Anna Godbersen: Envy

Thoughts of what it would be like to flee the city for an exotic locale, and to be described doing so in the papers, had kept her up most of the night, and by now the anticipation had grown almost unbearable. At times she very nearly shook with excitement. And so it was only when they turned and started their southward journey that she began to detect something imploring in the old man’s wheeze.

“My Carolina,” he said, once they had finally come to a halt at the designated pier. The color in his face, which had previously been a constant and jovial red, was all washed out now, and he seemed to be catching his breath at every word. “I wonder if you won’t consider remaining with me in New York. You know I don’t like to keep you from your youthful fun, but I woke up this morning with a terrible feeling in my lungs. I would like your company very much — I find myself wanting it more than usual….”

For Carolina, it was as though a decadent chocolate cake had been placed in front of her and then whisked away before she had taken even one bite. She felt such agitation at the prospect that she might not be able to go to Florida, that another party might flare up and be extinguished without her so much as knowing of its brightness. The very idea rattled her thoughts and caused a distinctly sour taste to grow in the back of her throat.

“But my luggage is all packed…” she returned weakly. She could smell the ocean now and hear the trampling of feet on the docks.

A poor excuse for a smile crossed her face, but she could not sustain it after looking another moment into Longhorn’s eyes. They were milky and lacking the usual sharp appraisal. For a moment all her nervous desires to be on the train already, to be one of the bright, lovely things leaving the city behind, quieted. She couldn’t remember ever being asked to stay anywhere with such ardency. Though there had never been even a hint of romance between her and her benefactor, she felt for a moment the warm glow of being needed spread across her chest.

“Your maid will fetch them back.”

The words hung in the air as she recalled all the new dresses that her dressmaker, Madame Bristede, had been paid extra to rush so that they would be ready for that morning. Carolina had imagined wearing them to the dances and dinners in Florida, and perhaps on the train, which she had heard was quite elaborately equipped. Her maid, a girl slightly younger and far more competent than she had been in that capacity, had arrived early with the several new trunks in which those dresses were packed, just to see that they were loaded to the ferry with care. She was wearing a black coat and hat — Carolina caught a glimpse of her through the bustle, standing quite formally on the wooden planks. Carolina longed to be already there, amidst all the workers and the travelers, in her far better coat, which was trimmed in blond mink. She would tell the girl — Cathy was her name — that she should hurry up and board with all the other servants, and then they would be off.

“That’s true,” Carolina acquiesced at last. She put her bee-stung lips together and her dark eyebrows rose delicately at the awful prospect.

“We’ll have another evening tonight, and you may invite whomever you like,” Longhorn continued. The effort of speech was apparently too much for him, however, because he subsided into a fit of coughing and had to bend away from her to disguise its intensity. Carolina had to admit that she’d enjoyed the little evening he had thrown to wish her a bon voyage the night before. She and Lucy Carr, the divorcée, had played cards and talked of clothes and screamed with laughter over something or other, she couldn’t remember what anymore. It had been entertaining, but she didn’t want to do it again. She wanted to go someplace new, and she wanted all the readers of all the gossip columns in the city to know what very good company she kept.

“Is he all right?”

Carolina blinked and tried to put away her self-pity. She glanced from Longhorn, who was doubled over and hacking uncontrollably, to Robert, who stood just outside the carriage window, his dark beard and eyes full of concerned skepticism. She was about to tell Robert that no, she didn’t think so, they should probably turn around now and go back to the hotel, and could he summon Cathy and give her the new instructions? But then Carolina’s gaze drifted, by chance, over Robert’s shoulder to the place on the wide pier where Leland Bouchard stood. The yellow tones in his overgrown wheat-colored hair stood out against the horrible gray backdrop — the day was so overcast you could scarcely see the other vessels in the Hudson River — and he was wearing a scarf with black and white stripes that was tucked into his fitted, knee-length coat. He helped his valet bring a single trunk onto the high wooden platform, and when he stood up again, he paused with all the grand self-possession of a Roman statue. Then he turned in her direction.

“Miss Broad!”

She blushed when she realized she had been staring. Her blush deepened when she realized that he remembered her name, and then she could not help herself from leaning forward against the coach’s window and reaching past Robert to wave eagerly at him.

“Hello!”

“You’re not with the Schoonmaker party too, are you?” he called out.

“Yes,” she said. The cold air outside was bracing, and in that moment she saw clearly what it was she had to do. “Oh, yes!”

“I am, as well — Grayson Hayes invited me. I will see you on the ferry, then!” He removed his hat and made a gallant swooshing bow motion, before disappearing back into the crowd. Carolina watched the bodies that swarmed the place where he’d been, obscuring her view of him in moments, and then she turned back to her companion.

The coughing had subsided, and he brought himself back up and gave her a smile with just a trace of apology in it. He opened his mouth to speak — but Carolina didn’t want to hear any of the reasons he wished her to remain with him in New York.

“But I have never been off this little island,” she gushed hopefully. “I’ll be back before you know it. Perhaps you will already be feeling better by then?”

Longhorn’s smile faltered. “You’re right, my dear, you should not miss any of the fun on my account. Go, but don’t forget me when you do, and come back soon.”

Carolina was so pleased to have his blessing that she threw herself forward and embraced him. “Thank you. I will. Oh, I will, I will, I will!”

“Bon voyage, my dear.”

He clasped her hand for perhaps one moment too long, and then she pulled away and allowed Robert to help her to the street. She tried to tell Longhorn’s valet how important it was to get the old gentleman home and out of the cold quickly — she thought she did. But she was hardly paying attention anymore. Already she was moving forward, her skirts drawn back from the filthy street, as she joined the crowd of travelers streaming to the ferry. All she could think of was the fact that Leland was out there, among them. The very idea made her heart race.

How I wish I were a fly on the imported French wallpaper of the Schoonmakers’ private railcar, the ARIES, for this week it carries not only the young scion of that family but also his current wife and former fiancée, Elizabeth Holland, and her younger sister — the tensions in such a party could not fail to amuse.

— FROM CITÉ CHATTER, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1900

HENRY KNEW THAT HE WAS NOT HIS BEST PICTURE of himself, and suspected he might still be drunk from the night before, although these were not his only reasons for avoiding human contact during his party’s departure from New York. He wasn’t sure how his Florida escape plan had been turned into a group event, overseen by the nefariously flashing red smile of his wife, but he knew that he must continue to play along, that he must not shame Penelope too publicly, or there would be terrible consequences. His original motivation for marrying her, to protect Diana from Penelope’s scheming, was as important as ever, although over the months, his reasoning had grown hazy in his mind. He’d often found himself blinking furiously in the mirror to make sure this was still him, that this was still his life, even after all the bizarre twists.