Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Ican imagine you had a time finagling this evening,” Zachary said, holding out her chair in the Spencers’ opera box.
God, she was lovely. From the top of her buttery blonde hair to the delicate curve of her cheekbones to the tips of her soft leather slippers, she was sophisticated and respectable.
Careful Zachary. Don’t fall off a cliff.
“I informed Father of my gambling debt to you and that the Spencers always paid their debts.”
“That’s all?”
Her face was framed by an inviting dimple that enchanted him.
“Mother raged. My punishment is to be saddled with my sister and her husband, Roderick, as our chaperones. They are visiting the Vanderbilts across from us.” She nodded, explaining their absence.
“At least for now, we have some free time to talk. What is your opinion of the ostentatious spectacle of New York’s “upper tens” in their boxes? ”
Zachary looked over the layers of private viewing balconies that held the most prominent and financially successful families, and then glanced at the crowded seats below. “Just like the Indians, chiefly elites, commoners, slaves or war captives,” he said. “What’s more important is your assessment.”
Her gaze settled briefly on him before flitting away to the curtained stage.
The entire situation became even more peculiar as she seemed to be at a loss for words.
The intelligent, educated woman stunned speechless?
He could get accustomed to using inquiries to fluster her and liked even the better the apple-red that rose to her cheeks.
“What is the opera about?”
She fluttered her gloved fingers and straightened into a most erudite pose.
With an undercurrent of ostentatious aloofness imbued in her voice, she sermonized.
“Faust is an old scholar spending his life on books until the devil convinces him to sell his soul for youth in order to gain the affections of a village girl.”
That aloofness more than her blush or anything else exposed how he affected her far more than she wanted to acknowledge.
The idea satisfied him enormously, though he didn’t really know why.
So, what if there was a shared attraction between them?
It couldn’t lead to anything. She was scarcely going to indulge him in a private assignation.
In the back of his mind, she had already been abused by someone and deserved the best that life could offer her. Not him.
Zachary could understand Faust selling his soul for a girl.
Elizabeth Spencer was a rare diamond. He could fall for her, but that was not his destiny.
Neither did he desire to cause a ruckus with her father and his financing.
What’s more, he’d learned the hard way from prior experience.
Put the brakes on, Zach. You don’t want to go down that rabbit hole.
“How did you arrange to work at the orphanage? I can guess the matter was no easy feat.”
“I attended the Academy of Mount St. Vincent and manipulated my initial interview with Mother Superior. My father did not know that part of the curriculum included students to attend the poor. I declared I’d volunteer to attend the needs of the children at Fitzgerald Orphanage.
My father choked and informed Mother Superior that his daughter would not move about with the common masses. ”
Elizabeth paused for a moment before continuing. “But Mother Superior’s voice had rang more effective than any command or sword and cut my father down before he could utter another word.”
She looked Zachary over. “Every human being has dignity and worth,” Elizabeth pontificated, in a flawless intonation that mimicked Mother Superior’s authoritative and no-nonsense voice.
“Your daughter’s wishes are admirable. True charity is never an act of condescension.
It is always an act of love between equals.
The Fitzgerald Orphanage is a few miles from our college.
Your daughter may use our coach as transport to volunteer. ”
Zachary chuckled. “I applaud your shrewd tactics, Miss Spencer. You are a survivor.”
Louise and Roderick Hawkes entered the box.
Her sister barely nodded. Resentment flashed across her face, her aqueous blue eyes watchfully round, bugged out from sallow, bumpy skin.
Her head was long, the forehead high and bony.
Her hair was crisp mouse black with a smattering of premature graying.
Below her perpetual scowl, her face was small, converging to a point.
Her extraordinarily insensitive mouth snarled briefly, flickeringly, inwardly–like a streak of light on a razor.
Elizabeth’s brother-in-law was a tall, shriveled person, with bad teeth and a nauseating air, a tidy beard hopelessly layered in incongruous grays, and savage eyes, narrowed to slits. His voice came raspy and his tone mocking. When Elizabeth attempted introductions, he interrupted.
“I know who he is. How is it a cowboy wants to see an opera? Out of railroad ties to spike?”
“I can imagine the best form of entertainment you’ve experienced, Mr. Rourke, is a whiskey-soaked saloon.” Louise smirked as her husband seated her, and then fished through her reticule. “Oh, no. Oh, God. I forgot my binoculars. I couldn’t possibly be so stupid.”
Zachary leaned over and whispered to Elizabeth. “She shouldn’t limit herself. She can be anything she wishes.”
Elizabeth pressed a finger on her mouth to hide her mirth. Her sister catapulted from her seat.
“Elizabeth, where are my binoculars? Tell me, and don’t tell me a story. Speak to me.” Louise stamped her foot, making a scene.
“I can’t speak well enough to be unintelligible,” Elizabeth said beneath her breath. Then to cull her sister’s behavior, she dug into her reticule and handed over her binoculars. “You can use mine.”
Zachary groaned. The insult rolled over Louise’s head.
“I get the feeling you are hiding something,” said Louise.
How did the younger sister’s face compress, even collapse with wrinkles, yet remain impassive as a China statuette’s every time the sluggish music turned her around?
Elizabeth was the clear beauty in the family.
Elizabeth said nothing. Tension tightened in her delicate features.
“I don’t understand your silence,” her sister demanded.
Elizabeth leaned over to Zachary, murmuring, her tantalizing lavender fragrance entwining him. “Never mistake my silence for weakness. Nobody plans a murder out loud.”
“What did you say?” Louise huffed.
“I asked Mr. Rourke to share a bit about his friends.”
Smart girl. Great recovery. Elizabeth’s face relaxed and he rather enjoyed the slight curve that rose to her lips.
In the box adjacent to them, an elderly woman leaned over so much he thought she’d topple out. “To my estimation, if she cranes her neck anymore, her head will pop off.”
Elizabeth peered around him. “Oh, dear. That is Mrs. Merriweather. She was at our dinner party the night you were in attendance. Her husband died last year, and she has no children.”
He remembered her. Other than Elizabeth, she was the only one present that possessed a heart. “Mrs. Merriweather,” he called as he waved his hand over the Spencer box. “Why don’t you join us? There are plenty of seats.”
The old woman blushed. As predicted, she made a beeline to their box.
Zachary seated her. “We are honored and charmed to have you.”
Did the old woman titter? He guessed she was lonely.
“Please tell us about your friends, she said. “I’m most interested.”
Mrs. Merriweather, a woman in her early fifties with a soft and glittering manner flashed him a brilliant smile.
She must have been a real beauty in her youth, no doubt to attract a steel baron, yet retained a sprightly elegance.
Her hair was white and of a metallic luster.
Her nose straight, and a pink and white complexion yielded twinkling blue eyes that held mischief.
Elizabeth prompted him. “Start with your Chinese friend. He seems so indifferent.”
“I hardly think it is an appropriate subject to discuss the lower masses.” Louise’s cruel lips drew flat over her teeth, and the glance she tossed over her shoulder waged a war between haughty and dismissive. Would the impassive statuette fall off her perch when the music stopped?
Mrs. Merriweather drew herself up. “The conversation is appropriate. On your part, Louise, you might consider silence to be golden.” To Zachary and Elizabeth, Mrs. Merriweather whispered loudly, “A gag would be silver.”
Zachary chuckled. “What a breath of fresh air you are, Mrs. Merriweather. I will tell you about my friend, Chen. He trained for years as a Shaolin monk.”
“He’s a monk?” Mrs. Merriweather was all agog.
“Orphaned, Chen lived in a temple since the age of four, existing under stringent conditions. Trained seven days a week from five in the morning to six at night in martial arts, mostly Kung fu. He has taught me many skills. He is also a master at Chinese medicine. He follows strict commitments to abstain from killing living beings, stealing, sexual misconduct, lying and intoxication.”
“He is frugal with his words,” said Elizabeth.
Zachary angled his head. “It’s called noble silence, a way to quiet the mind to be mindful of the words spoken.”
“I’m intrigued,” said the elderly woman. “As a monk, he is celibate?”
“From what I understand, it is part of his oath. He will never marry.”
“How did you become friends with Mr. Chen and Mr. O’Reilly?” Elizabeth asked.
She referred to an unlikely trio. “When working on the railroad we had to blast our way through a big mountain.
The charge detonated prematurely. An explosion rent the air as if its intent were to shatter the universe, and precipitated a horrific cave-in.
Several men were trapped. The railroad director said it was too risky to save them, and to forget about them because they were Chinese and could be replaced.