31 Bond Street Part 9

"Mr. Thayer," replied Clinton, lowering his voice, "unlike our politicians and newspaper publishers, I have the highest regard for the people of this city. Jurors take their oaths most seriously. They seek justice and will search for it to the best of their ability. If given a chance, juries respond with deep thought and earnest attention."

Stung by the rebuke, Thayer said, "I'm sorry, sir, I'm not at odds with you there." Thayer put down his fork and continued, with a deferential tone. "But certainly science is not enough. We will need to counter the charges against her character. We must establish her veracity, for there is still the confounding issue of the marriage. We certainly can't put her or her daughters on the stand, which will invite the most salacious line of questioning." Clinton observed him, wondering if he was too brash, or too unseasoned. Thayer had some prior experience examining witnesses on the stand, but he was untried in a trial of this magnitude. Clinton had seen many a promising litigator crumble under pressure on the courtroom floor.

"Agreed. The daughters shall not testify. And the defendant will not go on the stand, but plead the protection of the Fifth Amendment, as is the custom in a capital case." The men returned to their food in silence, sampling four different game birds under gla.s.s.

Thayer continued. "They'll bring forward every shopkeeper and servant that had a grudge against her. There will be a whole host of unfavorable testimonies that will insinuate all sorts of motives, that the marriage was false, that she was greedy for money or hungry for status, certainly trying to elevate herself."

After deftly handling a small-boned bird with a silver fork, Clinton replied, "With no murder weapon, no direct evidence, and no witness to the crime, their case is weak. Motive is all they have, and motive is the mercury of any case. Let them slide upon it." He glanced around the room, careful to keep the conversation at a low tone, and resumed. "As far as character, we have an opening before the trial begins to rebuild her character. I intend to draw up papers asking that as Dr. Burdell's widow, Emma receive the entire marital share of Dr. Burdell's estate."

The fork entering Thayer's mouth paused, and he stopped short. He put it down incredulous. "You can't be serious?"

"I will make application to the Surrogate's Court that Emma Cunningham Burdell is the rightful wife and heir to Dr. Burdell's estate, and ent.i.tled to his house and possessions."

"But that feeds the prosecution! That is the essence of their case-that she ensnared him falsely and then killed him for his property. Furthermore, the Surrogate's Court is separate from the criminal court, and that means we will have two cases going on simultaneously!"

"All the more reason for speed," said Clinton, dabbing his chin. "Once a pet.i.tion for the estate is made, the family will counter sue, saying that she is not the rightful widow. The papers will be filed, but the filing will be interrupted by the criminal trial."

"Aha," said Thayer, brightening, struggling to follow the tactic. "Once we begin an estate suit, any reference to it can be disallowed in another courtroom."

"Exactly," said Clinton. "The Judge will be asked to restrict the proceeding, and give limiting instructions that the issue of the marriage is a collateral matter, and not properly resolved. If that happens it can't be mentioned at all." The waiter brought hot portions of frica.s.see of veal with truffles and ribs of beef with anchovy b.u.t.ter. Clinton sampled the food.

"So, the whole character issue surrounding her morals and what went on behind the bedroom door is eliminated," said Thayer, comprehending the strategy, "and along with a 'false' marriage, it eliminates the motive."

"And Dr. Burdell's family will act on our behalf-they will surely ask for the entirety of his estate, and by doing so, prior to the trial, they will be seen as motivated by the desire for his money. They will appear to have the same motive that the prosecution says drove Emma Cunningham to kill."

Thayer fell back against his seat. He was still a bit uncertain. "So we sow reasonable doubt in advance. But won't this effort drive us in too many directions at once?"

"Remember," said Clinton, "the public mind perceives subtleties with less confusion than it grasps bold declarations. The public has fallen prey to the 'subtle' campaign of rumor and innuendo placed against her. Anyone could have committed this crime. There were many in the household, including patients and the servants, who could have obtained keys to the house. Our task is to emphasize the circ.u.mstantial nature of the prosecution's case, so that the public will be able to entertain the idea of reasonable doubt."

"We still have the missing carriage driver," said Thayer. "I think he is a paramount witness. What he saw or heard at any point may help us enormously."

"It's possible that the carriage driver has vanished because he is scared. But remember, like the other servants, he could easily have a grudge or prejudice against our client. He could shed an unfavorable light on her actions on that night. We may not want him as our witness, but we certainly don't want the prosecution finding him first and catching us unprepared."

They ate silently, finis.h.i.+ng the main course. The plates were cleared and brandy poured. "I'll have Snarky spread the word and put up some placards with a reward for information on Samuel," volunteered Thayer. A Swiss meringue appeared, oozing with yellow custard and topped with a wobbling white cloud. Thayer was feeling the pressure of all the work still to do, reeling under the caseload, with papers that had to be checked and run up and down to the courts, working late into the night under the glow of extra lamps while hardly seeing his son, until one day his mouth was full of teeth.

As if reading Thayer's mind, Clinton said, "No doubt, the work is hard ahead of us. We must stay focused. This case will take all of our resources and then some and we will have to work around the clock." Clinton drained his last sip and pushed his brandy gla.s.s away, indicating the meal was over. He stood up, and Thayer stood as well. They shook hands.

"Mr. Clinton, I am honored that you have chosen me to serve on this case. I hope you have faith in me," said Thayer.

"For that, you can thank my wife. She suggested that I hire you, and I trust her instincts implicitly. She has one of the top legal minds around." The two men retrieved their coats at the concierge. On the street, a few carriages clattered down Broadway. "I have one last question, if I may, sir," ventured Thayer. "If Dr. Burdell was as disreputable as we suspect, why would Emma Cunningham marry him?"

Clinton observed that Thayer, like many young lawyers, was struggling to overcome the ambiguities of his client's actions. "As for the answer," Clinton replied, "I have only one explanation-Emma Cunningham was in love with Harvey Burdell. Her need for the protection of a husband took on the powerful guise of love."

Thayer pondered his words, with the mystery of the nighttime city surrounding them in the half-light. "Good night, sir, I will see you in the morning."

"Give my best to your wife. And as for your son, he should be proud to call you a lawyer." Thayer parted, pulling his jacket around him against the night's chill and started walking home. A few carriages clattered down the darkened street. Clinton hailed a cab and settled back for the ride to Bleecker Street. What he hadn't said to Thayer was that falling in love is like a trial; if one enters blindly, one finds oneself in a slippery place where it is too late to reflect or retreat. He would prepare the pet.i.tion for Emma's share of the estate, and file the papers of administration. And he made a note to himself to follow up in the morning on a hunch he had about the whereabouts of the missing witness, Samuel. The Negro servant was a wild card, and circ.u.mstances demanded that nothing be left to the unknown.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

January 30, 1857 The morning of her party at 31 Bond Street began like all the rest. Breakfast included the habitual struggle with Hannah, for the cook resented the party encroaching on the domain of her kitchen. After breakfast, Emma returned to the quiet of her room, where her daughters appeared in curling rags, to discuss their attire for the evening. Augusta's nineteenth birthday was later in the week, and the party was in her honor, to celebrate her birthday and as a way to introduce her to potential suitors. But Augusta appeared indifferent and her input was listless, whereas Helen, who was leaving for boarding school in two days, viewed the party as her own personal farewell.

Emma reviewed the guest list that she had penned on long sheets. She had sent engraved invitations on note cards that simply said "31 Bond Street" and wrote the time and date at the bottom. Ambrose Wicken had accepted, as well as a host of others. New Yorkers were always fond of an excuse to step inside a private residence, a.s.sess the decor and the food, and judge their neighbors, so Emma was intent to put on the finest display. She had also sent an invitation to Commodore Vanderkirk, but his wife had sent back a simple card that said only "Unable to attend, with regret." Dr. Burdell had not imparted anything further on the sale of the land, nor had he made any further mention of marriage. With so much uncertainty, Emma felt the time had come to force the issue all around.

She dressed and gathered her things for a trip downtown. She put on her gloves and a fur collar around her coat. She reached into the drawer of her desk and retrieved her leather doc.u.ment case. She had a meeting with her solicitor and then would finish shopping for the party.

The morning was cold but clear as a bell. At Worth Street, she climbed the stairs to an office and was admitted through a creaking gate that separated the solicitors' desks from the clerks.

"How do you do, Mrs. Cunningham." Mr. Billings pulled off a pair of gold bifocals and studied her solemnly.

"Good morning, Mr. Billings." She settled herself into the hard-backed chair beside his desk. She had not seen him since the spring, before she had left for Saratoga, when he had warned her that her funds were perilously low.

Mr. Billings pulled a pile of papers from a cubby that represented her financial affairs. "Your savings are nearly depleted and there are debts mounting against your account. I have a notice from the Broadway Bank-ten thousand dollars. It appears that you have withdrawn the money from a fund that was a.s.signed as your eldest daughter's dowry."

"Yes," she said hesitantly. "I did. As a matter of fact, I have come to discuss that with you. I was steered toward an investment that is a.s.sured to be lucrative." She pulled the deed out of her purse and placed it upon his desk. "This is the land t.i.tle for a large tract in New Jersey. I am hoping that its value will increase several fold."

Mr. Billings pulled the ribbon on the rolled scroll and gingerly pulled her deed closer and put on his spectacles. "I see land t.i.tles every day," he said, "for thousands of acres across the territories, or for sand dunes in the Mojave where there are said to be veins of silver and gold. Most aren't worth the ink on the signature."

"Mr. Billings," said Emma, "Commodore Vanderkirk has expressed an interest in this land. He is interested in iron and steel factories that will connect to the railroad."

"Commodore Vanderkirk, you say?"

"I have heard him speak about it with my own ears," said Emma with authority. "He plans to build piers and iron factories all along this waterfront, for commerce."

"Lots of plans are spoken of but few become more than idle whimsy. The Congress has been plotting a Continental railroad for decades, but its route is being moved from North to South and back again every week."

"I a.s.sure you, this was not idle talk. Commodore Vanderkirk had the keenest intention upon this sale. For such a sedentary man, he is most vigorous when it comes to getting his way." She laughed, hoping to convey a close familiarity with the man. "He has made an offer, and the amount of his offer was not in the least insignificant."

Mr. Billings gazed at her thoughtfully. "If Commodore Vanderkirk is truly behind this venture, as you say, then it could be worth a bona fide fortune. Although this deed is in your name, the land belongs to your daughter, and remains her dowry. I advise you, as your solicitor, that this deed or any proceeds from the sale are hers until she is married, and you are merely the stewardess of her affairs. After her marriage, it becomes the property of her husband. Does she have any plans to marry?"

"Well, there is a suitor," said Emma, thoughtfully, and then refrained from naming Ambrose Wicken by name. "I was thinking that this alone would make a handsome offering for a dowry. Augusta is turning nineteen this week, and I am expecting that a gentleman will step forward."

"Young men are gamblers and many have squandered a young wife's nest egg. I might suggest you conclude this business yourself before she marries, rather than leaving its fate in the hands of a future son-in-law. It may even raise the value in the suitor's eyes."

"As a matter of fact," said Emma modestly, "I am engaged as well."

"Engaged! Well I suppose congratulations are in order. Two marriages! That is quite a series of developments," said Mr. Billings. "As for the men, they are very lucky gentlemen indeed." Mr. Billings paused. "As a widow, the property is yours to manage for your daughter, so if a sale is imminent, you might look for a swift conclusion which would be more advantageous. Once you are married, both your affairs and your daughters' will be overseen by the gentlemen you marry."

"That is something to think about. Thank you for your counsel." Emma stuffed the papers back into her satchel.

"I look forward to hearing the announcement of the nuptials," said Mr. Billings, bidding her farewell.

Emma stood to curtsy. "Thank you, sir, although, I a.s.sure you, in my case, the wedding shall not be a public affair. My daughter, however, shall most likely desire to fill Grace Church."

"All the more reason to fortify her dowry in advance, for such weddings carry an alarming cost." Mr. Billings stood and bowed with formality. Emma gathered her gloves and departed. Outside, she made her way up Broadway, joining the flow of pedestrians. A crowd of people climbed from the ferry to the rise of Broadway, pus.h.i.+ng past the opposing rush of the Brooklyn bound. Two exuberant girls, walking arm in arm, jostled Emma. They were wearing cotton dresses, stuffed with extra petticoats to make their skirts appear fas.h.i.+onably wide. A dark-haired girl was carrying a crude basket. As they sashayed past, Emma saw herself at fifteen, with a straw hat and a basket of cherries, rus.h.i.+ng out of her family's clapboard house, one of many that stood at the end of a rutted road that forked into the farmlands of Brooklyn, along dusty paths that ran for miles eastward, toward sandy soil, and the void of the thundering ocean. The Brooklyn ferry, only ten minutes and two cents east across the river, reminded her of how far she had come, and how determined she was never to go back.

Her next stop was the Patisserie Valbonne, where the counters were painted pale lavender. Emma inquired about her pastry order. "Six dozen French cakes, vanilla with chestnut creme," she told the sales lady, "for 31 Bond Street."

"I am boxing them now, Ma'am, and shall send them right over."

"Thank, you. Please leave them with the servant boy at the lower door." She did not need to pay directly; a yellow envelope with a bill would be delivered to the townhouse at the end of the month.

Next, Emma stopped at a florist filled with exotic hothouse blooms. Ornamental shrubs were woven into elaborate sculptural forms for the entryways of the new palaces along Fifth Avenue that had wide loggias in the Renaissance style. She once thought such grandeur lacked elegance and proportion, just as she had thought the chocolate turrets of the brownstone churches seemed dreary and mean. Now, this world held a curious thrill, and she was struck half-blind by the abundance of summer flowers in January.

After signing her name on a credit for the flowers, Emma wandered past the window of a women's haberdasher, the name of the store scripted across the gla.s.s in gold. A display of cashmere shawls was piled high in all the colors of the rainbow. She stepped inside; a woman in a cotton coat was arranging a display case with painted fans, jeweled combs, hairnets with silver pearls, card cases, and a sable m.u.f.f and boa. The woman looked at up her expectantly, with an imperious tilt to her head.

"Good morning, Madame. What do you need today?"

"I'd like three pair of silk stockings, in pale colors, please," said Emma. The shop woman walked to the back of the store to pull open drawers and lift out the stockings, as if each was exquisitely precious. Emma made her choice and with newly found confidence, pointed around the store in search of other luxuries: a cameo on a velvet ribbon, purses for Augusta and Helen. She allowed items to pile on the counter and asked to have them placed on an account in her name, and to have them wrapped and sent to 31 Bond Street. There was no reason not to indulge in some extra finery. She had worked hard to lay the broad strokes on the canvas, and now she could allow the scenery its embellishments.

On the sidewalk, her pace quickened-she was several blocks from home, and she began making a list of all the things left to do for the party. A group of hired girls was coming to serve. The sherry and port needed to be poured into the decanters, and the table napkins rolled with silverware.

Ahead, she spotted a carriage pulling up to the St. Nicholas Hotel. It took a moment to register the outline of Samuel on the coachman's bench, his red driver's coat bordered with braid. She stopped short on the sidewalk, several feet away, struggling to identify why Samuel would be dressed so formally in the afternoon, and was stopping at the hotel so close to the house. Then Dr. Burdell exited the carriage, his profile bent under his top hat as he navigated the low carriage door. Emma was far enough away to remain unnoticed. If he turned and saw her, he might offer that she join him for tea, but she would have to remind him that there was much left to do for the preparations, and the evening party would not be conjured up, as if by magic.

Dr. Burdell turned back to the carriage door and a gloved hand appeared from the cab. He reached for the hand, and a foot appeared on the top step; he led a woman gingerly down the carriage steps. When she was on the ground, she laughed, and with the other hand, she lifted her veil. Emma saw the woman's pretty face, smiling and flirtatious. Dr. Burdell lifted her hand and kissed it. Their eyes met. Dr. Burdell put his hand gently on her upper arm and led her past the liveried doormen into the St. Nicholas Hotel.

Emma stood frozen at the sight. There was no mistaking the intimacy between them. It was the same intimacy Emma had enjoyed in Saratoga, and during those September days in the city after her return, but lately she had come to take for granted the businesslike nature of his habits. When he was at home, he more often rebuffed her than spoke to her. She had almost become used to his dismissive att.i.tude and the brusqueness of his manner, but now she could see clearly how differently he acted compared with the beginning of their courts.h.i.+p. She could not mistake his intentions to this woman. She had seen his caress on the woman's arm, and the furtive pressure of his fingers as they brushed against her upper arm.

On top of the carriage sat Samuel, whose back was still to her. She felt a strong surge of betrayal at the sight of him, as if by doing Dr. Burdell's driving, he was personally bidding against her. She could not shake the agitation caused by the image of the woman descending from the carriage, so finely dressed at midday, like an expensive courtesan, entering the St. Nicholas, with Harvey's white glove curled around her upper arm. Samuel, his back still to her, pulled the reins and rode away.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

When she returned to the house, she snapped at Hannah. The hired serving girls had arrived, and Hannah had allowed them to remain in the breakfast room, where they had changed their clothes and were sitting idly. No one had given them any instructions, and they had left their coats in piles all over the room. It was up to Emma to direct the waitresses, in black uniforms with white ap.r.o.ns, upstairs to set up the tables and lay out the tablecloths for the food. She called John to fetch a ladder, and she stood behind him as he moved it around the parlor, lighting every gas fixture and lamp, so that the flames were caught in the s.h.i.+mmering surfaces of the polished silver and in the reflection of the tall parlor windows, now darkening in the late afternoon. Emma ordered her daughters, still in curling rags, to finish their hair. Finally she was able to rush up to her room to change.

She pushed the boxes of new purchases aside on her bed to make room for her petticoats and her gown. She struggled with her hair, carefully dabbing white powder along her face and shoulders. A bitter lump stayed in her stomach from the sight of the woman at the hotel, but she was propelled in a rush with the guests arriving. Her hand shook as she placed diamonds at her neck and ears. As it neared six o'clock, the carriage sounded at the front of the house. She peered out the curtain to see the flash of Harvey's cape as he dashed into the front door. She made final adjustments to her hair and jewelry, and went downstairs to his room.

The door was slightly ajar, and she saw him rummaging through a drawer, still wearing his cape, as if he were about to leave again. "Why aren't you dressing?" she asked from the doorway.

"I am going to a meeting," he said, annoyed. "Downtown."

"A meeting? But the party is about to begin!"

"My business is more important than a debutante's tea. As a matter of fact, this meeting is of the utmost importance. There has been a serious turn of events, and I must attend to them immediately."

"Are you saying that you have business needs to be attended to right this instant? As guests are arriving downstairs?"

He stopped fumbling with the papers on his desk and turned to address her directly. "Emma, I have no patience, nor time, for your feminine intrusions. I have more pressing matters to attend to."

"I want to ask you about the outcome of the land sale in New Jersey. The Commodore came to visit, and it seemed that a sale was imminent."

"As a matter of fact, I did have an offer from the Commodore, but he has reconsidered."

"What do you mean reconsidered?"

"There is no longer a deal. I can salvage only a small portion of the investment with another buyer if I act tonight. Otherwise all is lost. I suggest you get me your deed, and sign it over to me now. I am afraid I will be able to recoup only a small portion of your money."

"I don't understand. You are saying that Commodore Vanderkirk no longer has an interest?"

"No, he has pa.s.sed this over. I would hate to see you lose everything. So I must act in haste. Do not hesitate. Get me your deed, and I will be off."

"I purchased this land at your insistence. Its value cannot have diminished overnight."

Dr. Burdell clenched his teeth, frustrated. "I would not be stubborn, Emma, if I were you. Rather than risk your money waiting for a sale that will never happen, I shall personally offer to pay you nearly half the price you paid for it. If you get me the deed now, I may leave."

"Harvey, I have no intention of handing you my deed," said Emma, standing, blocking the doorway. "I saw your carriage today, before the St. Nicholas Hotel. There was a woman inside. You led her into the hotel."

"You are imagining things," he said, shaking his head in disgust. "And your imagination is distorting your reason."

"Should I ask Samuel or the horse if I were imagining things?"

"You have some nerve, coming into my house and turning it upside down with social gatherings and adolescent parties, and now you have the effrontery to ask me the whereabouts of my horse and carriage? I will not tolerate your intrusions."

"There is a party downstairs that has been planned for weeks," she replied, her voice raised. "I have thrown it for my daughters to meet eligible young suitors and I have every intention that you shall attend."

"And will this party bring about miracles?" He scoffed and was b.u.t.toning his cloak.

"Did you think I desired to remain your nighttime mistress, for the sheer pleasure of battling over menus with your cook? I have been living in this house, and now I am ready to be its legitimate mistress, as you have promised. Tonight I will announce our engagement and to present myself your fiancee."

"I will not tolerate your blackmail. I made it clear to you that there were to be no public announcements-and you dare to take matters into your own hands. Now, you expect me to go downstairs and trot before strangers like a pony on your leash?"

"You had no difficulty posing as my husband, in front of Commodore Vanderkirk. Perhaps it was because you wanted him to think that my land was yours to sell?"

"How dare you accuse me of deception," he said ruefully. "You were preening in Saratoga as a rich widow, when in fact you were hunting for the bounty of a wealthy man."

"Do not insult me in that way!" she gasped. He returned to his desk in a rush and continued to pack papers into his satchel. The doorbell rang and the hired girl was letting in guests. Augusta and Helen were already in the parlor, and Emma could make out their murmurings and curtsies. The servant began carrying the coats up the stairs.

"I must go downstairs, the guests are arriving," she said urgently. "I insist you come down with me."

"Then, fetch me your deed."

Overcome with anger, Emma admonished him. "Your behavior is most reprehensible! I shall part with my land when I am ready. I intend to hold you to your promise of what our evenings in your bed imply or I shall hand you papers from a magistrate for breach of promise. You and I shall be married, before I hand over my property to you."

"Then you shall have a hard time toasting our betrothal at the party without my presence." He grabbed his satchel and rushed from the room. Stunned, she followed him to the landing and watched as he dashed down the stairs. At the bottom he slipped unnoticed through the guests, now just coming through the vestibule, and rushed to the kitchen stair, disappearing out of sight.