“Tourist hours for visiting the White House will be drastically curtailed, and sightseers will no longer be permitted to see the president.”
“Good luck with that,” George whispered in her ear. President McKinley was famous for his willingness to glad-hand with tourists and his unannounced jaunts downstairs to mingle with sightseers. He also liked to take the carriage out for impulsive moonlit rides with his wife. He would never tolerate such restrictions on his freedom, but the new man continued speaking.
“If any of you have business with outside vendors, I will need to see a list of their names forty-eight hours in advance. They will not be granted access to the White House without my authorization. I will screen all visitors who have business with the president or first lady.” He looked directly at Caroline and George as he spoke, as they had complete control over access to the first couple.
George stood. “Mr. Trask, may I simply submit a list of every member of Congress, the Senate, the Cabinet, and officers in the US military? The president meets with dozens of them every day, and I would not want to overwhelm your office.”
“I already have that list, Mr. Cortelyou. I also have the list of all the department officers, every ambassador and foreign legation, and members of the judiciary. Anyone else will need to be cleared with me.”
One of the cooks raised his hand. “I’ve been teaching my nephew how to bake. Does he need to be cleared?”
“He does. Personal visits to the residence will be curtailed, and no visitor may bring parcels into the building. Visitors meeting the president will be required to keep their hands out of their pockets and will have their belongings inspected before proceeding inside.”
Caroline’s mind whirled. This man was unreal. He wouldn’t last ten minutes with Ida McKinley before she kicked him out of the building. As he continued outlining the exhaustive new security procedures, she shifted in her seat. She’d give anything for a cigarette right now. She’d been trying to quit, but this job was stressful, and on days like this she longed for the momentary rush of calm that only a cigarette could deliver. She’d managed six days in a row without a single slip and fiddled with her beaded bracelet to soothe the fidgets.
When the meeting finally came to an end, she headed into the hallway alongside George.
“Do you think this new man has a prayer of success here?” she asked, for these rules seemed ridiculous. Instead of agreeing, George surprised her.
“I hope so,” he said. “Better security is long overdue, but the president’s popularity is based on his reputation as a man of the people. Walking behind a phalanx of bodyguards or inspecting people’s pockets will go against his grain, but it’s time. If Mrs. McKinley complains, you need to rein her in. I know she believes the entire world adores her husband and wishes only to strew rose petals in his path, but it’s not true. Do your best to support the new rules.”
She already had her hands full supporting Ida. Still, George’s instincts were good, and she would trust him, even if the thought of catering to these new security measures gave her a headache.
“I’ll meet you back in our office in twenty minutes to go over next week’s schedule,” she said, because as hard as she’d been trying, she really needed a cigarette right now.
Nathaniel gathered his notes following his presentation, but he glanced at the two secretaries as they left the room. The manner in which Mr. Cortelyou and Miss Delacroix embraced the new policies would set the example the rest of the staff wouldfollow. As the people with the closest access to the president and first lady, he needed to recruit them to his side.
He stuffed his notes into his bag and hustled after them. By the time he got out into the staff hallway, Miss Delacroix was already gone, but the clicking of her heels could still be heard echoing up the eastside stairwell. There wasn’t much up there, but he filed it away for future reference as he chased down the president’s secretary.
“I hope I can count on your cooperation, Mr. Cortelyou.”
“Call me George,” the president’s secretary said, offering a handshake. “Whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re glad to have you aboard.”
The strength of the handshake, the steady gaze, the slight lean forward—all of it added up to a man who was telling the truth.
“I’ve been charged with creating a comprehensive plan for White House security,” Nathaniel said. “I’d like to meet with you to discuss the president’s typical schedule and the nature of his activities outside the White House.”
“Let’s set up an appointment,” George replied agreeably.
Nathaniel followed him back to a cramped office, set up an appointment for later in the day, then wasted no time heading up the east wing stairwell in search of Miss Delacroix. The stairs led to an unused corridor and the roof, so it was hard to imagine why she’d gone up there. His nose prickled at the dust in the corridor, which seemed to have become a dumping ground for leftover construction materials and coils of electrical wire. The White House had been under almost constant renovation as electrical wiring and telephone lines were haphazardly installed over the years.
He was still staring at the abandoned materials when the door from the roof opened and Miss Delacroix stepped inside, spritzing herself with cologne. She startled at seeing him, clutching her reticule as a blush stained her cheeks. By heaven, she was even more dazzling up close, with golden blond hairand the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. He’d never been the sort to fall for a pretty face, but it was hard not to stare. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a Gainsborough portrait ... except for the guilty flush.
She wiggled the bottle of cologne back into her bag. “What are you doing up here?”
She’d just smoked a cigarette. He was certain of it by the flustered way she clutched her reticule and the tiny peppermint candy he could smell on her breath. Surprising for a woman of her class to indulge in such a vice, but he wouldn’t embarrass her by calling attention to it.
“I was looking for you. When would be the best time for us to discuss security for the first lady?”
“Mrs. McKinley rarely leaves the White House, and we are safe as sardines here. Why must she submit to all these intrusive rules?”
“Because she hosts hundreds of visitors per month. I need you to begin turning in a list of her social engagements and who is attending them. I need at least two days’ notice, preferably more.”
A silk-encased foot began tapping on the concrete floor. Miss Delacroix appeared to resent the rules.
“Mrs. McKinley’s only visitor today is her niece, who is visiting from Ohio. Can we safely assume Miss Barber is not an assassin? The first lady has doted on her since she was born.”
He nodded. “Her family members are fine, but I saw a meeting with women from Iowa and another with local military wives later in the week. Those are the types of people I want submitted for screening.”
