Ten Days in August (14 page)

“Sir, the staff is already overtaxed—”

“I saw a child who had been cooked to death yesterday. Literally cooked to death. The child resided in one of the Lower East Side tenements. Her mother brought her up onto the roof of the building for some relief from the heat, but the building had a tin roof. It had been heating in the sun all day. The child had severe burns all over her back.” O'Hanlon shook his head. “I gave an interview with a reporter to try to get word out not to do that, but of course, the people who need the information can't even read English.”

“I'm sorry.”

“My colleague Fitzpatrick has written to Mayor Strong to ask for more staff. I thought I'd appeal to your office as well. As it is, yesterday, I had to investigate a great number of cases that required me to walk more than two flights of stairs. I was certain on my last trip I would expire in the stairwell. Surely you can also appeal to the mayor's office. We'll need to suspend the rule that a coroner must investigate before a body can be removed. People will become ill.”

“I'll see what I can do,” was all Andrew could offer. It seemed reasonable to expect the mayor's office to continue to do nothing.

Lord, what a day this was turning out to be.

“That's all I ask. I realize the stress the police department must be under, between the heat and Bryan's visit and whatever else.”

“You have no idea.”

F
rom Hank's vantage point sunk into a threadbare chair in Nicky's living room, he could see Nicky staring at himself in a mirror, shaving with extreme care. Hank had the case notes open in his lap and had intended to work, but there was something completely fascinating about watching Nicky get ready.

Nicky finished shaving and disappeared into his bedroom, so Hank went back to his case notes, even though he was distracted. Nicky moved with such grace, and though he appeared delicate, there was a masculine strength to him. Hank had never met anyone like him.

“Darling, I could use a hand.”

Hank rose and walked into the bedroom, where Nicky was now half done-up, a fluffy crinoline covering his legs and a corset loosely wrapped around his waist.

“You don't have to do this, you know,” said Hank. “I'm sure you'd be equally as a convincing as a young banker. Or we could pass you off as an apprentice of Jonathan's.”

“I want to do this my way.” Nicky tugged at his corset and pressed the front against his chest. “I need you to do the strings in the back. Pull me in tight. We want it to be convincing.” He paused. “Usually, Charlie helps, but we are not at Bulgaria, so you'll have to do.”

Hank took a moment to analyze the pattern of lacing at Nicky's back. It was a bit like solving a puzzle. He took the loosest strings in the middle and pulled, satisfied when the halves at the top and bottom came closer together.

“Really tug, love. Don't worry about hurting me.”

That this process might be painful for Nicky hadn't occurred to Hank until just then. Uncomfortable, certainly, but painful Hank hadn't anticipated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Really pull. That's the only way it will get tight enough to cinch me.”

So Hank pulled, taking a few minutes to solve the puzzle of which strings to pull and which to loosen to best get Nicky laced into the corset. When Hank succeeded, he tied the loose strings into a bow.

Nicky walked away, toward the blue gown hanging from the closet door. He made quick work of sliding into it. He turned around and waved a hand at Hank. “Come, let me abuse your slavish devotion to me. Do up my buttons while I do my makeup.”

Hank could have spent hours watching Nicky. Nicky took a length of white cloth from a hook near the mirror and draped it over his manufactured décolletage. Then he went about covering his face with all manner of different things, each in its own little bottle or flat metal container.

“I will likely sweat all this off,” Nicky said as he brushed powder across his face. “And then where will I be?”

“The ballroom should be cool, at least.” Hank looked down to better concentrate on getting each tiny, satin-covered button through its designated hole.

“They can afford ice uptown,” said Nicky.

Hank finished with the buttons as Nicky finished tinting his lips. Hank moved out of the way and then followed Nicky to the closet, where Nicky extracted a round hat box.

“I think I shall be a brunette tonight,” Nicky said, pulling the top off the box to reveal a wig. This wig was carefully constructed and styled. Nicky picked it up and walked back to the mirror. He carefully placed it on his head and then pinned it in place. The effect of the brown hair—darker and richer than Nicky's natural color—on Nicky's pale skin was striking.

“Did the man you saw with Edward see you as Paulina?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“You're not worried he'll recognize you?”

“Paulina is a blonde, darling. And I quite deliberately used softer makeup. No need to paste it on as if I were a clown if I am not going to be under the stage lights.”

“Right. Of course.”

Nicky grabbed a wide black ribbon off his dresser and tied it around his neck, effectively covering his Adam's apple. “People see what they want to see, Hank. You show them an outline, they will fill in the rest. Tonight I am Alice McGraw.” He raised his voice a half-octave and spoke softly. “My father is part owner of the New York Giants, but oh, I care nothing for baseball.” Nicky smiled placidly and then burst into a tizzy of girlish laughter.

Nicky looked like a woman. From the stylishly pinned up brown hair atop his head to his pale collarbone and shoulders to the long lines of his body, he looked every inch a woman. It was uncanny and a little unsettling. If Hank hadn't watched the transformation himself, he never would have believed Nicky stood before him. That would perhaps help with the ruse. “All right, Alice. I suppose you and I have been courting.”

Nicky smiled. “If you like.” Nicky turned back to the mirror and examined himself once more.

Hank walked closer to Nicky and took his hand. “I would like to court you. If circumstances were different . . .”

“I know, love. But you are a police inspector and I could get arrested for wearing the wrong clothes in public. I do believe we are doomed.” He ran his hands over Hank's shoulders and down the lapels on his coat. “You look handsome all polished up. Not that I would complain if you came here half-dressed and unshaven.”

Traveling uptown proved to be difficult. They hired a cab, even though the horse pulling it panted and labored up the street with tremendous effort. It was hot inside the cab, the air still and stifling. Hank wanted to strip off his coat and cast aside his top hat, but he knew he had to look presentable at Amelia's party.

They pulled up to the house on Fifth Avenue. Hank caught the astonished look on Nicky's face as Hank helped him out of the cab, but Nicky quickly schooled his features to look as though this were just any other day.

Hank conferred with Graves as they were let into the house, explaining his presence and Alice's as briefly as he could. Graves merely leveled his gaze and said, “I assure you, Mr. Brandt, your presence in this house is far more welcome than some of the other guests.”

“Much obliged,” said Hank, tipping his hat.

Graves led them to the ballroom. It was nothing like Mrs. Astor's—or so Hank presumed, having only heard stories—but it was nicely decorated. Amelia had worried over each piece of art that hung on the walls, where to place each sculpture, whether there should be plants. The result was lush and lavish but still comfortable, with fine touches like the damask curtains and the carefully chosen striped wallpaper adding a warm touch. Already there were about a hundred guests milling about, all of them dressed extravagantly and expensively. At least, by some miracle, the air was blessedly cool inside.

Hank held out his elbow and Nicky took it. “Please alert me if you see anyone you know,” Hank said.

“I will,” said Nicky, bringing back the affected voice of Alice.

They began a loop around the periphery of the ballroom, greeting people Hank didn't know. Hank looked for Amelia and did not spot her until she approached.

“Hank, dearest, how nice of you to grace us with your presence at last.”

Hank allowed his cheeks to be kissed. Then he said, “Allow me to introduce Alice McGraw. She is my companion for the evening.”

Amelia shot Hank a mystified look, but turned the full force of her charm on Nicky. “How delightful to meet you, Miss McGraw.”

“Please, my dear, call me Alice,” said Nicky.

“Oh, of course. And you must call me Amelia.” Amelia turned back to Hank. “This is quite a surprise.”

“You were the one who insisted I attend your ball.”

“Yes, and there are a number of people I'd like you to meet. I just did not anticipate you would be escorting a young lady to these proceedings. I wish you had given me some warning.”

“Pardon my ignorance,” Nicky said, “but what charity are you raising money for?”

“The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children,” said Amelia. “We're raising money to help some of the children in the poor neighborhoods of New York who are suffering through this blasted heat.”

Nicky faltered for a moment, but he pasted on a smile and said, “What a worthy cause. I should like to donate.”

Amelia smiled. “Well, we're going to have a bit of an auction later. A number of guests have donated personal possessions that will be for sale. Mrs. Schermerhorn has donated a necklace I think would look quite fetching on you. Perhaps Mr. Brandt would be interested in taking a look.”

Nicky managed to blush. He extracted a fan and waved it at his face. “I shall take a look at it when it comes up for auction. No sense in poor Mr. Brandt giving up a substantial chunk of his police salary just to decorate me. Besides, he's useless with jewelry. No appreciation for it.”

“I know,” said Amelia. “Nor does he care for fashion. What are we to do with him?”

“I seem to be standing right here before you,” said Hank.

Amelia laughed. “I neglected to say before, Alice, but this dress is absolutely stunning. I've never seen anything quite like it.”

“Why, thank you. I had a hand in designing it myself. I work with a man named Claude, who has a shop in Greenwich Village. He apprenticed at Maison Worth.”

“Indeed?”

Nicky raised an eyebrow. “Do not tell me it is not something you always wanted to do. When I was a little girl, I would spend hours looking at the drawings in my mother's books. Of course, when I was young, hoop skirts were still all the rage. I am happy we as a society have moved on from that. My mother's dresses were so heavy.”

Nicky and Amelia spent a good minute nattering on about fashion. Hank could only shake his head, bewildered.

Jonathan called for his wife from across the room. Amelia looked at him and smiled. “Duty calls, I'm afraid. Oh, but Alice, I do believe we will be friends. Please feel free to call on me here any time.”

“Thank you. You are most kind. I suppose I will have to bring Mr. Brandt along as well.”

“If you must. Or we can just speak as ladies without our men present. That is, unless I am misinterpreting this situation?” Amelia looked between them.

Nicky wrapped his hands around Hank's arm and said, “I seem to have consented to court this man.”

“After all this time,” said Amelia. “I never would have imagined.”

“Yes, well,” Hank said, trying to come up with some way to either convey to Amelia this was a ruse or to explain nothing had changed. He came up empty, and Jonathan repeated his call.

Amelia smiled. “Well, you lovebirds, the orchestra Jonathan hired is quite good. I hope you'll take advantage and dance for a bit.” To Nicky, Amelia added, “Mr. Brandt is a lovely dancer. He was always my favorite partner. Until I met my husband, of course. And, speak of the devil, my spouse is about burst, so I must attend to him. I will speak with you both later.” She departed.

“Was any of that true?” Hank asked when Amelia was gone.

“What, the fashionable bits?” Nicky looped his arm more firmly around Hank's as they continued their trip around the periphery of the ballroom. “Quite a bit of it was, in fact. Claude did apprentice at Maison Worth before moving to the States.”

“And the women here would have never encountered Claude because he has a . . . different clientele, I imagine.”

“Yes. And he indulges me. I do so love fine fabric, and he can get some from Europe at competitive prices. I really did spend hours examining the fashion plates my mother liked. She was a seamstress. Mostly she made simple dresses and crinolines at home and sold them to the dressmakers uptown. She spent what little money she had to spare on pictures of fine gowns. She taught me a bit about how to sew as well. When I was young, I thought it was quite the injustice that men could not wear fine gowns.”

“This is a problem you have handily solved.”

“Yes. Perhaps not in a way in which my mother would have approved, God rest her soul.”

“Yet now you look like you belong in this ballroom. Far more than I do.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“You are beautiful, you know. I wish I had a way to express how much. I'd love to buy you that necklace, but I fear it is far too expensive for me.”

“It's all right. That you don't seem to find me ridiculous means far more to me.”

“You aren't ridiculous.”

Nicky smiled. “Speaking of things that
are
ridiculous, that statue over there is.” He gestured toward a marble statue of a mostly nude woman with a sheet draped around her waist but somehow not her breasts. There was something not quite right about her face.

“Failure of the artist, or did he just have an unattractive model?” Hank asked.

“Maybe it's modern. There's probably a deeper meaning in making Venus ugly or something.”

“Could be.”

They reached the edge of the dance floor, where finely-dressed couples rotated around the floor in the motions of the waltz. “Can you dance?” asked Hank.

“Can you? I would not have guessed.”

“Amelia and I grew up together. Our mothers were great friends. Both hoped we would rise up to another level of society. So we were taught manners and societal graces as children.” Hank sighed as he scanned the ballroom. He recognized only a few faces, but mostly it was a blinding spectacle of brightly-colored gowns and sparkling diamonds. “I think our mothers expected us to marry each other. But I could not, and then Amelia met Jonathan Cooper. Her mother was so thrilled.”

“The moral of this story is that you learned to dance.”

“Yes. Shall I show you? Can you follow?”

“Of course, love. I am a professional dancer.”

Hank took Nicky's hand and led him to the floor. He lifted his arms and Nicky stepped into them, completing the circle of the dance frame. So Hank led Nicky and tried not to feel too overwhelmed by the fact that, for the first time in his entire life, he was dancing with someone for whom he had romantic feelings in public view. Not only was it public, but half of New York high society was here.