Envy (7 page)

H
ENRY KNEW THAT HE WAS NOT HIS BEST PICTURE
of himself, and suspected he might still be drunk from the night before, although these were not his only reasons for avoiding human contact during his party’s departure from New York. He wasn’t sure how his Florida escape plan had been turned into a group event, overseen by the nefariously flashing red smile of his wife, but he knew that he must continue to play along, that he must not shame Penelope too publicly, or there would be terrible consequences. His original motivation for marrying her, to protect Diana from Penelope’s scheming, was as important as ever, although over the months, his reasoning had grown hazy in his mind. He’d often found himself blinking furiously in the mirror to make sure this was still him, that this was still his life, even after all the bizarre twists.

He was not a habitual reader of the society columns, but ever since he had become enamored of Diana Holland he had found himself scouring them compulsively for any little men
tion of her. That was how he could be sure she was there, on the boat, wrapped up against the cold. Overhead, clouds amassed and loomed as the boat made steady progress across the water to New Jersey, where they could board the train. It made the trip much more palatable to know she was nearby, but he was nervous for her, too, and he feared what would happen if Penelope noticed him staring at Diana in the way he knew he could not help.

Upon arriving in New Jersey and boarding the
Aries
, Henry chose a path that was well known to him. Even before the train departed he went to the common bar car, several cars removed from his own, and sent a messenger boy to fetch Teddy. Since he was fairly certain that sobriety was upon him now—the chill from the river passage was still under his skin—he undid his cuffs and removed his jacket and ordered a bourbon. The cheap tasseled curtains were drawn, and a player piano kept a syncopated rhythm in the background. The car was full of soldiers, smoking and shuffling cards, and none of them so much as looked up when the train whistled to announce its exit from Pennsylvania Station and lurched into movement. They would not reach their destination for another day and a half at least.

“You don’t waste any time do you?” said Teddy as he emerged through the fogged glass door and pulled up one of the rickety wooden stools. He watched his old friend, who was two years his junior, with steady gray eyes.

Henry did not get up from his drink, but did try to sound like a host. “How did everyone get settled in?”

“Well, I think.” Teddy motioned to the bartender.

“I’m sorry our trip was commandeered this way.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I rather like having ladies along. It was a rough ferry ride, wasn’t it? But everybody made it to the station, and they’re all settled in their seats now—your wife’s brother, Bouchard, Miss Broad, and the Misses Holland. Your wife was at great pains to welcome the Hollands, and Elizabeth seemed to be doing her best to return the enthusiasm.”

Both men sipped from their drinks and let the strange sound of the word
wife
float away unexamined. Teddy always seemed vaguely perplexed by what Henry had done, and Henry, not wanting to make himself more of a cad, could not bring himself to divulge the transaction that had resulted in his marriage. They sat in comfortable silence, drinking slowly and trying their best to seem like the other men in the car, which they most certainly were not.

“Schoonmaker, Cutting!”

Teddy looked up first, and Henry’s gaze followed after a moment’s delay. Coming through the door, cigarette already lit,
was the figure of Penelope’s brother. Since his wedding, Henry had found himself always unnerved by the sight of Grayson Hayes, even though he had seen him in gambling halls and late-night haunts for years and thought nothing of the familial connection. But now Henry saw that Grayson had his sister’s face—the proud nose like a downward-facing arrow, the extreme blue of the eyes, and the pale oval face set off by slick, dark hair. These features gave him the appearance—probably falsely, Henry believed, although it was still impossible to ignore—of being his younger sister’s emissary.

“Nice style your family travels in,” Grayson went on with an appreciative smirk.

“Thank you,” Henry answered.

There was one striking difference between the Hayes siblings’ looks, which was that Grayson’s eyes were set too close together. It made him seem a little stupid, which he almost certainly was about to be. It was well known amongst the young men of genteel New York that young Hayes was an inveterate, and not a very good, gambler. If Henry had placed a bet on what Grayson would say next, he would have done quite well indeed.

“Are you ready for a game of poker?” Grayson dropped his cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his toe. There was a manic light in his eye, and his shoulders were strung with energy. On another day Henry might have hesitated, or
Teddy might have thought better of it, but at that particular moment young Schoonmaker had had enough of the rotten feeling that apparently came with doing the right thing.

“We’re in,” he said.

“We need two more for a proper game.” Grayson motioned, almost as though he were summoning the help, at two soldiers who were idly sipping bottled beers at an adjacent table. They watched for a moment as the man in a wing collar and ascot tie pulled back the chairs from the simple wooden table and sat down. He was all business and his attention was already fiercely on the cards. Then they approached, pulling back their chairs, taking their places. “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said as he split the deck and began to deal.

Henry sat, noticing as he did the simple dignity of the men’s uniforms. They both wore fitted blue linen drill jackets with a parade of brass buttons down the front, worn but clean trousers, and knee-high gaiters over their well-traveled boots. The man with the frothy handlebar moustache put his campaign hat on the back of his chair and the clean-shaven one mimicked the gesture. It was impossible for Henry to tell how old they were—the clean-shaven one might have been younger than he was, and yet they were both so much more aged.

“Where are you boys headed?” he asked as he peeked at his hand.

“Tampa,” said the mustachioed one, as though the place held significance that people of leisure could not possibly understand.

“With the Fifth Infantry, sir, going down to keep the Cubans in line.” His companion grinned, looking up from his cards.

“Cuba!” Henry placed a bet. “Doesn’t your friend Bouchard have sugar interests down there?”

“Yes,” Grayson answered without looking up from the table. “Although he doesn’t gamble,” he added, as though that disqualified him as a topic of conversation.

“Doing our best to keep the island safe for American interests, sir.”

Teddy made a small, appreciative saluting motion.

“Ever kill anybody?” Grayson asked abruptly. Every thought in the man’s head was about cards, Henry knew, but still he winced at his brother-in-law’s boorish comment. He began to feel uncomfortable, and realized he didn’t actually want to hear the answer.

“Perkins saw action during the war against the Spaniards,” the clean-shaven one replied, gesturing, genially enough, to his more hirsute friend. “And was wounded in the charge on San Juan Hill.”

Henry and Teddy both looked to Perkins, and though his pale eyes betrayed a reticence, he obliged them by saying, “I
enlisted after the massacre of the
Maine
. No American could have known of such treachery and failed to act.”

Henry could think of three examples at that very table that disproved this notion, but he nodded as though it were gospel truth.

“My brother was on that ship.” The clean-shaven one shook his head and considered the card he had just been dealt. “He died in a filthy Havana hospital, and when they shipped his body back my mother couldn’t even see him because all his skin had been burned off.”

There was a long, grave pause, but then Perkins’s face relaxed a little. “Well,” he concluded, “that’s what makes us all drag ourselves up for reveille when it’s still dark. That’s what makes being away from home bearable.”

The tones in which men speak of life and death were heavy in the air around them. More cards were dealt and more money tossed into the center of the table. Teddy, who was already out of the game, was watching the soldiers intensely, but Henry could hardly look up from his hand. He was aware, in a vaguely embarrassed way, not only of his waistcoat but also the fine linen of his shirt, soft against his well-protected skin, and the elegant cut of his trousers and of the series of railcars ahead of them with their elaborate trappings, some of which he owned, or his family did, anyway. And when he thought of his railcar, it was impossible not to dwell on who sat within it.
His head was still full of Diana, and the way her nose turned pink and eyes grew shiny in the cold.

Henry folded, followed shortly by the beardless man. Then the final two players turned over their hands. When Grayson saw that he had lost, he shoved the money at the center of the table toward Perkins in frustration.

“Again!” he cried, almost fiendishly, and began to collect the cards to deal another hand. Henry and Teddy acquiesced, though with less enthusiasm this time. One of them had become quiet and serious, and the other was too absorbed by the idea of a certain young lady’s presence somewhere down along the train as it moved ever southward, ever closer to the sun, to care very much how he spent his hours.

P
ENELOPE RECLINED AGAINST THE EMERALD GREEN
seat in her little section of the Schoonmaker railcar, her heavy ivory skirt fishtailing to the polished wood paneling of the floor. They had traveled many miles already and had arrived at that slow hour before dinner. Her guests were enjoying aperitifs in their seats; she could observe them, down the aisle, only partially obscured by the sliding doors that separated each section. Her arms, which were covered to the wrist in billowing rose-colored chiffon, were crossed over her chest, and she kept a dark brow arched as she gazed down the aisle. Miss Broad was in the next section and situated across the aisle, still sporting the camel-colored traveling suit that she had worn when they boarded in the late morning.

She was looking about her, at the hooped and fringed surroundings, at the ferns and cut flowers, as though she had never seen such finery before. It was quite possible she had not. Every time a man walked down the aisle she glanced up expectantly as though it might be Leland Bouchard; her heavy
lids drooped down over her sage green irises each time she realized it was not. She had a crush on him—this was perfectly clear to Penelope from the way she always asked if he would be present at events they attended—but she didn’t have to be so pathetic about it.

Beyond Miss Broad and on the same side of the aisle were the Misses Holland. They sat together on the seat, the russet tones in Diana’s hair brought out by the green velvet upholstery. The older sister’s eyes had closed, and she rested her head on the younger’s shoulder, which looked to Penelope like an over-the-top and probably insincere display of affection. The brunette sister, meanwhile, read a book. She was lovely—Penelope knew it, even while the knowledge burned her. The girl’s curls shone, her eyes were bright, and her features were gorgeously composed. Although Penelope had used the news of her defilement in order to secure her own marriage, her husband’s former paramour maintained an aura of purity that Penelope would have liked to slap off her tart face.

Meanwhile, Penelope’s impatience grew. She had sent the messenger half an hour ago, and still nothing. She tilted her head back against the full cushions and looked at the beveled mirror above. The lips she saw in the reflection on the ceiling were generous and scarlet, the hair dark in contrast with her incandescent skin. Her hair was done up elaborately,
with curls and braids and the little bangs dividing her unblemished forehead. She would not have thought that Henry’s affections would have lasted this long, or that Diana would be quite such competition for her. But Penelope had to grudgingly acknowledge how much space the younger Holland still occupied in Henry’s heart, for whenever he was remotely near her his whole bearing changed.

It was not that Penelope felt weakened, or even particularly unhappy. She was at that very moment utterly comfortable—it was her policy to always be comfortable unless beauty demanded otherwise—and she was enjoying hosting a bevy of guests in the grand cars that everyone knew were owned by her family-in-law. Henry’s indifference was irritating, but it could not detract from the pride she felt at being so publicly known to be his consort, or to be seen as the equal owner of his many treasures. And though she did feel Isabelle’s absence a little—that lady always knew how to enjoy fine things—she was exceedingly pleased to be the only Mrs. Schoonmaker onboard.

“And what does my favorite sister want?”

Penelope twisted around to see, at last, the figure of her brother approaching from the rear of the train. He moved quickly to kiss her cheek, and then fell into the velvet-covered seat opposite her. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his cuffs had come undone. She considered but decided
against pointing out that she was his only sister, and that there were no others to play favorites with.

“I have an assignment for you,” she answered eventually. “An assignment?” Grayson’s mouth went crooked at the corner and he watched his younger sibling attentively with his matching blue eyes.

“Yes.” Penelope paused, and let her gaze wander back down to where Diana was. The girl looked up from her book and let her rich brown eyes stare back at Penelope for a long moment. She and her sister had both dressed for dinner, although Diana’s pale blue dress with the deep and lacy décolletage and the puffed sleeves was clearly not a new one. “I don’t think you’ll object, after you’ve heard it.”

“You’re little schemes are always amusing, Penny.”

The younger Hayes sibling felt another stab of irritation at the sound of her childhood nickname, especially after she had done him the compliment of waiting for him. “Please don’t call me that.”

He grinned, and the chandelier light that beamed down from the car’s ceiling reflected on his white teeth. Darkness was falling on the country passing by in their windows, and shadows emerged to dramatize the architecture of their faces, neither of which was built for kindly expressions. “My apologies, Mrs. Schoonmaker.”

She returned his smile broadly. “Thank you, brother.”

“Anything for you, dear sister.”

“I am glad to hear that,” she went on, lowering her voice confidentially, “because your assignment will require special delicacy.”

“And that is because?”

Penelope tilted her head to the left and let all of her long fingers rest against her slender neck. “I would like you to be a little nice—a little affectionate—with the younger Miss Holland.”

Grayson paused and looked down the aisle of the train; Penelope extended herself so that she could see what he saw. Diana didn’t raise her eyes this time, but adjusted her position so that the fading light from outside cast pretty shadows on her peach chest.

“A little nice?” Grayson asked as he pressed back into his seat.

Penelope’s eyes rolled coyly to the mirror above her head. She straightened her bangs and considered her words. “Yes, but not
too
nice. Get her to like you, but then hold back. You understand, don’t you? Keep her busy, but see if you can’t toss her heart around a little. She’s so young, and she could afford to be played a few times yet.” She wrinkled her nose and winked at her brother. She wasn’t sure if he was going to ask why, and not wanting to dwell on the rationale, she added:
“Just for fun. We have such a long train ride, and one needs to entertain oneself and one’s guests during a seaside stay.”

Grayson looked at the Hollands one last time, and then turned back to his sister with a vaguely amused expression. He ran his fingers through his slick, dark hair and then shrugged, as though it were all the same to him. “Well, why not? She’s pretty enough.”

“I told you you’d like it!” Penelope laughed, although Diana Holland’s physical qualities were not the least bit funny to her when, in the next moment, her husband entered the car, looked down the aisle at the girl, and immediately assumed the expression of a man struck by Cupid’s arrow. If Grayson—whose gaze wavered momentarily between both Schoonmakers—made any connections, he gave no sign of it. Then Mrs. Schoonmaker stood, extended her rose chiffon–covered arms to her husband’s shoulders, and blocked his view. A few seconds passed before Henry’s black eyes met hers, but there was scarcely any recognition in them at all.