Chapter 9 - The Foundation Gala Beneath the Crystal Chandelier
The afternoon sun gave way to the harsh, artificial brilliance of floodlights lining the gravel drive. White-gloved caterers maneuvered rolling racks of stemware through the double doors, and florists from the city unloaded crates of white hydrangeas and eucalyptus branches to bank against the marble pillars. It was the annual Metropolitan Heritage Foundation Gala, an evening Julian Vance treated as an obligatory display of civic philanthropy and Eleanor treated as her personal coronation.
Upstairs in the private dressing suites, the air smelled of heavy hairspray, pressed wool, and expensive perfume. My black-and-white uniform felt restrictive, the collar stiff against my throat as I pinned back stray strands of hair and smoothed the service apron over my skirt.
"Keep out of the lower hall once the press arrives at seven," Eleanor said, not turning from her gilded dressing-table mirror. She was already zipped into a silver-beaded gown that caught every flicker of the crystal sconces. Her diamond earrings swung with a cold, metallic click as she adjusted her posture. "The photographers from the chronicle have strict instructions regarding the estate staff. You are to remain in the upper service wing until midnight. If I see you carrying trays anywhere near the ballroom foyer, consider your employment terminated before the dessert course."
"Yes, Mrs. Vance," I said quietly, keeping my gaze fixed on the mahogany floorboards.
"And see that Leo stays put," she added, her eyes flashing a sharp warning in the glass. "Mrs. Gable has his dinner in the nursery. Julian has been asking after him three times an hour, which is entirely inappropriate given the guest list downstairs. Keep the boy out of sight. No one needs any more exhibitions with the piano keys."
She swept out of the room, leaving a wake of tuberose scent behind her. I let out a slow breath, my hands resting on the edge of the mahogany dresser. Downstairs, the low rumble of a string quartet warming up drifted through the floor vents, accompanied by the muffled thud of heavy vehicle doors slamming shut on the driveway.
I walked down the quiet corridor toward the nursery wing. Mrs. Gable sat in the velvet rocking chair by the tall window, knitting a gray wool cardigan while Leo sat on the braided rug, assembling a wooden puzzle of the United States. His small fingers carefully fit Michigan into its recess, his brow furrowed in concentration. Under the lamplight, the gray-green tint of his eyes caught the amber glow, an exact replica of the man currently down in the library pouring scotch for the board chairman.
"He came by five minutes ago," Mrs. Gable whispered, nodding toward the hallway. Her lined face showed deep exhaustion. "Julian did. Didn't come inside, just stood in the doorway watching the boy through the crack. Didn't say a word to me either. Just looked at him like he was searching for an instruction manual written in a language he'd forgotten."
"Is he still downstairs?" I asked, kneeling beside Leo to hand him the piece for Wisconsin.
"Locked in his study with the treasurer," Mrs. Gable murmured, setting her knitting down. "Though I doubt numbers are on his mind tonight. Rosa, the whole house is shaking. You can feel it in the floorboards. People like the Vances don't bend; they break or they crush whatever gets in their way."
"I know," I said, my fingers brushing Leo's shoulder as he looked up and smiled, completely unaware of the heavy machinery turning around him.
"Mama, can we go outside?" Leo asked softly, pointing toward the balcony glass where the colored lights of the catering tents flickered against the dark lawn. "There's music."
"Not tonight, sweetheart," I said, smoothing his collar. "Tonight we stay upstairs and help Mrs. Gable finish her puzzle."
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By eight o'clock, the roar of the party rose through the walls—laughter, the clink of champagne flutes, the sharp flashes of camera strobes leaking through the tall parlor windows downstairs. The charity gala had fully begun, and every wealthy patron in the county was downstairs celebrating a peace that no longer existed.
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