She takes a seat opposite Ward McAllister, who has a sheen of sweat beading on his forehead and a smattering of cigar ash dusting his cravat.
“What took you so long?” Ward asks. “I’d started to think you’d skipped out on me.”
“No.” Alice smiles, peering out the isinglass window. “Not yet.”
As the carriage pulls away from the embassy, Alice feels stress beginning to melt from her entire frame like snow in a spring thaw. She’s not clear yet. Not entirely. But she’s on her way out, rather than in, and she feels it.
“I must say,” McAllister drawls, “I’m dyin’ to see what little hidey-hole you’re takin’ us to for the divvying up of our winnings. Don’t think I didn’t notice you talkin’ to my driver in whispers, not lettin’ me hear the address you gave those newsboys. I don’t blame you for bein’ cagey, dear Alice. Did you think I might turn up to—what is it? A tenement house? An old shanty by the river?—and take all the money for myself?”
“Something like that,” Alice says, still staring placidly away.
“No, eighty percent is what we agreed, and that’s fine and dandy with me,” Ward says.
Alice feels Cora stiffen beside her and feels a small pang of regret.
She should have told Cora about this last bit of the plan. Spared her the worry over her own stake that no doubt is racing through her mind right now.
But it’s too late to correct that error. All she can do is slide her foot onto Cora’s and give it a reassuring, surreptitious tap.
Her eyes meet Cora’s, conveying a message she hopes her young student can now decipher:Do not worry. You can trust me.
Cora stares back for a moment, pondering. Then, with a quirk of the corner of her mouth, she taps her foot against Alice’s in reply.Message received.
The carriage stops. The driver jumps down to open the door. Alice steps out. Then Cora. Then Cal.
They have arrived, not at a seedy warehouse but at a stately four-bay townhome on 350 Fifth Avenue. The very epicenter of New York high society.
As Ward emerges, his jocular grin sinks steadily into slack confusion. “Why, this is...”
“Mrs. Astor’s house.” Alice smiles from the front stoop. “Won’t you come inside?”
Chapter 30
Salve Regina
It’s been fifteen years since Alice last set foot in this vestibule, but she still knows the path to the sitting room, even without Mrs. Astor’s butler showing them the way.
“It’s good to see you again, Thomas,” she says.
“And you, Miss Archer,” the butler replies, just as formal as she remembered him. “If you’ll allow me a moment of sentiment, it is lovely to see you all grown up.”
“Grown tall but too skinny,” comes a retort from the sitting room. “Now that all this nonsense is over, perhaps Alice will finally take my advice and allow her figure to fill out a little more.”
Mrs. Caroline Schermerhorn Astor, queen of New York society, strides across her Louis XV salon toward them, eyebrows raised, brown eyes sparkling.
“Exertion does not become you, my dear,” she says, offering her cheek up for a kiss.
Alice obliges with a peck. “So you’ve told me many times, Aunt Lina.”
“Aunt?”Ward sputters a cough, his hands clasping at the cravat at his throat.
“For heaven’s sake, Ward,” Mrs. Astor snaps. “Cease your conniption and sit down.”
She points to the settee. Like a well-trained puppy, Ward obeys.
“Now, Calvin. Let me look at you.” She squints as Cal presents himself for inspection, her discerning eye catching on his cheeky grin, making her own face break into a grudging smile upon seeing it. “Hopeless as ever.”
Alice sits in a high-backed chair, her vision almost blurring with relief. Thomas wheels the tea service into the room, leaving it for Mrs. Astor to serve.
