude hanging in the entrance hall.

  A shaft of amusement pierced his guilt and his anger. It was typical of Belmont to try and shock at every opportunity. He wondered if August would be at Ariadne’s birthday ball and hoped that he would. It had been an age since he had enjoyed a racy conversation. On sexual matters Henry was quite repressively prim and Charlie was nothing but a knuckle-head. A few near-to-the-bone laughs with a man like Belmont was just what he was in need of.

  He ignored the nearby Schermerhorn mansion, ploughing on through a thin peppering of snow to the intersection with Broadway and East 23rd Street. He hesitated slightly when he reached the entrance of the Fifth Avenue Hotel where Franconi’s Hippodrome had once stood. If he went inside he wo
uld no doubt meet someone who knew him and he had no desire for company. He kept on walking, his head down against the biting wind, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, wishing to God he had never bumped into Ariadne’s brother two days earlier.

  It had been at the Union Club. Willie Rhinelander had been shooting his mouth off about General Sherman’s failure to thrash the Confederate cavalry in southern Mississippi and he had merely stood him a bourbon in the hope that the act of drinking it would silence Willie for a little while.

  It hadn’t. All Willie had done was change the subject.

  ‘How’s your little piece of Ireland, Alex?’ he had asked bumptiously. ‘Still blooming?’

  ‘I don’t ask after your women in public, Willie,’ he had replied smoothly. ‘I don’t see why you should ask after mine’

  Willie had chortled in high amusement. ‘A mistress is a man’s own affair, a wife ain’t. It’s courteous for a man to ask politely about how another man’s wife is keeping.’

  Alexander had been aware of his heart beginning to beat hard and loud in his chest. He had known what he was going to say. He had thought about it long and hard. Nevertheless, when the moment came, he felt quite extraordinarily giddy.

  ‘And if she isn’t my wife?’

  Rhinelander’s eyebrows shot nearly into his hair. ‘But she is! Accounts of the wedding were trumpeted all over the Times and the Herald and the Post. A marriage at sea, it said. A Catholic marriage at sea.’

  Alexander gave what he hoped was a carelessly amused grin. ‘I wanted to put the fear of God into my father. As a prank it got a little out of hand.’

  Willie stared at him. ‘You mean she ain’t your wife? It wasn’t a legal marriage?’

  ‘Be your age, Willie,’ Alexander said with a chuckle. ‘What do you think?’