A Gilded Lady, page 10
She knocked. A moment later Philip Ransom opened it, looking as thin and pale as ever. He was a handsome man, with a lanky frame and blond hair clipped to military precision, but he suffered from the pallor of being trapped in a basement all day.
“Caroline,” he said in surprise. “Come in. Your brother is here.”
Gray rose from behind the worktable as she entered the room, but a crate of rolled maps clogged the space between them. Philip dragged the crate aside to clear a path, accidentally bumping into a coat tree. It wobbled, but he managed to catch it before it crashed to the ground. In the past few months, this cramped map library had become their war room as the three of them strategized ways to mitigate Luke’s dilemma. She didn’t know how Philip could stand working in this overstuffed, windowless room, but for now she appreciated its privacy.
“Happy birthday.” Gray smiled as he stepped around a floor globe to kiss her cheek.
“Thank you,” she replied. Gray held a chair for her at the single table. “Did you perhaps remember it with a particularly unique gift?”
He quirked a brow. “That’s a little forward, even for you. Of course you’re getting a gift, but it isn’t wrapped yet.”
“I’m speaking about the twenty-nine artichokes that mysteriously appeared in the White House kitchen this morning.”
Gray’s jaw dropped. It took a lot to render him speechless, but the artichokes did the trick. After a moment, he found his voice. “How did he pull that one off?”
“So it wasn’t you?”
“It wasn’t me.” Gray met Philip’s eyes across the table. “Philip? Do you know anything about this?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Philip was so squeaky clean, he wouldn’t know how to lie if given a script and acting lessons. Besides, artichokes smuggled into the White House in the dead of night was a classic Luke stunt, not something from Philip the Meek.
She told Philip how Luke began gifting her with artichokes from the time they were children, and he confessed to being equally baffled as to how the artichokes could have appeared in a locked White House room.
She showed Gray the back of the note. “Does November 15th mean anything to you?”
He thought for a moment but shook his head.
“It’s a Tuesday,” Philip offered. “And it’s my parents’ anniversary. Aside from that, I can’t think of anything special.”
She would simply have to wait until next month to discover the surprise, even though every nerve ending in her body tingled with curiosity. But more importantly, she wanted an update on Luke.
She turned to Gray. “Did Luke really fire the attorney you hired for him? Again?”
“He really did,” he said, the frustration palpable in his voice.
“Hire him back.”
Gray shook his head. “Luke swears he’s turned over a new leaf and wants to accept his punishment with no excuses and no defense.”
That didn’t sound like Luke, and she swiveled her gaze to Philip. “You must know people in high places. Who is the best person to start negotiating a plea deal with?”
Philip shrugged. “If Luke doesn’t want to cooperate, we aren’t going to get anywhere.”
How could her daredevil brother become such fierce friends with the timid, rule-following Philip Ransom? She fought to keep her voice serene. “Philip, please understand that I am prepared to unknot that tie around your throat and use it to strangle you unless you cooperate.”
Philip flinched. “I don’t know anything!” he squeaked. “I report to the officer in charge of navigation, and he’s got even fewer connections than I do.”
“What connections do you have?” Gray asked, leaning forward.
“I know her,” he said, pointing at Caroline. “I think knowing the first lady’s secretary is pretty highfalutin.” He accidentally knocked a slide rule to the floor, and he grimaced when the tiny screw securing the cursor rolled off. “Drat, this is my favorite slide rule,” he muttered, trying to fit it back into place. It was hopeless. He was all thumbs.
“Give it to me,” she sighed. If Philip’s head wasn’t attached by flesh and bone, he’d probably lose it too.
“You’re both invited to my house for dinner tonight,” Gray said. “I’ve got a new variety of paprika I’d like your opinion on.”
Caroline wasn’t free to escape the White House, and Philip didn’t seem any more eager.
“I’ve got a dance class tonight,” he said, which surprised them both. Philip seemed too timid to venture into something so engaging. “Mrs. Barclay’s finishing school always needs men to partner with her students. I earn a little extra income.”
“Are you in need of funds?” Gray asked.
“The money is welcome,” Philip replied, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Gray leaned forward, his face even more serious than usual. “Philip, if you need money, come to me. I can help with investments that will be easier than taking second jobs at night.”
“Stop it, Gray. You’re embarrassing him.” She returned Philip’s slide rule with the cursor back in place, and he sent her a grateful smile but sobered quickly as he rotated the slide rule in his hands. It suddenly seemed as if a world of sadness overcame him.
“Actually, the dance classes help get my mind off Luke,” Philip finally said. “I feel so helpless. Sometimes I just need to forget.”
Her heart turned over and she felt rotten about teasing him, because Luke’s arrest had hit Philip hard too. The three of them had become extraordinarily close over the past few months, and they were learning together how to cope with this new and terrible feeling of despair.
And if the president didn’t win the election in November, they would be more helpless than ever.
As election day drew near, it consumed all of Nathaniel’s waking hours. In two weeks, the president would be casting his vote in his hometown of Canton, Ohio. That meant guarding the entire presidential party on the train to Ohio and then during the four-day visit.
Nathaniel had never been to Canton and would be forced to lean on the local police for help. Security on election day would be a nightmare, with thousands of people swarming around the president, and potential assassins surely salivated at the chance to strike during a high-profile event. Planning for the upcoming train ride and the festivities in Canton required all his attention, and yet here he sat, silently fuming over the latest outrage from Caroline Delacroix.
This morning’s kitchen break-in should have been reported immediately. He could forgive her for waiting until the household was awake. He could even overlook the delay while she conducted her regular morning check-in with the first lady.
But first she’d paid calls around town, then had lunch with the household staff, then consulted with the cook about some menus. In the afternoon she hosted a tea alongside the first lady and a group of local suffragettes.
Unbelievably, she then took a leisurely stroll in the conservatory for almost an hour. An hour! He fumed, giving her all the rope she needed to hang herself. But instead of taking two minutes to write him a note about the unauthorized access someone in her circle had orchestrated to deliver a basket of artichokes, she headed upstairs to change for dinner. Like many rich people, she indulged in the affectation of dressing for dinner. Dinner was a small affair tonight, with only the president’s chaplain and a few of his old army friends in attendance. In light of Caroline’s birthday, she had been invited as well.
Nathaniel waited in the staff stairwell to catch her before she could sashay into dinner as though she hadn’t a care in the world. She looked typically spectacular as she glided down the staircase. He blocked her path.
“Happy birthday,” he said without smiling.
“Thank you. Such heartfelt good wishes mean so much to me.”
She tried to angle around him, but he shifted and blocked her again. “When did you intend to report the break-in last night?”
“Have we determined it was a break-in? That must be distressing for you.”
“Who gave you the artichokes?” He knew about her brother’s tradition of giving her artichokes from the day he’d eavesdropped on her and Ludmila in the greenhouse. He wanted to see if she’d volunteer the information, but as usual, she evaded him.
“I have no idea,” she said casually.
“How did they get into the locked kitchen?”
She sent him an abashed smile and shrugged. That probably worked on her parents, but never him. Everyone in this house had a duty to report potential lapses in security. This was a big one, and she hadn’t raised the alarm. He only learned of it because the cook thought to warn him—after Caroline suggested to the entire kitchen staff to pay it no mind.
That smug expression annoyed him, but he wouldn’t let it show. By firing a steady stream of probing questions from different angles, he’d shake her composure eventually, and she’d let something slip.
“Why artichokes? The Greeks used them as a symbol of hope. What are you hoping for?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Who is the ‘adorable fool’? Mrs. Fitzpatrick heard you say it.”
“Don’t you think giving a huge basket of artichokes is a little on the foolish side?” she asked.
“No. I think it’s something a felon and a traitor might do. Something you have some experience with.”
The humor evaporated from her face. “You can leave my brother out of this. He’s safely locked up and not prowling around White House grounds.”
“A relief to all loyal Americans. What’s going to happen on the fifteenth of November?”
“I have no idea.”
“It was on the note, and I think you do know. What other birthday traditions do you have?”
She lifted her chin with a lady-of-the-manor expression. “People are nice to me. We treat each other with respect and good cheer. There are no insults to my family and no slurs on my character. Those would be the main things.”
“That’s what happens on your birthday. What sort of November 15th traditions do you have?”
He was getting to her. The veneer was starting to crack. “We yank off our clothes, drink whiskey, and dance around a bonfire. Don’t blame me if you have lousy security. No one knows how those artichokes got into the kitchen, but that’s a poor reflection on you, not me.”
The comment set him back on his heels, mostly because she was correct. He drew a steadying breath. Everything he knew about human nature indicated that Caroline was loyal to the McKinleys and that she believed her brother to be innocent. In all likelihood she was wrong about her brother, but that meant she deserved pity, not anger. He needed to do better.
“We are in for a challenging few weeks,” he said. “In terms of security, it will be the most dangerous since I joined the White House. I would appreciate your cooperation in helping me protect the first family.”
“Of course,” she said tightly.
He owed her more than a begrudging offer to bury the hatchet. Maybe he wasn’t born to the manner, but he was an honorable man who treated women with respect. Caroline could get on his last nerve, but that was his shortcoming, not hers.
“And I’m sorry for acting like a wet blanket,” he said. “Please forgive my lapse in temper.”
She assumed a mask of polite serenity, the one she wore when Mrs. McKinley was at her worst. “All is forgiven,” she said as she lightly waltzed past him.
He didn’t believe her and felt only shame for his loss of control whenever she was near.
Thirteen
Nathaniel arrived at the train station well ahead of their departure for a final inspection of the private railcars that would carry the president and his team to Ohio. He spotted the first problem from a hundred yards away. Annoyance simmered as he strode toward the eight-car caravan where Caroline was directing workers to hang patriotic bunting on the outside of the train.
“Unacceptable, Miss Delacroix,” Nathaniel said as he tugged on the fabric nailed to the window of the presidential sleeper car. “You might as well hang a bull’s-eye and invite people to shoot through the window. These cars need to look as nondescript as possible.”
“Not everyone hates pomp and circumstance as much as you,” Caroline said.
He asked a station attendant to bring him a claw hammer so he could pull the nails holding the bunting in place. Once it was down, he began inspecting the interior of the cars designated for the presidential party. There was a dining car, a passenger car, a lounge car, two sleeper cars for the staff, and a private sleeper for the McKinleys. It would be a thirty-six-hour journey that would deliver them to Canton a full day ahead of the election.
The good news was that Wilkie had promised to transfer Nathaniel as soon as the election was over. The plan for securing the White House was completed and submitted. New guards had been trained. It was time for him to leave.
Caroline would become someone else’s problem. He could no longer be rational about her. It had been nice to have a friend and a confidant inside the White House, but he shouldn’t have let her get to him.
Even though she annoyed and frustrated him, he already missed her.
Caroline felt like a wide-eyed innocent as she helped Mrs. McKinley move into the private sleeping car, for it looked like someplace royalty would live. The sitting area had walls of polished cherrywood, embellished with sumptuous brass fittings and velvet upholstery on the furniture. A partition created a sleeping room complete with a king-sized bed and a private marble-tiled bath.
“This bed is almost as comfortable as the one at home,” Ida said while testing the mattress.
After hanging Ida’s gowns in the wardrobe, Caroline unpacked other personal articles. She propped an anniversary photograph of the McKinleys on the bedside table along with a bowl of Ida’s favorite mint candies and a box of the president’s cigars.
Caroline had forgotten to bring a box of matches for the president. He never smoked in public, but he enjoyed a nightly cigar after dinner. Rummaging through her purse, she found her own match case and set it beside the president’s cigars. It had been six weeks since she’d indulged in a cigarette, but she’d brought a few in case the craving became unbearable during the trip.
Ida caught a glimpse of them in her purse. “Don’t tell me you’re still smoking.”
“I won’t be this week,” Caroline said. “I just donated my entire supply of matches for the good of the nation.”
Mrs. McKinley gave an approving nod. “You must abstain for more than a week. This battle must be a lifelong commitment. Men don’t like a woman who smells like an ashtray.”
“I don’t smell like an ashtray.” After all, she brushed her hair, spritzed on rose water, and took a mint each time she indulged in a cigarette.
“I can always tell when you’ve been smoking.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Oh yes, I can. It’s not ladylike, Caroline.” Ida limped toward the sitting area and lowered herself onto a chair, gesturing for Caroline to join her. She reached into her bag of knitting and began to work on a baby bootie. “It isn’t natural for a woman your age to still be single. You need to stop smoking, and please, don’t speak so directly to men. You’ll scare them off.”
“You always speak to men in a direct manner.”
“But I’m already married, so there’s no need for me to worry about it! You don’t want to be an old maid,” Ida cautioned. “Are there no men in Washington who appeal to you?”
Nathaniel immediately sprang to mind. He had a famously reserved and puritanical comportment, but there was a passionate side quietly smoldering just beneath the surface. As much as he pretended indifference, she sensed it every time his eyes tracked her with carefully restrained intensity.
“I’m not interested in any man while I have commitments in the White House.”
Ida smiled. It was the right thing to say, for Ida expected Caroline’s full attention until the last hour of the last day of the McKinley administration.
Sleeping quarters on the train for the staff were only curtain-covered berths, but Caroline was thrilled with the dining accommodations because everyone would dine alongside the McKinleys. Two long tables filled the center of the dining car, with another for the buffet at the end.
By morning, the train had crossed into Ohio, but they were all treated to a full breakfast in the dining car. Caroline filled a plate for Ida while everyone else served themselves and ate together without regard to wealth or status. The president sat next to the White House clerks, and Ida sat beside junior guards. The delicious scent of bacon and scrambled eggs filled the traveling caravan, silverware clattered, and laughter was plentiful. In a few hours they would arrive in Canton, and the air hummed with excitement as the train sped through the rainy countryside. This was their last opportunity to relax before the whirlwind of election day tomorrow.
Caroline circulated to chat and refill everyone’s coffee cups while Rembrandt took impromptu photographs of people as they mugged for the camera.
The only gloomy one in the group was Nathaniel, whose grim expression sucked all the energy from his corner of the railcar. Rather than join the others at the table, he had curled up in the sitting area on the far end of the car. The corners of his mouth turned down as he scribbled in his notebook.
“Why don’t you join the rest of us at the table?” Mrs. McKinley asked him. “You can’t protect my husband if you’re fainting from hunger.”
Nathaniel glanced up. “I ate before everyone else was up. I’m fine.”
He didn’t look fine. He looked tense and moody, and he was making Mrs. McKinley nervous. If possible, his mood darkened even further as the train arrived in Canton. He was always edgy when guarding the president outside the White House, but Caroline wasn’t going to let him spoil her day.
Canton was charming. Prosperous storefronts, spacious parks, and manicured front lawns spoke of solid respectability. At the Canton train station, townspeople waved American flags and applauded for the town’s most famous resident. Even from inside the train, Caroline heard a brass band playing “Hail to the Chief.”
