CHAPTER 9

The Real Thing

A perfect gentleman instinctively knows just what to do under all circumstances, and need be bound by no written code of manners. Yet there is an unwritten code which is as immutable as the laws of the Medes and Persians, and we who would acquire gentility must by some means make ourselves familiar with this.

The true gentleman is rare, but fortunately there is no crime in counterfeiting his excellences. The best of it is that the counterfeit may, in course of time, develop into the real thing.

 

—Decorum, page 15

Tracey couldn’t wait to see the expression on Nell’s face when he told her that Francesca had finally accepted him. He lulled himself to sleep the night before rehearsing what he would say, how he would look, even what he would wear to irritate her most. When he told her the next day, he thought Nell betrayed shock—that momentary widening of the eyes, the mouth about to form the words, “Oh, God,” and stopping just short of the “Oh.” She used the seconds it took to pour them tea to regain her composure. When she sank onto the chaise, her attitude unpleasant, he thought he had reckoned accurately.

Nell smirked and sucked playfully on a cigarette, and peered at Tracey through the haze of smoke with narrowed eyes. At ten-thirty in the morning she was unprepared for this visit. She was dressing and Anton had left for work only a half hour before. She lounged against several pillows, wrapped in her silk kimono with a throw over her feet. The hennaed hair piled on top of her head was neat enough, but her face was unpainted and sallow. In the glow of his triumph, she looked bloody awful to him.

“You certainly have a lot of gall, don’t you, now that the dirty deed is done?” she said, drawing on the cigarette. “You must think rather highly of yourself.”

It was true. He exulted in his achievement. He could scarcely believe it himself, his labors having been so long and fruitless. How much longer he could have acted the long-suffering lover he dared not speculate. The betrothal had given him renewed vigor with which he hoped to smooth out some of the more stubborn wrinkles in the complicated fabric of his existence. As much as he dreaded being married to Francesca Lund, the prospect of freedom from his dependence on Nell Ryder made him almost giddy.

“I did tell you that persistence would pay off,” she said.

“Are you trying to take credit for my good fortune?”

“You certainly couldn’t have done it without me.”

“And just how do you figure that?” he asked. He went over to the table where the breakfast tray had been laid out and helped himself to a piece of toast. He slowly, deliberately spread it with a gooey gob of marmalade and watched her out of the corner of his eye. She crushed out the cigarette in an art glass dish and took another from the silver box on the side table. She held it aloft before setting it in the perfect O that was her lips. He grinned and bit into the toast and crossed to Nell, put one knee on the chaise and bent across her to retrieve the silver lighter and lit her cigarette. She was watching his every move. He enjoyed these games with Nell—but only when he was winning.

“If I hadn’t urged you on and kept you in finery all these months you would have had to sneak back to New Orleans with your tail between your legs.”

“I do not sneak anywhere,” he said with mock indignation.

“No. That’s true. Sneaking doesn’t become you,” she said, drawing on the cigarette and tilting back her head as she exhaled. “You do like attention, don’t you?”

“When it’s the right kind.” Tracey chuckled and slowly licked the marmalade from his fingers, brushing the crumbs from his hands and examining the well-manicured nails.

“I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“You needn’t trouble yourself.”

“I might wonder where you got the money,” she began.

“What money?”

“The money for the ring.” She was allowing him no emotional latitude. “I suppose there is to be a ring, isn’t there?”

“You needn’t trouble yourself about that either, my dear Nell. As it happens, I was able to turn your small contribution around sufficient to acquit myself quite creditably.”

“Oh? Your game must be improving,” she said. He laughed at this. “Or you chose the right dog, or horse, or rooster, or rat for once.” Nell drew on the cigarette, expelled the smoke, and then ground it out—quite viciously, Tracey thought. She was irritable, like someone rudely rousted from a much-needed nap. “You certainly are strutting around like a peacock. And what of the peahen, or should I say the Chickadee? Is she happy?”

“Most assuredly. She was overcome by my generosity and good taste. The Magpie was enraptured, too, which reinforced the rosy picture of our forthcoming wedded bliss.”

“You may spare me the sentiment. I can picture it all quite nicely, thank you. What about money? I mean, how do you think you’ll be fixed?”

Tracey knew what lay behind the question: any hint of money in quantities sufficient to shift the delicate balance of their relationship. Nell liked dependents in all sizes and proclivities. She didn’t take kindly to any of them walking away under his own steam.

“I expect to do quite well. I’ll admit there may be an obstacle or two. I dearly wish that Jerome would leave matters well enough alone.” Tracey’s tone became more serious. “The Magpie clings to the old-fashioned method of running a family’s affairs and would like nothing better than for the Chickadee to leave all of those worries to me.”

“Nothing would suit you better.”

“Indeed, nothing would. Unfortunately, Jerome may be henpecked, but it doesn’t prevent him from having opinions or acting on them. Through his offices my beloved is not so pliable as she once might have been. It would have been so much easier if I could have—”

“Exerted your charm forcefully enough to get her to marry you earlier? Yes, she certainly was smitten when you first appeared, wasn’t she? However, there’s no sense talking about what might have been. You should be looking at today and tomorrow, darling, not yesterday. You may have the Magpie to champion your cause, but I think you should prepare yourself for some unpleasantness. Jerome won’t let go easily.”

“Since you have already taken credit for my present good fortune, what do you suggest for my future financial happiness?”

“You should try to get control of all of it, of course, darling. You may succeed, but I doubt it. Next best thing would be to get a large portion.”

“Your confidence in me leaves me speechless.”

“I know how touchy you can be when you don’t get your own way. You’re like a little boy. Women only like little boys when they’re adorable and need mothering, not when they’re spoiled and temperamental. If you’re not careful, you may find yourself sent to bed without any supper.”

Tracey felt the balance shifting again, out of his favor. Nell’s picture of reality did not conform to his ideal. Frustration began to rise inside him at the thought of the work involved in bringing Francesca to heel. Charm grew tiresome and Nell was right about his temper. These women with their money, he thought. Of all of them, Nell Ryder was the worst. Suddenly he felt as if he were no closer now to his goal of independence than he was before. That’s ridiculous, he thought. Of course he was further ahead. He was just casting his mind back to the happy thought of life without Nell when she interrupted his musings.

“I assume you’ll need money until the wedding. You certainly can’t let yourself begin to look careworn. We must make the little Chickadee proud, mustn’t we?”

His expression confessed as much. He would need Nell’s money.

“I do wish you could manage to buy things for her without my money. Oh yes, the ring. You did manage that, didn’t you? A hopeful sign.”

“The most hopeful sign,” said Tracey, “is that a year from now you won’t have to worry about my buying anything that isn’t purchased with my own money. Until then, my dear Nell, I expect we shall continue as we have always done.”

“What do you mean, ‘until then’? I expect to continue a good deal beyond that.”

 

“Now, what did you really want to see me about?” Jerry said. If she looked as sheepish as she felt, Francesca thought, he had exposed her motive.

The waiter had cleared away the plates and scooped the crumbs from the linen cloth. They were waiting for coffee and dessert. Francesca had asked Jerry to take her to luncheon to discuss business. Jerry seemed a little impatient at having been corralled in the middle of a workday when all her innocuous questions could have been dispatched at another place and without appointment.

“Jerry,” Francesca began, “do you remember when the Burnhams were married a couple of years ago? Freddy didn’t really have any money of his own, did he?”

“No. The Burnhams did have money at one time, and some property here and there, but nothing much to speak of anymore. They were—they are—very respectable people, though, with a good reputation. Freddy held up his end of it and got a good job, did reasonably well and proved himself reliable. In the end that was good enough for the Tomlinsons—at least for Rachel. Why?”

“They seem to be very happy, don’t they? They haven’t had many obstacles to overcome, aside from Mr. Tomlinson’s initial disapproval. I mean, the money part of it has worked out amicably, hasn’t it?”

Jerry leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other as if settling in.

“I believe Rachel and Freddy had a marriage contract worked out before they married, which probably left most of the control of the money in Rachel’s hands. It’s not uncommon, Francesca, and isn’t something you should be afraid to ask about.”

“I feel terrible even thinking about such a thing. You’d think I didn’t trust Edmund.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Of course I do.” She knew the answer was too quick the moment the words left her lips. Doubt had taken on a persona that hounded her since the discovery of her father’s file. It had always puzzled Francesca that she could have known Edmund Tracey for five years and yet he had betrayed to her so little about himself. He had given her no reason to doubt him in any aspect of their relationship; she had only concluded by process of elimination that the money must have been her father’s chief concern. Jerry’s scrutiny was at once unnerving and comforting.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” He watched her and waited. “And your interest in marriage contracts is purely academic.”

“Yes,” she said, then hesitated. “No. No, it isn’t academic.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad about it, Francesca,” he said again. “Many women with fewer means than yours have marriage contracts. It makes sense to have financial arrangements worked out well in advance. If it’s any comfort, I think your father would have brought up the subject much earlier than this if he were here.”

“Do you think so?” That Jerry’s thoughts echoed hers brought small relief.

“I do. Marriage contracts come in all shapes and sizes, just as people do. There’s no reason that one such agreement couldn’t be worked out amicably between you and Edmund. You could choose to manage all your money and only give him money when he needed it.”

“An allowance? That sounds so humiliating.”

“I know it probably sounds like the harshest of your choices. If you have some measure of confidence in his ability to manage, but feel that his only problem is that he doesn’t have much money of his own, you might consider settling a sum on him—either in one lump or an annuity paid out regularly. Let him manage it while you control the rest.”

“That seems more fair.”

“Fair?” Jerry straightened, put one hand upon the table, and met her eye. “Seems more generous than most men of limited means deserve. If a man hasn’t discovered some way to earn a living, a sudden infusion of his wife’s capital won’t change him.”

“Maggie would think this whole discussion is ridiculous and unnecessary.”

“My dear, for everything that Maggie believes is ridiculous and unnecessary, I can produce at least three things she swears by that are equally ridiculous and unnecessary.”

Such a family discussion played out fleetingly in Francesca’s imagination. “No doubt, she thinks I should simply turn everything over to Edmund at marriage and let him have the entire management.”

“That can be done, too,” said Jerry, leaning back and folding his hands in his lap, “if you wish it.”

She hesitated. “I don’t think I do wish it. In fact I’m sure I don’t.”

The arrival of cake and coffee gave her time to gather her wits. She reproached herself for not having pressed Edmund about money and family, particularly early on when these subjects might have been less volatile. Having come this far in seeking Jerry’s counsel, she could only continue.

“What’s happened, Francesca?” Jerry asked sternly. “What prompted this?”

“I’ve been going through Father’s study. I wasn’t sure about the business papers he had locked in his desk. I almost threw them out wholesale, but then I decided to go through them all myself and consult you on anything I didn’t understand.”

“Sounds reasonable. What did you find?”

She didn’t answer him immediately, but worked at the cake and took a sip of coffee as if to clear her head. Jerry stopped, fork poised in midair, and looked at her.

“Something serious?”

“Apparently Father was having Edmund investigated. Nearly five years ago now.”

She could almost hear a hundred questions rattling through his brain as Jerry allowed an interval for cake and reflection.

“I’m not surprised,” said Jerry, with forced nonchalance, she thought. “You were young when you first met, you know, and very passionate about young Edmund, if I remember rightly. He was certainly paying a lot of attention to you, even then. If there had ever been an understanding . . .”

“There wasn’t. Not then.”

“To the rest of us it looked very much like there might have been. Your father naturally would have been concerned. Quite frankly, he probably would have had any young man investigated if he wasn’t from a family of your parents’ own circle. To have a young man from halfway across a continent show interest in his daughter.” He took a sip of coffee. “Well, put yourself in your father’s shoes.”

They finished their dessert and the waiter replenished the coffee. She knew not how to proceed. Fearing Jerry’s wholesale disapproval, she felt obliged to guard Edmund’s reputation now that she had agreed to spend her life with him. At the same time she sought relief in tumbling out the few new facts as she understood them to have Jerry dispel her fear. She waited for Jerry to probe as he saw fit.

“Did the papers show that the investigation had been completed?”

“No. The investigator—a Mr. J. Shillingford—had charge of the case. Case.” She sighed and felt the long breath go out of her. “That sounds dreadful. His correspondence with Father up until Father died appeared to produce nothing conclusive. At least, nothing extraordinarily bad, if that’s what Father was looking for. Not related to Edmund himself.”

“That sounds like a lot of hedging, Francesca, what does it mean?”

She unfolded a tale that was not unfamiliar to a War veteran like Jerry. The Traceys had owned a large plantation in the Felicianas in Louisiana before the War. Edmund’s grandfather had swindled the original plantation owner out of the land. The original owner suffered straitened means and borrowed money from Edmund’s grandfather at high interest. When the man couldn’t pay, the Traceys foreclosed. The family grew to exercise unwelcome influence. Edmund’s father went missing shortly after enlisting in the Confederate army. His mother sold everything except a small parcel with some outbuildings and put food on the table through black marketeering. She may have sold secrets to the Union.

“Certainly, Edmund would want that kept quiet,” said Jerry. “Many families survived as best they could. As you say, there is nothing against him personally. Or is there?”

“He gambles,” she said reluctantly.

“So do a lot of men. So do I, come to that. And we’ve been to the races with him.”

“Apparently he has done so from an early age with mixed success.”

Jerry had restrained himself admirably, Francesca thought, but now the cloud that passed over his countenance looked about to burst into a storm.

“No wonder he’s so evasive about where he gets his money. And he must get it from somewhere. He’s never asked you for money—or has he?”

“No, never.”

“Is he still living at the Brevoort?” Francesca nodded. “Not an extravagant place, but respectable. It could be that he knows how to live within his means. That’s something at least, though I confess I don’t like a habitual gambler. You were right to consult me, and you may be right about settling something on him that he can manage himself and remove yourself from his dealings. That is, if you are still determined to have him.” He waited, but she could give no answer and met his eye with a determined look. “If you’re having doubts, better to act on them now than regret them later. Was that all?”

“Only one thing. In Shillingford’s last letter to Father from New Orleans, he said that he had uncovered another line of inquiry that he wished to pursue. If what he surmised was indeed borne out, it would be not only of interest, but also of importance.”

“Did he say anything about the nature of this line of inquiry?”

“No. He didn’t wish to commit himself on paper until he had gathered all his evidence. If Father wished him to pursue it, he was to wire a further twenty dollars. There was no receipt for a wire transfer. The letter was dated in late June of 1886, shortly before the accident.”

“So we can assume that Shillingford never finished the investigation and that your father never knew what he was after.”

“It would seem so. I tell you, Jerry, I feel so despicable and disloyal. I never would have thought to do any of this if it hadn’t been for the papers. I’m sure Father wouldn’t have pursued such a line unless he thought it was in everyone’s best interests.”

“It’s understandable that you should feel that way when it involves someone you love,” he said, though his words conveyed no comfort.

“I thought you’d like to see the papers. I’ll send them around to the bank in the morning. I’d sooner that you kept them anyway. I don’t think Edmund has been in Father’s study above twice, but eventually he’ll have a right to be there and, I suppose, a right to know what’s in the desk. I’d rather not have them in the house.”

“Yes, I’ll keep them for you.” He finished his coffee. “And I think we should pursue the marriage contract as soon as possible. There should be nothing at all suspicious about doing so. If Edmund has half the knowledge of the world that I give him credit for, he won’t be shocked and should have no objection. You haven’t been engaged long, but I’ll feel better if we can get the contract nailed down.”

The waiter arrived with the check and Jerry pulled his pocket book from his breast pocket and leafed through its contents.

“I wonder if Shillingford is still operating in New York,” he said.

“As a matter of fact, he is,” said Francesca. “I checked.”