Chapter 12 Fine Gems #2
and again, like clockwork automatons, but it never lasts. Too small a society to hold on to grievances. That’s why it’s so
refreshing to have you and Miss Ritter brightening our drawing rooms.”
His finger plays on her bare forearm, his eyes dancing up to hers teasingly.
Alice is unsure how she is going to stomach this meal. All twelve courses of it.
The menu is written in French. Alice wonders how much of it Cora can now read. She’s caught her in conversation with Béatrice from time to time, in their apartment, working on her fluency beyond the limits of her earlier tutelage. A hungry mind.
And a hungry stomach too, by the looks of it. Cora nearly inhales her first course of oysters, but she slows down for the
consommé printanier, careful not to slosh any drops onto that dress of hers. They’ll need to sell it on in good condition,
after all.
By the time the blue trout and lobster rissoles arrive and Cora reaches for the correct fork and knife for each, Alice realizes
she can safely turn her attention away from her protégée and onto the rest of the table . . .
Like Harry Peyton, hanging off Cora’s every soft-spoken word, his own lips parted as if in expectation of a kiss. Mrs. Ogden
glaring in Cora’s direction between bites, clearly affronted by her tablemate’s preference for the younger, prettier conversationalist.
Mrs. Vandemeer also staring across the table at Cora—though not at her face, exactly. She appears to be hypnotically transfixed
by the gem hanging about Cora’s neck. Perhaps it looks all the more sparkly through Mrs. Vandemeer’s chemically altered gaze.
Alice smiles. Cuts another bite of her terrapin steak. Ogden, thank goodness, has taken enough of an interest in his meal
to stop attempting to murmur into her ear, so she dares glance past him at Arabella, who of all the assemblage looks outright
miserable. She turns her narrow-set eyes from a downcast position fixed on her plate up to Ogden from time to time, either
hoping or fearing that he’ll engage her in conversation, then, rather more desperately, across the table to where Harry sits
leaning ever closer to Cora.
Her mother has taken note of it as well, Alice can see.
Mrs. Ames clears her throat loudly enough to cut through the clatter of silver and chitchat, then turns to Alice with an overbright smile.
“I must say, we’re all desperate to hear what news you’ve received of home, Duchess. Although I confess . . .” She dabs her
lips with her napkins as if playfully locking a secret inside. “From what your brother has written, it seems Württemberg will
see political changes within the year . . . Your brother on the throne, God willing . . . and perhaps a royal wedding to follow?”
“Mother!” Arabella’s shout silences the table. She looks a little startled herself when all eyes turn to her. A miniature
lobster has tumbled from her plate with the force of her jolt. “You’re reading my letters? They’re personal.”
She stares down at her lap, her face bright pink. Across the table, Harry’s brow furrows with concern.
“A mother needs to know,” Mrs. Ames soldiers on. “I promise your secrets will be entirely your own once you’re in charge of
your own home. Or castle, as the case may be.”
She sips her claret, smug as a cat, eyes darting around the table for everyone’s reactions. If she’s expecting envy, it’s
cut off quickly by Mr. Ames’s sudden sniff.
“What is the situation in Württemberg?” he pipes up. Alice starts with a slight jolt, realizing this may very well be the first time
she’s ever heard the man speak. His voice is surprisingly high, even for a man of his diminutive size. “I need to know I’m
not sending my daughter into an impending war zone. No child of mine is going to go traveling around the world begging for
guest rooms as some princess in exile.”
A gasp goes around the table on Alice’s behalf. Ogden puts a hand to her wrist and starts to rise, as if preparing to engage in fisticuffs in her honor right here at the table, but Alice preempts him with a sad smile.
“You are a kind father, and a thoughtful one,” she says to the rattish Mr. Ames. “It is a lonely life, being uprooted from
one’s home. But thankfully, what Mrs. Ames said is correct. My brother, the grand prince, has told me the tide is turning
for the nationalists. The last harvest has been disastrous, and King Charles spends most of his time on holiday in Nice rather
than with his people. An envoy has been dispatched to discuss the terms of his giving up the crown.”
“Abdication,” Mr. Ames says, as if informing her of the word.
She nods. “Indeed.”
“Well, that right there is news to be celebrated,” Ward crows, standing up himself, wine lifted high. “To the people of Württemberg
and their freedom to come!”
“Hear, hear!” resounds around the table.
Ogden awkwardly sits. “Once the resistance has proven successful, you can finally turn your mind to yourself. No need to be
a saint any longer.”
He keeps his voice dry and neutral, but the expression in his dark eyes, barely visible through his thick, falling dark hair,
broadcasts his meaning plainly enough.
For goodness’ sake, the man is shameless.
“I’m afraid Württemberg will have more need of me than ever before,” Alice says.
“How so, Your Grace?” Ward strokes his pointed beard.
“In the service of commerce,” Alice says, and she swears that all the men at the table lean forward slightly at the word.
Apart from Harry, anyway. “One thing these past years have highlighted is how passive we have been, allowing Berlin to make decisions for our people in Württemberg. We see what those decisions led to—Austrians and Hungarians marching in and plundering our emeralds, harassing our peasants, trampling our fields, as if our proud land is but a clearinghouse for the spoils of their treaty. With my brother as king, it will be a different matter. We can set the terms of trade once again, including, of course, our principal export.”
She nods to Cora. Everyone turns to look.
Cora blinks. Utterly blank. Alice glares downward at her bosom.
“Oh! Yes!” Cora startles, then fiddles rather inelegantly with the gemstone. “Silly me, yes, this is our, ah, principal export.
Württembergian emeralds. I have so many at home, you see, dozens and dozens, that I didn’t . . . know to what you were referring.”
“You’re wearing one tonight?” Harry asks, courteously avoiding looking down at it. “An emerald from—”
“From home, yes.” Cora sips her wine, dipping her chin as if shy and not entirely caught off guard, but Alice knows better.
“And you say you have . . . dozens and dozens of similar jewels back home?” Mr. Vandemeer asks, a keen light sparking in his
eye.
“There is a folk saying among our people,” Alice chimes in, her eyes dancing. “‘When the well runs dry, dig another and look
for green.’ It is not so common as all that, but ?tis true that there are real accounts of peasants finding a very pleasant
surprise as they’ve turned over their gardens. The vast majority of our emeralds are in the royal mines, the property of my
family and Cora’s.”
“Must be nice,” Mimi says with a sniff. “Being an emerald heiress instead of dirty old railroads. Can’t wear a train car around my neck, now can I?”
Mr. Vandemeer’s eyes go electric. “I’ll buy it.”
Alice’s head whips to him in surprise.
“The necklace,” he barrels on. “I’ll bet my boot that’s the first genuine Württembergian emerald in New York City. Name your
price. I’ll get it for you, Mimi darling.”
Harry’s mouth has opened as if ready to protest, as Mimi’s own eyes sharpen viciously on Cora.
“Sounds like a good plan to me, Daddy,” she says. “Seeing as you have dozens and dozens back at home, Miss Ritter.”
Alice turns to Olivia Vandemeer for her reaction—an objection, surely—but the woman sits as placidly still as an oil painting,
either entirely uncaring or simply oblivious.
There may have been a moment when Alice thought her the more likable party within her family, trapped within these walls with
these poisonous people through no fault of her own. That may well be the case, but her medicinally aided apathy is a poison
all its own.
If Alice felt any qualms about ruining her along with the rest of them, they evaporate here and now.
“You cannot buy it,” Alice answers.
Mr. Vandemeer’s chest puffs up. “Now see here—”
“Because it will be our gift,” Alice continues. The table goes quiet. “You have been so kind to us, welcoming us tonight into
the warmth of your friendship. It is more of a comfort than you could possibly know.”
“The bonds of friendship are powerful indeed,” Mrs. Ames pipes up. “Almost as powerful as the bonds of family.”
Dessert is served. Not a moment too soon.
It’s over coffee that Mr. Ogden turns his forceful attentions back to Alice. “You wear no jewels, I see.”
“It is different for the young, like dear Cora.” Alice sighs. “They need hope, while I am cursed to fret.”
“Not forever, surely,” Ogden breathes. “You deserve to be draped in emeralds and diamonds and silks and anything else you
choose. I can imagine it. The pleasure it would bring you.”
Across the table, Alice sees a muscle in Mrs. Ogden’s jaw twitching, fury and humiliation swirling in her seething glare.
Alice forces herself to look away and meet Ogden’s eyes instead over the brim of her steaming coffee cup. “Perhaps one day
you will see that, my friend. Now that change is on the horizon.”
He leans back, satisfied.
Alice glances about the table, sure now that she’ll see some sort of reaction from the others at this flagrant escalation
of Ogden’s flirtation, but the Ameses and Vandemeers alike have turned their attention to their wine, continuing to chat with
their neighbors as if nothing is amiss.
Almost like they’ve seen this exact scenario play out several times before and have grown entirely bored of the sight.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Vandemeer crows at last. “Shall we retire to the study? I’ve just had a delivery of brand-new Cohibas, the
first of their brand in the city, best out of Cuba. You’ve never tasted the like.”
Harry looks reluctant to leave Cora’s side. He bows to her before turning to take leave of the ladies, who are all now standing
to follow Mrs. Vandemeer into the parlor.
Out in the hall, Alice feels a hand grip her wrist roughly, pulling her back from the gathering.
Cora glances back from beside Arabella. Alice shakes her head slightly: Go ahead.
She turns to see Mrs. Ogden still gripping her arm.
“I know what you’re doing,” the woman hisses, her shoulders drawing in like a witch in a fairy story. “You think you’ll get
your claws into him, don’t you?”
“Into whom?” Alice widens her eyes in bewilderment.
“My husband. You . . . you . . .” Her mouth forms a circle. Daring herself to say the word: “Whore.”
Alice dips at the knees, looking Mrs. Ogden in the eye.
“Shh,” she whispers. “You’re humiliating yourself. For no reason. None at all.”
“I’m not the one making a show of mys—”
“You are,” Alice says, glancing at the quickly filling parlor. “My darling friend, you are. I’ve suffered great hardship of late,
and I think I see the same in you. It hasn’t been easy, your life, has it, Priscilla?”
Mrs. Ogden looks stunned by her sympathy. “I . . . N-no. It hasn’t. None of them. No one understands. I don’t have children
to parade around. I don’t—”
“Neither do I,” Alice murmurs. “I understand. I would like to be your friend, if you’ll let me.”
Mrs. Ogden pauses as if paralyzed. Then she nods.
But as they progress into the parlor again, she grabs Alice once more, this time to whisper, “I was very beautiful once, you
know. More beautiful than you.”
Alice smiles warmly. “And you still are.”
As Mrs. Ogden glides to chat with Mrs. Ames, mollified, Alice sits, hiding the shaking in her hands by tucking them beneath
her skirts.
It feels an eternity before the party officially breaks up, everyone taking their leave in staggered clusters in the grand foyer.
Ward pats a few of the men on the back, grinning as he approaches Alice.
“Did he ask?” she whispers.
“Before the door was even shut, don’t you know,” Ward murmurs back. “Wanted to know all about those emerald mines. I told
him they were privately held, and that no matter how much I try to convince you to open the family company up to foreign investors,
you’ve remained firm. He reckons he can change your mind.”
As Mrs. Vandemeer approaches, heavy-lidded as she bids good night to a somewhat queasy-looking Harry—unaccustomed to Cuban
cigars, no doubt—Alice turns to Cora. “Ah! I nearly forgot.”
She reaches around Cora’s swan neck to unclasp the necklace. She lets it pool in her hands before passing it to a vacant-looking
Mrs. Vandemeer, Mimi standing by with a smirk triumphant enough for the both of them.
“Good night, and as always, my sincerest thanks,” Alice says. She catches the look on Harry’s face as she turns away. Positively
stricken.
On the steps, he jogs to catch up to Cora and whisper in her ear before helping both her and Alice into their coach and bidding
them good night with a tip of his hat.
“What did he say?” Alice asks once the carriage sets off.
“That Miss Vandemeer requires the, ah, ornament, whereas I do not.” Cora looks uncommonly pensive. “He asked to call on me. I suggested a walk in the park.”
“Good,” Alice says.
“The necklace,” Cora asks hesitantly. “Was giving it to them part of the plan?”
“No,” Alice admits after a leaden pause. “I’d meant to offer it as a sample to be evaluated and then returned to us, but after
your boast of having so many jewels lying about, I was forced to improvise. We cannot let it show that this is the only stone
we can afford. The one creates the illusion of many. Trouble is, we do not, in actuality, have the funds to purchase ‘the
many.’”
“So what are we going to do now?” A moment of silence passes, then Cora huffs. “I can hear the wheels turning in your brain.
You don’t have to do this in silence, you know. I might be able to contribute to the strategy if you’d only allow me a glimpse
of it.”
Alice still doesn’t answer. Weariness has settled over her like an illness.
Funny. Improvisations aside, she’d expected to feel exhilaration at a moment like this. A pond full of fish, all of them readily
taking the bait. But she feels nibbled away every moment she spends in their company. These parasites. These frauds.
Only a matter of months now, she reminds herself as she makes her way out of the carriage ahead of a still clearly frustrated Cora, past a quietly inquisitive
Béa waiting at the door, and straight up to the blessed solitude of her own bed. Weeks, really. And once it’s all done . . .
Alice finds she can’t quite finish the thought.
For all her planning, all she can envision is a massive void.