“Don’t you?”
Caroline looked at him; and thought of his mother, Denise. “I have no designs on anything except my own property.”
“The courts-”
“No, Blaise. The clock. The calendar. Each breath I breathe brings me closer to what is mine.”
“Don’t tempt fate.” Blaise made the sign to ward off the evil eye. “My mother was dead before she was twenty-seven.”
“I shall not have children. That’s one safeguard.”
“You’ll never marry?”
“I didn’t say that. But I don’t want children.”
“Such things are not so easily arranged.”
“How is Madame de Bieville?”
Blaise responded serenely. “At Deauville. What news of Del?”
“At Pretoria.”
“The Chief’s giving Mr. Hay a hard time.”
“But that’s the Chief’s specialty, isn’t it?”
“This summer, anyway. He’s going all out for Bryan.”
“All out?” Caroline smiled. “He doesn’t take seriously Bryan’s nonsense about silver, and he loves the empire that Bryan keeps attacking.”
Blaise laughed in spite of himself. “Well, they don’t like the trusts, and they don’t like Mark Hanna.”
“Very statesmanlike. The Chicago American is losing money, I hear.”
“Quantities.”
“My money?” asked Caroline.
“Some of it is my money, yes. But most of it is old Mrs. Hearst’s. They keep finding gold in South Dakota.” Harry Lehr swept by, a plain young woman on his arm.
“Elizabeth Drexel.” He said the name as if half-brother and half-sister were wholly interested. “I,” he added, with a lizard’s swift blink at Blaise, “am the Funmaker.”
“You must make some fun for my numerous half-brothers.” As Caroline sensed Blaise’s furious disapproval, she found herself quite liking Lehr.
“First, you must let Wetzel make your suits, and Kaskel your pajamas and underwear…”
Lehr’s public association of Blaise with pajamas, much less the pruriency of any reference to underwear, brought a coughing fit as Blaise’s phlegm, mistakenly inhaled, choked him-with wrath, of course, thought Caroline with satisfaction. Lehr was delighted to have caused so much distress, while the Drexel girl-the future Mrs. Lehr?-looked as embarrassed as Blaise. They were saved by the majestic approach of Mrs. Astor, with her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Jack. Caroline felt as if she ought to curtsey, while even Blaise-no longer choking-bowed low at the great ladies’ approach. Lehr pranced about the old sovereign like some huge blond dog. The two Mrs. Astors regarded him with stares worthy of the two bronze owls that decorated the gateposts to the Casino. Plainly, Lehr was going to pay for his defection to Mamie Fish.
“You must come see me, Miss Sanford.” The huge dark wig was aglitter with rubies. “You, too, Mr. Sanford, though I have heard that you have no time for old ladies.”
Blaise blushed becomingly. “We’ve only arrived, Mrs. Astor, my step-brother and me…”
“The Prince has a great deal of time for ladies,” said Mrs. Jack in her low drawl, “of any and every age.”
“How you comfort me.” Mother-in-law smiled with dislike at daughter-in-law, who was now examining Blaise speculatively.
“Don’t,” said Mrs. Jack, “get married.”
“I have no intention of marrying.” Blaise recovered his poise. He was a match for Mrs. Jack if not her mother-in-law.
“Like dear Harry?” asked Mrs. Astor, finally acknowledging the fawning creature at her side.
“I don’t know about that.” Blaise was staring boldly at Mrs. Jack, who suddenly looked away. Was she cold? Caroline wondered; and what, after all, was coldness but a strategy in the dangerous American world where a lady’s fall from grace could cause her extrusion-no matter how resonant her name or heavy her wealth-from the only world that mattered? Paris was filled with extruded American ladies, paying dearly for adulteries of the sort for which a French lady would have been applauded.
“I won’t be a bachelor forever,” Lehr trilled. The Drexel girl pursed her lips, as if to kiss the air. She was the one, poor creature, thought Caroline. But, then, perhaps, they were well-matched. She might be another Mlle. Souvestre.
“We are told,” said Mrs. Astor, “that you and Mamie-so original, isn’t she?-” Mrs. Astor’s malice was royal in its self-assurance-“plan to give a dinner for dogs.”
“Dogs?” Mrs. Jack’s deep voice dropped to an even lower, almost canine register.
“Dogs, yes.” Lehr yelped. “Each with its owner, of course.”
“How amusing.” Mrs. Astor made of “amusing” three full evenly emphasized syllables.
“At the same table?” asked Caroline.
“There will be different tables, of course.”
“So that you can tell the dogs from their masters?” As Caroline spoke, she knew that she had, once again, gone too far. Wit had always been disliked and feared at Newport, while wit in a woman was sufficient cause to be burned as a witch anywhere in the republic.
The Astor ladies chose to ignore Caroline’s slip. But she knew that each would give damning evidence should she, indeed, be tried for witchcraft.
Lehr took charge of the Astor ladies and swept them into the party. “He’s awful,” said Blaise.
“But think how much duller this place would be without him.”
“Plon needs a rich widow.” Blaise changed the subject.
“Don’t look at me. I’m no help. I’m outside this world. In Washington…”
“Why don’t you take him there, in the fall?”
“I’ll take Plon anywhere, of course. I adore him, as you know…”
“As I know.” They stared at each other. The orchestra was now playing Tales of Hoffmann. “I hear that Cousin John’s wife is dead.”
Caroline merely nodded; and said, “How is Mr. Houghteling?”
“Lawyers!” Blaise let the subject go. Neither had much emotion left to bear on the subject of the money that divided them. “I’ve told Plon that Mrs. Astor-the young one-only flirts.”
“I think he’s worked that out. But he thinks that he understands American women better than he does because he has seduced so many of them in Paris,”
“Does he tell you such things?”
“Doesn’t he tell you?”
“Yes, but I’m a man.”
“Well, I’m not an American woman. Anyway, what those creatures do in Paris is one thing.” Caroline thought of the beautiful Mrs. Cameron with her beautiful boy poet, of the majestic antlers once again sprouting from Don Cameron’s head, not to mention a delicate unicorn’s horn from the pink marble baldness of Henry Adams’s brow.
Lord Pauncefote joined them, having no doubt exhausted Helen Hay with his notorious and habitual long answers to questions not put to him. “Your friend Mr. Hearst is in splendid form.” He acknowledged Blaise’s identity. “He accuses poor Mr. Hay of being England’s creature.”
“Oh, that’s just to fill space,” said Blaise.
“Between murders,” Caroline added:
“Actually, he’s going to have some more fun with Roosevelt!”
Pauncefote shut his eyes for a long instant, always a sign that he was interested; that a message to the Foreign Office would soon be encoded. “Yes?” Pauncefote’s eyes were again open…
“The Chief’s been in touch with some of the leading goo-goos…”
“The leading what?”
“Goo-goo,” said Caroline, “is what reformers of the American system are called by those who delight in the system. Goo-goo is an-abbreviation?-of the phrase ‘good government,’ something Governor Roosevelt, like all good Americans, holds in contempt. Isn’t that right, Blaise?”
“Not bad.” Her brother’s praise was grudging.
“Goo-goo,” murmured Pauncefote without relish.
“The goo-goos are attacking Roosevelt because he’s a creature of the bosses but likes to talk about reform, which he’s really as much against as Senator Platt. The Chief’s going to have some fun with all this when the campaign starts.”