31 Bond Street (10 page)

“Madame, we’re going downtown.” Clinton said, addressing Emma when she reached the bottom where he was standing.

“These people are in contempt of my investigation,” yelled Connery. “Nobody can walk out of here until I say!”

“Mr. Connery, we have orders to appear before the Judge, who will determine Mrs. Cunningham’s rights under the amendments of the Constitution. No person can be detained without cause.”

“Arrest her then, for contempt against my proceeding. She
cannot leave. I wish to hold her and interrogate her!” shouted the Coroner, pointing theatrically to Emma on the stair. As Elisabeth had predicted, the Coroner was reluctant to let Emma slip from his control.

The sheriff stepped up to Emma and said, “I place you under arrest.”

Clinton went to her side. “I assure you, Madame, we are on our way to see a judge, who will ensure that you will be free to speak to counsel. Even if you are placed in jail afterward, I will see that you have everything you need and will be well taken care of.”

When she heard the word
jail
, she looked as if she were going to swoon.

“Jail! But I am innocent!”

“Madame, trust me, I will be at your side. You will have more legal protection in confinement than you have had in this house. We will have a hearing before the Judge, and if you are charged with this crime, there must be a Grand Jury proceeding.”

“My daughters! What about my daughters?”

“They will come with us now. Then they will be released to whomever you feel will take the best care of them. Have courage, this is for the best.” He took her arm and led her down the last step into the crowd in the hall.

Pandemonium ensued with cries of, “She’s off to the Tombs!” Reporters fled the house to spread the word. Clinton and the sheriff ’s men cordoned off a path back down the kitchen steps and they led Emma and her daughters out through the back door to the alley, where they were placed in the back of the prison van. Clinton sat with them. As the somber procession lurched forward, he knew that nothing was over and everything was just beginning.

November 1856

T
he autumn day was warm enough for shirtsleeves. Bars of autumn light, warm as butter, filtered through the trees. Samuel waded through the back garden strewn with yellow leaves, struggling with a barrel hoisted over his shoulder. Emma pushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. She stood at the kitchen door, watching that he did not drop any boxes. Samuel was carrying the last of her things into the house from a cart that had been pulled up to the gate in the alley. Over the last several days she had Samuel move all her possessions into 31 Bond Street in shifts, a wagonload a day, brought from her house on Twenty-fourth Street.

“The blanket chest goes upstairs to my room, and everything else should go to the attic,” she told him as he wedged it through the door and up the rickety kitchen stair with the heavy load on his back. “If you bang the wall Dr. Burdell will charge you five dollars to fix it,” she called after him. Since appearing as the mistress of the house, it was important that she establish her authority with the servants from the beginning.

Dr. Burdell was away from the city on business for several days, which was just as well, for he would have hated the turmoil. To conserve her funds, she did not hire a large van with eight men, which could do the job in single a day, but brought everything over piecemeal. By the time he returned from his trip, she would be out of her housedress and dressed in her best silk.

After the trip to Elizabeth, Emma had effectively avoided Dr. Burdell’s invitations to dinner or theatre, until one morning, he sent word that he was coming by to visit her at the house on Twenty-fourth Street. When he arrived, he seemed pressed for time, brusque and nervous, and did not take off his coat. She ushered him into her parlor and gaily pointed him to the settee. He sat, listening to her banter, until he finally spoke. “I need to know if you will live in the rooms of my house as I have offered. I will rent them to a housemistress if you have decided not to come.”

“Oh dear, have I let this slip?” she said, feigning surprise. “I had no idea of the seriousness of your invitation. As you can see, I have been putting aside the thought of moving. We are so comfortable here, and the disruption would be quite total.” In fact, her lease was soon over, and the owner expected the house to be vacated in a matter of weeks.

“I understood that it was pressing that you find a place, and Bond Street is a superior location, with larger rooms,” said Dr. Burdell, confused.

‘Well, yes, but Helen has missed school this fall, and I would like her to return to boarding school in Saratoga at the turn of the year. I have considered that I might possibly move to Saratoga in January instead. I could take a beautiful house there and keep it for the summer. Perhaps I need a rest from the city,” she said, sighing, as if it was all too much to decide.

Dr. Burdell looked alarmed. “The inconvenience of moving into my house should not deter you. I can write you a check to defray
the cost of your move. It would only take a day with a large horse van. As for your daughter, perhaps it is best that she boards—I also can write a banknote for the tuition and board for both of your daughters to go away, if it would make your transition easier.” He leaned over and pulled out a bankbook from his satchel, which had the printed letterhead of his bank on each note.

“Oh no, Augusta is not going, she has finished her schooling,” Emma explained. “She is eighteen,” she said, placing a hand on her breast, as if taken aback by his mistake. “It is only Helen who is going to the Girls Seminary.” Dr. Burdell started to write out the name The Girl’s Seminary on one of the printed lines, and then looked up quizzically. “You can fill in the amount yourself,” he said, signing his name across the tight black line and handing her the note along with another one for her move.

Emma took the banknotes and placed them on the table beside her, as if to dismiss them. “But, Harvey, there is the question of our marriage. You have not brought up the formal nature of our union. I cannot see how I can take you up on your offer to live at your house, even if I have a separate set of rooms upstairs.”

“It is a respectable arrangement, and I cannot see how you would be compromised. Marriage will follow, but I would like to see you secure under my roof while I finish up my business. Once all is concluded, I hope we can take a long trip, and I propose going to Europe for the summer season. We could sail together in June.”

“Europe!” she said. Paris and London, along with a mansion on Fifth Avenue were dazzling prospects, but she still had not received a proper marriage proposal. She had waited these past several months to force his hand and decided that perhaps it was only awkwardness that prevented him from following the social conventions. There was very little time left. “I suppose I could settle into Bond Street,” she said. “You have made the case that it is a tidy solution.”

“It is decided!” he said brightly, getting up suddenly. She followed him toward the door, where he gave her a strong embrace and then departed. As soon as he was gone, she got her coat so she could rush to the bank and send a telegraph to Saratoga that Helen would be coming back to school in January, at the turn of the year.

Emma had nearly finished arranging her new bedroom on the third floor, placing her crystal and perfume across the vanity and lace on the arms of the chairs. She hung pictures of landscapes and cottages on the rose-patterned wallpaper, using large velvet ribbons that tied in bows and hung from the ceiling molding. She had taken advantage of Dr. Burdell’s absence to wander the house, deciding how she might rearrange the furniture and improve the housekeeping. The piano in the back parlor needed oil and a tuning. She asked John, the errand boy, to push it over to an alcove near the bay window, making the room look more like a conservatory. Dr. Burdell’s patients used the second parlor as a waiting room, but her daughters could practice music when the patients were gone. With some concentrated effort, she would make the double parlor more elegant, suitable for social receptions and teas.

She roamed upstairs and downstairs, checking all the rooms, which had nooks and cabinets positioned in odd places. There were closets everywhere, with large keyholes and brass knobs with layers of tarnish, many locked. Alice, the chambermaid, carried keys around on a big ring while she was cleaning. Emma decided to borrow the stack of keys to look inside the closets to see which keys worked and which ones no longer had any use. She found Alice in Dr. Burdell’s office, listlessly waving a feather duster along a bookshelf.

“Are you making sure to get the dust on the lower shelf?” asked Emma, coming in from the hall.

“Yea,” said the girl, looking up. Alice was a rangy girl whose hair hung in stringy clumps.

“Alice, it’s ‘yes,’ not yea. Please say ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ And, Alice, I would prefer that you wear a maid’s cap when you work. Please tie your hair and pin it under a cap.” Alice looked at her sullenly, as if she were speaking a strange language, and Emma worried that such training would be lost on her. Emma walked over and picked up the iron ring that lay next to the cleaning basket that Alice carried from room to room. “I will take these for a while,” Emma said.

“You can’t do that, Ma’am. I got to lock the doctor’s chambers when my dusting’s done,” said Alice, alarmed. “The doctor don’t want anyone in his rooms when he is gone.”

Emma started out of the room with the ring of keys. “I shall take care of it. I will lock up, later,” she said. “And, Alice, I hope you have not been drinking liquor. I don’t abide by that.” Alice placed a hand up to her mouth, alarmed, which told Emma that her suspicion was correct, that Alice’s slovenly manner had much to do with an indulgence in spirits.

Emma tested the doors around the house and found that the keys were an odd set. Some keys slid easily into a cabinet or closet and the bolts worked smoothly, whereas others were a difficult fit, or the catches were rusty. A few of the doors remained stubbornly locked. The closets were mostly empty with some forgotten items like old china packed in straw, or a rolled-up rug. She returned to the doctor’s office, and Alice had gone. The maid’s absence gave her time to look about—the dental office, a large room converted from a bedroom, had a high ceiling and was furnished like a salon, with engravings and a velvet fringed sofa. By the window was the steel dentist chair where Dr. Burdell conducted his surgery. Next to the fireplace was a mahogany desk with ledgers and cubbyholes for papers, and next to it, a steel safe. On top of the fireplace mantel were two human jaws, preserved under glass.

A long wardrobe passage connected the office to Dr. Burdell’s bedroom. Emma passed through the passageway, which was lined
with drawers and cupboards. She opened the door to a wardrobe and saw a line of identical dark black suits of expensive wool and tailoring, evenly placed upon their hangers. Starched linen shirts and high cardboard collars were stacked on shelves and a velvet tray was filled with pairs of cuff links.

Laid out before a mirror were ointments, tonics, powders, dentifrices, and tooth wash. She picked up a silver brush, and marveled at the placement of domestic things. She ran his brush against her cheek. The silver was cool, and the bristles the finest, and she pictured these same possessions, along with hers, lined up together years from now.

She entered his bedroom, which was dimly lit, for the shutters were closed. The room was furnished as a sumptuous sanctuary with vermilion velvet curtains and nickel-plated gas burners. A fur throw covered the bed, and on the doctor’s bedside table were crystal glasses and a seltzer bottle with a silver top. She crept back though the passage to the office and locked the door carefully behind her. If she had not come to Bond Street with his offer, in a short time her money would have run out. She would have been put out of her house, her possessions in crates, forced to live on credit in a hotel, slowly selling off her jewels. It would not be long before she was on the street, for she had no source of income. There was no work for a lady besides working in a shop, or sewing, and a day’s pay for handiwork could barely buy a day’s meals.
How close she had come
.

When Emma returned to the kitchen, Hannah was speaking with John. Hannah stopped midsentence, as she always did when Emma entered, giving the impression that whatever she was uttering, it was something she preferred Emma not to hear.

“Hannah, I would like to have you prepare a plate of crumpets as a refreshment for Dr. Burdell’s patients who come to the house in the morning.”

Hannah raised her eyebrows. Her tone was equally arch. “Crumpets in the parlor, Ma’am?”

“Yes, please. I think that would be a gracious touch.”

“You want me to bake up a fresh batch of crumpets, every day, midmorning?”

“Well, on certain days. I will ask Doctor Burdell which mornings his patients visit.”

“Who will serve and pass these crumpets round to the people waiting in the parlor?”

“No one need pass them. They could be placed on an attractive tray, and the guests can serve themselves between their appointments. We could also have a pitcher of cold drink, or a pot of tea.”

Hannah shrugged, clearly skeptical, as she stirred the batter in the bowl. “The patients come to get their teeth fixed, not eat sugar crumpets,” she muttered, low.

“Did you say something?” asked Emma.

“Ma’am, I was just thinking how the one’s with toothaches will have a hard time chewing, that’s all.”

“That is not your concern, Hannah. You are a cook, not a dentist.” The cook had been difficult from the start. Emma planned to ask Dr. Burdell to speak to the servants when he returned about the standards she wished to bring to the household. Just because he had been too preoccupied to notice the housekeeping in the past did not mean that the servants should not work harder to make improvements. They needed to understand that her orders were his as well.

That night, Dr. Burdell returned. It was late, and Emma was in her nightclothes, brushing out her hair when the carriage came clattering up the street and stopped before the house. She had hoped that he would come home earlier in the evening and had planned to greet him in her most fetching dress. It was past eleven o’clock
and the firelight flickered in her grate when she heard him enter the house. The deep carpets on the stairs absorbed his footsteps as he ascended to the second floor, and she heard the faint click as his key unlocked his bedroom door. Brushing her hair some extra strokes so that it flowed down her back, she put on a silk and lace dressing coat over her thin nightgown. She stepped into the dark hallway. Hannah had turned off the gas jets on her way to bed, so Emma took a candle to guide her way downstairs. On the second floor, Emma saw light from the crack under Doctor Burdell’s bedroom door. She tapped softly and heard his key turn from the inside. He pulled open the door and bid her to enter his bedroom.

“I am so glad you are home,” said Emma, warmly. “I hope you had a successful trip. I would like to go over the housekeeping schedules with you in the morning.”

“Speak to the servants about the housekeeping,” he said brusquely, turning away from her. Dr. Burdell had begun undressing before she had knocked and had removed his coat and vest and was in his shirtsleeves.

“Would you like me to wake Hannah to prepare you a supper?”

“No, I am not hungry.”

“Then I shall see you in the morning,” she said, hesitating, turning to go.

“Stay,” he said, his back still toward her. He went over to his washbasin and leaned down to a low cabinet. Inside was a brass latch, which, when pulled, sprung open a rectangular panel, revealing a recessed cubby. He reached inside and retrieved an apothecary jar that was filled with white powder and spooned some into a glass, then added some liquid from the seltzer bottle. “Laudanum and quinine,” he said, stirring the liquid with a spoon, and handing her the tonic. “Drink it up.”

She sat at the edge of his bed and sipped the fizzy drink. The
bed was covered in fur, and the canopy was draped in dark red velvet. Everything in the room seemed padded and plush. Dr. Burdell removed his cuff links and shirt studs and placed them on the bureau. He removed his sash and shirt collar and walked toward her, the white linen of his shirt loosely flapping. He took the glass from her, and put it on his night table, then he pulled her to him. He unlashed her dressing coat and lifted it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He lifted the thin film of her nightgown, exposing her, and then dropped her down onto the bed. He fell on the bed with her. He was as savage as the first night, but they no longer were in the wild countryside, but encased in a townhouse in the hard heart of the city.