Anna Godbersen: Rumors

“Henry, come later. Come tonight. But if you stay now, you will only get me in trouble!” she hissed. Then she drew back the door, so that he would be unable to say more. He did go on looking at her, however, his dark eyes searching her with so much desire that she felt a little weak. That look made her feel so delightful that she couldn’t help but hold it a few seconds too long, before she stepped up and back into the house, ready to deceive Snowden a little more.

Several hours and a lot of talk later, Elizabeth emerged from Mrs. Holland’s bedroom and saw that Will was waiting for her. Not in a place where he might have heard the conversation, but near her bedroom, so that she would know he was there when the discussion was over. They met in the middle of the hallway, where she took his hand and brought him into the servants’ stairs. It was all darkness there, and the ceiling was low. This was the path she had always taken to visit him, when desire had first begun to outweigh consequences, and before any decisions had to be made.

“What did she say to you?” Will asked finally.

“She gave us her blessing.” Elizabeth’s breath was broken, short, and loud in her own ears. There was so much relief to be found in seeing her mother alive, in seeing the family provided for by some act of providence, but she had also found it exhausting being so truthful in this house where she had once lied so impeccably. What she and Will did next was going to be real in a way it hadn’t been before, because she had proclaimed her intentions out loud. She pressed her forehead against his.

“Oh.” Will’s tone was as full of gratitude as if he had used actual words of thanks.

“Yes.” She was becoming aware of the salty liquid from her eyes and from her nose, collecting above her top lip. “She gave two conditions. The first was that we were to be married.”

Will pulled her tighter. She felt almost crushed against him, which was just as she wanted it.

“The second was that we leave. She said that if anyone found out, that would be the end of the family forever. Maybe she’ll come visit us, she said. But we can’t stay here.”

Their breathing was slow and their inhalations came at the same time. There was the creak of feet falling on the main stairs, and the sound of instructions being given down in the kitchen. “What do you think?”

“I think,” she said, pressing her lids down hard against each other, “that you need to go buy a suit to be married in.”

Downstairs, Claire was already giving directions for how to set the table and making lists of what was still needed for a proper Christmas dinner. Later, when the late part of the afternoon began to fade into evening, there would be young turkey with chestnut sauce and potatoes whipped with cream and champagne punch. There would be gifts and toasts and prayers. But for now, Elizabeth wanted nothing but to stay in the dark and be held just as she was.

It is by now well known that William S. Schoonmaker wants to run for mayor, although he has thus far based his candidacy on little more than the unfortunate loss of his only son’s fiancée. The young man has lately been seen out again and dancing with young ladies, however, prompting rumors of new attachments. If his first fiancée is in fact alive, as the appearance of her engagement ring might indicate, will young Schoonmaker renew his suit? Surely the would-be mayor could put quite a bounty on the head of her supposed captors….

— FROM THE FIRST PAGE OF THE NEW-YORK NEWS OF THE WORLD GAZETTE, DECEMBER 26, 1899

“I’D LIKE A DOZEN WHITE ROSES, A DOZEN WHITE freesias, a bunch of baby’s breath….” Diana Holland paused and frowned. She hadn’t made a list, and she was now forgetting all of the things that her sister had asked her to order.

Yesterday, after her brief encounter with Henry, she’d run upstairs for a private moment in her room. That was when she came upon Elizabeth and Will embracing, and she learned their good news. She’d been so swept up in the general exhilaration of love — hers and Henry’s, Liz and Will’s — that she’d volunteered to go to the florist herself when her sister told her the list of things to be done. This was, after all, far preferable to remaining in the house and being “nice” to Snowden. Here she was free to imagine the flowers she’d one day pick out for her and Henry.

He hadn’t come to her last night, but even seeing him on the porch had been enough to consume her thoughts and destroy her concentration. Landry the florist smiled at her from the other side of the marble counter in his Broadway shop; as he had already told her, it was not a busy day for flowers. “Oh! And lilies of the valley! Do you have any of those…?”

“Sounds like a wedding.”

Diana looked up and into the mirror behind the register. The place was all mirrors where it wasn’t white porcelain tile. She looked into the inquiring eyes of the gossip columnist for a few uncertain seconds, and then she turned so that Mr. Landry wouldn’t note the playful nature of her smile. “Mr. Barnard, are you following me?”

“Not at all,” he answered in a tone that left her entirely in doubt.

“Well, nor are these flowers for a wedding,” she shot back blithely. “We always celebrate a white Christmas at the Holland house. You can print that if you like.”

Then she turned back to Mr. Landry and asked if she could pick up her order on Thursday morning.

“Weren’t you here to get flowers, Mr. Barnard?” she asked as he moved to follow her back onto the street.

“I found my daily requirement for visual beauty has unexpectedly been filled by a different source,” he replied, holding the door for her.

Outside the sun was shining, which did nothing to mitigate the icy cut of the wind. Dead leaves reeled in the air and skittered across the sidewalk as Diana brought her camel coat in closer to her chest. “That’s quite a dose of flattery. Pretty soon I’ll have to start wondering if you don’t have an angle.”

“I hope you won’t think me somehow not in earnest about your beauty if I do.”

“Ah, well, that I can’t tell you.” Diana ducked her head so that the brim of her bonnet covered her face. “Some things must remain a mystery, and for now, I think I’ll keep my opinion of you and your compliments to myself.”

“I’ll have to look forward to that another day, then. Though I do of course have an angle.” He pushed his hat back on his head and arched a dark brow.

“Of course you do!” They were walking up Broadway, and though the cold was biting at her, Diana felt a peculiar elation at being again in the gossip columnist’s company. Perhaps it was knowing that she held a few secrets greater than he could imagine, secrets she could never reveal to him. He walked along on her left, so that he shielded her from the view of anyone passing in the street, and he was looking at her in that way that made her feel as though he might have noticed some attractive quality of hers that had escaped even her own notice. Of course, she glowed whenever she thought of Henry, and Henry was always in her thoughts. “Well, do share.”

“The public is hungry for news about you, Miss Diana,” he went on in a voice that didn’t quite touch down on seriousness. “Can’t you tell us something? Perhaps there’s wedding news? Or maybe something about this Snowden Cairns fellow.”

“He is not a beau, if you’re wondering that,” Diana answered quickly, remembering how poorly the last report of her possible attachment had gone over.

“No? Hmmm…and your Christmas dinner?”

“Oh,” Diana replied gaily. They were moving forward, up the avenue, at a good pace now. “We had turkey with cranberries and asparagus points on toast and hothouse lettuce with mayonnaise and, later, plum pudding!”