The Spirit Room (63 page)

“
No.”

“
Clara travels on a ship?”

“
No. Mary.”

“
Who is Mary?”

“
Friend.”

“
Where is Clara?”

“
Mary.”

“
Who is Mary?”

Silence. The longer Ada didn’t answer, the more Izzie wanted to shake her, shake all of them. A ship. Someone named Mary. How on earth was any of this supposed to lead her to Clara and Euphora?

Finally, she yelled. “Who is Mary?”

Ada’s eyes lowered. Her shoulders fell and she appeared to be out of the trance. She looked at Izzie. “She’s gone. I saw Emma.”

Izzie nodded. She began to shiver all over. “Emma, speak to me through someone else. Tell me more.” She gestured toward the mahogany table. “Speak through any of them. Please. I beg you.” Tears flowed from her eyes. The mediums stared at her, but no one moved. “What use are you? What use are your gifts? What is everyone here for?” She surveyed the guests. “You can’t even tell me where my sisters are.”

Anna and Mrs. Fielding were suddenly on either side of her. They took her arms and led her toward the door. Thunder boomed overhead. She cringed, then twisted around. “What use are you? You’re all hoaxes!”

Roland blocked her as she tried to free herself and plow back into the room.

“
What good are any of you?” Writhing, she tried to break free of Anna and Mrs. Fielding. They held her wrists, tugging and coercing her out of the room.

It took all three of them to get her out into the foyer and get the doors closed. When Izzie faced the doors blocking her out, she pounded them.

“
Izzie. Izzie.” The voices of Roland, Anna, and Mrs. Fielding scolded and beckoned her.

Slowly, Izzie caught her breath and looked up at her friends. Roland’s mouth was hanging open. Anna had tears in her eyes, but Mrs. Fielding had fire in hers.

“
You have humiliated me.” Mrs. Fielding’s head was tilted back, her face quivering. “Those are the most revered mediums in the country. You will never,
ever
, sit at one of my spirit circles again. Do you hear me?”

“
Come now, let’s get a hack. We’ll discuss this later. Come. Come.” Roland nudged and poked them all as though he was herding them like sheep out the front door, through a blast of soaking rain, and into their hack.

No one spoke on the way back to Twenty-Fifth Street. Izzie pressed her forehead against the cold damp window, trying to see under the umbrellas that marched along the sidewalk.

Forty-Four

AS THE ORCHESTRA TUNED THEIR INSTRUMENTS, Clara worried about whether the dance lessons she’d had from the girls at the parlor house the past four days were enough. It was her first dress-ball and it was by far the grandest of the season, or of many seasons, according to Mary Johnson.

While three or four men at a time chatted with her and wrote their names on her dance card, Clara tried to count the women and men at Castle Hastings, but there were three different parlors and far too many people coming and going. And men were still arriving. So far she’d counted one hundred and two women and eighty-five men. In addition to that, there were six madams plus the Empress Kate, whose home it was, greeting the gentlemen at the door. There were sixteen men in the orchestra, seventeen men and women in serving uniforms, two men taking invitations, and two taking coats.

If Billy were here, he would challenge her on her count of all these people. She was sure she was right, though. But then, she didn’t really want him here seeing her as a courtesan. She was glad he couldn’t see her, glad Mamma couldn’t see her, glad Izzie couldn’t see her. Two more women she hadn’t noticed swept into the ballroom. That was one hundred and four women.

Mary Johnson and the other madams were hostesses and shared in the arrangements along with the Empress, and each madam brought her girls, but it was the Empress’s home and she was in command of the evening.

Earlier in the week Mary Johnson had prepared Clara and the girls with not only dance lessons, but a long lecture in which she had explained that the men would all be upper crust, fancy and fast, New York’s finest. She’d been like a schoolteacher presenting the day’s lessons, standing in her parlor with the girls all sitting around.

“
The most celebrated courtesans from the Empress Kate’s house will be there—Mary Queen of Scots, Marchioness D’Orsay, Princess Jenny, the Jewess. And Julia Brown’s girls will be there too. I want you to watch them. Some of you are as accomplished as they are, but you can always improve yourselves. Watch them closely. What they eat and drink. How they move through a room. How they use their eyes, their hands, their faces. If you are near them in conversation, listen to what they say and when they say it. If they are silent, try to understand why they are choosing to be so. And don’t forget that your gentleman of the moment is your favorite. He is, as always, exceptional.

“
This is a special opportunity for our new girls, Katrina, Lizette, and Duchess Elena. You may all drink the wine and champagne, but only very little. Take the smallest sips to make the gentlemen feel they are not drinking alone. You may enjoy yourselves, but you are working and you must stay alert.” She paused for a moment and looked around at all the girls carefully. “If anyone embarrasses me by their behavior at the ball, then I assure you, tomorrow you will be streetwalking.” Her eyes drifted from face to face, letting this comment sink in. “This is not an idle threat. It is a fact. I want you to make me proud. This is your chance to shine in front of the very best. If you do well, we will gain new clients. We will all do well.”

Later that day, Mary Johnson called Clara to her office and told her the best news of all. Lizette LaMer would be permitted to enter womanhood at the ball. She could wear a lady’s dress. Clara could be a young lady from now on. Since Clara could not yet afford a dress that would be suitable for an affair such as this, Mary Johnson would loan her one from a half dozen dresses she kept in her quarters for such occasions. Clara chose a blue and white silk and lace with four flounces on the skirt and wide ribbons flowing down from the waist.

On the afternoon of the ball, Clara’s new hairdresser came by the house and fixed her hair in perfect shiny coils at the back of her head and laced a string of imitation pearls through them like a heavenly vine. When she was ready, she stood in front of the mirror in her room and studied herself—dress shimmering, hair exquisite, lips painted to perfection, arms bare, and bosoms round and firm revealed by the low cut of the dress for anyone to see. She stared a long while at herself. She was Lizette. Lizette LaMer.

Hannah was stunning with her hair done by the same new hairdresser and she also wore a borrowed dress. Mary Johnson said her silver wasn’t quite provocative enough and loaned her a gold and blue satin. Then, at nine o’clock in the evening, five hacks arrived at their door on Green Street and carried all twenty-one girls and Mary Johnson off to Castle Hastings, home of Empress Kate and her girls.

Now, at eleven, the orchestra struck its first note. It was a waltz. Clara was relieved. That was the one they’d practiced the most.

“
Lizette, I’m the first one on your card. Jim Fisk.”

Fisk, a roundish fellow with an extra chin, took her gloved hand and led her into the center of the floor. He was confident in his stride and she fell into his lead. They spun round. They glided across the room among the other twirling couples. The music was bright as sunlight. As she swept near the doors, she noticed Hannah wasn’t dancing, but instead was standing to the side with a girl Clara didn’t know.

When it was time for the next dance, another man appeared. He was tall with a mustache so long it hung two inches below his chin. He stepped on her foot, but she claimed fault as she’d been taught to do. As they reeled around, she noticed Hannah still wasn’t dancing. The third dance was another waltz. Two men came to her and checked her card. One of them was number three, the other four. Number three wore a red rose in his lapel. He was dark-complexioned like Carlotta Leone and could have been her brother. He was a better dancer than number two and tried to find out about her. Did she ever go to school? Where did she grow up? Did she have sisters as beautiful as she was? Clara was Lizette more than ever. Lizette did go to school and Lizette’s mother also taught her to read French, though she couldn’t speak it. She grew up right here in New York just above Washington Square. She had no sisters. Number three never said a thing about himself. He seemed enchanted with her every word and they were all lies.

When the music stopped, he stared into her eyes without speaking. Then he said, “I want you to come with me upstairs when the dancing is over.”

Clara nodded. He was the first to ask, so she had to agree. Going upstairs was part of the evening. First there would be dancing, then around one o’clock in the morning, any of the men could take a girl upstairs to one of the boudoirs, dressing rooms, or small parlors and have their pleasure if they liked. About an hour later, everyone would return to the parlors where tables would now be set with crystal and silver and a fine French supper. Then about three o’clock in the morning, the rooms would be swept clear of the dishes, tables and chairs and dancing would resume until daylight. The sporting men could also take girls back to their respective parlor houses or hotels or wherever they liked.

When the orchestra stopped for the break, Clara’s partner left her and she looked around for Hannah. She wanted to see how her friend was fairing so she began to search the crowded rooms for the large gold-and-blue bell of Hannah’s dress. Dead in the middle of one of the busiest parlors, she spotted Hannah. She set off toward her, but before she had gone more than a step or two, she realized Empress Kate and her courtesan Princess Jenny were heading straight for her with great welcoming smiles on their faces.

“
Has someone invited you upstairs?” Empress Kate asked.

“
Yes, ma’am.” Clara curtsied. She didn’t know why she did it. Empress Kate wasn’t a real Empress, after all.

“
What is your name, dear?”

“
Cl … Lizette LaMer, ma’am.”

“
Not royalty?” Empress Kate snickered, looking at her courtesan companion and winking.

The Empress extended her hand to Lizette. She was handsome, had probably been a beauty when she was young, but she had a hard look about her. Clara held her breath.

“
I am pleased to meet you, Lizette. This is Princess Jenny. You are with Mary Johnson?”

“
Yes, ma’am.”

“
I’ve had a number of compliments about you already tonight and the evening has only just begun.” Empress Kate’s diamond tiara glinted under the chandelier gaslight. Clara wondered if they were glass diamonds on the tiara or real ones. “I want you to keep me in mind if you ever decide to leave Mary Johnson’s, not that you would, of course. She has an excellent house. But you are always welcome to visit me and discuss your future.”

Sporting gent number three, perspiring and smiling, popped into their group next to the Empress. Clara sank down but kept her smile on. It was time to go upstairs with him.

“
Ah, Mr. Livingston. You’re here for Lizette?” Her wrist laden with bracelets, she reached over and touched his sleeve. “I won’t keep you.” She gazed at Clara. “Remember what I’ve said. Now, enjoy yourselves.”

“
Thank you, we will,” said Mr. Livingston.

Empress Kate and Princess Jenny turned away. “And where was the other one?” the Empress said quietly to the Princess.

“
Ready?” Mr. Livingston took a blue silk handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his brow, then, as he was replacing it, stared at Clara’s bust. Suddenly he lowered his damp forehead onto her bosom and left it there a moment.
Hell-fire
, what was he doing? And why was he perspiring in the first place? She hadn’t seen him dancing. It wasn’t a hot night and the tall windows were thrown open to the cool night air. Two gentlemen passed by, observed Livingston resting his head on her bust and laughed with each other. This was horribly damned embarrassing. What a stinkpot this muttonhead was.

While she waited for him to raise his head, she looked about the room again for Hannah, but she was gone now. Had someone chosen her friend to go upstairs?

Finally, Livingston stood erect and said, “I can tell already, I’ll have no self-control with you. You are divine.” He glanced over his shoulder at the room emptying. “The rooms will all be taken. Let’s get along.” He put an arm around her waist and led her brusquely toward the grand staircase out in the foyer.

As they started up the stairs, a familiar belly laugh broke above the blended voices. A chill ran up her neck and over her scalp. Reilly. It sounded like John Reilly.

“
Just a minute.” She pressed backward against Livingston’s arm to force him to stop. From the height of several stairs, she searched the shapes and faces. It was Reilly. He was here.
Here
. She absolutely couldn’t be seen by him. He’d tell Papa if he knew Papa’s whereabouts.