The Seduction Of Ellen

“Your kiss,” he said softly, looking directly into her eyes, “was not the kiss of a woman who finds me disgusting.”

Ellen’s eyes narrowed. “I did not kiss you, you kissed me and I most certainly—”

“You kissed me back.”

“For heaven’s sake! Try and get this through your thick skull, Mister Corey, I did not want you to kiss me. I did not kiss you back. And I forbid you to ever kiss me again! Now, please, kindly just drive me home!”

Mister Corey smiled, nodded, unwrapped the long leather reins from around the brake handle and guided the horse and carriage out onto the busy thoroughfare. He made several attempts at small talk, but Ellen refused to respond.

He knew how to get a rise out of her.

“Was your homesick baby boy happy to see you?” he asked. No reply. Ellen stared straight ahead, acting as if she had not heard him. He knew she had. He pressed on. “Is he a mama’s boy?”

The insult of his question unleashed an angry diatribe from Ellen. Turning, she snapped, “My son is not a baby and he most definitely is not a mama’s boy. Christopher is a man and he has proven it.” She gave him a sneering look and added, “But then, that’s something you would know nothing about. You’ve probably never even heard of the Citadel, much less know what a great honor it is to attend the prestigious South Carolina military academy. Only the brightest and the best enter those gates and many of them are gone within days or weeks, unable to stand up to the rigid rules of the institute.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It most certainly is! And that is exactly as it should be. Those who are weeded out, and there are many, do not belong there. The academy’s goal is to make brilliant, steely-nerved officers of fine, intelligent young men like my son. I assure you that no fools or cowards or weaklings graduate from the Citadel.” She gave his lean frame an assessing glance, and asked, “Do you think you could have made it, Mister Corey?” Her tone, as usual, was condescending. “Could you have withstood the harsh discipline and intense punishment a plebe endures? Or would you have been too much of a coward?”

Ellen was looking directly at him when she asked, so she noticed the tension in his jaw. She immediately recalled the same thing happening the day Alexandra had suggested he accompany her to Charleston.

She was curious, but in an instant his expression changed and he said in a flat, drawling tone, “Looks like you’ve found me out, Ellen Cornelius. Yesiree, the truth is I’m a sniveling, quivering, trembling coward.” He laughed then.

She did not. “It isn’t funny, Mister Corey. I would think you would at least have enough pride to be ashamed to admit that you are a coward.”

“There was a time, long ago, when I was. But now I’m used to the label and it doesn’t sound that distasteful anymore. There are worse things to be called.”

“Yes, I suppose there are. Like swindler or cheat or thief,” she said hatefully, a smirk on her face.

“Perhaps, but I know some that are worse.” He pinned her with his night-black eyes. “Like toady or bootlick or kowtower.”

Ellen’s face instantly flushed with hurt and anger. Her green eyes flashing with fury, she said, “Insult me if you will. What you think of me is of no importance whatsoever. I do not need—nor want—your approval.”

“I don’t believe you,” he calmly replied.

In the 1890s America’s privileged took great pride and pleasure in showing off the expensive toys their vast wealth could provide. And so it was a period of the most splendid and ornate private railroad cars man could imagine. The wealthy all owned them, even if they seldom or never traveled. For the snobbish upper crust, the private rail car was an absolute necessity. The quintessential exhibition of ostentatious elegance.

Of all the private rail cars, none were finer than the sleek, gleaming ebony car with the gold script lettering on the door. The elegant car belonging to one of America’s richest women, Miss Alexandra Landseer.

Commissioned by the Pullman Company at the beginning of the decade, it had taken the company more than a year to finish the luxurious conveyance.

The delay was not the fault of Pullman, but of the persnickety lady who was to own the car. The interior had been changed no less than half a dozen times because Alexandra couldn’t make up her mind as to what she wanted. The harried workmen would think that they had finally completed the Landseer job, only to be told by a frowning Alexandra, bejeweled hands on her hips, that “No, this just won’t do! The bedroom is too large, the sitting room too small! All these walls must be torn out. You’ll simply have to start over. I will not pay you a penny until I get exactly what I want!”

And so it had gone for the entire year.

But, giving the devil her due, when finally the rail car had passed Alexandra’s discriminating inspection, it was a rolling wonder.

Inside, intricately carved boiseries exhibited the craftsmen’s infinite capacity for detail. A composite observation-sleeping car, the Lucky Landseer boasted a marble bathtub with gleaming gold fixtures. In the spacious sitting room, beneath a vaulted ceiling heavily embellished with Gothic fretwork, sat a handsome, oversize sofa and two matching easy chairs. The pale blue velvet furniture rested upon a thick, plush Aubusson carpet of blue and beige.

At the rear of the handsome room, a door opened onto an observation deck. A waist-high railing of beautifully carved iron lace bordered the small open-air deck. A narrow steel ladder went from the floor of the deck to the car’s top.

There was no furniture of any kind on the observation deck, although there was plenty of space. Alexandra saw no need for chairs or a settee. She had absolutely no interest in sitting out in the open, and it was always her own comfort that concerned her, no one else’s.

If Ellen or any invited guests wished to spend time on the observation deck, they simply would have to stand.

On the other side of the living room, in the car’s opulent bedroom, all the windows were draped with ice-blue velvet curtains. Alexandra never allowed those heavy drapes to be opened. She stated unequivocally that when she was inside her boudoir, she did not want some unwashed peasant along the tracks looking in at her.

The bedroom was capacious and comfortable and decorated with heavy carved furniture, gold-framed mirrors, marble statuary and handsome globed lamps and sconces. Beautiful artwork graced the wood-paneled walls.

Alexandra thought the room ideal.

Ellen did not.

It would have been, had it been hers alone. But the room was Alexandra’s and Ellen was forced to share with her aunt. Two specially built beds, covered in pale blue velvet spreads, were separated by only a small night table. The lack of privacy made Ellen dislike traveling in the splendid car.

But, tomorrow she would be trapped inside the velvet prison for several long days and nights as the train rolled westward.

Ellen exhaled loudly. Tonight, the eleventh of May, 1899, was the last night she’d spend in the quiet serenity of her own bedroom for many weeks.

Slipping her nightgown over her head, Ellen sank down onto the edge of the bed. It was well past midnight, but she wasn’t sleepy. Her anxiety was rising steadily as departure time neared. The last thing on earth she wanted to do was to go out West on this outlandish, expensive lark.

It was more than just the senseless waste of money that bothered her.

She had a nagging premonition that once the journey westward was under way, nothing in her life would ever be quite the same again. She felt as though she would be caught up in some clandestine web of danger from which she could never escape. She had the frightening feeling that she might never return to the safety of this Park Avenue town house.

And, that even if she did, she would not be the same person she was when she left.

Ellen shook her head and silently scolded herself. She was being unforgivably silly. Nothing was going to happen to her. Nothing more than a long, boring trip across the country and a senseless trek to some ordinary water hole where Alexandra would learn, too late, that there was no such thing as a fountain of youth.

Then, at last, back home to her sheltered, well-ordered existence.

Ellen sighed, took the pins from her hair and let it spill down around her shoulders. Without aid of a mirror, she swiftly plaited it into a thick braid. She yawned, blew out the lamp and got into bed.

There was nothing to worry about, she assured herself. She had cleverly managed to avoid Mister Corey since the morning he had met her at Grand Central Station. Four pleasant days without seeing him.

And in that time the memory of his burning kiss had faded until she could hardly remember what it had felt like.

Out of sight, out of mind was actually true. And she would keep him out of sight on the long train trip to Grand Junction, Colorado. All she had to do was to constantly stay inside the close confines of the Lucky Landseer.

It wouldn’t be easy, but she could do it.

She would do it.

She had to do it.

Ellen’s resolve strengthened as Mister Corey’s arrogant words came back to her, “I don’t think, Ellen, that you’ve had nearly enough of me.”

Nine

At the last minute, Alexandra had decided to not take any servants along on the train trip. It was customary, when she traveled in the Lucky Landseer to have at least the chef and her personal maid, Esther, accompany her. She decided against it for this journey and, as usual, her decision was a selfish one.

She worried that if her servants were on board, the group with which she was traveling might assume that they, too, could avail themselves of their services. The outsiders might mistakenly take it for granted that her chef would cook for them and that her maid would tend their needs.

That would be the day!

Now as she excitedly rushed around on the morning of departure, Alexandra congratulated herself on electing to leave the servants at home. She was aware that their absence would not make the trip any easier. But she could do it. She would take her meals in the dining car, just like any common passenger. And, after all, she had Ellen.

“It’s them!” Alexandra cried out as a knock came at the mansion’s massive front door. Her uniformed butler, the solemn, long-suffering Dunwoody, immediately appeared. Alexandra put up a hand and stopped him. “No, Ellen will answer the door. You should be seeing to the luggage.” Turning to Ellen, she said, “Don’t just stand there, let them in! What in God’s name are you waiting for?”

Ellen couldn’t tell her aunt that she was waiting for the pounding of her heart to slow its beat. Ellen was sure that when she opened the door, Mister Corey would be standing there, tall, dark and intimidating.

Ellen squared her slender shoulders, lifted the skirts of her cotton summer dress and proceeded across the black-and-white marble tiles of the spacious foyer.

She opened the door and immediately smiled.

She was greeted by Ricky O’Mara who said cheerfully, “Good morning to you, Ellen. Are you and your aunt ready to leave?”

“We most certainly are,” came Alexandra’s distinctive voice from behind Ellen. “Now get in here and get this luggage loaded! Where’s Mister Corey? You’ll need his help to—”

“No, Miss Landseer,” said Ricky, coming inside. “I can take care of the luggage.” Alexandra made a face, went to the door and looked out. Ricky quickly explained, “Mister Corey and the others will meet us at Grand Central Station.”

“Oh,” said Alexandra, mollified. “Good. Yes, that’s fine.”

Ellen wanted to echo her aunt. She felt she had been temporally reprieved and was grateful. With any luck, she would not have to see Mister Corey this morning. She and Alexandra would board the Lucky Landseer with Ricky and a porter’s help. And if she played her cards right on the journey, if she ate her meals at either an early or late hour, she likely wouldn’t encounter Mister Corey more than a time or two on the entire train trip.

It was, she figured, more than two thousand miles to Grand Junction. With all the stops the train would make along the route, it would take several long days before they reached their destination. Several peaceful days in which she would not have to contend with the troublesome Mister Corey.

Feeling herself relax, Ellen finally began to smile. When Ricky and Dunwoody had loaded the many valises and cases and heavy trunks into the waiting carriage, Ellen went back up the steps of the town house to say goodbye to the servants.

She hugged Ida, the housekeeper, a big, rawboned woman with a ruddy face, salt-and-pepper hair and a kind heart. She shook hands with Dillon, the portly chef. Next came Alexandra’s personal maid, Esther, a small, agile, middle-aged woman with gray-streaked red hair and a saucy manner.

Esther wrapped her short arms around Ellen and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be waiting on bossy old Alex hand and foot while you’re gone. She’s the one wanting to go off on this asinine adventure, so just tell her to make her own bed and comb her own hair.”

“I will,” Ellen promised, smiling. “You take care of things here while we’re gone.”

“That’s what I’m here for, honey,” said Esther. She and the others followed aunt and niece to the front door. Alexandra turned, gave Esther a halfhearted pat on the shoulder and commanded, “You’ll see to it that Ida and the cleaning girls keep this place immaculate, just as if I were here.”

“No,” teased Esther. “Once you’re safely out the door we’re throwing a big party. All the servants up and down Park Avenue are invited. You get back here, you’ll find empty champagne bottles and cigar butts all over the place.”

Alexandra didn’t bother responding. Just frowned, waved a dismissive hand and went down the front steps. Ricky lifted Ellen up into the carriage and turned to Alexandra.

“May I assist you, Miss Landseer?” he asked politely.

“You’d jolly well better, young man!” she snapped.

The wide smile never left Ricky’s handsome face. Stepping forward, he placed his powerful hands at Alexandra’s thick waist and effortlessly lifted her onto the seat. Solicitously arranging her skirts around her feet, he grinned at her and said, “Why, you’re as light as a feather.”

“Don’t waste your time trying to butter me up, O’Mara. It won’t work. You know your place. See that you stay in it.”

“Sorry, Miss Landseer,” Ricky apologized and Ellen wanted to choke her inconsiderate aunt.

But Ricky was neither hurt nor insulted. He had realized early on that Alexandra Landseer was a shallow, rich, self-centered woman and that dealing with her would often be unpleasant. He didn’t mind. Her rudeness didn’t bother him. In fact, he almost felt sorry for her. She was undoubtedly a miserable person.

His sunny smile still firmly in place, Ricky swung up onto the seat beside the aging heiress, and asked, “Now, are we ready to leave?”

“I’ve been ready from the moment I read Mister Corey’s advertisement in the London Times. Let’s be on our way!”

“At your service, madam,” said Ricky, reaching for the reins.

“No! Wait!” Alexandra abruptly grabbed his arm. “Stop. Wait a minute. I’m not ready after all! Good heavens, I was about to get off without my chalice.”

“Your chalice?” said Ricky, dark eyebrows lifting in question.

“Yes!” Alexandra said irritably, almost shouting. “My goblet. My golden goblet!” She looked sharply at him and said, “I must take it with me! I have it all planned. It is from the golden goblet that I will take my first drink of the Magic Waters!”

Alexandra turned to order Ellen back inside, but Ellen had already scrambled down out of the carriage and was rushing up the steps of the town house. In seconds she returned and in her right hand was a deep-blue velvet bag with a drawstring pulled tight at the top. Inside was Alexandra Landseer’s golden goblet. Ellen held it up for her aunt to see.

“Now we can leave,” said Alexandra.

“You’re welcome, Auntie,” Ellen said quietly. Ricky lifted her back up into the carriage and the two of them exchanged knowing looks. Ellen was suddenly very glad that a man as nice as Ricky O’Mara was going on this long journey. She felt as if she had a friend in the likable Spanish-Irishman.

At Grand Central Station, Ricky quickly engaged a porter to transport the luggage through the crowded terminal and out to the tracks. When Ellen exited the building and stepped onto the platform, she automatically looked for Mister Corey.

She immediately caught sight of the bald, beaming Padjan. The wiry little man was standing on the steps of a rail car near the end of the train, slowly backing up the steps and gesturing to someone below.

Mister Corey moved out of the crowd and up to the car. In his arms was Summer Dawn. He cautiously carried the old Indian woman up the train steps, deftly turning to one side to ensure that she wouldn’t hit either side of the door as he eased her into the waiting car.

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