Noon at Tiffany's (15 page)

“Let’s go over the plan once more,” Henry said, “just in case we run into problems.”

Clara glanced out the cab window to check their location. “It’s very simple. The boardinghouse is always deserted on Sundays between nine and eleven. We’ll arrive a little after ten. I’ll go in first to make sure there’s no one left hanging about.”

She fished in her purse for a handkerchief. “If the coast is clear, I’ll wave my hanky from the front door. Henry, you will then escort Josie inside and up to our room.”

“But what if someone is there?” Josie asked, her fingers stealing under the veil to touch her swollen face. “Like Miss Alling?”

“Say nothing, and above all don’t stop. I’ll create some sort of diversion, while the two of you slip past me before anyone is the wiser. I’ll just say Mr. Belknap is calling with his sister-in-law from Denver.”

Henry sighed. “I still think it would be much safer to do this at midnight.”

Josie shook her head. “That’s exactly when everybody in the house is feeling peckish and searching around for something to eat. It’s practically a mob scene in the parlor.”

Just kitty-corner from Miss Todd’s, Clara alighted from the cab. As she started for the boardinghouse, Henry stuck his head out the window. “If this doesn’t work, I think we should use my idea of rolling her up inside a carpet and carrying her upstairs. It worked for Cleopatra.”

Miss Todd’s Boardinghouse

October 20, 1889

Dear Aunt Harriet and Uncle Joseph,

We have a little mystery here at Miss Todd’s that you may find interesting. As I mentioned in my last letter, Miss Josephine Wolcott was unexpectedly struck down with a bad case of grippe (or so we were told), while visiting Clara at Tiffany’s. Some doctor we’ve never heard of insisted she wasn’t well enough to return to Miss Todd’s, so Clara took her to the home of a Miss Smith (we’d never heard of her before either), where Josie allegedly stayed for some time.

Then, one morning last week, Clara announced that Josie was back in residence. We were all greatly surprised, since none of us, including the house servants, had seen her return. Of course, we all wanted to welcome her home, but according to Clara, the doctor insisted she was not to have any social calls whatsoever for fear of triggering a relapse.

Josephine remained locked in their room, even taking all her meals there. On one occasion, I did try to speak to her through the door in case she was in need of something, but received no answer. Thinking I might find her dead on the floor, I attempted to enter and found the door locked! Being the conscientious woman I am, I attempted to peer through the keyhole, but my view was blocked by something draped over the doorknob.

The following day everyone was instructed by an irate Clara that under no circumstances was Josephine to be disturbed, and if we wished to communicate with her, we should stick to writing letters.

I thought the situation rather peculiar, and there were speculations that Josephine might be suffering from some deadly disease, like typhoid or scarlet fever, that could very well infect us all. With my rooms being directly down the hall from theirs, you can imagine my concern. Just as I was about to insist on knowing what was afoot in the name of safety, the Misses Wolcott appeared at the dinner table one evening as if nothing had happened. Everyone was so astonished, nary a word was said about the peculiar affair.

Please, if you hear of anything there in Tallmadge that might shed some light on this mystery, do let me know.

Your loving niece, Miss Julia Alling

Tiffany’s

October 31, 1889

Dearest Mama and sisters Kate and Emily,

Josie is fully recovered from her spell with the grippe and is occupied with designing a winter wardrobe for the hoity-toity ladies she reads about.

George’s most recent series of fits left him ill for days. The doctor, one of the best in the city, believes it may be a brain virus or epilepsy. It’s disconcerting to see him so wan and still, when he’s normally as busy as a hummingbird.

Work is relentless, and the strain on my eyes is almost beyond
endurance. When I’m able to get free of Tiffany’s, I’ll see about being fitted for new spectacles.

Mama, I’m happy that Reverend Cutler has finally declared his love for you. We’ve all been waiting for this momentous occasion. Considering you’ve known each other for twenty years, I wouldn’t call his declaration frivolous. I just hope he doesn’t take quite so long to ask for your hand.

I’m meeting with Mr. Tiffany now on an important matter and must not be late.

I love you all, Clara

Lenox Hill

October 31, 1989

This morning, Clara gave notice of her betrothal to Mr. Driscoll. I doubt I shall ever find someone with her talent. I’m shattered, as there is no doubt her departure will mean financial loss for the company. My offers of increased salary and a higher position failed to persuade her to stay. To make matters worse, three of the department’s best girls have given notice as well, saying they do not wish to work under anyone else. To have that type of loyalty from my own board would make me a happy man.

Miss Northrop will have to fill her position, and while she is a fine artisan, she does not posses that which marks Clara’s work as extraordinary.

Just the idea of her absence leaves a hole in my life. Until today I didn’t know how much I depended on seeing her each morning. As Father says, I make my own follies. L.C.T.

November 4, 1889

Dearest Clara,

Your three letters came all together, and they are stunners. You may be sure I would go farther than New York to walk you down the aisle on Thanksgiving Day.

Certainly Mr. Driscoll is a marvel of generosity. I didn’t think there were any such men left in the world. As your betrothed, it is natural that Mr. Driscoll should look out for you, and in this instance the game is worth the candle; but that he should take up our poor Josie, stranded and penniless in that Babel city, and set her on her feet, shows a divine soul.

You must not fret. This man knows that you are independent, proud-spirited and quite willing to work to support yourself and the rest. If you hadn’t given to others till all was gone, you would have something for yourself. But now you should allow Mr. Driscoll to take over your cares. I think it’s more embarrassing for Josie than for you, but I hope she will be as sensible about it as she is thankful. I shall write a letter to Mr. Driscoll, for he is now a partner in my matters.

With love, Mama

Franklin Square Station

Manhattan

T
HE SIGHT OF
the black ostrich feather joggling over the heads of the other passengers emerging from the train made Clara smile.

Weary of being overlooked in crowds due to her small stature, Alice had hit upon the idea of redecorating her hats with tall feathers and grand sprays of flowers to give her height. Her millinery creations were so fantastic as to have gained a certain amount of notoriety throughout Manhattan.

Alice flung herself into Clara’s arms and then drew back, her eyes full of concern. “What is it, dearest? You look … worn out.”

Fully aware that the normal landscape of her face had changed, Clara tucked Alice’s hand securely under her own. “Worn out doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. If you don’t mind, let’s wait before we head to Miss Todd’s. I could use some fresh air. I’ve been cooped up all day with Kate and Emily, writing the three hundred and sixty-seven wedding announcements Mr. Driscoll insisted we send out.”

She caught Alice’s shocked expression. “Not only that, but he insisted on purchasing them at Dempsey and Carroll’s. It was a ridiculous waste of money. I could easily have done without and purchased something useful, like a new pen and ink set for Josie, or a camera to make photographic studies of plants and flowers for my designs.”

They found an empty bench near the station and seated themselves. Under the streetlamp, a recent dusting of snow sparkled like tiny diamonds on the sidewalk. Alice pulled a wool scarf from her valise and wrapped it around her neck. “How did Mr. Tiffany take the news of your departure?”

“He was upset. I don’t think he really believed I’d actually leave.” Clara looked away. The truth of it was that Louis Tiffany had been beside himself, ranting and raving so that by the time she left his office, she’d felt guilty, as if she’d betrayed him in some way.

“He got himself all in a flap,” she resumed. “Mr. Platt, the company treasurer, wasn’t too happy about it either. Mr. Mitchell, on the other hand, was so elated at the news of my departure that I thought he was going to throw me over his shoulder and carry me out of the building right then and there.”

As they laughed, Clara studied her closest friend. Alice’s fair skin and delicate features created a kind of graceful beauty that struck her as something remarkable. She leaned over and kissed Alice’s cheek. “I’d go mad if I didn’t have you to talk to.”

“Is it leaving Tiffany’s that’s troubling you?”

“That’s part of the inventory, I suppose, but there are other matters to keep me awake at night.”

“Josie?”

“No. She’s recovered well enough, but her color remains poor and she’s often unable to catch her breath. It’s her spirit that’s slow to heal, although her overall outlook has brightened considerably since she learned of my betrothal. She designed every piece of my travel wardrobe. That being said, she’s not happy about having to return to Tallmadge while we’re on our wedding trip.” Clara laughed. “She even tried to convince Mr. Driscoll that going to Florida, Cuba, Mexico
and
California was excessive.”

A sharp wind caused both women to pull their coats snugly about their necks.

“Forgive me if this is too personal a matter,” Alice began, “but is there some trouble between you and Mr. Driscoll?”

“Not trouble. It’s more that I have grave doubts about marrying him. I’m having nightmares, and this morning Kate told me that when I pace in the middle of the night, I sound like a woman trying to get away from herself.”

“But, Clara, this is a common state of mind among new brides.”

Clara made a fist, the soft kid glove pulling tight across her knuckles. “Bride!” she said in disgust, “I hate the very word. It seems to be the only one that defines me now, as if I were a sort of secondary accessory belonging to Mr. Driscoll.

“I hate that I must ask for money. I hate that I’m now dependent on someone else for every basic need. Above all, I despise the fact that I can be myself only in a limited fashion.” She angrily wiped away tears. “I can assure you not many brides feel
this
way before marriage!

“Oh, I suppose we get on well enough, and he is refined to a certain degree, although his nature is more suited to matters of the business trade than the world of art, but I don’t love him as a woman should love a husband.”

“You could break the engagement. You wouldn’t be the first bride to back out.”

“Four days before the wedding?” Clara looked at Alice as if she’d gone mad. “The humiliation and gossip would ruin us. What’s done is done. I’ve committed myself.”

Alice put an arm around her. “If you really feel this way, how do you expect this union to bring you any joy?”

“Is anyone ever truly happy for longer than a fleeting moment or two? People look to love for happiness. I’ve always seen folly in that. I’m a practical woman, and this is the most sensible plan available.”

Alice threw up her hands. “For Heaven’s sake, Clara, morganatic marriages went out of style eons ago. I know you feel this is the only way out for you and Josie, but I fear for your peace of mind.”

Clara pulled Alice to her feet. “You shouldn’t listen to me when I get like this. Mr. Driscoll is a kind and generous man. He’ll provide for me and Jo, plus I’ll not have to worry about any confinements.” Alice puzzled for a moment and then laughed abruptly when Clara’s meaning became clear. “Oh, I see. How did you and Mr. Driscoll come to that resolution?”

“Actually, it was Mr. Driscoll who brought it up. We’ve agreed that ours will be a chaste marriage unless I change my mind.” She arched an eyebrow. “And I assure you there’ll be snow in Hell before that ever comes to pass.”

“There aren’t many men who would agree to something like that,‘ Alice said, shaking her head. “Have you decided on a place to live?”

“Mr. Driscoll decided for us. He leased a large suite of rooms on the eighth floor of the San Remo, the new residence hotel on Central Park West at Seventy-fifth Street—the one with the two towers. He thinks the park view will be beneficial to Josie’s health.

“I was dead set against it at first, because of the expense, but then Mr. Driscoll saw an advertisement in the
New York Times
that read: ‘If you wish to avoid the drudgery of housekeeping and the cares of cooking, the residential suites at the Hotel San Remo are what you’ve been looking for.’” Clara snorted. “He knew at once it was perfect for me.”