A Question of Class

by Julia Tagan

  She didn’t look up. “I prefer we not speak of it again. Please hand me two plates.”

  Benjamin did as he was told. Once they were seated, he waited for her to take the first bite. Her reaction made him smile.

  “This is quite a step up from jellied meat.” She gave him a gleeful look and took another sip of wine. “Mrs. Daggett will be irate when she sees what we’ve done. She hates when I come into the kitchen.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I could stomach another one of her meals. How does Mr. Delcour stand it?”

  “He keeps Mrs. Daggett around because none other than John Astor recommended her. My husband brags about her to everyone, saying Astor insisted he take her on. My guess is Astor was desperate to get rid of the woman. And where did you learn to cook? At sea?”

  “At sea, and also in France.”

  “The food tastes differently in France. Here everything seems stale in comparison.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “Not many ladies would step into the kitchen willingly.”

  “I got to know the inner workings of a kitchen quite well when I was a young girl. After my mother died and my father disappeared, my sister and I were made wards of a strict couple, the Allens. Mrs. Allen fussed over my sister, as she was only a baby, but I was put to work as their scullery maid.”

  “Where was this?”

  “In Bridgeport, Connecticut. Up the coast.”

  “I take it the Allens weren’t very kind,” he said.

  “They were strict and religious. But I learned how to take care of myself.”

  Benjamin was surprised how forthcoming she was. Perhaps it was because they were no longer in the stuffy parlor or dining room, and she felt safer and more comfortable in the back rooms of the house. Or maybe it was the effect of the wine. He could use this to his advantage.

  “And how did you end up in France with Mr. Delcour?” He asked, pouring more wine into her glass.

  She grimaced. “Mr. Allen owned a schooner in the foreign trade, and Mr. Delcour visited the Allens whenever he docked at the port. One morning, Mrs. Allen informed me I would be working for Mr. Delcour in France, where he was headed. I kissed my sister goodbye in her bed while she was sleeping and left. Mr. Delcour married me during the voyage to France.” Her voice grew tight. “But that’s all gone and done with. Tell me more about his first wife, your sister.”

  Her question was unexpected. “You have quite an interest in Dolly. Why?”

  “Because, like me, she doesn’t seem the type to have married Mr. Delcour.”

  Benjamin pictured his sister on her wedding day, sitting in front of her mirror and solemnly pinning on her veil. “There weren’t many eligible men in Haiti. And my parents needed her to make a good match.”

  “They needed Mr. Delcour’s money?”

  “Yes. He bought out many of the other plantation owners. He was shrewd. My parents were in debt to him.”

  “He is awfully smart at getting what he wants. Were you close with Dolly?”

  Benjamin smiled. “We were close. But because of the age difference, she was more like a maternal figure to me.”

  “My sister and I were the reverse. She’s eleven years younger, so she was only a baby when I left. Now she’d be nine.”

  For a split second, he considered sharing his plan with her. She disliked her husband as much as he did, and might be able to help find his weak spot. Then again, she might jump at the chance to tell Delcour he had a traitor in his midst, as she was still dependent on her husband for her livelihood. No, she was a rival, of sorts.

  “And where is your sister now?” he asked.

  A cloud passed over her expression. “I tried to write to her, but I’m sure the Allens intercepted my letters. Much like what is happening to me now.” She touched her lip with her finger. It was a small gesture, but it made Benjamin hungry for her again. He rose and put the plates in the washbasin.

  “And who was the letter from this afternoon?”

  “An old friend,” she said in a soft voice.

  “An important friend, from your strong reaction to receiving it.”

  “Don’t worry, there isn’t anyone else I can run off to, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. That should make my job much easier.”

  “I’m not like that. Percy was the only man who showed an interest in me, other than my husband.”

  Benjamin stayed silent. He didn’t know whether or not to believe her.

  “And it was only interest,” she continued. “Nothing more.”

  “I’m afraid your husband doesn’t view your conduct in the same way.”

  She swayed slightly, her face flushed from the effects of the wine. “My husband. When we first came to New York, he would invite guests over and trot me out like a doll to be fussed over. Then he’d show off his prize bottle of wine, which he’d caress as if it were a woman. ‘The 1780 Yquem,’ he’d say. ‘My Yquem.’”

  Benjamin kept his tone even. “A Yquem? I presume that’s a valuable bottle of wine.”

  She nodded. “Valuable indeed. And a Yquem doesn’t create a fuss or disappoint, which makes it a much better match for my husband.”

  “Perhaps when he drinks the wine, he’ll be disappointed. Age is no guarantee of taste.”

  “He’ll never open that bottle. He’d have nothing to show off at his dinner parties.” She looked at him strangely. “Do you know a lot about wines?”

  “Some.”

  “I’d show the Yquem to you myself but the bottle’s gone missing.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He kept it in a crate in his study. The crate’s there, but the wine’s gone.”

  “What made you go looking for the bottle in the first place?”

  She smiled at him. “Curiosity, I suppose.”

  He took her glass and poured the wine down the washbasin. “You don’t want to have a headache tomorrow for the ball.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Yes. The ball. I forgot to mention, there’s no longer any need to go. Circumstances have changed.”

  “So the only reason you intended to go in the first place was to find Percy Bonneville?”

  “Very astute,” she said. “I was hoping to enlist his legal counsel. But now it appears Percy spread those rumors. I have no desire to be laughed at. To attend would be humiliating.”

  Benjamin wondered at this sudden turn of events. Did her reversal really have to do with Bonneville? What about the mysterious letter she’d received? He still wanted to meet Delcour’s business partner, and the ball was the ideal opportunity.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Delcour, but we will be going to the Carpenter’s ball tomorrow evening, as planned.”

  Catherine scrutinized his face. “Why your sudden interest in going to a ball, Mr. Thomas?” She leaned back against the table and crossed her arms over her chest. “In fact, why did you agree to go in the first place? You know Mr. Delcour doesn’t want me there.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Have you never been to a ball before?”

  “When I lived in France I worked hard, and didn’t socialize much.”

  “And so now you suddenly have a burning desire to attend one?”

  He had to take a careful approach and convince her he was telling the truth. “I have little to my name. From what I understand, we come from similar circumstances. But you married Delcour and learned all of the social graces, while I sailed the world with men who couldn’t put a sentence together. I would like, one day, to be considered a gentleman. That’s the reason I came to New York in the first place, and it’s important I meet the people who run this city.”

  Catherine paused a moment, pursing her lips together. “All right, we’ll go. But you don’t know how to dance. You’ll look like a laughingstock when Theodosia insists on taking you out to the dance floor.”

  “I’m sure I can make excuses.”

  “You’re missing the subtleties so crucial to success. You’ll
need to know how to charm the wives if you want to do business with their husbands. They’ll expect you to know how to dance. I’ll show you. Follow me.”

  She led him upstairs to the parlor. He closed the parlor door behind him, and stood in front of it.

  She laughed. “You look like you’re about to get scolded out by your Latin tutor. Come stand in the center of the room.”

  Benjamin complied.

  “I’ll teach you the waltz,” she said. “It’s new and not everyone knows it yet, so if you make a misstep, it won’t matter. Now follow me.”

  For the next ten minutes, as Catherine hummed under her breath, he went against his natural instincts to stay in time with the music, and did his best to tamp down his physical reaction to her. His heart raced, and he loved the feel of her soft hand in his. He acted clumsy, starting with the wrong foot, and moving backwards instead of forward, to the point that he accidentally stepped on her toes and jumped back, apologizing profusely.

  She threw her head back and laughed, exposing her white, smooth throat. “You’re awful, you know.”

  He pretended to improve gradually. Soon they were sailing around the room, light as air, although he tossed in a couple of stumbles, much to Catherine’s chagrin.

  The door to the room opened. It was Mrs. Daggett, returning from her evening out. She scowled at them.

  They drew apart awkwardly, and Catherine touched her cheeks. “It’s quite warm in here. Please make sure the candles are all out before you retire, Mrs. Daggett.”

  Mrs. Daggett nodded and went on her way.

  “Thank you for the dance lesson,” he said.

  “I think you’ll do fine tomorrow,” said Catherine. “You’re a quick learner.” She gave him a quick smile, but her eyes were solemn.

  Benjamin listened to her footsteps as they climbed the stairs, and wondered if he’d ever seen anyone look so sad.

  8

  Catherine had told Benjamin more about herself than she’d ever divulged before. Somehow between making dinner together and answering his questions, she’d opened up. Of course, she didn’t mention having to read the Bible out loud to the Allens every night after supper, for hours on end. Or the way Mr. Allen had leered at her and touched her as soon as Mrs. Allen dozed off in her chair. Some things were better left unsaid.

  For a brief time, when she and Benjamin were dancing together in the parlor, she’d forgotten about the awful news she’d read in the letter earlier in the day. But when Mrs. Daggett interrupted them, she remembered and all of her anxiety returned.

  Once the household had settled in for the night, Catherine lit a candle and tiptoed down the hall to Morris’s study. She closed the door behind her, went to the bookcase that lined the wall behind his desk and took down a large tome from the bottom shelf. It was a French book on wine, but she only glanced at the title briefly before opening it.

  When Catherine and Morris first moved to the townhouse and their life together seemed promising, she had often come into his study without knocking, showing off a new gown or hat she hoped would please him, and a couple of times she’d caught him quickly closing the book and putting it back on the shelf. His surreptitious behavior had aroused her curiosity, so one afternoon when he was away she’d leafed through it. Inside, the book was hollowed out and held a small ledger filled with numbers. At the time, she wondered why it was so important Morris kept it hidden from sight, and carefully placed it back.

  Tonight, Catherine made a beeline for the book. In her hand, she clutched the letter she’d seen lying on top of the day’s mail. It was a terse note from her sister. Sophie had chastised her for ignoring her prior pleas for help over the past few months, and added her time was running out. Catherine had known immediately where to look for the missing letters.

  Catherine sat at Morris’s desk and opened the book. She set the ledger aside and took out four short notes, all from her sister. Pulling the candle closer, she read each one, placed them in chronological order and read them again. In the first one, Sophie explained she’d figured out where Catherine was living after overhearing Mr. and Mrs. Allen talking about her one night in hushed tones. They’d said she’d moved to New York with Mr. Delcour and lived in luxury on Pearl Street. In the letter, Sophie politely requested she come live with Catherine, and signed it, “Your Loving Sister, Sophie.”

  The letters became increasingly frantic in tone. Catherine’s hope the Allens had lovingly raised Sophie as their own daughter hadn’t come to fruition, and Sophie was begging for help. Mrs. Allen was planning to get rid of her, and Mr. Allen had probably shown the same interest in the maturing Sophie he’d shown in Catherine. The last letter, the one that arrived today, was once again formal and polite, and stated the Allens would be handing Sophie over to work for a traveling preacher they’d met, and she’d be leaving with him for Pennsylvania the coming Monday. Catherine could tell from the hurried scrawl Sophie had given up hope of ever being rescued.

  Catherine seethed. She could only imagine what nonsense Mr. Allen had tried on poor Sophie that would make Mrs. Allen so eager to be rid of her. After blowing out the candle, she sat in the darkness, thinking. She needed to get to Bridgeport and find Sophie. Even if Catherine didn’t have a home anymore, she couldn’t leave her sister to suffer. Although at the moment, she had no idea how she could possibly support herself, never mind a nine-year-old girl, she’d figure it out later.

  She was glad she was going to the ball. She would talk to Theodosia, and ask her advice. She’d have to dodge Benjamin, but the scene would be crowded and lively, and she was sure she could manage to steal away for a little while. Catherine brushed away the first thought that came into her head, which was to confide in Benjamin. After their time together the past few hours, she couldn’t help but wonder what his advice to her might be. Particularly as he’d had a beloved sister of his own.

  She wasn’t thinking straight and the man was not to be trusted. She was on her own from here, and would use men up the same way they’d used her. Including Benjamin Thomas.

  * * * *

  Catherine was surprised when she caught sight of Benjamin in his formal clothes the next evening. The clean line of his breeches emphasized his muscular build, and the high white collar showed off his strong jawline. He wasn’t like any of the other men in town, who seemed to be of two extremes: skinny and inconsequential, like Percy, or overstuffed and prone to gout, like Morris. No doubt Benjamin would provide quite a distraction to the ladies of New York.

  Every window in the Carpenter’s mansion was ablaze with light when the carriage carrying them pulled up. Benjamin elegantly offered Catherine his hand and led her up the steps and through the front door. Inside, the ballroom was lit with hundreds of candles set in wall sconces and chandeliers. An orchestra played in an alcove at one end of the room while men in dark frockcoats and women in low-cut ball gowns in an array of sumptuous colors gathered in groups, drinking champagne. The sound of laughter, music and clinking glasses echoed around the cavernous space.

  Catherine stood still in the doorway, scanning the room. Her pulse quickened and her mouth felt dry.

  “It’s quite a crowd,” remarked Benjamin.

  “Yes,” replied Catherine. “The crème de la crème. Mr. Carpenter first made his money as a successful shipping magnate, and then married Theodosia’s mother, which raised him to the top of high society.”

  “Shall we go in?”

  Catherine gave an imperceptible shake of her head. If she didn’t want to see Theodosia so badly, she would’ve turned and run.

  “It’s all right,” he said.

  “They’re all going to stare and laugh.”

  “You are the most beautiful woman here, of course they’re going to stare.”

  Benjamin’s words made her blush. Earlier this evening, she’d noticed his eyes widen when she’d come downstairs after getting dressed, and part of her enjoyed the surge of power she experienced under his gaze.

  She matched him step for
step as they entered the ballroom. Carpenter and Theodosia were receiving guests in the foyer, and Catherine and Benjamin joined the queue.

  “Catherine,” said Theodosia. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Theo, you know my brother-in-law, Benjamin Thomas,” Catherine said.

  “Of course, how could I forget Mr. Thomas? Catherine, you look ravishing,” said Theodosia. “The color is lovely on you.”

  “I have to agree,” said Carpenter, taking Catherine’s hand. He was a tall man and his skin always gave off a sheen, as if he had been lightly slicked with oil. “I’m only sorry Delcour isn’t here to see his lovely bride.”

  Carpenter’s gaze lingered on her décolletage. Catherine yanked Benjamin forward. “Mr. Carpenter, may I present my chaperone for the evening, Benjamin Thomas.”

  To her relief, Benjamin began speaking with Carpenter about one of the company’s ships that had been caught in a storm off the coast. Catherine moved close to Theodosia and whispered to her. “I have to speak with you privately tonight, it’s urgent.”

  “Of course, we’ll find time once the dancing has begun, if you like,” said Theodosia. “I’m all yours.”

  “I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.” Catherine squeezed Theodosia’s hand.

  “By the way, have you taken a good look at Mr. Thomas? He looks quite dashing. He seems to be attracting attention.”

  Catherine scanned the room. Several young women whispered behind their fans and stared in Benjamin’s direction. Percy stood with his pug-nosed fiancée off to one side. The woman was glaring at Catherine with unbridled hostility and Percy had a predatory look in his eyes.

  Percy’s fiancée headed in her direction. As the band struck up a waltz, Catherine grabbed Benjamin, startling him and Carpenter in mid-sentence.

  “We must dance,” she said.

  “You better do as she says, young man,” said Carpenter. “I wouldn’t refuse a dance with such a beauty.”

  Catherine led Benjamin to the floor. She lifted her arms and he encircled her with his.

  “I was in the middle of speaking with Mr. Carpenter.”