Chapter 11
Caroline found it hard to be in the same room with a man who could deceive his own nephew and business partner. Thomas deserved
so much better; he was a good man, so decent that he’d shown no anger when she told him over breakfast that Mason didn’t own
Lennox Manor.
“It’s all right, dearest,” he said, “I’m sure Uncle Mason knows it was only a matter of time before we learned the truth.”
“But Thomas, you can’t continue to—” she protested, but he put a finger to her lips.
“It will be all right,” he repeated. Holding back a sigh, she stood up and squeezed half a lemon into a cup of hot water and
handed it to him. Good for the liver, Thomas believed. He downed it in two quick gulps. “Do you like your motorcar? The driver?”
He was changing the subject on her. “Yes, the Adler coupé is very nice,” she said, “and although my driver doesn’t speak much
English, Lisan says he understands more than he speaks.”
“That sounds like Mason coming down the stairs,” he said. “We’re off, then. Who is coming to luncheon today? Mrs. Easton,
I think you said.”
“Mrs. Easton and Mrs. Franks,” Caroline said, making a face and following him out to the foyer.
“They want me to join the board of a women’s club they’re founding.
They practically pounced on me a few days ago when I ran into them at the jewelers’.
Thank goodness Lisan rescued me by pretending we were late to another appointment. ”
“Good morning, my dear,” Mason said. “Thomas, ready to go? By the way, Caroline, how is your secretary? English good enough?”
“Excellent English,” Caroline said, smiling as pleasantly as she could. “In fact, she’s far too qualified to be just a social
secretary. She’s helping me train the staff, so if there’s anything you’d like them to do differently or better, Uncle Mason,
please let me know.”
“No need, no need, I’m happy with whatever you think best,” Mason said. “It’s been a while since a lady took charge of the
house. I leave its running in your care. Any changes you make will all be to the better, I’m sure.”
Thomas kissed her. “Good luck with your ladies’ lunch. I wouldn’t care to spend that much time with Mrs. Easton.”
Upstairs in the small parlor, Lisan was waiting for her to start their day.
“First, help me dress,” Caroline said. “Those women are coming for lunch so I have to make an effort.”
Lisan buttoned Caroline into a day dress of pale yellow silk, its skirt draped in translucent chiffon hemmed with embroidered
roses. Caroline thrust both arms straight out to make it easier for Lisan to adjust the falls of lace at the sleeves. For
earrings, she chose something simple, pear-shaped drops of yellow topaz dangling from small, diamond-studded medallions.
Then they went to the small parlor, where Caroline rang for Chin. Together the three reviewed arrangements for tomorrow’s
party, as though Caroline hadn’t already been through the details several times already.
“You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Stanton,” Lisan said, after the head servant left them. “Chin is extremely reliable and the house servants are very excited. They’ll do their utmost for the honor of Lennox Manor.”
“Of course you’re right,” she agreed. “Actually I’m rather more concerned about getting through this lunch. Two of them and
only one of me.” She gave Lisan a rueful smile. “Let’s try and enjoy the next few minutes before our guests come. The latest
issue of Vogue magazine should keep my mind off things for a while.”
“I don’t know if you have a few minutes,” Lisan said, standing up. “Someone’s coming.”
Caroline joined Lisan at the window in time to see the gates of Lennox Manor open to admit a gleaming automobile. Mrs. Easton
and Mrs. Franks were starting an American Ladies Club and assumed that Caroline would want to be one of its founding members.
“If all they wanted was money, it would be fine,” Caroline said, “but they want me to participate. And now I’ll spend most of luncheon fending off their attempts to include me. Mrs. Easton reminds me so much of Mrs. Dominic.”
“Mrs. Dominic. You mean your guardian?” Lisan said.
“Yes, determined to have her way,” Caroline said, “with the goal of climbing to the top of New York society. Nothing and no
one else mattered. I’m speaking ill of the dead, which one shouldn’t do, but I was dreadfully unhappy in New York because
of her. Well, I should go down to greet my guests.”
“I’m sure the lovely lunch will distract them,” Lisan said.
Caroline knew the meal would be excellent. There was grapefruit, followed by a clear consommé. Chicken timbales with mushroom
sauce, slices of beef fillet with a Spanish sauce, croquette potatoes, a salad with French dressing. Olives, pickles, cheese
balls, and brown bread on the side. A dessert tray of fruit parfait and individual angel food cakes. Bonbons and meringues
to go with coffee.
Everything for this lunch was ready, except for her.
“I’m rather hoping the meal will put them in a stupor that forces them to go home and take a nap,” Caroline said, sighing.
“You’ll have a better time than I will, eating lunch in the kitchen. But please wait in the parlor once you’ve finished your
lunch. I may need you.”
Lunch felt interminable. Mrs. Easton now considered herself Caroline’s closest friend and mentor; her questions were relentless,
direct, and unapologetic, as though she were entitled to know everything about Caroline’s life. Caroline chose her words carefully
to give away as little as possible about Thomas’s plans for the railway venture, her own life, and what Mason Burnett was
like.
Finally, Mrs. Easton poured herself a second cup of coffee, signaling her readiness to leave the table. Caroline motioned
the Number Four Boy to follow them into the drawing room with the tray of bonbons.
“A spacious house, Caroline,” Mrs. Easton said, settling herself into an armchair. “I hope we can hold some committee meetings
here in the future.”
“But don’t even think about it until after your party,” Mrs. Franks quickly added. “Don’t worry about anything until after
that. You must have so many preparations.”
“No one will ever call it your ‘coming out’ party, my dear,” Mrs. Easton said, taking another bonbon from the tray, “but you
do realize how important it is to make a good first impression as a hostess. Given your husband’s status, your party will
be much discussed in society afterward. I hope I’m not being too direct, but you’re so new to Shanghai.”
Mrs. Easton’s opinions, bluntly delivered over the past hour, made it clear that Mrs. Easton considered herself the leading
lady of Shanghai’s American community.
“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you,” Caroline said. She turned to Mrs. Franks. “Will you take more coffee?”
“I wish you’d consulted me about this party, dear Caroline,” Mrs. Easton continued, not changing the subject, “but I understand,
you’re far too polite and didn’t want to presume upon my friendship. But from now on, you must let me advise you. Food, drink,
decorations, who to invite, what to wear, and so on.”
“Well, for tomorrow everything is arranged, Mrs. Easton,” Caroline said. “Thomas has some very definite ideas, even down to
my dress.” Her smile remained bright as she dropped a spoonful of sugar into her coffee.
“Do feel free to call on us for advice about managing your staff,” Mrs. Franks said. “Those Chinese can be so deliberately
obtuse.”
“Mm-hmm,” Caroline said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Actually, my servants have been nothing but excellent.”
“Good to hear, good to hear.” Mrs. Easton didn’t seem at all convinced. She leaned forward with a predatory gleam in her eyes.
“You know, don’t you, that this house has a reputation? You may have trouble keeping staff once they know.”
“Yes, I heard about Charles.” Caroline smiled sweetly. Thank goodness Lisan had warned her. “I’m aware that people think this
house is haunted. But I don’t know all the details. After all, it’s a sad topic for Uncle Mason, so I never bring it up.”
“I’ve met them—well, we all did one time or another,” Mrs. Franks said. “Young Charles Burnett and Rosalie Roussel. That was
before they married, of course. When she was just his . . . companion.”
“She was a musician of some sort, wasn’t she?” Caroline said, putting on her best schoolgirl face. “I seem to recall something
like that.”
“A singer,” Mrs. Easton said, sniffing, “or she thought of herself as one. She was part French or Italian from her mother’s side and took her mother’s maiden name for the stage.
She trained in opera. Or at least she had taken voice lessons.
She was a beauty, I’ll admit. It wasn’t her voice but her looks that caught Charles Burnett’s attention. ”
“He doted on her,” Mrs. Franks said, “even paid one of the touring opera companies to put her onstage when they performed
in Shanghai. By all accounts, she did well enough, for an amateur.”
“I was at that concert.” Mrs. Easton sniffed again. “Her voice was rather nasal and thin, that Oriental quality of singing,
you know.”
“Well, Mason was appalled when the dalliance turned serious,” Mrs. Franks said, “then Charles married the girl without telling
his father or his friends. Mason cut him off and set him adrift without financial support, hoping he’d come to his senses
and divorce Rosalie.
“She was marginally acceptable as his mistress.” Mrs. Franks said the word mistress in hushed tones. “But marrying a mixed-race girl—well, you can imagine. And Charles had a gambling habit, his ultimate undoing.”
Desperate for money, he made risky business decisions until finally he had to put Lennox Manor on the market. The house was
already mortgaged to the point where he could no longer hold on to it. Friends stopped visiting, discouraged by his bad temper
as much as his constant pleas for loans.
And then Rosalie vanished. The prevailing theory was that she’d been a gold digger and wanted nothing more to do with Charles