The Debutante's Shadow
The official debutante ball for Mabel Darlington had been held at the Savoy Hotel on Fifth Avenue.
For more than ten years, the Savoy had been the grand establishment where visiting European royalty had stayed in New York. Yet its fortunes had been squeezed by the enormous rival, the Plaza Hotel, on the opposite side of the street. It had been forced to declare bankruptcy. The building had recently changed hands.
The new owner had announced that the structure would be demolished in the near future to make way for an even larger hotel.
Mildred and Walter seized the moment of ownership confusion to nab the ballroom at a steep discount from the party that had been canceled. They had found the perfect balance between preserving appearances in society and keeping their finances from being stretched too thin.
They had extended the invitations without including the older generation and focusing instead on unmarried men and women. The excuse was that they were following the latest trends, but in truth it was to cut costs and maximize the impact.
The party had turned out to be a resounding success beyond even their expectations.
They had sent out invitations to two hundred guests, expecting only about a hundred and thirty. Most of them had confirmed their attendance.
Just before the invitations were delivered, an article had appeared in the society column with the headline “The Only American Debutante Who Conversed with George the Fifth.” The photo of Mabel in the dress modeled after the royal debutante style had been provided directly by Mildred to the newspaper.
By the time the first dance had ended, it was already midnight. To tide over the hunger of the guests who had been dancing, a supper buffet had been prepared during the intermission.
Mabel had eaten a light meal and then, shielding herself with Arabella, slipped away to a corner after the long time she had seen her. She did not want to be snatched up again by the men without a moment to breathe.
The two women sat side by side on a Louis Fourteenth-style bench placed beside the green marble pillar. Above them, a pair of cherub shadows cast by Karl Bitter’s sculpture that linked the pillar and the ceiling hovered over their heads.
Soon after, the friends from Spence School began gathering around them. They had all come to cheer for Mabel, the debutante who had entered society latest among their graduating class that year.
“Mabel, I thought I was going to die of curiosity. What exactly did you talk about with the King of England?” Eugenia, who had become engaged only recently, asked.
“Well, actually, I didn’t say much. He said he had heard the last name Darlington somewhere, so I told him that my grandfather had served as British ambassador.”
Mabel had received the same question wherever she went these days.
She had never imagined the event would have such far-reaching repercussions. She was almost afraid that her name might even appear on a tombstone with the phrase “conversed with George the Fifth.”
At that moment, Sara drew in a sharp breath.
“Hah!”
“Who?”
The group turned their heads in the direction Sara was staring.
“Don’t look all at once like that!” Sara said, lowering her voice and scolding them.
Mabel straightened her head with a start, then pretended not to look. She glanced sideways at the entrance. A tall man was shaking hands with Walter.
Her heart skipped a beat, its rhythm becoming irregular for an instant.
The man who had appeared at her party late was Baron Carlyle de Rocheret. He had recently become the undisputed center of attention in New York society.
“Have you heard the rumor? The baron’s mistress is the prettiest chorus girl in Broadway. One of the girls from the Ziegfeld Follies, they say.”
“No, she’s an actress. She runs a speakeasy called the Wet Zone in Midtown.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that too. There was a rumor that she had a bastard child. Sixteen years old, they said.”
“Sixteen? How old is the baron?”
“Twenty-nine, according to them.”
“What? So he had a child with an actress at thirteen? That’s impossible!”
“...Isn’t that a bit odd?”
Arabella interjected calmly into the conversation.
“Children, that’s all just gossip.”
Consuelo flared up.
“Arabella, the rest might be rumors, but it’s true that Rabina ‘Vamp’ and I went for a drive together without anyone else. Rabina was so loud about it that it’s definitely true.”
She pointed with her eyes at the opposite side. Rabina was laughing surrounded by men.
Mabel added in a small, timid voice.
“The girls, Iris is there too.”
Arabella chided Consuelo to calm her down.
“Rabina is twenty-eight and a widow. She no longer needs anyone like that.”
Rabina had debuted at eighteen and married a man twenty years her senior. When he died in the Great War, she had inherited an enormous fortune.
After that, she had changed into a completely different person. She had cut her hair short, applied heavy makeup, and worn dresses that showed her legs, enjoying free love.
The women in society watched her with jealous eyes and denounced her behind her back as the Vamp. The word, the abbreviation for vampire, referred to a woman who pursued men without ever promising marriage. They were more criticized than the flappers who were in fashion these days.
Mabel only vaguely understood what that “pursuit” meant and what it referred to. She had no idea.
“The baron suits a villain better than a noble, don’t you think? Especially when he smiles so cynically like that.”
Mabel, who had been listening quietly, added a line. Then Eugenia jumped in as if she had been waiting and shared the story she had heard from her fiancé.
“The other day at the Metropolitan Club, some men were drinking a lot and placing bets on a boxing match. Baron de Rocheret and Charles Tucker fought in the ring... everyone knows, Charles Tucker is the third son of the Tucker family, captain of the Yale Boxing Club.”
All the women nodded.
The Tucker family, with only five sons, was known in New York society as the “Cowboys.” Their father had been mocked for wearing a cowboy hat when he first came to New York from Texas, but over time the nickname had become the family’s identity.
“All the gentlemen bet on Tucker because they said a refined nobleman who sipped champagne like a lady couldn’t possibly beat a cowboy who drinks bootleg whiskey like water...”
She broke off dramatically, and Consuelo urged her to continue.
“What happened? Who won? Don’t drag it out. Tell us quickly!”
“Well, Cowboy Tucker was knocked out in the first round. The baron threw off his shirt and fought like an Irish longshoreman. Everyone thought Jack Dempsey was in the ring and their jaws dropped.”
All the women stared at her in surprise. Then, in high spirits, Eugenia went on.
“Tucker was as card-sharp as a gambler, and no matter how much he drank, he never got drunk. And that wasn’t all...”
She lowered her voice and gestured for them to gather closer. All of them leaned in with faces full of curiosity.
“He’s also on good terms with the notorious gangsters of downtown.”
They all drew in sharp breaths.
“That makes him a proper villain, doesn’t it?”
A pair of eyes darted toward the baron in his immaculate black tailcoat and spotless white shirt.
Military precision in his movements, a face as chiseled as a sculpture, and gleaming blond hair.
He looked extremely noble.
“...You’re sure he’s a noble?”
“That’s certain. During the war, when his father died, he took leave in a hurry to visit his estate and told Captain Hamilton.”
The gaze turned toward Arabella, who shrugged her shoulders and explained.
“During the war, the two of them served together in the same unit.”
At that moment, Captain Hamilton spotted Carlyle and approached him. The two robust men shook hands and clapped each other on the shoulder.
“Mabel, you said you met Baron de Rocheret in London, didn’t you? London society is far stricter about class than ours, you know.”
This time the arrow of the question was aimed at Mabel.
“Really?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
She opened her mouth in protest.
“...There wasn’t time to say it. All I did was dance a waltz with Baron de Rocheret at a ball hosted by the ambassador’s wife. I don’t know anything else.”
Mildred had invited him to an afternoon tea and shown her true feelings, but that day Carlyle had completely ignored Mabel.
The fact that he didn’t even have a speck of interest in her was something a fool could have noticed. If there was even a grain of truth in the rumors, he apparently preferred mature women of a similar age.
So why had he cut in and asked her to dance the waltz at the ambassador’s ball, as if he had any interest at all?
“Baron Carlyle de Rocheret. The greatest mystery of the year...”
Mabel nodded vigorously at Eugenia’s words.
Just then, someone shouted.
“Oh, he’s coming this way!”