Woman's Own

  Patricia laughed. “Maybe not when you don’t feel good enough for them, but when you can outdo them in every way …When you have twice their money and heritage, I imagine it’s great fun!”

  “Are you certain you gave birth to this child, Emily? You didn’t find her abandoned--”

  “Oh, it’s easy to criticize me for wanting nice things when you’ve already bad them! Is it so wrong, Grandmother, to want luxury and leisure?”

  “Wanting, Patricia, should be balanced with a little common sense and style. I have a full purse, dear, not a magic one. It has a bottom. I don’t plan to find the bottom of my purse through indulging your whimsy.”

  “Grandmother?” Lilly asked. “Do you actually know any of the Montaines?”

  The room became stone still. Emily and Amanda looked at each other, and Patricia’s eyes burned brightly, almost glittering in rage.

  Amanda sighed, her fork poised over her plate. “You are the only one in this family who has not been given a full explanation, Lilly. I meant to tell you sooner. Wilson Montaine, Dale’s father, was the man to relieve me of my family home after your grandfather’s death. He virtually stole it, my circumstances were so bleak. So, there you have it. Dale Montaine soiled my granddaughter in my house--possibly in my room. I have spent a great many years resenting Wilson Montaine. I find little relief from that resentment now.”

  Lilly looked at her mother. “Mama, why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I was afraid Patricia might make the mistake of being encouraged by Dale’s aggressive attention. I was afraid she would get it into her head that I would be grateful, somehow, to be restored to that estate.” She glanced at Patricia. Patricia lifted her chin. “Afterward, it hardly mattered what that house once meant to me.”

  “Don’t you want to get it back?” Patricia asked her grandmother in a shrill voice.

  “I’d be glad if I didn’t have to ever set foot in that house again, my dear. The happy times we had there can never be restored, and I am not eager to revisit the memories of the painful days when we were leaving.”

  “Well, you should want to get it back! He took it from you, didn’t he? And after what Dale did to me, wouldn’t it be justice to oust him from his fancy house!”

  Amanda slammed her fork against the table. Her mouth became rigid and her eyes narrowed, her unusually smooth and youthful skin crinkling into angry lines. She reddened, and Lilly stared in wonder at her grandmother’s gathering rage. How exciting she looked, how powerful. Patricia actually sat back farther in her chair. “I have half a mind to punish you with all your selfish desires!” she barked. “For a sixpence I’d toss you to the little monster, force him to marry you, and let you wallow in your luxury! I don’t know how you manage to hear my money jingle when you’re stone deaf!”

  Patricia’s mouth stood open in surprise. “Grandmother,” she said in a breath, “could you actually do that?”

  Amanda’s eyes closed in complete exasperation. She groaned and let her head fall back slightly. It took a moment for Amanda to collect herself. She took several deep breaths before leveling her furious gaze on Patricia. “Excuse yourself,” she said in a whisper that seemed to take effort. “Go to a nice, quiet place and remember every detail of your terrible experience and ask yourself if you could bear to relive any part of it!”

  Patricia exercised a rare bit of wisdom in silence. She quietly got out of her chair and left the room. Amanda glanced at Emily.

  “Oh, Mother,” Emily said wearily. “What have you done? You don’t suppose--?”

  “Beatrice!” Amanda barked, her voice loud and biting. When Bertie showed her startled face at the dining room door, Amanda said, “Bring me a brandy! Before I faint!”

  “Bertie,” Emily quietly requested, “bring two brandies.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I find this distasteful. Abhorrent,” Amanda told Emily. “I don’t pretend I haven’t done a nasty piece of business here and there, but this is the worst. Still, I cannot think of any alternative that is not an even greater risk than this.”

  “Nor I,” Emily said quietly, her eyes misting. They were discussing Patricia, a subject that could be counted on to make Emily’s eyes tear and Amanda’s ire rise.

  Amanda had been able to secure a suite of rooms in the city. Their new address was the Grafton Hotel, at Twenty-One Rittenhouse. They could view the square from many windows on the fifth floor, occupied seven luxuriously furnished rooms, and paid handsomely for this privilege in an Exhibition city. Since their stay would be long and the close of the Exhibition would leave the city with many vacant rooms soon, Mr. Grafton was not reluctant to allow them the rooms. Even Emily had relented to the comforts, though she had secretly cried in her pillow the first few nights she was away from her beloved boardinghouse.

  They had been in residence for three weeks, time enough to spruce up their wardrobes and argue with Patricia. Lilly was ignored during this time, but that was very much to her liking. She made herself busy with books, sights, plays, and generally getting acquainted with a higher style of living. And trying to forget girlish dreams of love and passion, which took a great deal of private introspection.

  This business with Andrew brought her closer to her understanding of Patricia, for Lilly had met something she strongly desired, something it was not practical to pursue. The difference was that she did not feel the desire was larger than her will.

  Patricia had become unbearable. The idea that she could be married into the Montaine family--into the Montaine mansion that had once been her grandmother’s--had taken root and was growing thick, strangling vines of obsession. Patricia had never been more determined. Their discussions, those among Emily, Amanda, and Patricia, had been rife with emotion. Lilly had eavesdropped devotedly, when she was near enough.

  “How can you endure the idea of more physical treatment the likes of which you’ve already suffered from Dale Montaine?” Emily had asked her, aghast at the suggestion that he be forced to marry her.

  “Tell me, Mama, what man I will not have to lie beneath when we’re married? He’s the one who spoiled me--let him be the one to support me.”

  “And how do you propose to enjoy that support, however glamorous, living with a man you despise?” Amanda had pressed.

  “What makes you think I can love any man now?”

  “Time, Patricia, time. When your grandfather died…”

  “What poor wretch should I take my used body to? My husband hasn’t died. There has been no husband to explain my lost virginity! All I want is a pleasant life! He should be made to pay for what he’s done to me. He only did it because he was certain he would never be forced to pay.”

  “Marriage for revenge, Patricia, is a--”

  “Marriage for wealth, Grandmother. I don’t want to go to another man when Dale Montaine’s mark is on me!”

  “You will have his children!”

  “My children! Who will inherit!”

  “Unloved wives can be treated like paupered cousins while their husbands--”

  Patricia laughed cruelly. “Do you think my heart will break if he leaves me alone and goes whoring? Do you think he would strike Lady Nesbitt’s granddaughter? Or perhaps refuse me food?”

  She persisted for three weeks. The unlikely character to give in, relent, was Emily. She finally said to Amanda, “Do it, Mother. If you can.”

  “Emily!”

  “I don’t like it. I hate it, as you must know. I also remember very well what I did to myself when you refused to let me marry Ned Armstrong. Oh, Mother, I don’t know what terrible thing Patricia might do to have her way. I know only two things for certain. She can never be happy in that marriage, and…and at least we will not be far away. At least we will be near enough to bring her home if it becomes dangerous. That is a greater advantage than I had.”

  “Aren’t you afraid he’ll hurt her? Hurt her in horrible ways that she hasn’t even imagined yet?”

  “Yes,” Emily said in a shudderi
ng breath. “And I have warned Patricia as well as I can. I only pray that if this comes to pass, Wilson Montaine proves to be a man who will not tolerate his son’s further abuse of my daughter.”

  “I wouldn’t put much hope in that,” Amanda had replied.

  Now, as she tugged on her gloves to go to the Montaine house, they gave it one last consideration. In answer to Amanda’s written request, Wilson Montaine would see her. Amanda had come to acknowledge the very thing Emily spoke of. Patricia was determined and greedy. Amanda was not optimistic that she could convince Wilson Montaine to help in this; Wilson had never appeared to be a man of conscience. The young man, however, was rumored to find society and prominence important. He could therefore be tricked.

  “I dread seeing it again…the house,” Amanda said.

  “You will have to see it one day, I imagine.”

  “Where does this trait come from? Why is she like this? She doesn’t resemble any member of our family. No Chase or Bellmont would aspire to this kind of marriage--we were always proud and unshakable. Ah, I recognize the stubbornness, but where in our family tree--”

  “Ned Armstrong,” Emily said softly, looking at her mother. “If Ned had stayed, he might have suggested this to Patricia. He would have delighted in her defilement. The greed and foolishness are his. Mother, he did this to me--he was very purposeful. He didn’t value love or happiness above wealth any more than Patricia does.”

  Amanda considered for the first time that the loss of her family wealth had saved Emily from a lifetime with Ned, for he would certainly have stayed with her while there was something to spend.

  “What will you say to Wilson Montaine?”

  “Oh,” Amanda began, positioning her hat on her auburn hair while looking in the mirror, “just that it is good to see him prosper, and it is nice to see the house in such good order.” She looked over her shoulder at Emily and made a face. “I hope to save my most persuasive words for young Mister Montaine.”

  “Don’t be too clever, Mother. I’m still a little afraid.”

  “Women can’t be too clever, dear. Most especially the women in this family. I had begun to think it was good there wasn’t a man among us. Men suggest marriages like this--an expedient remedy. It’s medieval, barbaric. In times of yore queens have been the victims of the sins of men. I thought we four together could take the issues of our bodies and happiness seriously. Men treat such issues with absolute consternation. Even your father, good man that he was, courageous as he could be in politics, was baffled by the trials women presented. He might have suggested that the man who forced Patricia wed her. I could have saved her from that.”

  “Mother, she won’t let you save her. Just as I wouldn’t let you.”

  “Bertie!” Amanda called.

  Beatrice opened the door to Amanda’s bedroom. “Ready, mum?”

  “Yes. Is Fletcher waiting?”

  “Patient as a statue.”

  “And sturdy as a rock. I wish he were a little older, and I’d consider marriage again. What a good friend I’ve had in him.”

  “Mother, you’re incorrigible.”

  “Yes, yes, so I’m told. Do you wish me luck?”

  “I’m afraid to do that. I’m afraid to hope you fail. But I’ve considered that if you put your efforts forth and can then report to my foolish daughter that it can’t be done, perhaps she will change. I pray.”

  Amanda grinned at her daughter. It was a tolerant grin. “Good, Emily, you pray. I’ll negotiate.” And she went through the door.

  Fletcher Drake kept rooms in the Grafton as well, but did not reside with the women. He stayed on a lower floor in far less ostentatious surroundings. Amanda made sure his fortunes increased along with hers, and she accused him of being a miser. He needed comfortable quarters and a large enough study to manage all of Amanda’s legal and investment affairs, but he insisted he was so busy in this capacity that little besides a bedroom, sitting room, and servant quarters for his man, Michael, was required. He was always available to Amanda, as he had been for many years.

  Though the coach the women used was a hired trap, Fletcher had assumed the need for prestige and had brought a gold Nesbitt crest from England that could be transferred to whatever conveyance they used. When Amanda stepped out onto the busy Philadelphia street with him and saw the waiting coach complete with escutcheon on the door, she felt a pride that came frequently when Fletcher anticipated her. “Very nice touch, Fletcher. Do we own the coach and driver?”

  “We have full-time use of both, but I haven’t purchased one for the family as yet. I wouldn’t without discussing it. Perhaps in the next few weeks…”

  “But the family arms is such a good idea. How fussy you are about details.”

  Fletcher kept his chuckle under his breath--of course, Amanda was the fussy one. While she might not have thought of the crest before leaving London, she would have remembered it as soon as her journey was complete and would have groused about forgetting it for some time. He began to guess these things only after several years of listening to her grumble and complain.

  “Do you think this is the right thing to do?” she asked him when they were underway.

  “No. But I don’t know anything about daughters or wives and was a little shy of alternatives.”

  “I should pay you to marry the little twit.”

  “Oh, thank you, madam, no,” he laughed. “You don’t leave me enough time for marriage, and I’m not sure the young lady would be relieved in any way.”

  “Hogwash, you have a sterling social life and are too set in your ways… too much a rover to be married. Have you found the women in Philly to your liking?”

  “I’ve only met a few, and they’re as charming as any British women. But, this marriage--”

  “It’s absolute foolishness, but the girl won’t listen to me. No matter how many times I tell her! It’s quite clear she doesn’t believe me, for which she’s going to pay a dear price if I’m successful today. However many pretty dresses the child gets out of this, they will do her little good. My greater concern is Patricia herself. Her reasoning is cold and calculating. I’m a little afraid of her sometimes.”

  “Afraid for her?” he asked.

  “That, too. But those things she will do to have money and power…frightening. If she would live in society for just a little while, she would understand. She is blind and deaf.” Amanda grunted. “Would that she were mute as well.”

  Amanda had tried to explain society to her granddaughter, but Patricia seemed to think one buys a ticket to it as if society were a concert or play. In the end those she sought to be among would turn their backs on her. They would all attend her wedding--the Drexels, Biddies, Logans, Pembertons, Lloyds, Sinclairs, Wisters, Lancasters, the bulk of the assembly rolls--in deference to Amanda who was one of them from old days and continued among them by route of her dowager nobility. They would whisper about Emily, who had fallen from grace when she defied them all in her foolish marriage. And when it was over and Patricia was the young Mrs. Montaine, they would have none of her. Amanda told her this, thoroughly and frankly. “The Chestnut Street ladies will not speak to the Arch Street ladies because the fathers of the Arch Street ladies made their wealth, while the Chestnut Street ladies’ fathers inherited theirs. Patricia, they will shun you. You’ll be perfectly miserable.” And her reply had been, “But will I have my own private water closet, my own monogrammed coach, and my own couturiere?”

  More compact than New York’s, more extreme and lavish than Boston’s, Philly society maintained the longest record for exclusiveness. The soil beneath the Philadelphia elite would not nurture any wayward seed. They were tight as a drum skin.

  “I have explained to Patricia that I might be able to buy her a fancy wedding, and that’s where my abilities end. I cannot buy her a happy marriage, friendship, or even a list of social events. They will snub her.”

  “But she doesn’t care,” Fletcher said.

  “She thinks she doesn
’t care. She isn’t dying of loneliness yet. I won’t rescue her from this when it all comes to nothing.”

  “Oh?”

  “For God’s sake, don’t tell the girl the terms of my loyalty! I would bring her out of that dungeon if she is physically abused, but if she gets wind of it and becomes desperate, she’ll throw herself down the stairs and blame them! She’s devious, Fletcher. An absolute liar! Do you understand me?”

  “Would she really go so far as to--”

  “Oh, Fletcher, it’s unlike you to be naive. Yes! Don’t you know why I’m doing this?”

  “Yes, madam. The lesser of evils.”

  “In a way it appears to be the safest measure, considering her character and her demands. I’ve had scarcely more than a month to observe her. Her energy and single-mindedness are nearly a visible thing. I’m not sure that she wouldn’t sell us all to have what she wants. She’s already busy spending my money, begging me for influence on her behalf, and plotting and planning every second. If I can settle her where she thinks she wants to be, however terrible her choice, she will pester someone else. It is my fondest hope that she will mature, come to her senses, and learn some enduring lessons about what to value in life. But if she doesn’t, we’re all in for trouble.

  “I hate allowing Patricia to sacrifice herself in this scheme,” she told him. “But I won’t hold firm against her and watch the rest of my family sacrificed while she struggles to achieve her prestige and wealth. Lilly and Emily are too good, too valuable, for me to stand by and let them be further victimized by Patricia’s selfishness.”

  “Mister Montaine will have his hands full.”

  “Yes,” she said, “and I hope Patricia does not pay too great a price for this insanity of hers.”

  The ride was long, the house being a pleasurable distance out of the city. When Amanda saw it again, unchanged on the outside, her thoughts took her back in time. Memory was peculiarly selective: there was no particular event that she had always associated with her life here. But if she closed her eyes, she saw something like a family portrait; Richard, handsome and tall as he stood against the mantle in the upstairs sitting room watching Emily, age seven or eight, playing in front of the hearth with her many dolls. Amanda would spend her Sunday afternoons lounging on a daybed with a book, feet propped up, her family near and content. It was a period in her life long ago, when there was the kind of serenity in being settled in a happy marriage with a bright and beautiful child, past all that newlywed passion, prior to that time of trouble around Richard’s death and Emily’s rebellion. If she could have stopped time anywhere in her life, it would have been there, on a Sunday afternoon in her sitting room when she was just under thirty years of age.