Chapter Twenty-three, part two

Charlie stood against the wall of the yacht club’s main room, trying to figure out what had just happened.

There had been a terrific crash, like the sound of thin glass breaking. A woman had shrieked and there’d been a shuffle, but the music was still playing so it had been hard to hear anything more. Breezes moved through the room, presumably from people heading outside, and there was a strong smell of sweet alcohol. People near him were mumbling words of amazement, but no one narrated, no one said some bumbling oaf had crashed into the champagne table and scattered the bottles.

Violet had been gone quite a long time. He shifted inside his jacket, trying to quell his jitters. Whatever had happened to their family finances, it had clearly upset her, enough so that she was feeling inferior. Well, he thought. Welcome to his situation. If anything, this balanced the scales between them. Though, after talking with his mother he wasn’t so sure that balanced scales were so important as he’d once thought. If both people were happy, did anything else matter?

The scent of Fleurs de France perfume brought him out of his revery.

“Mister Tremblay, I think? We met last week.” A gloved hand slid into his. “I’m Alva Belmont.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

“I understand we have you to thank for the handsomely typed papers for our meeting the other day.”

“I’m indebted to Violet for teaching me to use your typewriting machine. It’s the first bit of writing I’ve been able to do in some time.”

A barkish laugh escaped Alva. “My boy, if you like the thing that much, you should keep it. I’ve gone ten rounds with it myself and we never managed so much as a cordial handshake. Please, tell me you’ll take it out of my life.” The gloved hand pressed the sleeve of his jacket. “But I’m here on another mission. I need to make an adult man feel a sense of shame, and you’d help if you’d accompany me.”

Charlie frowned. “How would I help?”

“You add a sense of moral authority. You were blinded in the war, I hear? As an ambulance driver?” Charlie nodded. “Yes, exactly,” she went on. “It’s hard for a man to act like a churl in the face of that kind of self-sacrifice. Will you come? You don’t need to speak a word. Just stand in silence and look severe.”

“Unless you see Violet searching for me, I’m at your service.”

Alva’s arm looped into his. She led him over a threshold to the far end of the decking, into a cloud of cigar smoke.

“Reggie, I’m glad we’ve found you alone. I’m here to scold you.”

“In that case, maybe I’d better get another drink first.”

“You won’t move a muscle until you’ve heard me out,” Alva said. “I heard what you’ve done to poor Sadie Van Waters at the card table. You bilked the girl out of three thousand dollars! That’s the family’s entire income for the year! For shame, Reginald.”

Charlie pulled in a breath—three thousand dollars!—and nearly choked on the smoke. He’d known it had to be a lot. Violet wasn’t someone to get upset about trifles. But, good God, that was a shocking amount of money.

“She lost it. I won it,” Reggie drawled. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Give it back!” Indignation sparked out of Alva’s voice. “You’ll forgive the debt, this very evening, or I’ll be ashamed to call you a Vanderbilt. This isn’t some shark you met at a gambling den. She’s a guest. In your mother’s house. A mere girl, at that. I don’t think she can be over eighteen.”

“She’s seventeen,” Charlie put in.

“Seventeen! For shame, Reggie. I’m sure you don’t need me to threaten you with informing your mother. I know she covers your bills. I can’t think she’d be keen to keep doing that if word got around that you were bleeding her houseguests dry.”

A heavy sigh came from Reggie. “Three thousand wouldn’t hurt my finances, you know,” he grumbled. There was a shuffling and a bit of movement. “I haven’t cashed her checks,” he said defensively. “I’ll tear them up. I have her note here.”

“Thank you.” Alva’s voice was crisp. “I’ll pass these to you, Mister Tremblay.” She pressed a wad of paper and a clump of round, hard things—stones?—into his hand. “I’m glad you’ve seen sense, Reggie.” She caught Charlie’s elbow, about to steer him away.

“You won’t tell Mother, will you?” Reggie’s voice had a note of genuine fear.

“Not this time. But if I hear of something like this happening again, I won’t be so soft. Especially not at the Breakers!”

Alva led Charlie down the decking and around the corner to a bench. “That boy has always been a cad,” she said. “It’s hard to be disappointed by your own family. I hope he’ll do better by his daughter than he has by himself. Well. Let’s tear up that promissory note.” Charlie handed the paper over to her. “This is for two thousand. If he does as he swears and tears up her checks, the matter will be settled.”

Charlie grinned. “I don’t know when the sound of ripping paper has been so sweet. That was a tour de force back there.”

Alva made a dismissive noise. “Once you pass sixty you find you can say just about anything to anyone. Speaking of which, did Violet tell you that she made a rousing speech at our suffrage meeting? She has the makings of a very compelling orator for our cause.”

“I’m not surprised to hear it. She’s very passionate.”

“Yes. She is. She could do great things, perhaps in the states, or in Washington. But she could probably use your support. And company.” Alva’s glove patted his hand. “It can be frightening to be young without parents or family, feeling you have to manage everything for your younger sister, and still wanting great things for yourself. Companionship means so much.” There was a rustle of silk. “Let me return you indoors, and then I must be on my way home. I’d like to clear my mind before the séance tomorrow. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Charlie, who hadn’t thought once about séances in the past five days, nodded automatically.

“Very good. If I find Violet, I’ll send her your way. I think she’s been tending to Sadie.”

He stood still, against the wall, as Alva flowed away from him. Three thousand dollars! No wonder they’d both been so upset. Thank goodness word had finally gotten to Alva, and that she’d dropped the guillotine so swiftly. But where was Violet?

A moment later, the air around him moved. “Chaaarlie.” It wasn’t Violet’s voice. It was Sadie’s. “You’re here—I didn’t know.” She pressed her hand into his shoulder, wobbling forward. Clearly drunk. She reeked of champagne. “Come outside with me? I want to confess.”

She caught his arm and dragged him forward. He stumbled after her, bumping into more than one dancer as well as a table. She pulled him out a door into the cool evening, then onward, to a place where the decking tilted forward.

“What—where are we going?”

“To the boats,” she mumbled. “It’s…gangway. C’mon.”

He groped after a handrail, grateful to find it, and clutched his way to the bottom of the ramp. Sadie was beyond unsteady. She weaved from rail to rail, barking her hips, and almost falling into him several times.

“I think we should go back up.” Charlie’s feet felt the transition from gangway to dock. “You’re too unsteady for down here.”

In place of a response, Sadie clutched his arms. “Charlie. I’m so sorry. I’ve been,” she sighed heavily. “So bad. So bad. Poor Violet!”

“It’s all right,” he said, struggling to keep her upright. “She understands. She forgives you.”

“No! You don’t understand.” She hammered his lapel with her fist. “I was bad, and she sent you away. I lost—all the money. And Floyd.” She tottered sideways, and Charlie lunged for her. “And you for Violet. I lost us everything.”

She spun out of his grasp, but he caught a bit of taffeta. A ribbon? It pulled loose in his hand. He lurched forward, groping after her, terribly aware of the rocking dock under his feet and the black water that lapped its edges.

Far behind them, perhaps as far as back up on the yacht club deck, a velvet voice called out. “Sadie! Charlie!”

“I’m sorry,” Sadie repeated in a small, wavering voice. “I lost us everything.”

“No,” Charlie blurted, “it’s all fine! Alva fixed it, she talked to Reggie.”

But instead of a response from Sadie, a splash washed through the air, freezing his heart. Oh, God. No.

She was in—she had fallen.

His ears had marked the source of the sound. He plunged toward it, not knowing how many steps he’d be able to take before the deck disappeared out from under him.

It happened faster than he expected.

He pulled in a breath before his head went under, but the shock of the cold pushed it out immediately. He plummeted, straight as a javelin, nose stung by the salt water.

It was deep, frighteningly deep. His lungs screamed for the surface, but as his shoes hit the bottom, he forced himself to stay below, flailing for Sadie.

He found nothing. His arms washed through empty water. He pushed to the surface, took three hard breaths, and went down again, feet first, like a spear. On the bottom, he crouched, waving his arms, praying for contact with anything. He started to curse his blindness, but then he remembered that no one would be able to see in this nighttime water. He was no more blind than anyone would be.

Again, he surfaced, panic swelling in his chest. Was someone shouting his name? He pushed himself down so hard, he hit the bottom with force. Where was she? Could she be floating, not down here underwater? Had he moved without knowing it, away from the spot of her splash? Desperation made it hard to hold his breath. His chest burned, but he made himself stay longer, wave his arms harder. And then—he caught something.

Fabric?

Seaweed?

He pulled, sliding through the water as he moved his hands along whatever he held.

There! A lump, like a human back, down by his knees. He caught it around the middle and pushed off hard.

This time, when his head broke the surface, the air was full of voices. He lay back, pulling the lump of Sadie onto his front. She sank them both—it was all he could do the keep their heads up.

“Here—” His voice was clogged with water. “Here!”

A rescue pole landed on his shoulder. He grabbed it with one hand, still clutching Sadie with the other, and felt the heavenly sensation of being towed to the dock.

Someone was sobbing. Other voices were shouting, but he couldn’t make out the words with his head in the water. At the dock, hands grabbed his arms. Sadie was pulled away from him. Water sluiced off her, raining down on him like a waterfall. Hands pulled him to the dock, where he pushed himself up and out, only then realizing how cold he was.

Voices made a mess in his ears, but Violet’s, crying out her sister’s name, was clear as glass. He moved on all fours toward that sound. Someone shouted, “roll her onto her side!”, and wet shoes bumped his knee.

There was a retching sound, water, coughing.

“Sit her up, sit her up!” Sadie’s dripping head fell onto his shoulder as she coughed and coughed and coughed.

“My God!” Violet was suddenly there, her arms squeezing them into a ball. She kissed his cheek, then Sadie’s. “My God! Everything I love in the world!”

She collapsed against him. He held her as she wept, his face buried in her hair.