Envy (15 page)

T
HE LIGHT OF EARLY MORNING WAS COMING IN
through the French doors of what every guest and bellhop knew to be the best suite in the Royal Poinciana, where Penelope leaned back into the small mountain of champagne-colored pillows and felt entirely new. She stretched her long arms over her head and crossed her narrow ankles. Who knew that the way to Henry’s heart was through his murderous instinct? She did, now, and was planning on manipulating his guilt as much as possible. He hadn’t scared her, not for very long anyway, and afterward she knew she had him. She didn’t care anymore whether or not the other guests witnessed them together. Let the Hollands and Miss Broad and all the other fine people at the hotel speculate on the conspicuous absence of the Henry Schoonmakers instead—that would be much more satisfying.

“Henry?” she called.

There was no answer, only the breeze pressing the Irish lace curtains against the glass panes of the open door. She
stood and wrapped herself in the robe, pulling the last pins out of her hair from the night before and throwing them on the polished walnut nightstand. She sighed happily and proceeded across the vast room. Her movements were light and filled with a new contentedness, for in one evening, months of scheming and climbing, of unreturned affection, had at last been validated. They were now truly man and wife.

“Henry,” she said again as she stepped onto the terrace. His back was to her, and for a moment she gazed at him in silhouette, his broad shoulders against the tableau of palm trees, the carefully trimmed lawns, the ocean glittering with the light of the rising sun. It was early, she thought—there was still so much left of this wondrous day. Then she moved forward and let one arm and then the other rest on Henry’s shoulders. “What ever are we going to do today?”

There was nothing sudden about what he did next. He took her wrists in his hand, first one and then the other, and plucked her arms away from his skin—but ever so slowly, ever so gently. In another moment he’d turned and his expression told her that he was five hundred miles away.

“It was a mistake,” he said as he dropped her wrists.

Penelope tried to regain the vulnerability that she had used to such great effect the night before. The glow she had felt moments ago was beginning to fade, but not quickly enough to look truly stricken and needy. “You mean—”

“All of it.” He set his thin lips together, as though putting a stern end to whatever compassion lingered inside.

“But Henry—”

“Last night, the wedding.”

“—just think how much
fun
we had last night. Just stay with me now, and we’ll have more fun!”

Henry shook his head sadly. “You know very well why I married you, since it was all your idea and your brute force. You can’t be surprised now if I want nothing to do with you.” His gaze dropped away from her, and she realized that at the very least it was with great difficulty that Henry uttered these words. “I need to think.” He rolled his eyes toward the pink sky. “I am very sorry, but I can’t stay with you now.”

When he turned away and moved back toward the room, Penelope felt all the rage and fear rise within her like a towering wave that might drown them all. Henry paused once and looked back. His black eyes darted up and down at her for a moment and then he spoke with pained emphasis. “I
am
sorry.”

Somehow all this careful, distanced kindness was worse than any slap. Penelope’s hand fluttered to her chest pathetically, but already he had turned and was walking across the Spanish tiles at a fast clip. A moment later she followed, her pride inflamed but her head still relatively cool. If she could garner some time, some information, perhaps the worst wouldn’t come to pass. “What are you going to do?”

“I am going to go to Teddy’s room and I will dress there. Then we’re going fishing, which was the original purpose of this trip.” Henry was picking up his clothes from the night before. He pulled the sleeves of the rumpled shirt over his arms and then stepped into his shoes. It was perfectly obvious to Penelope that he was avoiding meeting her eyes, and she wondered what he was afraid of seeing in them. “And then, when we get back to New York, I am going to find a way to leave you. I’m not sure how yet, but I can’t stay in this absurd joke of a marriage any longer.”

“What about your little Di?” Penelope moved toward him, her voice reaching a frightening pitch. She knew it sounded like shrieking, but she couldn’t help herself, not when everything she’d ever strived for was slipping through her fingers.

“What about her?” Now he did meet her eyes, and she saw that his were fatigued, and a little sad, and washed out by some new maturity that one way or another made his gaze that much more piercing.

“If you love her so much, I wonder that you aren’t worried about what will happen when everyone knows she played the whore with you.” She was hurling her words now, her mouth constricting unattractively around every sentence. “It would be my pleasure to tell them, Henry.”

Henry’s black tuxedo jacket fell from his hands, but his
eyes remained level in her direction. “I doubt that,” he said. His voice was tentative at first, but when he spoke again it had gained strength and momentum and an angry edge. “I doubt that when you begin to experience the humiliation of being turned out of the Schoonmaker mansion, you will want to add to it by letting everyone know that your husband never loved you, and was already thinking of someone else before you were even married.”

Henry paused to draw his clenched fist across his mouth—for he had spit, just a little, when he spoke. Penelope’s eyes were the least cool blue they had ever been. What he’d said was true. She had flinched, and she knew that he had seen it.

“You wouldn’t want to test me, Henry.”

There was no answer, only a moment that felt to her like it might go on forever. But it did end, at last, when he bent and picked up his jacket—successfully, this time. He gave her one final hard look, and then he turned and began to move away from her. She took one halting step forward, but he was already headed for the door.

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in her sumptuous robe, her hair all undone, the careful architecture of her plan for them flattened. She wanted to smash things up, but was uncharacteristically restrained by the realization that none of the objects in that large and lavish room belonged to her.

Before her angry impulses got the better of her, she admonished herself that she was born to win and that one did not win by throwing temper tantrums—at least not outside of one’s own home, which could result in vicious, spurious rumors. But oh, how she wanted to destroy things, when so much had been destroyed for her.

T
HE GIRL IN THE MIRROR LOOKED PALE AND PUFFY,
but Elizabeth tried to take a few deep breaths and regain some of the good feelings that she had experienced yesterday. She would have liked to find Teddy and go to breakfast with him, but after his almost-proposal of the night before, she knew she had better stay away. The warm air should still have been doing her good, as should the change of scenery. But there was a rough current inside of her and a sour streak of bile down her throat, and though she wanted very badly to feel contained and in control before leaving the bathroom of her hotel room, another part of her believed she deserved to feel terrible, and anyway she was on the verge of heaving all over again. She wavered there in the white-tiled room; she pinned back a few loose blond wisps and closed her eyes. When she opened them again there was only the same sad, heart-shaped face and a whole day of sun worship that she hardly had the energy for.

She stepped down into the main space of the little room, and was immediately aware of a hostile presence there.
Penelope looked up from the scroll-edged settee, with its polished dark wood and white cushion, and gave her old friend a hard look. A moment later her red lips sprang into a smile. She looked oversized, too large for the room, which the Schoonmakers had reserved for them and paid for and which was far, far smaller than their own suite. That much was obvious from Penelope’s lengthy and loving descriptions of the rooms that she and Henry occupied; she belonged there now, Elizabeth thought, not in the narrow second-floor quarters where the Holland sisters slept.

“Good morning, dear Liz,” Penelope said brightly.

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Diana, who had returned from the party after she herself had fallen asleep, and who was now safely ensconced under a pile of white bed linens on one of the two twin beds with the yellow silk upholstered head-boards. She had tossed restlessly in the sheets throughout the night, but had not yet given any sign of waking. The mosquito netting was only partially down and her lavender dress, which had been lying on the floor an hour ago, was now hanging in the closet. Elizabeth had put it there after vomiting for the first time that morning; afterward she had carefully made up her own bed.

“Good morning.” She closed her eyes in an attempt to weather the storm of nausea that was coming over her. “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, well enough. What are you doing today? Would you like to go horseback riding with me?” After these staccato statements, Penelope rolled her eyes and let out a sigh that might have pierced steel. “I’m bored of this place already,” she added hatefully.

“Bored already?” Elizabeth was biding her time, repeating what Penelope said in the hope that it would distract her friend long enough that she could form a coherent and polite rejection.

“Everyone is so simpleminded down here, and there is so little to do. It’s like being an animal in a zoo, with enforced feeding hours and the constant indignity of display. They’re all looking at me—
us—
all the time. We should never have left New York. But as long as we’re here, we could get some exercise.”

“I don’t know—”

“Oh, come
on
, Liz. You’re my oldest friend.” Penelope leaned forward, sinking her elbows into the voluminous burgundy skirt she wore. “My
best
friend. Entertain me,
please
.”

Elizabeth regarded Penelope, who was very neatly done up in white chiffon sleeves, her lap covered in silk the color of crushed rose petals, with a black sash marking the narrow isthmus of her waist. Her hair was layered above her forehead, shiny and dark, like a crown. What trouble did that immaculate veneer obscure, Elizabeth wondered, before she nodded
her acquiescence. She was too weak to be contrary with her hostess.

“Oh, goody!” Penelope exclaimed as she stood and clapped her hands. “But you’re not going to wear that, are you?”

“No, I—” Elizabeth had to put her hand against the wall to support herself. Her slender form was racked again. She placed her other hand on the plain white cotton bodice of her dress and closed her eyes. She was about to tell Penelope that she needed just a few minutes, but then she realized that she wasn’t going to make it that long. She spun and hurried to the bathroom on weak legs. Her knees hit the floor and she gripped the wall as she heaved. The contents of her stomach were few, and what came up came quickly.

“Are you all right?”

Elizabeth turned to see Penelope’s narrow figure in the doorframe.

“My God,” Penelope added unhelpfully.

Elizabeth drew her hand across her mouth and tried to look dignified. “Yes, I will be in a minute. I just…took the traveling poorly, is all. There was the motion sickness and now…”

She trailed off, remaining for the moment in a heap on the floor. She would have stood with greater pride and readiness if she thought she could have managed it, but her legs were useless beneath her. Then her old friend extended a hand
to help her up. It was an unlikely gesture, and Elizabeth didn’t know what else to do but accept it.

When she was on her feet again, Penelope stepped away and crossed her arms over her chest. She studied the other girl without animosity or coldness, but with a notable lack of compassion. “I don’t think that’s motion sickness that you’ve got,” she said eventually.

“What ever do you mean?” Elizabeth—finally, thankfully—was able to summon the old smile. She was feeling a little steady now, and she parted her lips to show Penelope just a little bit of teeth. They were standing very close to each other on those small, hexagonal tiles, and she knew that Mrs. Schoonmaker was taking in every detail of her appearance.

“Well,” Penelope answered airily, “you can call it whatever you like. But if you want my opinion—and you really ought to—I’d say you’re expecting.”

A soft wind blew in through the little window, tickling the nape of Elizabeth’s neck. Fear began to grip her like vines, starting at her toes and climbing up through her whole body. “That isn’t possible,” she whispered hoarsely.

One of Penelope’s neatly shaped eyebrows elevated itself. She held Elizabeth’s gaze and then shrugged, before turning away and leaving the bathroom. “Maybe horseback riding isn’t the best idea just now. Let’s play croquet instead, shall we?”

Back in the bedroom, Diana began to stir under the
blankets, and when she’d successfully pushed the curls off of her sleepy face she looked aghast at the visitor in their room. Elizabeth was by then possessed by the idea that she show Penelope how very normal everything was, how very wrong she had been about the illness, and so she smiled reassuringly at her younger sister. “Mrs. Schoonmaker and I are going to play croquet,” she said, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. Then she took a glass of water from the tray by the door, and gulped.

Already the door was open, and she could hear the sounds of breakfast being delivered out in the hall. “Oh,” Diana said before rolling back under the covers. If Elizabeth had not felt so wretched herself, she might have noticed how deathly her little sister’s appearance was. “Please be careful.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth smiled a lofty smile and thought to herself,
That’s precisely what I’m doing
. She could feel her control again, retuning to her with every passing second, giving her just a little extra height and glow. She was going to need every ounce of it to keep Penelope from growing sure of what she already seemed to believe.

The two girls stepped onto the croquet field, affecting their old closeness and confidence, and they spoke with great exactitude
over many small and petty things. The blonde smiled, and the brunette smiled back, and they held their hats elegantly when the breeze picked up and tilted the landscape away from the sea, rearranging their skirts. Elizabeth made sure to play a good game, but not to win, and when they were through she insisted on a rematch with a certain ladylike gusto. All the while she held her shoulders high and casually, though she could not stop herself from once or twice resting her hand on her belly and wondering what she carried there.