After selling his ancestral estate, Archibald Colston decides to exchange the pastoral serenity of country society for a chance to make a new life for the Colston family in the wealthy elite of New York City. Upon their arrival, Archibald and his si...
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Harry De Rosier's carriage trundled down Broadway, passing rows of shops and departments stores. Archibald sat opposite Harry. The sidewalks were packed with last-minute holiday shoppers, and as he watched the throngs of people through the carriage window it seemed almost impossible that only a year before he'd spent his last Christmas at his family estate. A year ago he'd entertained the idea of marrying a quiet country girl to repair his quiet country life. And now he was being ferried around New York City by one of its most sensational residents.
He should be happy. He should be rejoicing in a year of such successes at his hands, but still, his moment of triumph felt bitter-sweet.
The carriage pulled to a stop uptown from the retail center, and Harry lunged through the door and out to the snow-covered sidewalk. Archibald followed eagerly and found his friend standing on the steps of the new Civic Opera House with arms stretched wide and grinning like a fool.
"You're insane," Archibald said. The people passing on the street moved with greater urgency as they beheld the scene Harry was making.
"Look at it, Archie!" he shouted, his arms still raised.
"Insane," Archibald repeated. An elderly woman in a dark veil gave a shocked gasp as she passed. Archibald apologized for his friend's behavior.
"This is it! The beginning of a new age!" Harry said.
Archibald shook his head.
"Don't you want to see what has become of your investment?"
"Of course. But let's get out of here before someone calls the police."
Inside the Civic Opera House, Archibald got his first real look at the opulence of New York City. The Society of Music with all its cramped little boxes couldn't even be compared to the house at the Civic. Six floors of seating stretched toward the gilded ceiling and its massive chandeliers. And the persemium stage — Archibald had never seen one so large in all his life.
He stood at the back of the house, dumbstruck by the lavishness of the decor.
"Fantastic isn't it," Harry said. His eyes roved over the cavernous space with wonderment. He took a deep breath. "Do you smell that?"
Archibald crinkled his nose. "It smells like wet paint in here."
"That's the smell of change," Harry said with a sigh. He started off towards the stage in long strides. "That, my British friend, is the smell of Mrs. Alexander's slipping grip on New York society. She can horde her boxes at the Society of Music all she wants. There will be seats for everyone at the Civic." His voice carried through the entire theater thanks to well-planned acoustics.
"Seats for everyone, but that doesn't mean anyone will pay for them," a voice boomed through the house. Archibald turned to see a man enter from one of the side doors. The man with grey-streaked black hair wore a dark purple suit and a forest green cravat, both of which were made of damask satin. He appeared to be in his forties and looked altogether like a man one might find in the theater.
