A March to Remember (17 page)

C
HAPTER
21

T
o my delight and surprise, a package and a telegram waited for me in my room. With renewed strength, in part due to drinking more of Walter's medicine, I read the telegram. It was from Miss Lizzie and Miss Lucy, the elderly sisters who had befriended me after my first foray into solving a murder. Having last seen them in Newport last summer, we wrote often. This was their response to the telegram I had sent them on Saturday. Both being in good health and good spirits, they were overjoyed with the news of my engagement and hoped for an invitation to the wedding. I smiled. And then I opened the package. It wasn't my trousseau purchases from Hutchinson's as I assumed, for the simple card was signed:
LOVE, WALTER.

What could he be sending me?

I carefully lifted the light pink tissue paper and gasped. Inside was the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen. For several moments my fingers hovered over the ivory silk satin fabric, afraid to touch it. And then, with my free hand, I lifted it out of the box, first the bodice and then the skirt, and laid it out on the bed. With stylishly puffy gigot sleeves, it had pale pink silk chiffon decoration at the neck and bodice. The long skirt had an asymmetrical sunbeam-and-cloud pattern of pale pink silk tulle and bead embroidery. I'd never seen anything like it. I peeked at the label. It read:
HOUSE OF WORTH
. Exhausted but happy beyond words, I climbed onto the bed next to my dress.

My wedding dress,
I thought, smoothing the skirt beneath my hand until I fell asleep.

* * *

And I slept better than I had in weeks. I woke early but refreshed and typed the pension records Sir Arthur had requested last night. Even my arm felt better, though having to wear the sling created an awkward situation when I tried to type, let alone undress and dress by myself. I'd slept in my clothes. That morning, after realizing I was unable to undo the buttons of my dress, I had to ask Mrs. Smith for the help of a maid. As I awkwardly stood while the maid helped me out of my dirty, torn dress and stockings and then into a clean shirtwaist and skirt, I reflected on ladies like Mrs. Mayhew, my employer in Newport last summer, who had ladies' maids assist them every day. But then I thought of women like Lottie Fox and Annie, who spent most of the day in various stages of undress. I was grateful and relieved when the maid was finished. I thanked her for her help while at the same moment vowing to dress myself from now on, even if it was a struggle to do so.

Once I determined I was presentable, tucking a stray curl back under a pin and smoothing my skirt with my good hand, I took another peek at my House of Worth dress, carefully packed back in its box, and then picked up the typing I'd finished and headed for the senator's study.

“Come!” Sir Arthur said from inside when I knocked.

“The pages you requested,” I said, holding out the typed pension records.

Sir Arthur was sitting behind the senator's desk, breakfast on a tray and several newspapers spread out before him. He took a sip of his tea with one hand and took the pages with the other.

“You managed despite your arm. Jolly good, Hattie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Today, I'd like a copy of that index to the property destroyed by the Confederates and by the Union. With the march behind us, the Treasury should be open.”

“Of course, sir.”

When planning this trip to Washington, Sir Arthur had acquired several invitations to stay with friends; even Simeon Harper had offered his house on Vermont Avenue near Iowa Circle. When Sir Arthur had accepted Senator Smith's invitation, I'd been surprised, as he knew the senator only by association and had therefore to refuse offers from much closer friends. But when we approached Lafayette Square for the first time, I discovered how clever Sir Arthur was. The senator's house was a block from the Treasury, the White House, and the State, War and Navy building: all the places we knew for certain we would need to access for his research. Granted, I'd discovered boxes of Civil War records and photographs stored in basements, storage rooms, and attics of other buildings scattered around the city, but the bulk of his work, my work, would be done mere steps from Senator Smith's house. I could easily fulfill Sir Arthur's requests in a fraction of the time.

I turned to leave but stopped, appreciating for the first time that he was alone in the room. “Sir Arthur, would you have a minute to discuss that personal matter I spoke of?”

Sir Arthur pulled out his pocket watch. “Yes, I have a few minutes.” He clicked the watch closed. “Sit, Hattie.”

He indicated the armchair I'd often seen the senator occupy. I had no intention of sitting, I was too nervous, but I knew Sir Arthur wasn't making a request. So I slipped onto the edge of the armchair, smoothed out my skirt, and waited for him to speak.

“Now, what is this personal matter you need to discuss with me?” He lathered marmalade on his toast and took a bite. “I don't think you've ever required my advice or opinion regarding your personal life before.”

Because I did what I was told and had no personal life before,
I thought but wisely left unsaid.

“It is something that concerns you as well, sir, or I would never have bothered you with it.”

He set down his toast. “Oh, yes? I see. What is it?” He frowned as he raised his teacup, light blue with gold trim on the rim and handle, to his lips.

“Dr. Grice has asked me to marry him and—”

“What?” Sir Arthur, lunging forward, sputtered between several coughs. “What?”

Thinking he hadn't heard me, I repeated myself.

“I heard you the first time, damn it,” he snapped. He stabbed a sausage on his plate and then another and then another. He lifted them to his mouth. After a moment's hesitation, he thought better of it and hurled the fork, sausages and all, against the wall. They smacked against a row of books and dropped to the floor. With no more warning than the slight clicking of nails on the parquet hall floor, Spencer bounded into the room, pounced on the sausages, and darted back out the door.

“How dare he!”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback by his sudden irritability. I was used to his brusque manner, but had never seen him like this about something as minor as a dog's frisky behavior.

“What a scoundrel,” Sir Arthur muttered. He leaped out of his chair and began pacing. “And to think I admired him.”

“Sausage was bound to be a temptation for Spencer, sir,” I said, trying to placate Sir Arthur without contradicting him. “Dogs are said to have a strong sense of smell.” Sir Arthur stared at me, his eyebrows pinched.

“I'm not concerned with the dog, Hattie.”

“But then who?”

“How dare Dr. Grice try to steal my secretary? Bloody hell! How does he expect me to find someone as competent, obedient, and discreet?” He spoke as if I wasn't in the room. It rankled me to hear him speak of Walter, or me for that matter, in such a way, but the fear of his disapproval was deeply embedded and I remained silent. “Damn him! What does he think he's doing?”

Was that a rhetorical question or not? I wondered. And then he swiveled on one foot to face me. He pinned his eyes on me. I couldn't have looked away if I'd wanted to.

“As always you did the prudent thing, coming to me, Hattie. You must not worry one moment more about this. Leave it to me. I will speak to Dr. Grice and put an end to it all.”

As he spoke, my toes tingled and my body began to shake with anger. This was not what I had expected. This was not anything I had prepared for. In one thoughtless sentence, Sir Arthur had revealed his plan to destroy my future. With the pain in my arm throbbing, the strain of the last few days, and now this, I couldn't take anymore. I'd been a loyal, discreet, and efficient worker. I'd done nothing without considering Sir Arthur's opinion. I'd done everything, everything this man had ever told me to do. But I couldn't do this. I couldn't sit there in silence and let him do this. So instead, I did something I had never done before.

“No,” I said.

“What did you say?” Sir Arthur said, taken aback by my defiance. Luckily, by then I had regained my senses.

“I'm truly sorry, Sir Arthur. I don't mean any disrespect and I appreciate your concern, but you have misunderstood me. I love Dr. Grice, and it is my sincere wish to marry him. I had hoped to get your approval.”

“You've accepted him?” I'd never seen surprise on Sir Arthur's face before. He was genuinely astonished.

“I have.”

“I can hardly believe it of you. You of all people, Hattie. You obviously have not thought this through. How is it that you don't see why you cannot marry?” He waited for my response. I said nothing, so he continued. “Your marrying would leave me without a secretary, Hattie.”

“Sir?”

“If you married, you wouldn't be able to work. You do realize you couldn't work for me or anyone anymore, don't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Isn't that enough to dissuade you?”

How many times had I let my behavior be guided by what Sir Arthur would think? I knew he would be disappointed and inconvenienced by having to replace me, but I never thought he would suggest that as a reason for my not marrying. I knew Sir Arthur to be selfish, but I never thought he was heartless as well.

“I'm sorry, sir, but no. I love my work, but I love Dr. Grice more.”

Despite the early hour, Sir Arthur clipped the end off a new cigar, lit it, and puffed vigorously while shaking his head.

“You'll be bored, Hattie. You were not meant for the life of a housewife. You need challenge, purpose. I can't condone this. I can't stop you from doing this, but I won't give you my blessing either. Besides losing the best secretary I have ever had or will ever be likely to get, I don't think you'll be happy.”

It was the first time I'd ever heard Sir Arthur consider my feelings. I was touched and flattered by his praise while at the same time annoyed by his presumption. Had he always believed he knew me better than I did?

“I'm sorry to hear that, sir.”

“Think carefully before making such a commitment, before destroying everything we've worked for.”

“I thank you for your concern, but I have already made the commitment. I will be marrying Dr. Grice.”

“Very well,” Sir Arthur said, uncomfortably conceding. “When will you give notice?”

“I will stay on until you can find my replacement.”

“Damn it, Hattie! Haven't you heard a word I've said? You're irreplaceable!”

He turned his face away from me and dismissed me with a wave of his hand. Speechless, I rose and headed to the door.

“I want that property index as soon as possible,” he said, closing the blind on the window, as if nothing had happened. Despite the brilliant sunshine seeping around the edges of the blind, the room was instantly dim. I turned on the gas lamp nearest the desk. When I looked at him, his back was to me and he was staring out the darkened window, his reflection (and mine) staring back at him. Were his eyes glazed with tears or was that only a trick of the gaslight?

“Of course, sir,” I said, my voice shaking.

When I closed the door behind me, I took a deep breath and then ran as fast as I could out into the sunshine, not even pausing to pin on my hat. I'd never argued with Sir Arthur, and I felt the blow as much as if he'd punched me in the stomach. We'd always respected one another, relished the work, and even, dare I presume, enjoyed each other's company. He was the mentor, the benefactor who possibly separated me from Annie, Lottie, or any of those women of the streets. And he refused to condone my engagement.

“Miss Davish! Miss Davish!” cried the men waiting outside the senator's door. More reporters. “What can you tell us about—?”

“Leave me alone!” I yelled with a vehemence that surprised even me. The men backed away and didn't follow as I hurried by them and ran down the street.

Even as I entered the Treasury and plunged into copying the property index Sir Arthur had requested, I found no solace in the work. I loved Walter and I was going to marry him. I was more than willing to give up my work, but until that moment, I hadn't realized I was going to have to give up Sir Arthur too.

“Damn,” I said, cursing for the first time in my life as my tears splattered my notes beyond recognition.
What am I going to do now?

C
HAPTER
22

“W
hat good timing,” Sarah said, as she saw me coming out of the Treasury. “They told me at the Smiths you were working here. I was prepared to roam the halls looking for you.” She laughed.

“I finished early.”

“Lucky for me then,” Sarah said, as she leaned in to hug me. And then she saw my face up close. She held me by the shoulders to look me in the eyes. “What's wrong, Hattie? Have you been crying? Is it your arm?”

I shook my head vehemently. How did I tell Sarah that Sir Arthur was against my marrying her brother or anyone, for that matter? It would be a relief to discuss my predicament with a sympathetic ear—I hadn't had the luxury of a close female friend in a long time. But not Sarah, not yet.

“No, my arm's fine. Were the reporters still there, outside the senator's house?”

“Reporters? No, why?”

“Good.”

“Have they been hounding you? Is that what's made you upset?”

“I'm fine,” I said, self-consciously wiping my eyes with the back of my free hand. She pouted at me but didn't question my reply.

“So your arm is feeling better? You're still wearing the sling, though. My, that must make things difficult.”

“Yes, it does. I can type with one hand, albeit much slower, but I needed the help of a maid to get dressed this morning.”

“My maid helps me every day and my arms are perfectly fine,” Sarah said, laughing. “You could get used to it, I'm certain.”

“I don't think so.”

“Can you take the sling off soon?”

“Walter insists I wear it until he's certain I'm well healed.”

“Well, he's the doctor, and besides, it's certain to cause a stir,” she said without further explanation.

“A stir?”

“Didn't I tell you? It's the reason I came to track you down. I'd like you to accompany me somewhere this morning.” And before I could ask where, she said, “Good, there's Wallace.” We crossed the street to Lafayette Park as the Clayworths' driver brought the Victoria around the corner to meet us.

“Isn't Walter coming?” I asked, when I climbed into the Victoria with the driver's help. Sarah climbed in next to me.

“No, he's at the Medical Museum on the Mall. Besides, he wasn't invited.” She giggled as she wrapped her hands around my good arm. “I think you'll find this interesting.”

“Where are we going?”

“We're settled. We can go now, Wallace,” Sarah told the driver.

“Very good, madame.” Wallace snapped the reins. We pulled away from the curb and headed up Pennsylvania Avenue.

“Where are we going?” I asked again. I wasn't in the mood for surprises.

“We're going to a meeting of the Washington Wives Club.”

“Oh?” I said, not able to hide my disappointment.

“Now, now, Hattie, don't judge us yet. I know after that nasty business with that women's temperance club, you were put off women's clubs forever. But we're different.”

“How is the Washington Wives Club different?”

“We use our positions as wives of the Washington elite to do good works. I'm proud of what we've accomplished for the poor and needy of this city.”

Most members of the American Women's Temperance Coalition would have said the same thing about their cause, but what had I to lose? I wasn't getting any work done. I might as well do something to distract me.

“Then of course, I'll be happy to attend and help if I can,” I said.

“I knew you'd say that,” Sarah said, smiling and giving my good arm a squeeze. “Any wife of Walter's would say nothing less.” After a few moments of silence, Sarah added cryptically, “And of course this particular meeting is special.”

“Why? What's different about today's meeting?”

“That I can't tell you.” Sarah indicated Wallace with a slight tip of her head. What couldn't she say in front of the driver? What kind of meeting was this? My first instincts were right. The Washington Wives Club wasn't any different from the temperance club after all. Why did I agree to come?

“But—”

“You'll see when we get there. You do love surprises, don't you?”

I detested surprises. Very few of them ever turned out to my liking. But I didn't tell Sarah this. Instead I smiled weakly and said nothing.

* * *

When we arrived at the clubhouse of the Washington Wives Club, a three-story redbrick row house on the south side of James Monroe Park, we disembarked, climbed the narrow stair to the second floor, and entered a simple room with a high ceiling, filled with several rows of chairs and a table under the windows laden with refreshments. A portrait of Frances Cleveland, hung behind the podium, was all that adorned the pale yellow walls.

“Let me introduce you around,” Sarah said.

She grabbed my hand and guided me through the crowd of women, mingling about in groups chatting. She introduced me to wives of politicians, bankers, naval officers, college professors, and even a few women who were powerful in their own right. Mrs. Smith was there, surprisingly without Spencer, and happy that I'd come. Everyone was welcoming. Everyone except the woman who blatantly pointed at me and whispered to her companion, disrupting my introduction to one of the Mrs. Willards of the Willard hotel fame.

Was it because I was wearing a sling? I wondered. Is that what Sarah had meant when she said it would cause a stir? If I had known where we were going, I would have risked Walter's wrath and come here without it.

As I wondered how I could remove it unobtrusively, the woman's companion, standing near enough for me to hear her loud whisper, said, “I believe, Mrs. Abbott, that the woman with Mrs. Clayworth was beaten by police during the march and then taken to the police station for questioning. If I'm right, she's the same one who was mentioned in the papers in connection with a drowned ‘fallen girl.' ”

She might not gossip about me if she knew Mrs. Abbott's husband had been speaking with Jasper Neely not long before the man was murdered. He might even be a suspect.

“Her? How could Mrs. Clayworth bring her here?” Mrs. Abbott whispered back, in a drawl similar to her husband's. “But then again the congressman never could control his wife, bless his heart.”

Had Sarah heard her? Had anyone else? Of course, if I had heard her at that distance, so had a great many other people. I glanced at Sarah. She wore a scowl, the likes of which I'd only seen once before, when her husband dragged her away from the march. I had little doubt she'd heard the comment as well.

“Ah, Mrs. Clayworth,” Mrs. Abbott said, when Sarah made her excuses to Mrs. Willard and led me over to the Populist senator's wife. Her companion, obviously not a courageous woman, had slipped away without being introduced. “So charming to see you again.”

“And you, Mrs. Abbott,” Sarah said, smiling and congenial as if she hadn't heard the whispered comments.

“And you brought a friend to our little meeting today,” Mrs. Abbott said.

“Mrs. Abbott, may I present Miss Hattie Davish, my soon-to-be sister-in-law. I do believe your husband already met Miss Davish at Coxey's camp on Monday.”

“How nice,” Mrs. Abbott said, obviously not meaning a word. “You've been injured, Miss Davish?” Sarah winked at me, as Walter is wont to do to reassure me in difficult times, before answering the senator's wife for me.

“As you may well know, Mrs. Abbot, Miss Davish, a completely innocent bystander, was brutally attacked during the riot that occurred when the police arrested the Coxeyites yesterday at the march.” Mrs. Abbott's face reddened in embarrassment. “Luckily, my brother, who is currently visiting, is an excellent doctor. Miss Davish shall soon be herself again.”

“I'm so glad to hear it,” Mrs. Abbott said, only attempting to sound polite.

“If she was innocent, why was she taken into police custody?” someone nearby whispered.

“And why was she all alone early enough in the morning to witness that girl's drowning?” someone else said behind their hand.

“Now if you'll excuse us, I see someone I would like to introduce Miss Davish to before the meeting starts,” Sarah said, ignoring the whispered accusations and quickly guiding me away.

“I'm so sorry, Hattie,” Sarah said as we made our way toward the table laden with various sliced fruits, breakfast puffs, muffins, coffee, tea, and chocolate. “Ignore Mrs. Abbott. Her husband and Daniel are always at odds.”

“It's all right, Sarah, though I'm learning that what these politicians, and their wives, say and do are often very different things.”

Not unlike the society ladies in Newport,
I thought.

“Welcome to Washington,” Mrs. Smith said, smiling as she joined us. I'd no doubt she had witnessed the entire exchange.

We helped ourselves to the refreshments and then took a seat among the rows of chairs. As we nibbled on our muffins and drank coffee, a buxom woman in the chair next to Mrs. Smith, with a large mole on her cheek, leaned over and said to me, “Is it true you saw the dead man after the march yesterday?”

Before I could answer, Sarah leaned toward the woman and said, “We were both there, Mrs. Horton.” The woman's hand flew to her ample chest in dismay.

“Oh, my, Mrs. Clayworth, that must have been truly ghastly. How did you sleep last night after seeing such a horror?”

“Yes, it was upsetting. Thank you for your concern.” Sarah sat back and took a sip of coffee, but Mrs. Horton wasn't finished.

“Is it true you were beaten by the police?” Mrs. Horton indelicately pointed to my arm in the sling. I thought she was going to touch me.

Again, Sarah spoke before I could. “Yes, my poor future sister-in-law, a completely innocent bystander, was brutally beaten by the police, along with many other women and children.”

“Children!” Mrs. Horton exclaimed, again resting her hand upon her large bosom. “I had no idea. Are you in great pain, my dear? Did you say future sister-in-law, Mrs. Clayworth?”

“Yes, my dearest brother proposed when he arrived in town on Saturday.”

“Well, congratulations are in order.” I wasn't sure if Mrs. Horton was directing them at me or Sarah.

I'd remained silent during this exchange as the two women spoke of me, but never to me, as I sat between them. It reminded me of so many similar conversations I'd endured over the years, most recently the night before between Senator Smith and Sir Arthur. So when Mrs. Horton paused, I wasn't sure if I was expected to respond or not. But Sarah looked at me, with a slight nod to her head, so I said, “Thank you.”

“But I'd heard you were taken to the police station after you'd seen the dead man. Did you go as well, Mrs. Clayworth?” Again, neither woman let me answer the questions directed at me.

“No, Mrs. Horton, I wish I could've been of use to the police, but only Miss Davish was given that privilege. It was most kind of Miss Davish to help, don't you think?”

“Yes, Mrs. Clayworth. I myself wouldn't be able to keep my head enough to help in such a situation. And you saw the death of poor fallen Annie Wilcox as well. It's a credit to you, dear, that the police thought you could help.”

Several other women, who had been listening as the conversation continued, nodded their heads. I sat there, amazed at how Sarah had turned a scandalous situation into something to admire, almost to be envious of. Clearly the men were not the only politicians in this town.

“Thank you,” I said.

“By the way, Mrs. Clayworth, have you heard . . .”

We sat there for another ten minutes, listening to the other gossip Mrs. Horton spread, before Sarah leaned over and whispered to me.

“I think that went well, don't you?”

“I don't know what to think.”

“Well, at least, you can rest assured that Congressman Clayworth's future sister-in-law and her adventures will not be the first topic of discussion again, unless in praise of your levelheadedness and keen wits.”

“Is that why you brought me here? To deflect scandal from Daniel?”

“Not the only reason. I truly think you'll enjoy the meeting, which should start any moment now.” She glanced at the watch dangling from the gold chatelaine at her waist. “You're not cross with me, are you?”

“No, of course not.” I was cross, just not with Sarah.

“Then it's already been a productive morning and the meeting hasn't even started.”

Sarah patted my knee and turned her head toward the podium set up at the front of the room. I glanced at her once more, both admiring and deploring her political savvy, before following her gaze. A tall, pale woman with copious freckles on her face was taking her place behind the podium. But I wasn't anticipating the start to the meeting. Instead, all I could think about was Madam Lottie Fox's message:
Please tell Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Clayworth that I'm sorry. Please tell them I regret it now.

How was I possibly going to protect Sarah from the scandal of it as well as she had protected me?

* * *

“I call to order the Washington Wives Club,” the woman at the podium said. I shifted in my seat. Despite Sarah's assurances, I was still anticipating something like the American Women's Temperance Coalition I'd encountered in Eureka Springs. I'd had my fill of zealots. But when the president of the club read the agenda from the last meeting for votes to approve, the items seemed harmless enough: quilting bees, fund-raisers to benefit widows with children, and preparations for Decoration Day.