Author's Note: If anyone has a better title for this chapter, please tell me-I had more trouble thinking up one for this chapter than I did for any of the others. I know the old money/new money thing and the Madeira is faintly reminecent of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, because I was reading that recently. Still, it would seem to be in sync with pureblood Wizarding society too.
Augusta
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot, such as it is.
Chapter Seven: The Spaulding Mansion
It didn't take much effort on James's part to find the Spaulding Mansion on Tuesday evening. Arriving early to any event was always advisable-it gave you the chance to learn the lay of the land in case anything went wrong. Leaning against the Spaulding fence, he tried to get an idea of what he was up against. One of the best ways to learn about someone-or, in this case, someones-was to survey their abode. The Spaulding Mansion gave the impression that they were everything Phillip had said and more. They weren't just new money, they were new money with the imputiny to pretend to be old money.
A pair of elaborate wrought-iron gates guarded the entrance, obviously custom made. The drive cut a straight line through a fanatically well-tended lawn up to the mansion itself. It was a sprawling brick building with several chimneys rising above it, windows sparkling in the light from inside. It gave the impression of grandeur-only an impression to one who had been born into real grandeur and knew it's look as well as he knew his own face, maybe better, but grand in its own way. The Spauldings might not be gold, but they had enough gilt to open a mint. He checked his watch. Close enough. He walked up the drive to the front doors as if he owned the place.
A butler was waiting to open the door a fraction of a second after the first knock-it said that the Spauldings had been aware of him watching their house as clearly as a painted sign would have. He nodded to the man. This was like going to the Wright Manor back in Hampshire. His mother's people were decendants of Bowman Wright, the inventor of the Golden Snitch, and they took great pride in the fact. They were all, man, woman, old, and young, excellent Quidditch players, put on brooms before they could walk, and owners of the company old Bowman had founded, not to mention the Chudley Cannons, which had been a bad deal if the Wrights had ever made one, and Puddlemere United, which had been a more or less successful transaction. The Spauldings had built their company on ambition, and James would bet his bottom knut-no, he was an American now, it would be a dollar-that they were fiercely proud of it as well. The butler showed him through halls that smelled strongly of wood polish to the dining room.
The Spauldings were already seated, watching him with carefully immobile faces. Oh, yes, they had been aware of his surveillance, to prepare themselves so carefully. Phillip sat at the far end, and a man that James recognized as his father Alan sat at the head. To Alan's left sat a middle-aged woman with auburn hair still untouched by gray, his sister and co-family head Alexandra, who was Buzz Cooper's admitted and adknowledged lover. Beside Alex was a dark young man, Alan's long-lost illegitimate son Gus Aitoro, more formally called Nicolas Spaulding on invitations and company memos. His wife Harley Cooper Aitoro was, in sharp contrast, very fair, and glaring defiantly at her in-laws as if daring them to say she didn't have the right to be there. A warm-faced blonde about Alexandra's age was between Harley and Phillip, who gave each other looks that were unfriendly to say the least. He thought he had heard someone somewhere call her Lillian Raines, Phillip's mother-in-law.
To Phillip's other side was a teenaged blonde girl, his daughter Lizzie. Little Lizard Spaulding, he thought, and had to repress a laugh. It was amazing how much animosity someone as friendly as Marina could harbor under the right circumstances. She was seated with a nervous-looking fellow who kept shooting looks at her from the corner of his eye-if they had been in James's world, the boy would have been the prospective husband and Lizzie the apparently disinterested wife in a marriage arranged by Alan, but he had yet to learn how marriages among the upper class worked among American Muggles. Given the fact that Alan had, according to rumor, pushed Phillip into remarrying his twice-over ex-wife Beth Raines again, it didn't look like it was that different from his world in anything but semantics. To Lizzie's beau's other side was Beth Raines Spaulding herself. Beth was even newer money than the Spaulding's themselves, but she had the sad, tired elegance of old money, and it was no act. Few would have ever guessed that Beth wasn't born to the rich life, but regardless of birth, James didn't think there was anyone who would argue that Beth Raines wasn't a true old blood lady down to her bones. The chair between her and Alan was empty- a typical strategy, to put the outsider in the vulnerable position between the patriarch and the mistress of the house. James smiled disarmingly at them.
" Ladies, gentlemen," he said courteously, making a mental note to avoid the use of British terms he hadn't heard on this side of the Atlantic. The worst thing he could do was mark himself as a foreigner and different by failing to communicate effectively. " A very good evening to you." He seated himself without waiting for an invitation to do so, causing one of Alex's eyebrows to go up speculatively before she got her plain, heart-shaped face back under control. Alan's sharp eyes didn't betray anything of his thoughts. Phillip might have been insane, but Alan was the more dangerous of the two.
" And to you," Alan returned finally. His voice carried the unmistakeable overtones of good education, unquestioned authority, and probably some time in Europe. " Now that our guest has arrived, shall we be served?" Without waiting for any reply from any of his family, Alan called, "Stewart!" and immediatly, a man who could have been the other butler's brother came in, dinner on a cart.
The food was fancy, probably fancier than they normally ate. They were testing him; he could tell it in the way they watched for some kind of reaction. They didn't get one until he tasted the wine. "Madeira," he said appreciatively. " My grandfather never ate a meal after brunch without it-this is fairly new wine, and not the highest quality they produce. You ought to barter more effectively; it brings good results. I can put you in touch with an old friend of mine from the islands, a Portugese fellow with good connections." The tension over the table broke, not in loud talk, but quietly in the way that the wealthy were wont to break it. Beth's kind, sad eyes softened, and Alan went so far as to offer a tight smile. James knew he had just accomplished a major advance in making Springfield accept him as was without him having to marry into one of the three most prominent families-the Coopers, the Spauldings, and the Lewises-all of which were short on women who weren't either too young, too old, or already married.
Unbidden, an image of Lily flashed across his mind. He had seen to it that she got to the old country estate an hour before her first family council-dinner began, to give her time to adjust to the place. He could hear the eighteen-year-old girl speaking again as clearly as if they were there again instead of here... ' I feel like I'm in a movie or something,' she whispered, overawed. ' I didn't think people actually lived in places like this. You grew up here, James?' She had giggled half-disbelievingly. 'Petunia would have a cow if she could see her little sister in a place like this-she was always the ambitious one, but she married a man who makes drills, for heaven's sake. Surrey isn't much on balls and belles.' James noticed Beth looking at him.
" Are you all right?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice. Beth was one of those kind of people who made him feel guilty as hell for being who and what he was, always looking out for his own interests. Who said Gryffindors weren't ambitious? He managed a smile for her.
" Yes. I just remembered my wife for a moment. She would have thought you were all actors on Dallas or Dynasty, just like she did at all my family's events. Lily was a simple woman at heart."
Beth smiled. She was more than beautiful when she smiled. " I think we're all simple people at heart," she mused. " You talk about her in past tense. Why isn't she here with you?"
So Phillip didn't give the details of our meeting to them. Is he planning to do something alone, or am I just being paranoid? " Lily died in an explosion," he explained. " House went up while she was sleeping. I was on a business trip-I understand they buried what they could find of her in her own family's plot-I left Europe and the Isles as soon as her sister's letter reached me."
Beth's eyes widened with shock. " Oh-I'm sorry-"
" Don't be. You didn't know. Besides, it was a political match. I barely knew Lily at all, and we were married for eighteen years." That was a cold lie even for him, but not too much of a stretch. He had known Lily, even if he hadn't loved her-that had always been Morgan, who he had already resolved not to think about.
" Eighteen years?" Alan said disbelieveingly from his other side.
" We married at seventeen," James told him. " Her grandfather proposed it to mine as a means of ending a feud over some lands in Ireland."
" That sounds positively Tudorian," Alex commented. James half-bowed to her; he had it on good authority that plain-faced Alex was properly the Baroness Alexandra Spaulding.
" Things haven't changed very much from Tudorian times where I come from, Baroness," James returned dryly. It was all too true-the Wizarding World was very antique in its ways.
" You must call me Alex," Alexandra said warmly. " It's not often I meet anyone else who's been to Europe to talk to about it. We'll have to become friends." Alexandra's smile seemed genuine, and he returned it politely.
" I hope we may." He raised his glass very slightly. " Your health, Alex."
" And yours," Alexandra replied, returning the toast.
The meal went on without incident, a perfectly arranged mix of food, drink, and light talk. The evening concluded quite successfully, to James's mind, with expressions of pleasure from all at meeting him and a second invitation. He had to work hard to suppress triumph as he accepted. The first invitation showed polite curiosity, the second showed acceptance. Everything was going according to plan.
