The Address(12)

CHAPTER FIVE



New York City, September 1884


A distant hammering startled Sara awake. She put on her nicest day dress, a dark hunter green with thin black stripes, and swept her hair up into a severe bun at the back of her neck before heading down the stairs. She wound her way down, landing by landing, the noise growing louder. As she stepped into the courtyard, she was greeted with a cacophony of sounds: men shouting, hammers and saws being wielded with great ferocity. Fitzroy appeared at her side and guided her back into the building through a different door and down a maze of narrow hallways with very high ceilings. The proportions seemed all wrong, but maybe that was the American way.

He opened the door to the dining room and pointed inside. “Help yourself to some coffee and eggs or whatnot. It’s meager pickings at the moment. Oh, and Mr. Camden asked that you come to see him after.”

“Where is he?”

“You’ll find him in apartment number 43 on the fourth floor. Take the stairs on the northeast corner of the courtyard to get there.”

The dining room rivaled her mother’s description of the grand one at the earl’s manor house. From the inlaid marble floor to the carved oak ceiling, no detail had been spared, including the enormous fireplace of Scottish brownstone. The room contained several recurring motifs: The bronze bas-relief covering the walls was decorated with ears of corn, arrowheads, and Indian faces, a play on the name of the building, she assumed. She gulped down her coffee but passed on the watery eggs. Hopefully, the cook would put more effort into the job once the tenants arrived.

The door to number 43 was partially ajar. She opened it and looked about. Beside her was a fireplace, unusual for a foyer, and away from that led another long, dark hallway. To her left was a grand library, where bookshelves flanked floor-to-ceiling windows. A Juliet balcony overlooked the park beyond, and a pocket door connected it to the adjoining room. The craftsmanship astounded her. Even the Langham, the most luxurious hotel in London, lacked this sort of detailing.

“Mr. Camden?” Her voice echoed off the walls.

“Right in here.”

She hadn’t seen him, tucked out of view on the side of the library.

Mr. Camden leaned over a draftsman’s desk, a pencil in one hand. He looked up at her and smiled. He was the only person she knew here, and the familiarity, though scant, lessened the panic that had gripped her ever since the Dakota had emerged into view.

“How was your trip, Mrs. Smythe?” The room was smaller than the adjoining parlor, but the eastern exposure granted it a lot of light. He put down his pencil and gestured to the two armchairs arranged on either side of the window.

“My trip was fine, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He ran his hand over his chin. He didn’t have a beard, which was disconcerting at first, as most men wore thick, shaggy whiskers. His smooth skin made it difficult to gauge his age. Midthirties, she suspected.

She cringed with embarrassment. The silence had gone on uncomfortably long as she’d studied his face. “The work inside the building is quite beautiful.”

He shrugged off the compliment. “Overwrought is the expression that comes to mind. But I suppose I had better get used to it, as this will be my new home.”

“You’ll be living here?” She hadn’t meant to sound shocked, but she imagined he would prefer to live in the more established part of the city.

“In this very apartment. Mrs. Camden had her misgivings, but I told her the wilds of the West Side were soon to be tamed. The rest of the furniture as well as my family arrive in a couple of months, once the building is up and running. It’s no Langham Hotel, but I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure your family will enjoy it very much, and it will be a delight to meet your children under less strenuous circumstances. I trust they are all well?”

“Indeed.”

Enough with the niceties. She had much to learn before the building opened for business. “How many apartments have been rented?”

“All of them. Fitzroy will give you a proper tour of the building, but I can show you on the plans.” He stood and led her to a table pushed against one wall, and leafed through several white linen sheets until he found what he was looking for. “This is the fourth floor. We’re here.”

The apartment was enormous, with several bedchambers, anterooms with fireplaces, pantries, servants’ quarters, and an expansive parlor.

Sara examined the layout of the entire floor. “Every apartment seems to be a completely different configuration from the others.”

“Initially, Mr. Hardenbergh assigned six apartments to a floor, all roughly the same size. But after the owner, Mr. Clark, passed away a couple of years ago, the building agent took over, and he unfortunately allowed tenants to have a say in the number of rooms they preferred. I can’t tell you how many nights I spent piecing them together like an enormous jigsaw puzzle, but we’ve finally done it. We’re slightly behind schedule, and I have Mr. Douglas breathing down my neck, but that’s where you come in.”

Before he could continue, a man’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Back here, Mr. Douglas.” Mr. Camden gave Sara a smile. “Your boss has arrived.”

She wished Mr. Camden were her boss, and one look at the man entering the room didn’t change her opinion. He had a lumbering body and blue-black hair. He took off his hat when he saw Sara, and she couldn’t help notice the dark stain of hair dye around the inside of the rim.