The Address(30)

Daisy shoved a piece of paper toward her. “There was an error on the letter that went out. It says eleven o’clock, not one o’clock.”

“Daisy, you typed this for me.”

The girl stuffed her hands into the pockets of her dress. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I’d hit the same key twice.”

A critical error, but still. “At least you got the date right.”

Two hours. She had to stall them, keep them occupied. Otherwise they’d chime in with opinions about what should go where and which way to arrange the dining room table, and the day would never end. Or they’d decide the place was uninhabitable and move out before they’d even arrived.

“What’s this I hear about the residents coming early?” Mr. Camden stood in the doorway, fuming.

“There was a miscommunication,” said Sara. “We’ll take care of them.”

“We spoke about this, Mrs. Smythe. How important it is that they enter a well-run, elegant apartment building. From what I can tell, it’s a madhouse on every floor.”

She’d be sent back to London on the next ship if she didn’t fix this fast. Mr. Camden was absolutely glowering at her.

She turned to Daisy and spoke with clipped vowels. “Get the cook and tell her to put out some champagne in the dining room. I’m going to the courtyard to round them up. I’ll take care of this.” The last sentence she directed at Mr. Camden. “If you would come with me, I would appreciate your assistance.”

Thankfully, he did as he was told, although she could see him clenching and unclenching his fists as they stepped outdoors.

Indeed, a line of broughams encircled the two fountains; and after the footmen helped off the ladies, Fitzroy moved the vehicles out and brought in another round of carriages. The residents were milling about, unsure of where to go.

“Why isn’t my personal staff here to greet me?” demanded a stout lady in a black beaver cape.

Sara stood on the stone base of the southern fountain. Using her natural height to her advantage, she called for everyone’s attention.

“I am Mrs. Smythe, the managerette here at the Dakota, and I would like to welcome you to this magnificent building. Please join me in the dining room for a champagne toast to your new home, followed by a tour of the highlights of the Dakota by Mr. Camden, one of the architects of this stately, modern apartment house.”

As she’d figured, the word champagne perked them up. She led the way into the south entrance and was relieved to see that the cook had done as asked, and set up a marvelous array of delicate glass coupes and champagne nesting in ice buckets.

While the bottles were uncorked and poured, Sara eyed the room, Daisy at her side.

Daisy leaned into her, disappointed. “They’re not the upper crust of society. The papers were all saying that no one of Mrs. Astor’s set would be caught dead living here.”

True enough, the tenants’ names were unlikely to overlap with Mrs. Astor’s list of acceptable society members. Certainly not Mr. and Mrs. Gustav Schirmer, of the music publishing company, or Mr. and Mrs. Solon Vlasto, who were moving downtown, not uptown, from Ninety-Second Street.

“I’ve seen enough of high society at the hotel in London. Believe me, you don’t want to have to deal with that set.”

“But they’re the ones with the power in the city; it’s in the newspapers every day. Everyone here is so ordinary. Dry goods and woolen merchants, that sort.”

“As they’re paying three thousand dollars a year for a ten-room apartment, I would think that’s far from ordinary. Perhaps you’d be happier working as a maid for Mrs. Astor?”

Daisy didn’t answer.

Mr. Camden appeared, checking his timepiece. “How long do you think you can prevent them from storming their new apartments?”

Sara lifted her chin. “Follow me, please.” She sidled up to one of the new residents, Mr. Camden trailing in her wake.

“Mr. Schirmer, how are plans going for the printing plant?”

Mr. Schirmer smiled, quite pleased. “Very well, Mrs. Smythe. Thank you for asking. We hope to have it running in the next year or two.”

“Of course you must know Mr. and Mrs. Steinway.” She turned to the right and drew them into the group. “We are so lucky to have true music aficionados among the residents.”

Mrs. Steinway threw her fur over one shoulder. “We will create our own private village here beside the park, shan’t we, Mrs. Schirmer?”

“What a lovely way to refer to the Dakota.” Sara offered up a subtle smile, one that suggested agreement without being overly familiar. “I was just saying to Mr. Camden here that the uptown rural landscape is much better for one’s health.”

Mr. Schirmer spoke up. “I consider this to be my ode to Magellan, heading into the northern frontier, weapon at my side.”

“What exactly is your weapon, dear?” asked his wife.

“Why, you, of course.”

Mr. Camden chuckled, playing along beautifully. The atmosphere tinkled with laughter and heady conversation.

“I daresay I like this idea of having cocktails before luncheon,” Mrs. Steinway said to Mr. Camden. “Will that be a regular occurrence?”

“If that will please you, Mrs. Steinway, of course.” The traces of Mr. Camden’s irritation with Sara disappeared as he made a subtle bow.