Twenty-eight

She left the cottage at precisely three o'clock. She knew, because the mantle clock chimed the hour, as she and Sebastian walked out the door.

Alone, in the back of the carriage, Kitty tried to rehearse her lines, like an actress in a traveling stage show. The only problem was there were very few lines, which came to memory. She wished she hadn't been ordered to destroy the dossier Mr. Wilcox had given her. What if she were asked a question and didn't recall the correct answer? Would they know she was an impostor? She mulled over as well, the information, which Frankie had shared, regarding her belief that the International Bankers were behind the Band of Brothers. Bankers - the only one she knew well was Mr. Bodkin, back in Dodge. He certainly had never struck her as an under handed conspirator, and she had never known a more patriotic soul.

She adjusted her gown and righted the plumed leghorn bonnet, which graced her head. Frankie, combining the materials from several of Mrs. Johnston's millinery collection, had hastily, but artistically redesigned the hat to match the blue dress. The carriage turned the corner and was traveling down the brick paved lane to Summerhaven. She lifted the curtain aside, to study the activity. A number of fine carriages were lined up against the wrought iron hitching posts. Their drivers were lulling under the shade of a weeping willow, off on the side yard. Like jockeys, each coachman was dressed in the colors of his employer, although their silk blouses were unbuttoned and their hats tossed aside in deference to the warmth of the day. It looked to Kitty as though they were enjoying their free time, with their own forms of diversion, for she saw dice being rolled and a large bottle of whiskey being passed.

The carriage came to a stop and Sebastian opened the door and offered her a hand in assistance. As she stepped down, Kitty scanned the manicured grounds, but she did not immediately spot Beaumont. It was on the second pass that her focus stopped on a fancy latticed-work gazebo. There he stood, but not alone. Three men were with him, engaged in some form of intense conversation, for the body language of each participant was animated. She made a point of studying them, so she could describe each later. Amid the assemblage there was a decided atmosphere of wealthy self-importance. Standing next to Beau was a short round man with a nine-inch cigar sticking out from his face, and a small mustache fringing his upper lip. He used one hand for dramatic gestures, which included popping the cigar in and out of his mouth; while his other hand was shoved in his vest like Napoleon Bonaparte in a picture she'd once seen. A taller man stood to his left. This gentleman was so thin and haggard that his fine clothes drooped from his body as though they were still suspended from a hanger. Even from a distance she could tell his skin was off color, and she could hear his rasping cough. The third man, who was standing next to Beaumont, was tall as well, his frame more filled out than the last. He wore spectacles and a derby hat, which seemed a fraction too small for his bald head. The hard felt bowler looked like it might slip off should the wearer move too sharply. Indeed, he appeared to move cautiously, as if he were a finishing school debutant, learning to balance a book on the head.

Beaumont kept shaking his head, and holding his hand up in front of him, in the classic signal to back off. He appeared ready to say something to his companions, when he spotted Kitty standing by the carriage. His face immediately brightened and he excused himself and with long swift strides moved quickly to Kitty's side.

Taking her hands in his, he exclaimed, in his smooth drawl, "My dear Miss Kitty, I am so pleased you accepted Grandmother's invitation. As I told you, she is having friends for tea, however, these ladies are not her close friends, for they, those who are still alive, live back in Bibb County, Georgia. It will be great comfort for her to have someone from`back home.'" He leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on her lips and then apologized, "Forgive me, but I couldn't help myself."

Playing her part, Kitty scolded, "Mr. Davis, kindly remember, that I am a lady!"

"It's hard to recall anything when I see a woman who looks as fetching as you do. Miss Kathleen, you are ravishing!" He licked his chops, and then gave her a contrite look. "Forgive me?" he pleaded, with a face so handsome, it was hard not to be moved by his good looks.

She nodded with a smile, "Where's your grandmother?"

"She and her guests are in the house. Come, I will introduce you to the ol' crows."

"Beau!"

"Again, sorry my dear but, I think you will agree with me, they aren't a fun group."

"Are they married to the gentlemen you were speaking to?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, and I might add, the gentlemen are even less fun then their wives."

"Do they live here in Davis Port?"

"During the warm months, yes, they escape the turmoil and heat of city life, here in our little community." He directed her gaze to the gazebo, "The round gentleman with the big cigar, that would be Ephraim Merewether, the heir to Merewether International Shipping. He resides on Park Avenue in New York City; he's a neighbor with the Vanderbilt's. The tall gentleman with the hat is Frederick Deuth. Freddy is in insurance; he has offices in New York and Washington, DC, as well as London, England. The thin fellow is non other than Harvard P. Rice; H.P. has made a fortune in speculation, most of it on the Wall Street stock exchange."

Kitty raised an eyebrow; "Interesting, isn't it, that these three prominent business men would be following after their wives to a teaparty."

Beau laughed, "There's more to it than that, the ladies are looking to build a museum of art, or some such cultural monument. A shrine, they can brag about to one another as their contribution to the underprivileged."

"I see, so the men are here to offer their financial support."

"Yes ... yes, that's right, financial support."

"But?"

"Now, now … you are not to worry that pretty little head of yours with business matters, my dear Kitty, come I'm sure Grandmother is eagerly awaiting your arrival."

He stuck out his elbow; she placed her hand on his proffered arm and he led her up the front porch steps. Not ready to let the matter drop, Kitty added, "I must say, Beau, I'm impressed by the company you keep, I had no idea that you are such an important man. No offense intended."

He chuckled in answer, "None taken. I must admit it is not my choice to keep company with them. I do so, for the family's sake. I'd just as soon be fishing, or ..." He gave a devilish grin, "spending time alone, with you."

A maid opened the door and they entered. Inlaid parquet floors decorated the foyer, while a dramatic staircase separated the house in halves. English tapestry and great-framed portraits hung on the walls and French doors divided room from room. They walked through a formal reception room, to a smaller parlor, near the rear of the house with a splendid view of the river, and a small beautifully laid table in front of the window. A marble fireplace dominated the adjacent wall, and was flanked by a pair of Louis XV side chairs, upholstered in a gay harlequin pattern.

Louisa Barger held court from a velvet upholstered Roman divan; she looked regal in a gown of ruby taffeta and chiffon, on her head was placed a small off the face hat trimmed with faux rose blossoms and ruby satin ribbon. Next to her, in a dainty side chair, sat a stout woman, stuffed in a green lace gown, which appeared a size too small for her ample girth. Her complexion was ruddy, no doubt from the lack of oxygen, the tight corseting was causing, and a mid-life hot flash. On her head, sat what Kitty could only describe to herself as a fruitbasket. Velvet bananas, and beaded apples and pears rested around a lace-covered bonnet, sprinkled with sequins and glitter to add a festive look. Sitting together, on a settee opposite Mrs. Barger, were the other two guests. One lady was dressed in heavy black mourning clothes, with a plain black bonnet and her companion wore clothing,which just as well might have been widow's weeds for her dress was steel gray and devoid of ornamentation, save for a horrendously large broach, which she wore over her left breast, making her look quite lopsided, she, betraying Victorian convention wore no hat on her severely coiffured salt and pepper hair.

Like her Grandson, Louisa brightened when she saw Kitty. "Oh, dear child, you are like a breath of fresh air come in, come in. Beau, please bring a chair over, so Kitty can sit by me and then run along, we ladies have matters to discuss."

When Beau had left the room, and Kitty was sitting close to her side, Louisa made the introductions. The stout woman it turned out was Cornelia Rice, wife of HP. The lady with the huge broach was introduced as Lady Lydia Von Klack-Deuth. Mrs. Ephraim Merewether was the mourner in the black dress. Kitty said, "How do you do," to each of the woman, and expressed sympathy to Mrs. Merewether.

"At present, I am in bereavement over the passing of my second cousin once removed, Sir Wilhelm Von Klack, ahhh, little Willie so young, so full of life. It is true, the good die young."

Louisa Barger leaned over and whispered in Kitty's ear, "She's always mourning someone. Too cheap to invest in a real wardrobe. You'd never know her husband is one of the richest men in New England, and she from European royalty." Kitty, bit her lip in response, in order to hold a giggle at bay.

Louisa rang a small silver bell and Effie appeared with trays of plovers' eggs, caviar, champagne and sherry. She curtsied and announced to her employer, "Madam, tea will be served in fifteen minutes, if it pleases you."

Lady Lydia, who was perhaps a wee bit deaf, took a sip of sherry and then asked Kitty with a loud voice, "Tell us about yourself dear? Louisa said you're an old family friend."

Mrs. Barger's composed face showed a hint of impatience, she spoke with an equally loud voice, confirming Kitty's suspicion. "That's not what I said Lydia, she's from Georgia, as am I. Mrs. Kent is staying in Davis Port, while her brother-in-law recuperates from illness."

With the thought that these women wanted to do something to improve the circumstances of those less fortunate than they, Kitty added, "I found him living in deplorable conditions at St. Vincent's County Asylum. Something should be done about that place, the patients live in surroundings unfit for animals much less human beings."

Cornelia Rice attempted to cool her too red face with a peacock-feathered fan. She dismissed Kitty's concerns for the inmates of the asylum, "Ahhh yes well, that is the County's concern, not ours. Do you anticipate being in our little community long? I imagine you are desperate to be back with your people."

"My brother-in-law is the only family I have left, after the war ... "

Mrs. Merewether inhaled sharply, and put a hand up to silence Kitty, "We do not talk politics, that includes anything to do with the `war'. We leave affairs of state to the men folk. We were just discussing a new young artist who is all the rage in France; tell me Mrs. Kent have you heard of Claude Monet?"

"No I'm afraid I haven't."

"Well, I attended a showing of his work, last summer in Paris, and I simply must have one of his paintings. His style is so unique. His use of color, breathtaking, he draws you into his world ... absolutely extraordinary."

Twin creases formed between Cornelia Rice's thick eyebrows as she objected, "I prefer the masters. If we are going to expose those less fortunate to culture and fine art, let it be the art which has withstood the test of time."

"Oh yes Mrs. Rice is quite right, Rembrandt and Di Vinci, certainly comparing this Monet to the masters, is like comparing Stephen Foster to Mozart," stated Lady Lydia.

The women continued their discussion, leaving Kitty behind to observe. She noticed that Mrs. Barger spent most of her time observing as well. In due course, Effie announced, "Tea is served." The small group moved from their chairs in front of the marble fireplace, and proceded to the beautiful Irish lace covered table, in front of the windows. A spray of pink roses served as centerpiece. Dainty fingerbowls were positioned at every place setting, each floating a small pink rosebud. The elegant hand painted bone china was no doubt Haviland, the exquisite lead crystal undeniably Waterford, and the sterling silver flatware, was beautifully patterned in an aesthetic Japanese floral produced by a well known silversmith from New York.

Effie served a creamed asparagus soup, followed by Jerusalem artichokes in a dill sauce and savories, consisting of tasty tea sandwiches and sweet finger foods. Kitty spent most of her time carefully minding her manners, anxious that any slip of proper etiquette might give her away. She needn't have worried, for the ladies were still deep in talk about their plans for an art museum. Mrs. Merewether turned to Kitty in an effort to draw her into their conversation; "I recall a trip to Atlanta with my husband several years ago, where we took in a splendid museum, which housed a small but impressive collection of paintings. I believe it was known as the Heppelwhite - perhaps you've been there?"

Louisa Barger picked up the hand painted teapot; her voice was even, not giving in to expression, which would certainly betray a dislike for the Northern guest, "I believe Mr. Sherman and his men, took care of the Heppelwhite, as they traveled through Georgia in `64." She turned to the lady on her left, "More tea Cornelia dear?" she asked.

Mrs. Merewether shook her head sadly, "Pity it couldn't be saved, just think of all the treasures that were lost."

Louisa agreed with genteel cynicism, "Yes, there were a great many treasures lost in the `March to the Sea.'"

Lady Lydia boomed in her loud voice, "Oh, but we're talking war, aren't we and we have vowed and declared NOT to do that."

Cornelia happy to change the subject asked, "Has any one heard of this new composer from Russia, Tchaikovsky, I believe his name is?"

"Yes, yes speaking of rebels this young man certainly is."

"Oh but I don't think we should talk of him either he's a bit different "

Kitty folded her hands in her lap. She wasn't going to learn anything sitting with these ladies. It was as if they had been conditioned to speak of nothing, which might hint of substance or social reform. She glanced around the room, wondering where the men might be at this point. She'd heard Louisa Barger remark briefly, that the `boys' had enjoyed a hearty meal and were playing a hand or two of poker in the library.

Instinctively, Miss Kitty Russell knew she'd learn far more from that forum than the one she was forced to participate in here. She sat for a moment plotting an exit, which might serve her purpose, and then requested the cream pitcher. Slight of hand and quick fingers were as much a part of her early education as were reading and writing and arithmetic. Kitty put her skills to purpose, and without realizing her part in the scheme, Cornelia, wife of H.P. Rice, had managed to pour the entire contents of the fancy creamer right in Kitty's lap.

Kitty jumped to her feet with an exclamation of feigned surprise. The rich man's wife apologized profusely; for never had she publicly made such a breach of good manners, her humiliation doubled by the fact she was in the company of such high-ranking matrons of good breeding. She made ineffective dabs at Kitty's gown, with Louisa's embroidered linen napkins. Her face took on the flushed shine of embarrassed perspiration, a fact that only added to her mortification.

Louisa picked up the little silver bell sitting by her right hand, and rang it furiously. Effie and two of the kitchen maids, came scurrying in, the latter two women, with hands still sudsy from dishwater. The scene showed some semblance of chaos. Louisa, eager to bring order to her tea party, commanded the maids to see to Mrs. Kent and her gown. Kitty was led meekly away, and escorted to a lovely well-appointed washroom. Effie and her cohorts began fussing over the blue gown, each offering a suggestion on how to remedy the stain. Kitty allowed them the briefest of discussion, before she kindly shooed them off, back to the kitchen, telling them that she would take care of the matter. At first they were hesitant to leave her, but relief replaced their reluctance for this was an important tea party and they had no desire to add to the cause of its failure.

"A little soap and water and it will be fine." Kitty assured them,"I'll sit on the back veranda in the sunshine until it dries."

When she was alone, she made quick work of washing out the stain and then left the room to explore the other side of the house. She took a hall, which by passed the kitchen and entered a huge formal dining room, with a table large enough to seat a small army in grand style, the walls were made up of a series of huge gilt framed mirrors which ran from floor to ceiling. Massive pocket doors separated the dining room from a great reception hall, large enough for one hundred people and a small orchestra; it was like a ballroom from one of Matt's fairy tales. Here as well, were floor to ceiling mirrors, making the room look far larger and even grander. Beyond this room on the other side of ornate French doors was the library. From her point, in the entry, between dining room and ball room she could smell the fine tobacco and hear the low voices of the men, as they played cards and talked politics.

It was an undeniable fact, that not many women knew men as well as Kitty Russell. Like a chameleon, she could adjust her guise to meet the ego of any man she met. This she did now. She thrust back her shoulders, threw forth her bosom and marched in, with a walk no living male could ignore.