Meeting with no polite cheerfulness in the cavernous museum that was her home, she longed to be free of it, at least for a few hours a day, but there were very few places she could go.
Kieron was fully employed, Henry spent a great deal of his time at the races, and as Alexander was in the habit of openly escorting Ariadne to race-meetings, he thought it circumspect that Maura didn’t accompany him. Charlie was always more than willing to keep her company, but she knew that for them to appear together in public would be to court unpleasant gossip.
‘But there’s so much gossip flying around already, what would a little more matter?’ he had asked her bewilderedly.
‘The gossip flying around at the moment is that I am a mistress claiming to be a wife. I am a wife, Charlie, and I’ve every intention of acting like one. To be seen repeatedly in public with a gentleman not my husband would be to add fuel to the fire.’
Charlie had been disconsolate, but she had held fast. She wasn’t going to give anyone the opportunity to talk lightly of her virtue. She was Mrs Alexander Karolyis, and, for Felix’s sake, she was going to make sure that society eventually accepted her as such.
In order to alleviate her boredom and crushing loneliness she took a carriage drive every afternoon. It was what was expected of a lady of her station. By appearing so publicly in a carriage bearing the ornate Karolyis coat of arms she was battling against Alexander’s crucifying allegations in the only way she knew how.
No other lady in any other carriage ever acknowledged her. Maura never allowed herself to appear anything other than outwardly serene. They would one day. For Felix’s sake, they had to.
Every week she visited the O’Farrells and their friends. Every week her guilt at the little she could do to help them, increased. Bridget and Caitlin O’Farrell were working fourteen hours a day for meagre wages in a sweat-shop near Five Points. Patrick was labouring. Rosie O’Hara was critically ill with tuberculosis and Katy had taken on the task of nursing her and of caring for Jamesie. The O’Briens had moved out and another family had moved in to replace them. The Pearses and the Flahertys were still out of work, growing thinner and more haggard day by day.
It was when she was returning from another dispiriting visit to them that she saw Alexander and Ariadne. They were emerging from an ornate, white-stone house adjacent to the Academy of Music at 14th Street.
For a moment it was as if she had been hit physically in the chest. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t take in air.
Alexander was white-suited and hatless. His black hair gleamed, skimming his pastel-toned silk shirt-collar as decadently as if he were one of England’s Romantic Poets. The woman with him was pretty in the style made popular by Burne-Jones. A small, pale-feathered hat was perched fashionably low over her forehead revealing thick, springy auburn hair and drawing attention to heavy-lidded slumbrous eyes. Her upper lip was short and full and like herself she no longer wore a crinoline. Her dress was of heavy oyster silk, the skirt gathered at the back in a bustle and ending in a small train. She carried herself with great hauteur and Maura had no doubts whatsoever as to her identity.
Her carriage drew abreast of them and try as she would she couldn’t turn her eyes away. They were walking towards an elegant brougham drawn by two black cobs. It wasn’t a Karolyis carriage. If her own coachman had noticed it, or had noticed Alexander about to enter it, he gave no sign. Her own horses didn’t pick up speed, they simply continued to trot along Fifth Avenue and as they did so she saw Ariadne Brevoort turn towards Alexander, say something and laugh. She saw her put her hand proprietorially on his arm. She saw him cover her hand with his, felt the tender squeeze that must have accompanied his action, saw his white teeth flash as he smiled in response.
‘Faster!’ she commanded her coachman in a choked voice. ‘Faster!’
It was too late. As she looked back at Alexander his head turned in her direction. Their eyes met. The surprised anguish in them was more than she could bear. With a strangled sob she tore her eyes from his, knowing that she could no longer remain in New York if her presence was causing him such acute embarrassment.
She would move herself and Felix to Tarna. At least she would meet with courteous politeness at Tarna. And she would be able to ride.
She gave the necessary instructions the instant she returned home.
‘Make sure my riding clothes are packed, Miriam. And ask Felix’s nurse to come and see me.’
The nurse, when she had been told what was wanted of her, had refused to leave the house unless instructed to do so by Mr Karolyis.
Maura had been uncaring. She was quite capable of looking after Felix herself. Both she and he would much enjoy it.
Stephen Fassbinder had looked at her in dismay when she had asked him to send word to the pier that the Rosetta be stoked ready for departure.
‘But Mr Karolyis hasn’t indicated to me that he is leaving the city …’
‘Mr Karolyis isn’t,’ she had interrupted him crisply, ‘I am.’
Even Miriam had been disconcerted.
‘Isn’t this a little hasty, madam?’ she asked as footmen began to carry the hurriedly packed valises down the servants’stairs to the courtyard and the waiting coach. ‘Mr Karolyis isn’t going to like it.’
‘Oh, he will,’ Maura said with uncharacteristic bitterness. ‘I suspect it’s what he’s wanted me to do for a long time.’
She had carried Felix down the grand staircase herself. The nurse had wept and wrung her hands. The household staff had stared, bewildered and disapproving. Only Miriam accompanied her.
‘Goodbye, Haines,’ she said chillily as she swept out into the courtyard.
She had stepped into the coach, her face as pale as a cameo. She didn’t want to do what she was now doing. She didn’t want to put miles and miles between them. She didn’t want to return to Tarna alone.
‘I want to be with you, Alexander,’ she whispered fiercely as she cradled Felix on her knee and the carriage moved off. ‘I want to be with you!’
Chapter Twenty
‘You were married by a Catholic priest according to the rites and ordinances of the Roman Catholic Church,’ Henry said to Alexander succinctly. ‘There are no grounds at all for the ridiculous rumours you set in circulation and if you possess a scrap of honour, Alexander, you will very publicly retract them.’
They were ensconced in deep armchairs in the Amen Corner at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Alexander stared broodingly into a glass of bourbon. Henry waited for his response. None came.
‘If you don’t retract them, I shall do so on your behalf,’ he said at last, losing all patience. ‘Maura is your wife and it’s about time you began treating her as such. As far as society is concerned I shall make damn sure that Schermerhorn wives begin extending invitations towards her. I should have put pressure to bear on them long ago, but I wasn’t quite sure in the early days if it would have been in Maura’s best interest. Now it most certainly is and I can assure you that the women of my family are going to begin extending invitations towards her. If they don’t, they will find my door closed against them.’
‘They won’t allow that,’ Alexander said, still frowning gloomily into his glass. ‘Which would solve one problem for me. But with the best will in the world, Henry, you can’t solve the other.’
‘Which is?’
‘Ariadne.’
Henry snorted. He had never been able to understand why Alexander had begun fooling around in that quarter. Women like Ariadne didn’t embark on affairs lightly nor, the decision to embark upon one once undertaken, were they in the habit of allowing themselves to be cavalierly discarded. It was an inconvenience Alexander should have thought of at the outset.
‘Once she realizes that Maura is your legal wife, Ariadne will want to disentangle herself from you with all possible speed,’ he said, crediting her with a modicum of common sense.
‘You’re wrong, Henry,’ Alexander said grimly. ‘She knows and instead of heading for the hills she
wants me to head for the divorce court.’
He drained his glass of bourbon. The scene he had just come from had not been pleasant. Ariadne had not merely accepted his story of a sham wedding ceremony for convenience sake, she had believed it implicitly. When she had discovered the truth she had been almost as unhinged by it as his father had been.
‘How could you have been such a fool? How could you not have checked beforehand?’ she had demanded, pacing her bedroom in violent agitation, a purple satin neglige swirling around her ankles. ‘It doesn’t matter, of course. You thought he was a fake priest. You didn’t know it was a legal ceremony. You were an unwitting participant and so it can’t possibly be legal. Have you had your lawyers look into it? What have they said?’
‘I’ve had no need to have anyone look into it,’ he had said tautly. ‘I took part in the ceremony believing it to be legal and as your little investigator found out, it was legal. End of story.’
She had whirled round on her heels to face him, her eyes wide in stunned disbelief. ‘You knew …’ She had had to fight for breath. ‘You knowingly married an immigrant? An Irish immigrant?’
He had given an exasperated shrug. ‘The ship was sailing from Ireland. It was the only kind to be had.’
He had thought she had been going to strike him. Instead she had pressed a hand against her heart as if attempting to subjugate it.
‘No-one need know,’ she had said at last. ‘There can be a divorce.’ She had given a half-hysterical laugh. ‘Christ, there must be a divorce! How can you remain married to a peasant! It’s incredible! Unbelievable!’
He said, as he had said before, ‘Maura may have been born a peasant, but by no stretch of the imagination can she still be described as one …’
‘Of course she’s still a peasant!’ Ariadne’s eyes had burned passionately. ‘She may be temporarily dressed in silks and satins, but I doubt if she knows what half her under-garments are for!’
It was a crudity that had surprised even him. He hadn’t responded to it because he had been too busy coming to terms with the realization that Ariadne very seriously wanted to become Mrs Alexander Karolyis. In many respects it would be an ideal marriage. Her family pedigree was impeccable. An alliance between them would be as irreproachable as his father’s marriage to a Schermerhorn had been. She was a leading light in high society and an accomplished hostess. And she certainly wouldn’t harass him as to his moral responsibility for hundreds of thousands of tenants.
‘You’re not going to, of course,’ Henry was saying to him sharply.
Alexander dragged his attention back to the present. ‘Sorry, Henry. What did you say?’
‘I said, you’re not going to head for the divorce court, are you?’
Alexander didn’t answer. The question had been on his mind ever since he had taken his leave of Ariadne and it was still on his mind.
‘I need to talk to Maura,’ he said abruptly, rising to his feet.
‘Alexander, just one minute …’
Alexander didn’t hear him. He was striding towards the lobby, every line of his body taut with determined intent. ‘Mrs Karolyis left the house three hours ago, sir,’ Haines said, keeping the satisfaction out of his voice with difficulty.
Alexander frowned. It was little more than three hours since their eyes had met in the busy street. Since then he had had the misfortune of being with Ariadne when she had read her secretary’s report on the validity of his marriage and he had spent an uncomfortable half an hour with Henry. If Maura had gone out, then she had done so almost immediately after returning from her carriage ride.
‘Did she say where she had gone or when she would be back?’ he demanded brusquely.
‘I believe she has gone to Tarna, sir,’ Haines said, only years of practice enabling him to maintain an expression of professional impassivity. ‘She ordered the Rosetta to be made ready to sail, sir.’
‘Tarna?’ Alexander stared at Haines in incredulity. ‘Tarna? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Haines paused savouringly. ‘She took the child with her, sir. And Miriam.’
Alexander didn’t waste time asking any more damn fool questions. He sprinted towards the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
Long before he reached Felix’s nursery suite he was met by a nervous and distressed nurse.
‘Mrs Karolyis demanded that I leave with her, sir. I didn’t know what to do. I was sure you wouldn’t have approved, sir, and …’
Alexander strode past her and on into the nursery. It was empty. White-faced, he spun on his heel. He hadn’t entered their bedroom suite for months. He strode swiftly towards it, flinging the door open with such violence that it rocked on its hinges. Drawers and closets were still open, their contents disarranged.
She had packed and she had gone. He stood in the centre of the room. The light, flowery perfume she wore still lingered. A rose-pink satin and lace nightdress lay on the bed. He walked slowly towards it, picking it up, letting the sensuous fabric slide through his hands. She had gone. The New York mansion was his again. He didn’t need to return to his suite at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He could ask his lawyers to begin divorce proceedings. He could tell Ariadne that her wish had been fulfilled and that Maura was no longer in the city.
He felt no elation. No euphoria. She was gone. He could now live without her with ease as he had been attempting to do with so much difficulty. He waited for the colossal relief; the exultation.
None came. He felt only panic. He had only Haines’s word that her destination had been Tarna. She could have been deliberately misleading him. She could have gone anywhere. He might never see her again. Never see Felix again.
He slammed out of the room; along the broad corridor; down the grand staircase. Maids and footmen gathered strategically in his wake, hovering nervously for whatever instructions might be hurled at them.
‘I’m leaving for Tarna,’ he said tightly to a hovering Stephen Fassbinder. ‘Immediately.’
Stephen blanched. ‘The Rosetta has sailed, sir …’
Alexander blasphemed. He had forgotten. And there would be no public steamers now it was nearly dusk. ‘I want to be on a steamer first thing in the morning,’ he rasped, clenching and unclenching his fists in a fever of frustration.
‘Yes, Mr Karolyis. I’ll see to it at once, Mr Karolyis.’
Alexander strode away from him and into his study, well aware that he was being stared at. It would be tomorrow at the earliest before he could get to Tarna and the hours stretched out interminably. He certainly didn’t want to return to Ariadne. Charlie was no longer on speaking terms with him. Henry would only lecture him. And he didn’t want to be with either Charlie or Henry. He wanted to be with Maura and Felix. He looked at his watch. It was six-thirty. There were at least another twelve hours to endure.
Felix woke just after four in the morning, hungry and wanting to be fed. Maura slipped out of bed and pulled on a robe. Despite Felix’s nurse’s disapproval she had insisted on breast-feeding him herself and, as she lifted him from his cradle, she was very glad that she had done so. Now there was no nurse to reluctantly hand him to her. Now he could sleep in the same room as her. Now she could look after him herself.
By the time she had winded him and changed his diaper daylight was seeping across Tarna’s meadows. It had been a long time, and in another country, since she had last ridden in the quiet of early morning.
By the time she laid Felix back in his cradle he was sleeping.
Moving quietly so as not to disturb him she dressed in her riding habit and boots and then rang for Miriam.
‘I’m going for a ride,’ she said, suppressing the guilt she felt at waking her for such a selfish purpose. ‘I’ve just fed Felix and he’s sleeping. Will you sit in with him for an hour or so?’
Miriam was too relieved at not being asked to return to New York to mind in the least.
The stable-boys stared at her in dumb amazement when she walked into the stables.
None of the grooms had even been aware of her return. There was a flurry of activity. Maura felt relief seeping through her. Here she was accepted as being the mistress of the house. There was none of the sullen reluctance to carry out her wishes that she met with in New York from Haines and his cronies.
While she waited for Halcyon Dream to be saddled she made a mental note of all the things she would have to do later in the day. She would have to see if any of the maids were qualified in infant care. If one was, then she could be detailed to nursery duties. If not, then she would have to set about hiring a suitable young girl. She didn’t want anyone remotely authoritarian. She wanted someone with whom she could share the day-to-day care of Felix, not someone who would take it over completely as the New York nurse had tried to do.
A gleaming-coated Halcyon Dream was led out of his stall and, as he was led to the mounting-block, Maura was seized with inspiration. She would ask one of the O’Farrell sisters if they would like to come to Tarna as Felix’s nurse. Both Bridget and Caitlin were capable girls and life at Tarna would be a million times pleasanter than life in a Bowery sweatshop.
As she mounted she wondered if Alexander would make any strenuous objections. He might refuse to pay a new nurse wages. He might insist on the New York nurse removing herself to Tarna.
Riding side-saddle, Maura pressed a heel lightly in Halcyon Dream’s left flank. If he refused to pay Caitlin or Bridget wages then she would invite them to Tarna as guests. And if the New York nurse put in an appearance she would find herself with no nursery tasks, for she would give her none.
She walked Halcyon Dream out of the immaculately kept stable-yard. She would have to write to Kieron as well and let him know where she was. And she would have to write to Charlie and Henry.
The sky was flushed rose as she began to trot across the meadows towards the distant, wooded banks of the Hudson. Would Henry or Charlie visit her at Tarna? Would it be proper for them to do so when she had no husband in attendance? She thought back to Christmas and to the fun they had all had and her heart ached with such pain that she wondered how she could possibly bear it. Why, oh why, had things fallen out as they had? Why couldn’t Alexander have seen how iniquitous Karolyis leasing and rental agreements were? Why couldn’t he have been uncaring as to the social ostracism he had met with when they had first returned to New York from Tarna? Why couldn’t he have been impervious to the attractions of the slumbrously proud Ariadne Brevoort?
An Embarrassment of Riches Page 37
