No Job for a Lady (17 page)

From Roger’s raised eyebrows as he leans out the window to look back at me, I know he got my meaning loud and clear.

With bag in hand, I am ready to explode like Mount Vesuvius as I breathe in the dust created by the coach’s wheels. First, he took the bottom berth. Now he takes the last seat on a coach, stranding me for hours. If I ever get my hands on him …

Once again, he has demonstrated that he is not a gentleman and definitely shown his dislike of, even contempt for women. I understand and am forced to accept that men have many privileges not accorded to women, but one of the counterbalances of that right is that a man has the duty to stand so a woman can have the last seat on a bloody coach!

“Nellie!”
Its Gertrude, leaning out of a carriage window and waving at me as it approaches.

This is not any ordinary conveyance, but an elegant carriage emblazoned with brightly polished silver trim, a coat of arms on the door, crimson velvet cushions that the driver sits on, and drawn by two handsome black Thoroughbreds.

As the carriage comes to a halt, Don Antonio steps down, tips his hat to me, and gives me a short bow. “Señorita,
por favor,
please permit us the pleasure of your company for the short journey into the city.”

“Muchos gracias!”
I’m so delighted I could hug him. He’s a real gentleman.

Getrude laughs. “My tutoring didn’t help much last night, it’s
muchas gracias,
Nellie.”

“In whatever language, a million thanks,” I tell them, grinning as I climb aboard with Don Antonio’s gentlemanly assist.

I let out an “Ooh” as I sink into the seat.

“Is anything wrong, señorita?” Don Antonio asks.

“No, not at all. These seats, the leather is so plush and soft … it’s like sitting on a cloud. I’m sure the queen of England doesn’t put her behind on softer material.”

Gertrude laughs. “Oh, I’m sure she does.”

“Well, I’m just so pleased for being rescued, I could be riding in a cart and loving it. But this carriage is amazing. The wheels make little, if any, noise on the ground and the clippety-clop of the hooves of those fine steeds sound like the soft tap of a ballet dancer’s slippers to my ear. It’s all so beautiful.”

I don’t add that Don Antonio’s carriage lives up to the reputation of the capital city’s priding itself on having the finest private rigs in the world. Teak-trimmed, with what looks like enough silver to mint a dollar for everyone in Pittsburgh, is how I will describe it in an article.

“Thank you,” Don Antonio says, “but take a look over there.” He points to another carriage, which is even grander than his.

“Wow!” is all I can say, for that carriage is ostentatiously laden with so much gold and silver trim, bandidos would salivate over it. However, the two people boarding it really grab my attention.

“That is Lily Langtry and her playboy lover?”

“Yes. She is
muy bonita,
very beautiful.”

“Ah, like most of the rest of the men on the planet, I see my uncle is drawn by her beauty.” Gertrude gives him a smile of tolerance.

“I confess you are correct. She radiates that divine magnetism called charisma, which inspires people to pay to see her onstage.”

“Yes, but don’t you think that her exquisite dress helps?” Gertrude doesn’t wait for his answer. “Look at her black satin dress. It’s so beautiful, it would make an ugly duckling shine. It’s embroidered in both silver and gold and bestrewn with jewels, definitely from Paris. All for a short carriage ride into the city. No doubt she will change the moment she arrives at her hotel. However, did you know, Nellie, that just about every dress she wears is black?”

“No. I wonder why. Is she in mourning?”

Gertrude laughs. “No. Black is considered very elegant and slimming. And with just the right touch of jewelry, it’s exquisite. Oh my … look at her hat. It’s what fashion designers are calling a ‘home rule’ bonnet. It’s the newest rage. They have no strings and no crown. Hers is the newest look, no crown at all, only an opening bordered with a wreath of roses so her hair can show. She’s always right in fashion.”

“We have a proverb about fashion,” Don Antonio says. “If the fool did not go to market, the damaged goods would never get sold.”

I point at a man behind Lily Langtry. He hasn’t gotten in the carriage yet and is talking to the driver. “So that’s Frederic Gebhard, the wealthy New York socialite and man-about-town whom Roger told us about. He’s quite dapper, but not an especially handsome brute.”

Dressed in a top hat and double-breasted frock coat, his clothing shouts New York or London. Behind the magnificent rig they are boarding is another one, which is being loaded with a mountain of trunks.

“They don’t travel light.”

“It’s Lily Langtry,” Gertrude says. “What would you expect? My friends at Oxford will be surprised when I tell them I saw the immortal Jersey Lily in Mexico, of all places. You know she had to leave London after a scandal erupted when her husband threatened to name the Prince of Wales as her lover in a suit for divorce.”

Now, that is interesting information to put in an article.

“They’ve come to Mexico because of their mutual interest in horse racing,” the consul says, revealing he knows more about their presence than he admitted earlier. “Gebhard owns Eole, the long-distance runner that has won most of the mile-and-a-half to three-mile races.”

“Are they keeping their identities secret so as not to drive up the prices of horseflesh?” I ask.

“No doubt that is one reason. In addition, it is likely a fear that bandidos might take special interest in them, perhaps even attempt a kidnapping. Her visit to the city is meant to be kept secret, but it will cause much attention anyway. The carriage that puts to shame my own poor rig is loaned to them by
el presidente
himself.”

That doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure they will also be wined and dined by the country’s president. Being one of the most beautiful and famous women in the world does come with some privileges.

“This is going make such a great dispatch,” I say, unable to contain my excitement. “Even the fact about them riding in President Díaz’s coach. My editor will be so pleased. Lily Langtry and Frederic Gebhard in Mexico City. Never in a million years would I have expected this. How exciting.”

“Señorita, I must ask you to hold off conveying the news of their presence in the city until they have returned back over the border.”

“But—”

He holds up his hand to stop my objection. “It’s both for their safety and the fact that they are here to make purchases of very fine horseflesh and are keeping their true identities under the rose for the moment. It would not be fair to take advantage of my knowledge about their activities.”

“Because the request is from you, mum’s the word until I know they have returned to the States.”

I will keep my promise, of course, but I am still a red-blooded reporter, and what I didn’t reveal is that I will try, naturally, to get as much information as I can about the newsworthy actress and rich playboy while they are here so that I can really relay, after they leave the country, some stories that will make Mr. Madden realize I know how to get top-of-the-line stories.

We come across a stagecoach that’s had a wheel come off, leaving the coach body precariously leaning. Half a dozen frustrated passengers are standing next to it, including Roger.

As we sweep by on our heavenly cloud of a carriage, Roger catches sight of me and gawks.

I give him a small, sweet smile in return but am careful not to utter his name nor give him a wave, for fear they will stop and let him aboard.

Don Antonio notices my look. “Spot someone you know?”

“No, no one of importance.”

M
EXICO
C
ITY GRAND CARRIAGE

(
Six Months in Mexico
)

29

El presidente
’s grandiose carriage is pulling away from the curb when we arrive at the Hotel Iturbide.

“They’re staying at my hotel!” I grin at my companions. “Maybe I’ll have the room across the hall from them.”

Don Antonio chuckles. “Not likely, señorita. They have taken the entire top floor for just the two of them. The rooms they don’t occupy will be kept empty to ensure their privacy.”

“Considering the number of trunks I saw, they probably need rooms just for their wardrobes.” I give a quiet laugh. “Unlike mine, which can fit on three hangers.”

“Nellie, you are going to have to tell me or, better yet, show me how you do that. I could never be without my hats and dresses. It’s something I must learn.” Gertrude gives a sigh. “Clothing is a weakness of mine. One day, I am going to have to get that habit under control, especially if I plan to go to Egypt. No more fancy hats and dinner dresses. They will have to be practical and durable, and you are the perfect person to help me, Nellie!”

Before I can say anything, Gertrude continues her diatribe about her fascination with Lily Langtry’s clothes. “Can you imagine what her gowns must look like? They must be gorgeous! All of my evening dresses would look like wilted flowers in comparison. Uncle, I must go shopping!”

This time, Don Antonio gives a big laugh and shakes his head. “Didn’t you just say you were going to control yourself? Your mother warned me. We shall see.” He nods his head at the hotel entrance. “Nellie, did you know that the hotel was once the palace of Agustín de Iturbide, who set himself up as emperor of Mexico after the revolution that threw off the yoke of Spain. Before the revolution, we were a Spanish colony called New Spain.”

“He also faced a firing squad, like Maximilian, the Austrian archduke whom the French set on the throne years later,” Gertrude adds.

Don Antonio gives a deep sigh. “I’m afraid my countrymen are not gentle toward royal despots.”

“Wow. I’ll try to remember that if I’m offered the throne.”

Gertrude finds my comment amusing, but I think Don Antonio doesn’t. I just get a forced smile from him.

“If it’s all right with you,” Gertrude says, changing the subject, “I’ll send you a chit later to see if we can arrange to do some sightseeing together.”

After agreeing and thanking them profusely, I am out of the carriage and into the hotel, shaking my head no to a bellman who wants to carry my one little bag.

The hotel is an incredibly imposing building of the Mexican-Spanish style. The entrance takes one into a large, breathtaking open court or square that is filled with flowers of various brilliant colors in clay pots; vines with purple, pink, and yellow flowers twisting and climbing up pillars that seem to reach to the sky; while scattered about on sea blue tiles are round wrought-iron tables and chairs, with colorful cushions, for the hotel guests.

I’ve stepped into paradise. It’s a perfect place to relax and be creative. I could just stay put in this courtyard and write mystery novels.
6

All the rooms are arranged around this court, opening out into a circle of balconies.

I already know that the lowest floor in Mexico is the cheapest. The higher up one goes, the higher the price. The reason for this is that at the top one escapes any possible dampness and can get the light and sun and avoid the noise from the streets below. I had reserved a mid-level room.

The reception area is crowded as I make my way to the check-in desk and a clerk who speaks good English.

“Your hotel is very busy,” I remark as I fill in the registration form.

“Very. Many people have come to the city for Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead celebration. You are familiar with that tradition?”

“No, not at all. Please tell me.”

“It is a day in which we pay tribute to our dead so they know they are still in our hearts. The families of those who have passed go to the graveyard to share the joy of singing, dancing, and merriment with loved ones they have lost. There will be gifts for the dead, too. Toys will be brought for
niños,
flowers for
mujeres,
and perhaps a little tequila for the
hombres,
no?” He laughs.

His laughter is so contagious, I can’t help but join him, but after having French champagne, I would have to disagree with him about women receiving flowers. I think they should have champagne instead.

“The friends and family who have gathered in the graveyard will eat and drink and enjoy themselves, often until dawn, to acknowledge their departed ones.”

He points to a ceramic doll on the fireplace mantel shelf. The doll is dressed in a very pretty bright blue-and-purple evening gown. I do a double take as I realize that the doll is a skeleton.

“She’s a skeleton!” bursts out of my mouth.

“
Sí.
You will see
esqueletos,
skeletons, everywhere you go in the city. It is quite a sight. Some tourists like it, others not.”

Great. Just what I needed. First, blood-thirsty were-jaguars and now bony dead people who would frighten the wits out of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.

He checks my registration information. “You are fortunate that you have a reservation, señorita. So many people are in town for the festivities, you would find it difficult, if not impossible, to find a suitable room.”