Chapter 15 A Bit of Misdirection
A Bit of Misdirection
“I’d expected Mrs. Vandemeer to join us.” Alice smiles vaguely, affecting the bewildered dignity that has served her so well
in the past several months.
“She’s . . . indisposed today, I’m afraid,” Mr. Vandemeer says, rather awkwardly motioning her into the study. “Besides, she
finds matters of business dull. Doesn’t have a mind like yours, Duchess. Please, sit.”
She thinks for a moment that Mr. Vandemeer is going to take the seat behind his desk in his study, as if directing a message
to subordinates in his railroad business. He pauses, however, perhaps noting the expression on Ward McAllister’s face, and
appears to rethink it, doubling back to claim a studded leather armchair, which he drags closer to the chairs he’s just offered
his guests.
It makes a grating sound against the floorboards, dragging the Persian rug along with it, no doubt damaging both. The man
doesn’t care, Alice realizes. He’ll simply replace them.
“What sort of business did you want to discuss, Mr. Vandemeer?” Alice asks, accepting the coffee the footman brings her with
a cool nod. “I can certainly make introductions, if it’s a trade agreement you have in mind.”
“Of a sort,” he says. “Listen, I won’t waste your time beating around the bush. That necklace you gave my Mimi? I had it evaluated.”
She raises her eyebrows as if amused. “Did you?”
“He’s a fellow who dots his i’s and crosses his t’s, don’t you know.” Ward chuckles.
Mr. Vandemeer leans on his knees. “My man called that emerald ‘eye-clean,’ one of the clearest, highest-quality emeralds he’d
ever inspected. He was very interested to hear about these mines in Württemberg. Said that stone was as green as a Colombian
emerald.”
Given that it really did come from Colombia, by way of the Financial District, Alice is far from surprised, which adds to
the effect as she shrugs politely.
Vandemeer’s eyes widen. He sits back. “Fellow wanted to invest in those mines himself.”
“Oh dear.” Alice laughs. “I’m not sure what Mr. McAllister has told you, but I’m afraid the Württemberg mines are far from
an investment opportunity. They’ve been in my family for ten generations, perhaps more. We will happily export them again
once our political unrest has ended, but as to—”
“I’ve heard as much from Ward, yes,” Vandermeer says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But we both know the real money’s
in ownership.”
“It is not merely a matter of money, Mr. Vandemeer.” Alice shuffles in her chair.
She turns to Ward, as if for help.
He winces, hands spread wide. “As you say, Your Grace, but may I gently argue that it’s also a matter of . . . friendship?”
She goes still, ceding the floor to McAllister.
“You’ve come to our shores in search of allies,” he says, his voice taking on the cadence of a politician giving a stump speech.
“And you’ve found them. A group of friends so moved by the plight of your fine people that they’ve opened up their pocketbooks and granted you their help.
With nothing asked in exchange, mind you. ”
Alice frowns. “For which I am very grateful.”
“What I’m sayin’ is that now is the time to strengthen those alliances, so nothing like this ever happens again to your proud
nation,” Ward declares.
“You’re suggesting I open up what has been a privately held mining company from time immemorial to anyone who wants to invest?”
Alice sputters. “I-I couldn’t—”
“Not to anyone,” Vandemeer cuts in. “That’s the last thing we’re suggesting. Don’t want the hoi polloi getting their dirty
hands into this, no, far from it. An extremely select few. Even just me, if you like. And, ah, Mr. McAllister here, I suppose.”
McAllister nods in thanks, valiantly ignoring the poorly disguised look of dislike on Vandemeer’s face. “You’d be one of the
primary foreign investors, Vandemeer. Perhaps the very first. If I myself can scrape together enough for a share, it would be paltry, a mere token of my affection for the people
of Württemberg.”
Alice stands up, affronted. “Gentlemen, you are letting this idea run loose. As I have said, our mines have been in the family
for—”
“I’ll give you a million,” Vandemeer blurts. “Write you a check today. Ward here knows I’m good for it.”
A million.
Alice’s awed reaction is a real one. That’s a sizable chunk of the man’s net worth to throw out in afternoon conversation.
But it’s too soon. And only a small fraction of what she’s after.
“Mr. Vandemeer, Mr. McAllister,” she says quietly. “You have given me much to ponder. But if you want an answer today, then I am afraid my answer is no. I’ll bid you good day now.”
As she leaves in a feigned huff, seen out to the foyer by the maid, she passes Mimi, who’s positioned herself in a carefully
conspicuous spot in the conservatory. In the little chit’s hands is the emerald necklace, which she dangles this way and that,
casting refractions of green upon her hands.
“Lovely little plaything,” Mimi drawls lazily. “Thanks again, Your Grace.”
It takes all of Alice’s composure not to snatch the necklace out of Mimi’s hands. The maid brings her coat just in time. She
smiles at Mimi and carries on outside.
Ward trots out, close on her heels, buttoning himself hastily into his own winter garb. “You played that one rather severely.
Thought for a moment you’d decided to call the whole thing off.”
“Far from it,” Alice says, accepting his hand up into his waiting carriage. “People like Vandemeer need to hear the word no in order to insist upon a yes. It must feel like his idea. Better yet, his secret.”
“It’s everybody’s secret,” Ward chuffs. “I’ve heard from Ames and Ogden. Even Iris Witt’s gotten a whiff of it now.”
“Good,” Alice says. “I’ll have to arrange a cornered moment for her to ask me about it at the ball.”
“What costume have you chosen, by the by?”
“A hoopoe,” Alice says. “A bird native to our country.”
“Ever the patriot.” Ward chuckles. “Thought you’d dress in emerald green, but perhaps that’s a little too on the nose. Would be like Mrs. Astor dressing as a Mystic Rose just because I gave her the nickname. Speakin’ of which . . .”
Alice had wondered how long it would take for the conversation to whip back around to Mrs. Astor.
“Caroline’s not too miffed that you missed her own ball, to my great relief,” he says. “Didn’t seem to mind one way or t’other.
She’s got me designing her costume today. Demeter, goddess of the harvest, don’t you know. She needs me on hand to keep the
seamstresses from going overboard with the sewn-on fruits.”
“You’re invaluable to her,” Alice notes.
“It’s what keeps me in fine suits.” Ward sighs.
“For now.” Alice pats his hand. He looks startled by the fond gesture. “You’ll be a man of independent means to rival the
best of them here in a matter of months.”
“If I deign to stay here,” Ward says, a mischievous light dancing in his eye.
Alice might be tempted to succumb to curiosity and pry into his plans, but they’ve already arrived outside her house.
After stepping out with the aid of the driver, she turns back. “I keep neglecting to inquire after Sarah.”
Alice has met her only twice, and briefly, but it seems polite to ask.
Ward looks genuinely perplexed.
She raises her eyebrows. “Your wife?”
“Oh! Her. Yes, she’s fine. Usual aches and pains and general malaise. Nothing life-threatening. Yet. Well, I’m off to the
Union Club. Might run into some of our mutual friends there, and will certainly keep you apprised of any developments.”
He tips his hat with a wry smile as the carriage pulls away. Of all of that, what Alice is left remembering is that “yet.”
An odd phrasing, sinister in the casual way he tossed it off.
She shakes her head to rid herself of unease as she mounts the steps to her front door. As slippery as she knows Ward to be, he has in word and action become a true ally to her. A rare thing, she knows too well.
Her mother had friends but not allies. Close companions. From childhood up until her husband’s death, at which point all but
one of them shut her out in the cold, shunning her completely. Mrs. Vandemeer was a new addition to their circle, a young
thing having only recently married into New York society, but that excuses her but little. She followed the flock in turning
her back. Alice doubts very much she ever spared a thought for her “dear friend” Mary from that moment on.
No. In her own addled way, Mrs. Vandemeer is every bit as bad as the rest of them.
As Béatrice takes her coat, Alice peers into her eyes. “They cannot keep the necklace. When this is done, they must be left
with nothing of worth. Nothing at all.”
Béa looks alarmed and then saddened, but she nods. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”