Susan Krinard - Chasing Midnight

“Surely her appearance can do little harm to anyone, Mrs. Pomeroy.”

She laughed again, brittle and harsh. “Spoken just like a man. We mothers know better. You’ve no idea what a negative effect these ‘jazz babies’ have on our children. Why, my Jane was telling me just the other day that Roberta Tidwell was caught accepting a delivery of gin at her parents’ summer house and Evie Hemming has begun to smoke…Can you imagine?”

“Gemma neither smokes nor drinks.”

“Of course not. And yet…Gemma would benefit so greatly from having a more mature young lady close at hand…one who could set an example she might easily follow.”

Griffin dropped his arm, forcing her to release it. “What did you have in mind, Mrs. Pomeroy?”

“You are still young, my dear Mr. Durant. Surely you’ve considered the advantages of a good marriage, especially in setting an example for your sister.”

“And you have a bride in mind for me.”

She had the sense to look abashed and dropped her gaze. “I would never presume. But Jane and Gemma have been acquainted for some time, and I can’t help but feel…”

The sound of her voice continued, but Griffin no longer listened. He could not, as a gentleman, tell Mrs. Pomeroy what he thought of her blatant scheming. In truth, it wasn’t much worse than what the other matrons with eligible daughters had tried at one time or another. And he found that he was far more angry with her unsubtle gibes at Allegra.

He looked back across the lawn toward the French doors and the garden room. Allegra was nowhere to be seen. Gemma had finished opening her presents and was making her thanks to the boys and girls gathered about the gift table. As Griffin watched, she snatched up one of the opened boxes and dashed into the house, trailed by several of her young guests. Jane Pomeroy and her cronies declined to follow.

“…does so admire what you’ve done for the dear little orphans in Hell’s Kitchen,” Julia rattled on. “He has been looking for a partner in a new financial venture that holds a great deal of promise, and he feels quite certain that you…”

Griffin waited, a strange sense of anticipation building in his chest. Except for Mrs. Pomeroy’s droning voice, everything seemed very quiet. The adult guests barely spoke to one another. The string quartet whispered and sighed as if the musicians had lost all interest in their work. The setting could not have been more ideal for the sudden blast of drums, horns and bass issuing from the summer parlor.

Julia Pomeroy broke off, her head snapping toward the house. Matrons gaped, and the handful of mature gentlemen in attendance muttered and shook their heads. Even the imperturbable Starke looked vaguely startled.

One by one the older guests and the few younger ones who had remained outside converged on the house like sleepwalkers under some sorcerer’s spell. Griffin left Mrs. Pomeroy and strode ahead of the others, already suspecting what he was about to find.

Every shade and curtain in the summer parlor had been drawn back to let in the sun. The oriental carpet had been rolled up and pushed against the wall, and a jazz recording was spinning on the turntable of the flattop Victrola, while a dozen young men and women clustered around Allegra Chase, clapping in time to her gyrating body and flying feet.

Griffin stood transfixed in the doorway, held captive by the music and the woman who danced with such abandon. Francis Spaulding began to copy Allegra’s movements, knobby arms and legs flailing. Elvira Dearing lifted her skirts above her knees and gave a few hesitant kicks, and then Tansy Higgenbotham threw herself into the dance with a little squeal of delight.

Allegra looked up at Griffin with a smile that he knew was meant for him and him alone. You see? she seemed to say. What’s the harm in a little fun?

Gemma laughed, her face glowing with happiness. Across the summer parlor, leaning against the doorjamb, Malcolm Owen gave a wry smile. Don’t ruin it. Let them be kids a little while longer…

“My God!” Mrs. Higgenbotham gasped in Griffin’s ear. “Is my Tansy…is that one of those horrid jazz dances?”

“Oh, my. Oh, my,” Mrs. Dearing murmured.

“Disgraceful,” Julia Pomeroy hissed.

“Come out of there at once, young man!” Mr. Spaulding bellowed at his son. He plunged past Griffin and reached for Francis, knocking into Gemma, who in turn bumped into the Victrola. The needle skidded off the record with a screech that brought everything to a violent halt.

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