The only harsh words I ever heard spoken about the Anders was how many children they had—nine in all. Nine. With that many children their hall was filled with birthday celebrations and coming out parties that seemed never-ending. Tonight was no exception. Mary, their sixth child, was having her coming out party and everyone in New York was in attendance.
One would think that every ball the Anders had was a carbon copy, but Mrs. Ander’s sister (a widow) spent her days planning every fine detail and was always three steps ahead of every trend. Ms. Bancroft never missed, and tonight was no exception. The fanfare, the speeches, the choreographed dancers, and the exquisite dinner was done. The servants were nearly all dismissed with cleaning being hurriedly done while we danced, ate from the dessert table, and drank.
I found Ms. Bancroft chatting with Ms. Harris in the middle of the tables. Ms. Harris must have been droning on about her new tennis court at her summer house. She kept flourishing as if the ball was being served. I could tell Ms. Bancroft needed an exit.
Ms. Harris paused her match as I approached. “Mr. Tyler, so good to see you,” Ms. Harris said. “Is your mother well?”
“Ever since you sent that lovely fruit basket last week, her health has vastly improved, Ms. Harris.” Ms. Harris tittered with delight as I kissed her hand.
“But I am afraid I am a bad omen, a terrible portent for Ms. Bancroft. There’s a bit of a hiccup going on.”
Ms. Bancroft shot Ms. Harris a nod of dismissal and Ms. Harris drifted back into the revelry.
“You saved me,” Ms. Bancroft said. “She declined my request again to use her summer house for a charity function saying she is entertaining. And if I heard about her backhand one more time I would have killed myself with the dullest cutlery I could find. Useless woman.”
“And you didn’t believe my tale about the hiccup?” I asked.
“I have two agents in this crowd who would have run to me first, Mr. Danners, lest I have their heads,” she said with a smirk. “But you do know how to get my attention.” She clinked my glass with hers. “Well done. Now ask your question.”
Ms. Bancroft and I both understood our relationship. Pleasantries were pleasantries, and business was business.
“What do you know of the Winchells?”
“New money. One son. One daughter. Small consequence. Arthur runs a small train company. Wife travels a bit. A writer, if that’s what you call putting stories in little magazines. She does lectures.” She said lectures as if she meant ‘leprosy.’
“I need to join you at your luncheon with them tomorrow. As your guest.”
Her eyes became steel. “How did you know about that luncheon? It’s private.”
“I too have agents. They don’t dress as well as yours, but agents the same.”
“I must decline. Too large of an ask. You swim in a large lake but these people rule the ocean. I adore your company, you know I do, but your charms would be wasted at this luncheon.”
I took a sip of my champagne. Most people saw me as the man with the witty comments, not the man who makes things happen. The champagne didn’t lessen the sting.
“Well, isn’t Mrs. Glasston going to be there? The woman who hates you more than Parliament hates the masses?”
“Yes, she is. Unfortunately, we run in the same circles.” Her face could barely hold in her hatred for the woman, a secret I have not delved just yet.
“Well, she adores me and she wants me to adore her daughter. Wouldn’t my charms be helpful there? Or I could just ask her for an invite..”
She finished her glass and sighed. “Fine. That favor is now spent. Tomorrow. One in the afternoon. Bring a gift. Do not, and I repeat, do not be late.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear. And by the way, whenever you get around to it, I would check on Ms. Harris’ tennis coach. I hear he can open up her swing day and night. And with that, her schedule might open up as well.”
Ms. Bancroft set down her drink and said, “Noted, Mr. Tyler. Thank you for the dance.”
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