Edmond Chivington the third was looking, no, staring into the stern gaze of Edmond
Chivington the second. The younger man’s return stare was a quizzical look, just slightly
more expressive than the blank look that had preceded it. “I said Edmond, your mother and
I have given this a lot of thought and we believe Elaine Stinson would be a perfect match
for you.”
Edmond Chivington the third wasn’t so sure about that. He stalled for a few moments
by sipping the excellent Cognac that his father was so fond of. “But sir, apart from the
fact I barely know the girl, isn’t she rather plain?”
“Rubbish! What the hell do looks have to do with anything? She is from an excellent
family and what is more she has an impeccable reputation.” Edmond Chivington the third
riley thought to himself that impeccable reputation probably meant she’d never been
mounted and taken but he refrained from making such a caustic comment. Instead he
judiciously said nothing. His father went on. “We’re very proud of you, Edmond. You’re a
member of the bar and a junior partner in Bates, Addison, Thornton and Huxley. Why even
Henry Adams had a good word to say about you and young man, that most assuredly is saying
something.”
Son Edmond drank a bit more deeply. “I happened to like his history class when I
was in college is all. It’s a shame about his wife.”
“Yes, quite tragic actually. I understand he hired Saint Godins to design the
burial monument.”
“Money seems to speak loudly.” The junior Chivington replied, looking into his
empty glass. The problem with good cognac was that it disappeared so quickly.
Edmond the second returned to the topic at hand. “I will expect you to attend
Edwina’s garden party next Saturday at four. You of course will escort Elaine Stinson so
that all the proper introductions can be made.”
Edmond the third had the feeling that sentence had been passed. There was no
appeal, no discussion, no possibility of retreat. It was if the entire affair was mapped
out like some battle plan on U.S. Grant’s strategy table.
***
Edwina Ballister was the daughter of some minor railroad baron. Her upper crust
gatherings were considered to be THE place to be in greater Boston. Her social events were
the encrusted jewels that brightened many evenings during the high point of the gilded
age. She hired the finest musicians, her selection of hors-d'oeuvres and wines were
of the highest quality and her guests were of the most elevated social strata. That of
course meant that she catered to the new American aristocracy, the aristocracy of wealth.
Edmond met Elaine at her residence about an hour before the grand Ballister party
was to commence. It was understood that it was accepted proper Bostonian etiquette that a
guest had to be on time. You could be a few minutes early but to attend such a function
more than five minutes late was considered an insult. To be invited to such an event and
not to notify the host if attendance was impossible would invite social ostracisation
His escort could have looked worse. Elaine was not slender and not fat. Her
excessive modesty was superseded only by her pale, lack luster face. Her brown hair was
attractively prepared but it did little to uplift the bored expression that filled her
hazel eyes. Her external deportment was condescendingly cool and completely uninspiring as
she extended her white gloved hand for his clasp and subservient bow.
“You must be young Chivington. I do hope you enjoy Ballister’s get together. She
really is the rage these days don’t you know.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of
accepted fact.
Edmond shivered inside. How in heaven’s name could his father seriously consider
this cool creature? Even her full length pale rose dress seemed to proclaim her
untouchability. Well perhaps it was just the first impression. He was a fair enough minded
man to acknowledge that this first meeting might not tell the entire story but deep down
inside, he doubted it. He helped her ascend the carriage and minutes later they were at
the impressive Victorian mansion of Emmit K. Ballister. There’d been but a few polite
words between them during this brief journey.
Once the in house staff had taken their carriage and horse in hand, the new couple
entered the house of Ballister as if entering a royal domain. A very tall, thick chested
butler who looked more like a sergeant major took his walking stick and Elaine’s walnut
brown cape and placed them on a large table apparently set up for that purpose.
“My card sir.” Edmond handed the butler a business card with his name along with
the title boldly announcing that this was a member of that prestigious law firm, Bates,
Addison, Thornton and Huxley.
“Very good sir. Please be so kind as to go through that door. Lady Edwina will
greet you in the formal parlor.”
A few moments later, lady Edwina swirled over to Edmond and Elaine. Edwina
Ballister was trimmed out to the limit. She wore the most current Parisian fashion in an
eye catching pale yellow gown. Her jewels sparkled in the very bright gas light. She
exuded charm, exquisite manners and the epitome of excellent taste.
“Elaine darling, how enchanting you look tonight dear.” Edwina pronounced dear
without the r, proud of her upper crust Bostonian accent which precluded the pronunciation
of the vulgar r, especially when that letter was at the end of a word. “And who is THIS
delectable looking creature?” Edwina was looking right at him with her catty green eyes
and artificial smile.
Elaine’s voice was boredom personified. “Oh Edwina this is the banker’s son, young
Chivington. Daddy insisted that I attend your fabulous function with this lawyer’s
clerk.”
Edmond was fuming. He was a lawyer in good standing with one of the most
prestigious law firms in the entire God damned state! He wasn’t a bloody clerk! Edmond
instantly became defensively formal. “Your servant mum. I’m a junior partner at Bates,
Addison, Thornton and Huxley. Your butler has my card.” Young Chivington as he was getting
tired of being called bowed stiffly while glaring into those sardonic green eyes.
Edwina smirked but the smile never reached her appraising stare. Her hair was also
brown but a darker shade then his escort’s hair coloring. “My, my, my! It would seem we
have a fire brand here. Why don’t you two sit over here? We’ll be going out to the garden
presently. Oh dear, I’ve got to greet more guests. Make yourselves comfortable both.”
The next three hours were the most boring hours Edmond had ever spent at any social
event bar none. He was used to long, upscale dinner parties. God knows he’d had to play
host at many of his father’s social events. Edmond Chivington the second was an
influential banker and Edmond understood that his father was expected to wine and dine his
top clients. That was fine. That was business. But this? He had to sit with some
simpering, supercilious holier than thou personage who only seemed to be able to discuss
the pedigree of all the other guests. At one moment she was harping about Henry Cabot
Lodge and another she was expounding the parentage of John Peabody. Jim Andrew, son of the
former governor was there, ostensibly begging for votes in his next bid for the senate.
There was the inevitable Endicott and Winthrop and even Charles Francis Adams made an
appearance. On and on it went with name after delineated name while his own presence was
ignored as much as possible and yet still to be tolerated within the bounds of proper
etiquette. Anytime one of these lofty personalities engaged in conversation it was
initially with Elaine and not him. He was an invisible nobody among Boston’s rich and
famous.
From time to time he would refill her glass with punch or bring her another
hors-d'oeuvre which only procured the briefest thanks or a nod for his trouble.
When he finally returned to his own apartment he just collapsed on his chesterfield
and moaned, “Thank God that’s done! Christ!”
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