Lake in the Clouds (46 page)

“Very well,” Hannah said grimly. “I will wear the gown.”

“And Catherine will do your hair,” Kitty continued in what was meant to be her sternest tone, undercut by the suspicion of a smile at one corner of her mouth.

Hannah touched her plait where it lay on her shoulder and thought of sweet Amanda, her voice shaking with anger.

“I am yours to outfit as you see fit.”

Kitty smiled triumphantly and clapped her hands together. “I will make a masterpiece of you.”

“As long as I do not have to see myself in the looking glass,” Hannah said dryly. “You may do as you wish.”

But there was no way to avoid her own image; it presented itself in the great ormolu mirror in the hall, in another that hung over the mantelpiece, in the mirrors behind every candle sconce. Even if Hannah could have avoided catching a glance of the mischief Kitty and Catherine had wrought in the mirrors, the same message was to be seen in the faces of the guests. The men would not hide their admiration; the ladies could not conceal surprise behind careful smiles. A memory came to Hannah, Elizabeth’s clear, elegant hand and the lines she had written.

Lilith cried out the name of the creator, whereupon she rose into the air, and flew away to the Red Sea.

The idea of wings to fly away on was very appealing, but instead Hannah was cocooned head to toe in Kitty’s finery. The high-waisted silk taffeta gown was cut very low indeed, something that did not bother Hannah in principle—she had grown up working the cornfields next to women who worked bare-breasted under the August sun. Except of course Kahnyen’-kehàka men didn’t take any special note, while these gentlemen were working very hard not to study exactly that part of the female anatomy which had been put out for inspection.

The green silk was far more modest, and it seemed to Hannah that it would have made things easier on these guests Kitty so wanted to please. It also had long sleeves, which would have saved the worry that the short sleeves of Kitty’s
gown might not cover the vaccination sites on Hannah’s upper arms. But there was no help for any of it; she had made a promise and she would keep her word. She wore the gown; she let Catherine intertwine her hair with folded silk gauze and a string of pearls, all of which was wound very artfully around the crown of her head and reminded her, strangely enough, of the antler headpiece worn by a sachem.

She had no wings to fly away with, only the long ends of the silk gauze that trailed down her back to end in deep silk fringe that swayed when she walked, and the silk net shawl heavily embroidered with flowers which she must carry draped over one arm, at Kitty’s insistence.

“How beautiful you are,” Amanda had said, taking her hands and smiling. “If only there were time to have your portrait taken—I must see about that.”

“Oh please,” Hannah said, shocked once more when she thought she could be shocked no more. “Don’t go to the bother.”

“It is no bother,” said Amanda. “Your stepmother and father would be so proud to see you; we must make a record.”

Hannah bit the inside of her cheek and held her tongue. Her father would be more alarmed than pleased to see her thus; she knew that much, but would not argue the point.

In the good parlor everything shone with the gentle light of the spring afternoon, the white marble of the fireplace and the ivory figurines that sat on the mantelpiece, crimson velvet draperies and silver buttons, crystal chandeliers and the emeralds wound around Miss Sarah Lispenard’s throat. Elizabeth had told her the story of Aladdin’s cave of wonders when she was a child, and Hannah had the strange feeling that she had somehow stumbled into such a cave and, more troublesome, that she would have trouble finding her way out.

Kitty drew her away into a corner at the first opportunity.

“You mustn’t look so serious. You will frighten people off.”

“I am bound to say something very wrong,” Hannah said. “Let me apologize now for embarrassing you.”

“Nonsense,” said Kitty. “What you need is a little … trick to sustain you. And I have the perfect one. Pretend that you are Elizabeth. Say what she would say, and you will do splendidly.”

The oddest thing was that Kitty was right. Hannah pretended
that she was Elizabeth as Will introduced her to Senator Clinton, to Mrs. Kerr, a widow known primarily for her good works among the city’s poor, and to Mrs. Kerr’s niece, Sarah Lispenard, who rustled prettily in white silk and taffeta and tried not to stare at Hannah, but without success. Mr. Howe, on the other hand, did not try to hide his interest. Tall and unusually thin, Mr. Howe walked with the support of a cane although he could be no more than thirty. There was a glassiness to his gaze that made Hannah think that if she were close enough, she might be able to catch the sickly sweet scent of laudanum that clung to men who lived with wounds that never quite healed.

She decided he must be a retired soldier, but found instead that Mr. Howe was another English immigrant—his elder brother had been to Cambridge with Will Spencer—one who had given up the practice of law to become a journalist and editor. Hannah was beginning to wonder just how many newspapers one city needed. But Mr. Howe never mentioned Mr. Lamm’s article, for which she was grateful.

The introductions moved along quite well while Hannah pretended to be Elizabeth, but every once in a while she found herself wondering whether Will’s friends might be members of the Libertas Society. She was considering Mrs. Kerr when Amanda claimed Will and Kitty appeared to draw her aside again.

“You must meet Mr. Davis.” Kitty nodded toward a group of men standing at the other end of the room, among them Miss Lispenard. “A great adventurer, he’s just come all the way from the Missouri. And can you guess who that is talking to him?”

Hannah said, “That is Miss Lispenard, who very much admires my bravery and takes great pleasure in painting fans.”

“No,” Kitty said shortly, using her fan to tap Hannah’s wrist smartly. “Not Miss Lispenard.”

“Then you must mean the tall man with bowlegs she is flirting with.”

Kitty drew in a sharp breath. “Hannah Bonner, behave yourself. That is Captain Lewis.”

Hannah cast a glance over her shoulder. “Whatever fame he claims for himself, it looks as though he spent a lot of time looking for it on horseback.”

This time Kitty’s shocked gasp gave way to a strangled giggle, but she dug her fingers into Hannah’s forearm and lowered her voice another notch. “Captain Lewis is personal secretary to President Jefferson. He is only in town for a few days. Is he not handsome? It is a great honor to have him here, a compliment to Will and Amanda.”

“Because he is handsome, or because he is President Jefferson’s secretary? In either case, he seems more interested in Mr. Davis than he does in the party.”

Kitty clucked her tongue softly in disapproval, but her cheeks were flushed the same deep rose color as her gown, and her eyes flashed her enjoyment. Suddenly Hannah was very sorry that she had been so difficult about the party, if it was going to bring Kitty such pleasure.

She said, “Come, let’s ask Will to introduce us to this excellent Captain Davis.”

“Mr. Davis and Captain Lewis,” Kitty hissed, delighted. “And you will not lack the opportunity to speak to him. Amanda has asked him to see you into dinner.”

“Miss Lispenard will be disappointed.”

Kitty tried to look understanding, but she could not quite hide a satisfied smile.

The president’s personal secretary was everything Kitty hoped he would be, Hannah saw that from her triumphant expression when Captain Lewis bent low over her hand. His hair was very like Daniel’s, dark and wavy and reluctant to be tamed. When he turned to Hannah she was surprised to find that his hand was callused and hard, a working man’s hand. A soldier’s hand, she corrected herself, taking closer note of his uniform and bearing.

“The young lady I read about in the newspaper.” His deep voice was softly Southern, but his gaze was intense and direct.

Hannah managed a polite nod. “I am afraid so.”

“If I might say, you don’t look like a student of medicine, Miss Bonner.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Hannah said, flushing with irritation. “But then I would expect the president’s secretary to be a bald old man with chin whiskers and very bad teeth.”

“Hannah,” Kitty squeaked, but apparently Captain Lewis was unwilling to be affronted. He laughed out loud.

“Mrs. Todd, don’t stop her. It’s refreshing to find a young lady who speaks her mind, and in such vivid images. But our hosts are waiting, and Mrs. Spencer has asked me to escort you to dinner. May I?”

Captain Lewis looked certain of his answer but Kitty looked alarmed, and with good reason. She knew very well that Hannah was capable of refusing the offered arm. Something she
might have done, if it were not for Will who was waiting at the door and watching her.

He tilted his head and raised one brow, as if to ask if she needed his help. As if Hannah Bonner, also known as Walks-Ahead of the Kahnyen’kehàka Wolf longhouse, might need to be rescued from Captain Meriwether Lewis.

Hannah allowed herself to be escorted to the dining room where she found that Amanda had arranged for her to be seated between Senator Clinton and Captain Lewis. To her relief the captain turned his attention to Miss Lispenard and the half of the table that was involved in a discussion of trade on the Mississippi. It suited Hannah very well to be free of the captain’s attention, but it clearly disappointed Kitty, who kept peeking around a great pyramid of doves baked in pastry shells to give Hannah very pointed looks.

Senator Clinton was less interested in trading troubles on the frontier than he was in Hannah’s education and Elizabeth’s school, and he asked a great many questions.

“It must be very tiring for Mrs. Bonner to teach two sessions each day,” he concluded as he took more goose from the platter offered him. “In my experience most ladies benefit from a nap in the afternoon.”

“There are few ladies with more energy or enthusiasm than my cousin, Senator.” Amanda offered this tentatively; it was as close as she would come to correcting a guest.

Hannah said, “As the children will not consent to be together in the same room she has no other choice.”

“Perhaps not,” said the senator. “If the village would hire a second teacher. There are some very likely young men finishing their studies at the African Free School; I’m sure that any of them would be thankful for the post. That person could then take on the education of the Negro and Indian children and your stepmother could continue with the others.”

Hannah knew very well what Elizabeth might say to such a suggestion, but she could hardly imagine the senator’s expression if she were to tell him.

“I have corresponded with Mrs. Bonner,” said Mr. Howe from across the table. “An extraordinary lady.”

There was a moment’s surprised silence, which Amanda broke in her gentle way.

“I sent my cousin Mr. Howe’s pamphlet on political equality in the city,” she said. “I believe your correspondence followed from that?”

Mr. Howe said, “It did indeed. Mrs. Bonner has an incisive mind and a most unusual way of looking at things. I have been thinking of asking her to write an article for the newspaper. Under a pen name, of course, as George Eliot did.”

The senator’s glass came to a sudden halt on its way to his mouth. Hannah watched him struggle with surprise and disapproval, and then swallow both with a good amount of French wine.

Mrs. Kerr leaned forward and tapped sharply on the table with one finger, her watery blue gaze fixed and severe.

“Mr. Howe, have you not spent enough time in the bridewell pursuing the rights of Irish freemen? When will you be satisfied?”

“When more than twenty-three percent of the men living and working in this city have the right to vote for those who govern it.” He gave her a very broad smile. “Irish or not.”

The old lady pressed her mouth together so firmly that the small chin rumpled like a peach pit, but there was something of reluctant admiration in her expression.

“Miss Bonner, have you heard the story of how Mr. Howe took up the cause of two Irish ferrymen who had the misfortune to come before an unscrupulous judge?”

“That is a serious charge,” said the senator, dropping his chin to his chest.

Mrs. Kerr flicked his admonishment from her fingers like water. “It is indeed, and I can state it with some certainty, as I have the misfortune to be the judge’s aunt. He is my poor sister Sophie’s only child. As you well know, De Witt.”

“Mrs. Kerr,” said Amanda. “You have left out the best part of the story.”

The old lady drew up. “Then you must tell it, child, if you think you are up to the job.”

“Is this really necessary?” asked Mr. Howe.

Amanda smiled at him. “It is a very good story, Mr. Howe, and you have no cause to be embarrassed.”

“It is simply told,” said Senator Clinton. “An alderman of this city who shall remain nameless”—he paused to look at Mrs. Kerr with one brow raised—“was in a hurry to get from
Brooklyn to the city and he ordered the ferrymen to shove off twenty minutes before their scheduled time. Two recent immigrants, I forget the names—”

“Malone and O’Shay,” supplied Mr. Howe.

“Malone and O’Shay, yes. Mr. Malone and Mr. O’Shay took exception to the way the alderman abused them—”

Mrs. Kerr thumped the table with the flat of her hand. “You have gutted the tale like a two-day-old fish, De Witt. The Senate is having an unfortunate effect, as I warned you it would.” She turned to Hannah.

“This alderman—one of the Livingstons, I’m not afraid to say, though De Witt has scruples, given that he married into the family—he called the ferrymen lazy rascals and threatened to throw them in the bridewell because they would not do as he ordered, and they stood up to him, as the Irish often will. A brash people, the Irish. I wonder if they will ever learn that discretion is sometimes the greater part of valor. They gave the man as good as they got. ‘We’re good as any buggers!’ That’s what they said, you mustn’t blush to hear it told truthfully, Mrs. Spencer. And when they reached Manhattan that rogue Livingston called a constable and had them marched to the bridewell, thrashing them with his cane the whole way.”