Alva hadn’t seen her since Mamie’s ball for the furry little Prince Del Drago. It was shocking and a bit heartbreaking to see the Grande Dame sitting by herself, so Alva excused herself and went over to say hello.
Mrs. Astor lit up at the sight of Alva, gesturing for her to sit in the Louis XV armchair beside her as she held out a frail hand. “Would you like a champagne?” Caroline asked, signaling her assigned footman as if he truly were her personal servant.
“Are you enjoying the ball?” Alva asked moments later, sipping her Moët et Chandon.
“I’d enjoy it much more if it were held next door at the Astoria.”
Alva smiled. “Well, at least there’s not an elephant or chimp in sight.”
Caroline looked at her for a moment before offering a slight smile and an arched eyebrow. “You’re rather funny. I had no idea.”
Alva laughed. “And I had no idea you knew how to smile.”
“Shhh”—she scowled playfully—“don’t tell anyone.”
At that they both laughed.
“Oh, Alva, if only I were twenty years younger.”
Alva? Mrs. Astor had never called her by her first name before.
“Take care of your feet—wear more sensible shoes,” she said, pointing to Alva’s heels. “That’s something no one ever told me when I was your age.”
Alva nodded and smiled. “I’ll remember that.”
Caroline took another sip of champagne. “I never understood what Emily saw in you, you know.”
“Oh yes, I was well aware of that,” Alva said, much more charmed than offended by Mrs. Astor’s candor. “And now?” asked Alva. “Have I changed your opinion of me?”
“What do you think?”
Mrs. Astor wouldn’t say it. She didn’t have to. Alva had already detected an infinitesimal wink.
The tinny sound of the dinner bell rang, signifying that it was time to move into the grand dining room. Alva rose from her chair and extended her hand to Mrs. Astor. Normally a lady waited for a gentleman to accompany her into the dining room, but, in an unprecedented move, after Alva helped Mrs. Astor to her feet, Mrs. Astor placed her gloved hand on Alva’s arm, and the two women escorted each other into the dining hall and took their places at the head table.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Caroline
NEW YORK, 1905
Caroline awoke with her usual aches and pains, but on this morning, something else was off. She wasn’t feeling right. For a moment she thought she was at Beechwood in Newport and then remembered she was at her new home on Fifth Avenue. A beautiful mansion that she now shared with her son, Jack, and his family. She looked around her bedroom, wondering why everything seemed hazy, gauzy, more dreamlike than real.
Unfortunately, this confusion was nothing new. Ever since she’d taken that fall, stumbling down her marble staircase, she’d felt a fog crowding in around her. It was Thomas who had found her that day, out cold at the foot of the stairs. He’d called for the doctor, and when she finally came to, she didn’t remember tripping, but her hands and gown were covered in blood. Her head was pounding, searing pain shooting from her skull down her spine each time she moved. They’d all said she could have broken her neck, but she hadn’t suffered even a single sprain or fractured bone, only a concussion that had left her nauseated and exhausted, her body craving sleep. It had taken her weeks to recover, and at times she questioned if she’d ever made a full recovery.
While still in bed, she reached for the pull and rang for Thomas, anticipating her busy day ahead. There was so much left to do before her ball that evening. She would have to meet with her social secretary and Thomas so they could finalize the menu and confirm the flower arrangements, the orchestra and party favors. She was ticking off items in her head when the door opened and William stepped into her bedroom, carrying her breakfast tray.
“What are you doing? Where’s Hade?”
“I’m right here, Mrs. Astor. I’ve brought you tea and toast.” He set the tray down before her.
She looked at him again, frustrated and embarrassed by her blunder. Of course this was Thomas. William was dead. “Did you remember to notify the orchestra?” she asked quickly, hoping to deflect her error.
Thomas dragged a hand over his mouth, letting his fingers rest on his chin. He wasn’t looking at her.
“Well? You did schedule them, didn’t you? They’ll need to arrive here no later than nine o’clock.”
Thomas nodded, and when he did finally look up, she saw the hesitation in his eyes. Lately, he had been less than agreeable. She would have to have a word with him about his impertinence.
After he excused himself, Caroline felt the haziness beginning to clear. The confusion tended to come and go, but she couldn’t distinguish which was which anymore. Before dismissing him, she had asked Thomas for her mail and the morning papers. Lately she had noticed a steady decline in the number of calling cards she received each day. She told herself it was because of the press and the brouhaha over the Bradley Martin Ball last season. No, wait—the Bradley Martin Ball was ages ago, wasn’t it?
A breeze stirred the curtains in her bedroom, and Caroline felt herself beginning to drift again. The claws of confusion were grabbing for her once again. She shook her head as if that would keep it at bay and called for her maid to help with her morning toilette.
Gazing in the mirror, she didn’t feel nearly as old as she looked. What little hair she had left had long since turned white as snow, and the lines in her face had never been deeper, the circles beneath her eyes never darker. It wasn’t until her wig was in place that she recognized herself at all. When it came time for her jewelry, she glanced at the backs of her hands, fingers gnarled, joints so swollen that she couldn’t get her favorite diamond rings past her knuckles. She sighed, reaching for her leather Boucicaut gloves to hide them from herself.
After she was dressed, Thomas appeared in the doorway, asking if she’d like to go for her carriage ride.
“Oh, I haven’t time for that, Hade. Not today. The ball is tonight.”
“Of course.” He bowed ceremoniously and led her to the drawing room, where she checked her engagement book, her twisted fingers struggling to cooperate. When she did get the book open and was able to turn to the correct date, she saw a blank page. “Hade?” she called out. “Hade—come here!”
He rushed into the room. “Mrs. Astor?”
“What’s happened to my engagement book? I had a luncheon today.”
“I’m afraid not today, Mrs. Astor.”
“And the ball is this evening. Why isn’t that in here? There was definitely a luncheon today. I’m certain of it.” She closed the engagement book and shoved it across her desk.