Chapter 2 #2
Relief lowered her shoulders. “I hadn’t even wondered until now, but that would have ruined everything.”
It was my turn to frown, but she continued.
“Where do you live?”
I wasn’t sure why I felt so embarrassed to admit the truth. I hadn’t chosen to live there. “Lower East Side, in Five Points.”
Her eyebrows darted up. Everyone knew about Five Points.
“Mr. Charles Dickens visited there,” she said. “He came to America in the ’40s and wrote about the squalor. Is it as bad as he claimed?”
How could I tell her about Five Points? It was only four miles from her home, but it could have been a world away. There was nothing that would ever cause a woman like Mrs. Hill to wander into Five Points. And I wasn’t sure who Mr. Charles Dickens was, so I didn’t know what he’d said about it.
“’Tis all I’ve ever known, ma’am,” I finally told her, wondering if I would get the job now that she knew the truth about me.
“You live there with your family?”
“Aye. My uncle and aunt and cousins.”
“And your parents?”
My parents? How did I tell her about them when I didn’t even know? Had my mother died in the gutter, like Aunt Orla claimed she would? Was my father a client of hers? Wealthy, poor, married, single? I had no idea.
“I’m not sure, ma’am,” I said, not able to meet her gaze. “Me mum sent me to America with me uncle and aunt for a better life.”
“And has it been a better life, Miss O’Day?” Mrs. Hill asked, her voice low, serious.
I looked up at her and saw curiosity in her gaze. Slowly, I shook my head. It hadn’t been a good life—though I didn’t have anything to compare it to.
“My father was a Scottish immigrant, and he lived a very difficult life as a fur trader,” she said.
“My mother and I didn’t see him for months out of the year.
” She looked around the room at the splendor and said, “I can’t imagine what he would think if he saw where I live now in a room first built in France and then reassembled here. ”
Why was she telling me this? I would never have guessed that she hadn’t been born into this lifestyle. She looked like she fit in perfectly—whereas I had never felt more out of place.
I was trying to get up the courage to ask her why she’d invited me to come when there was a light knock on the door.
“Come in,” Mrs. Hill said.
The door opened and I expected the maid with our tea—but my heart leapt into my throat when I saw Mr. Alexander Paxton-Hill standing there. My surprise brought me to my feet.
He was wearing a simple black suitcoat and white shirt with a green vest and black tie. He wore no hat today, and his dark, curly hair looked as if he’d run his hand through it a few times.
But it was his surprise—and maybe even his disappointment—that made my cheeks warm.
“Miss O’Day,” he said formally, without the teasing from last night. “I didn’t think you’d come.” He moved into the room to stand in front of the fireplace and address me. “Has she told you her harebrained idea yet?”
Frowning, I looked to Mrs. Hill.
“Have a seat, Miss O’Day,” Mr. Paxton-Hill said as he crossed his arms and looked at his aunt. “You’ll want to be sitting when you hear this.”
I slowly lowered myself to the chair and looked between them. Mr. Paxton-Hill did not look pleased, though Mrs. Hill appeared quite happy with herself.
“I want to adopt you, Miss O’Day,” she said with a wide smile. “And marry you off to an English duke.”
I stared at her, wondering if I had heard her incorrectly.
“What?” I managed to ask.
“My aunt is suffering from a malady that has attacked many of the nouveaux riches here in New York City,” Mr. Paxton-Hill said as he addressed me.
“The old set controls society, those who are in and those who are out. According to Mrs. Astor and Ward McCallister, if you have gained your wealth within the past two generations, then you are not fit for proper society. You are too new—too inexperienced and in poor taste. In short, you are out.”
Mrs. Hill lifted her chin and pursed her lips, looking toward the window. I could see years of frustration and discontent in her gaze.
Mr. Paxton-Hill continued. “So, the newly rich are fighting back. They built the Metropolitan Opera House, because Mrs. Astor and the other nobs would not allow them to have a box at the Academy of Music. The old set did not allow them into the Patriarch Balls, or the Assembly Balls, either.”
I listened quietly, having heard a little bit about how the Metropolitan Opera House had been built.
But the lives of these people did not affect my day-to-day living, and though I had been taught how to read by mission workers in Five Points, I had no access to newspapers.
Mrs. Hill’s existence was as foreign to me as mine would be to her.
I thought about all the people I knew, those who fought every day just to survive, and could not fathom what he was telling me.
“The only way to become someone,” Mrs. Hill interrupted, fire in her eyes, “is to rise in the ranks among them.”
I stared at her, wondering if she was teasing me. Did she really think this was a problem?
“Nine years ago,” Mrs. Hill continued, “Miss Jennie Jerome went to England and married Lord Randolph Churchill, the third son of the Duke of Marlborough, and became someone. Then others followed, including Consuelo Yznaga, who married Viscount Mandeville. She’ll be a duchess one day.
And do you know what all of them have in common? ”
I was still staring at her. I had no idea.
“They were welcomed into Mrs. Astor’s society after their marriages. More importantly, their families were welcomed into society, as well.”
Mr. Paxton-Hill watched me intently—yet I couldn’t quite grasp how this had anything to do with me—or why he seemed so upset that I was here.
“My aunt has been fighting to gain entrance into society for the past decade,” Mr. Paxton-Hill said to me. “But she does not want to go to England and remarry herself.”
“Heavens no,” Mrs. Hill said. “I was married once and once is enough for me. Besides, I have no wish to live in Europe.”
“And,” Mr. Paxton-Hill continued, “because she has no daughter to sell for a title—”
“Sell?” Mrs. Hill gave him a look. “Really, Alec.”
“What?” he asked her. “That’s what these families are doing. Giving their daughters away in marriage, with large dowries, to gain a titled son-in-law, so they can come home and be the parents of the next duchess of something or other.”
“It’s much more civilized than all that.
People have been marrying for wealth and position for centuries.
” She wrinkled her nose and turned back to me.
“But Alec is right. I have no children and no wish to remarry or start a family. Even if I did, I’m much too old for all that.
And I’m not just doing this for my own social gain—I’m also doing it for the business that pays for this home and our very existence.
” She looked at her nephew. “Alec inherited the hotel business from my husband when he passed away last year and he’s struggling to keep up with all the other rival hotels and resorts going up in Newport and Coney Island.
He needs this as much as I do—everyone who works for us needs this. ”
Mr. Paxton-Hill looked down at the crackling fire. There was a look in his blue eyes that I knew—a look that transcended status or wealth.
He was unhappy.
I still hadn’t wrapped my mind around Mrs. Hill’s first statement, about what she wanted to do with me—and I was almost too afraid to ask—but I had learned that if I didn’t speak up for myself, no one else would.
“What exactly would you like from me, ma’am?” I asked her.
Mrs. Hill glanced at Mr. Paxton-Hill for a moment—as if making a final decision—and then said to me, “I want to make you my daughter, Miss O’Day—legally.
I want to adopt you, train you, and take you to Europe, where I hope you will make a fine match.
In exchange for your agreement, you will have all the finest things money can buy.
A home, good food, a whole new wardrobe of clothing, and security.
You will never want for anything a day in your life. ”
My lips parted—this time I had heard and understood her completely—yet I was still confused. “Why me?”
“You’re stunning, Miss O’Day,” she said, almost in disbelief. “Has no one ever told you how beautiful you are?”
I put my hand to my cheek. Aunt Orla said I looked just like my mother, but she had made my mother sound cheap and ugly.
Men often propositioned me, and one had offered me a spot in his Mulberry Street brothel, saying my looks would draw in the men.
But I hadn’t felt uncommonly beautiful. Instead, I felt dirty and without any real value.
“You haven’t been told,” Mr. Paxton-Hill said, quietly, almost surprised.
“Your beauty is rare,” Mrs. Hill said to me.
“And, beyond that, you have a kind soul, Miss O’Day, I can see it in your eyes and your behavior.
When I first started to think of this plan, I told Alec I needed to adopt a young lady from a good background.
But I soon realized that no one with a pedigree would be amenable to that plan.
I needed to find someone who could be completely pliable.
Someone fresh, with no prior history in society.
I decided to start looking high and low for just the right person—and the moment I saw you last night, I knew you were the one. ”
I wrapped my shawl closer to my body, trying to comprehend everything she was saying. “You don’t need a chamber maid?”
Mrs. Hill’s laughter echoed through her sitting room. “Heavens, no. Those are easy enough to come by. What I need, Miss O’Day, is something much more difficult to find. I need someone I can turn into a lady. I need a beautiful face, a kind heart, and a willing spirit.”
My tattered gown hadn’t been washed in months.
I ran my callused fingers over the rough material, wondering what it would feel like to wear a fine gown, take a hot bath, and eat more than cabbage, potatoes, and ham.
But even as I wondered, I knew it was a foolish dream.
How could I ever pass for high society? How would I attract the attention of a duke?
“I’d only let you down,” I said quietly to Mrs. Hill. “I don’t know how to dance or speak or sit at a fancy dinner table.”
“All of that can be learned,” Mrs. Hill assured me.
“Even if I learn it,” I said, unable to look her or Mr. Paxton-Hill in the eyes, “I’ll still be me.”
There was a pause, and I glanced up in time to see Mr. Paxton-Hill and his aunt share a look—one I couldn’t read.
But when she rested her gaze on me, she said, “That’s precisely why I’ve asked you, Miss O’Day.
You’re humble and unassuming. If I asked a young lady who thought too highly of herself, I would have nothing but trouble.
If you are willing, I can turn you into exactly what I need you to be. ”
That same look of concern and disapproval flitted across Mr. Paxton-Hill’s face, but he didn’t speak.
“What must I do—” I was almost too afraid to ask—“if I attract a duke?”
“Why, marry him, of course, and become his duchess.” Mrs. Hill smiled as she stood and walked across the room to offer me her hand. “Just say yes. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ll take care of all the details. You just do as I say and we’ll both get what we want.”
“What do you want, Miss O’Day?” Mr. Paxton-Hill asked me.
I slowly wet my lips. No one had ever asked me what I wanted. When I was small, my aunt had belittled me when I whispered my heart’s desires, so I had learned to keep them close. They were safer that way.
“Do you want to get out of Five Points?” Mrs. Hill asked me.
“Aye.”
“Do you want to wear fine clothes, ride around in a fancy carriage, attend operas and balls and dinner parties?”
I found myself nodding. I had never even dreamed of those things, but they sounded grand.
“Then you will get what you want, if you listen to me and do as I say.”
Could it be that simple?
“Will you agree to become my daughter?” Mrs. Hill asked, not giving me much time to contemplate her offer.
Mr. Paxton-Hill looked as if he was holding his breath.
I would be a fool to say no—and, if I agreed to go to England, it would give me the opportunity to look for my mother. Surely, if she was still alive, I could find her.
That thought alone gave me the courage to nod.
“Aye,” I said, my cheeks burning with excitement and nerves. Emotions I rarely felt flooded through me, like an elixir I wanted to drink over and over. Anticipation, expectancy . . . hope.
Mrs. Hill took my hand and squeezed it as she pulled me to my feet. Her grin stretched across her face, and she looked a decade younger. “How wonderful! How marvelous! Alec, did you hear that? I’m to be a mother.” She laughed and it was the sound of pure joy.
For a moment, I felt the same thrill. I was going to have a mother—and not just any mother—but Mrs. Maude Hamilton Hill, one of the wealthiest widows in New York City.
But then my gaze collided with Mr. Paxton-Hill—Alec—and the elation was replaced by uncertainty and fear.
He did not look as pleased as his aunt.
But was he upset with her—or with me?