Parlor Games (42 page)

“Not without some kind of arrangement.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can work something out.” The truth is, she was the best assistant I could have asked for. And I needed her now more than ever.

“I’d be pleased to come back into your service if I can be sure Mother will be taken care of.”

“Heavens, I won’t need you twenty-four hours a day. We’ll work out a schedule.”

“And might you be able to pay a housemaid to attend to Mother when I’m not there?”

What could I say? I wasn’t so heartless as to leave an old woman alone in her hovel. I patted her hands. “Of course, Daisy. That’s no problem at all.”

Two weeks after I’d submitted my counteroffer, Rudolph’s solicitor fired back:
REQUESTED FUNDS ARE OUT OF THE QUESTION STOP THEY ARE NOT IN LINE WITH WHAT IS CUSTOMARY IN SUCH CASES STOP THE LONDON HOME HAS BEEN PUT ON THE MARKET STOP CANNOT BE CONSIDERED IN THE DIVORCE STOP
.

I responded:
WILL RELINQUISH ANY REQUEST FOR PROPERTY STOP REQUEST THE EQUIVALENT OF $440,000 AND THE BARONESS TITLE STOP
. I imagined that would keep them quiet for a spell.

Rudolph and I were obviously locked in a game of offers and counteroffers. If only I had some insight into Rudolph’s state of mind, I might better know how to proceed. And that made me think of Saskia and Philip, whom I missed terribly. I would have loved to dine and go to the opera with them. But circumstances precluded continuation of our friendship. I’m sure Saskia missed me as much as I missed her. And no doubt Philip still appreciated the assistance I’d provided in Mexico. But I understand family ties and loyalty as well as the next person. Our friendship, alas, had fallen casualty to my husband’s impatience and intransigence.

MY YEARS OF WANDERING
NEW YORK AND MENOMINEE—1903–1905

T
hus began my years of wandering. Cut off from Alonso, thwarted by Reed Dougherty, and refused by Rudolph, I was adrift, with only a title to link me to the respectable life I’d once known. I rejected all the Baron’s settlement offers, even as he inched up the financial terms. Eventually, he resorted to an arrangement that did not require my consent: a legal separation in the Dutch courts, on the grounds of abandonment, which absolved him of any financial responsibility for me and forced me to subsist on the proceeds of the hotel sale.

The world of 1903 seemed to race by without me, and newspapers touted the many amazing inventions of our “magical era of mechanical progress.” Henry Ford founded an automobile company, the Wright brothers took to the air in Kitty Hawk, Harley and Davidson motorized a bicycle, and Marconi and King Edward exchanged two-way wireless messages. But I could finding nothing magical in my life, nor could I imagine a way to reinvent myself.

New York soon became tiresome, with its insufferably humid summers, blustery autumns, and snowstorms that brought the city to a mind-numbing standstill. The dreadful society pages reported on my and my acquaintances’ every society appearance and related the particulars of my marital predicament to the whole of New York. Men I might enjoy passing the time with looked on me as a mere toy to be fancied, a titled woman somewhere between a husband and a divorce. I was neither fish nor fowl, neither married nor marriageable. In short, my status precluded the kind of companionship any woman in my circumstances would wish for—the attentions of
a well-to-do gentleman who could offer a gallant arm and spirited company.

I struggled through winter’s hardships in New York and decided that, if I must submit to the vagaries of a northern climate, I might as well do so in Menominee, where I could at least savor the comforts of hearth and kin. I released Daisy to attend to her mother’s caretaking and journeyed to Michigan in the spring of 1904.

Much as I enjoyed helping Maman around the house and joshing with my brothers, I soon became bored—with the sameness of the rooms; the tedium of tired, predictable greetings with the butcher and grocer; and the utter lack of any theater, opera, or musical entertainment of at least middling quality. The best Menominee’s brand-new Opera House could offer, a much-vaunted visit by John Philip Sousa, did little to endear me to its fare. I had obviously overrated the comforts of hearth and kin.

By November of 1904, I was back in New York, though I was none too content there, either.

“New York is getting too small for me,” I told Daisy.

She stood at my dresser, removing spruce-scented laundry from a canvas bag. Speaking with her back to me, she nestled my clothes into the drawers. “Where would you go?”

“London. Where there are plenty of people who knew me before I even met Rudolph.”

She looked over her shoulder at me. “And would I join you?”

“I’d like nothing more. Could you?”

“It would be a hardship for Mother. Unless I could move Mildred in with her.”

“If you’re asking me if I can afford to do that, I certainly can. And will.”

She straightened up and faced me. “When shall we go?”

“As soon as the air warms. So we can enjoy a springtime crossing.”

In April 1905, Daisy and I boarded the
Carmania
for Liverpool.

DR. ERNEST WHIDBEY
ON THE ATLANTIC—APRIL 1905

A
s the ship cut through choppy gray-green seas, Daisy and I buttoned up our coats and explored the promenade deck. On the starboard side we approached a gentleman who cut a sturdy figure in a white waistcoat, sleek black lounge coat, and cuffed trousers. Each of his long steps lifted with a slight bounce, lending a hint of daring to his measured strut. He’d tucked a packet of newspapers under his arm and, judging by their roughly folded sheets, had made meticulous study of them. As we converged, he tipped his pewter-gray homburg to us and I noticed how his thick, mahogany-brown mustache accentuated broad cheekbones and bushy eyebrows.

“What an interesting-looking man,” I said to Daisy.

“Shall I see what I can learn about him?”

“No, he’s probably a dull face-in-a-newspaper sort.”

We managed only a few strides before Daisy said, “You should be considering your finances.”

“My finances are quite healthy at the moment.”

“You never plan ahead.”

“At least let me enjoy the crossing.” I looped my arm in Daisy’s. “There’s something quite adventurous about being at sea, betwixt places, completely free to do as one pleases.”

Daisy sighed, “If you say so.”

“I do. And I enjoy the intrigue of all these strangers mingling, the thrill of letting events unfold as they may.” As we rounded the bow, a nippy mist buffeted my face. I inhaled deeply. “Even the chilly air is invigorating.”

I retired to my stateroom for the rest of the afternoon to read
Tom Jones
and luxuriate in the room’s plush carpet, satinwood paneling, and velvet curtains. When thirst and hunger got the better of me, I called on Daisy to help me dress for dinner.

“I believe I’ll go for a grand entrance this evening,” I said, pointing to my dulcet-orange gown with its fashionable pigeon breast and broad sash.

Daisy had absented herself the whole afternoon, determined to hobnob on deck. Removing my gown from its hanger, she said. “I exchanged a few words with that gentleman we passed earlier.”

I slipped out of my day dress. “Let me guess.… He’s in banking or finances.”

She chuckled. “No, no. Merely a doctor.”

“Ah, well. Life wouldn’t be nearly as exciting if I were always right.”

Upon entering the lounge, I spotted this same gentleman standing near the bar, but I paid him no mind. I breezed by a few full tables and selected a small one against the wall. No sooner had I seated myself than the gentleman approached.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, bowing. “Dr. Ernest Whidbey.”

“Dr. Whidbey,” I said, reaching out my hand. “I am Baroness May de Vries.”

He clapped both his hands around mine. “Honored to meet you, Baroness. May I buy you a cocktail, or perhaps a glass of champagne?”

“Champagne would be lovely.”

He intercepted a waiter and placed our order.

“I had a delightful time chatting with your companion earlier,” he said, seating himself.

“She’s a delight to me as well. And what are the chances we would meet again after such a fleeting encounter today?”

“Not all that bad. First-class capacity is six hundred, though I’m told all the staterooms are occupied.”

“The very reason I chose this ship. The rooms are luxurious, aren’t they?” I studied the broad structure of his handsome face. There was
something both civilized and quizzical in the uneven slant of his brow and the way one eye closed to a near squint while the other remained open and alert.

“And roomy, too. They’ve made good use of the boat’s six-hundred-twenty-two-foot length.” He tugged his shirtsleeves down from under his jacket sleeves, revealing immaculately starched white cuffs. “This happens to be the first ship outfitted with a permanent radio connection to shore stations.”

“You have quite a mind for numbers and facts, Dr. Whidbey. I assume you are a physician?”

“I’m a professor of ophthalmology and otology—an eyes-and-ears man.”