“It’s everybody’s secret,” Ward chuffs. “I’ve heard from Ames and Ogden. Even Iris Witt’s gotten a whiff of it now.”
“Good,” Alice says. “I’ll have to arrange a cornered moment for her to ask me about it at the ball.”
“What costume have you chosen, by the by?”
“A hoopoe,” Alice says. “A bird native to our country.”
“Ever the patriot.” Ward chuckles. “Thought you’d dress in emerald green, but perhaps that’s a little too on the nose.Would be like Mrs. Astor dressing as a Mystic Rose just because I gave her the nickname. Speakin’ of which...”
Alice had wondered how long it would take for the conversation to whip back around to Mrs. Astor.
“Caroline’s not too miffed that you missed her own ball, to my great relief,” he says. “Didn’t seem to mind one way or t’other. She’s got me designing her costume today. Demeter, goddess of the harvest, don’t you know. She needs me on hand to keep the seamstresses from going overboard with the sewn-on fruits.”
“You’re invaluable to her,” Alice notes.
“It’s what keeps me in fine suits.” Ward sighs.
“For now.” Alice pats his hand. He looks startled by the fond gesture. “You’ll be a man of independent means to rival the best of them here in a matter of months.”
“If I deign to stay here,” Ward says, a mischievous light dancing in his eye.
Alice might be tempted to succumb to curiosity and pry into his plans, but they’ve already arrived outside her house.
After stepping out with the aid of the driver, she turns back. “I keep neglecting to inquire after Sarah.”
Alice has met her only twice, and briefly, but it seems polite to ask.
Ward looks genuinely perplexed.
She raises her eyebrows. “Your wife?”
“Oh! Her. Yes, she’s fine. Usual aches and pains and general malaise. Nothing life-threatening. Yet. Well, I’m off to the Union Club. Might run into some of our mutual friends there, and will certainly keep you apprised of any developments.”
He tips his hat with a wry smile as the carriage pulls away. Of all of that, what Alice is left remembering is that “yet.” An odd phrasing, sinister in the casual way he tossed it off.
She shakes her head to rid herself of unease as she mounts the steps to her front door. As slippery as she knows Ward to be, he has in word and action become a true ally to her. A rare thing, she knows too well.
Her mother had friends but not allies. Close companions. From childhood up until her husband’s death, at which point all but one of them shut her out in the cold, shunning her completely. Mrs. Vandemeer was a new addition to their circle, a young thing having only recently married into New York society, but that excuses her but little. She followed the flock in turning her back. Alice doubts very much she ever spared a thought for her “dear friend” Mary from that moment on.
No. In her own addled way, Mrs. Vandemeer is every bit as bad as the rest of them.
As Béatrice takes her coat, Alice peers into her eyes. “They cannot keep the necklace. When this is done, they must be left with nothing of worth. Nothingat all.”
Béa looks alarmed and then saddened, but she nods. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Chapter 16
In Decent Proposal
March 1, 1884
Witt
Angle: Capriciousness
“The bonnet is falling off your goose, Mamma.”
“Then pin it back!” Iris Witt smacks her daughter’s arm. “Don’t just sit there like a rag doll.”
