The Necklace Read online

  She sets herself the challenge of asking Baldwin about it during this trip, and she won’t wimp out. You’re a grown-ass woman, she reminds herself, and a trained lawyer at that.

  Reflected in the cloudy haze of the aged front hall mirror, she sees the back of Louis Morrell talking solemnly with an elder O’Brennan in pearls the size of gumballs. The whole O’Brennan family has been longtime friends of the Quincys. She wonders what Louis knows. From the way he was talking at the meeting, he has his own views of the family. From this angle in the mirror, Nell is free to contemplate him. She’s struck by his ease, his casualness, and his complete self-possession. She’s seen men who try to win the room with backslapping and men whose air of aloof reserve hides a trembling neurosis. But she has to admit that Louis seems comfortable in his own skin, chatting with the power dowager as he sips cold coffee.

  She has a perfect view of his broad shoulders, his lean runner’s build. When the woman moves off to talk to another guest, Louis looks up and catches Nell’s eye in the mirror, and she realizes he’s been watching her check him out the whole time.

  “Busted,” he mouths at her in the mirror.

  THE TRAVEL LETTERS

  Tokio

  Dearest May—

  I made it. You didn’t think I would, did you? It is a wondrous sight here. When I arrived, I called on my aunt Clara’s friend Mr. Rockhill at our embassy. He gave me lunch, put a horse at my disposal—a villainous little pony with a painfully punitive saddle—and told me the best things to see in town. Then he invited me to supper on Sunday. I’ve been taking photographs every which way and feel my eye improving daily. I found no word from you here and admit this makes me feel low. Please let me find a letter from you in Singapore. You know I most fervently wish you were here.

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Singapore

  Ethan—

  I am stalled up in my room without any clothes, waiting for the washing. Dicky has decided to be unencumbered and has gone off into the city wearing a man’s kimono and Japanese trousers, the same things he’s been walking around in for the last week since we left Tokio. You should see how the locals react.

  We hiked the side of a volcano the day before we sailed. Mount Asama, which is still active, sends out clouds of sulfurous smoke and ashes. For a moment, it seemed I was back home in the steel yards.

  I am chomping at the bit to get to the shooting. I hear it’s good, though all assure me that the jungles are thorny and thick as well as swampy and unhealthy. Never fear, I have citronella to ward off the ticks and carbolic acid and gaiters for the leeches. Loulou made me pack it all, of course, along with the snake venom antidotes.

  Do write me and tell me news of home.

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Mandalay

  Darling May—

  My last night here before I head into the jungle, and still no word from you. The Van Alstynes are here and convinced me to go to the hotel ball. We left for the riverfront after only two songs and sat under the full moon and drank champagne and spun yarns. The Van Alstynes are most pleasant company, but through no fault of their own they make me feel wistful and melancholy and missing you. They’re very much in love, and sitting with them out under that pale moon and hearing her weave tales for him full of hidden meanings and places special to the two of them fills me with longing for you. She’s his Scheherazade. Sitting with their example, I started to think that maybe I was a fool for not having proposed to you, married you, and started out on this adventure with you at my side. Loulou said as much before I left—out of the mouths of babes. I fear I’ve made a mistake, darling. Could I come back to you now and take you off with me? Or perhaps you’ll finally agree to come and meet me. I have this dream that you might turn up somewhere along the way. I’ve been sticking very close to my itinerary. Perhaps you will materialize somewhere.

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Rangoon

  Dear Father—

  I’m just back from shooting in the jungles, and I’m going to take up some matters from your letters that awaited me.

  Firstly, as to my observance of Sundays—maybe I haven’t been as careful as I should have been. This is because I have not been able to arrange it without considerable machinations involving train schedules, boat leavings. I suppose I will have more options when I move on to Delhi.

  Secondly, as to the matter of splitting with Dicky. There has never been the least bad feeling about it because we understood all along that it was something that would inevitably occur and would enhance our differing interests. I’ve found I like walking and riding in the mountains and jungles more than I like the cities. Though I’ve immersed myself in the culture and squeezed out every drop of experience, not to worry. Dicky, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, jumps right in the swim of things in any port where we call, but he lags and complains so much when we’re in the field that it dampens my enjoyment.

  You needn’t worry about me. This trip has been everything I’ve ever wanted.

  Your loving son,

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Jeypore

  Dear Darling May—

  Despite your paltry letters, I’ll continue to write to you. Did your mother never tell you it’s rude to ignore a suitor? I am still a suitor, aren’t I? A suitor in absentia? I am counting on absentia to make the heart grow fonder. Perhaps when I return you will be very fond indeed.

  While you have not come to find me, I have found Dicky in a Rajput city. Found is not the right word. He cabled me to come north to Jeypore, and so I have. You would laugh, as he is ensconced in a small palace fit for a prince, with walls inlaid with mirrors and a dancing girl who visits him at night. It’s true. Tell no one. He told me about her yesterday at tea and I had a glimpse of her as I was leaving at dusk—a true beauty. Dicky claims she speaks French—can you imagine? But I suppose you can, as that’s so typically Dicky. I suspect they have not one word in common, but maybe they don’t need words.

  As I walked back to my hotel through the streets, all I could think was how I wish you were with me to see it. Grim fortresses crown the hills, and the deserted capital of Amber with its temples and courts and halls spun me back to a very different vision of the medieval period, filled with the glories of Akbar the Great and Shah Jahan. I was tempted to run back and get my camera kit, but the light faded.

  I leave in three days to shoot in Cooch Behar with the maharaja’s son. The prince extended the invitation at Lord and Lady Minto’s, who live here near the palace. We struck up a friendship as we stood on the sidelines during the after-dinner dance. I’ve found I’ve completely lost interest in dancing anymore if it’s not with you. For something to say, I mentioned I found the shooting hard. He insisted I come with him to a distant relation’s palace in Cooch Behar, and I thought only a fool would refuse such an invitation. Dicky promises to come meet me in Delhi after I’m done, and we will carry on together from there. I half expect to find he’s deserted me and decided to stay with his maharani forever. I can’t say I blame him. If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this trip, it’s that only a fool turns his back on passion.

  Please write to me. Yet again you have reduced me to begging. Do you ever think of me? Do you miss me? It’s the gem capital here and every bauble I see makes me think of you—your hands, your ears, your neck . . .

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Cooch Behar

  Ethan—

  We are only just out of the jungle. Thank you for the case of shooting shells. I fear the ones over here, as I’ve heard stories that they’re shoddily made and prone to exploding in the chamber. The shooting has been beyond my imaginings. I shot at a blackbuck, convinced I’d missed—that’s how fast they are—until one of the coolies spotted a blood-covered trail in the wooded area and we were off after it. It was hard, as the antelope trampled things up pretty well and a light rain started, which washed away most of the blood. The men were constantly r
etracing their steps and making casts in all directions. We did find him though, dead in his tracks, and took his skull and horns. I am not keeping any skins except two buffalos and this large antelope.

  I already shipped them home via an import and export company here. Father will receive notification when they arrive, and the customs must be paid in Cleveland. Please don’t let him open all the bundles. They’re full of gifts, and I’d like to have the pleasure of bestowing them myself.

  In my downtime, I’ve been reading about those terrible old rascals and warlords Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Akbar the Great, and Shah Jahan. If you can get your hands on any of their biographies, I urge you to read them.

  I’ll write more in the next post, as I am dead tired despite being housed in splendor at a palace with my friend, the Indian prince. His uncle, the maharaja, makes our father look like a pussycat.

  How is May? I haven’t received a letter from her in weeks.

  Love to all there,

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Delhi

  May—

  Please expound on the events in my father’s short telegram of today. Though my questions will likely be answered in the telegraph station before you get this letter, the telegrams give me only the bare facts. I can get no news over here. Please write to me in detail.

  When I arrived back at the Taj Palace Hotel, a stack of telegrams was waiting for me about the fire in Sandusky. How badly has Ethan been injured? I don’t mean to be brutal, but Father’s telegram was vague. How bad was the fire? Which mine was it? Were miners injured? How many? Is it out now? I could not tell from Father’s telegram. I am heading to the telegraph office now to await some news, and then to the embassy. Even though I will find out more today, please write me with details whenever you get this letter. I feel very far away.

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Delhi

  Dear Father—

  I only just received your wire reading “Return at once.” The telegraph station wasn’t open last night or this morning. It took some doing, but I had it opened that I might hear from you. Am looking into arrangements now and heading to Bombay, which is the most logical port for passage.

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Bombay

  Ethan—

  What ho, hero! You of the derring-do! I’ve just had a letter from Aunt Clara telling me of your running into the mine fire in Sandusky. What courage! What mettle!

  Everyone writes to me that you have been injured as a result, and I am grieved to hear it. Please know this letter sends you all my best wishes and brotherly love for a quick and painless recovery.

  Father writes that I should return home at once. Of course, I shall if needed, but I wonder at Father’s prejudice in the situation. I thought I’d go straight to the source and hear what you think from your own mouth, or pen as it were.

  If needed I will return at once.

  I remain your loving brother—

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Columbo

  Dear May—

  I apologize for my silence. Things are easier now that I am in Columbo. My hotel, the Galle Face, is supposedly the finest in the East outside Cairo, and the embassy here has been helpful. I was having a hard time securing any routes out of Bombay that made any sense. And I figured coming here would give me more options.

  Thank you so much for your letter that found me here with details of the fire in Sandusky and Ethan’s recovery. I am glad to hear he’s better, though I read of his accident with sadness. I sent along a package of trinkets to him from Bombay in hopes they might amuse him while he convalesces. Ganesha is the elephant god of new beginnings and fresh starts. Please tell him the significance of the little statue when it arrives. He progresses well? At the risk of sounding crass, what is the extent of his injury? I’ve written to him, but received nothing back. I suppose this is to be expected.

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Columbo

  Dear May—

  I didn’t hear from you yesterday but got your two cables today and one from my father, which reads: “Prefer you return home. Answer.” I haven’t answered yet. My funds are running low. I used a good portion in India, and Father is refusing to augment them, given this tragedy. I know he wants me there. I still haven’t decided what I’ll do. I’ve written Ethan, wanting his honest opinion concerning my return. Please encourage him to be frank with me. I’ve waited so long for this trip, as you know. To come home with it cut so short, I don’t think it’s best for me, or for anyone there. You, more than anyone, know how I was before I left. But if needed, I will return.

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Columbo

  Dear Ethan—

  By now you all have had my telegram and know of my decision. As I mentioned, I’m of two minds about this, but in the end your gracious letter let me know what I must do. (How well your dictation is coming along. Now that you’re a dictator, should we find you a little country to rule over?) I trust that you will soften the blow for Father.

  Since you seem to so completely understand my thinking, if you can, please help Father see that I can’t return home just now. The need to complete my trip is not something I can completely justify, even to myself. I know I should come home and maybe I could shoot in the Rockies and see the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone after I’ve come back to help with work. But you’ve reassured me there’s no need.

  May told me before I left that I was like living with a caged tiger, frustrated yet half-asleep and swiping at things unpredictably. I was unable to see anything clearly. But I’m starting to understand now, both my place and my purpose. And I know if I returned with this thing half-done, I’d be of no use to anyone.

  Especially not to you, I’d only be in the way. From the sound of it, May has become your Florence Nightingale. She’s kept me informed about your paraffin treatments and iron supplements, and writes that everyone is encouraged that you can already tolerate the complicated massage and X-ray regimen to keep you from contractions. I hope it is not too painful, and I’m glad to hear you’re healing quickly. This has also eased my decision, though only slightly.

  I can’t return home without seeing more, doing more, being more. Father has told me he won’t forward me any more money and so I must ask you for a favor to forward money to me. I will, of course, repay you once I get home. I’m pained to ask this of you with everything else you confront in your current health, but you’ve assured me you’re no invalid. Father has made it impossible for me to withdraw from the corpus of Mother’s inheritance without some legal wrangling, and I’m afraid I’ve spent the interest. I will sign any promissory note you wish in connection with this. Please see your way to doing me this favor. I can’t come home yet; I’ll only long to leave. I’ve lived that way before, and I can’t do it again. You’ve seen me that way, and you can’t wish it on me.

  Before you send a party out to drag me back, let me say that I am in my right mind. I am not losing my wits. I only think that now I cannot return without fulfilling my dream.

  I am your loving brother—

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Columbo

  Dear Ethan—

  Your cable arrived yesterday, and the bank draft as well. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you as my brother and now my benefactor. Thanks to you, I am heading on a steamer to the Philippines and will be out of touch for a number of weeks. From there I will go to Siam. Your generosity has caused me to consider both northern China and a glimpse of Korea as well. How can I thank you?

  Your loving brother,

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Siam

  Dear Ethan—

  Your generosity astounds me. Thank you for encouraging me to go to China and for understanding my desire to completely see this trip through. Thanks to your additional funds I will be able to push through to Korea as well. I will forever remember the brotherly kindness you’ve show
n me.

  Ambrose

  * * *

  Peking

  May—

  My father’s telegram with news of your engagement to my brother reached me only today. I suppose congratulations are in order. He tells me the engagement is to be a short one. Perhaps the thing is already done. Forgive me if I don’t return home for the wedding. I know you understand my reasoning behind this choice, though I can hardly begin to understand your reasoning or your choice.

  Ambrose

  THE DRESSING TABLE

  After Louis catches Nell in the mirror, he moves toward her with his quick assured step, his blingy watch, his blinding smile, and suddenly Nell starts to feel weary. She tells herself it’s jet lag, that she’s not running away when she heads upstairs just to lie down, just for a minute.

  After she’d agreed to spend the night at the farm, she’d poked through the bedrooms, but her cousins had already camped out in the cleanest of the guest rooms.

  “You know . . .” Pansy had said to Emerson when they found her wandering.

  “You’re totally right,” Emerson had said in their sibling shorthand as they led her into the master bedroom.

  She’d had to ask if Loulou had actually died in there. She couldn’t help it. Looking at the draped tester bed, she had to know.

  “She died in hospice,” Pansy had said in the dull tone of disgust one uses with a hysteric. “She needed that type of place at the end.”

  “Right,” Nell said as Pansy checked the bathroom for clean towels like the proprietor of a country inn.

  Now Nell rounds the corner into Loulou’s dressing room. The elaborate vanity table still winks with her silver-backed brushes and cut crystal bottles that had always attracted children like foil-wrapped sweets. When Nell was little she would sneak in here during epic games of hide-and-seek while the adults had cocktail hour below. Now, Nell’s phone and charger and less glamorous accessories are nestled in with Loulou’s loot. She’d felt like a trespasser last night. But now, with the noise of the party downstairs, this feels like her sanctuary.