The Meeting
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She had written the letter and the return had been that they should meet at the Hotel Superior. Mrs Van Buren arrived alone “Father could not bring himself to come, he is an elder in the church and felt it might...” she left unsaid the fact that Mr Van Buren had said his own daughter’s return would bring shame on the family.
“I understand Mama” Marie understood only too well “This is Jesse, you granddaughter, this is my dearest friend, Mary, and may I introduce you to Cavendish Young? The father of your next grandchild” She felt no need to hold back; she wasn’t ashamed, though it caused some considerable silence round the table. Still, to her credit, Mrs Van Buren did not rise and walk away, she actually thanked God (literally) that her pompous husband was not present as he would have walked out and taken her too.
“I am very pleased to meet you Mrs Van Buren. You should be proud of Mrs Johnson, she has been through much and came through strongly, protecting her child. I am honoured to have helped in some small way”
“A pretty speech Mr Young; but you must realise that you are back East now. We are less” she paused “less flexible in the way we consider relationships here. Miss Damson, have you no father for your child ... legitimate father I mean ... either?” Mrs Van Buren could be distinctly to the point when necessary.
“My child will have the same father as your daughter’s, Mrs Van Buren. As to legitimate, well I would not marry someone simply to give a man’s name to a child. In the West you would, I think, be surprised at how similar are the surface moralities people live by. As, I suspect, in the East, the rules people actually work under are different to those they publically espouse”
“That is true, my dear. Yet it is the public rules that people will be judged by”
“Mama, in my case we shall simply leave it as unclear when Mark died, there need be no questions on parentage I think. In dear Mary’s case we shall present an untruth whilst we stay – that she also is a widow.
We hope to leave for England soon”
“Ah! Dear Marie. Am I to lose you again? And my grandchildren too? I don’t think I can bear this” It was clear that the loss of her daughter had hurt her deeply, the regaining of her was a delight however it came about, and the loss again was like twisting the knife in the wound. She was conservative and old-fashioned in many ways, but she loved her daughter dearly and was already sitting with an arm around her granddaughter.
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The following day a message from Mr Brace invited Mr Young to dinner to discuss their proposed partnership. Some others of the Boston investors would be present, as would Mr Prestingle, who he knew already from the railway journey.
Young was introduced to the two new men accompanying Mr Reginald X Brace. His mother had been of Spanish extraction and insisted that if Xavier was not to be his first name, at least it would be a middle one. Mr Brace was a catholic of varying religiosity. He worked on Sundays and ate meat on Fridays, but he concurred with his wife that marriage was for procreation and was happy to attempt the same most nights. In consequence he had a large family of seven boys and three girls. The eldest girl was eighteen and wayward. She had caused her family much heartache by eloping with a boy the previous year, they had been caught and the boy soundly thrashed before any lasting damage had been done; but the damage to Julia’s reputation would not be repaired.
“Mr Young, may I introduce you to Mr Daniel Van Buren and Mr Josiah Lostiel; gentlemen, this is Mr Cavendish Young, the young man I told you about”
Van Buren showed that he recognised the name, but was not sure from where; he had not listened carefully enough to his wife’s report on her return. The conversation rapidly turned to business, for these three robust and rotund men regarded money as the ultimate religion. It was clear that Boston was no longer the centre of commerce and rapidly agreed that New York should be their preferred port for the dealings. The railway connections of New York were the best in the land and improving all the time, and the port was such a natural harbour that it was clearly going to eclipse Boston to a great degree. The men of Boston Chamber of Commerce were hard-headed commercial men and saw no reason to preserve their home town if better profit could be made elsewhere.
In the middle of their discussions, a singular occurrence took place. A well-dressed mulatto woman walked into the restaurant with a gentleman in Indian robes, they were followed by a man in a white suit with a black woman on his arm. The liberal northern Yankee customers were appalled. Who was allowing such darkies into their sanctum? The maitre d’ hurried over to suggest another restaurant, or perhaps a private room. Cavendish was already at their side.
“Miss Haberdash? And Mr and Mrs Haberdash! Why how well met. I am so pleased to meet you. Are you dining here?” That was obviously their intention, now the maitre d’ was in something of a confusion, it seemed a guest, indeed a guest being feted by some very important customers (for the businessmen often dined here), knew and welcomed this ill-assorted group.
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