New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [344]
“My point,” he went on, “is that the factory owners were so blinded to their workers’ safety by their pursuit of profit that they actually lost some of their own relations in the fire, and could have perished themselves.”
“The fire? Oh. I see.”
“It was sad about the girl, wasn’t it?”
“The girl?”
“The Italian girl you brought to that lunch. Anna Caruso. I noted her name at the time.”
“What about her?”
“She died in the Triangle fire. I noticed her name when the newspapers published the lists.”
“I wasn’t aware.”
“Mother!” Charlie was looking at her, in disbelief. Rose felt herself blush.
“How should I know such a thing?” she said irritably.
“I’m embarrassed,” said Charlie to his tutor.
Rose stared at Edmund Keller. So he’d made her look a fool again. In front of her own son, this time. For all she knew, Charlie was going to start respecting him more than he did his own mother very soon. If she’d disliked the socialistic Mr. Keller before, she felt a positive aversion for him now. But she did not show it.
“Tell me, Mr. Keller, about your work at the university,” she said very sweetly. “Are you writing a book?”
The burgundy was excellent. By the time they were halfway through the main course, the butler had refilled Edmund’s glass more than once, and he felt quite at home as he talked about his researches for a book on Greece and Rome. Young Charlie was looking happy, his father had shown himself to be friendly and interesting, and even his hostess, about whose feelings he was a little uncertain, was listening with every show of interest. It seemed to Keller that he was among friends. After a slight pause, he decided it would be pleasant to share a confidence with them.
“Between ourselves,” he told them, “there’s a chance I might be going to England next year. To Oxford.”
“Oh,” said Charlie, looking rather disappointed.
“I heard things were awfully quiet there,” said William Master.
“That’s just the point,” Keller said. “So many of the Oxford undergraduates and faculty are away fighting in the war that the place is half empty. I could live in one of the colleges as a visiting fellow for a year, do a little teaching, and work on my book. I’d also have the chance to make myself known there. I might even get a permanent fellowship.”
“How did this arise?” William asked.
“Through Elihu Pusey,” said Keller. “Perhaps you know him?” They didn’t. “Well, he’s a rich old gentleman here in New York, and a notable scholar. I met him through some research I’m doing. He has connections with two Oxford colleges, Trinity and Merton, and he’s going to put in a good word with them both on my account.”
“How fortunate,” Rose murmured.
“The only thing that would hold me back is my father. He’s getting so frail that I don’t like to leave him. But he insists I should go, and he’s offered to finance the whole thing.”
“Selfishly, I hope you stay here,” said Charlie.
“Don’t repeat what I’ve told you, please,” said Keller.
“Of course not,” said Rose.
The thought of Edmund Keller being removed from Columbia for the rest of Charlie’s time there was certainly most attractive to Rose. But with all her social connections she couldn’t quite see what she could do to make it come about. If Elihu Pusey meant to recommend him to people he knew, well and good, but she had no means of influencing an Oxford college.
She’d almost put the business out of her mind, therefore, when just a week later, at a gathering to support the New York Public Library, she saw that Mr. Pusey was also one of the guests, and asked to be introduced to him.
He was a distinguished-looking old gentleman. It didn’t take her long to steer the conversation to Columbia University, to mention that her son was there, and that she knew Mr. Nicholas Murray Butler.
“I know Butler, of course,” he said politely, though she didn’t detect any great warmth in the statement.
“There’s a lecturer my son likes very much named