CHAPTER 12

An Inconvenient Hour

Should you call by chance at an inconvenient hour, when perhaps the lady is going out, or sitting down to luncheon, retire as soon as possible, even if politely asked to remain. You need not let it appear that you feel yourself an intruder; every well-bred or even good-tempered person knows what to say on such an occasion; but politely withdraw with a promise to call again, if the lady seems to be really disappointed.

 

—Decorum, page 72

“Don’t pout. It doesn’t suit you. If she’s half as soppy as you say, she won’t want her poor hubby to have to come to her every time he wants money. She’d probably settle a lump sum on you rather than give you an allowance.” Nell’s voice bit on the last word.

Tracey leaned on the drawing-room mantelshelf, flexing his hands on the edge as if to hurl it through the wall. His right hand was inches from a whiskey glass, his third that afternoon. He examined his visage in the mirror that hung above the fireplace. Did his face convey rage or could he satisfactorily conceal it? This was generally followed by grabbing the glass, downing the contents, and stumbling to the table to pour himself more.

Nell was stretched out on the divan, hugging her kimono around her. She crushed out the stub of the cigarette in the ashtray, then casually lit another.

“This isn’t getting you anywhere.” She took a glass of whiskey from among the bric-a-brac on the side table and sipped it. “I don’t see what you’re complaining about. It still means you’ll get money. Isn’t that the point?”

Tracey straightened himself. He walked to the window, tugged sharply at the curtains, looked outside, then jerked them back into place, and walked back to the mantel.

“I don’t know what you were expecting,” Nell resumed. “A contract is quite typical. That doesn’t mean all is lost. If the Chickadee will negotiate, you should get a tidy sum.”

“That’s not what I wanted. The soppy ones can keep a man on the shortest leash.”

“True. But if she’s madly in love with you, you still have a good chance of controlling a substantial percentage. So what are you worried about?” He made no reply, and without looking at her took the decanter from the table and poured himself another drink.

“Oh, so that’s it. Don’t tell me she’s fallen out of love with you already.” Tracey downed the whiskey. “Goodness me. You’re losing your touch, Edmund dear. I hope you haven’t gone and done anything foolish.”

“If I were worried about doing anything foolish I wouldn’t be here, would I?” he snapped.

“No, I suppose not,” she admitted. “But when you get your back up, you can be quite nasty. You haven’t frightened her or anything? No fits of anger?”

“I have behaved myself admirably.” He had, he thought. He felt and behaved the way any self-respecting man should feel and behave. Why shouldn’t he show his indignation when that indignation was just?

“So you say. Women tend to take a very different view of things. Does she know you are ‘displeased’?”

“Yes,” he said sheepishly.

“Was she displeased with you?”

“No. I don’t think so. She was quite understanding of my situation.”

“Without even knowing what your ‘situation’ is? My, my. She is generous. If she wasn’t angry with you—or even if she was—you’re probably all right. You have such a way with you.” She was taunting him. He rolled his eyes and sighed again. “Still, it would be prudent to be as attentive as you can manage, especially through the negotiations.”

“Then you think I should agree to this.”

“I don’t see how you can do otherwise. The more cooperative you can be, the better. If you’re too obstinate, Jerome will step in and protect her, and then you will be on a short leash. And breach of promise is such a bore. It’s too bad you don’t have anything to bargain with—except your sweet self.” She gave him a seductive smile.

“You really do go too far, Nell.”

“Do I?” She changed her tone. “I’m sorry. It really must be dreadful for you.” She rose from the divan and walked up behind him, set her cigarette on the mantel, the ash end hanging off the edge, and began to rub his shoulders and arms. “Think what it will mean,” she said softly. “You could be set for life, especially if you learn a bit more self-restraint.”

“Could I?” He took a drink. “And how shall I restrain myself when I’m used to spending money?”

“Other people’s. Not your own,” she said. He looked at her grimly over his shoulder. “I know, I know. Perhaps it’s better this way,” she said with a shrug. “At least the bulk of the money would be reserved for a ‘rainy day.’ That doesn’t mean you could never get your hands on it. All sorts of things could happen, you know. Accidents. Incompetence.” She took up her cigarette and drew on it. “Insanity. Lots of things.”

He turned and faced her. “That’s not so neatly done.”

“Oh, it can be tiresome, I agree. Still, the main thing is get her to the altar as expediently as possible. And for God’s sake, don’t do anything to alarm the Magpie. She’s your main ally. Just remember, we all have our little crosses to bear.”

 

Shillingford had secured carte blanche to pursue the investigation in any way that would promise results. Knowing the hostilities toward Northerners that still persisted in the South, and that his own previous foray into Louisiana might be remembered, he recruited a fresh face and engaged another former Pinkerton colleague to assist him—a native Georgian named McNee. Shillingford would undertake the investigation in Baton Rouge and New Orleans and leave McNee to penetrate the outer parishes. Operatives in New York would keep tabs on Tracey there.

Shillingford assumed a persona of a clerk in the employ of an Atlanta law firm whose practice settled old estate claims. McNee was to be a civil engineer, for which he had trained before joining Pinkerton’s, employed by the same firm to plat the land and investigate associated documentation. Their story for why the efficient little Yankee should be employed by an Atlanta firm was that to include a Northerner among its employees might squelch any questions if a claim had Northern connections. A good clerk was the next best thing to a lawyer, and Shillingford was to have been reputed to be the best.

Their mission was simple. Find out as much as possible about Tracey and his wife—whether she be fiction or fact, and if fact, alive or dead. Their separate tasks were straightforward. Shillingford would search for the records. McNee would search for the grave.

 

Connor had begun joining the gentlemen of his business circle on Thursdays for a long though not always leisurely business lunch at the Union League Club, to which he hoped to gain membership. Their lunches began at one o’clock and sometimes barely wound up in time to dress for dinner. At first Blanche had complained mildly, then she had thought better of it. After they were married, this might be a nice little homely pattern for him. In the meantime, she could certainly find ways to amuse herself. So one Thursday when she was sure that he would be well entrenched at the Club, she pulled the calling card from its hiding place among her lingerie and decided to visit Nell Ryder.

Connor had enough bloodhound in him to enable him to quickly sniff out the fact that the Ryders’ marriage was founded on mutual appreciation, respect, and trust—they appreciated that they both were incapable of fidelity, respected each other’s privacy, and trusted each other not to noise it about. Hardly the makings of an acceptable acquaintance. Outside the Fifth Avenue Hotel, she hailed a cab for Gramercy Park.

Blanche stood for a moment in front of the house as the cab clattered away behind her. It stood in a row of imposing stone edifices on a street that had been one of the city’s finest, though it had begun to suffer erosion of moneyed families to newer and grander premises. At first glance the flat facade was nothing remarkable with its plain rectangular windows and long, well-scrubbed staircase. Then she noticed the unusual modern renditions of natural plant life that were carved in the stonework around the front door. A handsome carved stone planter sat just inside the gate. It almost didn’t matter what kind of reception lay behind the polished oak door. To stand in that familiar front hallway, to take off one’s coat and hat and sink onto a familiar chair was too good to pass up. She mounted the stairs and rang the bell.

The maid who answered was very young, small, and neat.

“Good afternoon. I’m here to see Mrs. Ryder,” said Blanche, producing her visiting card and depositing it on the small silver salver the maid offered her.

“Won’t you step in for a moment, madam, and I’ll see if Mrs. Ryder is at home.” The slight, straight figure mounted the stairs.

The handsome foyer had undergone a change. A new paper of warm browns and beiges in lilies and leaves accented by gilt and royal blue adorned the walls. A lush brown carpet ran from the edge of the black-and-white tiled floor of the entrance. On a low marble-topped cabinet stood a white-marble card receiver carved as a stylized calla lily. Blanche rifled through the ten or so cards and noted only one or two names that she could place.

The maid was gone an unusually long time. If the verdict had been dismissal, she would have been down forthwith. Blanche heard voices at the top of the stairs, but out of sight. The maid, unhurried, descended.

“You may come into the drawing room, madam. Mrs. Ryder will be with you in a moment.”

The girl slid open the double doors and ushered Blanche into a rich and chilly room, dull in the fading light of an autumn afternoon. It smelled at once of patchouli and cigarette smoke. The maid quickly stirred a few dying embers to life in the grate and put on more coal. She then pulled the switch on an electric table lamp whose only value lay in its modern design, not in illumination. She left the room and pulled the doors to behind her.

The lamp cast a garish yellow light on a steely gray velvet divan that sat at an angle across the corner of the room near the front window. The brown and royal blue of the entrance bled into the drawing room, but in peacock blues and greens. A piano stood near the divan, the keys toward the window. Against the opposite wall was an enormous Rococo-style cabinet, ornate and gilded and very gaudy. On the other walls hung paintings of the modern type, with bold interpretations of ordinary life. In spite of the room’s style it lacked warmth. The place reflected perfectly the colorful and dark personalities that inhabited it.

Blanche had known Nell Ryder from a lifetime ago. Among the more risqué element of artistic society that Blanche’s mother entertained ran Nell’s parents, who commissioned Roberto Wilson to compose the incidental music for many performances, which first brought the Wilson girls and Nell Montagne together. Not until the girls were grown did friendship with Nell become more central to Blanche’s life. Such innocence as either girl possessed was lost among the properties and costumes. When Europe beckoned the Wilsons, Nell predicted Blanche would be painted in Paris. Confronted with the question on her return Blanche replied coolly that Nell had been mistaken—she had been painted in Florence. The girls laughed. Finally marriage sent them in opposite directions in geography and fortune—Blanche with Alvarado to South America and ruin, Nell with Anton Ryder to Europe and prosperity. In the separation of their destinies, correspondence faded. Since returning to New York, Blanche had heard a guarded remark that she “simply must meet Mrs. Anton Ryder. Her husband is an impresario, you know. Brilliant man. They’re rich as Croesus, but do you think they are accepted? Hardly.” Great was Blanche’s surprise when it turned out to be her girlhood friend.

Presently Blanche heard the creak of stairs and she felt her pulse rise. Then came the footfall on the carpet, and then the tile, and then a hesitation outside the door. Blanche rose, and in that moment the door slid open.

Nell stood with her hand on the door handle, the other hand holding closed the neck of a loose-fitting dress, her russet hair carelessly pulled up and knotted on top of her head. In the harsh glow of the electric light her powdered face had a ghostly aspect seared through by sealing-wax red lips that curled into a knowing smile.

Her look lasted an eternity. Blanche was transfixed. When Nell spoke, anticipation was broken and speech took its place as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Darling,” exclaimed Nell, pulling the door shut behind her back, “let me look at you.” She stood for a moment more, surveying Blanche. “My God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” She came forward and grasped Blanche’s hand and greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. “You can’t imagine my surprise when I saw you at the Iris.”

“Yes, I can. I was just as surprised to see you.”

Nell stepped back to look at Blanche again. “You look well. Very well indeed.”

Blanche did look well and knew it. It pleased her that she had worn better than Nell. In the room’s harsh light, Nell’s hennaed hair only made her look sallow and the little creases that were beginning to show around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes were more pronounced.

“So do you,” Blanche said politely.

“Nonsense. I look like hell.”

Blanche ignored the remark.

“I may have caught you at an inconvenient time.”

“No more than usual,” she said with the same knowing smile. She crossed to an overstuffed chair and sat, drawing up her slippered feet beside her. She took a cigarette from a silver box and placed it in a holder and lit it. She held the open box by its lid and extended it toward Blanche, who declined.

“I can come back another time.”

“Not at all.” Nell relaxed a bit as she drew on the cigarette. “I’d rather have you here at an inconvenient time than not have you here at all. You haven’t had any tea, I expect. Would you like some? Or would you prefer something stronger?” Without waiting for an answer, she rose and rang for the maid. As she returned to her chair, she said, “Good heavens, darling, do make yourself comfortable. You are welcome, you know. Truly.”

“I wasn’t sure. It’s been so many years.”

“I thought we parted on perfectly friendly terms.” She took another drag on the cigarette, which made her face screw up into a curious grimace as she eyed Blanche.

“We did indeed,” said Blanche as she drew off her gloves. “But you know how it is, the years pass, and I’m afraid I’m a horrible correspondent. I thought you might not want to see an old friend. I didn’t even know you were still in town until I saw you at the Iris. I thought perhaps you and Anton had gone off to Paris or something.”

“We had, shortly after you left. We were there a couple of years, as a matter of fact, dear Anton having quite a number of business dealings there. But one gets homesick, doesn’t one? Yes, of course, you know what that’s like, poor darling. Well, you certainly look like you’ve landed on your feet.”

“Yes, fortune seems to have taken a turn in my favor at last.” Enough explanation for now, she thought. Nell was never a good confidante—or rather, she only kept the confidences that suited her. The Ryders observed their own decorum. “How is dear Anton?”

Nell threw her head back and with her upturned face in full profile placed the cigarette to her lips and drew on it. “My dear Anton continues to be one of the kindest, most considerate, and understanding individuals on the face of the earth.”

“I’m very happy to hear it.” Blanche finally smiled. She was beginning to relax, but only beginning.

“Yes, he is a sweet man,” Nell said more naturally. “Growing a bit of a paunch, though I must say, poor dear, and a little fleshy in the face. Other than that, you’d certainly know him.”

“I’m sure I should. Out and about on business this afternoon, no doubt,” Blanche chuckled. She waited to see if this familiarity would be well received. The years may only have made the Ryders more circumspect in discussing their marriage. Nell’s reaction would signal that Blanche was either considered an intimate or an outsider.

“No doubt—somewhere.” Nell smiled.

“And his business is just as varied and interesting as it always was?”

“Probably even more so than when we saw you last.” Blanche was satisfied.

They were interrupted by the arrival of tea. Another diminutive young woman, who appeared to struggle to erase the look of intimidation on her face, arranged the silver tea service and china on a low table and left the room. Both women sat forward to pour.

“Allow me, darling, you relax,” said Nell. “Milk and sugar, if I remember correctly.” She prepared the cup as Blanche took a piece of cake. “You should have looked me up earlier. Anton had it from Max that you were back.”

“It would have been impossible to look you up, even if I had thought you were in New York,” Blanche said reluctantly. “I haven’t been mistress of my own activity as much as I would like. You see, I’m not alone on this trip.”

“So that was the man—at the Auxiliary Ball?” Nell laughed. “You could have brought him along, darling. It would have been perfectly all right with me.”

“But it may not have been all right with him.”

“Oh, I see. No wonder I haven’t seen you.” Nell drew again on the cigarette and squinted at Blanche through the smoke. “I hope I didn’t make things awkward for you when I spoke to you at the ball.”

“Not that I’ve noticed. You caught me at a good time. He was paying his respects to some business associates.”

“Goodness, how dreary for you.”

“Not really, Nell. He actually has some very promising prospects here in the city. My job is to help him smooth the way.”

“You won’t make me believe that I’m witnessing Blanche Reformed. Well, he’s either terribly amusing or he has buckets of money.” She crushed out her cigarette. “Knowing you, he has buckets of money.”

“He certainly has the means to make himself a success. Only a few rough edges that need a bit of smoothing and polishing.”

“Introductions?”

“None yet. He’s only just made the acquaintance of the wives of his business associates, but we’re hopeful that the calls will come in due course.” Though Blanche refrained from disclosing much about his business or social ambitions, Nell’s curiosity clearly was roused.

“In the meantime, you should bring him along. Anton knows absolutely oodles of people it might be useful for you to know. I leave it open to you, darling, to come to any of our little soirees that might suit you both.”

“We’re usually much engaged in the evening,” said Blanche.

“The invitation stands nonetheless.”