A-Splendid-Ruin(44)

I stumbled out into the night, taking a great, deep breath of the scented air of Chinatown, woody and fishy, stinking and sweet. I went unseeingly to the buggy. Petey took my arm.

“Are you all right, miss?” he asked.

“Take me home,” I ordered.

I was still undone when I arrived. I was so desperate for a reasonable explanation, for reassurance, that I did the most stupid thing possible. I went directly to my cousin’s door and knocked. Her “come in” was sleepy and soft.

She lounged on the chaise in the half light of garden lamps glowing through the windows and a lazily burning fire. The porcelain shepherdesses dancing across Goldie’s marble mantel were shadows. She wore only her chemise and her dressing gown.

“There you are.” Her voice was barely a murmur. “Where have you been? Oh yes. With Mr. Farge.” She sat up, blinking. “How late is it? You were gone so long.”

“On the way home, I stopped—”

“What time is it?”

“Goldie.” I pulled a chair close to the chaise and sat. “I stopped in Chinatown afterward.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because I saw you there earlier.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I saw you go into an opium den. I paid a visit there myself. I saw it all. I met Joe. He’s awful. I don’t know how you bear him.”

Goldie frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Goldie, how often do you go? And he said—Joe said—that he wants his money. How much do you owe him?”

Goldie’s expression shuttered.

“You must tell me the truth. I’ve seen you sneak out. I know it must be where you go.”

“You mustn’t tell Papa.” She was wide awake now. “He mustn’t hear a word of it. Do you understand me, May? Not a word.”

“You cannot tell me he doesn’t suspect—”

“Not a word, May!” Goldie lurched from the chaise. “I’ll be destroyed if this gets out.”

“But—” I thought of LaRosa’s column. The debutante (everyone knows her name). “Are you certain no one knows already?”

“Of course not! I’ve been very careful.”

She was so adamant.

“Oh, I’ve been such an idiot. You must promise me, May. I need you to help me. Please.”

“However I can.”

The glistening in her eyes became tears. Her loosened hair brushed my arm. “You must help me keep it secret.”

Again, I doubted that it was as unknown as she believed, but it was obvious that Goldie had not seen herself in LaRosa’s words, and I remembered how oblivious she and her friends seemed to be when it came to his jabs. I thought I should inform her, but then she said, “I’m going to stop. It’s no good for me, I know. You must help me stop.”

If she did stop, the column would be a fiction, and it would only distress her to think that society had suspected her predilection. And anyway, perhaps I was wrong. It could have been anyone in LaRosa’s column, any debutante. Surely Goldie was not the only one with a liking for opium.

“I will,” I assured her with relief, until I remembered Joe. “But you should give him the money you owe him. How much is it?”

“You mean China Joe? Oh, hardly anything. It doesn’t matter.”

“It seemed to matter to him. He told me to tell you to bring it next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Yes, but perhaps it’s best to pay him.”

“Why would I do that? He’s just a Chinaman. What can he do to me?”

I remembered his smile, his menace. I did not understand how she could be so glibly unconcerned, how we saw this Joe—China Joe—so differently. Goldie grabbed my arm; China Joe loomed so in my head that I jumped.

“I’m trusting you with my most important secret. You mustn’t tell anyone. I have needed a friend like you for so long, May. You cannot know how hard this has been.”

“You’re not alone any longer, Goldie,” I assured her, trying to calm my racing heart. “I’m here to help you. Always.”





We had been invited to the Anderson soiree, a showcase for a newly lauded soprano, Verina Lombardi. That evening, as I dressed, I started at a shout from the hall. I met Shin’s gaze in the mirror as she pinned my hair. “What was that?”

Another shout. Shin went to the bedroom door. “Mrs. Sullivan!” She ran into the hallway, and I hurried after.

My aunt’s dressing gown was askew, her hair a mess, and her eyes wild and unfocused.

Shin tried to ease her back into the bedroom. “Come now, missus. You must rest.”

Then my aunt caught sight of me. “Why aren’t you gone? They told me you were gone!”

My heart sank. How I hated this. How I wished I knew some way to help her.

“Come back to bed, missus,” Shin crooned again. “Come now.”

“Aunt Florence, do as Shin says. You need to be in bed,” I said soothingly.

My aunt lurched from Shin to grip my hands. “You must go. Now. You don’t belong here.”

Shin pried my aunt’s fingers from my hand, releasing me from both my aunt’s hold and her glare. “Miss, if you would please—”