Splendor: A Luxe Novel (20 page)

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overcame her and she lost first vision and then consciousness, was that he had roughly scooped her into his arms and was carrying her up the stairs.

Twenty Five

The Cunard Line steamship Campania sailing New York Southampton Le Havre departs at noon from Pier 54, with many notable passengers on board, including Grace Vanderbilt en route to Monte Carlo, and the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough returning to their ancestral home.

——FROM THE SOCIETY PAGE OF THE NEW-YORK NEWS OF

THE WORLD GAZETTE, TUESDAY, JULY 17, 1900

ON TUESDAY THE HEAT BROKE, AND FOR DIANA ALL OF New York had that dazzling quality of any place one has decided to give up and has already begun to appear softened by nostalgia. The leaves blanketing the little park were as thick and green as they had ever been.

“The Schoonmakers have always been lovers,” Edith said in a quiet voice. They were sitting side by side on the threadbare jacquard-upholstered chaise longue nearest the window in the front parlor, finishing their coffee, Diana in the blue chambray, her aunt in simple white. The morning light was almost blinding where it struck the porcelain cups and the elder lady’s delicate fingers. Everything is beginning to disappear, Diana thought, rather melodramatically. Breakfast was over, it was just past eight, and in an hour, perhaps two, she would make her way west, to the piers, where Henry would be waiting. They had agreed that he would book passage for them at the last minute so as to avoid any report in the papers, and that they would spot each other and then board together just as the last call was being made.

“Not old William Sackhouse, he couldn’t possibly have been,” Diana replied distractedly. She could not keep her thoughts away from the small case, currently hiding under her bed, which held a few favorite books and other necessaries, and how she was going to get it from there out the front door.

Mrs. Holland eyed her daughter and cast arch glances at all the whispering that was being done on the chaise. Diana had always had much in common with her Aunt Edith, and in a strange way she felt that the older lady would understand what she was going to do that day. Yet she hadn’t told Edith about her and Henry’s plan. Some deep and abiding superstition kept her mum on this topic, and so she only fed her aunt little snippets of what she’d seen while she was abroad, and hinted, in a very general way, of all that would be between her and Henry.

“…Ah, but when he was young,” her aunt was saying, to the window as much as to anybody else. “Henry is the spitting image of him….”

Diana had become distracted by her mother’s approach from the back of the room, where she had laid file://C:\Documents and Settings\nickunj\Desktop\book.html 10/28/2009

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down the morning papers. She wore a burgundy shirtwaist with minimal ruffles, and an exacting black stare.

“What are you two talking of?”

Edith looked up at her sister-in-law as though at an acquaintance that she had, until just that moment, forgotten, and her high cheekbones rose as she put on a faraway smile. “Oh…ancient history,” she replied.

“Diana,” Mrs. Holland continued, ignoring Edith’s comment and moving to separate the two romantics in her midst. “We have entirely too many pastries left over from breakfast. Will you bring them over to your sister’s, please?”

In Diana’s view, Mrs. Holland was framed by the clutter of generations: the portrait of her late husband above the mantel, the many worn Bergère chairs, the leather paneling and little decorative tables, the Turkish corner on her left. With that one simple command, Diana saw how she was going to remove her suitcase, and herself, from her childhood home. Only she would be leaving sooner than she’d imagined, her remaining minutes in the house harshly abbreviated. It was a shock, and her sauciness failed her momentarily. She stood lingering, glancing from her mother to her aunt as she adjusted the wide belt at her girlish waist.

“Well, go on, then,” Mrs. Holland commanded. “You may have the coach.” Diana averted her eyes before leaving the room—the only way to leave forever is to do so as quickly as possible.

When Diana reached Elizabeth’s house, she told Donald, the new driver, that she would really rather walk home, seeing as the day was so clear and temperate, and then she took the large paper bag of baked goods and her small case, which was concealed under a long coat—not that Donald was paying attention—and ascended to the front door. Although she knew her sister was not in love with Snowden, Elizabeth did seem very happy with her new life, and anyway Diana was relieved it was the older and not the younger of the Misses Holland who had traded her maiden name for the title Mrs. Cairns. For there had been a time, last winter, before Liz returned, when Mrs. Holland had bade Di to be a little good to her father’s former business associate, since he had done so much for them. So it was with tender relief—for all the things he had saved her sister from, and all those he had not deprived Diana of—that she greeted her brother-in-law.

“You look a little tired,” she said sweetly, noting the bruised color around his eyes and taking it for proof that he was as worried about the arrival of Elizabeth’s child as though it were his own. They stood facing each other quietly for another moment, in that entryway that looked, to Diana’s eyes, too empty and a little harsh—the hammered black leather panels and polished birch wainscoting in sharp contrast to each other.

“Yes…,” he began. “Your sister hasn’t been well. The doctor was here last night. He ordered her on bed rest until the baby comes, and gave her something so that she could sleep more easily.” Diana couldn’t help a brief flare of irritation as she realized that her sister’s health might imperil her escape plan. But when she asked, “Is Elizabeth going to be all right?” she was met with an immediate and confident nod, and her fear of being stalled faded almost instantly.

“Of course, so long as we follow doctor’s orders and keep her lying down.”

“Well, then I will give you these,” Diana went on blithely, feeling entirely reassured. She passed him the bag of morning buns and breads that was her excuse for visiting her sister one last time. “And give my sister just a quick kiss—”

“I don’t know that—”

“Mr. Cairns,” Diana interrupted, undoing the ribbon at her throat that secured her hat, “you are married to a Holland girl, so I expect you know I am not going to take no for an answer.” Snowden looked as though he might persist in preventing Diana from disturbing Elizabeth, who after all carried so much on her file://C:\Documents and Settings\nickunj\Desktop\book.html 10/28/2009

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shoulders, and now in her belly. But Diana was leaving in a few hours, for a long time and without any plan to return, and there was no nervous young father-to-be who could possibly have stopped her. She pushed past him and up the stairs.

“Miss Diana,” he called, on her heels, “I must insist….” From the doorway into her sister’s room, Diana turned and smiled graciously at Snowden, in that confident glowing way Liz used to have with suitors. “A little time with me won’t harm her. I’ll just sit a minute, and be on my way.”

Then she stepped in and pulled the door behind her.

Elizabeth laid in the white-canopied bed, which was heaped with fabric, her protruding belly only somewhat visible amongst all the coverlets. Her head was sunk back in the pillows and her ash blond hair streamed out around her head, and she breathed—a little noisily for Elizabeth, who Diana had always believed followed rules of decorum even in her sleep. There was something pungent, almost sickeningly sweet, in the air, which she couldn’t quite place, until she remembered that the doctor had been there.

That was precisely the smell: as though the doctor had been there.

As Diana approached and perched on the corner of the bed, she saw that the garnet-colored wallpaper reflected on her lovely, sleeping sister, and lent a little color to her pale cheeks.

“Oh, Liz,” Diana said as she picked up her sister’s hand. It was limp to the touch, but then Elizabeth had never had a particularly firm grip. Her sister’s mouth opened and closed and she exhaled, and Diana took that as encouragement enough to go on. “I have taken your advice, I’m leaving—we’re leaving,” she went on in the loudest voice she could manage, which was not much more than a whisper. It was so incredible to her, what she was about to do, and even with her considerable powers of imagination she found she could not conjure what her life would look like in even a month’s time. “I am so sorry I won’t be here to greet your baby. But we will write often…and, as you said, it’s the only way Henry and I can be together.”

For a time she prattled on—quietly, for she supposed it was really better not to wake Elizabeth if her health was indeed very poor. Her words almost slurred together, so heady a mixture of emotion was she feeling: anticipation, nerves, and now a touch of guilt for leaving her very pregnant sister behind. She might have gone on longer, even though the day was advancing and she had an appointment to keep, when her sister’s fingers strengthened against her palm.

“Liz?” she whispered.

“I’m not feeling well,” Elizabeth said dreamily, without opening her eyes.

“I know,” Diana answered sympathetically. “But you’ll feel better soon. Can I get you anything?”

“Teddy.”

“What?”

Then, in the same soft voice: “Could you get me Teddy Cutting, please?” Diana’s mouth fell open. This was very odd. She might have dwelled longer on it, or on memories of her sister and Teddy walking arm in arm several months ago when they were all in Florida, but the door opened just then. Diana swung her head around to see the full figure of the housekeeper.

“Hello, Mrs. Schmidt,” Diana said. “Liz really isn’t feeling well. She’s talking nonsense.”

“Yes.” The broad-faced woman stepped into the room. “I think you had better let her have her rest, miss.” Diana sighed and glanced a final time at her sister, who pushed one side of her face and then the other into the heaping pillows. “Don’t forget, Di,” she whispered into the down.

“Good-bye, Liz.” Diana bent forward to kiss her sister’s forehead, as though suddenly she were the older and more mature of the two.

“It’s time to go,” the hovering Mrs. Schmidt said, and Diana knew that she was right. It was time to leave it all. Diana put her hands down on her thighs in a small gesture of readiness, and then she allowed herself to be escorted out of the room and down the stairs.

“Is my brother-in-law still in?” she asked at the front door.

“He has gone out,” Mrs. Schmidt replied.

“Well, please tell him good-bye for me,” she said. Then, in a less convincing voice, “Please tell him I look forward to seeing him soon.”

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“Very well.”

Once Diana had fixed her wide straw hat back on her head, she picked up the case, still hidden under her long gray coat, and went out into the day. Young girls who worked in grand houses were passing on the walk, and carriages and streetcars hurtled down the street in competition. She took a deep breath for courage, but before she could descend the stairs she had not been vigilant enough, that her plan had required greater caution. Standing near the curb, wearing a fitted brown jacket over her white dress and a plain cloth hat, was Edith.

For a moment, Diana convinced herself that the distance was sufficient, that she would be able to escape unnoticed. But then her aunt gestured to her, and there was nothing to do but attempt a smile and step in her direction. Once the two women were close enough, Edith put an arm around her niece’s shoulders, and drew her away from the Cairnses’.

“Have you heard the news?” the older lady said. Despite the blue sky above, there was grimness in her tone.

“No…” The possibility that her mother had known, all along, what she was up to began to dawn on Diana, and she was ashamed when she realized that she was still afraid of Mrs. Holland’s wrath.

“Last night. William Schoonmaker…he passed.”

“What?” Diana’s eyes became wild. Her aunt’s face had gone pale in the search for words, and her gloved hand flew to cover her mouth.

“This came for you. I managed to get it before Mrs. Holland, and thought you would want to see it before you…before you did anything else.”

She handed over a small scrap of paper, which Diana unfolded without hesitation. All of her nervous trembling had left her; a kind of silence began to settle within.

Dear Di—

A tragedy has occurred which I am sure you will read about in the papers, if not today, tomorrow at the latest. This series of events prevents me from meeting you this afternoon. I will come to you soon, and we can do as planned next Tuesday.

—H.S.

So it would not be today. She looked up at the buildings around her, familiar in their square arrangements, standing shoulder to shoulder along the avenue, as they did on all the avenues, which ran straight up and down the island. They were not going to disappear before sundown after all. Then she crumpled the note in her hand. There was almost an absence of feeling within her—moments ago there had been such surging anticipation, and she could not yet tell if it was relief or disappointment or something else that had taken its place. A terrible event had occurred in the life of her lover, and for many hours now she’d had no idea. The light was no longer nostalgic—it seemed almost strange.

“In my day, we used to swallow notes like that,” Edith said.

The sense of disorientation began to ease for Diana, and she heard herself laugh. “Do you really think that’s necessary? I thought I’d just leave it in the gutter.” Edith smiled now, too. “It would be a little overdramatic, wouldn’t it? Come, you’ve had a surprise. I promise not to ask you any questions, but I do insist we go have a long lunch somewhere where they serve champagne all day….”

Diana let her shoulders rise and fall in agreement, and the two ladies held tight to each other as they made their way downtown. After all, when would she again have a free afternoon with her aunt? She would be leaving next Tuesday, and there are never as many hours as one hopes for in a week, as they always go by too quickly, and one never knows how one could possibly have spent the time.