31 Bond Street (14 page)

Thayer pondered his words, with the mystery of the nighttime city surrounding them in the half-light. “Good night, sir, I will see you in the morning.”

“Give my best to your wife. And as for your son, he should be proud to call you a lawyer.” Thayer parted, pulling his jacket around him against the night’s chill and started walking home. A few carriages clattered down the darkened street. Clinton hailed a cab and settled back for the ride to Bleecker Street. What he hadn’t said to Thayer was that falling in love is like a trial; if one enters blindly, one finds oneself in a slippery place where it is too late to reflect or retreat. He would prepare the petition for Emma’s share of the estate, and file the papers of administration. And he made a note to himself to follow up in the morning on a hunch he had about the whereabouts of the missing witness, Samuel. The Negro servant was a wild card, and circumstances demanded that nothing be left to the unknown.

January 30, 1857

T
he morning of her party at 31 Bond Street began like all the rest. Breakfast included the habitual struggle with Hannah, for the cook resented the party encroaching on the domain of her kitchen. After breakfast, Emma returned to the quiet of her room, where her daughters appeared in curling rags, to discuss their attire for the evening. Augusta’s nineteenth birthday was later in the week, and the party was in her honor, to celebrate her birthday and as a way to introduce her to potential suitors. But Augusta appeared indifferent and her input was listless, whereas Helen, who was leaving for boarding school in two days, viewed the party as her own personal farewell.

Emma reviewed the guest list that she had penned on long sheets. She had sent engraved invitations on note cards that simply said “31 Bond Street” and wrote the time and date at the bottom. Ambrose Wicken had accepted, as well as a host of others. New Yorkers were always fond of an excuse to step inside a private residence, assess the decor and the food, and judge their neighbors, so Emma was intent to put on the finest display. She had also sent an
invitation to Commodore Vanderkirk, but his wife had sent back a simple card that said only “Unable to attend, with regret.” Dr. Burdell had not imparted anything further on the sale of the land, nor had he made any further mention of marriage. With so much uncertainty, Emma felt the time had come to force the issue all around.

She dressed and gathered her things for a trip downtown. She put on her gloves and a fur collar around her coat. She reached into the drawer of her desk and retrieved her leather document case. She had a meeting with her solicitor and then would finish shopping for the party.

The morning was cold but clear as a bell. At Worth Street, she climbed the stairs to an office and was admitted through a creaking gate that separated the solicitors’ desks from the clerks.

“How do you do, Mrs. Cunningham.” Mr. Billings pulled off a pair of gold bifocals and studied her solemnly.

“Good morning, Mr. Billings.” She settled herself into the hard-backed chair beside his desk. She had not seen him since the spring, before she had left for Saratoga, when he had warned her that her funds were perilously low.

Mr. Billings pulled a pile of papers from a cubby that represented her financial affairs. “Your savings are nearly depleted and there are debts mounting against your account. I have a notice from the Broadway Bank—ten thousand dollars. It appears that you have withdrawn the money from a fund that was assigned as your eldest daughter’s dowry.”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly. “I did. As a matter of fact, I have come to discuss that with you. I was steered toward an investment that is assured to be lucrative.” She pulled the deed out of her purse and placed it upon his desk. “This is the land title for a large tract in New Jersey. I am hoping that its value will increase several fold.”

Mr. Billings pulled the ribbon on the rolled scroll and gingerly
pulled her deed closer and put on his spectacles. “I see land titles every day,” he said, “for thousands of acres across the territories, or for sand dunes in the Mojave where there are said to be veins of silver and gold. Most aren’t worth the ink on the signature.”

“Mr. Billings,” said Emma, “Commodore Vanderkirk has expressed an interest in this land. He is interested in iron and steel factories that will connect to the railroad.”

“Commodore Vanderkirk, you say?”

“I have heard him speak about it with my own ears,” said Emma with authority. “He plans to build piers and iron factories all along this waterfront, for commerce.”

“Lots of plans are spoken of but few become more than idle whimsy. The Congress has been plotting a Continental railroad for decades, but its route is being moved from North to South and back again every week.”

“I assure you, this was not idle talk. Commodore Vanderkirk had the keenest intention upon this sale. For such a sedentary man, he is most vigorous when it comes to getting his way.” She laughed, hoping to convey a close familiarity with the man. “He has made an offer, and the amount of his offer was not in the least insignificant.”

Mr. Billings gazed at her thoughtfully. “If Commodore Vanderkirk is truly behind this venture, as you say, then it could be worth a bona fide fortune. Although this deed is in your name, the land belongs to your daughter, and remains her dowry. I advise you, as your solicitor, that this deed or any proceeds from the sale are hers until she is married, and you are merely the stewardess of her affairs. After her marriage, it becomes the property of her husband. Does she have any plans to marry?”

“Well, there is a suitor,” said Emma, thoughtfully, and then refrained from naming Ambrose Wicken by name. “I was think
ing that this alone would make a handsome offering for a dowry. Augusta is turning nineteen this week, and I am expecting that a gentleman will step forward.”

“Young men are gamblers and many have squandered a young wife’s nest egg. I might suggest you conclude this business yourself before she marries, rather than leaving its fate in the hands of a future son-in-law. It may even raise the value in the suitor’s eyes.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Emma modestly, “I am engaged as well.”

“Engaged! Well I suppose congratulations are in order. Two marriages! That is quite a series of developments,” said Mr. Billings. “As for the men, they are very lucky gentlemen indeed.” Mr. Billings paused. “As a widow, the property is yours to manage for your daughter, so if a sale is imminent, you might look for a swift conclusion which would be more advantageous. Once you are married, both your affairs and your daughters’ will be overseen by the gentlemen you marry.”

“That is something to think about. Thank you for your counsel.” Emma stuffed the papers back into her satchel.

“I look forward to hearing the announcement of the nuptials,” said Mr. Billings, bidding her farewell.

Emma stood to curtsy. “Thank you, sir, although, I assure you, in my case, the wedding shall not be a public affair. My daughter, however, shall most likely desire to fill Grace Church.”

“All the more reason to fortify her dowry in advance, for such weddings carry an alarming cost.” Mr. Billings stood and bowed with formality. Emma gathered her gloves and departed. Outside, she made her way up Broadway, joining the flow of pedestrians. A crowd of people climbed from the ferry to the rise of Broadway, pushing past the opposing rush of the Brooklyn bound. Two exuberant girls, walking arm in arm, jostled Emma. They were wear
ing cotton dresses, stuffed with extra petticoats to make their skirts appear fashionably wide. A dark-haired girl was carrying a crude basket. As they sashayed past, Emma saw herself at fifteen, with a straw hat and a basket of cherries, rushing out of her family’s clapboard house, one of many that stood at the end of a rutted road that forked into the farmlands of Brooklyn, along dusty paths that ran for miles eastward, toward sandy soil, and the void of the thundering ocean. The Brooklyn ferry, only ten minutes and two cents east across the river, reminded her of how far she had come, and how determined she was never to go back.

Her next stop was the Patisserie Valbonne, where the counters were painted pale lavender. Emma inquired about her pastry order. “Six dozen French cakes, vanilla with chestnut crème,” she told the sales lady, “for 31 Bond Street.”

“I am boxing them now, Ma’am, and shall send them right over.”

“Thank, you. Please leave them with the servant boy at the lower door.” She did not need to pay directly; a yellow envelope with a bill would be delivered to the townhouse at the end of the month.

Next, Emma stopped at a florist filled with exotic hothouse blooms. Ornamental shrubs were woven into elaborate sculptural forms for the entryways of the new palaces along Fifth Avenue that had wide loggias in the Renaissance style. She once thought such grandeur lacked elegance and proportion, just as she had thought the chocolate turrets of the brownstone churches seemed dreary and mean. Now, this world held a curious thrill, and she was struck half-blind by the abundance of summer flowers in January.

After signing her name on a credit for the flowers, Emma wandered past the window of a women’s haberdasher, the name of the store scripted across the glass in gold. A display of cashmere shawls was piled high in all the colors of the rainbow. She stepped inside; a woman in a cotton coat was arranging a display case with painted
fans, jeweled combs, hairnets with silver pearls, card cases, and a sable muff and boa. The woman looked at up her expectantly, with an imperious tilt to her head.

“Good morning, Madame. What do you need today?”

“I’d like three pair of silk stockings, in pale colors, please,” said Emma. The shop woman walked to the back of the store to pull open drawers and lift out the stockings, as if each was exquisitely precious. Emma made her choice and with newly found confidence, pointed around the store in search of other luxuries: a cameo on a velvet ribbon, purses for Augusta and Helen. She allowed items to pile on the counter and asked to have them placed on an account in her name, and to have them wrapped and sent to 31 Bond Street. There was no reason not to indulge in some extra finery. She had worked hard to lay the broad strokes on the canvas, and now she could allow the scenery its embellishments.

On the sidewalk, her pace quickened—she was several blocks from home, and she began making a list of all the things left to do for the party. A group of hired girls was coming to serve. The sherry and port needed to be poured into the decanters, and the table napkins rolled with silverware.

Ahead, she spotted a carriage pulling up to the St. Nicholas Hotel. It took a moment to register the outline of Samuel on the coachman’s bench, his red driver’s coat bordered with braid. She stopped short on the sidewalk, several feet away, struggling to identify why Samuel would be dressed so formally in the afternoon, and was stopping at the hotel so close to the house. Then Dr. Burdell exited the carriage, his profile bent under his top hat as he navigated the low carriage door. Emma was far enough away to remain unnoticed. If he turned and saw her, he might offer that she join him for tea, but she would have to remind him that there was much left to do for the preparations, and the evening party would not be conjured up, as if by magic.

Dr. Burdell turned back to the carriage door and a gloved hand appeared from the cab. He reached for the hand, and a foot appeared on the top step; he led a woman gingerly down the carriage steps. When she was on the ground, she laughed, and with the other hand, she lifted her veil. Emma saw the woman’s pretty face, smiling and flirtatious. Dr. Burdell lifted her hand and kissed it. Their eyes met. Dr. Burdell put his hand gently on her upper arm and led her past the liveried doormen into the St. Nicholas Hotel.

Emma stood frozen at the sight. There was no mistaking the intimacy between them. It was the same intimacy Emma had enjoyed in Saratoga, and during those September days in the city after her return, but lately she had come to take for granted the businesslike nature of his habits. When he was at home, he more often rebuffed her than spoke to her. She had almost become used to his dismissive attitude and the brusqueness of his manner, but now she could see clearly how differently he acted compared with the beginning of their courtship. She could not mistake his intentions to this woman. She had seen his caress on the woman’s arm, and the furtive pressure of his fingers as they brushed against her upper arm.

On top of the carriage sat Samuel, whose back was still to her. She felt a strong surge of betrayal at the sight of him, as if by doing Dr. Burdell’s driving, he was personally bidding against her. She could not shake the agitation caused by the image of the woman descending from the carriage, so finely dressed at midday, like an expensive courtesan, entering the St. Nicholas, with Harvey’s white glove curled around her upper arm. Samuel, his back still to her, pulled the reins and rode away.

W
hen she returned to the house, she snapped at Hannah. The hired serving girls had arrived, and Hannah had allowed them to remain in the breakfast room, where they had changed their clothes and were sitting idly. No one had given them any instructions, and they had left their coats in piles all over the room. It was up to Emma to direct the waitresses, in black uniforms with white aprons, upstairs to set up the tables and lay out the tablecloths for the food. She called John to fetch a ladder, and she stood behind him as he moved it around the parlor, lighting every gas fixture and lamp, so that the flames were caught in the shimmering surfaces of the polished silver and in the reflection of the tall parlor windows, now darkening in the late afternoon. Emma ordered her daughters, still in curling rags, to finish their hair. Finally she was able to rush up to her room to change.

She pushed the boxes of new purchases aside on her bed to make room for her petticoats and her gown. She struggled with her hair, carefully dabbing white powder along her face and shoulders. A bitter lump stayed in her stomach from the sight of the woman at the hotel, but she was propelled in a rush with the guests arriving.
Her hand shook as she placed diamonds at her neck and ears. As it neared six o’clock, the carriage sounded at the front of the house. She peered out the curtain to see the flash of Harvey’s cape as he dashed into the front door. She made final adjustments to her hair and jewelry, and went downstairs to his room.

The door was slightly ajar, and she saw him rummaging through a drawer, still wearing his cape, as if he were about to leave again. “Why aren’t you dressing?” she asked from the doorway.

“I am going to a meeting,” he said, annoyed. “Downtown.”

“A meeting? But the party is about to begin!”

“My business is more important than a debutante’s tea. As a matter of fact, this meeting is of the utmost importance. There has been a serious turn of events, and I must attend to them immediately.”

“Are you saying that you have business needs to be attended to right this instant? As guests are arriving downstairs?”

He stopped fumbling with the papers on his desk and turned to address her directly. “Emma, I have no patience, nor time, for your feminine intrusions. I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“I want to ask you about the outcome of the land sale in New Jersey. The Commodore came to visit, and it seemed that a sale was imminent.”

“As a matter of fact, I did have an offer from the Commodore, but he has reconsidered.”

“What do you mean reconsidered?”

“There is no longer a deal. I can salvage only a small portion of the investment with another buyer if I act tonight. Otherwise all is lost. I suggest you get me your deed, and sign it over to me now. I am afraid I will be able to recoup only a small portion of your money.”

“I don’t understand. You are saying that Commodore Vanderkirk no longer has an interest?”

“No, he has passed this over. I would hate to see you lose everything. So I must act in haste. Do not hesitate. Get me your deed, and I will be off.”

“I purchased this land at your insistence. Its value cannot have diminished overnight.”

Dr. Burdell clenched his teeth, frustrated. “I would not be stubborn, Emma, if I were you. Rather than risk your money waiting for a sale that will never happen, I shall personally offer to pay you nearly half the price you paid for it. If you get me the deed now, I may leave.”

“Harvey, I have no intention of handing you my deed,” said Emma, standing, blocking the doorway. “I saw your carriage today, before the St. Nicholas Hotel. There was a woman inside. You led her into the hotel.”

“You are imagining things,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. “And your imagination is distorting your reason.”

“Should I ask Samuel or the horse if I were imagining things?”

“You have some nerve, coming into my house and turning it upside down with social gatherings and adolescent parties, and now you have the effrontery to ask me the whereabouts of my horse and carriage? I will not tolerate your intrusions.”

“There is a party downstairs that has been planned for weeks,” she replied, her voice raised. “I have thrown it for my daughters to meet eligible young suitors and I have every intention that you shall attend.”

“And will this party bring about miracles?” He scoffed and was buttoning his cloak.

“Did you think I desired to remain your nighttime mistress, for the sheer pleasure of battling over menus with your cook? I have been living in this house, and now I am ready to be its legitimate mistress, as you have promised. Tonight I will announce our engagement and to present myself your fiancée.”

“I will not tolerate your blackmail. I made it clear to you that there were to be no public announcements—and you dare to take matters into your own hands. Now, you expect me to go downstairs and trot before strangers like a pony on your leash?”

“You had no difficulty posing as my husband, in front of Commodore Vanderkirk. Perhaps it was because you wanted him to think that my land was yours to sell?”

“How dare you accuse me of deception,” he said ruefully. “You were preening in Saratoga as a rich widow, when in fact you were hunting for the bounty of a wealthy man.”

“Do not insult me in that way!” she gasped. He returned to his desk in a rush and continued to pack papers into his satchel. The doorbell rang and the hired girl was letting in guests. Augusta and Helen were already in the parlor, and Emma could make out their murmurings and curtsies. The servant began carrying the coats up the stairs.

“I must go downstairs, the guests are arriving,” she said urgently. “I insist you come down with me.”

“Then, fetch me your deed.”

Overcome with anger, Emma admonished him. “Your behavior is most reprehensible! I shall part with my land when I am ready. I intend to hold you to your promise of what our evenings in your bed imply or I shall hand you papers from a magistrate for breach of promise. You and I shall be married, before I hand over my property to you.”

“Then you shall have a hard time toasting our betrothal at the party without my presence.” He grabbed his satchel and rushed from the room. Stunned, she followed him to the landing and watched as he dashed down the stairs. At the bottom he slipped unnoticed through the guests, now just coming through the vestibule, and rushed to the kitchen stair, disappearing out of sight.

She heard the doorbell ring, letting in a fresh wave of guests and with them, the voice of Ambrose Wicken. Rattled, she stayed at the top of the stairs, unable to face the guests. Her eyes were near to tears, and she took a deep breath to keep them away. Finally, when her composure returned, she smoothed her gown and forced herself to start down the staircase. As she circled the half landing and reached the full view of the crowd milling in the hall below, she took each step slowly. Ambrose Wicken looked up, smiling at her. She pulled herself upright and raised her head high. She put on her broadest smile and made the last descent into the array of twinkling glasses and tittering greetings.

“You look enchanting, ravishing,” whispered Wicken, taking her by the arm. Together they moved through the throng in the hall.

“How do you do?” Emma said, nodding to one guest after another. “I am so pleased that you have come.” She and Wicken moved into the parlor, nodding and greeting as they went.

A broad woman sailed toward Emma, with feathers in her hair. “Mrs. Cunningham, I am Mrs. Newcastle. This is such a lovely house. But I don’t see the host?”

“Dr. Burdell has been called to a medical emergency,” said Emma. “To Bellevue. There has been a terrible accident and they are in need of surgeons, so he has offered his services.”

“How noble. But he leaves you, my dear, to dazzle, alone, at this soiree?”

“It is my penance, I suppose, for being engaged to a man in the medical profession.” In the wake of Mrs. Newcastle, Emma overheard a woman whispering to a lady companion: “I rue the poor dentist his fortune, now that she has set her eyes upon it.”

“I was sure they were engaged—I have heard the woman has inherited a fortune from her deceased husband,” answered her companion. “With so much of her own, she may find that tooth
aches quickly become rather tiresome.” Mr. Wicken could overhear as well, and he ushered her away from the vicinity of the huddled women.

“Ambrose!” said Emma. “Do you see Augusta? Isn’t she a beauty?” Augusta was sitting on a sofa on the opposite end of the room.

“The incarnation of it,” drawled Wicken. The parlor was animated with conversing guests, and the servant girls passed silver trays with flutes of Champagne. Along the sideboards, the pastries and confections were piled high.

“So Dr. Burdell is absent? I do find it difficult to fathom how, once again, he can leave such a beautiful woman unattended. He gave me the distinct understanding when I first met him that your betrothal was imminent.”

“Yes.” Emma sighed. She was proficient at disguising her feelings, but she suspected that he was keenly aware of her disappointment. “It will transpire in good time,” she said with a brave effort.

Wicken took her arm and walked a couple of paces to a spot where there were fewer people, but the movement drew attentive glances, and she understood that he was making a gesture. “Please be assured,” he whispered, “that I can be your loyal consort and friend. A woman alone often finds that she needs a man to give her protection. Please rely on me if you need advice or counsel.”

“Why, thank you,” she whispered back, relieved. “Southerners have such refined manners. I wish more Northerners would take an example, here in New York.” Now she felt emboldened to speak frankly with him. “Augusta’s father had wonderful manners. He was most generous by taking care of her in the form of a dowry.”

“I am sure that a dowry is insignificant in light of her charms,” Wicken replied.

“But it is not insignificant,” Emma insisted. “It has been placed most recently in a purchase of land, that is most valuable.” She was leaning into him, in a conspiratorial way.

“In land you say? Would that be the land Dr. Burdell owns on the New Jersey side of the bay? It is a matter he has spoken about. She has a small interest then?”

“Why yes, but it is not small, it is a sizable portion. I have purchased it with money that was left to her. It has become, I understand, the most desirable portion.”

“Aha,” he said pensively. “You are a business woman, as well as a beauty. And a shrewd mother always has her child’s best interests at heart.”

Emma smiled. She watched him now glance appreciatively in her daughter’s direction. “I may need your assistance and advice in managing the sale of this land,” she said.

“Why certainly, you can come to me, as soon as you’d like. I am staying at the Broadway Hotel.”

“I shall do that, thank you,” she said.

“But for now,” he said, “it is high time that I permitted you to return to your guests and I paid respects to Miss Augusta.” Wicken released her with a bow and wandered over to Augusta, who sat on a divan, her skirt fanned around her, her hands folded demurely on her lap. Emma watched him hover, mouthing his usual flatteries. As she moved toward a crowd of guests, she overheard him extend an invitation to Augusta to join him tomorrow, on a wintry ride, north of the city, in an open carriage, bundled in furs.

Augusta hesitated, and Emma thought she was about to shake her head no, when she caught her mother’s eye. Emma gave her a stern look of warning.

“Yes,” said Augusta, obediently, but without emotion, looking up at him. “I shall be most happy to join you for a ride.”