January, 1932
Lily Brewster was standing by the gatehouse entrance to
Grace and Favor Cottage. "Cottage" was a serious misnomer
because the home was an enormous, if somewhat run-down,
mansion that overlooked the Hudson River. A brisk wind
from the west brought the smell of the cold river water
swirling around the mansion, blowing snow from the roof
and making the trees in the heavily wooded area to the
sides of the mansion creak and groan.
Lily was waiting, as she'd been doing nearly every day for
several weeks now, for the postman. She was huddled in a
sable coat that was even more run-down than the house. Her
father had bought it for her shortly before the Crash
of '29-when the Brewster family was still the financial
and social cream of the crop.
She also wore a pair of old overshoes she'd found in the
rabbit warren of third floor rooms when she and Mrs.
Prinney started cleaning them out a month earlier, and a
hand-knitted cap in rather violently conflicting colors
that Mrs. Prinney had knitted her for Christmas. But she
was still shivering.
She was about to give up when she heard the approaching
racket of the old Model T the postman drove in the winter.
In summer those who expected to get mail had to go to
Voorburg-on-Hudson to pick it up at the post office, which
was a cubbyhole in the back of the greengrocer's store.
But in the worst winter months, a driver delivered it to
the mansions on the hills above the town. It was the town
council's way of thanking the few affluent residents who
stayed in winter and contributed to the faltering economy.
Not that Lily and her brother Robert were still among the
affluent, quite theopposite, but they did live in a
mansion, and few people knew their true circumstances.
"Morning, Miz Brewster. Got a bunch of things for you.
Jack Summer sent up a newspaper, too," the postman said,
handing her a wad of papers, envelopes and the
newspaper. "And I brought Mrs. Prinney that roast she
ordered from the butcher. He said you could pay whenever
you were in town next."
Lily thanked him, tucked the butcher-paper wrapped roast
under her arm and hurried inside. She delivered the roast
to Mrs. Prinney, shed her fur coat and sat down in the
entry hall to look at the rest.
There were a couple letters for Mr. and Mrs. Prinney (by
this time Lily recognized their daughters' handwriting).
The Voorburg-on-Hudson Times headline grabbed her
attention next. FRANKLIN ROOSEVELT TO RUN FOR PRESIDENT.
Though raised as adedicated Republican, Lily was glad to
hear thee confirmation of the rumor. She had no idea what
Governor Roosevelt, a neighbor a few miles away at Hyde
Park, thought the solution to the financial crisis in the
country was, but it was dear that President Hoover was
only making things worse. She set aside the newspaper to
read the rest of it later, and came to a letter addressed
to her and Robert.
She feared it was yet another rejection. That's all she'd
received so far, but she was bound to get an acceptance
soon. From somebody.
She opened the envelope carefully and read the enclosed
card.
"Robert!" she shouted. "Robert, where are you?"
A voice drifted down from the second floor. "Up here.
What's wrong?"
Her brother Robert came bounding down the stairs a moment
later, a bit disheveled and alarmed-a combination that did
nothing to harm his startlingly good looks. He had rather
longer hair than was quite stylish, but the dark gloss of
it against his fair skin and sky-blue eyes was his own
style. Lily, his younger sister, had the same coloring,
but not quite the perfection of features that he
possessed. A trick of genetics that she considered highly
unfair.
"Nothing's wrong for a change," she said. "Something's
very right. Come into the library and read the letter I
just got. Julian West has accepted our invitation!"
"Julian West? Really?"
"Read this!" she said, shoving him into a chair and
handing him the note. "Isn't he absolutely gracious? To be
a famous author and write to us in such a friendly way.
It's amazing. And look, he signs it Julian, just as if we
were old friends."
"Don't swoon so, Lily. This was probably written by a
secretary."
"I don't care. He's coming here in April. Now we can
invite the others. What a coup!"
Lily and Robert Brewster had grown up in the lap of
luxury. Their father had been a multimillionaire by the
time he was thirty, partly by inheritance, largely by hard
work and intellect. But when the stock market crashed and
he jumped out of his broker's window five flights above
Wall Street, they discovered that he had gotten greedy.
He'd borrowed against all the family properties-the
apartment in New York, the summer house in Massachusetts,
the sprawling home on the coast of South Carolina, the
cottage in Kent, England, where they frequently spent
Christmases with British cousins. And he had put all the
money into the stock market on margin.
After his death, when everything was sold for far less
than its value to meet his debts, Lily and Robert were
left with their mother's pier glass, eight hundred
dollars, and two hunks and a suitcase each of their
personal belongings.
And very few skills that meant anything anymore. Knowing
which fork to use for shrimp and the rules of polo were no
longer valuable assets.
Then almost two miserable years later good luck struck
them. Or rather, glanced off them. A very wealthy great-
uncle they barely remembered died and left them Grace and
Favor Cottage. But Greatuncle Horatio, being both canny
and suspicious, had put a huge restriction on them. They
had to live in the mansion for ten years without being...