Noon at Tiffany's (51 page)

He shook his head. “It’s my wife. She’s gone mad with jealousy.”

Clara regarded her assistant’s weak chin and bulging forehead, and could not imagine what it was about him that might incite such feelings in a woman.

He caught her expression. “I know it’s hard to believe, but last week a couple of the girls and I were walking to the trolley together after work when Mrs. Briggs came out of nowhere and charged the girls with a knife. I held her back while the girls escaped, but now she’s intent on going to Mr. Tiffany directly and accusing him of running some sort of a bawdy house.

“The thing of it is, my wife is colored. I’ve heard enough of Tiffany’s diatribes about Jews and Negros to know he’d fire me on the spot should he find out.”

Clara was trying to imagine how Mr. Tiffany might react to a ranting,
crazy, colored woman wielding a knife, when a thought struck her. She turned in her seat to face him. “Let me go with you now to see if I can talk some sense into her.”

Joseph looked doubtful. “We live in the colored part of town. I don’t think you’d like it much.”

“I assure you, I’ve been in worse places,” she said getting to her feet. “Besides, it’s better than bloodshed, don’t you think?” She hesitated. “To be on the safe side, I’ll ask Mr. Allen to accompany us. Wait here.”

Half asleep, Philip cracked open his door and squinted into the hall light. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her as he kicked the door shut behind them.

She pushed him away and quickly related Joseph’s dilemma.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked sourly.

“I’m going to speak with Mrs. Briggs. Tonight. At their home. I want you to come with me.”

“Oh, for God’s sake Clara, the man is a toad. Why would you put yourself into such danger?”

“He is hardly a toad. His pride in his work and his perception of what is beautiful are more than admirable. I can’t afford to lose him.”

“He wasn’t keen enough to have avoided marrying a colored woman.”

Ignoring the barbed comment she started for the door. “Will you accompany us or not?”

“I won’t, and you won’t either. You don’t know how dangerous this woman is. She might try to kill you. I won’t allow you to take the chance.”

She fixed her eyes on him. “You won’t
allow
me? I wasn’t aware you were in charge of what I do.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know exactly what you meant, and I
am
going, whether you come along or not.”

“Don’t be a fool! Going off to talk reason to some irate lunatic makes you seem as insane as she is. Why must you always pry into messes that don’t concern you? Involving yourself with your female workers is bad enough, but now you must get entangled with your assistant, too?”

She couldn’t have felt any more insulted if he’d struck her. “You’re forgetting yourself, Philip!”

“I think you’re forgetting
your
self, Clara.” He turned his back on her.
“Stay home. Let him go back to whatever rat’s nest he came from. His marital problems are none of your business. You have to think about—”

Before he could finish telling her what she had to be thinking about, she slipped into the hall, where Edward was just coming up the stairs.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. “Mr. Briggs has told me everything. If we’re going to prevent disaster, we’ll need to hurry.”

The Briggs family occupied two airless overheated rooms that smelled of rancid cooking fat. Three young children, dressed only in gray shirts to the waist and nothing more, lay asleep on a soiled couch. Their legs and ankles were covered with sores—whether from fleas or rats, Clara couldn’t be sure.

A young woman in a faded work dress came in from the room that served as both a kitchen and bedroom and introduced herself as Mrs. Briggs’s sister. “She’s gone to find the girls,” she said. “She was like a wildcat when she left.”

Joseph gave a sudden nervous snicker.

Edward crossed the room and jerked him to his feet. “Do you think this is humorous, Briggs?” He gestured toward the children. “This is an appalling way to live. Look at your children, man; for God’s sake, barn animals are kept better. Where’s your sense of decency? You make a good wage, take your family out of this hellhole and bring them to a respectable place.”

“You don’t understand,” Joseph pleaded, “My wife is a madwoman. Her jealousies have driven me to desperate measures. I need to have a clean start somewhere else.”

Edward shook him like a misbehaved puppy. “Stop this sniveling about running away and stand up to it like a gentleman. You can’t live in terror of being found out for the rest of your life. Tell the truth, and let people think what they may.”

Clara could not take her eyes off Edward. Next to Mr. Briggs, he looked preternaturally large and healthy, his life untouched by such troubles. The Edward she knew as an amiable and placid individual was miraculously transformed into a man of strength and command. She marveled at the way he’d taken all the twisty wickedness out of the situation and made it clean and straight.

“Your sympathies are wrongly placed,” Joseph protested. “You don’t know what I’ve had to live with.”

“Sully the woman all you like, Briggs, but my sympathies don’t lie with you. You may be innocent with these girls, but you
have
wronged your wife just the same by keeping her hidden in this filthy pigsty. Where’s your pride, man?”

A woman with fine skin and dark, almond eyes barged into the room. Her shoddy attire and wild, uncombed hair did little to conceal the fact she had once been beautiful. She threw herself at Edward’s feet, sobbing.

“Everything you’ve said is true, sir,” Mrs. Briggs wailed. “He shuns me and his children and leaves us here in this horrible place. When I saw him walking with those young girls, I lost my head.”

Edward lifted her up with an easy courtesy. “Mr. Briggs has treated you and your children shamefully, Madam, and I do not for one moment wonder that you feel as you do, but it isn’t other women who make him act poorly, but rather his own bad judgment of his situation.

“I can see that you have been badly used, and I’ll see to it that your husband does better by you and finds a decent home that’s clean and proper.”

“All I’ve ever wanted is for him to love me,” she lamented, giving them an imploring look before bursting into tears and throwing herself once again at Edward’s feet.

In response to his wife’s dramatic outburst, Joseph rolled his eyes.

Edward seized him. “You meeching scoundrel! Tell her you’ll take better care of her and the children.”

Joseph cowered.

“Stop that!” Edward shook him, this time hard enough to rattle Joseph’s teeth. “Tell her! Now!”

“All right, I’ll try, but she must give up her threats and her dagger.”

“Your husband has proposed a fair deal,” Edward said, holding out his hand. “Give your weapon to me.”

An hour later, with promises made and the dagger securely concealed inside Clara’s purse, she and Edward started for home, reveling in the fresh, cold air.

“I’m ashamed of him,” Edward said finally. “What a mess he’s made for himself.”

“Yes, he has,” she agreed wearily, “however, he is indispensable to
me and my department. There is no other mosaicist in world who is as good.”

She took Edward’s arm, glad for the comfort he afforded her. “To be honest, I feel sorry for Mrs. Briggs—away from her country and her family and among people who hate her for her color.”

“I wouldn’t pity her too much,” Edward said, “With Mrs. Briggs’s talent for melodrama, she could very well be the next star of the stage.”

March 4, 1905

Dear Clara,

Your late night escapade with Joe Briggs keeps growing on me. How
could
you think of going into that horrid, dirty place to meet a woman crazed by injured feelings and jealousy? I am so thankful for the noble Mr. Booth, I could embrace him.

What an awful thing for Mr. Briggs to live with a wife he does not love. Use your influence on him so that he will at least take his family to a nicer place.

I’m still trembling at the thought of what may have happened to you.

Love, Mama

Baltimore, MD

March 7, 1905

Sister: I feel so sorry for Mr. Briggs that I can hardly sleep for thinking of him and the horror he must live through each day with that woman. I know it’s best that he stay with her, at least for the children’s sake, but what a shame to be saddled like that.

Mr. Booth is good-looking, kind, intelligent, practical and chivalrous—all in one man. If you can’t find a use for him, please, send him on to me.

Emily

Tiffany’s

March 9, 1905

Dear Ones,

I’m afraid I’ve stirred your sympathies too much. Not to worry over Joe Briggs! All is jogging along for him, as it has for many weary years. If you have pity to spare, give it to me instead—my work at Tiffany’s is without end. Philip is taking me to Still’s Oyster House for dinner and then to the theater. I would much rather just sit and listen to him talk, for I find the man far more fascinating than any play.

Love, Clara

P.S. Seriously, Emily, you should rethink these electric treatments. Consider how electricity turns the insides of light bulbs all dark and broken-down looking.

April 10, 1905

“Henry Belknap!” Clara set down her packages and ran to embrace him. “I haven’t seen you since before George died.”

He clasped her in his arms, and then held her away while they looked each other over. It was easy to see the grief that marked him. The face she once considered as having an almost juvenile mien was now lined and careworn.

“You are ageless,” he said. “It’s a miracle that even Louis hasn’t managed to wear you down.”

“But he’s trying very hard,” she smiled. “I’ve made over the wisteria lamp so many times the poor old patterns are worn out. Only yesterday he sent me a note demanding I design twenty new clocks. He’s obsessed with them this year.”

“Why do stay with him?” Henry asked. “I’ve never understood that.”

She didn’t answer right away, but unpinned her hat, giving it a shake before placing it on the sidetable. “I’ve come to the realization that the art and beauty of the things I create take on an importance that is far greater than the constant aggravation Mr. Tiffany inflicts on me.”

“And the fact that he’s still putting his name on your work?”

Clara shrugged. “I’ll never give up trying to convince Mr. Tiffany that my name should be on what I create, but I find great solace in the fact that people see something in my work that gives them pleasure. That in and of itself is almost enough.”

He pointed a finger at her. “I see something else in your eyes. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re in love.”

The blood rushed to her face. “If I’m in love, I certainly have no business being so.”

“You’re quite wrong on that, my dear. When people say they have no business being in love is precisely when they should fall in love. You’re too young and alive to remain a widow. Do I know him?”

She nodded. “I believe the others suspect, but he and I have so little time together, they aren’t sure, although I have noticed that Edward has taken to watching us like a hawk.”

“No doubt, because Edward is in love with you himself.”

“Not likely.” She made a sour face. “Edward and I are both too dictatorial, he more than I, if that’s even possible.”

“So?” Henry leaned close. “Who is the lucky fellow?”

“Mr. Allen.”

Henry sat back, his smile gone. “
Philip
Allen?”

“Of course, Philip Allen. Why are you looking like that?”

“I thought Mr. Allen was …” he broke off and shrugged. “I thought he’d gone back to his Washington post. I wasn’t aware he was in New York again.”

She saw the lie but didn’t push. If Philip were guilty of past misdemeanors, what of it? Everyone had his or her little peccadilloes. She knew all she needed to know about Philip and loved him for it. She didn’t need to know every dark corner of his past.

“You must stay for dinner,” she said, leaping to a safer subject. “I’ll ask Miss Owens to set another place. Everyone will be glad to see you. Dudley is coming by with Mr. McBride. It will be like old times. We want you back with us again, Henry. We’ve missed you.”

“I can’t,” he said. “Not yet. Actually, I’ve come to tell you that I’m leaving New York. My mother’s doctor has convinced her she’d be better off in a less demanding city. She’s purchased a grand country house in
Salem.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I think I might take up writing, or perhaps I’ll try to market my photography.”

“But what about the gallery? What about all of us?”

“I can’t stay here, Clara. Every street and building holds memories for me. It only serves to remind me of how lonely I am. I think I might have a better chance at a new beginning in Massachusetts.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go. Mother expected me an hour ago.”

They said their goodbyes with promises of frequent visits. Watching him descend the stairs, she could not stop the feeling that her life was diminishing bit by bit.