1863 Saratoga Summer Page 13

  “Connor, lad, the hotel has some private bathrooms. Be sure to ask for a room with one of those. They’re purely luxurious. ‘Tis the Hotel’s way of being better than those sprouting up around it like weeds. Bowes leaned into the passenger part of the carriage and dusted off the seats. “Plus, they have a mighty group of workers, about four hundred I’ve heard, many of them Irish, ye know.”

  “’Twill make it a homecoming to have some decent Irish around.” Connor eased the trunk to the ground with a grand sigh and rubbed his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he watched the uniformed man, standing at attention in front of the hotel. The man stood that way until he needed to greet people. Whenever they approached him, he ushered them in, opening the hotel’s front door with a grand gesture and closing it after them.

  Bowes gave out with a hoot of laughter. “Once ye make it in the door, ye won’t have to be carrying that trunk much longer, boyo. They’ll be grabbing it right away from ye,” Bowes commented. “Looking for a bit o’ yer change, I’m thinking.”

  “After muscling thousand pound horses on our farm in Ireland, this trunk seems light weight, once it’s up there on my shoulder. I’m just a mite stiff and sore but I’ve been that before.”

  “What do ye intend doing here in America, son?” Bowes bent forward. His face glowed with a strange eagerness for the answer. “As your new da, I think I have a right to ask. After all, it’s me daughter ye’ve married.”

  “I don’t intend to be doing much at all.” Connor strolled over to the carriage horses, looked them over carefully and stood, unconsciously rubbing the neck of the nearest one. “Nice animals, Bowes.”

  “Aye. They’ve served me well.” Bowes dusted a part of the carriage door with the elbow of his shirt. A young couple came over to the carriage and he shooed them away. “I’m off for the evening after me next call.”

  Connor moved back toward him and said in a low voice. “Bowes, I’m wanting you to know, I have enough money for a year or two of living careful, and there’s more where that came from in Ireland. After a time, I’m hoping I’ll convince your daughter to return to Ireland with Egan and me to our manor.” A spate of homesickness assailed Connor “I’ll inherit it all someday, you know.” Connor puffed up his chest with a bit of pride in what he considered his.

  “Ye’d never be able to hang around for a year, doing nothing, laddie,” Bowes commented as he continued to dust the shiny parts of his vehicle. “Not with caring for the horses most of yer life. ‘Tis not in yer blood, I’m thinking. And Sinead, she’ll not be leaving Robbie, for sure.” Bowes voice was definite and restrained.

  “’Tis not a problem. The boy’s as welcome at the manor as she. In fact, I’m thinking my da might look forward to having a youngster on the farm.” Connor looked around him, puzzled at the way folks were walking. Strolling couples seemed to give Bowes and him a wide berth, wandering past them with exaggerated steps.

  Connor straightened his clothing, brushed some of the grime off it and turned back to Bowes. “My brothers are grown, Egan being the young one of the five of us—and none of us married. Except for me, that is.”

  “Son, I don’t think ye see the whole picture yet,” Bowes said in all seriousness. “The Dewitts are a troublesome family. They’re a stiff-necked, proud, moneyed family, but I think there’s more behind their desire to have their grandson near at hand than just loving the youngster. They seemed to be more interested in being in high society, with wealth galore, than in being fair or truthful.”

  “Aye, my da indicated people were like that over here.” Connor leaned against the carriage and stared up at the hotel. “I haven’t even met the Dewitts yet, but I don’t like them, sight unseen.”

  Bowes patted his arm. “I don’t like to speak ill of others, but I think ye’ll find there’s going to be great trouble getting the lad out of their clutches. ‘Tis common in the city for the wealthy to worry over their image in society and what their money will bring them. And that youngster is a good part of the Dewitts’ image…”

  Connor interrupted, stood straight and turned to Bowes. “But once Sinead and I come to our agreements, we’ll see to the laddie in due course.”

  “Laddie…” Bowes’ voice softened.

  Connor frowned at the sound of it. “Aye?”

  “Be gentle with me Sinead.” Bowes looked away, the subject touchy. “She’s not had a good life. Her mam died young. Sinead’s been working, in one form or another, since she was a wee lass of twelve.” He looked everywhere but at Connor. “Ever since her younger sister died and there was no one to care for at home. She’s not one to be comfortable with herself. Always thinking of betterment she is.”

  Connor rested his heavy frame on the side of the carriage again. He thought for a moment before answering. “This marriage will be good for your daughter. She’ll have all sorts of things she couldn’t imagine, and, a fine family, to boot.”

  “I’ll enjoy seeing her in that situation.” He chortled once and slapped Connor on the back. “Might even bring me back to the old Sod meself.”

  “The marriage needs to be considered legal in the eyes of the Church. That part I will leave up to your daughter.” A red-faced Connor looked down at his booted feet. Not sure of what he should say, he blurted, “I’ll not be forcing any lass to partake of my favors.”

  Bowes nodded, his face frozen in a half-smile of discomfort. “Just take yer time, lad. Be taking yer good old sweet time. That is, if ye’re wise.” He coughed into his hand. “Lovely things don’t happen overnight.”

  “They’ll have to happen soon if she wants to return with me to Ireland. I have to get back to my horses.” Connor bent over, about to pick up the trunk again.

  Bowes’ grasp restrained him. “There are horses in America, some fine ones, I might add. Do ye intend to be raising some here in America?” Bowes asked with a more avid interest than he showed before in the conversation.

  He paused then, shaking his head, he climbed up onto the driver’s seat. He tweaked his lips together and made a clucking sound in his mouth. “There might be a wee problem for ye. Sinead hates horses, she does. She has her reasons.”

  “She’ll just have to get over her hate. ‘Tis my very life, she’d be against.” Connor blinked as more light came on in the hotel and it grew brighter. “I don’t think we should be discussing Sinead any more. I barely know her other than her fainting at the sight of me.”

  Bowes erupted into laughter. The horses, who had been dozing off in their traces, awoke and pulled on the reins. Bowes grabbed them in his left hand and pulled.

  Connor continued to mumble. “And screaming, shrieking like a shrew when she came to the jail.”

  Bowes laughed harder and slapped his knee. “Och, she’s a good lass. Listened to her da, she did.”

  Connor shook his head, not understanding the reasons for Bowes’ laughter, and decided to change the subject. He answered Bowes original question. “I surely won’t be raising horses in this brick city of yours. I might look around for a good stallion or a couple of mares, but I’ll be shipping them back to Ireland if I find any worth keeping.”

  “Well, be off with ye, now,” Bowes called out, shaking his head as if in disbelief at their conversation. Still laughing, he cracked his whip, clucked, and the horses moved away from the curb. “I’ll be bringing Sinead back here before ye know it. Settle yerself in the hotel. I’ll take care of the rest,” he shouted going down the street at a slow pace. He turned and waved.

  ~*~

  Connor hefted the trunk onto his shoulder and watched Bowes turn a corner. The last he saw of his father-in-law that evening, the man was still shaking his head as if talking to himself. Connor chuckled, angled his trunk a little bit more comfortably and turned toward the entrance to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

  He stood for a moment and watched uniformed men outside the hotel helping others to and from carriages, carrying luggage and scurrying about. None stepped forward to help him, but it didn’t bother hi
m. He knew he resembled all the devils in hell right now and hated entering such a grand place in his present condition but the choice was made.

  He had to find a room for the night, clean up in order to feel human again and make an attempt to solve his current dilemma. Passengers flew down steps of carriages and rushed past him into the hotel. Astounded as he was by all the activity around him, it didn’t stop him from admiring the fine horses lined up in front of the hotel.

  One carriage pulled up and a young couple descended. The man turned back. A small lad with flaming red hair jumped into his arms, reminding Connor of Egan, Ireland and the horses waiting there for him. The sight nearly brought Connor to his knees with an ache in his stomach.

  The hotel lobby teemed with activity. It smelled of expensive perfumes, gleamed with polished ornaments and glowed in the light of huge, glass, gas chandeliers. Richly decorated chairs, edged in gilt, lined the marble lobby.

  People moved in a steady river, ebbing into, through, and out of the great entry hall. Some sat, talking on huge, lavishly upholstered lounge chairs set close to small tables. Their voices, although muted, carried throughout.

  Giant plants, which seemed to be growing in gigantic pots, dotted the corners of the room and reached for the frescoed ceiling. Chandeliers lit the room, tinting it, gilding it, as if from wands of Ireland’s little people, elaborate and golden. The walls glittered and frisked brightly in the gas flames.

  Connor was so much in awe, he turned and turned, eventually backing up to the long reservation desk that stretched the length of one full alcove in the lobby.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a high-pitched masculine voice asked from somewhere behind Connor.

  Without turning around Connor murmured, “Aye. I need a room for the evening for my wife and myself. And I’ll be wanting one with a bathroom attached. I’ve heard you have such.”

  “I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked up,” the disembodied voice said with rigid politeness. “Perhaps, you’d prefer to check into one of the hotels a few streets over, nearer to the shipyard?”

  Connor turned.

  The man gasped. His eyes grew large and their color deepened. He stared at Connor.

  “Nae, I would be preferring this establishment right here,” Connor said in a low, tense tone that brooked no refusal.

  “My word, sir, have you been in a fight?” the man asked, moving a step back from the desk.

  “Ye might say that. It was sort of one way. My brother and I were defending ourselves from a group who thought two Irishmen new to this city should learn about America.”

  With a slight nod of his head, the man tried to smooth the situation out. “Sir, I’m so sorry your entrance into America was so violent, and I’m even more upset to tell you this. We don’t take sailors at this hotel.”

  “What are you meaning by that statement?” Connor asked, heated anger beginning to rise.

  The man put his hands together in an effort to still them. “Well, Sir…Sailors usually prefer to stay in one of the hotels closer to the piers.”

  “Well, first of all,” Connor said, splaying his large hand on the counter. “I’m not a sailor but a visitors to your fine country.” He drew himself up to his full height and settled his face into a stern expression. “And, as I said before, I’m wanting to stay in this particular hotel.”

  In an attempt to gain control of the situation, the deskman smiled and then superciliously said, “The Fifth Avenue is very expensive, sir, particularly if you request a private bath connected to the room.” The deskman coughed into his hand.

  Connor smiled the very best he could. “Would you mind if I put this trunk down on the floor? It’s gotten a tad cumbersome to be holding it on my sore shoulder. And if it’s money you’re wanting, just tell me how much. I’ll gladly reward you, however you need to be rewarded, but I want a room. And quickly.”

  “Let me call my manager. I’m sure he’ll be glad to help you,” the clerk said, backing another two paces away from Connor.

  Connor glanced at the nameplate on the counter. “Mister Collins, is it?” he asked politely, pointing to the sign. “Are you Mister Collins?”

  Mister Collins nodded. “Yes, I am,” he said through gritted teeth. He raised his hand and signaled another employee, a gray-haired, bearded gentleman, dressed in an elegant suit and standing in another part of the lobby, in deep conversation with two other men.

  The man looked up when he noticed the waving arms, finished his conversation and strolled over to the desk, where Connor stood waiting. “Can I help you?” the man asked, a small, tight smile crossing his mouth, bringing his lips into a straight line as if he were angry at being disturbed.

  “Your name, sir?” Connor asked in a low, vibrant voice.

  “James Thorne, at your service. Manager of this establishment,” he said, gesturing to the entire lobby in an expansive motion and avoiding looking into Connor’s bruised, somewhat swollen face.

  Connor confronted the man. “Mister Thorne, I would like a room in this hotel and a place to bathe. I would like to have things settled before my wife arrives.”

  Glaring down, Connor softly continued, “And don’t be giving me more nonsense about moving to a hotel closer to the piers.” He glared at Thorne. “I am not a sailor. I have plenty of money and I wish to stay here.” Connor yanked a pouch from his pocket and slammed it onto the counter, letting the coins and bills spill out. “If this isn’t enough, I’ve more.”

  The sight of money so freely thrown onto the counter changed Thorne’s expression to one of supreme accommodation. “Why, no sir, that’s more than enough. How long do you wish to stay?” he asked with great politeness.

  “Only for the evening.”

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed. A sly look dotted his face, but he said nothing.

  “My wife and I might wish dinner sent to our room.” Connor pulled himself up to his full height before adding, “And we’ll be wanting a bathroom.”

  Thorne smiled in man-to-man fashion, lowering his eyelids. “The only room we have left, sir, with such an attraction is one with a large single bed in it, or might you like two connecting but separate rooms?”

  “Whatever for? I’ll take the first room, Mister Thorne.” Connor glanced around the lobby and turned back. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Connor O’Malley, newly from Ireland,” he offered, pointing to the quill, inkstand and guestbook that he was ready to sign in.

  Having listened carefully to Bowes explanation of the workers who would look for money to carry a trunk, Connor tossed some change onto the counter. “Ask someone take the trunk to the room and give me a key.”

  Thorne signaled a tall, stout lad, dressed in what Connor assumed was the hotel uniform, and motioned him over. “Joseph, take Mister O’Malley’s trunk to Room 403 and return to the lobby.”

  Connor swiveled around and found the sign he’d seen before. He pointed to it. “I noticed the emporium as I came into the lobby. For shaves, haircuts. I would like to go there before I go to my room.”

  “Oh, I think that’s an excellent idea, Mister O’Malley,” Collins squealed from behind the counter. “Our barbershop has no comparison in this entire city, it’s that fine.”

  Mister Thorne looked at Collins and nodded, a gleefully look on his face. They smirked at each other with raised eyebrows while Connor scoured the lobby.

  He watched the activities with his mouth agape. The stout lad placed the trunk on a rolling cart and headed for an ornate contraption, which looked like a gilded iron cage. He wheeled the cart into it, stepped in himself and closed the cage door. The lad, the cart and the trunk rose above the floor with a whirring noise and kept on going up. Connor staggered from the counter to view its ascent to other floors.

  When he turned, both Thorne and Collins were smiling.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Collins asked.

  His face suffused with awe, Connor nodded, his gaze still following the cage.

  “That’s our new
est acquisition,” Thorne commented. “We call it our little Parlour Car.” He turned to face Connor. “Everything shall be as you wish, sir.” He nodded to Collins. “Give Mister O’Malley the key to room number 403,” Thorne commanded before his voice changed to a subservient one and he graciously smiled. “It’s a fair walk up, sir, unless you would like to take our little parlor to raise you to the floor…?”

  Connor swung around and looked at another ornate cage into which guests stepped with care. A young man seemed to be driving it. The entire cage moved slowly up between the floors with a series of pulleys and ropes. Connor gaped again, his mouth opened wider when he saw the first cage come down from between the floors.

  He nodded, without taking his gaze from the car. “I’ll do that when I return. Have my wife brought up that way, too, if I have not returned from the barber.” Still gaping like a child at his first carnival, he continued, “Her da will see to her comfort until I reach the room.”

  “As you wish, sir.” Thorne’s smile was more genuine this time.

  Connor returned the smile then adopted a high society air, an air he’d seen used by Englishmen throughout Ireland. He raised his head grandly, gave Collins a brief nod and said to Thorne, with a superior tone. “Lead me to your emporium and your shops, please. Perhaps, I’ll be buying an outfit to surprise my wife.”

  “Certainly,” the manager said. “Please, follow me.”

  ~*~

  Hearing the noise of the carriage pulling up outside the Dewitt mansion then her da’s loud command to the horses to stop, Sinead swallowed the nausea rising in her throat. Embarrassed, she grabbed the little bag that held her clothes, clutched it to her body and hurried to the front door. Without saying good-bye to anyone in the house, she sped out to the street.

  Her da stood at the door to the carriage, holding it open. She took his hand, climbed up the step and into the carriage. She took a last look at the house before her da urged the horses up the street. A curtain moved in the upstairs window. Someone saw her leaving.