Everyone cheered. Professor True pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and began a ragtime version of “I Love, I Love, I Love My Wife—But Oh! You Kid!”
Ernest looked at the guest list, checked all of the names, then helped put coats away as the men gathered in the parlor, where they were served Canadian whiskey and sweetwater oysters from nearby Fanny Bay, steamed in the finest French wine. The elegant ladies from upstairs flitted from guest to guest. Before he’d come to the Tenderloin, in his mind’s eye—based on Mrs. Irvine’s stark admonitions—Ernest would have expected the women to be perched on the men’s laps in their underthings, stockings rolled down to their bare ankles, or at least sporting knee-duster skirts. He’d imagined them lighting cigars, drinking to excess, and flouncing about. Instead they all wore floor-length princess dresses of raja silk and smoked machine-rolled tobacco from long, gold-tipped cigarette holders. The women sang along with Professor True, solo, in duets, or in the occasional harmonic trio. And whenever the piano player took a break, the ladies would hold court, putting their elocution lessons to the test. One young woman gave a brief drawing room lecture on Turkish girls and life in a harem. Several took turns elegantly reciting romantic poetry by Lord Byron, Emily Dickinson, and Oscar Wilde, from memory.
Ernest listened and thought of Fahn as one of the girls spoke: “And there is nothing left to do but to kiss once again, and part, nay, there is nothing we should rue…”
Ernest peeked into the kitchen, where Fahn and Mrs. Blackwell were hard at work basting stuffed pheasants and garnishing steaming cups of creamed barley soup. Fahn looked up at him, licked butter from her finger, smiled, and blew him a kiss. Ernest quickly shut the Dutch door, adjusted his tie, and sauntered back to the parlor.
He noticed that even Miss Amber had cleaned up splendidly for the occasion. She had donned a wig the shade of pink cotton and wore so much makeup that Ernest hardly recognized her. She smiled at the guests and whispered orders to the servants, moving them around like chess pieces on a board. The only person missing—aside from Jewel, who would be presented later, and Madam Flora, who was waiting in the wings—was Maisie. He’d heard Miss Amber earlier yelling at the Mayflower to put on a dress and act like a lady for once. Ernest smiled at the thought.
As Professor True played “Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland” and sang, “Come with the love-light gleaming…,” Madam Flora made her entrance, descending the grand staircase in a flowing gown of shimmering red and gold sequins. While all eyes were on the matron of the house, Ernest slipped upstairs to retrieve a set of grooming brushes so he could properly tend to the haberdashery. As he passed Maisie’s room, he was startled to hear gentle weeping. He hesitated and then peered past the partly opened door. But Maisie wasn’t the one in tears. It was Jewel, who sat on the edge of the bed in a simple dressing gown as Maisie held the older girl’s hand.
“It’s probably cold feet. You just got a case of the morbs.” Maisie spoke softly, gently. “It’s happened to other girls. It’s perfectly normal.”
Jewel wiped her eyes.
“When Madam Flora brought you here, you were practically being forced by the county shelter to marry an old widower you didn’t want to be with. This is different—this is better. It’s just one night, Jewel Box, and you’ll be rich tomorrow instead of cleaning up after another woman’s children, or out there drifting on your own, hoping some clod treats you to a nice dinner or a string of pearls that you can pawn to pay your rent.”
“I know that”—Jewel sniffled—“I know I’m so much better off this way. But what if he’s some disgusting monster? What if I can’t go through with it? Or what if no one wants me, what if no one bids…?”
“Who wouldn’t want you?” The whispered words slipped out of Ernest’s mouth before he could stop himself. He covered his mouth.
Both girls froze and looked up at him.
“I’m sorry for eavesdropping,” Ernest whispered, “I didn’t mean to. I came upstairs to get something.”
“You didn’t see a thing,” Maisie snapped. “And you didn’t hear a thing.”
Ernest stepped into the room. “I heard enough. But I would never tell a soul, I promise you that. It’s just…” He knew exactly how Jewel felt, being put on display, worrying that he was merely part of some terrible joke. He handed his pocket square to Jewel. “I don’t know you all that well, but what I do know is that you’re smart, and kind, and beautiful, and honestly, who in the world wouldn’t want a girl like you?”
Ernest thought Maisie might groan at the sentiment, but she said nothing.
Jewel dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. “Well aren’t you a keeper? You’re a regular blue serge, Ernest.”
Ernest wasn’t sure what she meant, but her words sounded kind. He wondered where Jewel might go if she didn’t go through with it. And whom she might end up with if she went downstairs.
“They’re all rich and educated and come from proper families, but money doesn’t automatically make you a gentleman, does it?” Jewel asked of no one in particular. “If all those fellows were as decent as you, Ernest, this might not be so hard.”
Maisie suppressed a sarcastic snort. “Unfortunately, he’ll probably grow out of it. He’ll just be one of them eventually, minus the bank account. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” she told Jewel. “And, Ernest, I’m sure you’re needed downstairs.” She took the damp handkerchief and handed it back to him with a wan smile.
Ernest nodded as he heard the dinner bell ringing from the kitchen. He slipped back downstairs, returning to his station in the dining room just in time for Madam Flora to begin her first toast of the evening—one of many.
—
AFTER A NINE-COURSE meal, which included poached salmon with mousseline sauce, parmentier potatoes, pheasant lyonnaise, cold asparagus vinaigrette, and three courses of wine, the guests were invited to the smoking lounge for a cigarette course and a dessert of fresh fruit, cheese, and Waldorf pudding.
Ernest had never seen so many grown men in distinguished suits titter like schoolboys—they seemed giddier than Ernest after his taste of fairy floss at the AYP. He thought their behavior was merely due to the abundance of alcohol, but he fully understood why such anticipation filled the room when the real dessert cart arrived.
Ernest gaped at Jewel as she was wheeled in, lounging atop a polished silver truss. Maisie led the way in a plain dress, showering the room with white rose petals. Jewel looked lovely, innocent yet decadent as she sank her teeth into a Red Delicious apple, staining the fruit with her freshly painted pomegranate lips. Her long auburn hair had been curled so the tips framed her perfectly powdered cheeks. She smiled, the way she’d been trained, and wagged her manicured finger at the men who got too close. She wore a shimmering gown of radium silk, trimmed with Cluny lace and pearls, and a diamond-studded headpiece (which belonged to Madam Flora, according to whispers). The tiara glittered in the lamplight. She seemed to have left her tears and doubts and sadness upstairs as she slowly orbited the room, the guests bowing and gushing their praises. She made eye contact with Ernest for a fleeting moment and then looked away.
Madam Flora offered a toast of tawny port and then proudly announced that the bidding would begin at one hundred dollars. In American currency, she added, noting that one of the guests had come all the way from Vancouver, British Columbia.
That’s when Miss Amber asked Ernest to answer a knock on the front door.