Chapter 26

Nora heard a voice calling to her from the dark. She huddled tighter, tried to ignore it. Then the shaking began. Gentle at

first, then again and again.

"Miss, miss, are you all right?"

She blinked her eyes open. Mr.Wojcik's face peered at her like a balloon just out of reach.

"George! It's MissBromley! Here on the floor."

And then Nora remembered. She pushed to a sitting position. She'd meant to leave before anyone arrived and sneak back to her

own office.

But she'd slept like the dead.

She tried to stand, but her legs were stiff, her back ached from sleeping on the hard floor.

She tried to straighten her skirts, but George appeared in the doorway, frowning. "What the—?" He stepped inside. "Are you

hurt? What are you doing here?"

"I'm—I'm sorry," she stammered. "It was late and I couldn't get in and then I remembered the key."

"But why?"

Nora's lip trembled. She was too ashamed to explain.

George knelt down beside her. "What's happened?"

Nora shivered, remembering the night before. Her clothes were dry, but now there was a pain in her stomach. And she suddenly

felt too weak to stand.

"Wojcik, go around to Mrs. Tova's and ask her for a pot of coffee and some rolls."

Mr.Wojcik grunted and hurried away.

"Come on, Bromley, pull yourself together. Whatever happened, you're safe here." He took both her arms and pulled her to her

feet, guided her to the nearest wooden chair.

She tried to smooth her hair, but between the rain and sleeping rough, it was hopeless.

"Go into the lavatories and wash your face; you'll feel better."

Nora nodded, though she couldn't make herself look at him. She walked stiffly to the door, held on to the jamb long enough

to steady herself, then walked down to the lavatories, where she washed her face and hands, and tidied her hair as best she

could. She would do better later when she was down in her own office, where the facilities were finished and offered every

amenity to the ladies of the club.

When she was feeling steadier, she returned to the office to try to explain why she was there.

The first thing she noticed was that someone, George, had tidied up after her. Her coat was hanging on a hook on the wooden

beam. Her stomach flipped over when she saw that the sketch she'd made of him had been returned to its place on the drawing

table. Her cheeks flamed. And she quickly looked away.

George didn't ask any more questions, and they sat in an uncomfortable silence until the sound of heavy footsteps heralded

Mr.Wojcik's return.

He placed a bag and a heavy tin pot of steaming coffee on the desk. From the bag, he pulled three mugs and several large rolls

stuffed with a cold meat and butter.

George poured coffee into a mug and handed it to Nora. She took the cup gratefully, noticed that the back of his hand was

scraped, and felt a sting of indignation that he was still having to do manual labor along with everything else. Mr.Wojcik

held out one of the sandwiches.

But Nora couldn't seem to let go of the mug that she clenched in both hands.

He put the sandwich at her elbow.

"Now, miss, you tell us what's happened."

So Nora told them, stammering out some parts and bravely plowing through the most hurtful part. About being turned away by

her own family, then her hotel. "I hoped that the assembly room would still be open, but everyone was gone. Then I remembered

the key. I'll have to find a place, but who will..." And to her horror, she broke down. "Everybody thinks I'm one of his

women. And I'm not."

"Lordy," said Mr.Wojcik. "?'Course you're not. Everyone knows that ."

"They don't. I have no place to go."

"You have a little money saved, don't you?" George asked.

Nora nodded. "But that's for my mother and sister to have a place of their own."

"Well, considering they kicked you out—" A look from George stopped Mr.Wojcik mid-sentence.

"It wasn't their fault; it was my older sister. They live with her."

"Well, never mind," George said. "Eat that sandwich. I have an idea."

"What?"

"Eat."

So Nora ate and discovered that she was hungry. When every crumb was gone and her mug was empty, George said, "Come on."

"Where?" asked Nora.

"To the McKim and Mead office."

Nora shrank back. "I can't."

"Don't worry. McKim and Mead are both lying low. You're not going back there after today. You'll work at the Colony Club for

the foreseeable future."

This was the last straw. "They've fired me, haven't they?" she said, the weight of her own words dragging her down to the worst kind of despair.

"Not yet. But they're old-fashioned, unimaginative. Mr.White was the genius in that firm."

Nora held up her hand. "Don't. Don't try to make it better. I'll have to find a new job. I knew they didn't want me. I did

everything I could to make sure they had no reason to fire me. But it didn't matter, did it? Who will hire me now?"

"It wasn't your fault. You have a job on the Colony Club. When it's finished, we'll worry about the next one. Is this all

your stuff?"

Nora nodded.

He shook his head. "We'll send for it later."

Mr.Wojcik was left in charge of her possessions and Nora and George took a cab to Twenty-fifth Street.

The crowd outside had dwindled to two bored-looking reporters slouching by the newsstand.

George whisked her inside before they had time to react. They rode up in the elevator, Nora pressing against the back as if

she could disappear. But it stopped at the fourth floor.

"No, what must they think?"

"Not what you think."

He pulled her out of the elevator and into the office.

Sadie, Lavinia, and Higgie looked up, then jumped from their seats and hurried toward Nora.

"We've been so worried," Lavinia said. "The nerve of those reporters and that so-and-so Nast. Everybody knows he's the one

who told the reporters all that nonsense about you."

"You should sue him for libel," Sadie said.

"As for the reporters," Lavinia added, "Higgie poured a bucket of water down on their heads. That cooled their ardor for a

story right quick, I can tell you. They've been keeping their distance ever since."

But too late to help Nora.

Higgie didn't look contrite. "They asked for it," she said calmly. It made Nora smile a little.

"That's all well and good," George said. "But we have a small problem."

Nora hung her head. "I got kicked out of my room."

"At the women's hotel?"

She nodded.

"No matter," said George, brushing her lack of a future aside without a care. "I thought maybe one of you ladies might have

some suggestions of where she should look for a new place."

"Someplace that won't ask for a reference," Lavinia said and winced. "I already have two roommates or I'd sneak you in."

Sadie bit her lip. "I still live at home. What about the Y or the Martha Washington Hotel? Or else you could..." She shrugged.

"For heaven's sake," Higgie said. "Come stay with me until you get settled."

"I couldn't. Thank you. But you'll be tainted by associating with me."

"Oh, pish, as if I care what those gossipmongers write."

"Good. That's settled," George said.

"No, George, it isn't. I can't. I'll think of something. Someplace where they haven't read the papers."

"It was one grainy photo in one trashy newspaper," Higgie said. "Buck up now. We girls are made of sterner stuff."

There was a knock at the door. Nora shrank back, as Sadie and Lavinia scrambled back to their desks.

The door opened and Fergus walked in. He broke into a wide grin.

"Bromley, where have you been keeping? The guys were all asking about you."

"Yes, Fergus?" George said. "You needed something?"

"Oh, yeah. McKim sent over a couple of men to clean out his private office. They've finished going through all the... you know." He looked around at the others and lowered his voice. "You've never seen such things. They want to know where to take them."

George scoffed. "Hell, I don't know. McKim gave the order, take them to him. MissHiggins will give you his address."

Higgie gave George a stern look, but wrote out an address.

"We'll need to pay the carter."

George sighed, pulled his wallet from his trouser pocket, counted out several bills, and held them out to Fergus. "A few extra

to keep their mouths shut."

Fergus started to take them, frowned, then peered more closely at George's outstretched hand. "Ha! So that's it. We were all

wondering how—"

"Fergus! This should be enough," George said, thrusting the bills into Fergie's hand, then shoving his wallet back into his

pocket. "If they want more, have McKim make up the difference."

"Gladly. And bully for you." Fergus touched his fingers to his forehead. "Ladies." He hurried out.

"Are they moving all his plans already?" asked Nora, trying to follow the conversation but failing. "I still have sketches

for the church to turn in."

"Not plans," George said. "Let's—"

"So it's true!" Sadie exclaimed.

"Never you mind," said Higgie. "The less we know, the better."

Nora turned to George. "What did they move?"

"He had some papers, and, uh, things of... of..."

"Pornography," Higgie said.

Nora slumped. "Was he so very bad?"

"Worse," George said. "But he was a genius as an architect." And he sounded as if his heart was breaking.

"Well." Higgie slapped her palms on her desk. "I declare work over. Nora, where are your things? We'll take them to your new digs."

"Higgie, I really appreciate it, but I couldn't. You might get kicked out, too. Just for bringing me to your room."

"No one would dare."

"Really, I can't. George, tell her."

"George, stay out of it," Higgie said. "I won't take no for an answer. Actually, I owe Nora a favor."

"Me?"

"Yes, but we'll discuss it later. Cover your typewriters, girls, we're taking the afternoon off."

Newport

As soon as Daisy finished breakfast and saw Bordie off to a day of yachting, she asked MissGleason to put in a call to the

club office in New York. There was no answer, but she wasn't too worried. Nora was kept busy running between the warehouse

and the office and the site. She might not have even seen the photograph yet. Daisy would catch up to her at some point. Make

certain that things were still running smoothly, though she couldn't imagine why they wouldn't be.

Nora was very competent for such a young girl, and so was George. Though with Stanford gone, there would be no one to turn

to if Elsie needed guidance. The thought of all the rooms still to be decorated before the opening was daunting.

But there was no reason to worry, until there was.

Hopefully, Stanford's scandalous death would fill the headlines for a few days, be milked by the sensationalist press for

a few days more, and by the time they all returned to the city, it would barely be talked of. Which reminded her... Would

there be a memorial service? Bordie would go if she asked him to.

Perhaps they could avoid the fallout while they enjoyed the summer in Newport.

Wishful thinking that didn't last beyond the first morning call.

The first to arrive was Lillian Stevens, quickly followed by Helen Whitney before the door had even closed.

"I'm sure you've heard the news," Helen began as soon as she sat down.

"It's a disaster," Lillian said. "Albert would absolutely give me no details. Thank goodness for the servants; Dulcie, our

parlormaid, sneaked a copy of the Tribune up to me after breakfast."

"It does look pretty bad," Helen agreed. "And he hadn't even finished my house."

Lillian clapped her lace-gloved hands to her cheeks. "A disaster, I tell you. We'll have to postpone the opening."

"Postpone what?" Alva Belmont asked, sweeping past the maid and into the room.

"The opening of the club, of course. We can't have our name associated with scandal. Not of this magnitude, at least."

"Absolutely not," countered Alva. "Just because Stanny took an inopportune time to get himself killed—"

"Alva, how can you say such things?" Daisy motioned for Alva to be seated and waited for the excitement to calm.

"It's going to be even worse than before," Lillian said. "Our reputations will be in shambles. Just this morning Albert had

the gall to chastise me at the breakfast table. Shaking his paper at me like a street urchin and avowing that this was what

came from letting women decide things like clubs for themselves." She hmphed disgustedly. "As if we were no better than Evelyn

Nesbit."

"Lillian, she was just a child when Mr.White, um, knew her," said Helen.

"Little you know. No better than she should be. Where was the girl's mother to let something like that happen to her child?"

Alva rolled her eyes. "As far as Evelyn Nesbit is concerned, she wouldn't be in this fix now if it hadn't been for her mother. She wasn't alone in the world. Her mother was pulling the strings from the moment she met Stanny, and probably still is, as we speak. The woman is a ruthless manipulator. She'll see that Evey comes out of this just fine."

"Alva, really, where do you hear such things?"

"There's no need to take any measures at this point," Daisy interceded. "We have two months before any of us return to the

city. Let us wait and see what the atmosphere is then. After that, we can discuss the best way to proceed."

Though if it were up to Daisy alone, she wouldn't let their opening be postponed because of one man's indiscretions, even

if he was their architect.

"Well, I don't..."

"Daisy's right," said Alva. "It's too soon to know how this will evolve. Especially because most of the coverage is by the Journal and a couple other sensationalist papers. You know they can't be trusted with real news."

"True," said Helen.

"In that case," said Lillian, "did you hear what happened at the Rensselaers' operatic evening last night?"

They were all eager to change the conversation, and for the next few minutes they delighted in the latest misdemeanors of

the summer residents.

Daisy listened and reacted while she wondered if there was any way to prevent this scandal from growing too big to handle.

The subject of Stanford's death was only brought up briefly as the ladies left. "I am of the firm belief we will feel the

repercussions of this," said Lillian. "Bessie and Elsie are the only women I know who manage to flirt with fire and come out

unscathed."

"And so will the ladies of the Colony Club," Daisy assured them as she showed them all out. "We must stand together and continue

as we mean to go. We'll open in the fall as planned."

But when they were finally gone, Daisy sank back against the door and acknowledged to herself what she'd refused to in front of her visitors. If things didn't blow over quickly, they would be in a pickle.

With the promise of having Nora's belongings sent to the address Higgie had written down, George put Nora and Higgie into

a taxi, one of the new gasoline ones, the novelty of which took Nora's thoughts from her predicament until they arrived at

West Tenth Street.

She pressed Higgie's arm. "I don't think this is a good idea. You have to think about yourself."

"I am," said Higgie. "You don't know how lonely it is living with no one to talk to but my aunt, who's always so busy—"

"You live with your aunt?" exclaimed Nora. "Oh, no. I couldn't. What will she think?"

Higgie paid the cabbie and got out, pulling Nora along with her.

"Well, let's go find out, shall we?"

"She lives with you in your room at the boardinghouse?" This would be worse than rooming with Lucy and Connie at the hotel.

"It's just here." Higgie led her up the steps to a small brownstone with glistening French windows. She rang the bell.

After a couple of minutes, it opened. "Good heavens, Caroline, what are you doing home so early?"

"Lunch, perhaps?"

Nora was so astonished, she didn't move. Higgie's name was Caroline? This tall, dark woman, dressed in severe black, was Higgie's

aunt?

"Come on in and meet my last living relative on earth, Aunt Sorcha."

"She exaggerates," the woman said. "I'm sure we must have one or two others, somewhere. And you are?"

"Nora," Higgie supplied, which was a good thing, because Nora was too stupefied to answer.

"Well, you better come in. Welcome to our humble abode."

Nora stepped inside as it slowly dawned on her. This wasn't a boardinghouse, this was a home. Maybe they took in boarders.

"I can pay," Nora blurted.

The woman squinted at her, picked up a pince-nez on a cord pinned to her blouse, and leaned closer. "For what?"

"Nora," said Higgie gently. "This is my house. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to scare you away. It's small but it's

comfortable, and we need some company besides ourselves, don't we, Aunt?"

Nora's lungs were beginning to hurt; she let out her breath. "The whole house?"

"It was left to me by my father."

"But you have to work." Nora clapped her hand over her mouth. "Pardon me. I didn't mean..."

"Does that seem strange to you? Would you stop being an architect if you suddenly didn't have to work?"

"Of course not."

"I like to work. I have a talent for figures and organization. Before my father died, I kept house and organized his financial

records. After he died, I went to work for McKim, Mead, and White. Well, I couldn't very well sit around here being sad and

letting the world go by. And they were sorely in need of someone with my qualifications. Besides, a little extra cash is always

nice."

"Lunch," said Aunt Sorcha and turned to walk down a dark corridor.

Over thick crusty slices of ham pie and greens, Higgie explained to her aunt about Nora's predicament, while Nora hung her

head and blushed with shame over being placed, even wrongly, in such a scandal.

But the only thing the aunt said was, "Typical of these sensa tionalist rags. Hearst is the worst of them all. He should be made to eat his words—literally."

Higgie nodded and smiled at Nora. "A bluestocking and a progressive. Now if you're finished, I'll show you to your room and maybe you'd like a hot bath. And some clean clothes."

Nora was suddenly aware of how she must look: her clothes slept in, her hair uncombed. "I'm..."

"Yes, yes," said the aunt. "Take the day to reclaim your right to be you. Tomorrow is another day, and you'll be back out

there with a vengeance. Don't let them kick you down. They will, you know. You just have to get back up and keep going." With

that, she started clearing the table.

Nora followed Higgie up the stairs. "Aunt Sorcha never lets anyone give up. She's indefatigable. She even got arrested a few

times for protesting various iniquities. I hope that doesn't put you off."

"No," Nora managed, shocked, but not at all put off.

At the top of the stairs, Higgie opened a door into a bright room, with a bed in the center covered in a chenille spread and

flanked by delicate side tables with lamps. A window looked out onto a tree.

"This will be your room. I hope you like it."

Nora just stared, not quite comprehending.

"Mine is just next door. We have to share a bath. Oh, not with Aunt Sorcha; she's upstairs."

Nora just shook her head.

"What? Don't you like it?" It wasn't the question, but the disappointment in Higgie's voice that made Nora look up.

"It's beautiful, but..." Tears filled her eyes.

"What? You can tell me."

"It's just... I never had a room to myself before."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Oh. Well, you do now. I'll run your bath. There's lots of hot water, take as long as you like." And she hurried away. "Do you like lavender or lily of the valley?" Higgie called from the next room.

Nora stripped out of her clothes and climbed into the tub. It was the most luxurious thing in the world. Not extravagant like

the fixtures the Colony Club would have. But to Nora, with the smell of lavender wafting around her, it was like being in

heaven.

She washed her body, washed her hair, then when her fingers were shriveled and the water began to cool, she climbed out and

wrapped herself in a big white towel.

There was no one in her room, but the clothes she'd been wearing had been taken away. Her other clothes had been delivered

and put away in the wardrobe. She sat at a dressing table before an oval mirror, combing her hair until it was free of tangles,

then braided it into a decent bun at her nape. And in a moment of sheer relief and hope, she took her Sunday-best dress from

the wardrobe and wore it downstairs to join Higgie and her aunt.