Bless the Bride (2 page)

There was a long, frosty silence during which the lawn mower continued to click away, then she said calmly, “We’d better get back to work if we want these garments to be finished on time. I told you we’re expected at the Misses Tompkins for lunch, didn’t I? And after that I promised Clara Bertram that you’d come and play croquet with them. Clara is another of Daniel’s old friends and she does so want to meet you.”

I’ll bet she does,
I thought. So that she can examine the fabric of my dress and find it wanting. I’d already encountered several of Daniel’s friends during this stay. I could see their surprised reaction that Daniel was marrying someone like me when he could have had Arabella Norton and a fortune to go with her.

I picked up the half-sewn white silk petticoat and was about to start stitching when the porch screen door opened and Colleen, the little maid of all work came out. “The post has just come, madam,” she said and handed Mrs. Sullivan several letters. Mrs. Sullivan glanced through them.

“These will be responses to our invitation to the wedding. The Van der Meers,” she said, looking pleased. “Oh, and Alderman Harrison. And there’s one for you, Molly. That’s not Daniel’s handwriting.”

She handed me the letter. I recognized the writing at once. “It’s my neighbor on Patchin Place,” I said, then couldn’t resist adding, “Augusta Walcott, of the Boston Walcotts, you know.”

Mrs. Sullivan looked suitably surprised. “The Boston Walcotts, in Greenwich Village?”

“She’s an aspiring painter. Would you please excuse me if I go and read this?” I didn’t wait for the answer but went down the steps and across the lawn until I was standing in the shade of an elm tree, out of sight of Mrs. Sullivan and the porch swing.

My dear Molly,
I read in Gus’s educated, fluid script,
I can’t tell you how much we are pining for you. Life seems positively dull without having you around. And New York is beastly hot and uncomfortable, but Sid insists on staying put because of the articles she is writing on the suffrage movement. We imagined you sitting in the leafy shade, drinking iced lemonade and having a lovely time, and we were tempted to hop on the next train and come for a visit, but Sid pointed out that your mother-in-law might not approve of us and she didn’t want us to do anything that might cloud your future relationship. Sid is always so thoughtful, isn’t she?

But then she had an equally splendid idea. Why don’t we give a small party for Molly, she suggested. All those friends who are not being invited to the wedding. Of course we started planning and scheming immediately. Should it be a Japanese theme, or Ancient Greek? Sid suggested an underwater motif and wanted us all to be mermaids, but that was really impractical as we wouldn’t be able to dance with tails on. So we’re still debating the theme but we thought that some time during the Labor Day weekend would work well, if you’ve nothing planned. Do let us know as soon as possible whether this suits you and we’ll go full steam ahead with the plans.

We’ve seen your betrothed from time to time, although I can’t say he has paused to be sociable with us. As you know, he has been having the place completely redecorated. And the other day he stopped by with a load of furniture, presumably from his rooms, since it looked very dour and masculine. We peeked in a couple of times and we must say that it all looks wonderfully brand, spanking new—and the wallpaper remarkably tasteful. I think you’ll be pleased.

We do hope you can come for Labor Day. Sid sends her warmest regards.

Your friends Sid and Gus,

P.S. I almost forgot. A man came to your house yesterday and when nobody answered, he rapped on our door and demanded to know where you were. He said he represented a most important man who had an urgent commission for you and left his card with us. He demanded that you to contact him as soon as possible. We told him we didn’t think you were taking any commissions at the moment but he said he was sure you’d take this one. He was quite insistent. So you might want to come back to the city a day or so before the party, just in case there is a juicy assignment waiting for you. Naturally we’ve said nothing of this to Daniel.

I reread the letter, then folded it. An urgent commission from an important man. I had promised Daniel that I would give up my detective business when I married, but I wasn’t married yet, was I? And if it was a simple, straightforward assignment, it would provide a nice fee to add to my coffers—so that, at the very least, I could go to a department store and buy ready-made undergarments without feeling guilty.

Daniel’s mother looked up as I came up the steps onto the porch. “Good news, I hope?”

“Delightful news, thank you. My friends in the city have planned a pre-wedding celebration for me, to take place next weekend. So I do hope you’ll forgive me if I go back to the city for a few days. I fear I’m more of a hindrance than a help to you in the sewing anyway.”

I thought she looked relieved if anything, but she said stiffly, “This celebration requires you to be away for more than one day, does it?”

“I know these friends,” I said. “Their parties are always elaborate costume affairs, so I’ll need to assemble a suitable costume somehow.”

“A costume affair—that seems an odd sort of wedding party to me.”

“It is Greenwich Village,” I reminded her. “And many of our acquaintances are artists and writers. They enjoy being creative in their celebrations.”

She went back to her sewing, one neat little stitch after the next.

“With your sewing skills, let’s just hope that it’s a Roman toga,” she said at last.

I laughed dutifully, although I couldn’t tell whether she intended to make a joke.

“I’ll be back in good time to help you with the wedding preparations and to do the final fittings on my dress,” I said.

“And I take it you’ll be staying for our luncheon with the Misses Tompkins and croquet with Clara Bertram today?”

“Of course,” I said. “I wouldn’t dream of missing out on luncheon with the Misses Tompkins.”

And this time she looked at me to try and guess whether I was joking.

Two

As the train gathered speed through the woods of Westchester County, heading south, I felt as if I had been released from a straitjacket (and trust me, I had been in one of those once—not an experience I wished to repeat in a hurry). I found I was smiling at my reflection in the window glass. I was going to be married soon, going to be a bride, and I was finally looking forward to my wedding. It was true, as Mrs. Sullivan had reminded me, that I had precious few guests of my own, but that didn’t matter. Those few who were coming were dear to me: old Miss Van Woekem, for whom I had once worked. Mrs. Goodwin the female police detective and her young protégée I had rescued. Gus and Sid, of course. I had put my foot down at that. No Gus and Sid, no wedding. But I felt a wave of sadness that I hadn’t heard from Seamus and his little family. There had been a time when they had been big part of my life, but I had had only sporadic contact with them after they moved out to Connecticut for Bridie’s health.
She would have made such a perfect flower girl,
I thought wistfully.
Better than the Van Kempers’ granddaughter any day.
And I smiled to myself, again.

I can’t tell you how good it felt as the train rolled across the bridge over the Harlem River and into the upper reaches of New York City. No more luncheons and croquet parties at which I had to watch my words, mind my manners, and put up with what I took to be veiled barbs. Maybe I was being oversensitive, but then, maybe not. And anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m certainly not used to being the demure miss. It had been taxing. And now I was about to be back among my friends with the added prospect of a lucrative assignment. And I might even have a chance to see Daniel—a jarring thought came to me. Daniel would not be pleased that I’d deserted his mother. And of course he couldn’t know if I took on that case. So a brilliant plan came to me. It probably wouldn’t be wise to stay in my own house if it was newly painted and plastered. Besides, it would hardly be fair if I occupied it alone before my wedding. Sid and Gus’s guest room would be a much better idea, I thought to myself as the train went into the tunnel before arriving at Grand Central Depot.

Before I went to Westchester County the city had seemed unbearably hot and stifling and I had longed to escape to the countryside. It was still hot, to be sure, but I saw only the bustling life of the streets—a city that was vibrantly alive. Patchin Place was by contrast a quiet backwater, while city life teemed around the Jefferson Market building and along Greenwich Avenue. I stood on the cobbles, feeling the heat radiating back from the rosy brick houses on either side of me, thinking how grateful I was to Daniel for giving in to me and allowing us to start our married life here. I knew it was a sacrifice for him. I knew he wanted a more prestigious address. I knew he worried that I would be unduly under the unhealthy influence of Sid and Gus. But he had seen how much the house meant to me, and how much I valued my friends, and had agreed to give it a try. I had pointed out to him that the house would probably be too small after a year or two, when the babies started arriving and we’d need a servant. He wanted me to hire a servant now, but there really was no need for one if I was home, doing nothing all day. And frankly I didn’t want the intrusion on my newly married life—certainly not somebody sleeping in the spare bedroom.

I hoisted my carpetbag and picked my way over the cobbles to my house, eager to peek inside at Daniel’s renovations. I was about to put the key in my front door when I had second thoughts. I should find out first if anyone was inside. I didn’t want workmen reporting to Daniel that I had made an unscheduled appearance. It was hard to see past the net curtains, so I decided to go across the alleyway to Sid and Gus first. They seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of what was going on and would surely know if any workmen or painters were in my house.

I knocked on their bright red front door and felt a rush of pleasure at the thought of seeing them again. Eventually I heard the sound of feet and the front door was opened, revealing the strangest of apparitions. It was Gus, wearing a robe over what appeared to be a black lace corset and suspenders, holding up fishnet stockings. Since Gus was the more demure of the two, this in itself was shocking, but the fact that it was topped off with a police constable’s helmet made it even more astounding.

“Molly!” Gus’s face lit up as she recognized me. “We didn’t expect you so soon. How absolutely lovely to see you.”

“And you too. But do you make a habit of coming to your front door dressed like that?”

“Oh, dear,” she said, gathering her robe about her with only the mildest hint of embarrassment. “I hadn’t realized that my sash had fallen off my robe. Thank heavens it was you and not some man.”

“Most young women of your upbringing would have fainted dead away by now,” I said.

“Most young women of my breeding are currently being good wives and mothers and spending the summer in Newport or Cape Cod. I am already a lost cause in their eyes. But how rude of me to leave you standing in this awful heat. Come inside, do. Sid will be delighted.”

She ushered me into the cool darkness of their hallway and then called up the stairs. “Sid, put down that pen immediately. We have company.”

Footsteps came down the stairs and Sid appeared, wearing bloomers and an open-necked white shirt. “Molly,” she exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you. Isn’t it wonderful, Gus.” Then she noticed what Gus was wearing. “Dearest, did you actually open the front door in that extraordinary outfit?”

“I was trying it on,” Gus said. “I thought my robe was securely fastened.”

“But the policeman’s helmet?”

“Oh, yes.” Gus put her hand up to her head. “I’d forgotten about that. You see, Molly, we were trying to decide on a theme for your party. We thought a policemen’s and prostitutes’ ball might be fun, in honor of Daniel, you know. So I was just trying out whether I wanted to be a policeman or a prostitute.”

I started to laugh again. “My future mother-in-law was so impressed that I was going to a party hosted by one of the Boston Walcotts,” I said. “If she could only see you now!”

They joined in my laughter. “As stuffy as you feared, is she?” Sid asked, leading the way to the kitchen and taking a jug of lemonade from the ice chest.

“Worse,” I said. “My sewing skills are a disaster. I’ve had to have luncheon and tea with any number of her friends, where it has been hinted that Daniel was expected to make a much better match than me. You would have been so proud of me—I remained calm and demure throughout. Not one hasty word passed my lips. Close to sainthood, I’d say. But I couldn’t have stood it much longer. Any moment I was about to scream and hit someone with a croquet mallet. So your letter was a godsend.”

They were still smiling at me, as if I was an adored child returned to the fold. Sid led us through to their conservatory at the back of the kitchen and indicated that we sit in the shade of large potted palms that gave the space the feel of a jungle. She brought through a tray with lemonade and glasses.

“So you fled at the first opportunity,” Sid said.

I nodded. “It was the excuse I was waiting for. Honestly, I’m not designed for genteel idleness. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when I’m married and have nothing to do but cook for Daniel and keep the house clean.”

“So you are going to remain true to your promise then.”

“I have little choice. Daniel’s career must come first.”

“Why?” Sid asked.

“Because—because he is the man and the breadwinner, and because he already has a flourishing career,” I said with slight hesitation.

“I suppose so,” Sid agreed with a sigh. “So you will have no interest in the calling card Gus mentioned in her letter. We should just throw it away, should we?”

They were watching me expectantly. I saw the smile twitch on Sid’s lips.

“I’m not married yet,” I said. “I can still make my own decisions. And if this proved to be a lucrative proposition—well, I think it’s healthy for a bride to start marriage with some money of her own, don’t you?”