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IT WAS WELL PAST MIDNIGHT when the Vangilder party descended from the Palmers’ personal carriage in front of the hotel that bore the couple’s name as well. Although the Palmer mansion was immense by residential standards, the Palmer House Hotel dwarfed the castle’s proportions. Taking up half a city block at the corner of State and Monroe Streets with a passthrough extending all the way to Wabash Avenue, the Palmer House was the grandest hotel in the city. It was the second structure to bear the Palmer name at that location. Potter Palmer had built the first Palmer House as a wedding gift for Bertha, but his timing was disastrous. Less than a year after its grand opening, the hotel was completely destroyed in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871.
Crushed by this setback, Potter pronounced himself financially ruined until Bertha convinced him to try again. He was wise enough to heed his young wife’s advice and try he did. Based on his reputation alone, Potter was able to raise the unprecedented sum of nearly two million dollars from local banks. Learning from past misfortune, he constructed his new hotel entirely of iron, brick, and plaster. Upon completion, it was advertised as the only fireproof hotel in America. It was also the first in the city to install electricity and telephones in each of its 700 guest rooms. At eight stories, with a rooftop tropical garden, the second Palmer House was grand enough to rival the great hotels of Europe. In fact, its mansard roof had been patterned after the Grand Hotel in Paris.
Hettie Vangilder barely registered the magnificent edifice as she swept through the two-story main lobby with her children in tow. Her eyes traveled up the grand staircase and across the balcony overlooking the activity below. She noted that very few people were about because of the lateness of the hour. Making directly for one of the elevators, she registered surprise when Cassius didn’t follow. “Aren’t you coming?”
Her son yawned lazily. “I thought I might stop in the hotel bar for a nightcap first.” His gaze flicked over toward Perdita. “Put little sister to bed, and I’ll be along shortly. We have matters to discuss.”
Hettie pursed her lips in disapproval but didn’t object. “Very well. One drink, but be quick about it. I don’t intend to wait up for you all night.” Absently, she nudged her daughter into the elevator car and ordered the operator to take them to their suite on the sixth floor.
When the two ladies entered the lavishly appointed apartment, Hettie sighed with satisfaction. As its name implied, the Empire Suite had been decorated with elegant, tasteful French Empire-style furnishings. Hettie thought its opulence befitted the Vangilder family’s rising position in the world. The accommodations were among the best the Palmer House had to offer. Three spacious sleeping chambers with private baths opened onto a grand central parlor. The apartment also included a foyer, a reception alcove, a sitting room, a dining area, and a private study for conducting business affairs. The suite’s upper floor location meant that its occupants were shielded from the noises of the street and the public areas of the hotel.
Hettie advanced to the parlor, where she shrugged off her cape and began unclasping a bracelet so she could remove her opera gloves. A maid fluttered attentively to catch the discarded items and put them away. The lady paused pensively to study her daughter, who seemed to be waiting for orders to breathe.
“You might have shown a little more vivacity this evening,” Hettie observed coldly. “Your conversation was utterly commonplace.”
“Yes, mother.” Perdita nodded gravely. “I’ll try to do better, but there were so many new people. It was overwhelming.”
“My dear, your future life as a duchess will require you to interact with a vast array of people, all eager to be part of your inner circle. You simply need to get used to the rabble.” Hettie removed her other glove and sat down on a divan. “Have you written to your fiancé?” she asked pointedly.
The girl slid her eyes to the floor. “Not for a few days.”
Hettie gave a martyred sigh. “Then do so, first thing in the morning. You need to keep his attention fixed on you. Honestly, child, I should think the last finishing school you attended might at least have taught you how to secure the interest of a future husband.” She studied her daughter with ill-concealed displeasure. “You are very lucky that there are other incentives to hold the allegiance of your impoverished duke. He will receive a fat enough marriage settlement from the Vangilder family fortune to compensate him for your personal shortcomings.”
“Yes, mother.” Perdita wilted under her mother’s critical gaze.
“I can at least take some comfort from the fact that once the marriage vows are spoken, you’ll become his problem, not mine. Lord knows I’ve done all I can with you.”
Perdita offered no reply. She shifted from one foot to another, uncertain of what response to give.
“You may go.” Hettie waved her hand dismissively. “Have the maid help you get ready for bed and then send her off to the servants’ quarters. I don’t want anyone clattering about in the suite tonight.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m developing a headache.” The lady leaned her head back on the divan and closed her eyes.
***
HETTIE WAS AWAKENED half an hour later by the sound of footsteps in the foyer. Her son entered the parlor and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Mater dear, wake up. I’ve something to show you.”
The lady’s eyelids fluttered open. She cast her gaze around the room. “Has the maid left yet?” she inquired.
Cassius laid a finger to his lips. In a broad pantomime, he tiptoed from one chamber to the next, making a great show of peering around corners. He even opened the door to his sister’s bedroom and poked his head in. Returning to the parlor, he threw himself down on the divan beside Hettie and announced, “Dita’s sound asleep. I assume she’s dreaming the dreams of the dull-witted. The maid is gone too. ‘Two o’clock and all’s well.’”
Leaning his head against his mother’s shoulder, he added, “Tonight was a triumph.”
“I suppose,” Hettie agreed grudgingly. “The local set has certainly taken us to their hearts.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that.” Cassius sat up with a mysterious smile. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a sparkling object.
Hettie’s sharp intake of breath sounded like a hiss. She peered at the bauble dangling from her son’s fingers. It was a thick dog collar necklace. Its platinum frame held diamonds of every conceivable size and cut worked into a Beaux-Arts filigree pattern. “Where did you get that?” she challenged.
Cassius smirked. “Where do you think?”
“But how? You barely left my side all evening.”
“Therein lies the artistry of my craft.”
Hettie leaped to her feet and began to pace back and forth. “You go too far, my son!”
“But mother. It’s such a delicious irony that I couldn’t resist. The most prized item in Bertha Palmer’s famous jewelry collection. Pinched from her own home under the noses of a hundred assembled guests.” The young man closed his eyes briefly to savor his victory. “And then whisked away under cover of night to a hotel bearing her family name.” He paused to glance at his mother. “Surely, that rivals the boldest of your own exploits.”
Hettie seemed unmoved by his transport of joy. “Whatever my exploits might be, I never take unnecessary risks. The trouble with you, dear boy, is that you are in love with danger.”
“Danger is intoxicating!” Cassius exclaimed as he threw his arms wide and stretched languidly. “I doubt I’ll sleep a wink tonight.”
Refusing to share her progeny’s enthusiasm, Hettie remarked stonily, “It must be fenced immediately. I’ll wire one of my out-of-town contacts to act as a go-between to arrange the transaction. Nothing must connect us to the theft.” She held out her hand. “Meanwhile, give it to me for safekeeping. I have a secure hiding place.”
Cassius dropped the dog collar lightly into her outstretched palm. “You mean the same place where you hid the Egyptian statue that I nicked for you last week?”
“Precisely. And you don’t need to know where that item is hidden either.” She paused to regard her son. “While I am inordinately fond of you, Cassius, your recklessness may yet be the ruin of us both.”
Cassius adopted an expression of wide-eyed innocence. His hand flew to his heart. “Mother, you wound me to the quick. I would never jeopardize this thriving concern of ours.”
“The thriving concern belongs to me,” she corrected waspishly. “You are as yet only apprenticed to the trade.”
The young man’s expression turned dark. “Yes, I am fully aware that you like to keep me on a short leash.” He laughed ruefully. “Perhaps you’d prefer if I wore Mrs. Palmer’s dog collar?”
“It wouldn’t suit you,” Hettie observed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Not flashy enough, given your love of attention.”
The young man raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I hardly think you have a right to admonish me for tonight’s exploit. I thought our trip eastward was merely for the purposes of identifying future prospects.”
“And so it is,” Hettie conceded. “The Egyptian statue was an anomaly. I could hardly pass up the opportunity when a paying customer solicited my help in acquiring the object.” She smoothed the wrinkles in her ball gown decisively. “But that is the one exception to my rule. We are here to observe only. During the rest of our stay in Chicago, I intend to survey the contents of every wealthy house to which I’m invited. I’ll start by taking a much closer look at Mrs. Palmer’s art collection. Last night’s gala didn’t afford me sufficient time to assess the paintings properly. I expect you to follow my example. Accept whatever invitations come your way and let me know what rare and beautiful objects you come across.” Hettie cast a sharp glance toward her son. “Your twin duties while we remain in this city will be to assess the lay of the land and stay out of trouble.”
Cassius shrugged off the command and walked over to a sideboard that held a liquor decanter and glasses. As he poured two libations, he said, “Come mother, let’s be best friends as ever we were. We mustn’t break with tradition. I toasted your victory after you arranged the theft of the Egyptian statue. Now, you must raise a glass of Madeira to my triumph tonight.” He walked back to the divan bearing the glasses. Handing one to his mother, he resumed his seat beside her.
He clinked his glass against hers. “To crime?” he suggested.
Hettie shook her head in exasperation but smiled against her better judgment. “Very well, you rogue. To crime.”
They both raised their glasses simultaneously and drank.
Cassius studied his mother intently for a moment. “The beau monde of Chicago have no idea what you’re capable of. That’s a delicious irony too. I enjoy the fact that I’m the only one who knows your secrets.”
“See that you don’t share that knowledge with anybody else, or I may have to kill you.” Hettie maintained a deadpan expression as she serenely took another sip of Madeira.
Cassius chuckled at his mother’s subtle witticism. He continued to gaze at her. “You know, I think that Holmes fellow got it wrong. His Professor Moriarty isn’t the Napoleon of Crime.” He winked. “You are.”
Hettie raised her glass once more. “To crime!”