But the best thing Cora’s learned, for Alice’s purposes anyway, is to keep her face neutral. That mind of hers is constantly whirring—Alice never would have brought her in otherwise—but she doesn’t show it anymore. That will be crucial.
“I shan’t be surprised if you suddenly insist I appear on stage at the Metropolitan,” Cora quips as her face remains perfectly, prettily dim.
“You may want to work on some scales just in case,” Alice says dryly.
Cora winks—and in that split second looks like her old self again. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Lesson Sixty-Six: Street Comportment (Again) ~ December 23
The snowstorm begins with a few flurries, and then day after day of solid, silent precipitation, quieting the grind of the city, replacing it with the hush of a world wrapped in cotton wool and the occasional peals of laughter from delighted children on the street below. The plows come now in the morning, pulled by great bay horses, their tread rendered entirely invisible within an hour.
When Alice notices Cora’s initial delight souring to sullen restiveness as she gazes out the window day after day, she sends Dagmar on an errand, passing the cook a few dollars extra from the ever-dwindling kitty. The expense proves worthwhile if only to see the joy on Cora’s face when Dagmar returnshours later with thick woolen cloaks and fur-lined boots, perfect for tromping in the snow.
“Shall we attempt a lesson outdoors?” Alice offers.
The walk to Central Park that would have taken a mere thirty minutes under other conditions becomes an epic march northward under continuous swirls of flurries.
Alice bears it stoically. Cora is downright exultant.
“It’s like we’re on an Arctic expedition,” she marvels, throwing her arms as wide as her tight cloak will allow. “Perhaps we’ll find poor Greely and his men.”
Alice muses over that reference before remembering that Cora has recently taken to poring over each morning’s edition ofThe New York Herald, reading first all mentions of European politics, as Alice had instructed, then every other article of note she can lay her eyes upon.
I shall have to remind her yet again not to sound too informed when we go out into society, Alice notes peevishly.That mind and mouth of hers will raise alarm bells if I’m not careful.
When they reach the park, a fringe of snow thickly caking the hems of their skirts and cloaks, they find a line of enterprising fellows who have set up sleigh ride rentals. Alice finds the smallest, a little trap that will fit the two of them, pulled by a single draft horse, and helps Cora to mount beside her.
“Hoods up,” she says. She’s already noted several society faces in the surrounding parklands, some with children building snowmen, others in their own sleighs, waving to those of their acquaintance. She turns to Cora, adjusting the fur-lined hood of her cloak back a little. She secures it in place with a pin drawn from her glove so that it displays just enough of Cora’s face that she’ll be remarked upon, with an air of demure mystery remaining.
It does the trick. As theyclip-clopthrough the smoothed snowy paths of the park, curious heads turn. Men’s white-dusted caps are tipped. Women in broad woolen hats whisper to one another.
Alice knows that Ward has been making the pre-Christmas social rounds all month, speaking warmly of his friend the duchess and the debutante cousin who’s come to join her from abroad. This enticing little peek at the two Württembergian ladies will add one breath of air to the spark of society’s interest, feeding the flame without blowing it out entirely.
“Thank you so much for that, Alice,” Cora murmurs, in her American voice, as they tromp back around the corner to their brownstone building.
“Consider it your Christmas present,” Alice says quickly, Württembergian accent in place, hoping to quell any further displays of sentimentality.
No Lessons ~ Christmas Day
There is, in fact, a parcel waiting for Cora beneath their modest, nearly bare Douglas fir. One for Dagmar too, and Béatrice.
Alice’s heart beats strangely quickly, her mouth growing dry, as she waits for them to unwrap their gifts. Perhaps it was foolish for her to buy them. Perhaps they’ll hate them, lose respect for her. Perhaps—
Cora claps in delight, taking in her new hat with its feathered brim.
“For you to keep,” Alice blurts, her voice awkward to her own ears. “We won’t sell it on.”
The other parcels are rapturously opened.
Dancing shoes for Dagmar, in just the right hard-to-find (enormous) size. She wastes no time in trying them on—then trying a few dance moves that shake the floor beneath them.
Béa cradles her glass bottle, filled with hand lotion scented in lavender. A memory of where she grew up.
“You did not need to,” Béatrice says, her eyes downcast, lips pulling into a smile.
“Of course I didn’t,” Alice says. “If I did, it would be payment, while this is a gift.”
Her eyes sting a little when they meet Béa’s. She likes it. She’s putting it on her hands already.
