Page 50 of Private Arrangements
Copenhagen
July 1888
Camden liked being his nephews' favorite uncle, that infrequent, mysterious visitor whose spectacular arrivals etched indelible, miracle-bright memories upon impressionable young minds, forever remembered as an endless source of chocolate, clever toys, and shoulder rides.
He'd had a rough crossing. His liner docked thirty-six hours behind schedule. He arrived at Claudia's house to only the boys and the servants, Claudia and her husband having gone out for the evening. He had his dinner brought up to the nursery and ate it with two-and-a-half-year-old Teodor babbling away on the chair next to him and five-month-old Hans snuggled on his lap.
Teodor received his new kaleidoscope with terrific enthusiasm. But he broke it after only a quarter hour. He stared at the wreckage for a moment, then burst into howls of inarticulate disappointment. Camden, no neophyte when it came to bawling toddlers—he was seven years older than Christopher—distracted Teodor with a few magnets. Once the boy realized that the small black blocks were “magical,” he happily settled down to stick them to one another and to spoons and butter knives. Hans, on the other hand, comported himself with perfect gentlemanliness, chewing on his new rattle contentedly, occasionally emitting a happy gurgle.
Teodor, who no longer took afternoon naps, wore out earlier. His nanny carted him off to bed. Hans, after his bottle, fell asleep with his cheek against Camden's shoulder, his little mouth spreading a spot of warm drool against the cambric of Camden's shirt. Camden kissed his tiny ear with a swell of avuncular affection. And a vague sense of loss.
He'd left for the United States directly after he received hisdiplômefrom the Polytechnique. The years that passed had brought him more wealth than he'd ever imagined. But fortune, as delightful and welcome as it was, did not warm his bed or populate a house with the children he wanted.
Claudia came into the nursery then. She kissed Camden on the cheek, Hans on his head, and went to kiss Teodor, already asleep in his crib.
She came back in a minute. “He's grown big, hasn't he?” she said, caressing Hans's hand.
“You don't see a baby for a few months, and he doubles in size,” answered Camden. “Had an amusing evening?”
“Amusing enough. Pedar and I dined with your wife,” said Claudia.
His wife, whom he had not seen since May of '83, more than five years ago. Camden rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course you did.”
“I'm not making it up,” said Claudia. “Your wife is in town. She called on me three days ago. I called on her the next day and invited her to dinner. And she returned the invitation tonight. We dined at her hotel.”
It was to Camden's vast credit that he did not drop Hans on his head. “What is she doing in Copenhagen?”
“Sightseeing. A tour of Scandinavia. She's already been to Norway and Sweden.”
“Alone?”
The moment the treacherous syllables escaped, he wished he'd torn out his tongue instead.
“No, with her personal harem,” said Claudia, beginning to observe him too closely for comfort. “How am I to know? She hasn't introduced me to a paramour, and I haven't had her followed around. Find out for yourself, if you are curious.”
“No. I meant if she had her mother with her.” He handed Hans to the nanny. “Besides, Lady Tremaine's doings are none of my concern.”
“In case you haven't noticed, Lady Tremaine dischargesherfamilial duties. She calls on Pater and Mater once a week when they are in London. She sends presents for my children for Christmas and their birthdays. And when Christopher mismanages his allowance, she is the one who compels him to adopt austerity measures,” said Claudia. “I think you should call on her. What's the harm? She is staying at the—”
He set a finger over her lips. “Remember what you said? I'll find out for myself, if I'm curious.”
Later that night his good sense turned to ash, much like the Cuban cigars he smoked with Pedar. He managed a splendid silence during the ride to Mrs. Allen's hotel. He managed to walk away from Claudia's carriage when he arrived there. He almost managed to enter the hotel, its doors already held open by two respectful doormen. It defeated him then, this absurd inquisitiveness concerning his wife's presence.
He had Claudia's carriage stopped, on the pretext of an errant cuff link. While conducting the make-believe search, he found out obliquely from the coachman to which hotel Claudia and Pedar had gone for dinner. And then, instead of calling on Mrs. Allen—a young, wealthy, attractive widow from Philadelphia who'd been strongly hinting all throughout the Atlantic crossing that they should repair somewhere private posthaste—he took himself across town to his wife's hotel.
He was assured that she was indeed alone, attended by an entourage that consisted of precisely one maid. That the only guests she'd received were Claudia and Pedar.
The driving question behind his restiveness answered, he should have been satisfied. Yet he found himself speaking to the hotel clerk of kroner, as in how many kroner the clerk stood to gain if he'd discreetly pass along information of interest concerning Lady Tremaine. Setting up clandestine arrangements to spy on her, to put it bluntly.
It was not difficult to discover her itinerary, as she relied on the hotel to supply her with transport. The very next morning he began receiving reports of her comings and goings. Within a few days he knew what she ate for breakfast, which monuments she'd visited, at what hour she took her evening bath, even where she'd stopped to buy some embroidered linen tablecloths.
Yet the more he knew, the more he had to know. How did she look? Had the years been kind to her? Was she the same woman he'd left behind? Or had she changed into someone unrecognizable?
He broke an engagement to dine with Mrs. Allen when he learned that Gigi would make an evening visit to Tivoli Gardens, Copenhagen's premier amusement park. He had enough control left to not go anywhere near her during the day. But perhaps, just perhaps, he could catch a glimpse of her at night and still remain in the shadows.
He walked the acres of Tivoli Gardens until he thought he must already be in his dotage. At last he spotted her on the grand carousel. She was laughing, holding on to the gilded post of her wooden horse for dear life, her long white skirts streaming with the rotation of the carousel and the summer breeze off the sea.
She looked well. Better than well. Delighted.
