Envy - Anna Godbersen

“Miss Broad!”

She blushed when she realized she had been staring. Her blush deepened when she realized that he remembered her name, and then she could not help herself from leaning forward against the coach’s window and reaching past Robert to wave eagerly at him.

“Hello!”

“You’re not with the Schoonmaker party too, are you?” he called out.

“Yes,” she said. The cold air outside was bracing, and in that moment she saw clearly what it was she had to do. “Oh, yes!”

“I am, as well — Grayson Hayes invited me. I will see you on the ferry, then!” He removed his hat and made a gallant swooshing bow motion, before disappearing back into the crowd. Carolina watched the bodies that swarmed the place where he’d been, obscuring her view of him in moments, and then she turned back to her companion.

The coughing had subsided, and he brought himself back up and gave her a smile with just a trace of apology in it. He opened his mouth to speak — but Carolina didn’t want to hear any of the reasons he wished her to remain with him in New York.

“But I have never been off this little island,” she gushed hopefully. “I’ll be back before you know it. Perhaps you will already be feeling better by then?”

Longhorn’s smile faltered. “You’re right, my dear, you should not miss any of the fun on my account. Go, but don’t forget me when you do, and come back soon.”

Carolina was so pleased to have his blessing that she threw herself forward and embraced him. “Thank you. I will. Oh, I will, I will, I will!”

“Bon voyage, my dear.”

He clasped her hand for perhaps one moment too long, and then she pulled away and allowed Robert to help her to the street. She tried to tell Longhorn’s valet how important it was to get the old gentleman home and out of the cold quickly — she thought she did. But she was hardly paying attention anymore. Already she was moving forward, her skirts drawn back from the filthy street, as she joined the crowd of travelers streaming to the ferry. All she could think of was the fact that Leland was out there, among them. The very idea made her heart race.

Twelve

How I wish I were a fly on the imported French wallpaper of the Schoonmakers’ private railcar, the ARIES, for this week it carries not only the young scion of that family but also his current wife and former fiancée, Elizabeth Holland, and her younger sister — the tensions in such a party could not fail to amuse.

— FROM CITÉ CHATTER, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1900

HENRY KNEW THAT HE WAS NOT HIS BEST PICTURE of himself, and suspected he might still be drunk from the night before, although these were not his only reasons for avoiding human contact during his party’s departure from New York. He wasn’t sure how his Florida escape plan had been turned into a group event, overseen by the nefariously flashing red smile of his wife, but he knew that he must continue to play along, that he must not shame Penelope too publicly, or there would be terrible consequences. His original motivation for marrying her, to protect Diana from Penelope’s scheming, was as important as ever, although over the months, his reasoning had grown hazy in his mind. He’d often found himself blinking furiously in the mirror to make sure this was still him, that this was still his life, even after all the bizarre twists.

He was not a habitual reader of the society columns, but ever since he had become enamored of Diana Holland he had found himself scouring them compulsively for any little mention of her. That was how he could be sure she was there, on the boat, wrapped up against the cold. Overhead, clouds amassed and loomed as the boat made steady progress across the water to New Jersey, where they could board the train. It made the trip much more palatable to know she was nearby, but he was nervous for her, too, and he feared what would happen if Penelope noticed him staring at Diana in the way he knew he could not help.

Upon arriving in New Jersey and boarding the Aries, Henry chose a path that was well known to him. Even before the train departed he went to the common bar car, several cars removed from his own, and sent a messenger boy to fetch Teddy. Since he was fairly certain that sobriety was upon him now — the chill from the river passage was still under his skin — he undid his cuffs and removed his jacket and ordered a bourbon. The cheap tasseled curtains were drawn, and a player piano kept a syncopated rhythm in the background. The car was full of soldiers, smoking and shuffling cards, and none of them so much as looked up when the train whistled to announce its exit from Pennsylvania Station and lurched into movement. They would not reach their destination for another day and a half at least.

“You don’t waste any time do you?” said Teddy as he emerged through the fogged glass door and pulled up one of the rickety wooden stools. He watched his old friend, who was two years his junior, with steady gray eyes.

Henry did not get up from his drink, but did try to sound like a host. “How did everyone get settled in?”

“Well, I think.” Teddy motioned to the bartender.

“I’m sorry our trip was commandeered this way.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I rather like having ladies along. It was a rough ferry ride, wasn’t it? But everybody made it to the station, and they’re all settled in their seats now — your wife’s brother, Bouchard, Miss Broad, and the Misses Holland. Your wife was at great pains to welcome the Hollands, and Elizabeth seemed to be doing her best to return the enthusiasm.”

Both men sipped from their drinks and let the strange sound of the word wife float away unexamined. Teddy always seemed vaguely perplexed by what Henry had done, and Henry, not wanting to make himself more of a cad, could not bring himself to divulge the transaction that had resulted in his marriage. They sat in comfortable silence, drinking slowly and trying their best to seem like the other men in the car, which they most certainly were not.

“Schoonmaker, Cutting!”

Teddy looked up first, and Henry’s gaze followed after a moment’s delay. Coming through the door, cigarette already lit, was the figure of Penelope’s brother. Since his wedding, Henry had found himself always unnerved by the sight of Grayson Hayes, even though he had seen him in gambling halls and late-night haunts for years and thought nothing of the familial connection. But now Henry saw that Grayson had his sister’s face — the proud nose like a downward-facing arrow, the extreme blue of the eyes, and the pale oval face set off by slick, dark hair. These features gave him the appearance — probably falsely, Henry believed, although it was still impossible to ignore — of being his younger sister’s emissary.

“Nice style your family travels in,” Grayson went on with an appreciative smirk.

“Thank you,” Henry answered.

There was one striking difference between the Hayes siblings’ looks, which was that Grayson’s eyes were set too close together. It made him seem a little stupid, which he almost certainly was about to be. It was well known amongst the young men of genteel New York that young Hayes was an inveterate, and not a very good, gambler. If Henry had placed a bet on what Grayson would say next, he would have done quite well indeed.

“Are you ready for a game of poker?” Grayson dropped his cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his toe. There was a manic light in his eye, and his shoulders were strung with energy. On another day Henry might have hesitated, or Teddy might have thought better of it, but at that particular moment young Schoonmaker had had enough of the rotten feeling that apparently came with doing the right thing.

“We’re in,” he said.

“We need two more for a proper game.” Grayson motioned, almost as though he were summoning the help, at two soldiers who were idly sipping bottled beers at an adjacent table. They watched for a moment as the man in a wing collar and ascot tie pulled back the chairs from the simple wooden table and sat down. He was all business and his attention was already fiercely on the cards. Then they approached, pulling back their chairs, taking their places. “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said as he split the deck and began to deal.

Henry sat, noticing as he did the simple dignity of the men’s uniforms. They both wore fitted blue linen drill jackets with a parade of brass buttons down the front, worn but clean trousers, and knee-high gaiters over their well-traveled boots. The man with the frothy handlebar moustache put his campaign hat on the back of his chair and the clean-shaven one mimicked the gesture. It was impossible for Henry to tell how old they were — the clean-shaven one might have been younger than he was, and yet they were both so much more aged.

“Where are you boys headed?” he asked as he peeked at his hand.

“Tampa,” said the mustachioed one, as though the place held significance that people of leisure could not possibly understand.

“With the Fifth Infantry, sir, going down to keep the Cubans in line.” His companion grinned, looking up from his cards.

“Cuba!” Henry placed a bet. “Doesn’t your friend Bouchard have sugar interests down there?”

“Yes,” Grayson answered without looking up from the table. “Although he doesn’t gamble,” he added, as though that disqualified him as a topic of conversation.

“Doing our best to keep the island safe for American interests, sir.”

Teddy made a small, appreciative saluting motion.

“Ever kill anybody?” Grayson asked abruptly. Every thought in the man’s head was about cards, Henry knew, but still he winced at his brother-in-law’s boorish comment. He began to feel uncomfortable, and realized he didn’t actually want to hear the answer.

“Perkins saw action during the war against the Spaniards,” the clean-shaven one replied, gesturing, genially enough, to his more hirsute friend. “And was wounded in the charge on San Juan Hill.”

Henry and Teddy both looked to Perkins, and though his pale eyes betrayed a reticence, he obliged them by saying, “I enlisted after the massacre of the Maine. No American could have known of such treachery and failed to act.”

Henry could think of three examples at that very table that disproved this notion, but he nodded as though it were gospel truth.

“My brother was on that ship.” The clean-shaven one shook his head and considered the card he had just been dealt. “He died in a filthy Havana hospital, and when they shipped his body back my mother couldn’t even see him because all his skin had been burned off.”

There was a long, grave pause, but then Perkins’s face relaxed a little. “Well,” he concluded, “that’s what makes us all drag ourselves up for reveille when it’s still dark. That’s what makes being away from home bearable.”

The tones in which men speak of life and death were heavy in the air around them. More cards were dealt and more money tossed into the center of the table. Teddy, who was already out of the game, was watching the soldiers intensely, but Henry could hardly look up from his hand. He was aware, in a vaguely embarrassed way, not only of his waistcoat but also the fine linen of his shirt, soft against his well-protected skin, and the elegant cut of his trousers and of the series of railcars ahead of them with their elaborate trappings, some of which he owned, or his family did, anyway. And when he thought of his railcar, it was impossible not to dwell on who sat within it. His head was still full of Diana, and the way her nose turned pink and eyes grew shiny in the cold.