The Magnolia Palace

Chapter Twelve

1919

What’s going on in here?”

Lillian and Mr. Danforth pulled apart, the stolen kiss hanging between them like an invisible, intricate spiderweb, just as Miss Helen poked her head around the doorway into the organ room. “I thought I might find you in here! You’ve been scavenging, I see.”

Mr. Danforth carefully turned around in the cramped space. “Miss Helen. You’re back. A day early.”

“And you’ve been cheating on me.”

Lillian swallowed hard, grateful Mr. Danforth blocked her employer’s view. Her body was still warm from Mr. Danforth’s kiss, her knees shaking.

“Cheating?” His voice cracked, but Miss Helen didn’t seem to notice. From downstairs came the sounds of the servants milling about. Mr. and Mrs. Frick must be right below them, handing over hats and coats, trailed by trunks and luggage. And here she was, caught kissing Miss Helen’s suitor.

“Yes. I told you that you had to do the hunt on your own, but you’ve clearly enlisted Miss Lilly. You’re a bad boy.”

“Sorry?”

“Not you, this little love.” She reached down and picked up a spaniel puppy with big brown eyes who had been mouthing at her skirts. “We have a new addition to the family. Meet Wrigley.”

Mr. Danforth stepped forward and gave the dog a pet on the head, before Miss Helen twirled around, calling out, “Follow me!”

Outside in the hallway, Lillian closed the door to the organ chamber behind her and leaned on it a moment. She was certain her legs might give way any minute.

“Well? What do you have to say?” Miss Helen demanded of her.

She had to pull herself together or everything would be lost. “About what?”

“About the dog, of course.”

Miss Helen’s excitement for her new acquisition had left her oblivious to Mr. Danforth and Lillian’s discomfort and nervousness. Then again, Miss Helen was never one for examining the vagaries of human behavior, apart from those of her beloved father.

Lillian spent a good minute oohing and aahing over the puppy before Miss Helen was satisfied. All the while, Mr. Danforth stood uncomfortably off to one side.

“We came home a day early because Papsie wasn’t feeling better,” Miss Helen said. “The sea air only made him congested.”

“Miss Helen,” said Mr. Danforth, “I must confess, I’m afraid I didn’t make it through the entire scavenger hunt.”

“I should be quite cross with you, but you’ve caught me on a good day. Maybe once you’re living here I’ll force you to finish it. In the meantime, we must get this boy settled.”

After all of their hard work following clue after clue, Miss Helen had already moved on to the next thing.

Lillian hadn’t realized until then just how wrapped up in the hunt she’d become, partly because of Mr. Danforth’s company, and partly because it had brought the house alive for her. She had enjoyed conquering each new riddle, no matter how badly composed. The clues remained where Mr. Danforth had left them, balanced on a wooden bracket between the organ pipes. She should go back and retrieve them, but before she could do so, Miss Helen dumped the dog in her arms. “Take him to my sitting room and call down for some water. Then oversee Bertha as she unpacks my trunk, make sure everything is put away properly. She has an annoying tendency to arrange my shoes backwards, with the left one on the right side and vice versa.” She threw Mr. Danforth a coquettish smile. “I swear she does so on purpose, just to goad me.” Her smile vanished as she turned back to Lillian. “Once that’s settled, I’d like to go over the week’s correspondence with you. I hope you managed to categorize things correctly in my absence.”

Lillian stood there dumbly for a moment. Mr. Danforth avoided her gaze. “Of course, Miss Helen.”

Upstairs, Lillian’s thoughts swirled as Bertha absentmindedly unpacked Miss Helen’s trunk and chattered on about the fun she’d had gallivanting about town with a Park Avenue chauffeur during her afternoons off. “I think I’ve met my man,” she said, wrenching a lid off a hatbox as Lillian lifted out art books from a trunk and placed them in a corner, to be brought back down later to the bowling alley. “Roddy’s smart as a whip, and he can dance like no one’s business. Perfect, right?”

“Right.” Lillian was still recovering from Miss Helen’s interruption of her first kiss and couldn’t quite follow the thread of Bertha’s story.

“What’s the matter with you, Lilly?”

“Sorry, nothing. I’m happy to hear it.” And she was. Bertha worked so hard for the Frick family, she deserved some fun in her life. A chance to have a family.

“How about you? I’ve noticed our dashing organist giving you longing looks whenever you pass by. Might be fun to be with someone with some musical chops.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Mr. Graham. Boy, that hair. I’d love to run my fingers through his mane.”

In spite of herself, Lillian laughed. “You are utterly ridiculous. You know that, don’t you?”

“Go on, tell me you don’t think he’s a looker.”

He was certainly the most dashing man she’d ever seen, but she’d never admit that to anyone, even Bertha. Her mother’s advice rang in Lillian’s ears as if Kitty were hovering over her even now: Steer clear of sentimental crushes; do not rely on a man.

But Mr. Danforth, if he went to medical school and became a doctor, might offer her a different kind of life. She shook off the thought. Lillian was not “Miss Lilly,” not really. She was Angelica, and she would always drag the weight of that legacy behind her. For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to be a normal girl like Bertha and find a nice boy, settle down. But that wasn’t in the cards. Even before the scandal with her landlord, Lillian’s unorthodox past gave her two choices: she could make the move from muse to film actress, be in charge of her own life, or become mistress to a wealthy man who wanted to possess Angelica as a plaything until he tired of her. Even if she’d been interested in family life, no upstanding suitor would tolerate her past. Not even the kindhearted Mr. Danforth.

Three days later, Mr. Frick summoned Lillian to the library, where the family was gathered in front of a roaring fire. He sat in a wingback chair, his stout belly protruding between widely spread legs, while Mrs. Frick perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, her corset preventing any sort of similar relaxation. Helen took up the other armchair.

“Miss Lilly, my daughter says that she has not received a note or telephone call from Mr. Danforth since we returned from Eagle Rock,” said Mr. Frick. “Is that correct?”

He looked over at Miss Helen, who shrank miserably into the velvet upholstery. Miss Helen hadn’t had any correspondence; that was true.

But Lillian had. Three letters a day, all delivered to the servants’ entrance, each one more passionate than the next, the romantic words like dynamite. He’d written that the moment together among the organ pipes had been an unexpected, utter delight, and that their ease of conversation was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Miss Winnie had caught the footman handing one to Lillian that very morning, and when asked about it, Lillian had quickly explained that she was advising Mr. Danforth on the setting for the engagement ring. Miss Winnie had nodded and gone about her business.

Lillian hadn’t responded to his entreaties. He thought she was a proper young lady, and he wouldn’t understand her past. He probably thought that her wish to become a movie starlet was a silly girl’s dream, not a true goal close to being realized. They couldn’t be more different. Not to mention that if Mr. Frick found out she’d diverted Mr. Danforth’s attention from Miss Helen, she’d be subject to his wrath and retribution. No one crossed Mr. Frick. No one.

She fully intended to burn the letters—it was stupid to leave them lying about—but each night before bed, the very sight of them set the blood rushing in her veins, as she relived the kiss and the way Mr. Danforth had looked at her, like she meant everything in the world to him. So far she hadn’t gotten up the courage to light the match.

Mr. Frick was staring at her, waiting for an answer.

“That is true, yes. Mr. Danforth has not reached out to Miss Helen, as far as I know.”

“We had planned for the engagement to be announced over Thanksgiving. I worry that my daughter has said or done something foolish to dash our hopes. Can you enlighten us?”

How could he talk like that in front of his own daughter? An unexpected surge of pity took Lillian by surprise. She wanted to kneel down before her and explain that she didn’t deserve her father’s harsh words. That she was deserving of love, and Mr. Danforth’s retreat wasn’t her fault. “Miss Helen, I am sure, has done nothing untoward.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

The stupidity of Lillian’s actions during the scavenger hunt hit her full force. She’d gotten caught up in the moment, in the lush surroundings, in the grand isolation of the week, acting as if the mansion and its artifacts were hers, acting as if Miss Helen’s beau was hers as well. She must make this right.

“I’ve been privy to some questions from Mr. Danforth, regarding the ring setting, the proposal, and so forth.” She looked over at Miss Helen, who had brightened considerably. “I’m sorry to have kept this from you, but he wants it to be a surprise. I assure you, all is well.”

Mrs. Frick clapped her tiny hands together, and relief flooded Miss Helen’s features. Mr. Frick, however, didn’t change his visage at all, his blue eyes never leaving Lillian’s. “Well then, I suppose that’s good news.”

“Father, why don’t we send Miss Lilly to him tomorrow? That way she can answer his questions and report back. But, Miss Lilly, you won’t tell him we’re in on the secret, will you?”

Even if it would be painful for Lillian, it was the best course of action. “I won’t let him know that you know. Don’t worry.”

The next day, she found herself standing again in front of Mr. Danforth’s townhouse, holding a note from Miss Helen in her hand—one that Miss Helen had insisted Lillian write, of course. It was time for Lillian to put a stop to Mr. Danforth’s wrongheaded idea that they were a match. It simply couldn’t happen. She’d placed all of her hard work from the last two months at great risk.

How cruel she’d been, to clumsily destroy Miss Helen’s prospects. Sure, the woman was difficult and sometimes unnecessarily biting, but it wasn’t all her fault. The war, as well as her family’s manipulations, had damaged her, stunted her development. She deserved a happy home, out from under the thumb of her father and the ghost of her older sister. Mr. Danforth was the answer, and Lillian needed to get out of the way.

The butler led her into the front parlor. Before Mr. Danforth entered, she heard him give the butler an errand, something about a trip to the grocer, and the front door opened and closed. Through the window, she spied the butler heading for Third Avenue.

The door to the parlor opened and Mr. Danforth appeared. A cloud passed over his features as he took in her stony stare.

“Miss Lilly.” He took her gloved hand, briefly.

Lillian held out the note. “From Miss Helen, to you.”

He didn’t open it right away. “She’s wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

“It’s been three days, so yes, she and Mr. Frick are worried that your intentions have changed.”

“Have they?” He looked up at her, hopeful.

“I can’t answer that.”

He tore open the note and read it, and then, as if in spite of himself, he broke into a smile. “You wrote this, didn’t you? Not her.”

There was no point in lying. “How can you tell?”

“Having spent those days with you at the mansion, I understand your cadence. In fact, you wrote the other notes as well, didn’t you, from the very beginning?”

Lillian looked out the window, hoping the butler would be returning soon. Being alone with Mr. Danforth felt more daring than when she’d stood naked in the middle of a studio. Like anything might happen. “I did.”

He burst out into laughter. “So early on, then, you were in fact writing to yourself, back and forth. A proxy for the supposed lovers.”

She couldn’t help smile. “Ridiculous, I admit. Although, when it comes to society matches, probably not uncommon.”

“Society matches.” He sighed. “That about sums it up. I provide Helen the respectability of marriage and an escape from the confines of her father’s will, while she gives me access to the Frick family fortune, an easy life ahead of me.”

“As long as you both are decent to each other, there’s no reason why that shouldn’t work. I’ve known poverty, and I’d trade it in for a life of luxury in a heartbeat.”

He gestured around the room. “So if I were wealthy, you’d be my wife?”

That wasn’t what she’d meant at all. “Is that your proposal? If so, I’d work on the one for Miss Helen, if you want her to say ‘yes.’ ”

“Maybe I don’t.” He moved closer. “I think you know what I want.”

“I want Miss Helen to be happy.”

“Do you, really? Miss Lilly, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

If he only knew how often she’d heard that exact phrase. The words were overused, worthless.

“I’m sorry,” he said, picking up on the disappointment in her eyes. “I realize that’s trite. I’m inexperienced at wooing, and don’t know how to express myself very well.”

“Sir, I’m back. I forgot the list of groceries.”

The butler called out as he slammed the front door. The sound reverberated inside Lillian’s skull, reminding her why she’d come. “Write a note to her today.”

“What shall I say?”

“Tell her you’ll see her Thanksgiving Day.”

His face fell. “But what of us?”

“I came here today to insist that our friendship remain exactly that. I am not interested in your advances, and suggest that you turn your focus back on course. The Fricks are depending on you. I am not.”

“I don’t think you mean that.”

“I expect a note from you to Miss Helen to arrive by three o’clock.”

With that, she fled the parlor, practically tumbling down the brownstone steps to the safety of the street.

Mr. Danforth did as Lillian had charged, and the relieved look on Miss Helen’s face when his note arrived on a silver tray reinforced Lillian’s decision. She’d done the right thing. In it, he stated that he had to visit his aunts in New Jersey first, but would join the family for dessert on Thanksgiving Day.

Lillian had set things right and now her plan was back on target. Once Miss Helen and Mr. Danforth were engaged, she’d get her payment from Mr. Frick and be off to California, putting this whole sordid mess behind her. She’d almost muddled up everything by falling for Mr. Danforth, but today she was clear in her desires: a career, not a messy love affair.

The table in the Frick dining room had been expanded so it could accommodate all the Thanksgiving guests: Mr. and Mrs. Frick, Miss Helen, Childs Frick, and, at the last minute, Lillian. Childs Frick’s wife had been unable to attend, as one of the children was ill, and she didn’t want to travel far from their Long Island estate. Miss Helen had insisted Lillian take the empty place. Dessert would be served later in the Fragonard Room, after Mr. Danforth arrived, and Lillian figured she could make an excuse and avoid that particular course.

Miss Helen looked sweet, in a soft white dress and a long strand of black pearls around her neck, an ensemble suggested by Lillian to make her look a little more modern, a little more bride-like. Unfortunately, she punctuated her comments at dinner with a strange, high-pitched laugh that made her sound a little unhinged. Lillian hoped she’d not respond to Mr. Danforth’s proposal with the same, or he’d go running for the hills.

After the first course was served, Mr. Frick lifted his glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”

Lillian noticed that Helen’s glass was almost empty. That explained the giggling. She tried to catch her eye, but Miss Helen was already calling the footman to refill everyone’s glasses.

“It’s grand to have the family together, again,” intoned Mr. Frick. “Nothing makes a man happier than to see his children content. Even if they sometimes disappoint.” His delivery was dusted with sarcasm. The rest of the family stiffened in their silk damask chairs, sensing that Mr. Frick was in one of his moods.

He turned to his son. “Childs, I’m proud that you’ll be carrying on the family name, long after I’m gone.”

“That’s right, Father.” Mr. Childs gave Miss Helen a smirk. “You have your grandson. Dixie and I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

“Now, Father,” interrupted Helen, “I can carry on the family name equally as well.” She looked over at Lillian. “Two years ago I changed my name from Helen Childs Frick to Helen Clay Frick. Remember, Father, how happy that made you? And now I’m to be married, which means I may give you a grandson as well.”

Mr. Childs guffawed, but Mr. Frick shushed him with a look.

“Weddings make me sentimental,” Mr. Frick said. “Perhaps because they remind me of things, people, who were lost. But life moves on, and now I know the Frick name will not be forgotten. I have my collection and my offspring, both of which will carry on after I’m gone.”

“Please don’t be sad, Father,” cried Miss Helen. “I can’t bear it.”

Mr. Childs put down his glass without drinking. “How interesting that the collection comes first,” he murmured.

Miss Helen spoke up. “Childs, don’t be beastly to Father today, he’s not been well. Which you’d know if you ever ventured to visit us.”

“Quit it, sis.”

The tension in the room made Lillian want to stand and upturn the entire table. Mr. Frick’s maudlin drivel seemed solely aimed at driving his children against each other, as if he were King Lear.

“You’re a bully, Childs. You always have been.” Miss Helen turned to Lillian. “You know what he used to do when I was a child? He’d hide under my bed and grab my feet when I went to climb in. Or he’d make me stare into a mirror and tell me I was ugly until I cried.”

“Both of you, the teasing needs to stop,” said Mrs. Frick. Lillian looked over, shocked that she’d made a stand instead of fading into the wallpaper.

“Now, now, there’s nothing wrong with a little teasing, Adelaide,” answered Mr. Frick. “What else do these children have to make them resilient, having lived in grandeur with thirty servants their whole lives?”

“Twenty-seven,” corrected Mrs. Frick.

The pause before Mr. Frick spoke was as thick as a summer storm.

“You like your numbers, don’t you?” said Mr. Frick, finally. “Then how about this one: sixty. Not quite an old woman, but close.”

Mrs. Frick looked miserably out the window, as if she wished she were anywhere else than this dining room.

Miss Helen rose from her chair, reaching for something in her pocket. “Father, look what I’ve had made for you.”

She took out a small miniature and gave it to him as Lillian cringed. She’d done everything she could to dissuade Miss Helen from this idea. And to present it now, in front of the entire family?

“Let me see.” Mr. Frick pushed his glasses up on his nose and peered down at the object, which in his big paw of a hand looked like a piece of sea glass.

Lillian already knew what he held: a picture of Martha that had been painted when she was around four or five, red-haired and pink-cheeked, wearing a white lace top and looking serenely out from a thin gold frame. Miss Helen, in a moment of what she considered inspiration, had commissioned an artist to add the figure of herself as a young girl next to that of her sister. They looked almost like twins, except Miss Helen’s likeness had blonder hair and a larger forehead.

“I thought you’d like a portrait of your two favorite daughters,” said Miss Helen.

Mr. Frick closed his palm over the image briefly, then held it up for the entire table to see.

Mrs. Frick looked as if she were about to be sick.

“You are so incredibly thoughtless,” said Mr. Childs. “Why on earth would you desecrate that with your ugly mug?”

Miss Helen spoke through gritted teeth. “See, Father? That’s what I’ve had to put up with my whole life. You understand why I did it, right? To please you.”

Mr. Childs didn’t back down. “You’re only concerned with the will. Don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

“Childs!” Mrs. Frick had found her voice again. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

Mr. Frick sat back in his chair, watching with what Lillian was sure was amusement the disruption unfolding around him. His beastly mistreatment of his children this afternoon didn’t square up with the softhearted man she’d met in the art gallery that late night, who was so tearfully proud and protective of Miss Helen. Late at night, among his treasures, was probably the only place he allowed himself to show any hint of compassion.

“Now we see what lies behind all of your flattery,” intoned Mr. Frick. “Both of you”—he pointed at Miss Helen and then at Mr. Childs—“ought to be ashamed. Martha would never have behaved so abominably. You’ll just have to wait, won’t you? Then again, patience was never your strength, either of you.”

He rose, but then sat down again, hard, one hand to his belly.

“What is it, Father, another attack?” Miss Helen placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Help me to my sitting room, Helen, would you?”

Mr. Childs rose to assist, but his sister called to Lillian. “Take his other arm, Miss Lilly.”

They brought him to the elevator and up to the second floor. By the time he reached the doorway to the sitting room he was looking a little less pale. He sat on the sofa, staring up at the coffered ceiling with a vacant expression on his face while Miss Helen fetched him a glass of water.

“Thank you, my love,” he said when she returned and knelt down at his feet, watching him drink and then holding the glass out for Lillian to take.

“Of course, Papsie. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

He put his hand on her cheek. “It’s a beautiful miniature. I will treasure it always. I do wish you could have grown up with Martha as your big sister. She had such a gentle nature. She might have tempered yours.”

The man knew exactly where to place the knife and turn it.

“I admonished Martha for two years, stop crying, stop complaining.” Even though Mr. Frick’s eyes stayed on Miss Helen, she was no longer his focus; he’d disappeared into the memory of another daughter. “We didn’t know what she’d done. I thought she was being obstinate. It was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t. You didn’t know,” Miss Helen assured him.

“I told them not to operate, to practice homeopathy, which I had great faith in. But what if I’d let them fix her properly? She might have improved, and those four terrible years of suffering would not have happened. In the end, she couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, she wasted away. She could barely speak or breathe, she was so overcome with pain, her body riddled with sepsis. I gave her my hand to bite.” He held out the hand with the scar Lillian had noticed that night in the art gallery. “You see?”

“I know, Papsie,” said Miss Helen. “You did what you could. It was a different time, we didn’t have X-ray machines, or proper medicine.”

“That was when your mother became ill with her neuralgia. I shouldn’t be so cruel. You’ll tell her I’m sorry, won’t you?”

“You can tell her yourself. She’s fine, we’re all fine.”

“You’re a good girl.”

Miss Helen smiled liked she’d been blessed by the pope.

Even with all their money, the family had been afflicted by tragedy that reverberated down the generations. Martha’s death had made them all their worst selves: Mrs. Frick fragile and ill, Mr. Frick cruel, their son desperate to cause trouble, and Miss Helen far too eager to please.

Downstairs, the doorbell chimed.

“It must be Mr. Danforth,” said Miss Helen. “See to him, Lilly. Have him return tomorrow.”

In all the fuss, Lillian had forgotten he was expected. She found him walking down the main hallway, looking confused.

“Mr. Danforth,” she said, “I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.”

“Miss Lilly.” He spoke loudly, as if playacting. “Is everything all right?”

“There’s been some trouble. Please, come with me.”

She took him through the library and out onto the loggia, which extended lengthwise along the south side of the art gallery. Four sets of coupled columns divided the walkway from the expanse of lawn. In the moonless night, they were practically invisible out here, and she needed some fresh air after the stuffiness of Mr. Frick’s sitting room.

“There was an issue with Mr. Frick, I’m afraid. Miss Helen is up tending to her father.”

“I’m sorry to hear he’s still ill.”

“Yes.” She spoke quickly. “We’ll have to reschedule the proposal. I’ll check her calendar first thing in the morning and send you some alternate dates.”

“I didn’t come here to propose, Lilly. I came to explain that I won’t be marrying Miss Helen.”

Lillian felt something in her crumble. The money. Her money. Her dreams. And yet, was Mr. Danforth turning down a fortune because of Lillian? Could she have had such a dramatic effect on him? “No, that won’t do,” she said. But the words sounded feeble, and seemed to heighten Mr. Danforth’s zeal.

“I’m not in love with her, and I don’t think we’d make a good match. You, of all people, must understand that.” He touched her arm.

A flash of light fell onto the grass, from a window in the living hall. Someone had moved the curtain, looked out. Mr. Danforth retreated farther into the shadows, pulling Lillian with him.

“I know I don’t have a lot to offer, just a small yearly income,” he said. “But I’ve thought about what we discussed. I want to study medicine up in Boston, and lead a simple life. All this”—he motioned back at the house, which loomed in the darkness like a tomb—“is not my cup of tea. I don’t think it’s yours, either, Lilly. We could lead a good, happy life together.”

He was offering her a chance at a different life than she’d imagined. One of stability and companionship. She knew enough of his sorrow and kindness, along with the fact that he wasn’t impressed by the Fricks’ wealth, to understand that he was a good man. A good man who was in love with her.

The daily bustle of the Frick house had only served as a diversion from the fact that she was utterly alone as well, and as much as she wanted to believe her services indispensable to Miss Helen, she was replaceable, in a heartbeat. For so long she’d served others, standing patiently, fully exposed, for artists. Making sure Kitty was taken care of. Kowtowing to the whims and tantrums of Miss Helen. She’d molded herself into whatever shape was called for, and was good at it. How caught up she’d been, to miss this.

Accepting his offer would mean giving up her dreams of a film career. But was she really resting all of her hopes and dreams on a couple of dashed-off letters from a producer? Mr. Broderick probably sent out a hundred a week. Was she naive to consider herself special?

But Mr. Broderick was looking for an Angelica-type actress. He was looking for her. She’d worked so hard, come so close, and she’d never know if she could be successful in California if she didn’t try. Never mind the fact that running off with Mr. Danforth would invite the wrath of the Fricks.

And finally, if they married, Mr. Danforth would have to be told the truth about Lillian. About Angelica.

“I’m not sure,” she said. Did she have the courage to expose herself, inside and out? To stop hiding? But this was what love was all about, according to the songs and poems and books that had been written through the ages. It was about giving yourself to another person and trusting them with your secrets. She’d never imagined she’d have the opportunity, but Mr. Danforth’s kiss had changed all that. He loved her, in spite of the danger circling around them.

“You may not be certain yet, but I am,” he answered. “Meet me Monday in the park, on the terrace of Belvedere Castle. Eleven o’clock. We’ll run off and get married and start a new life, together. Will you do that, Lilly?”

He paused, waiting. “Will you?”