A Question of Class (7 page)

“Theo, I’d like to introduce to you Mr. Benjamin Thomas, of parts unknown,” said Catherine. “And may I introduce Miss Theodosia Higbee of New York.”

Theodosia graciously said hello and then turned to Catherine with an inquisitive look.

“He’s my minder.” Catherine sat on the overstuffed divan and gestured for Theodosia to sit beside her. “Mr. Delcour has asked him to keep an eye on me.”

“Is that so?” asked Theodosia. “Do you have to be minded these days?”

“Apparently so.” Catherine poured them tea and offered some to Mr. Thomas, but he declined. He stood stiffly in the center of the room, and then excused himself, mumbling something about getting a book from his room. She listened to his footsteps as they creaked up the stairs and then took her friend’s hand in her own.

“I don’t know how much time we have alone.”

“What on earth has been going on?” asked Theodosia. “You simply disappeared one day.”

“Oh, Theo, it’s been awful. Mr. Delcour is getting rid of me. He thinks I had an affair with Percy Bonneville.”

“That’s silly. Percy’s harmless. And anyway, it’s Mr. Delcour’s own fault for commissioning that painting.”

Catherine smiled. Percy was a friend of the artist who had drawn the large portrait of Morris and her hanging in the Mount, and had stopped by the studio one day when she was alone at a sitting. Percy was witty and charming and she had been delighted to see him at the opera the next evening. She’d heard he was soon to be engaged to the daughter of one of New York’s prominent politicians, and had eagerly stepped forward to say hello. The woman had displayed an immediate dislike toward Catherine, looking her slowly up and down before turning away without speaking. Catherine, who’d spent the entire afternoon choosing the appropriate dress, gloves and fan, had realized what she truly was: a working-class girl from Bridgeport. Percy saw how upset she was and apologized profusely, but it did little to take away the sting of rejection.

Since then, Percy had arranged to meet Catherine around town. She’d grown fond of him, as his way with words and physical grace were the exact opposite of Morris’s heavy lumbering. Chatting with him over tea was like being back in France, where one could freely speak and not worry about being judged. But now she was paying the consequences, no matter how innocent their interaction had been.

“Theodosia, what should I do? You know how horrible Mr. Delcour can be,” said Catherine. “He’s got me under lock and key. He’s punishing me by sending me off to the West Indies.” Catherine wanted to tell Theodosia the entire truth, but she couldn’t yet. There was no way she’d be able say the words out loud: her marriage was not valid and she was no better than the women who sold themselves down by the docks. It was far too shameful to divulge such a thing.

“The West Indies?”

“Yes. When he gets back from Trenton in one week, I’ll be sent away. I’m not sure what to do.”

“I had no idea Mr. Delcour could be so vindictive. But how can he send you away like that? I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Delcour is a powerful man, and he can do whatever he likes. You saw for yourself what Mr. Carpenter did to your mother.”

Theodosia nodded. “He destroyed her spirit, and her body followed.”

“And now Mr. Delcour is set on destroying me. Men like that always get what they want.”

“They certainly do. I’ll do anything I can to help.” Theodosia’s face brightened. “Why don’t you come to the ball tomorrow evening? Percy will be there. You can find a moment and speak with him, and perhaps he has an idea and can help, since he’s part of the reason you’re in this bind. He is an attorney, after all.”

“Oh, Theo!” cried Catherine. “That’s an excellent idea, particularly considering Percy is my only friend, apart from you. I’m sure he’ll have a way to help me and clear my name.”

Theodosia patted Catherine’s hand. “Let’s hope so.”

“Mr. Delcour mentioned the ball at dinner the other night. I hadn’t seen the invitation, but I suspect Mrs. Daggett has been intercepting the mail before I see it. Not that we’ve received many invitations of late. The only reason we were invited to this one was the business relationship between Mr. Delcour and Mr. Carpenter. But I would like to come, and I promise I’ll behave.”

Theodosia laughed. “I have no doubt you won’t. But that’s half the fun of being your friend.”

“I’ll have to bring that brute, Mr. Thomas, with me, I’m afraid. If I can convince him to let me go at all. Mr. Delcour has told him on no uncertain terms I’m not allowed.”

“Who is this Mr. Thomas, exactly? Why is he here?”

“It’s the strangest thing. He’s the brother of Mr. Delcour’s first wife, and showed up out of nowhere asking for a job. Something about him makes me uneasy.”

“He’s awfully handsome,” said Theodosia. “If you convince him to take you, I’ll distract him at the ball so you can speak with Percy in private. It’ll be my pleasure.”

Catherine smiled and took a sip of her tea. There was hope yet.

* * * *

Upstairs, Benjamin leafed through the papers atop Delcour’s desk in the study. When he’d first noticed the oak crate with the Yquem stamp on it sitting on a bookshelf, he was certain he’d found his prize. But the crate was empty except for some loose straw indented where the bottle had lain.

The papers on Delcour’s desk were surprising. The bills of lading and shipping manifests listed mediocre vintages, not the top quality wines Delcour had bragged about. Benjamin put them back where he’d found them and went downstairs. The two women smiled at him as he entered, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He shouldn’t have left them alone. They were definitely scheming.

“So nice to see you again, Mr. Thomas,” said Miss Higbee. “Can we offer you some tea?”

Benjamin declined and sat in the armchair by the fireplace. He was quite ill at ease. He’d much rather be working outside. Sitting and making small talk was a pastime he’d always found onerous. All of those days at sea, speaking only with men, had made him reticent in the company of women.

“And where do you come from, Mr. Thomas?” asked Miss Higbee.

“I was born in Haiti.”

Mrs. Delcour shot him a look. “But Mr. Thomas has been working in France the past few years.”

“How lovely,” said Miss Higbee. “I’m surprised you didn’t meet Mr. and Mrs. Delcour while you were there.”

“We didn’t move in the same circles. Also, the Delcours were in Paris, and I was in Burgundy.”

“And where did you live in Burgundy?”

He shifted in his seat. With Delcour, he’d been as vague as possible regarding his whereabouts, and Delcour had been more eager to speak of his own success than question Benjamin’s past.

“I worked for a man who lived in Dijon,” he said.

“How lovely. I spent the summer there a couple of years ago. What was your employer’s name?”

Benjamin made up a name, stumbling as he said it.

Miss Higbee gave him a long look. “I’ve never heard of the man. How strange.”

“There seem to be many things about Mr. Thomas that don’t quite add up,” said Mrs. Delcour.

“Your husband is satisfied, that’s all that matters, Mrs. Delcour,” he retorted.

“Do you see, Theo? He’s got quite a temper,” she teased. “Which will make my next request even more difficult.”

He tugged at his collar. The woman was excruciating. “And what request would that be?”

“Miss Higbee has insisted I attend the ball Mr. Carpenter is giving tomorrow night.”

“I must remind you Mr. Delcour has already turned down the invitation,” he said.

“I know my husband wouldn’t want me to go alone, so she has kindly extended an invitation to you as well. You may attend as my chaperone.”

He took a moment before answering. On one hand, it would be no surprise to find Percy Bonneville there. But the opportunity to be in Carpenter’s home to see what he could discover was a good one. Benjamin’s plan to drive Delcour to ruin would take precedence. For now.

“I appreciate the invitation and am happy to accept,” he said.

Miss Higbee smiled. “How lovely.”

Mrs. Delcour clearly hadn’t expected his answer, and regarded at him with a skeptical delight. “What an enigma you are, Mr. Thomas. Do have a cup of tea.”

He did so, handling the china cup with care.

“Now, what will you wear?” Miss Higbee asked Mrs. Delcour.

“A dress I ordered a few weeks ago is almost finished,” she answered.

“Please remember veils are no longer in style.”

Both women broke into peals of laughter. Miss Higbee composed herself and explained to a perplexed Benjamin.

“One day when it was quite frigid I ran into Catherine at the drapers on Hanover Square. I was with Mrs. Wetmore, who unfortunately hadn’t fallen under Mrs. Delcour’s spell as I had.”

“That’s being awfully kind of you,” said Mrs. Delcour. “The woman always looks as if something smells terrible when she sees me.”

“Mrs. Delcour politely remarked on the cold weather when we saw her,” continued Miss Higbee, “and Mrs. Wetmore reprimanded her for not wearing a veil. Quite sternly, I might add. So Mrs. Delcour told her that in Paris, where she’d just come from, veils were passé.”

“A complete fabrication on my part,” added Mrs. Delcour.

“The next time I was in the drapers,” said Miss Higbee, “the owner was having a complete fit because he’d received dozens of beautiful linen veils in his last shipment, but no one would purchase them. Apparently Mrs. Wetmore told all her friends veils were no longer fashionable in the great cities of Europe. With a single offhand remark, Mrs. Delcour was able to influence European trade.”

Benjamin smiled. Having always been an outsider, he imagined Mrs. Delcour felt the same way here in New York. If what Delcour had said at dinner the night before was true, and she’d truly risen from being a maid to living in such grandeur, there was more to the woman than he’d imagined.

“Now if you’ll please excuse me.” Miss Higbee rose from the sofa, “I must get back.”

Benjamin bowed slightly. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She nodded in return. “And yours. I do look forward to seeing you at the ball, Mr. Thomas. I hope you’ll save me one dance.”

“I’m sure you’ll have many other offers,” he said. “It won’t be necessary.”

“I insist.”

Benjamin wasn’t sure how to respond.

“You don’t dance, do you?” Miss Higbee frowned and continued on before Benjamin could answer. “That won’t do at all. Catherine, by tomorrow I’d like you to have taught Mr. Thomas the waltz. It’s quite the rage, and it’s simple.”

Dancing lessons with Delcour’s wife? It was absurd. But the image of her naked breasts in the afternoon light returned to him, and he wondered what it would be like to be close to her. Delcour’s words came back to him, warning him about her proclivities. Benjamin, under no circumstances, could allow her to bewitch him, as she’d done with Percy Bonneville and others before.

“That won’t be necessary, I assure you,” he said, “as there will be no need for me to dance at the ball. I will be there as a chaperone. Now please excuse me.”

Benjamin turned and left the room. From now on, he swore, he’d be much, much more careful.

6

“Ah, Mrs. Delcour, how delightful to see you again.”

The dressmaker almost fell over reaching for Mrs. Delcour’s hand. Benjamin watched as he fussed over her, leading her further into the shop.

“I must introduce you to a close relation of my husband’s,” she said. “Mr. Benjamin Thomas is visiting here on business, and he’s been so kind as to accompany me on my errands this morning.”

Benjamin nodded curtly to the dressmaker. In fact, he’d caught Mrs. Delcour sneaking out of the townhouse once already this morning. He’d been standing at his bedroom window, enjoying the first sip of coffee one of the servants had brought up, and spied her dashing down the front steps. He’d opened the window and called for her to return, and surprisingly, she did so. In the foyer, she gave him an insouciant look and said she was heading to the dressmaker’s shop.

“I will have to accompany you there,” he had said. No amount of money Benjamin was due to receive from Delcour was worth the ridiculous task of running around after this stubborn woman, but he remembered his long-term goal, and had dressed and joined her.