Parlor Games (49 page)

On May 8, Daisy and I stood before the mighty Pyramids of Giza. Just before departing London I’d received word that a Menominee family of five had been killed in a house fire, and a gloomy wariness still gripped me: The mother of the family had been a dear acquaintance of mine. And only two days earlier, King Edward VII had died while Halley’s comet streaked the sky. Something in the world seemed to have tipped, as if all the universe’s mighty forces had gathered to declare: We and we alone control the fates.

I said to Daisy, “What incredible monuments. Built by men long gone.”

“Thousands and thousands of them.”

I squinted against the bright sun reflecting off the expansive sands. “What makes one a Cleopatra while all the others are buried by the march of time?”

Daisy, her mood as glum as mine, merely shook her head.

For several minutes I gazed quietly on the pyramids while gusts of wind buffeted my dress about my legs. When our guide called out to us, we turned away from the looming monuments, into the sandy wind, and traipsed toward him.

I took Daisy’s arm. “Ernest has won. I underestimated him.”

“What will you do?”

“I see no alternative but to crawl back to him and beg him to dismiss the suit.”

Once we landed in England, I sent a telegram to Ernest:
RETURNING TO LONDON MAY 21 STOP MISS YOU STOP PLEASE DINE WITH ME ON MAY 23 STOP
. I was quite certain he would accept the invitation; he had always enjoyed celebrating my birthday.

We met at Wiltons on Jermyn Street, a place with fond memories for me—Rudolph and I had twice dined there and on the second occasion he’d proposed to me. I chose it so that I might at least enjoy the glow of reminiscence while I subjugated myself to Ernest’s wishes.

Not surprisingly, after the wicked accusations hurled about the courtroom a mere two months ago, we greeted each other tentatively.

“How was your trip?” he asked when we took our seats.

“Not particularly enjoyable. But I needed it.” In the dining room’s muted candlelight, I noted a darkness around his eyes, as if he’d been ill or had slept poorly.

He tapped his fingers on the table. “And your health?”

“Much better, thank you. My physician has pronounced me cured of my mysterious ailment.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“How are things at your club?”

“The same.” He shifted in his chair. “A bit boring, actually.”

“Sometimes routine is good for us—soothing, even.” I held his gaze and summoned the memory of happier times at Bray Lodge. “I have missed ours.”

He smiled shyly. “May I order some champagne?”

I let the evening unfold: I gave the champagne time to lift my spirits—and quell Ernest’s suspicious nature; I demurely accepted his birthday wishes. Finally, I proclaimed, lacing my words with hesitancy and humility, “Ernest … I don’t want to go on any longer without you.… I wonder … might we take up where we left off at Christmas?”

He closed his eyes a moment and dropped his head. Looking up at me with watery eyes, he said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, my darling, I am.” I swallowed and moistened my lips. “May we?”

He reached across the table. I opened my hand and he clasped it. “Yes,” he said. “How soon can you return?”

“Once we get out from under these ugly legal matters?”

“Of course, that would be best.”

“If you were to sign a paper absolving me of any indebtedness, we could start fresh.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want any of that hanging over us.”

I immediately offered to dismiss my countersuit. He said he would withdraw his claim. We would both tell our solicitors we had reached a satisfactory agreement on our own.

It took only three days to conclude these matters. I checked with Mr. Brewster to be sure that Ernest had in fact closed the suit and then phoned him. “Darling, I’m so pleased those awful lawsuits are behind us. Can you hire a carriage to pick Daisy and me up Monday morning? We’ll have everything packed and ready to go.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll ask that the carriage arrive by ten in the morning.”

“Lovely, I’ll be home for dinner. Until then, my darling, I send you a kiss.” I smacked the air by the phone’s mouthpiece.

On Sunday morning, Daisy and I packed up our belongings and caught the train to Liverpool. A few days later we set sail for New York. And never again did I see Dr. Ernest Whidbey.

Such jarring events as I had lived through with Ernest are apt to force one to re-evaluate what matters most in life. Never before had I so misjudged a man; I even feared my powers of perception might be diminishing. And now, eyes open wide to the miscalculations I had committed about the “lowly professor,” I determined to retreat to the sanctuary of those I could hold close and confide in. I settled in an apartment on the Upper East Side of New York, with Daisy as my companion, and entertained old friends there. In 1912, when I received word that Frank Shaver had suffered the loss of her father, I extended my sympathies, full of hope that I might renew my friendship with the companionable and trustworthy Frank.

THE TRIAL
DAISY TAKES THE STAND
MENOMINEE—JANUARY 31, 1917

A
snowstorm had swept in overnight, bringing with it a wicked wind that swirled the snow every which way. Come morning, the city’s workers endeavored to clear the main streets of snowdrifts, but the blizzard bested them. Thus, all of us who needed—or wished—to attend the trial were forced to trudge through two-foot-high drifts while snow needles blasted our cheeks.

Not surprisingly, only about thirty-five spectators, including the usual reporters and townspeople, braved the horrid storm. The judge announced we would carry on as long as the heat and lights held out. To the satisfaction of all, the radiators pinged bravely. Still, the blizzard’s cold seeped through the windows, and we all sat tugging our coats about us, occasionally glancing at the eddies of snow buffeting the courtroom’s narrow windows.

But I had Daisy to warm the cockles of my heart.

Mr. Powers eased into his friendly examination of Daisy. “Miss Emmett, how long have you known the Baroness?”

“Longer than she’s been a baroness,” said Daisy, her charming glance skittering over the jurors’ onlooking faces. “We met in New York in 1891.”

“And how did this meeting come about?”

“I responded to an advertisement for an assistant and companion. May hired me, and I’ve worked with her ever since, with only a few breaks here and there when she didn’t need my services.”

“And have you been pleased with your employment?”

“Oh, yes. May has been very generous with me. She even hired my brother for a while. And gave me money for my crippled mother.”

“Are you acquainted with Miss Frank Shaver?”

“Very well. I accompanied May and Frank on several trips and handled many of their mutual affairs.”

“What do you mean by mutual affairs?”

“They worked together on some projects. Like the remodeling of the Menominee home.”

“Were you present on the
Lusitania
crossing in early 1914?”

At the mention of this journey, I invariably recalled the shock I’d experienced upon hearing that Germany had sunk the
Lusitania
. Daisy, Frank, and I had enjoyed a memorable crossing in 1914, and, one short year later, these other innocents met with unspeakable horror. How fickle destiny can be.

“Yes,” Daisy replied. “We all shared a royal suite.”

“And did you manage the expenses for that?”

“Yes, I did. That was one of the things May left to me.”

“Can you explain how the expenses were paid?”

“The suite cost $1,010, and I secured an extra bathroom for us for $140. I paid the total costs of $1,150 out of May’s funds. Frank later insisted that she make some contribution. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she wouldn’t hear anything of it and gave me $500.”

“You did not ask her for this money?”

“No, I only accepted it at her insistence.”

“Now, you mentioned that Miss Shaver and the Baroness worked together on the remodeling of the Dugas house here in town.”

“Yes, they did.”

“Can you explain how this collaboration worked?”

“It wasn’t very harmonious. May and Frank both wanted to remodel, but they couldn’t agree on details. May was worried the remodeling would cost a fortune and asked me to restrain Frank’s spending ways. But when I tried, Frank said, ‘Leave it to me. This must be a palace.’ ”

“Was the remodeling of the bathroom one such area of differing opinions?”

“Yes. Frank wanted to splurge on a fancy bathtub that cost a thousand dollars. When I told her that was outside the budget, she told me to mind my own business.”

“And did she proceed with the purchase of this costly bathtub?”

“It sits now, fancy as can be, in the upstairs bathroom.”

How I loved my dear friend Daisy. She never failed to cheer me under the most dire of circumstances.

“I believe,” said Powers, coasting along with his examination, “that you and Miss Shaver had occasion to work together on the funeral plans for Mrs. Dugas in October of 1913?”

“Yes, we bought the funeral flowers, and May didn’t know anything about it. We didn’t want to bother her while she was so broken up. The bill came to a hundred twenty-five dollars, which Frank paid.”

“And did you reimburse this expense?”

“Yes, I sent Frank a check for the flowers and she sent me a note saying, ‘Your check received. Thank you.’ ”

Mr. Powers retreated to the defendant’s table, swept up a piece of paper, and brought it to the witness box. “Is this the note you’re referring to?”

Daisy accepted the slip of paper. “Yes.”

“And it’s in Frank’s handwriting?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Powers retrieved the paper from Daisy and slipped it into the empty space in his row of papers. He ambled back to the witness box. “Now, are you aware of any occasions on which the Baroness gifted funds to Miss Shaver?”

“Yes, when we returned from London in early 1914, I remember May handing Frank a thousand dollars.”

“And how do you know this money was a gift?”

“I recall May saying, ‘Here, Frank, spend this however you want.’ ”

“Did Miss Shaver protest this gift?”

“Oh, no. She took it and stuffed it in her bag. She was even a little huffy about it. Afterward, May told me she felt unappreciated.”

“Are you personally aware of any other gifts the Baroness made to Miss Shaver?”

“Oh, there were many. On the 1914 trip—I remember it well, because May kept checking the papers for news about the Mexican revolution—May took her shopping. I went along, too. May bought two new dresses and a pair of shoes for Frank. She wore one of her dresses and the new shoes to the opera the next night. May told her she looked splendid, and Frank thanked her for the gifts.”

“Would it be fair to say that the Baroness was generous with Miss Shaver?”

“Very much so.”

“And did Miss Shaver appreciate her generosity?”

“Mostly. Sometimes I think she felt competitive and tried to outdo May with the gifts.”

“Competitive, you say?”