CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
Geneva had also included an invitation for them all to a Christmas dinner party at the Van Wyn mansion on Columbus Avenue on the twenty-second of December, two days away.
Leona took this to be Geneva’s real gift—an invitation to a dinner re-introducing Leona to Society and with their hostess’s seal of approval.
“Ah, what fun. The perfect distraction.”
Leona still wasn’t clear in her mind about Benedict’s role in Daphne’s death, but perhaps Geneva had received an answer to her questions she could live with.
Maybe it would be all over by Christmas, as Gil had foretold, though he couldn’t have known what else would happen.
He’d be happy with the invitation, more than happy, she suspected.
But her worries were far from over. They seemed to be accumulating as fast as the snow on the windowsill.
Might she have been wrong about Daphne’s death? Though Leona had accused the Frosts of murdering Daphne, she’d mostly followed her instincts. She’d never be truly sure now. Someone had killed Jesper and Iris, someone from the blackmail ledger, perhaps, like Benedict?
I’m only surprised no one has ridden themselves of your rotten influence. Permanently.
Millie, still missing. The newspaper headlines wondered what happened to the Wife of the Horribly Murdered Spiritualists.
Had Millie witnessed the slaughter? Or could she have been a part of it?
The newspapers portrayed her as both killer and victim.
Leona worried she had no place to go. Winter had settled deep, here to stay.
One could not hide from winter’s icy reach.
Their precarious financial position, despite Gil’s assurances, chewed on her.
They would never starve; her grandfather would see to that.
Why had all this happened when she’d finally begun to settle into this productive new life?
Gil’s temper hadn’t improved in her grandfather’s presence.
Her husband was also still furious at her since her confession about involving herself with the Frosts.
She’d finally asked him what he’d specifically told the police, but he refused to answer claimed he did not want to ever speak of it again.
Did new life grow inside Leona? Had she poisoned it already?
And why, seven long years after she’d killed him defending the maps of Confederate troop movements for the Union, did Tom Perley still hunt her?
***
M RS. MCCARTHY STAYED late on the night of Geneva’s Christmas dinner party to help Leona dress.
She had a gown from Paris her grandmother in Boston had sent her for the previous Christmas.
Her Stanbury grandmother often hid her emotional stinginess behind expensive gifts.
Daphne had written to her grandmother about it for the Christmas Ball they were to attend the year before, when Leona’d finally come out of mourning.
For Leona, the most memorable time from the previous winter had been the dress and when the East River froze after Christmas.
People crossed the ice on foot when they had to go to the City or come to Brooklyn.
She’d crossed it herself, for the adventure of it.
Why couldn’t life have stayed that simple?
The dress terrified the long-ago tomboy within for the cost and her fear of doing the beautiful thing irreparable damage.
Perhaps this would be the last time she’d ever wear such a thing—how would she even go about selling it?
The most striking element of the dress was the dark green velvet bodice crusted with golden beads and embroidery.
The green silk skirt had a matching bustle with gold fringe across the front.
The designer had added a small train created from the same material as the bodice.
Mrs. McCarthy pulled the corset tighter than she usually preferred to wear. An emerald necklace went around her neck and earrings, small stones in a gold setting, were cold against her skin. Mrs. McCarthy piled Leona’s hair high and pushed small gold combs into the mass to hold it in place.
As the clock chimed another hour away, Leona complained, “He’s late again.”
His beautiful suit of evening clothes lay on the bed, waiting.
“I think I hear the carriage.” Mrs. McCarthy went to the window and peered down into the street. “Yes, indeed, there he is.”
Her heart swelled as she stepped into the green velvet slippers. “Thank you, thank you, Mrs. McCarthy, for all your help.”
“Oh, and I’m sure it’s my pleasure. You are a joyous vision to behold, my dear. I have never seen a dress so beautiful.”
Leona swept down the stairs as fast as she dared, Mrs. McCarthy behind her carrying the matching wrap. Grandfather stood in the front parlor, a book in hand and whiskey glass on the mantal beside him.
When she entered, he snapped the book shut. “Oh, my dear child. You look just like your mother.”
“Now, none of that,” she admonished with a pat on his arm as Mrs. McCarthy draped the wrap around her shoulders.
Leona’s heart held high hopes for the evening, and she didn’t want sentimentality to distract her just yet.
On Christmas Eve they would speak of their lost loved ones.
Tonight, she wanted to celebrate the end of their travails. “Where are my—”
“Gloves are here.” Mrs. McCarthy pushed them into her hand as the front door opened, and Gil entered the foyer.
Leona pulled the gloves on, calling out to her husband, “Hurry, darling! Everything’s waiting for you upstairs.”
Grandfather glanced at the clock on the mantel with a frown.
Gil entered, appearing pale and worried, hat in hand. “I’ll try to hurry, I’m sorry. The ferry was late and I’m...I’m not feeling well, Leona.”
She rushed to him and put her hand to his forehead. Cool, but he’d just come in from outside. “Has something happened?”
Gil glanced over her shoulder, perhaps at her glowering grandfather, and flinched. “You look so beautiful. I don’t want to ruin the party for you. I know how much it means to you. To us both.”
Oh, no, no, no. She took his hand and led him from the front parlor toward the stairs. “I’ll help you. You don’t have to stay the whole night and—and—please, just put in an appearance, Gil.”
He nodded, then turned away from her to sit on the stairway. “I need a minute.”
Oh, please, please, please... .
He leaned back on his elbows and gazed at her, up and down from combs to slippers. “Forgive me, I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are.”
Surely he knew praising her beauty was not the way to gentle her mood tonight?
He leaned away from her, overcome with coughing. Wiping his mouth with his handkerchief, he said, “I’ll get dressed. I know tonight is important.”
With a thrill of fright, she said, “Gil, there’s blood on the—”
“A tiny bit, don’t worry.” He hastily folded it away. “Maybe Mrs. McCarthy could make me a cup of coffee, and then I’ll be ready to....” His voice faded, and he struggled to clear his throat.
Heart sinking, she said, “No, don’t. You should be in bed. Come, I’ll help you.” She let him lean on her arm as she gathered the skirts of the dress in the other to make their way slowly up the stairs. “I’ll send Grandfather for the doctor.”
“Oh, you needn’t bother. I stopped at Dr. Laroche’s house on my way home. His wife said she’d tell him to come by later, if he can. Go to the dinner party and don’t worry about me, my love. You have your grandfather as an escort, at least.”
As he undressed, she put away the lovely evening suit and snow-white shirt, sad but determined to go to this party of Geneva’s. “Perhaps Mrs. McCarthy will stay until he comes?”
Gil slipped beneath the blankets, coughing again.
“That would be kind of her, darling. Thank you. I’m so sorry.
I don’t want to ruin your night. I’m sure it’s just a passing grippe.
Everyone has it at this time of year.” He shuddered, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “Don’t worry, enjoy yourself.”
“But, Gil—”
He appeared to be weakening, his eyes closing. The blood on the handkerchief frightened her because it was more than a little bit. This was how Ada had died, catching a cold up on the mountain summits she loved so much, which then turned into pneumonia.
“You’ll only make me feel worse if you don’t go, Leona,” he said more firmly. “Darling, please just go, I can finally get some sleep after the terrible month we’ve had!”
She chuckled at this, as he did. “All right. I’ll go.”
He sighed, long and deep. “Then I’ll see you later tonight.”
“I love you, Gil.” She hesitated in the doorway, waiting for his I love you, too, in return, but it didn’t come. He’d fallen directly asleep, poor dear.
***
T HE GREEK REVIVAL STYLE Van Wyn mansion glowed as white as the full moon hanging above it.
Carriages arrived and deposited their passengers near the stonework staircase leading up to the house.
Evergreen boughs wrapped the four tall columns fronting the house.
The windows, long and wide, flickered with lights and shadows.
When Leona and Ruth had spied on the house, waiting for Benedict to make an appearance, it didn’t seem as beautiful, only muted and sad.
Laughter and music filled the crisp winter air now.
The men wore formal evening suits of a uniform black and white, top hats of varying heights, and silk cravats.
Grandfather’s waistcoat, embroidered with animal shapes by her Abenaki grandmother, wasn’t the only flamboyant one among them.
It was Brooklyn Heights, after all, not Manhattan City, with the expectation of a little eccentricity from a visiting poet.
Leona held her breath as they passed through the archway to the formal parlor, hoping to see Charlotte Montgomery.
Under an enormous, heavily decorated tree, the Van Wyn children played, Geneva watching them while chatting with other women.
Leona let her breath out, in, and out again as she and Grandfather approached them. Damn, this corset held her tight.
“Mrs. Gladney.” Geneva took her hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance.
“Mrs. Van Wyn, thank you for your kind invitation,” Leona said in return as they bussed each other’s cheeks. “My husband is home with an unexpected illness, but he sends his good wishes for the season.”
“And Mr. Earl, is it not?” Benedict Van Wyn appeared beside his wife to shake her grandfather’s hand, his face wreathed in smiles.
Quite the change in the man who’d found her hiding under Iris Frost’s bed and who’d bartered his soul away to Jesper Frost. Despite Leona’s ongoing misgivings about Benedict’s role in his grandmother’s death, she hoped she was wrong.
Relief hung in the air between husband and wife, and Leona thought she detected an air of reconciliation, as Geneva had written.
The achievement of which has cost me quite a bit of peace in my own household.
Leona smiled and Geneva smiled, but she wondered what lay under it. What lay under all their smiles. Conspiracy and complicity. Who else here tonight had visited the Frosts and earned entry into their ledger of sin? Or perhaps even sought to end their time in blackmail hell with a knife?
“Leona,” Grandfather whispered. “Your eyes are far away.”
She’d emptied all the laudanum bottles she’d hidden in the house down the kitchen sink, mindful of Mrs. McCarthy’s prediction she might be pregnant.
Without it, she felt the dull prickle of shame at having succumbed to the siren call again.
Her mind returned to Daphne’s last moments, what she deduced must have been her friend’s last moments.
Jesper sneaking into the house on Remsen Street to help his sister steal the jewelry.
Daphne waking up despite Iris’s instructions for heavy-handed dosing to robbery by someone she trusted.
Then the pillow covering her face before she could raise the alarm; her struggle to the last breath.
Leona shuddered. “I will never be able to prove the Frosts murdered Daphne,” she whispered.
“She is not far from my thoughts, either,” her grandfather murmured. “There are many reminders here. But now is a good time to start putting this episode behind you.”
With effort, Leona brought her attention back to the expensively furnished formal parlor dressed in more evergreen and bright ornamental stars and winged angels, merry music from the string quartet, and the room filling with people who had money, power, and secrets.
She sighed out a shaky breath. “I’ll try.”
Waiters circulated with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne, and by the time Leona had finished the second glass, Francine Creighton and the Rackhams had approached her and wished her a Happy Christmas. Raleigh Williams and Eldon Gray greeted her effusively. A relief, really, but she felt distracted and low despite this. Finally, Charlotte and Oran appeared, which shored up Leona’s spirits.
All she was missing was Ruth, but this could never be.
Geneva accompanied Grandfather and Leona around the room to greet the Knickerbocker scions of Brooklyn Heights, also artists, musicians, educators, and book publishers, many known to her grandfather.
It was a relief, really, as they stepped forward into this familiar, bright company.
Smiles greeted her along with compliments on the gown.
The champagne helped to calm her nerves and kept her own smile in place as they waited for the call to dinner.
But then the police arrived, and all hell broke loose.