“Is something the matter?” he finally asked when she started muttering under her breath, something having to do with another disaster in the making.
Looking up at him, she summoned a smile that looked less than convincing. “What could possibly be the matter? It’s a lovely evening. I’m attending an engagement celebration of one of my dearest friends, and I’ll be safely guarded while I’m enjoying that celebration by what sounds like an entire brigade of Pinkerton detectives.”
“Why does the presence of the Pinkerton detectives seem to concern you so much? They’re here for your protection.”
Gertrude’s smile faltered, but then she hitched it back into place and gave an airy wave of a hand. “Of course it doesn’t concern me. If you’ve forgotten, I’m well acquainted with the Pinkerton agents, or at least the ones Asher hired only a few months back when his life was threatened, especially Agent McParland.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Now, that would really put me at ease if he was on duty here tonight. He seems to be a most competent sort, and ... understanding.”
Harrison heard nothing after Gertrude mentioned a Pinkerton by name. “You remember that Pinkerton’s name?”
“Of course. He was a lovely man....” Gertrude said almost absently as the carriage began slowing before it came to a complete stop directly in front of the main entrance. Barely turning her head to send him a nod, which Harrison found somewhat curious but didn’t question since he was still pondering the Pinkerton disclosure, Gertrude then pushed open the carriage door and disappeared through it before he, the driver, or even the doorman had an opportunity to assist her to the sidewalk.
Not quite understanding what had caused her to behave in such an unexpected fashion, even as the unwelcome thought sprang to mind that Gertrude may have decided she was anxious to discern whether Agent McParland was present at the hotel that evening, Harrison slid across the seat to the carriage door. He then simply sat there and watched Gertrude trundle up the walkway, calling over her shoulder to him about needing to see to her hair.
Whatever else she said, he didn’t catch since the wind took that moment to gust around the carriage, taking the rest of Gertrude’s words with it.
Ducking through the carriage door that was now being held by a very confused driver, Harrison exchanged a commiserating smile with the man before he lifted his head and settled his attention on Gertrude again.
She’d almost reached the entrance, and if he wasn’t much mistaken, she seemed to be moving at a pace that was practically a run. That curious state of affairs, and coming so quickly after she’d suffered a troubling bout of debilitating stitches in her side, left Harrison wondering if he’d somehow managed to miss a clue regarding why Gertrude was suddenly behaving as if something was horribly, horribly amiss.
Chapter
Ten
Pressing a hand against a side that was developing another stitch, Gertrude vowed there and then she was going to have to make a diligent effort to participate in more vigorous activities, especially since it did appear as if a pattern was evolving—one that kept seeing her dashing hither, thither, and yon on a far too frequent basis.
She was also going to have to find a moment to seek out a retiring room, and once there, pray that someone would be around to loosen the laces of her corset just a touch. Otherwise, she might very well become the classic portrait of a swooning lady, falling to the ground with a hand fluttering over her forehead. Truth be told, it was quickly becoming apparent she was not a lady who could exist for an extended period of time without a normal amount of air.
Managing a nod to the doorman at the main entrance to the hotel, an impressive four-story wooden structure built in the Queen Anne style, Gertrude hurried over the threshold and then moved across an entranceway that had been built to impress even the most jaded of guests.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the arched ceiling of the lobby, and thick oriental rugs covered large areas of the marble floor, where the bits of marble showing were polished to such an extent that they gleamed in the light cast from the chandeliers. The furniture was upholstered in pastel colors, most of those colors being different hues of yellow paired with a good deal of white, and plants that reminded a person they were enjoying a holiday at the seaside were placed in a charming fashion around the room.
A stone fireplace was flanked by floor-to-ceiling glass doors on the far side of the lobby, ones that unquestionably led to the covered verandas Gertrude had glimpsed as she’d gotten out of the carriage. On the wall adjacent to the fireplace was a long wooden counter. Standing behind that counter was a gentleman formally dressed in a well-cut navy suit, lending him the appearance of a gentleman in authority.
Gertrude made a beeline for that gentleman, then soon found herself ushered through the hotel by a member of the staff. That man, Mr. Jackson, informed her he’d been employed as a bellhop from the very day the hotel opened, and he turned out to be a very talkative sort.
“Is this your first time to the Manhattan Beach Hotel, Miss Cadwalader?” he inquired as he walked with her down a long hallway, gesturing with his hands time and again to areas of the hotel he thought she’d find interesting.
Gertrude nodded. “I must admit it is, and do know I’m suitably impressed with my surroundings.”
“I’ll be certain to pass along your praise to the owner, Mr. Austin Corbin.”
Before Gertrude had an opportunity to ask a single question about Mr. Corbin, Mr. Jackson launched into a speech about the hotel and its owner, a speech Mr. Jackson had obviously delivered many, many times since he recited it in a voice that might be described as rehearsed.
“...and then, after he’d purchased this very land we’re standing on, although it really was nothing more than a swamp at that time, Mr. Corbin used his influence as the president of Long Island Railroad to construct the New York and Manhattan Beach Railroad, which has brought the seashore to within one hour of uptown New York.”
“How ingenious,” Gertrude said when Mr. Jackson stopped talking and sent an expectant look her way.
“Indeed, and if you’ll believe this, Mr. Corbin was then able to get former president Ulysses S. Grant to attend the grand opening of the hotel on July 4, 1877, which was my very first day escorting guests and their luggage about the hotel.”
“It sounds as if you truly do enjoy your position.”
“I do, and—” Mr. Jackson continued with barely a breath taken—“I’ve been privileged to escort Mrs. Astor to her room, as inTheMrs. Astor. And I’ve even carried the luggage of Mr. Ward McAllister, earning a bit of praise from that gentleman when he proclaimed himself delighted that I’d not banged up his favorite traveling trunk while whisking it off to his room.”
“Mr. McAllister is known to be rather stingy with his praise, so you should take great satisfaction in having gotten that out of him.”
Mr. Jackson motioned Gertrude down another hallway before beaming a smile at her. “Oh, I do take satisfaction in that, Miss Cadwalader, although I do wish high society would spend more of their summer at our resort instead of only dropping by for a day or two.” His smile faded ever so slightly. “Do you believe, being a member of that society, there will come a day when Long Island is considered just as fashionable as Newport?”
“Since Newport society is incredibly selective regarding who it’ll allow into their hallowed midst, I see no reason for Long Island to not become increasingly fashionable as more of the nouveau riche descend on this part of the country,” Gertrude said. “Although, because race tracks have begun taking a firm hold on Long Island, there will be some members of the more established Knickerbocker set who will never embrace this location because they are vehemently opposed to gambling, race tracks, and all that comes with those pursuits.”
