Full download ebook at ebookname.

com

Frommer s irreverent guide to Manhattan 6th ed

Edition Quarles

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-irreverent-guide-to-
manhattan-6th-ed-edition-quarles/

OR CLICK BUTTON

DOWLOAD NOW

Download more ebook from https://ebookname.com

More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Frommer s Irreverent Guide to Boston 2004 Irreverent

Guides 5th Edition Marie Morris

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-irreverent-guide-to-
boston-2004-irreverent-guides-5th-edition-marie-morris/

Frommer s irreverent guide to Rome 3rd Edition Sylvie

Hogg

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-irreverent-guide-to-
rome-3rd-edition-sylvie-hogg/

Frommer s Irreverent Guide to Rome 2nd Edition Sylvie

Hogg

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-irreverent-guide-to-
rome-2nd-edition-sylvie-hogg/

Frommer s Irreverent Guide to Rome 3rd Edition Sylvie

Hogg

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-irreverent-guide-to-
rome-3rd-edition-sylvie-hogg-2/
Frommer s Irreverent Guide to London 5th Edition Donald
Olson

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-irreverent-guide-to-
london-5th-edition-donald-olson/

Frommer s Greece 2008 Frommer s Complete 6th Edition

Sherry Marker

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-greece-2008-frommer-s-
complete-6th-edition-sherry-marker/

Frommer s Singapore Malaysia Frommer s Complete 6th

Edition Jennifer Eveland

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-singapore-malaysia-
frommer-s-complete-6th-edition-jennifer-eveland/

Frommer s Israel Frommer s Complete Guides 6th Edition

Robert Ullian

https://ebookname.com/product/frommer-s-israel-frommer-s-
complete-guides-6th-edition-robert-ullian/

Manhattan GMAT Strategy Guide 6 Critical Reasoning

Fifth Edition Manhattan Gmat

https://ebookname.com/product/manhattan-gmat-strategy-
guide-6-critical-reasoning-fifth-edition-manhattan-gmat/
 n
to
guide

n h a t t a
M a 6th Edition

By
Ethan Wolff
with Shopping by Karen Quarles
 n
to
guide

n h a t t a
M a
 n
to
guide

n h a t t a
M a 6th Edition

By
Ethan Wolff
with Shopping by Karen Quarles
 other titles in the

IRREVERENT GUIDE
series

Irreverent Amsterdam
Irreverent Boston
Irreverent Chicago
Irreverent Las Vegas
Irreverent London
Irreverent Los Angeles
Irreverent New Orleans
Irreverent Paris
Irreverent Rome
Irreverent San Francisco
Irreverent Seattle & Portland
Irreverent Vancouver
Irreverent Walt Disney World®
Irreverent Washington, D.C.
Published by:
Wiley Publishing , Inc.
111 River St.
Hoboken, NJ 07030-5774

Copyright © 2006 Wiley Publishing, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey. All rights reserved. No
part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or
otherwise, except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States
Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or autho-
rization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance
Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978/750-8400, fax 978/646-8600.
Requests to the Publisher for permission should be addressed to the Legal Department,
Wiley Publishing, Inc., 10475 Crosspoint Blvd., Indianapolis, IN 46256, 317/572-3447,
fax 317/572-4355, or online at http://www.wiley.com/go/permissions.

Wiley and the Wiley Publishing logo are trademarks or registered trademarks of John
Wiley & Sons, Inc. and/or its affiliates. Frommer’s is a trademark or registered trade-
mark of Arthur Frommer. Used under license. All other trademarks are the property of
their respective owners. Wiley Publishing, Inc. is not associated with any product or ven-
dor mentioned in this book.

ISBN-13: 978-0-471-77062-6
ISBN-10: 0-471-77062-0

Interior design contributed to by Marie Kristine Parial-Leonardo

Editor: Cate Latting

Production Editor: Heather Wilcox
Cartographer: Roberta Stockwell
Photo Editor: Richard Fox
Production by Wiley Indianapolis Composition Services

For information on our other products and services or to obtain technical support, please
contact our Customer Care Department within the U.S. at 800/762-2974, outside the
U.S. at 317/572-3993 or fax 317/572-4002.

Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that
appears in print may not be available in electronic formats.

Manufactured in the United States of America

5 4 3 2 1
About the Author
Ethan Wolff is a native New Yorker (born and raised in Virginia, but that was a geo-
graphic anomaly). When not being irreverent, Ethan enjoys being cheap. Frommer’s
NYC Free & Dirt Cheap has all the details.

Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Anna Sandler and Evelyn Grollman for all their hard work, and to
Cate Latting for her stellar editing.

A Disclaimer
Prices fluctuate in the course of time, and travel information changes under the impact
of the varied and volatile factors that influence the travel industry. We therefore suggest
that you write or call ahead for confirmation when making your travel plans. Every
effort has been made to ensure the accuracy of information throughout this book and
the contents of this publication are believed correct at the time of printing. Neverthe-
less, the publishers cannot accept responsibility for errors or omissions or for changes in
details given in this guide or for the consequences of any reliance on the information
provided by the same. Assessments of attractions and so forth are based upon the
author’s own experience and therefore, descriptions given in this guide necessarily con-
tain an element of opinion, which may not reflect the publisher’s opinion or dictate a
reader’s own experience on another occasion. Readers are invited to write to the pub-
lisher with ideas, comments, and suggestions for future editions.
Your safety is important to us, however, so we encourage you to stay alert and be
aware of your surroundings. Keep a close eye on cameras, purses, and wallets, all favorite
targets of thieves and pickpockets.
 CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION 1
Maps
Map 1 Manhattan Neighborhoods 5

YO U P R O B A B LY D I D N ’ T K N O W 6
Where to find the best New York panorama (6) • How to get the best
view of Ground Zero (7) • How to stay out of trouble (8) • How to
walk the walk (9) • How to talk the talk (9) • How to get around
underground (9) • How to drive around town (11) • How to do
lunch at an expensive restaurant and still have enough left over for
dinner (11) • How to flag a taxi (11) • Where to smoke (12) •
Where to find the facilities (12)

1 A C C O M M O D AT I O N S 14
Basic Stuff 16
Winning the Reservations Game 16
Is There a Right Address? 17
The Lowdown 18
What’s New (18) • Places to misbehave (19) • For culture vultures
(19) • Deal Breakers (20) • Art attack (20) • New York’s Celluloid
Alter-Ego (21) • So very literary (21) • Luscious love nests (21) •
For stargazing (22) • Such Indexision (22) • Broadway bound (22) •
Money talks (23) • It’s a small world (23) • Location, location,
location (24) • Drop-dead decor (24) • For shopoholics (24) • For the
body beautiful (25) • Suite deals (25) • Taking care of business (26) •
Family values (26) • Money’s too tight to mention (26) • Ringing in
the new year (27) • Try these when there’s no room (27)
 Maps
Map 2 Manhattan Accommodations Orientation 28
Map 3 Downtown Accommodations 29
Map 4 Midtown, Chelsea, the Flatiron District & Gramercy Park
Accommodations 30
Map 5 Uptown Accommodations 32
The Index 34
An A to Z list of places to stay, with vital statistics

2 DINING 48
Basic Stuff 50
What Will It Cost? 50
Tipping 51
Getting the Right Table 51
When to Eat & How to Dress 51
Where the Chefs Are 52
The Lowdown 52
TriBeCa hot spots that won’t cool down (52) • Where’s the beef, yo?
(53) • Something fishy (54) • Bangs for Your Buck (54) • Vegging
out (55) • Young Americans (55) • Morning Grub (56) • Americans
feeling their hautes (57) • Le top-of-the-line French (58) • Ciao down
with chic Italian (58) • The Lowdown on Little Italy (59) • Hipster
Italian (59) • Italian when papa’s paying (60) • Like a big pizza pie
(60) • China chic (61) • In Chinatown, Jake (61) • Pots and pan-
Asians (62) • Cone Heads (63) • Sushi queue (63) • Cooking to a salsa
beat (64) • South of the border (64) • Mediterraneo (65) • Home/
style (65) • Good for the soul (66) • The Caffeine Scene (66) • We
never close (67) • New York classics (68) • Out in the open air (68) •
Hello deli (69) • Show starters (70) • Bistros with cachet (70) •
Sometimes a great noshin’ (71) • Voyage of the bagel (72)
Maps
Map 6 Manhattan Dining Orientation 73
Map 7 Downtown—East Village, Lower East Side, Chinatown,
Little Italy, SoHo & NoLita Dining 74
Map 8 Downtown Westside Dining 75
Map 9 Midtown Dining 76
Map 10 Uptown Westside Dining 78
The Index 79
An A to Z list of places to dine, with vital statistics

3 DIVERSIONS 100
Basic Stuff 102
Getting Your Bearings 102
 The Lowdown 104
God save our mad parade (104) • The Lowdown on Times Square
(105) • The Amazin’ Met (106) • Coney Island’s Mermaid Parade
(107) • Deep in the art of Queens (107) • Free Culture (108) • Art
and leisure (108) • Mo MoMA (109) • Gallery Scoop (110) • The
gallery beat (110) • The rest is history (110) • Immigrant song (111)
• New York stories (112) • Beautiful buildings, Downtown (113) •
Beautiful buildings, Midtown classics (114) • Beautiful buildings,
Midtown moderns (115) • On the square (116) • Steeple chase (118) •
Reel NYC (119) • Way Uptown (120) • On the waterfront (and on
the water) (121) • Where to pretend you’re in a Monet painting (124) •
Getting high (124) • Utter childishness (125) • Must-sees for second-
timers (126)
Maps
Map 11 Manhattan Diversions Orientation 128
Map 12 Downtown Diversions 129
Map 13 Midtown Diversions 130
Map 14 Harlem & Upper Manhattan Diversions 131
The Index 132
An A to Z list of diversions, with vital statistics

4 GETTING OUTSIDE 142

The Lowdown 146
Born to run (146) • A bicycle built for one (147) • Pounding the
pavement (148) • Street walkers (149) • For the birds (149) •
Tour Time (150) • Water, water everywhere (150) • The pickup game
(151) • Skating—straight up or on the rocks (152) • Hot Wheels—
Central Park’s Roller Inferno (153) • Jungle gym dandy (153) •
A quick dip (153) • Indoor fitness (154) • Par for the course (156) •
Pier 63 (156) • Back in the saddle (157) • You bowl me over (157) •
A walk in the park (157) • Fly through the Air with the Greatest of
Ease (157)
Maps
Map 15 Getting Outside in Central Park 144

5 SHOPPING 162
Basic Stuff 164
Target Zones 164
Bargain Hunting 167
Business Hours 168
Sales Tax 168
The Lowdown 168
Style-wise guys (168) • Funky clothes for alternagirls (169) • Tattoo
You (169) • It Girl boutiques (169) • Don’t fall into the Gap (170) •
Shoes for fashionistas (170) • Shoes for people who hate the word
fashionista (171) • Money bags (171) • Accessorize this (172) •
 Ooo—shiny! (173) • Upgrading your Underoos (173) • Outer beauty
(173) • Where to splash ’n’ sniff (174) • One-stop shopping (174) •
Not your average department store (175) • Auction Action (176) •
Better studios & fire escapes (177) • How to buy your kids’ love (177) •
Audio Files (178) • The printed page (178) • Sports gear (179) •
Everything you’ve always wanted to know about sex toys but were
afraid to ask (179) • Last-minute gifts that don’t look cheap and
desperate (180)
Maps
Map 16 Manhattan Shopping Orientation 181
Map 17 Downtown Shopping 182
Map 18 Downtown Westside Shopping 183
Map 19 Midtown Shopping 184
Map 20 Uptown Shopping 186
The Index 187
An A to Z list of places to shop, with vital statistics

6 NIGHTLIFE 208
Basic Stuff 210
Smokin’ 211
Learning Your ABC’s 212
Sources 212
Liquor Laws 213
Drugs 213
The Lowdown 214
Lounge acts (214) • Beer here (214) • Gotta dance (215) • Live and
loud (216) • Live and not as loud (217) • For chic poseurs (218) •
Where to pretend you’re a mockstar genius (218) • Punkaoke: Being
Rotten for a Night (219) • Painting the town pink (219) • Taking a
dive (220) • Getting lucky (221) • Where to get your kinks (222)
Maps
Map 21 Manhattan Nightlife Orientation 223
Map 22 Downtown Nightlife 224
Map 23 Downtown Westside Nightlife 225
Map 24 Midtown, Chelsea, the Flatiron District & Gramercy Park
Nightlife 226
Map 25 Uptown Nightlife 228
The Index 229
An A to Z list of nightspots, with vital statistics

7 E N T E R TA I N M E N T 238
Basic Stuff 240
Sources 240
Cheap TKTS, Good Seats 241
Getting Tickets 242
The Lowdown 242
Live from New York (242) • Jazz classics (243) • All that other jazz
(244) • Hail that cabaret (244) • Music for a Song (245) • Ballet high
(246) • What’s opera, doc? (247) • Talk City (248) • The joke’s on
them (248) • The theatah (249) • Your Own Free Will (251) • Head
of the classics (252) • State-of-the art house (253) • Free Flicks: Sum-
mer Screenings under the Stars (254) • Spoken word (255) • Sporting
news (256)
Maps
Map 26 Manhattan Entertainment Orientation 259
Map 27 Downtown Entertainment 260
Map 28 Midtown, Chelsea & the Flatiron District
Entertainment 262
Map 29 Uptown Entertainment 264
The Index 265
An A to Z list of venues, with vital statistics

HOTLINES & OTHER BASICS 278

Airports (279) • Airport transportation to the city (280) • All-night
pharmacies (281) • Buses (281) • Car rentals (281) • Child care
services (282) • Cultural-events information (282) • Dentists (282) •
Disability services (282) • Doctors (282) • Driving around (283) •
Emergencies (283) • Ferries (283) • Festivals and special events (283)
• Foreign currency exchange (284) • Gay and lesbian resources (284) •
Get the 311 (284) • Internet and Wi-Fi (284) • Limousine and car
services (285) • Newspapers (285) • Parking (285) • Phone facts
(285) • Post offices (286) • Radio stations (286) • Restrooms (286) •
Smoking (286) • Size Conversion Chart (287) • Subways (287) •
Taxes (288) • Taxis (288) • Ticket charge lines (288) • Tipping
(288) • Trains (289) • Travelers Aid (289) • TV Stations (289) •
Visitor information (289)

GENERAL INDEX 290

Accommodations Index 297
Restaurant Index 298
INTRODUCTION

Veteran television viewers already know exactly what an invita-

tion to visit New York sounds like:
Hey, you, you comin’ to New York or what? We got it all, theater,
film, food, music, museums, and we’re the friggin’ best at it. Whaddya
expect? We’re the capital of the world. We’ve even got the U.N. Gen-
eral Assembly to prove it. And that’s not even mentioning New York
being the capital of entertainment, publishing, finance, advertising,
and art. London? Paris? L.A.? Please. Don’t make me puke. All the
other so-called cities are just kidding themselves. Too much attitude?
Sue me.
Of course, that unreconstructed Noo Yawk type is hard to
come by outside of the sitcoms these days. Over the past few
years, Manhattan has become almost unrecognizably safer,
cleaner, and more prosperous. The phrases “newly renovated”
and “meticulously restored” come up again and again in descrip-
tions of major local institutions. From the gorgeous renewal of
Grand Central Station and City Hall Park to the refurbished
walkways over the Williamsburg, Manhattan, and Brooklyn
bridges, to the 5 miles of parkland just added along the Hudson
River, the city has gotten an unprecedented number of things
right lately.
So what’s the catch? The city’s a little blander now. Gentri-
fication has sanded down the edges on some of the colorful old
neighborhoods. Chain stores broke into the island’s economy,
and the corporations turned Times Square into a soulless shop-
ping mall. A lot of Manhattan hipsters have decamped to
2
Brooklyn, and the people who have replaced them tend to be
yuppie types seeking easy commutes. Not that New Yorkers are
nostalgic for the bad old days—filthy parks, ubiquitous drug
dealers, spiking murder rates, and a general menace in the air—
but there is a sense that some of Manhattan’s trademark gritti-
ness is in danger of being lost.
To an out-of-towner, the idea of an overpolished Big
Apple might seem pretty ridiculous. It’s easy to imagine a visitor
scoffing “This is what you consider clean?” while stepping
around a pyramid of rat-infested trash bags beside a building
slathered in graffiti. Despite the recent invasion of Starbucks
and Gaps and Home Depots, Manhattan still has more local
flavor on a single block than most American cities have in their
entire downtowns. Stand on any corner here, and you’ll know
you’re in New York. No other place has the diversity, the ambi-
tion, or the outlandishness. Not to mention New York’s leg-
endary pulse. Even a horrific terrorist attack hasn’t been able to
change that.
The echoes of the two airliners that slammed into the
towers of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, still
reverberate across the city. The physical changes are really the
least of it, though that’s probably what a return visitor will
notice first. Security is tighter, sensitive targets are protected by
concrete barriers, and building staffs have become a lot more
uptight. The elegant front of the New York Stock Exchange is
now obscured by a hectic maze of metal fences that suggests
preparations for cattle in a stockyard (with the way Wall Street
has been going the last couple of years, maybe the metaphor is
apt). In the main transportation hubs, you’ll find soldiers toting
automatic weapons, and you may have your bag searched before
you board a train.
New York sheds its skins incredibly quickly, however. If
tourists have been scared away, you’d never know it to look at
the crowds in Times Square, Greenwich Village, and SoHo.
The city is so dynamic that a person can be startled by changes
in their own neighborhood after only a weekend away. Across
from Central Park, $1.7 billion have been risked on the Time
Warner Center, a city unto itself, complete with offices, hotel
rooms, and a full-on mall. Only in New York could a neighbor-
hood called the Meat Packing District transform itself into a
high-fashion ghetto, with trendy restaurants, bars, and bou-
tiques. Even the neighborhood around Ground Zero is normal-
izing. The Winter Garden in the Word Financial Center was a
wreck of broken glass and gray ash after 9/11, but today it looks
 3
showroom-fresh. Next to the towers’ foundation, traffic zooms
up Church Street and bargain hunters descend on discount
department store Century 21. As they say on Broadway, the
show must go on.
New York public life often carries a feeling of instant
camaraderie. Whatever you’re experiencing, you’re rarely experi-
encing it alone. Post-9/11, that sense of solidarity has been
opened up to include tourists. They’re not just sidewalk-clog-
ging nuisances, New Yorkers realize; they’re vital threads in our
urban fabric. Ask for directions or recommendations, and the
preconception that New Yorkers are rude will be quickly shat-
tered. People may be busy and sometimes brisk, but they’re
friendly, especially now that they’ve realized the tourist trade
can’t be perennially taken for granted.
Manhattan apartments, cramped by the standards of veal
pens, force people to live much of their lives in the public
sphere. When you’re out and about here, the city is as much
yours as it is anyone else’s. Dress dark, walk fast, and just like
that you’re a New Yorker. Sit in Central Park on a sunny day and
you’ll own it. Look around at your fellow citizens, and you may
feel like you’re all in on the same secret—that people-watching
under the trees is the superior mode of human existence.
Unfortunately, gaining access to those great serendipitous
New York experiences doesn’t necessarily come cheap. All kinds
of costs have recently risen, from taxes to taxis to train fares to
tolls. And it’s not like things were cheap here to begin with.
New York did invent the $30 hamburger, after all. It’s a testa-
ment to the city’s allure that despite the expense, and the fears
of terrorism, and the noise and filth and congestion, people are
still clamoring to live here. New luxury apartment buildings
are popping up on the avenues all over town. The city’s white
elephants, from warehouses to office buildings to classic hotels,
are being converted into condos. Walk through a neighborhood
of low-rise tenements and peek up at the tops: You’ll see new
penthouses sprouting from the rooflines.
Part of New York’s continuing appeal is that it’s one of the
last places in America to offer unrestricted travel. Other U.S.
cities sprawl unreasonably, with horrendous traffic, limited
parking, and few public transportation options (and what exists
tends to be punitively inconvenient). In New York, however, the
subway ensures that you can get anywhere you want any time
you want. Also, things are close to each other here. The entire
island of Manhattan is only 13.5 miles long and 2.3 miles across
at its widest point. At the major downtown intersection of
4
Houston and Broadway, you’re on the edge of NoHo and SoHo,
and within a 15 minute walk of the West Village, the East Vil-
lage and the Lower East Side, TriBeCa, Little Italy, Union
Square, Chelsea, and Chinatown. You could do all your travel-
ing on foot here and never run out of things to see.
New York’s neighborhoods and landmarks tend to be famil-
iar even to first-time visitors. Many of the famous eras of the past
are still layered into the modern metropolis. The West Village of
the beatnik ’50s bumps up against the activist East Village of the
’60s, between funky ’70s Harlem, greedy ’80s Wall Street, and the
geek-chic dotcommers of ’90s Silicon Alley. There are traces of
the more distant past, too: the 19th-century living on in Chelsea
row houses, in Central Park’s Victorian flourishes, and in the
immortal span of the Brooklyn Bridge.
The characteristics of Manhattan’s next phase have yet to
be determined. If current trends continue, this could be a velvet-
rope town, open only to the rich, who get their coffee at 1 of the
200 local Starbucks and then hail a cab for their corporate mar-
keting jobs. Or the economy could soften and hasten a return to
the scary days, when city services were spotty and pedestrians
walked quickly not for exercise, but for self-preservation. New
Yorkers are hoping for a sympathetic compromise: a Manhattan
that retains its color and grit without sacrificing the recent rise
in quality of life.
This is an incredible time to visit New York. The city is all
spruced up, and people appreciate what they have here like
never before. The pulse is racing.
Think you’re going to find that in any other place on earth?
Fugheddaboudit.
 5
Map 1: Manhattan Neighborhoods
HARLEM &

EAST HARLEM
WASHINGTON (EL BARRIO)
HEIGHTS 96th St.
Riverside Park

DR

F
West End Ave.

YORKVILLE

Dr
Central

ive
American 86th St.
Museum of Metropolitan
Natural Museum
History of Art
Park
79th St.
Columbus Ave.

UPPER
Broad w

and
EAST SIDE

Roosevelt Isl
72nd St.
West Side Hwy.

ay

UPPER
Fifth Ave.

First Ave.
Lexington Ave.

WEST SIDE

Lincoln QUEENS
Center Queensboro
59th St. Bridge
Rockefeller
Eighth Ave.

Center
MIDTOWN
MIDTOWN i EAST
WEST
Grand Central
i Terminal
TIMES Queens-
42nd St. Midtown
Lincoln SQUARE
Port Authority Tunnel
Tunnel Terminal
MURRAY
Eleventh Ave.

HILL
Seventh Ave.

34th St. Empire State

Penn Building BROOKLYN
Ea

Station
FDR

GRAMERCY
Bro

st
D

PARK
adw

rive

23rd St.
Riv
ay

CHELSEA FLATIRON
DISTRICT
er

Union
Hu

MEAT- Square
14th St.
PACKING
dso

DISTRICT Washington
The

Square
WEST Park EAST VILLAGE
n R

VILLAGE
owe
ive

ry

NOHO
sburg
Hud

Houston St. THE LOWER William

r

EAST SIDE
son

B ge
Broadway

NOLITA rid
SOHO ey St.
Delanc
St.

S t.
Cana LITTLE Grand st ay
el l St. ITALY Ea dw
Tunn
We

a
nd Br
o
Holla
st S

TRIBECA
CHINATOWN Ma
t.

nh
w att
Chambers Ro Bri an
St. d ge
k

Broo
Par

World Trade klyn

N Center Site
Battery Bridg
Park e
0 1/2 mi
City
BROOKLYN
FINANCIAL
DISTRICT South Street
0 0.5 km
Seaport
Battery
i Information Brooklyn-Battery Park
Tunnel
 YOU
P R O B A B LY
DIDN’T KNOW

Where to find the best New York panorama... The

Empire State Building is a summit worth conquering, but
it’s on a very beaten track. Many feel that the best view of
New York is from the harbor, aboard the ferries or the
sightseeing boats (see the Diversions chapter). You get to
admire the great skyscraper cliffs of New York, which taper
to a flying wedge at Battery Park, magnificently lit at sun-
set. My favorite viewpoint is from the Promenade in
Brooklyn Heights, cantilevered over the Brooklyn-Queens
Expressway, providing nonpareil vistas of downtown and
the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s easy to get there; take the 2 or 3
train to Clark Street and walk toward the East River; then
stroll back to Manhattan over the Brooklyn Bridge, with
more magnificent views all the way. Though it’s a dimin-
ished skyline after September 11, 2001, seeing it is also a
reminder of just how much we have left.
 7
How to get the best view of Ground Zero... It seems
callous to think of Ground Zero as just another tourist
attraction, but it has become one of the city’s most popular
destinations and many visitors take solace from just seeing
the area firsthand. In the first few months Ground Zero
was a dramatic sight. Twisted World Trade Center wreck-
age rose out of a steaming hole and no matter how many
times you went by, it still came as a punch in the stomach.
With the rubble long cleared, however, the initial raw hor-
ror of the scene is gone. Ground Zero today is indistin-
guishable from a run-of-the-mill construction pit if you
don’t know that it’s a final resting place for thousands of
victims. New York forms scar tissue quickly, and normal
daily life has returned to the area, cabs honking on the
street and guests coming in and out of the Millennium
Hilton. The ad hoc memorials that originally surrounded
the site have been replaced by a uniform series of placards
along the fence at Church Street, just west of Ground
Zero. More moving are temporary memorial boards, listing
the names of the fallen heroes of 9/11. Most, if not all,
New Yorkers keep 9/11 somewhere close in their heads and
hearts, and Ground Zero is a good place to be reminded of
the incredible sacrifices so many people made that day.
And it’s comforting somehow to be among the crowds and
share in a communal feeling. Just north of Ground Zero at
209 Broadway sits St. Paul’s Chapel (Tel 212/233-4164;
www.saintpaulschapel.org), which was completed in 1766
in what was then the countryside. After 9/11, St. Paul’s was
used by rescue workers, an event recounted by a small but
moving exhibition inside the chapel. Behind the chapel
you’ll find a small graveyard. The ancient headstones here
restore human scale to a chaotic part of the city, and pro-
vide additional context for the void of Ground Zero. For
another view of the site with a little perspective, go to the
Winter Garden (Tel 212/945-2600; open 24 hr.), one
block west of Ground Zero. Walk toward the Hudson River
and enter the World Financial Center at South End
Avenue or Vesey Street. Follow the signs for the Winter
Garden, in the center of the complex. The Winter Garden
was basically totaled by the collapsing towers, but you’d
never guess it to look at the towering Washingtonia robusta
palm trees and gleaming marble inside the atrium. Beneath
the marble stairs you’ll find a temporary exhibit outlining
the plans for the site, which will hopefully someday include
8
a worthy memorial in addition to the inevitable corporate
skyscraper. Walk up the stairs to the panoramic windows
and you’ll have an elevated view of Ground Zero. Once you
get a grasp of the site’s scale, you’ll better comprehend the
grief still underlying life in New York. Turn back and look
at the pristine Winter Garden to appreciate how incredibly
resilient this city is.

How to stay out of trouble... Crime and big cities are

firmly linked in many people’s minds, and since New York
is the big city, it must be Crime City too, right? Well, no.
Not even close. New York is the safest big city in America.
Statistically speaking, our crime rate compared to all cities
nestles between Ann Arbor, Michigan, and Orange, Cali-
fornia. Crime continues to fall here, to the point that New
York is safer now than it’s been since the 1960s. We have
39,110 cops keeping it that way. That’s not to say you can’t
find trouble here. Most New Yorkers have cultivated a cer-
tain way of moving about the city that functions like a pro-
tective shield; they act as if they know where they’re going,
even when they don’t. The New York Police Department
advises visitors not to flash their cash, credit cards, and
expensive jewelry; men should keep their wallets in front
pants pockets, and women shouldn’t let their handbags
dangle from the backs of chairs; fasten all the locks at the
hotel, and put your valuables in the safe. People will tell you
not to make eye contact on the subway, or even out on the
street, and it’s sound advice. It’s also impossible to follow.
New Yorkers are too fascinating not to study, and everyone
moves so fast that you can get away with a glance here and
there. In general, use your common sense. If you notice
something out of line up ahead, just casually cross the
street. Favorite spots for pickpockets include crowded
buses, sardine-packed subway cars, and sidewalk crowds
gathered around three-card monte games or street per-
formers. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that the city stays so
civil because you’re never quite sure whom you’re dealing
with. That scruffy-looking dude walking toward you could
be a dot.com millionaire and that guy in the suit and tie
might be a psychopath. With eight million people wander-
ing around, there’s no way to tell what exactly you’re get-
ting into, so treat all strangers with a measure of civility. It’s
not bad advice even outside of New York City.
 9
How to walk the walk... Sure, you know how to walk. But
in New York, it helps to walk like a New Yorker. Day or
night, sidewalks are jammed—it only takes 6% of the
population of Manhattan to fill all the pavement in Mid-
town. Around Times Square as many as 8,500 people will
pass a given point every hour. We move fast, too, 30% faster
than pedestrians in smaller cities. Keep to the right when-
ever possible. You’ll see plenty of people flaunting this
guideline, but generally it’s the best way to ease traffic flow.
Jaywalking is considered a civic right in New York and
Guiliani-era attempts to ticket the offense have been dis-
carded, but it’s still a game that takes a certain amount of
skill. New York drivers have as much sporting instinct as
those in Mexico City or Karachi. From a strictly legal
standpoint, they’re not allowed to run into you, but unless
you’ve got a few years of practice it’s best to wait on corners
and cross with the lights. When you step off the curb, it’s
also not a bad idea to check your peripheral vision for
speeding two-wheelers. If our bicycle messengers have no
compunction about crossing busy avenues against the traf-
fic, you can imagine they aren’t too concerned about barrel-
ing kamikaze-style the wrong way down a one-way street.

How to talk the talk... With over 100 different languages

spoken in New York, finding the “right” way of saying
something can be a highly subjective task. There are, how-
ever, a couple of universally New York quirks worth noting.
Houston Street downtown isn’t pronounced “Hyuston” like
the Texas city, but rather “Howston,” as the local family
pronounced their name. New Yorkers don’t get “in line,” we
get “on line.” The subway lines are marked by colors, but
the same color can branch off in very different directions,
so it’s better to refer to the trains by their number or letter.
If you order a regular coffee here, you’re ordering milk and
sugar. Should you want to pass for a Jersey visitor, pro-
nounce it cawfee. And that odd foreign phrase on the signs
posted on Brooklyn’s borders? Fugheddaboudit.

How to get around underground... New York’s subway

is a modern miracle and as authentic a New York experi-
ence as you’ll find. Even though the system is over a cen-
tury old, 3.5 million people use it every day. Some 25 lines
ply 238 miles of track—for a map, ask at a token booth or
call the MTA at 718/330-1234. It’s hard to be more than a
10
few blocks away from a train in Manhattan, unless you’re at
a far fringe of the island. The subway never closes, with
trains running all through the night every night (as long as
there isn’t a historic, region-wide blackout). In the very wee
hours the interval between trains is about 20 minutes, but
during rush hours often a train has barely left the station
before another one comes rolling in. The weekday hours
between 8 and 9 in the morning and 5 and 6 in the evening
are the biggest crushes. Even so, during rush hours the
train will be much faster and less frustrating than trying to
ply the city by bus or cab. The subway remains a bargain,
despite a recent controversial fare hike.
In 2003, the subway token was laid to rest, finally dis-
placed by the MetroCard (Tel 212/638-7622). The card is
entirely lacking in the token’s iconic charm, but it does
come with an advantage: discounts. If you spend more than
$10 on a Pay-Per-Ride card, you’ll get a 20% discount.
There are also unlimited options if you intend to log a lot of
trips on the Steel Cadillac. A daily Fun Pass will give you all
you can ride for $7 (good until 3am the next day). For $24
you can get a 7-Day card, which provides a full week’s
worth of trips. You can see your subway dollar at work in the
maintenance and upgrades taking place throughout the sys-
tem. There are frequent changes and cancellations, though
they’re mostly limited to late nights and weekends. Check
the MTA website at www.mta.nyc.ny.us to get the latest
rundown. Another change has been the introduction of new
trains. If you ride the 2, 6, or L line, you’ll be treated to the
subway cars of the future: clean, well-lit places with digital
displays and audible announcers.
After the London underground bombings, the city
instituted a campaign of randomly searching backpacks
and packages. This procedure will probably come in and
out as the city’s anxiety ebbs and flows. For now, it’s rela-
tively uninvasive and the trains feel safe. On a smaller scale,
there’s less petty crime than there has been for decades, but
there’s no reason not to be cautious. Late at night ride in
the center cars, which will be more populated. For fun, you
can practice your “subway face,” an expression mastered by
every New Yorker. Just look like you’ve killed before,
recently, and that there’s nothing you’d like better than for
someone to give you an excuse to kill again. In the very wee
hours, if you’re traveling to a remote stop, you might feel
 11
more comfortable springing for a cab. Otherwise, make
sure you get at least a few trips in underground.

How to drive around town... If you find yourself behind

the wheel of a car, get out, get out! Are you nuts? Traffic is
jammed up everywhere, and between the cabs and the
trucks you’ll be lucky if you’re not crushed. That said, I
would rather drive in Manhattan than in downtown
Boston or D.C. At least in New York the rules are followed
fairly consistently: Ignore those white “lane suggestion”
lines, drive as fast as you can between clumps of traffic, and
yield to pedestrians once they get within an inch or two of
your bumper. Note also that there is no right turn on red
anywhere in the city. Parking in lots will cost you a king’s
ransom, but with the city budget needing all the help it can
get, the fine for a minor parking violation is over $100. It’s
not worth finding out the hard way just how efficiently
those parking rules are enforced.

How to do lunch at an expensive restaurant and

still have enough left over for dinner... A couple
of times a year New York celebrates Restaurant Week
(generally during the lulls, Feb and July–Aug) with great
bargains at many of the city’s top restaurants. Lunches at
high-end eateries cost around $20 and dinners around $35,
and it’s only good on the weekdays. For information,
contact the New York Visitors and Convention Bureau
(Tel 212/484–1222; www.nycvisit.com).

How to flag a taxi... The white lights on the roofs of yel-

low cabs indicate which ones are free; the yellow “Off
Duty” light means the driver is on his way home—though
he may still stop and ask whether your destination lies
along his route. It’s bad form to plant yourself in front of
someone else signaling for a taxi in order to get the next
one first. That doesn’t mean you won’t see New Yorkers
doing it. Be aware that it can be hard to find cabs between
4 and 6pm, when drivers are changing shifts, and the com-
petition can be fierce late at night when the bars are letting
out. A pounding rainfall always makes it doubly hard to
catch a cab. Many outer-borough residents hedge their bets
by calling on private car services (called “black cars” as
opposed to “yellow cabs”) when they’re in less-trafficked
12
areas. Two of the biggest are Allstate (Tel 212/333-3333)
and Carmel (Tel 212/666-6666). They can be useful in
Manhattan as well, especially if you’re making a trip to the
airport. After hours near bars in Brooklyn, black cars often
wait around in search of fares. Unlike yellow cabs, black
cars will sometimes negotiate with you. Compare a couple
of prices before jumping in.

Where to smoke... What would northeastern America be

without a lingering Puritanical streak? We lost public
drinking with Guiliani, and now Mayor Bloomberg has
ushered in New York’s smoke-free era. Basically there is no
more indoor public smoking here outside of private homes
(as the local graffiti reads, “Welcome to New York, surren-
der your freedoms at the bridge or tunnel.”). Also, be
warned, there’s a new cigarette tax. Expect to pay at least $7
for a pack now.

Where to find the facilities... Those old tourist stand-

bys, fast-food restaurants, are no guarantee of relief in New
York. Many of the ones in heavy-traffic areas don’t even
have bathrooms for customers. Pretty much any major
public place will have a restroom—Penn Station, Port
Authority, Grand Central, Kmart—and in recent years the
city has done a better job of keeping facilities safe and rela-
tively clean. All but the tiniest parks have restrooms, too.
There’s an excellent public restroom in Bryant Park, on
42nd Street between Fifth and Sixth avenues, which even
has attendants, and a good one on the ground floor of the
New York Public Library next door. Hotel lobbies are
good candidates, with the bathrooms usually clearly
marked. At night it’s also easy to slip in and out of the bars.
ACCOMM
O D AT I O N S

1
 16

Basic Stuff
ACCOMMODATIONS

Your spirit of adventure may be urging you to come to New

York, wander through the streets with your luggage in tow, and
decide where to stay when someplace calls to you. If so, your
spirit of adventure doesn’t quite grasp the situation. New York
has more than 64,000 hotel rooms—enough to house the entire
population of Laredo, Texas—with more coming into service
every week, and still the joint is bulging at the seams. On ordi-
nary days the occupancy rate pushes 90%, and at peak times,
Fashion Week in September and the Thanksgiving to Christ-
mas madness, it is probably more like 105%. So unless you want
to spend your vacation in a motel off the New Jersey turnpike,
do your homework before you come: Research the city and
lodge in a neighborhood that suits your frame of mind—in your
price range, if possible. Which isn’t as tricky as it sounds. Right
around the corner from New York’s luxury monoliths, you’ll
find some perfectly charming and less expensive “boutique”
hotels, where you’re closer to the city’s fascinating street life, and
yet often enjoy nicer furnishings and more attentive service.
( Just as many a full-time New Yorker enjoys a perfectly charm-
ing walk-up existence in the shadow of a co-op monolith.)
Those who decide to stay in a midpriced or luxury hotel should
bear in mind that a hotel concierge can become more valuable
in New York than your best friend. These miracle workers sit
patiently behind their desks in the hotel lobby, ever eager to
locate last-minute theater tickets or recommend a little French
restaurant that’s perfect for popping the question (whatever that
question may be). They say New York is the city that never
sleeps affordably, but you can save a little money by timing your
visit right. Early February and late August are two dead zones
where tourism is light, occupancy is low, and hotels are slashing
rates just to get a few customers into the house.

Winning the Reser vations Game

The standard recommendation in New York is to make reserva-
tions a month ahead—even longer if you plan to be here
between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Don’t accept the first
room price offered, especially from the higher-priced hotels.
There are nearly always discount packages to be had, from
“summer holidays” to “Christmas getaways” to “romantic week-
ends.” The New York Convention and Visitors Bureau, 810
Seventh Ave. (Tel 800/NYC-VISIT; www.nycvisit.com), has
more information on these packages. At some hotels, children
 17
under 12 stay free with their parents. Be sure to ask for corpo-

ACCOMMODATIONS
rate rates, even if you aren’t part of a corporation. Desk clerks
rarely check your credentials—they just want to fill the room. If
you’re stuck, the Hotel Hotline (Tel 800/846-7666; fax 800/
511-5317) is usually able to track down a room. As a very last
resort, start calling hotels just after 6pm on the day you need the
room. Most places cancel nonguaranteed reservations—what the
industry calls “timers”—at 6pm, so something just may turn up.
Hotel tax in Manhattan is a stiff 13.25%, plus $2 per room per
night. Taxes are not included in the price listings below.

Is There a Right Address?

There is a New York neighborhood for every personal philoso-
phy and lifestyle, making “right” addresses a somewhat subjec-
tive description. Historically, the rich moved north as the city
grew, settling on the Upper East and Upper West sides. The
two neighborhoods are separated by Central Park and retain
distinct identities. The white-gloved East Sixties, Seventies,
and Eighties have the city’s most elegant and snooty shops,
town houses, and hotels. The Establishment upper crust can be
found here—zip code 10021 gives politicians more money than
any other zip code in the country. Come summer, the area is a
ghost town as the wealthy flee the heat for the Hamptons or
Europe, making the East Side feel even more sterile than usual.
The Upper West Side has a funkier (relatively) and more fam-
ily-oriented scene. A neighborhood of century-old town houses
and rambling vintage apartment buildings is bounded on the
north by Columbia University, to the south by Lincoln Center,
and Central Park and Riverside Park to the east and west,
respectively. This area’s museums, theaters, affordable restau-
rants and hotels, and boutique shopping make it a pleasant
home base for a visit. Midtown, running from Central Park
South to the Thirties, is Manhattan’s central business district
and the chief hotel zone, convenient for tony Fifth Avenue
shopping, the theater district, and expense-account restaurants
galore. The best and costliest hotels are on Central Park South.
The city’s trendier destinations cluster downtown. Head south
on Fifth Avenue and you’ll bump into the triangular Flatiron
Building at 23rd Street. The Flatiron District, has high-profile
bars and restaurants to go with its lovely cast-iron architecture.
There are few hotels around the Flatiron, but you can enjoy the
pulse of this happening area by staying in peaceful Gramercy
Park, a few blocks to the east, or Chelsea to the west, gentri-
fied by an ambitious gay community. A little farther south you’ll
 18
hit the East and West Villages, as distinct from one another as
ACCOMMODATIONS

their alternative-universe uptown counterparts. The West Vil-

lage’s 19th-century row houses were the backdrop for genera-
tions of bohemians. Tree-lined and quaint, the area is built on a
human scale, meaning few buildings large enough to support
major hotels. The same holds true for much of downtown
(NoLita, SoHo, and the East Village), although short distances
here mean easy commutes from one nabe to the next. The
southern tip of Manhattan—occupied by the South Street Sea-
port area to the east, the loft spaces of TriBeCa to the north-
west, Battery Park City to the west, and Wall Street at the very
bottom—specializes in hotels catering to corporate clients
(which means weekend rates can be bargains, though the neigh-
borhoods will be nearly deserted).

The Lowdown
What’s new... Hotel to condo conversions have recently cost
Manhattan a few old classics (the Empire, the Mayflower,
and part of the Plaza, to name just three), but equilibrium
restores itself quickly here. A spate of new lodgings is
headed up by the Hotel Gansevoort, whose 14 stories cul-
minate in a heated pool and rooftop bar. Top-40 music fills
the double-height lobby, with its busy light show and
columns wrapped in eel skin. The rooms are more sedate,
sleek but not daring. Gray and black tones set off the glam-
our of city lights and Hudson views. The Lower East Side’s
answer to the Gansevoort is The Hotel on Rivington
(T.H.O.R.). Twenty-one glass stories show nothing but
contempt for the surrounding small-scale brick tenements,
but T.H.O.R. guests will love the endless views. Minimal-
ist room interiors have design ambition, but unfortunately
the fit and finish here would embarrass a Yugo factory
hand. On a smaller scale comes the SoLita, a boutique
hotel on a centrally located Chinatown block (the South-
ern Little Italy sobriquet is a little misleading). Flatscreen
TVs are a nice amenity, but also practically a necessity
given the small size of the rooms. The Maritime Hotel in
Chelsea doesn’t occupy a brand-new building—its 1968
structure is the former headquarters of the National Mar-
itime Union. The retro exterior gives few indications of the
modern touches inside, which include complimentary Wi-
Fi and in-room DVD players. The place feels like a docked
 19
cruise ship, with teak paneling, porthole windows, and a

ACCOMMODATIONS
festive air. Hotel 57 also breathes new life into an old struc-
ture. The building housing former econo standby Habitat
Hotel dates from 1916, but in Hotel 57’s 2005 incarnation
everything is state of the art. The 340-count Egyptian cot-
ton bed linens help to bring standards up to the level of the
hotel’s posh 57th Street neighbors.

Places to misbehave... Just off Times Square, the Para-

mount, with its Whiskey Bar, whimsical acid-colored
Philipe Starck furniture, and weirdly furnished (also tiny)
rooms, is the place to meet kindred souls if you work in
advertising and are under 35. Media and showbiz types
prefer the Royalton’s Club 44, where you might catch a
glimpse of Tina Brown before retreating to your higher-
budget Starck bed upstairs. If your hypercool all-black out-
fit is by Yamamoto or Armani, you’ll fit right in at the
Mercer, with its SoHo location and a celeb-heavy cast of
regulars. The mockably hip and fashionable crowd can also
be found at the TriBeCa Grand, where you may well
bump into your favorite pop star on the verge of a nervous
breakdown. All pretensions aside, though, the smallish
guest rooms here afford more luxury than most rooms
twice their size.

For culture vultures... NYC scatters culture everywhere,

so it’s hard to completely miss with hotel locations. Those
seeking Downtown’s BoHo traces might try the dreary-
but-cheap Washington Square Hotel. Midweek packages
often include a night out at a nearby jazz lair. The Incen-
tra Village House, a small, antiques-filled inn, retains a
turn-of-the-20th-century Village bohemian aura. You can
cozy up in the hotel’s small parlor and chat with the owner.
The SoHo Grand sets you down right at the epicenter of
SoHo’s galleries, clubs, restaurants, and boutiques. Come
evening, the bar, lobby lounge, and four-star restaurant fill
up with a young, hipper-than-thou crowd. The Mercer is
smaller and more laid back, but even more at the epicenter
of the SoHo scene. Off Soho Suites, a clean, bright, and
inexpensive all-suite hotel in an unlikely Lower East Side
neighborhood, is close to downtown plays, poetry readings,
and galleries; many European and Australian travelers stay
here, along with downtown musicians and those who
write about them. Uptown, the Hotel Wales, a renovated
 20
ACCOMMODATIONS

DEAL BREAKERS
Breaks on Manhattan hotel prices are urgently needed; fortunately, they’re
increasingly available. The clean, reasonably comfortable, no-frills Malibu
Studios Hotel on the Upper West Side—farther up Broadway than some
may want to go, in a rapidly gentrifying part of town—caters to young
Europeans and students with limited budgets. The faded but surprisingly
comfortable Excelsior offers reasonable rooms near Central Park for older
fans of the Upper West Side. The Ameritania provides theater-district rooms
with marble bathrooms, a fitness room, and a waterfall in the lobby for
around $125 per night. Near the Empire State Building, you’ll find it hard
to believe that the comfortably old-fashioned Avalon is actually one of Man-
hattan’s newer hotels—as well as one of its more reasonably priced. The
Larchmont, in the center of Greenwich Village, is quiet, charming, and
cheap. Off Soho Suites answers downtowners’ needs for low prices, though if
you really want to cut costs you’ll have to get a suite with a shared bathroom.
Another inexpensive option is to book through Gamut Realty, an agency
that specializes in short-term rentals. Apartments start at $125 per night,
with a 3-night minimum.

Victorian with banners flying, offers a sweet, intimate

alternative to the larger and more expensive hotels near
Museum Mile. If the Theater District draws you, check out
the smart, pretty Mansfield on 44th Street. The location is
stellar and the interior is warm, with a romantic lounge off
the lobby and ebony-stained floors upstairs in the rooms.
Musicians flock to the Buckingham Hotel, a 1929 boutique
hotel convenient to Carnegie Hall, music stores, and the leg-
endary Steinway showroom. If the Buckingham’s rich cul-
tural history doesn’t grab you, maybe the large suites will.

Art attack... New York breeds rugged individualists of all types;

among those who get off on sharing their life view with the
world is James Knowles, the artist-owner of the Roger
Smith, a lighthearted Midtown hotel decorated on the out-
side with a delightful, cartoonlike mural (inside it’s jam-
packed with an assortment of high-quality paintings and
sculptures). The Gershwin’s artist of choice is Andy Warhol,
whose Campbell’s soup cans adorn the lobby. Upstairs, in
addition to cozy rooms, you’ll find actual artists taking
advantage of the hotel’s philanthropic artist-in-residence
program. The Hotel Chelsea drips with artists’ history
(parts of Naked Lunch, 2001, and You Can’t Go Home Again
were written here; it’s also where Bob Dylan stayed up for
days writing “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”). The scene
is still a little seedy, although the spacious rooms are
 21
renovated and plenty com-

ACCOMMODATIONS
New York’s Celluloid
fortable. The Carlton Alter-Ego
Arms, to the east, takes up Over 250 feature films are
where the Chelsea leaves shot on the streets of New
off, letting young artists stay York in a typical year, meaning
acres of celluloid available for
for free if they transform previsit study. The classics
their rooms into art installa- are: Miracle on 34th Street
tions. No two rooms here (1947) for sweetness and
are even remotely alike. light at Christmastime; Break-
fast at Tiffany’s (1961) for
bittersweetness a la Truman
So very literary... The Algo- Capote and Audrey Hepburn
nquin dates from 1902, in Givenchy gowns; The Sweet
though its fame derives from Smell of Success (1957)
the Round Table’s residency with Tony Curtis and Burt Lan-
here in the 1920s. A 2004 caster as two rats chasing
celebrity and power. Woody
renovation hasn’t dissipated Allen’s Annie Hall (1977)
the cozy, classic feeling of gives a hilarious glimpse of
the place Dorothy Parker seventies neurotic-intellectual
and Robert Benchley made New York, while his Manhat-
famous. Editors of Vanity tan (1979) shows off Woody’s
love for the city in glorious liv-
Fair and Vogue settle into the ing black and white. Cher’s
sleek postmodern bar of the romantic Moonstruck (1987)
Royalton across the street, tells the story of a nice Brook-
where they can gossip all lyn Italian girl who wants
something more from life than
night while New Yorker edi- pasta. Midnight Cowboy
tors try to listen in. The (1969), perverse, sad, and
Lowell actually equips its lovable, features Dustin Hoff-
suites’ bookshelves with man and Jon Voight as two
interesting volumes and New York losers. Auteur Martin
Scorsese grew up around
claims a number of authors Mulberry and Mott streets in
among its loyal clientele— Little Italy. Taxi Driver (1976)
though you’d have to be a and The Age of Innocence
Clancy, Collins, or King (1993) show two divergent
to afford this joint. And the sides of the city’s history.
Among his many New
Hotel Chelsea has a raffish York–themed films, I espe-
literary past, numbering cially like a dated comedy,
writers such as Dylan After Hours (1985), which
Thomas, Brendan Behan, portrays a departed ’80s
and Tennessee Williams SoHo, before the chain stores
drove the artists out. A styl-
among its former guests. ized New York weirdness
oozes through every pore.
Luscious love nests...
The Michelangelo’s spa-
cious rooms, king-size beds, and marble-clad Italian charm
lend themselves to a perfect weekend getaway. The
 22
Lowell, although prim-looking on the outside, coyly reveals
ACCOMMODATIONS

fireplace-and-terrace suites designed to rekindle the coldest

flame. If you and your lover share the same gender, try the
gay-friendly Incentra Village House, a double town house
in the West Village filled with antiques, or the gay-fre-
quented Chelsea Pines Inn, a bed-and-breakfast where
each room is dedicated to a faded movie star, and breakfast
in the garden makes for a romantic morning-after.

For stargazing... Celebrity hounds must absolutely stop

by the Royalton, not only to scope out the talent, but also
to try to find the stalls in the overdesigned restrooms
downstairs. The Inn at
Irving Place, just south
Such Indexision of Gramercy Park, is so uncom-
For more in-depth commen- mercial it doesn’t even have a
tary on each hotel, check out
the Index at the back of the sign; this luxuriously restored
chapter. Along with our incred- Victorian brownstone special-
ibly incisive hotel reviews (not izes in quiet rooms for fashion
that we’re biased or anything), models and celebrities who
you’ll find all the information value their privacy. Morgans is
necessary to make your
reservations. where celebrities go when they
don’t want to be seen, but keep
your eyes open as you pass
through the small lobby and you might catch one slipping
out the anonymous side entrance. The bar at the Mark is
another good fishing spot, as is the postmodern breakfast
room off the lobby of the East Side’s Franklin.

Broadway bound... The Millennium Broadway’s 33

soundproof executive boardrooms and its sleek, black tower
may be a corporate wet dream to some, but at 44th Street
off Broadway, it’s a sexy place for a theater-and-dinner
weekend as well. The lobby’s leather lounge chairs and
black marble floors give way to cream-colored upstairs
rooms whose glass walls offer killer city views. The more
relaxed, Italian-owned Michelangelo, five blocks up
Broadway, offers a choice of room design: Empire, Art
Deco, or French Provincial. Ameritania, a former SRO
hotel nicely renovated by gentrification genius Hank
“Location, Location, Location” Freid, sits next door to the
Ed Sullivan Theater (home of The Late Show with David
Letterman): It offers decent rooms with marble bathrooms
 23
and the very same views for some $200 less than the

ACCOMMODATIONS
Michelangelo. Bottom-rung among the Broadway hotels is
the 1,300-room Milford Plaza, which has much the same
ambience as an airport terminal (which perhaps accounts
for its popularity with flight attendants). Lines to the front
desk form behind a velvet rope, and it’s often necessary to
wait 20 minutes just to pick up your room key, but at least
there’s almost always an available room.

Money talks... The Pierre’s romantically frescoed down-

stairs rooms teem with European film directors, as well as
American heiresses; even Hollywood types turn up fre-
quently, now that Barneys has set up shop next door.
Miraculously, the staff is alert and deferential, no matter
who you are—unlike the help at the Plaza-Athénée,
where you get the feeling you should show proof of a high
income before walking through the door. The Regency
continues to shelter movers and shakers. A luxurious reno-
vation has left rooms finished in silk, velvet, mahogany, and
leather. The Waldorf=Astoria presides over Park Avenue,
its Art Deco lobbies returned to their past splendor. You
can dine and dance in the grand ballroom as if World War
II never happened; if there’s no event in the ballroom, just
while away some time in the glorious main lobby, near the
famed bronze and mahogany clock. Formerly owned by the
infamous Leona Helmsley, the New York Palace is a mod-
ern black tower jammed behind the 100-year-old Villard
House. The Palace lies in the shadow of St. Patrick’s, and
its ornate public rooms make the cathedral look like a lit-
tle country church. (If only they’d put some of that effort
into the guest rooms.) Visitors who’ve made their money in
Hollywood would feel most at home at the Mark, a sleek
East Sider where producers strike deals just crossing the
lobby to the bar.

It’s a small world... Some 140 languages are spoken in

New York, so it’s no surprise that there’s an international
scene when it comes to accommodations. The Holiday Inn
Downtown is not the 2.4 kids and golden retriever scene
you might imagine: In the heart of Chinatown, with a Chi-
nese clientele, this place will have you feeling like you’re on
the other side of the globe. The Fitzpatrick Manhattan
Hotel, on Lexington Avenue in the East Fifties, is owned
by an Irish company, which is obvious because everything
 24
in it is green. Irish lilts pour forth from the desk clerks’
ACCOMMODATIONS

mouths, and Fitzer’s, the hotel’s Irish bar, is extremely popu-

lar among (largely Irish) guests and locals. The best time to
stay at the Super 8 Hotel Times Square is during the
Brazilian Street Festival in September, when this Midtown
neighborhood comes alive with samba rhythms and Brazil-
ian dancers. The hotel itself is nothing special, but if you like
Brazilian food (and Brazilian tourists), this is the place to be.
To get all the international flavors at once, check out the
Millennium U.N. Plaza. Diplomats are often checked in,
cosseted by a friendly, multilingual staff. The dramatic views
(all but guaranteed, as the floors begin at the 28th) will make
you feel like you’re taking in the whole world.

Location, location, location... Best Western Seaport

Inn, a fully restored, 19th-century, pink-brick building
between the Brooklyn Bridge and South Street Seaport,
provides an excellent departure point for walks around Old
New York. The rooms are motel-like, but somehow man-
age to deliver a bit of colonial sea-captain’s ambience. The
rooms at the Washington Square Hotel are disappoint-
ingly motel modern, too, but their mid–Greenwich Village
location makes possible walks around NYU, Little Italy,
SoHo, and the East and West Villages. The Larchmont
Hotel provides a quieter and more intimate Village experi-
ence. If you want to be close to the 57th Street galleries and
Madison Avenue shops without dropping a fortune, the
new Hotel 57 may be your ticket. If you prefer to stroll the
rarified precincts of Sutton Place and the East Side, the
recently built Bentley may suit you.

Drop-dead decor... The Four Seasons, for its sycamore-pan-

eled dressing rooms and a columned Grand Foyer with a
33-foot onyx ceiling, conceived by architect I. M. Pei; the
Lowell, for its perfect mix of French antiques and modern
accents; the Pierre, for its frescoed Rotunda and mahogany-
furnished rooms; and the Peninsula, for the grand staircase
rising to the cream and black Adrienne restaurant.

For shopoholics... With its center-of-the-SoHo-mall loca-

tion, the SoHo Grand is the best bet if you want to hit the
area boutiques, or if you happen to be in the market for
overpriced street art. While you’re recuperating enjoy great
 25
views: Rooms on the north side face Midtown, dominated

ACCOMMODATIONS
by the Empire State and Chrysler buildings, while those on
the south offer up the cluster of Wall Street skyscrapers.
Fifty-seventh Street is one of the most famous retail
strips in the world. For easy access (close to Diesel and
Bloomie’s, too), check out Hotel 57, with small rooms and
commensurately reasonable rates. The Italian-operated
Jolly Madison Towers is popular among shoppers for its
East Side location, efficient service, predictable (if stan-
dard-issue) furnishings, and affordability.

For the body beautiful... The Peninsula wins hands-

down, with its 35,000-square-foot health club, glass-
enclosed rooftop gym, 42-foot pool with a view of all
Midtown, beauty salon, body and skin care, massage and
facial service, sauna, and, finally, a sun deck. The Millen-
nium U.N. Plaza isn’t bad, with its 27th-floor health club,
indoor pool, tennis courts, sauna, and exercise room. The
Lowell can provide you with a sumptuous “Gym Suite,”
which consists of your own private windowed-and-mir-
rored gym, in addition to a large fireplace, full kitchen, and
outdoor terrace for dining. (The gym is rumored to have
been installed at Madonna’s request, and is priced accord-
ingly.) Closer to Earth workouts are available at the West
Side and Vanderbilt YMCAs: one near Lincoln Center,
the other close to Grand Central, both offering cheap if
spartan rooms, most without private bathrooms, with full
use of the gym, pool, and other Y facilities.

Suite deals... Especially popular with relocating corporate

execs and families, suites are also taking hold among short-
term visitors. The Surrey on the Upper East Side is a little
frilly, but with such spacious rooms the lavishness doesn’t
make a guest claustrophobic. Kitchens augment decadent
room service options: Food is provided by Café Boulud
downstairs. Off Soho Suites, on a gentrifying block just
east of the Bowery, will give you a rough idea of how the
neighboring residents live. These small suites feel much
like the converted tenement spaces that they are. The
French doors and elaborate marble bathrooms of RIHGA
Royal’s 600-square-foot suites should have most visitors
feeling like kings, or at least like CEOs.
 26
Taking care of business... The Millennium Broadway’s
ACCOMMODATIONS

four-story Conference Center, state-of-the-art audiovisual

facilities, and its own Broadway theater available for cor-
porate presentations, make for an ideal venue for any kind
of business activity. The staff is accustomed to serving busi-
ness needs, and rooms feature dual-line telephones and
interactive communication systems, for max gabbing
ability. The Swissôtel New York—The Drake caters to
no-nonsense types who want their suits back from the
cleaners when promised; expect spruced, good-size rooms
in a prime Midtown location. Go up the price scale and
enjoy the hierarchical joys of the Japanese-owned RIHGA
Royal. “Royal suites” have minimal luxury appointments;
“imperial suites” are higher up, with city views; and “pinna-
cle suites” at the top offer chauffeured rides to and from the
airport, personalized business cards, and private phone and
fax numbers. Really, it’s the only way to travel.

Family values... The slightly shabby Excelsior, situated

across the street from the American Museum of Natural
History (and the Rose Center for Earth and Space) and
half a block from the playgrounds of Central Park, is per-
fect for little ones who love dinosaurs. In the morning, take
the kids to the coffee shop off the lobby for eggs. The
upscale suites at the Surrey on the Upper East Side pro-
vide enough space for kids and enough comfort for parents,
as well as kitchens for making peanut-butter-and-jelly
sandwiches when you can’t face another restaurant.

Money’s too tight to mention... With clean rooms and

a primo Midtown location, Big Apple Hostel is the city’s
best choice for cheap sleeps. Bunk beds sleep four people
per room, and a kitchen, a backyard with barbecue, and air-
conditioning round out the amenities. Hostelling Inter-
national of New York is the largest AYH hostel in the
U.S.; its Upper West Side landmark building takes up half
a city block. The communal atmosphere in the roomy cafe-
teria, sunny library, pool hall, and large rear garden encour-
ages interaction among the guests. Not so long ago, a night
on the Bowery didn’t sound like a very glamorous prospect.
With nearby trendy bars and restaurants popping up like
postrain mushrooms, however, the youth-oriented White-
house Hotel of New York is now right at party central.
 27
Spaces are tiny and bathrooms are shared at this re-imag-

ACCOMMODATIONS
ined flophouse, but you can’t get much cheaper and still
have a roof over your head. The West Side and Vanderbilt
YMCAs are also possibilities, with private rooms, though
there’s still communal life in the bathrooms.

Ringing in the new year... The stylish Royalton, near,

but not in the center, of Times Square, is a great place to
observe the crowds gathered to watch the ball fall; the
comfortably priced Ameritania will put you at the hub of
the action, right on Broadway’s Great White Way. With
the Christmas shopping season and its attendant crowds
gone, many hotels offer New Year’s specials. Ask around.

Tr y these when there’s no room... If you’re desperate,

try the Days Hotel Midtown on Eighth Avenue. The
rooms were recently renovated, though the location is
pretty dreary. Super 8 Hotel Times Square on West 46th
Street can usually offer Broadway theater-goers a last-
minute room at a good price. The Milford Plaza, also in
the theater district, is so enormous there’s got to be space
for you. Rooms are motel-like, but at least they have
remote-control TV, in-room movies, individually con-
trolled heat, and air-conditioning.
 28
Map 2: Manhattan Accommodations Orientation
ACCOMMODATIONS

0 1/2 mi
HARLEM & EAST HARLEM
WASHINGTON (EL BARRIO) 0 0.5 km
HEIGHTS
Riverside Park

i Information N
UPPER UPPER
West End Ave.

YORKVILLE

Central
WEST EAST
SIDE SIDE
American 86th St.
Museum of Metropolitan
Natural Museum See Map 5: Uptown
History of Art
79th St. Accommodations,
Park

p. 32.
Broad w

First
Central Park West
Columbus

Lexington Ave.

nd
FDR Drive
72nd St.

Roosevelt Isla
ay

Ave.
Fifth Ave.

Lincoln QUEENS
Center
Ave.

Queensboro
59th St. Rockefeller Bridge
West Side

Center
Eighth Ave.

i MIDTOWN
MIDTOWN EAST
WEST
Hwy.

Grand Central
i Terminal
TIMES Queens-
42nd St. Midtown
Lincoln SQUARE
Port Authority Tunnel
Tunnel MURRAY
Terminal HILL
Eleventh Ave.

See Map 4: Midtown,

Seventh Ave.

34th St. Empire State

Building
Chelsea, the Flatiron
Bro

Penn District & Gramercy

Station
adw

GRAMERCY Park Accommodations,

p. 30.
ay

PARK
23rd St.
CHELSEA FLATIRON
DISTRICT Union BROOKLYN
Square
MEAT- 14th St. 14th St.
PACKING
DISTRICT
The B

WEST Washington EAST

VILLAGE
East

VILLAGE Square Park

F DR
ower

NOHO
Dri ve

sburg
y

William
Hud

Houston St. THE LOWER

EAST SIDE t. Bridge
son

SOHO NOLITA y S
Delance
St.

River

St.
LITTLE Grand
ay
Broadw ay

l Cana
unne l St. ITALY st adw
nd T a
We

E ro
Holla TRIBECA B Manhattan
st S

CHINATOWN
Bridge
t.

w
Chambers St. Ro Brooklyn
Hu

Bridge
k
Par
dso

World Trade
Battery Center Site
n R

Park FINANCIAL
City BROOKLYN
DISTRICT
iv

South Street
er

Seaport
Brooklyn- Battery
Battery Park See Map 3:
Tunnel Downtown
Accommodations,
p. 29.
 29
Map 3: Downtown Accommodations

ACCOMMODATIONS
W. 15th St. E. 15th S Union
1 S S S W. 14th St. E. 14th St Square S Subway stop
W. 13th St.

First Ave.
E. 13th St

Fou
2 t.
.

Bro
oS St.
Ave

th
ati W. 12th St.

r th
t. r

Third Ave.
adw
Ho St .

Fifth Ave
ort S 3 th Gr 4

Ave
o e 12

University Pl.
v Jan ee W. 11th St.
nse

ay
nw E. 11th St.
Ga
th

.
W

ich W. 10th St.

Sixth Ave.
W. E. 10th St.
Eigh

av

Av nt
vesa
er
W

e. Stuy
ly

W. 9th St. E. 9th St. E. 9th St.

.4

Pl.
th

Bl S
e W. 8th St. E. 8th St. St. Mark’s Pl.
St

nk t. eck 5 S
.

B a S e W averly Pl.
rS E. 7th St.
1 th t. Waverly Pl.
.1 Washington E. 6th St.
S

Bowe
W WEST Square Park Washington
rry Pl. E. 5th St.
Co nes
e

Pe es VILLAGE S W. 4th St.

ov

ry

Second Ave.
eli

rl
Jo
Gr

a W. E. 4th St.
rn

. 3rd St.
Ch St Commerce
Seventh Av

h Be
0t her df E. 3rd St.
MacDougal

.1
La Guardia
or
Thompson

p
Sullivan

W isto d Bond 6
ing ne

h r w Bleecker E. 2nd St.

wn m i

C Barro
Hud

S
Do Car

n E. 1st St.
e. S.

rto NOHO
Mo
so n

on
y S E. Houst
Lero W. Houston S

Eldridge
Allen
A
kson S

Forsyth
Sixth A

Clar 7 NOLITA

Bowe
on
oust Prince
Varic

W. H King SOHO S Prince

Gre

ve.

ry
on Mulberry
Wa

rlt Rivington
k St

Cha
Wooster

Mott
West Broadway

Greene
enw

S 8
shin

da m Spring 9
.

g S
Van Sprin
ich S
gto

Delancey
Mercer

inick
Crosby

S
Dom Kenmare
Broadway
n
t.

Allen
Broome LOWER
u nnel Broo
me
nd T EAST SIDE
Lafayette

Holla Canal
LITTLE
Grand S Grand
s S 11
Watt s 10 ITALY
rosse
Chrystie
Elizabeth

S Howard
Desb
Baxter

Can
Hud

al Hester
Six

e st ry 12
V Lispenard S
th

ht
Av

Laig Walker S Canal Ma

Cortlandt
son R

TRIBECA S y
n
e.

13 wa
Mott

Bri hatt
Mulberry

ert
Wes

Bowery

Hub ad
Centre

h White
Beac dg an Bro
e
t St.

UPPER oore Bayard

Franklin
iver

N. M lin S st
MANHATTAN
k Leonard is ion Ea
Fran Div
West Broadway
Hud

Worth CHINATOWN
on nry
s

Harris
on

Central
Jay Thomas He
Park on
d i s
UPTOWN Duane
Ma
Pl.

Duane
w

Reade
Ro

Reade
St. James

Chambers
Gre

S
k

Chambers
r

S S
Pa
enw

Warren
MIDTOWN
ich S

Murray City Hall S

Ro
Park ow Wagbert F.
t

Park Pl.
.

R Sp Fran Broo ner P

rk ruc kfor klyn l.
DOWNTOWN Barclay S Pa Be e t Brid
ekm Dov ge
Area of World Vesey an er
Wa earl

detail Financial Ann

ter
Church

Center World Trade S S 14

nt

S S Be
Fro

Center site Fu ekm

Best Western Seaport Inn 14 John
lto
n an
Cortland
ct
ff

Chelsea Pines Inn 1 t

du
Cli

Liberty Ma Pier
ide Platt
Sou Ave.

Broadway

Via
Trinity Pl.
Green

Holiday Inn Downtown 12

BATTERY n Jo 17
Nassau

Cedar Fletc hn
th E

Libert
eet
William

Hotel Gansevoort 2 PARK Albany Ceda y

h
Maid er
Str
nd

wich

r en Pier
Incentra Village House 3 CITY
Sou th

Carlisle Pine
th
Fron r

16
t
Sou
te

S S
Larchmont Hotel 4 Rector Pl. S W
Wa

Rector S all St.

Mercer 7 Exchange Pl.
Bowling

W. Thames
Green

S FINANCIAL
New

Off Soho Suites 9 J.P. Ward

Battery Pl.

SoHo Grand 11 Morris er

DISTRICT
v
2nd Pl.
S
Bea S. William
SoLita 10
arl

1st Pl. ne
Pe

The Hotel on Rivington 8 Sto

Bridge
Br

TriBeCa Grand 13 0 1/4 mi

ry Pl.
W

oa

South Batte
hit

Washington Square Hotel 5 Gardens

eh

N
St

Battery
at

all

Whitehouse Hotel 6 Park S 0 0.25 km

e
 30
Map 4: Midtown, Chelsea, the Flatiron District &
ACCOMMODATIONS

Gramercy Park Accommodations

Center 64th St.

Central Park
Amsterdam Ave.

Columbus Ave.
Algonquin 20 UPPER

West End Ave.

CENTRAL

West
Ameritania 8 WEST

W
es
Avalon 26 SIDE tD
riv e
W. 60th St.
Big Apple Hostel 18 W. 59th St. S Central Park South
Buckingham Hotel 1 Columbus
W. 58th St. Circle
Carlton Arms 28

Seventh Ave.
Broa
W. 57th St.

Eighth Ave.
Days Hotel Midtown 12

dway
Ninth Ave.
W. 56th St.
Fitzpatrick Manhattan

Tenth Ave.
W. 55th St.
Hotel 4 W. 54th St.
DeWitt 8 7
Four Seasons 2 Clinton W. 53rd St.
S
The Gershwin 27 Park W. 52nd St.

The Hotel Chelsea 29 W. 51st St.

9
Hotel 57 3 W. 50th St. S S

Inn at Irving Place 31 W. 49th St. THEATER S

DISTRICT 12
Jolly Madison Towers W. 48th St.
Eleventh Ave.
Twelfth Ave.

Hotel 24 W. 47th St.

Broa
W. 46th St. Restaurant Row 13
Mansfield Hotel 23

d
wa y
W. 45th St.
The Maritime Hotel 30
Eighth Ave.
MIDTOWN 19
W. 44th St.
Michelangelo 9
WEST
Ninth Ave.

W. 43rd St. TIMES

Milford Plaza 19 SQUARE
Tenth Ave.

W. 42nd St. S S
Millennium Broadway 21
W. 41st St. Port
Millennium U.N. Plaza 15 Seventh Ave.
Authority
Morgans Hotel 25 Lincoln Tunnel W. 40th St.
W. 39th St.
New York Palace 10
W. 38th St.
Paramount Hotel 13 Javits W. 37th St.
The Peninsula Hotel 6 Convention
W. 36th St. GARMENT
Center
RIHGA Royal Hotel 7 W. 35th St. DISTRICT
Roger Smith 16 W. 34th St. S
Royalton 22 W. 33rd St.
Penn Station/ W 32nd
Super 8 Hotel Times W 32nd St.
Madison Square St.
W. 31st St. Garden
Square 17 Tunnel
Entrance W. 30th St.
The Swissôtel New York-
W. 29th St.
The Drake 5 W. 28th St.
S
Vanderbilt YMCA 14 Chelsea Park
Eleventh Ave.

W. 27th St.
Waldorf-Astoria 11
Tenth Ave.
Hwy.

W. 26th St.
Side

W. 25th St.
West

W. 24th St.
W. 23rd St. S S
29
W. 22nd St.
Seventh Ave.

W. 21st St.
CHELSEA
Ch

W. 20th St.
el

Eighth Ave.
se

W. 19th St.
Ninth Ave.
a

W. 18th St. S
Pi
Hu

er

W. 17th St.
s
ds

30 W. 16th St.
on

MEATPACKING W. 15th St.

Ri

S Subway stop DISTRICT W. 14th St. S S

ve
r

W. 13th St.
 31

ACCOMMODATIONS
York Ave.
Fifth Ave.
Ea

tD
UPPER EAST
Madison Ave.

Lower
Level
s

From
PARK riv E. 62nd St.
SIDE
e

The E. 61st St.

Park Ave.
Pond Roosevelt Island Tram
Grand S E. 60th St.
Army

Third Ave.
Central Park South Plaza

Sutton Pl.
S E. 59th St. Queensboro

FDR Drive
To Upper
Bridge

Level
Ave.
W. 58th St. E. 58th St.
1
S W. 57th St. 2 E. 57th St.
3 4

Sutton Pl. South

W. 56th St. E. 56th St.
Lexington

5
W. 55th St. E. 55th St.
W. 54th St. 6 E. 54th St.

S S S E. 53rd St.
E. 52nd St.
W. 51st St.
MIDTOWN E. 51st St.

Beekman
10 EAST

Place
E. 50th St.
S Rockefeller 11
Center E. 49th St. Mitchell
Place
Park Ave.

E. 48th St
Second Ave.

First Ave.
Madison Ave.

E. 47th St. 14
Fifth Ave.

16
Sixth Ave. (Ave. of the Americas)

17 E. 46th St.
Vanderbilt Ave.

Third Ave.

18 E. 45th St. United

Ave.

East
Grand 15 Nations
21 20 Central E. 44th St.
22 23 Terminal
E. 43rd St.
Lexington

n Tunnel
E. 42nd St. dtow
S S Mi
Bryant New York
Queens-

E. 41st St.
Park Public Library
FDR Drive

River

E. 40th St.
MURRAY E. 39th St.
24 HILL E. 38th St.
25
E 37th St. 
Tunnel Exit 
E 36th St.
 Tunnel
Entrance
E. 35th St.
South

S Empire E. 34th St.

State Bldg. E. 33rd St.
S
Park Ave.

26 E. 32nd St.
UPPER
Bro

E. 31st St. MANHATTAN

adw

Madison Ave.

E. 30th St.
ay

Fifth Ave.

E. 29th St.
Lexington Ave.

Central
Second Ave.

S S E. 28th St. Park

Third Ave.

27
First Ave.

UPTOWN
E. 27th St.
E. 26th St.
Madison 28 E. 25th St. Area of
Ave

MIDTOWN
detail
Levy Pl.

Square
Asser

E. 24th St.
C

Park
S S S E. 23rd St.
DOWNTOWN
E. 22nd St. Peter
Sixth Ave. (Ave. of the Americas)

E. 21st St. Cooper

Gramercy Park Village
Bro

E. 20th St.
GRAMERCY E. 19th St.
ad w

FLATIRON Stuyvesant
PARK E. 18th St.
ay

DISTRICT Town
31
Perlman Pl.

E. 17th St.
Union Sq.W.

Union Sq.E.
Fifth Ave.

Irving Pl.

N.D.

Union E. 16th St.

Square 0 1/4 mi
E. 15th St.
S S E. 14th St. S N
0 0.25 km
E. 13th St.
 32
Map 5: Uptown Accommodations
ACCOMMODATIONS

W. 105th St.

W. 104th St.
Bentley 11

Manhattan Ave.
1
W. 103rd St. S S
Excelsior Hotel 5 2
Franklin 4 W. 102nd St.

Amsterdam Ave.
W. 101st St.
Hostelling International

Henry Hudson Parkway

W. 100th St.
of New York 1

side Dr.
W. 99th St.
Hotel Wales 3
W. 98th St.
Lowell Hotel 10

River
W. 97th St. 97th St .
Malibu Studios Hotel 2
The Mark Hotel 6 S W. 96th St. S

Pierre Hotel 13 W. 95th St.

Plaza-Athénée 8 W. 94th St.

Regency 12 W. 93rd St.

RIVERSIDE PARK

Broadway
West End Ave.

Central Park West

Surrey Hotel 7 W. 92nd St.

Columbus Ave.
West Side YMCA 9 W. 91st St.

W. 90th St.

W. 89th St.

W. 88th St.

W. 87th St.
S W. 86th St. S
8 6 th St .
W. 85th St.
W. 84th St.
UPPER
W. 83rd St.
W. 82nd St.
Hudson River

W. 81st St. 5 S
WEST W. 80th St.
American
Amsterdam Ave.

S W. 79th St. Museum

of Natural 7 9 t h St.
West End Ave.

W. 78th St.
History
Dr.

SIDE W. 77th St.

s ide
River

W. 76th St.
Columbus Ave

W. 75th St.

W. 74th St. The

Lake
UPPER W. 73rd St.
MANHATTAN
S W. 72nd St. S
Area of
detail W. 71st St.

W. 70th St.
Central

CENTRAL
Pl.
Park

Bro
om

adw

W. 69th St.
Freed

Central Park West

ay

W. 68th St. Sheep

MIDTOWN Meadow
W. 67th St.

S W. 66th St.
Henry Hudson Parkway

6 5 th
DOWNTOWN W. 65th St. St.

Lincoln W. 64th St.

Amsterdam Ave.

9
West End Ave.

Center
Columbus Ave.

W. 63rd St.

S Subway stop W. 62nd St.

W. 61st St.
0 1/4 mi W. 60th St.
0 0.25 km
N
W. 59th St. Columbus S Central Park
Circle South
 33

ACCOMMODATIONS
E. 105th St.

E. 104th St.
E. 103rd St. S
Ward’s Island Footbridge

E. 102nd St.
E. 101st St. WARD’S
Mount Sinai ISLAND
Hospital
E. 100th St.

East
E. 99th St.
E. 98th St.
erse
T r a nsv

Riv
E. 97th St.
S E. 96th St.

er
E. 95th St.

E. 94th St.
E. 93rd St.
M I L E

3
E. 92nd St.

Jacqueline E. 91st St.

Madison Ave.

Lexington Ave.

Second Ave.

Kennedy
Fifth Ave.

Park Ave.
M U S E U M

E. 90th St. First Ave.

Third Ave.

Onasis
Reservoir E. 89th St.

East End Ave.

E. 88th St.
4 Gracie
York Ave.
E. 87th St.
Mansion
Transver S E. 86th St. CARL
se
E. 85th St.
SCHURZ
PARK
E. 84th St.
The E. 83rd St.
Great
Lawn UPPER E. 82nd St.
Metropolitan
Dr.

Museum of Art
E. 81st St.
FDR

E. 80th St.

EAST E. 79th St.

Transve r s e
E. 78th St.

6 S E. 77th St.

7 E. 76th St.
SIDE
E. 75th St.

E. 74th St.
Madison Ave.

E. 73rd St.
Second Ave.
Fifth Ave.

Park Ave.

Lexington Ave.

First Ave.

York Ave.

E. 72nd St.
Third Ave.

E. 71st St.

E. 70th St.

E. 69th St.
FDR Dr.

PARK S E. 68th St.

East River

E. 67th St.

E. 66th St.

T r a n sv s e E. 65th St.
er
Central 8 E. 64th St.
Park
Zoo S E. 63rd St.
From Lower

Wollman 10
E. 62nd St.
Level

Rink 11
12
E. 61st St.
13 Roosevelt Island Tram
S E. 60th St.
Sutton

S
Pl.

Central Park
Upper
Level

E. 59th St. Queensboro Bridge

To

Grand Army S
South Plaza
 34
ACCOMMODATIONS

The Index
$$$$$ More than $450
THE INDEX

$$$$ $350–$450
$$$ $250–$350
$$ $150–$250
$ Less than $150
Price ratings are based on the lowest price quoted for a stan-
dard double room in high season. Unless noted, rooms have air-
conditioning, phones, private bathrooms, and TVs.
The following abbreviations are used for credit cards:
AE American Express
DC Diners Club
DISC Discover
MC MasterCard
V Visa

Algonquin (p. 21) MIDTOWN WEST This classic New York literary
landmark went through a big, expensive restoration, guided by
photos from its 1902 opening. The atmosphere is still the
same, only more so.... Tel 212/840-6800 (U.S. toll-free number
800/555-8000). Fax 212/944-1419. www.algonquinhotel.com.
59 W. 44th St., 10036. N/Q/R/S/W/1/2/3/7 trains to 42nd St.
165 rooms. AE, DC, DISC, MC, V. $$$
See Map 4 on p. 30.

Ameritania (p. 20) MIDTOWN WEST The lobby’s silly imitation

Philipe Starck furniture (see Paramount below) fails to spoil
guests’ satisfaction at getting a good deal. Some rooms have
Broadway views. Two restaurants, a gift shop, and a lobby bar
complete the picture—all done in an incongruous Caribbean
style.... Tel 212/247-5000 (U.S. toll-free number 800/922-
0330). Fax 212/247-3316. www.nychotels.com/ameritania.html.
230 W. 54th St., 10019. B/D/E trains to 7th Ave. 250 rooms. AE,
DC, DISC, MC, V. $$
See Map 4 on p. 30.

Avalon (p. 20) MURRAY HILL The classic lobby and the trad-retro
decor of the rooms give you no clue that this is one of the
 35
newest hotels in the shadow of the Empire State Building. The

ACCOMMODATIONS
theater district and Silicon Alley are both an easy stroll away,
and after you stroll back you can loll in your marble-clad bath-
room.... Tel 212/299-7000 (U.S. toll-free number 888/442-
8256). Fax 212/299-7001. www. avalonhotelnyc.com. 16 E. 32nd
St. 10016, 6 train to 33rd St. 100 rooms. AE, DC, DISC, MC, V. $$
See Map 4 on p. 30.

Bentley (p. 24) UPPER EAST SIDE This new hotel is pretty far east,
but so are some of the poshest neighborhoods in Manhattan.
You’re perfectly placed to hike along the East River, take the aer-
ial tram to Roosevelt Island, or simply pull a velvet-covered chair
up to the big window and feel groovy as you watch the cars on

THE INDEX
the 59th St. Bridge.... Tel 212/644-6000 (U.S. toll-free number
888/664-6835). Fax 212/207-4800. www.hotelbentleynewyork.
com. 500 E. 62nd St., 10021. 4/5/6 trains to 59th St. or N/R/W
trains to Lexington Ave. 197 rooms. AE, DC, DISC, MC, V. $$
See Map 5 on p. 32.

Best Western Seaport Inn (p. 24) SOUTH ST. SEAPORT AREA A
chain mentality surfaces in the slightly cheesy reproduction fur-
niture and the stiff, motelish bedding. Ask for a room with a view
of the Brooklyn Bridge.... Tel 212/766-6600 (U.S. toll-free number
800/HOTELNY). Fax 212/766-6615. www.bestwestern.com. 33
Peck Slip, 10038. 2/3/4/5/A/C/J/M/Z trains to Fulton St. 72
rooms. AE, DC, DISC, MC, V. $$
See Map 3 on p. 29.

Big Apple Hostel (p. 26) MIDTOWN WEST You can’t ask for a more
central location and you won’t get much cheaper. Private rooms
with shared bathrooms are just under $100 most of the year, and
dorm rooms (bunk beds that sleep four to a room) hover around
$35. Bedding is provided, though dorm guests should bring their
own towels.... Tel 212/302-2603. Fax 212/302-2605. www.big
applehostel.com. 119 W. 45th St., 10036. 1/2/3/7/9/N/Q/R/W
trains to Times Sq./42nd St. 112 dorm beds. MC, V. $
See Map 4 on p. 30.

Buckingham Hotel (p. 20) MIDTOWN WEST The Buckingham

attracts musical guests (jazz and classical, no need to fear rock
star tantrums being thrown immediately overhead), drawn by a
great central location near cultural magnets like Lincoln Center
and Carnegie Hall. The place is no spring chicken (here since
1929, with an enviable history), but the aging all-suite rooms are
clean and generously portioned.... Tel 212/246-1500 (U.S. toll-free
number 888/511-1900). Fax 212/262-0698. www.buckingham
hotel.com. 101 W. 57th St., 10019. F train to 57th St. or N/Q/R/W
trains to 57th St.–7th Ave. 100 rooms. AE, MC, V. $$$
See Map 4 on p. 30.
 36
Carlton Arms (p. 21) GRAMERCY PARK Outrageous ambience at a
ACCOMMODATIONS

decent price (students and foreign tourists get a 10% discount).

All the tenement-type rooms, decorated with wild murals, have
sinks; some include a bathroom, while others use toilets and
shower rooms down the hall. (Warning: The demon-head mosaics
in the clean common bathrooms may make it difficult to concen-
trate.).... Tel 212/679-0680. www.carltonarms.com. 160 E. 25th
St., 10010. 6 train to 23rd St. 54 rooms. DISC, MC, V. $
See Map 4 on p. 30.

Chelsea Pines Inn (p. 22) CHELSEA/WEST VILLAGE A bed-and-

breakfast catering exclusively to a gay clientele, located
between the West Village and Chelsea. The 14th St. location is
THE INDEX

being gradually prettified, with trees and flowers.... Tel 212/

929-1023. Fax 212/620-5646. www.chelseapinesinn.org. 317 W.
14th St., 10014-5001. A/C/E or L trains to 14th St./8th Ave. 24
rooms. AE, DC, DISC, MC, V. $
See Map 3 on p. 29.

Days Hotel Midtown (p. 27) MIDTOWN WEST What you’d expect
from a motel chain, plus it’s been renovated recently.... Tel 212/
581-7000. Fax 212/974-0291. www.dayshotelny.com. 790 8th
Ave. at W. 48th St., 10019. C/E trains to 50th St. 367 rooms. AE,
DC, DISC, MC, V. $$
See Map 4 on p. 30.

Excelsior Hotel (p. 20) UPPER WEST SIDE Spacious rooms and
suites have been renovated just enough to be respectable, with-
out removing the Art Deco tile in the bathrooms. Choose front
rooms for a spectacular view of the American Museum of Natural
History.... Tel 212/362-9200. Fax 212/721-2994. www.1excelsior.
com. 45 W. 81st St., 10024. B/C trains to 81st St./American
Museum of Natural History. 196 rooms. AE, DISC, MC, V. $$
See Map 5 on p. 32.

Fitzpatrick Manhattan Hotel (p. 23) MIDTOWN EAST As Irish as

its name. The rooms are large, with wet bars, trouser presses,
and terry-cloth robes. No fitness center, but free guest privileges
at the nearby Excelsior Athletic Club are available.... Tel 212/
355-0100 (U.S. toll-free number 800/367-7701). Fax 212/355-
1371. www.fitzpatrickhotels.com. 687 Lexington Ave., 10022.
N/R/W trains to 5th Ave./59th St. or 4/5/6 trains to 59th St. 92
rooms. AE, DC, DISC, MC, V. $$$
See Map 4 on p. 30.

Four Seasons (p. 24) MIDTOWN EAST The huge guest rooms have
elegant contemporary decor with Art Deco touches. The subdued
Fifty Seven Fifty Seven Restaurant and Bar and the Armani-stud-
ded Lobby Lounge offer sustenance, a business center provides
secretarial services, and, for the body, there’s a fitness center and
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
than the open harshness of language which Honor felt certain that John’s
mother was often longing to attack her with.
The first Sunday at the Paddocks having been a hopelessly rainy day,
there had been no walking along the lanes to attend Divine Service: the
Seventh day had, however, now come round again, and the shy
consciousness of early wifehood having a little worn off, Honor, as was
only natural, had allowed her thoughts to wander to a no less important
subject than the dress in which, at Switcham Church, she was to make her
first appearance as a wife. The result of these meditations, and also—if the
truth must be told—of a little stitching and altering, was as pretty a
specimen of Sabbath-day adornment as ever entered the walls of a village
church. And yet there was nothing (bright as a spring butterfly though she
looked) the least over-dressed, or unbecoming her situation in life, in Honor
Beacham’s attire. There were no incongruities, no single article of dress
outshone or put shame upon the other, there had been no “trimming of robe
of frieze with copper-lace;” but all was neat, effective, and, so far as Honor
and the Leigh dressmaker together could achieve the desired object,
according to the make and fashion of the day.
“Now then, Honey, let’s have a good look at you,” exclaimed John, as,
five minutes before the moment appointed for setting forth, his wife, with a
blush of gratified vanity on her cheek (for the glass had told her she was
worth the looking at), tripped confidently up to him for approval. Before he
could speak, however, Mrs. Beacham’s harsh voice broke the charm, and
John’s complimentary words were frozen on his lips.
“My good gracious me!” she cried; “why you’re never surely going to
church in that thing!” and she pointed with a thick finger, clothed in the
stoutest of useful bottle-green gloves, at Honor’s airy bonnet; a small
senseless thing enough, but very becoming all the same, with its trimming
of blue forget-me-nots, showing off to perfection the soft beauty of the
brown braided hair, and matching the azure eyes, John thought, so prettily.
“To church of all places!” continued the old lady, whose headgear, being of
very ancient fashion and materials, had struck Honor as far more
remarkable than her own. “Why, you’ll have everyone looking at you!”
“And like enough too,” said John with a laugh, and hoping by this
judicious manœuvre to divert the rising storm, “let her put on what she may.
But I say, mother, what’s wrong with Honor’s bonnet? I don’t pretend to
know much about women’s dress, about their crinoline and hairbags, for
instance. You don’t wear one of them I’m glad to see, Honey,” he went on,
twisting a shining curl that strayed upon her white throat round his big
finger as he spoke. “I’m all for nature, I am; but as for the child’s bonnet,
mother—”
“Now, John,” put in Mrs. Beacham irritably, “don’t you be foolish. I
must know better than you can do what’s proper for a young woman to
wear; and I say that such a thing as that isn’t fit to be seen within a church
door.”
Honor could not help smiling—for she did not foresee to what extent her
stepmother’s temper would carry her—at the old woman’s abuse of her
unoffending costume. She felt certain too of John’s support, and therefore
replied cheerfully:
“I am very sorry; I thought it such a pretty bonnet. However, I daresay
nobody will look at it; and my best hat got so spoilt at Ryde—”
“Spoilt indeed! Ryde seems to have played the mischief with all your
smart new clothes. And as if you could venture into church in one of those
flighty pork-pies, that I hate the very sight of!”
“Well then,” interposed John, “as that matter’s settled, suppose we cut
along. Got your Prayer-book, eh, Honey? That’s all right;” and he was half
out of the door, when, instead of following on his footsteps, Mrs. Beacham
plumped her ample figure down on her own especial arm-chair, and planted
her two hands defiantly on her knees.
“You may go to church, John, if you like; but as for me, if you’ve no
objection, I prefer to remain at home.”
“Nonsense, mother! Come! The idea of going on so about a bonnet! I’m
sure Honor doesn’t care, do you, Pet? She doesn’t mind what she wears,
mother, not she! She’s pretty enough not to, any way,” he added in a lower
tone; not so low, however, but that his mother heard the words, and grew
thereupon more than ever determined to conquer and humble the object of
John’s foolish admiration and absurdly weak and blamable indulgence.
“If she doesn’t care then, let her change it,” she said stolidly,—“let her
change it. She’s got another in her box—one that a decent woman needn’t
be ashamed to be seen in, and—”
“O, John, it’s such an old-fashioned one!” Honor broke in. “I’ve had it
these two years, and it’s only fit for rainy days. I’d rather not go, indeed I
would;” and the tears, I am sorry to say, were already very near her bright
blue eyes.
John scratched his head in very positive perplexity. To yield to his
mother had, from long habit, become almost second nature to the good-
tempered man; but then, nature—and nature too with a very powerful voice
—pleaded within him strongly for Honor. He could not bear to see her
vexed; and she would be vexed, that he knew right well, if they both—his
mother and himself—went off to church and left her all alone. But then, if
she so disliked the idea of wearing the two-year-old bonnet, and if—which
he knew well enough would be the case—his mother would not yield, why
what was to be done? It was the beginning of domestic troubles—a
foreshadowing of the cloud that was to darken all John’s future life—the
first faint warnings of the fell disease that, like the cankerworm, eats into
the vital parts, and poisons the whole sap of life, and this truth (though John
was far enough from shaping to himself any, even the most indistinct, of the
evils that were threatening his peace) probably lay at the root of the strange
discouragement which, while he turned his eyes alternately from his wife to
his mother, gave a look of bewilderment to his usually placid face.
It was that look which decided Honor, showing her the way her duty lay,
and awakening her pity for the man halting so helplessly between two
opinions.
“After all,” she said to herself, calling up as much philosophy to her aid
as a weak vessel of her sex and age could hope to summon,—“after all,
what does it signify? It is absurd to make so much fuss about a bonnet;” and
then aloud, “I don’t care—indeed I don’t, John; and rather than vex you, I’ll
change it in half a moment;” and she ran upstairs with an alacrity which
confirmed John in the impression that she was an angel.
And so at the moment—or at least very like one—Honor felt that she
had earned the right to be considered; for she was—absurd as it may seem
to those among my readers who have either outlived, or have never been
subject to, the weakness of personal vanity—about to make what was to her
a great, ay even a heroic, sacrifice. She had so looked forward to appearing
her very best that day. Religion, I grieve to confess, had little enough to do
(when, alas I has it ever much?) with the fitting on of the best gown, and the
extra smoothing of the shining hair. In nine cases out of ten, the
remembering of the Sabbath-day does not mean the keeping of it holy. Jill,
it is to be feared, goes to church to show herself; while Jack, in his best coat
and Sunday hat, goes through the same ceremony that he may join his
sweetheart. Can we wonder that too often these respective parties come to
grief, and, like the Jack and Jill in the story-book, wounds and bruises
(metaphorically speaking) are the well-deserved consequences of their
levity and supercherie?
Seeing then that the female mind is, both from nature and habit, loth to
believe in the “glaring impotence” of “dress,” we may excuse this poor
Honor for her petulance, and for the little angry jerk with which she threw
open the old mahogany wardrobe, and drew from it the contemned and
faded specimen of bygone finery. With a flushed face, and hands that
trembled a little with the passing irritation of the moment, she tied the
tumbled strings under her dainty chin, and then, without stopping to look at
her “shabby” self in the glass, she hastened down the stairs.
John and his mother had already left the house when Honor, feeling very
proud of her holocaust, and not a little eager to judge of its effect upon
those she had endeavoured to please, rushed into the hall. She knew it was
late, and moreover Mrs. Beacham was, she felt, precisely the kind of old
woman who would not enter a Church after the service had begun for the
world; but in spite of these and other excuses that might be made for the
disappearance of her companions, Honor did feel it a little hard that they
had not waited for her—a trifle provoking that John should have cared so
little whether she looked well or ill in that “guy of a thing” that she had put
upon her head. She betrayed no outward signs of the foolish, perhaps too it
may be called puerile, inward struggle—the battle against what I fear might
almost be called a “bit of temper” that was rife within her. Overtaking John
and his mother walking quietly arm-in-arm, “as if nothing had happened,” it
was only natural, I think, that this silly girl should have entertained a vague
impression that she, the bride of four weeks old, had been “thrown over”—
and that, too, after she had shown herself so willing to “oblige”—for the
sake of the “cross,” “fussy” old woman, behind whose broad
uncompromising back Honor (and it must be confessed that at the moment
she did not greatly love the sight) was trudging across the meadows, with
her fair face—that bonnet was so very old-fashioned and ugly!—slightly
overshadowed by a passing cloud.
It was only a trifle, you will say, that produced this inauspicious result;
but need I repeat that trifles make up the sum of human life? Were we all to
look back upon some of the most important incidents of our lives, I think—
could we all be strictly honest with ourselves—we should be willing to
allow that what seemed a mere “nothing” at the time was not without its
influence, not only on our conduct, but on that which goes by the name (for
want of a better) of our destinies. Honor would have been as incredulous as
her neighbours had it been suggested to her that in her present petulance
there lay the germ of future peril, and that the apparently insignificant
family feud with which that peaceful-seeming Sabbath had been marked
was le commencement de la fin of her life’s history; and yet that so it was
the events hereafter to be disclosed will greatly tend to prove.
Many and curious were the eyes turned towards “Farmer Beacham’s”
pew that holiday in early June, when the sun shone out and nature’s garb
was fresh, and when it would almost seem that, out of compliment to the
bride, each daughter of Eve there present had bedecked herself in her
Sunday’s best. With her head bent down and half hidden by the high oaken
walls of the old-fashioned pew, Honor endeavoured, and not wholly without
success, to remember that the “place in which she stood was holy ground.”
She never once raised her blue eyes from the bran-new red-morocco Prayer-
book—gilt-edged, and which was one of John’s earliest offerings to his
betrothed—which she held in her hand. A shy consciousness that she was
the observed of all observers in that crowded village church, together with
the mortifying reflection which, malgré elle, would intrude itself, that she
was not “fit to be seen,” brought pretty waves of colour to the lowered
girlish face.
From his place in the gallery, the most conspicuous one in the big, well-
cushioned, luxurious family pew, there was one who throughout the service
continued furtively to gaze upon the features which to his eyes were so
surpassing fair. Though, for his age, he had seen a good deal of the world,
Arthur Vavasour was still in every way too young to set the opinion of that
world at absolute defiance; so he chose the opportunity when he and the rest
of the congregation were on their knees, repeating with wearisome
monotony that they were all “miserable sinners,” to gaze his fill at the
farmer’s lovely bride. In the house of God, under the shelter of his folded
arms, in the humble posture of a penitent, he was already breaking in his
heart the one of the commandments on which most strenuously depends
“our neighbour’s” peace, his honour and well-being!
 Truly it was well for Cecil Vavasour that his sleep was sound in the
churchyard vault that day, and that to him it was not given to look within
the erring heart of his eldest born! That son, who in his beautiful childhood
had been so very near his father’s heart, stood terribly in need that Sabbath-
day, proud and handsome and prosperous though he seemed, of the
“effectual fervent prayer” which in the sight of Heaven “availeth much.”
 CHAPTER XIV.

MR. DUBERLY TAKES THE ALARM.

Before the summer days had begun to shorten, and by the time that Arthur
Vavasour’s evident admiration for young Mrs. Beacham had begun to make
his more cool and sensible younger brother seriously uneasy, the period—
namely, the end of August—was fixed for the marriage of the heir with
Miss Sophia Duberly, the only child of one of the richest nobodies in the
county. A fortnight previous to the epoch named, Arthur would, unless, as
Horace facetiously remarked, anything happened to the contrary, attain the
mature age of twenty-one. As regarded the latter event, Lady Millicent had
continued to maintain a dogged and portentous silence. She was well aware
that her children, the girls especially, had hoped and expected that Arthur’s
“coming of age” would not pass over entirely without the “praise and
honour due” to a rich man’s son so situated; and though the traditional ox
need not be exactly roasted whole, nor gigantic bonfires lighted on the
occasion, yet Lady Millicent was as well aware as if the county newspapers
had not persistently proclaimed the fact that England expected her on this
occasion to do her duty.
“I do really believe she would hinder Atty coming of age at all if she
could,” Kate said one day, when Horace had “run down” for an hour to
brighten up his sisters, and see how things in general were going on.
“Mamma does so hate any of us being jolly.”
“And you call ‘coming of age’ ‘being jolly,’ eh, goosie? Learn then, O
foolish child, that the event you speak of means ‘looking up,’ paying one’s
own bills, being responsible for one’s own actions—being, in short, out of
nonage, without the accruing of a grain of brains to oneself thereby.”
“But I suppose that something will be done,” persisted Kate, who, in
spite of her brother’s repeated assurances that a miracle would probably not
be wrought in her behalf, still nursed the hope that “milady” would at last
be brought to reason. “I cannot believe that the 14th of August will pass like
every other dull stupid day. I thought there was always a dinner, and a ball,
and speeches.”
 “And buttering up, and slithering down,” broke out Horace savagely;
“toadying, flattering, and lies! Of all the occasions in life when that kind of
thing is carried on, there’s nothing like the coming of age of an heir-
apparent!”
“I quite agree with you, my dear Horace,” said Lady Millicent, sailing in
silently from behind a treacherous portière, and raising a painful doubt in
her children’s mind as to the extent of her knowledge thus surreptitiously
acquired of their opinions. “A great waste of words always, to say nothing
of the whole proceeding being always in the worst possible taste.”
“Of course! The idea of crying Vive le roi! before the poor old king is
dead! Simply monstrous, I call it. Arthur too quite agrees with me; and after
all, what business has the county to trouble itself about the matter one way
or the other?”
“I hear,” said Lady Millicent, who did not feel quite sure that her son
was not speaking in the ironical vein to which she had so especial an
objection,—“I hear that the Guernseys are going to make themselves more
than usually ridiculous this year at Fairleigh. Lady G. intends to do the
popular, they say, for a whole fortnight. Open house is to be kept—so
intensely absurd! And people of all kinds to be asked! In short, a regular
omnium gatherum!”
“O no, mamma, not quite that,” Rhoda said timidly, but terribly eager
withal to do away with an impression which might tend to exclude her from
a participation in the gaieties of Fairleigh. “Not quite; and O, mamma,”
gathering a kind of desperate courage from the emergency of the case, “you
promised that if Lady Guernsey gave a ball this year, I should go to it. I
know just how it is; Charlotte Mellon told me all about the arrangements.
All kinds of people are to be asked to the archery meeting and the fireworks
—all the out-of-doors amusements, that is; but at the ball there will only be
the county families, and—”
“How delightfully dull and select!” said Horace. “And how highly
satisfactory, Rhoda, to think that you will make your début under such very
favourable auspices!”
“Anything is better than a mixed society,” said Lady Millicent loftily. “In
these days one cannot be too careful whom one associates with. I foresee no
end of annoyances with the Duberly connections. The women belonging to
that class of persons are often positively dreadful. Really Arthur is much
worse than thoughtless! Only this afternoon he has been the cause of my
being excessively worried and disturbed! Here is a letter which I have just
received from Mr. Duberly. I thought it most extraordinary when I saw the
post-mark, Bigglesworth, that I should receive a letter from any of the
family; but I was still more astonished when I glanced over the contents.
Read it! I really couldn’t get through it all, but I saw it was about your
brother being so much at Updown Paddocks. His father—fancy the man
talking to me about his relations!—considers it very wrong, he writes, and
dangerous to be on the turf; and Arthur must, he concludes, have to do with
race-horses, or he would never be so much with John Beacham at the
Paddocks. You had better see your brother about it, Horace, as soon as
possible. I really can have nothing to do personally with these people. They
are respectable, of course, or your poor father would not have countenanced
them; but they are terribly mezzo cetto, and when that is the case, anything
approaching to familiarity had better be avoided.”
Amongst Lady Millicent’s “peculiarities” (and they were not a few) that
of extreme bodily restlessness was one of the most remarkable. She was one
of the very busiest of idlers, never for fifteen consecutive minutes,
excepting at meal or prayertime, in the same place. These “fidgety ways”
were troublesome, as well as frequently inconvenient, to those about her. To
know where others of a household are, the more especially when those
“others” chance to be of the nature of Lady Millicent Vavasour, is often of
advantage to the subordinates of a family. Severity, Caprice, an absence on
the said subordinates’ part of knowing how anything “will be taken” by the
“head of the family,” are each and all sufficient to account for the
secretiveness, guilty in appearance, that kindles in both children and
servants the very natural desire that the whereabouts of the domestic
autocrat should not always be a matter of conjecture. But it was to no
inward fever, no derangement of the sensitive nerves, that the nomadic
condition of the lady of Gillingham could be attributed, for her health was
perfect, and her constitution sound. The erratic habit had been formed in
childhood, and had increased, instead of diminishing, with advancing years.

“I say, Miss Curiosity, that won’t do. You mustn’t read other people’s
letters.”
 Lady Millicent had glided with her accustomed stately step from the
room; and Horace, in whose hand was Mr. Duberly’s open letter, glanced up
at his sister Kate reading over his shoulder the epistle which her lady
mother was either too autocratic or too indolent to answer. Kate’s colour,
between shame and amusement, mounted visibly. Although taught by
experience that his “bark was worse than his bite,” she was still a little
afraid of her brother Horace.
“I thought everybody was to read it,” she said deprecatingly. “Don’t be
ill-natured, Horace; I do so want to know about Atty.”
“I daresay you do; and if you did, why everybody else would pretty soon
be in the secret, and with a vengeance too! No, no, Miss Katie; a young
lady who chatters to her maid is neither old enough nor wise enough to be
told family secrets to—so off with you! If you want anything to do go to the
terrace, and keep a good look-out for Arthur; tell him there’s a row going
on, and that he’d better look sharp, and take the bull by the horns.”
“And now for old Dub’s letter,” muttered Horace, after convincing
himself by ocular demonstration that both his sisters were sauntering along
the broad gravel-walk, and, as he doubted not, exercising their united
powers of guessing on the subject of Arthur’s misdemeanours. “Old Dub’s
too straightforward to say anything that my lady can understand;” and with
this dutiful commentary on his parent’s powers of comprehension, Horace
Vavasour betook himself to his task.
“My dear Madam,”—so this straightforward letter began—“I greatly
regret the necessity of calling your attention to the subject of your eldest
son; but as that subject is at present connected with the happiness of my
only daughter, there is no other course left me to pursue. You are aware that
Sophy is my only child, and your own feelings as a mother will lead you to
understand that her welfare must be infinitely precious to me. My reason for
troubling you to-day is very simple, and the question I desire to have
answered is, I think, natural enough, being neither more nor less than a
demand, on my part, whether the report that your son Arthur has a horse in
training for the turf is true or false. You will perhaps be inclined to ask why
I have thought it necessary to beat about the bush; why, in short, I did not
put this question to your son instead of to you. To this very natural remark
all I could say is that I did, without delay, mention the reports which had
reached my ears to Arthur, and that from him I could gain no satisfactory
reply. He neither positively denied or actually confirmed the scandal; for so
great is my horror of gambling in any shape that I can designate taking a
single step on what is called the ‘turf’ by no milder name; and the
consequence of our conversation was simply this,—namely, that, being very
far from satisfied either by your son’s words or manner, I take the liberty of
requesting your maternal aid in discovering the truth. Of your son’s
constant, I was about to say daily, visits at the Paddocks there is, I fear, no
doubt, and you can hardly wonder that, with my child’s future comfort at
stake, I feel it my bounden duty to investigate thoroughly, and without loss
of time, the cause and motive for a proceeding so remarkable. I have no
desire that this inquiry, on my part, should be kept secret either from Arthur
or from the world at large, and have the honour to remain, dear madam,
“Yours faithfully,
“Andrew Duberly.”
“Well, old fellow, you are in for it now! I wouldn’t be in your place for
something,” said Horace when, half an hour after he had finished reading
“old Dub’s” letter, and long before the annoyance caused by its perusal had
in any degree subsided, Arthur lounged, after his usual indolent fashion,
through the open window into the library.
“Well, what is the row? The girls told me there was something wrong.
Upon my soul, one might as well pitch one’s tent in Mexico, or in the
Argentine Republic, for any chance of peace one has in this confounded
place.”
“Better a great deal,” said Horace seriously,—“better, a thousand times,
go to the uttermost ends of the earth than sow such a storm as, if I’m not
mistaken, you will reap the whirlwind of by and by.”
“Well, but what is in the wind?” asked Arthur, smiling at the faint idea
that he had made a joke.
“What! Just read that, and you’ll soon see what a kick-up there’s likely
to be.”
“Prying old idiot!” exclaimed Arthur, tossing the letter of his future
father on the table in disgust. “Why the —— can’t he mind his own
business, and be hanged to him!”
“Perhaps he thinks that his daughter is his business; but however that
may be, the deed is done, the letter written, and the question now is how
you can satisfy old Dab’s mind that all is right. I conclude that it is all right,
though I must say, Atty, it does, between you and me, look fishy, your going
so very often over to John Beacham’s house.”
“But I don’t go there so very often,” broke in Arthur eagerly; “it’s all a
pack of cursed lies. How could I go to the Paddocks every day, as the old
fool says I do, when I am twice a week, at least, at Fairleigh?”
“Really! How pleasant for Sophy!” said Horace drily. “The worst of all
this, though, is, that old Dub isn’t quite in his dotage yet, and may be
sufficiently up in local geography to be aware that, by judicious
management, it is possible to reach Fairleigh viâ Updown Paddocks.
Seriously now, Atty, can you in your sober senses think that the way you are
going on is either right or prudent? Here you are, within a few weeks of
marrying the girl you are engaged to—a nice girl, too, and you thought so
yourself before you got spooney (nay, hear me out, for it is true, and you
know it is) on John Beacham’s wife,—here you are, I say, making her (I
mean Sophy Duberly) miserable; and what is far worse—for girls soon get
over that kind of thing—you are sowing the seeds of lasting wretchedness
in another man’s house. You are—”
“I—I am doing nothing,” broke in Arthur pettishly; adding, with
brotherly familiarity, “What a fool you are!”
“Thanks for the compliment; but I must be a still greater fool than I am
not to foresee a little of the mischief that is brewing there.” And he pointed
over his shoulder in the direction of John Beacham’s home. “Why, even a
child could see it,—even Katie, who for a girl is wonderfully unknowing in
delicate matters of this kind and description—”
“But,” said Arthur, very seriously this time, and speaking in language
which would have carried conviction to his brother’s mind, even had the
latter (which was not the case) entertained the idea that there was anything
“really wrong” in Arthur’s intimacy with John Beacham’s family,—“but,
Horace, I declare to you solemnly, by all I hold most sacred—I won’t say
by my love for my mother, for I don’t love her, and it would be extremely
odd if I did—but I swear to you by my father’s memory that there is no
foundation, none whatever, for any of the spiteful things that people dare to
say of John Beacham’s wife. She’s not happy, poor little thing, certainly, but
—”
 “Not happy? Why, what’s the matter with her? She’s got the best
husband in the country, and the nicest house to live in—I declare I don’t
know a more comfortable place than Pear-tree House—and the prettiest
horse to ride, and—”
“Yes, of course; all that is very nice; but then there’s the old woman.”
“John’s mother? So she is the crumpled rose-leaf, eh?”
“Well, yes, in some degree; but then John himself is partly to blame. You
see, he does not understand Honor.”
“That may be more his misfortune than his fault, poor fellow! But, Atty,
I am sorry to hear that you have come to confidences. I had an idea before
all this that Honor was a quiet, good, honourable girl; and I know that the
parson’s wife had the best possible opinion of her, when she was a girl, and
used to teach a class at milady’s school; but what you say now makes me
think her very far from either sensible or grateful—to say nothing of
rectitude. When I know what a real good fellow John Beacham is, it seems
such a shame of his wife to be complaining of him.”
Arthur laughed. He felt, in his superior wisdom, that his brother knew
wonderfully little of the qualities required by a woman in the man who
aspires to her love.
“Nonsense!” he said; “she doesn’t complain. One sees those things for
oneself, without hearing about them. I never saw a gentler or a more
forbearing creature than that dear little Irish girl, who is wretchedly out of
place at Updown Paddocks. She is utterly wasted upon John, who, as you
say, is the best fellow in the world, only so boorish compared to her, and so
thoroughly unintellectual! Thinks of nothing from morning till night, and
probably dreams of nothing then, but of his farm and breeding-stud. I
declare that it seems the work of some horrible fate, some malicious demon,
to have bound such a glorious woman as that to the side of a man so totally
unsuited to her—so completely incapable of appreciating the beauty, and
the delicacy, and the refinement—”
Horace stopped him with a laugh.
“The Lady Clara Vere de Vere and the clown, eh, over again? Well, I
suppose it may be because I happen to be one of the rougher-looking sort
myself—made of coarser clay, you know—that I cannot help having a sort
of fellow-feeling for poor John. I wonder now, if I were ever to marry—and
such an event is just possible, though I confess that it does not seem likely,
as things stand at present,—I wonder, I was going to say, whether in that
case any of you good-looking, languid swells—you fastidiously refined
fellows—would be found willing to believe me capable of appreciating the
charms of my own wife. Of course, it is not in the power of we ordinary
mortals to make ourselves as agreeable as men who are blessed with
straight noses, six feet of manhood, and wavy hair; but you might give us
credit for some sense of the beautiful; you really might allow that we can
see and feel and love the woman whom you admire, even though nature
may have cruelly denied us the gift of charming in our turn.”
Arthur looked at his brother in surprise. It was very seldom that Horace,
who was not of an impulsive nature, broke into so discursive a speech. He
had a way—at least, so it had hitherto appeared—of taking life and the
things of life so easily. Judging from the airy insouciance of his words and
manner, his own lack of personal attraction had never weighed upon his
spirits; the giving of advice, too, whether by implication or otherwise, to his
big, experienced elder brother, was so out of Horace’s line, that Arthur’s
surprise at this unexpected outbreak is scarcely to be wondered at. Any
relative response, however, whether in the shape of protest against, or of
acquiescence in, the general truth of his brother’s remark, appeared to him
to be simply impossible, and he therefore betook himself to the open field
of general observation.
“What a bore it is,” he said with a yawn that was not wholly the result of
weariness, “that every simple thing one does gets commented on and
gossiped about!”
“That comes of being an elder son. One of the penalties of greatness is
the bore, as you call it, of being the observed of all observers. It would be
long enough before the world paid me such a compliment. Seriously,
though,” he continued, glad, perhaps, of the opportunity thus afforded of
passing off as a jest the sarcasms which had in a moment of irritation
escaped his lips,—“seriously, though, Arthur, this strikes me as being that
unpleasant thing called a ‘crisis.’ If I know anything of old Dub, he won’t
let this matter rest till it’s thoroughly cleared up. He wouldn’t have written
to Lady M. if he hadn’t been in earnest; and now the question is, how the
deuce you are going to tackle the old fellow.”
“God knows; I’m quite sure that I don’t!” said Arthur helplessly, for he
foresaw endless difficulties—greater difficulties far than Horace could form
any idea of—in the process of “tackling” to which his brother alluded. “It’s
such a nuisance—such a horrible nuisance—to be questioned in this sort of
way!”
“Is it? I don’t think I should mind it; that is to say if I was all right—all
on the square, you know. The fact is, Atty,—and I can see it as plain as
possible, though of course it isn’t pleasant to you to believe it,—that old
Duberly has got two ideas about this business in his head; and these two
ideas are, in my opinion, two too many. In the first place he is suspicious, as
old fellows of that kind are so apt to be, about the horse-breeding part of the
affair. Now, if you could tell him on your honour that you have no horse in
training—that you have not the slightest intention, either directly or
indirectly, of going on the turf—why there would be nothing more to be
said on that score.”
Arthur rose from his chair and walked about the room impatiently.
“But suppose I can’t swear to that?” he said, speaking in the annoyed
tone of a man who had forced himself to utter a disagreeable truth. “The
fact is,” he went on confidentially, “I have bought—on tick of course—one
of John Beacham’s yearlings—the best he has bred since he began the
concern—by Oddfellow out of Gay Lady. You never saw such bone! John’s
quite certain—and you know how safe he is—that my colt—Rough
Diamond his name is—will be a Derby horse. I paid a long price for him—
I’m half afraid to say how much—but when one is so positively certain to
make such a pot of money as I shall, why what does it signify?”
The look—half comic and half pityingly sardonic—that settled for a
moment on the plain, but singularly expressive, face of Horace Vavasour
would have been a study for a picture.
“So!” he drawled out, “the old fellow is not so far wrong after all! No
wonder you were taken aback when he asked those leading questions!”
“Taken aback! I should think I just was! Why I should like to know what
you would have been!”
“Quite as much disgusted, I suspect, if not more than you were yourself;
but somehow or other, Atty—though I don’t set up for being a bit better
than other people—these are not, I fancy, exactly the kind of hobbles that I
should have been likely to get into.”
“What do you mean?” asked Arthur a little sulkily. “It strikes me that I
haven’t done anything at all out of the common way.”
 “Not the least in the world,” rejoined Horace drily; “but that does not
disprove what I said. I don’t want to boast. The fact, if it were proved, is
nothing to be proud of; but I feel sure that I should not have made love to
one woman while I was engaged to another; and as certain am I of this—
that I should not have gone into partnership with an honest man like John,
in order that—”
“Horace!” cried Arthur in a towering passion, and taking his stand in
front of the chair in which his brother leant back, calm and impassible, “you
have no right—none whatever—especially after what I said just now, to
believe me capable—”
“It is partly from the very words you said just now that I draw my
conclusions,” interrupted Horace. “What old Duberly drew his from can
only of course be guessed at.”
“Guessed at! What utter rot! What confounded humbug!”
“Well, have it your own way. Give up that poor girl Sophy—for it is
giving her up if you don’t satisfy her father—be talked of all over the
county as—”
“I don’t care a d—n about that,” growled Arthur.
“So many fellows have said before they were tried. Throw away all
chance of that blessed home at Fairleigh, that the poor girls have built upon
so much; and all because you haven’t the courage, or rather because you are
too self-indulgent, to give up a little momentary amusement,—or rather, if
you like it better, though I confess to considering it a distinction without a
difference, because you happen to be a little—as I said before—spooney on
John Beacham’s wife.”
Arthur made a gesture indicative of disgust.
“Hear me out, please,” Horace went on to say. “What I want you to do is,
to think seriously of all these necessary consequences, and to ask yourself
whether le jeu vaut la chandelle. I, for my part—but then I have the good
fortune neither to be, nor to fancy myself, in love—have an idea that it does
not. In the first place, remember—not that we are any of us in much danger
of the fact escaping our memory—what a wretched home this is. Think
what a contrast to the dulness, the restraint, the everyday—well, I won’t go
on; we both know only too well how wretched one person can contrive to
make a house—but just think of the contrast to all this that Fairleigh is! Old
Duberly, with his cheerful, hearty ways—I declare Lady M.’s are enough to
give one a sickener of refinement; everyone allowed to please himself; no
one lying in wait for occasions on which to differ; annoying trifles, or trifles
that might have been annoying, delightfully slided over; and no ‘head-of-
the-house’ tyranny, causing one to long at every hour of the day for the
desperate remedy of a bloodless revolution—”
“That is all very true, but—”
“But what? I suppose you mean to remind me that you are not doomed
to bear with the wretchedness of Gillingham for ever. Of course you are
not; but in the mean time there are the involvements,—O Atty, I hate to talk
of, but you know that there they are. And then there is poor Sophy—so fond
of you, so trusting and affectionate. It would not break her heart, I know, to
hear of all this nonsense; but it would make her deuced miserable.” And the
younger brother, a little overcome by the picture he had conjured up,
stopped for a moment to recover himself. Very soon, however, he was at the
old arguments again. “She wouldn’t have a pleasant time of it, of course.
And as for Lady M., she would be less inclined than ever to give you
anything of an allowance. You have ascertained that there are
insurmountable impediments to raising money on the estates; and my
mother—may her shadow never be less!—is a hale woman of, if I mistake
not, forty-two. What do you say to your prospects? Inviting, eh? And just
fancy what a blow it would be to the girls. Why, ever since it was all settled,
and you wrote from Rome to tell us so, their spirits, poor things, have been
entirely kept up by the idea—by the hope, I mean—of a kind of occasional
home at Fairleigh. They are very fond of Sophy; and, in short, Atty, if you
could but make up your mind to give up—well, all your interests at
Updown Paddocks, all would go on quite smoothly again. You could
answer old Dub face to face without fear of consequences; and—and I don’t
think you would regret it, Atty,”—laying his hand affectionately on his
brother’s shoulder,—“I don’t indeed. I think it pays, don’t you, old fellow,
making other people—I mean those that one’s fond of—jolly?”
“Well, yes; I fancy it does,” Arthur said musingly; “and of course one
hates this kind of thing. It’s nonsense, too, to suppose that I want to make
any change—about little Sophy, I mean. Of course I wish to marry her, and
if it’s only to be done by giving up Rough Diamond, why, I’ve no
alternative. It is a bore though; upon my soul it is! He is so certain to win!
And then there’s all the nuisance of the talk with Mr. Duberly. I say, Horace,
do be a good fellow, and help me out of this. It would do quite as well—ay,
and better still—if you would settle the business for me.”
“How do you mean ‘settle it’?” Horace asked.
“Well, tell him you know that it’s all bosh; that there was no harm in life
—you’d go bail for that—in my sometimes paying a visit of an afternoon,
just to have a look at the stock, to Beacham at the Paddocks; and that—that,
in short, the sooner I’m married the better.”
“And how about the Rough Diamond?” asked Horace, who felt perhaps
the least in the world suspicious regarding the destination of that promising
animal.
“O, I suppose I must sell him; not much difficulty about that. He
wouldn’t be a shadow of use to me unless I entered him; which is, of
course, out of the question now. I will see John about it this afternoon.
There are lots of men who would give as much or more than I did for him.
So that’s settled; and you may say so, if you like, with my compliments to
old Dub.”
“I’ll do it, of course, if you wish it,” said Horace, after deliberating for a
few moments on his brother’s proposal; “but I can’t help thinking—don’t
fancy, though, that I want to get off—that this is the kind of thing a man had
better do himself.”
“Do you think so? Well, then, I don’t,” said Arthur, laughing: “and that
makes all the difference. I should be sure to make a mess of it, while you
are the coolest hand possible at that kind of thing. On the whole, it has just
occurred to me, after I’ve seen John about the nag, that it wouldn’t be half a
bad move to go to Pemberton’s for a week or so. He has been asking me to
pay them a visit for weeks past, and I should escape from the festivities, as
they call them, at the Guernseys’ next week. I hate that kind of thing
infernally; and engaged people in public are always in a ridiculous position.
Yes, I think I certainly will go for a week or so to Sir Richard’s.”
“Very good,” rejoined Horace; he was wise, as I before remarked, for his
years, and therefore forbore (albeit he had his own opinion on the subject)
any comment on his brother’s sudden resolution to leave the Chace during
Lady Guernsey’s “popularity week.” “Very good; but, Atty”—as his
brother, throwing open the French window, gave evident tokens of a desire
to cut short the interview,—“you are quite sure it’s all on the square about
the colt? Of course you mean it now,” he added hastily, as Arthur turned
round a red and angry face; “but everyone is liable to be tempted—I am
sure that I am—and seeing Rough Diamond again might—”
“Not a bit of it. Don’t be afraid. I know what I’m about; only it’s not fair
to John to leave him in the dark about it: so I’m off. No occasion to answer
Mr. Duberly’s letter, I suppose, till to-morrow?”
“Well, I should say there is. However, I’ll ask my mother. It was written
to her, though what old Dub was thinking of when he did that same is more
than I can guess.”
“Lady Mill was deucedly indignant at the liberty,” said Arthur, laughing.
“Few things have ever amused me more than my mother’s anxiety for this
marriage, and her intense disgust at being brought into contact with any of
the Duberly lot.”
“I wonder which will behave the worst at the wedding, old Dub or my
lady! In quite another way he has ten times her pride, but then he is far
more deficient in polish.”
They both laughed lightly at the ideas which this remark called up; and
after a few more last words, each brother departed on his own separate
errand.
As Arthur Vavasour had predicted and felt assured, it required few
arguments, and a very little exertion of diplomatic talent, to convince “little
Sophy’s” good-natured parent that there was nothing really wrong either in
the character or conduct of the “handsome young fellow” who had won his
daughter’s heart. A short conversation with that “steady, sensible one of the
brothers” (the thoughtful Horace), a little coaxing and petting on the part of
his “darling girl,” and a positive assurance—it was “a case of honour, mind,
Mr. Duberly”—more than once repeated—from Arthur, that he had sold the
two-year-old (that wonderful Rough Diamond, of whom such great things
were expected), to Colonel Norcott, of sporting celebrity, for an almost
fabulous sum—were sufficient to set the unsuspicious, sanguine mind of
“old Dub” at rest. Arthur Vavasour was received again with open arms at
Fairleigh; the fatted calf, so to speak, was killed; and Sophy—caressing,
tender Sophy—put on her best robe to do honour to the exculpated prodigal.
 CHAPTER XV.

A STORM AT THE PADDOCKS.

Arthur VAVASOUR, in all that he had said to his brother regarding the
state of things at Updown Paddocks, had not willingly diverged a hair’s-
breadth from the truth. It had caused him more vexation than surprise to
learn that other voices besides the “still small” whisper of his own
conscience were beginning to enlarge upon a course of conduct, the
imprudence of which—to use no harsher term—had long been manifest to
himself. Young as he was in years, Arthur had not, after a jeunesse
orageuse, still to learn how soon and easily the fair fame of a woman is
breathed upon and tarnished. In more ways than one is the breath of man
poisonous to his fellows. Well did Arthur Vavasour know that while he—the
heir-apparent to wealth and honour—he, the strong man, armed at all points
for the battle of life—would come unscathed out of the tainted atmosphere
of suspicion, she, the tender bird exposed to its baneful influence, would
flutter her feeble wings, and fall killed morally by the strong insidious
poison. Of this melancholy truth Sophy Duberly’s affianced husband was as
cognisant as the oldest sage that lives; and yet so selfish was he and so
graceless—you perceive that there is nothing singular and abnormal in this
young man’s character and conduct—that he could not bring himself to
forego a pleasure, many of the infallible evils to result therefrom, he, in his
rare moments of reflection, so plainly foresaw.
His first visit to the Paddocks was the consequence (and this young
sinner sometimes twisted the fact into a strange kind of condonation) of a
pressing invitation from honest John himself. Partly from former respect
and affection for the deceased Squire, and in some degree from a liking
which he took to the open cheerful manners of the heir-apparent, John
Beacham seized the earliest opportunity of making that young gentleman
“free,” as it were, of the house in which his father had been so frequent and
honoured a guest.
Nor was John’s hospitable parent behindhand in her well-meant
endeavours to make Lady Millicent’s first-born understand that he was a
welcome guest at Pear-tree House. He was always “pleasant-spoken,” she
used to say, “without an ounce of milady’s pride about him.” “Young Mr.
Arthur” besides (and that was another important point in his favour) was
very far from making himself “common” in the houses, whether large or
small, of his lady mother’s tenants. I am afraid, after all, that this old lady
was—after the fashion of her class in her day—something of a lord lover.
The taste has somewhat left that class of late years, rampant as it still is on
the higher rungs of the social ladder; and in Mrs. Beacham it was only
preserved, and that feebly, by some of the traditions and associations of the
past. She entertained an idea too that the son in whom all her hopes and
pride were centred was better looked on, by reason of his acquaintance
(professionally) with the titled ones of the land. It may be doubted, indeed,
whether this simple-minded body did not, in some vague and unreflecting
way, consider John’s friendship, or rather familiarity, with a rich earl of
sporting proclivities, and the fact of his being, so to speak, “hand and
glove” with the heir of Gillingham, decided proofs, had any been wanting,
of her son’s general superiority to his fellow-men.
The fever of expectation and delight into which the usually sedate old
woman was thrown on the first occasion when John informed her that “Mr.
Arthur” was coming to see the “stock” and “take” his luncheon at the
Paddocks, afforded some amusement and not a little surprise to Honor. For
herself she hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry that her acquaintance
with Mr. Vavasour was likely to be improved. That his coming was not, by
any means, a matter of indifference to her cannot be denied. It could hardly
be that the railway journey passed in his company, short and uneventful
though it was, had not left some trace of it behind. Beautiful daughter of
Eve though she was, never had eyes of man rested on her face as those of
Arthur Vavasour had done that day; but although her vanity had been to a
certain degree gratified by a scrutiny which she had felt rather than seen, yet
she had, whilst undergoing it, experienced a sensation of malaise—a
nameless fear almost—which caused her rather to shrink from a first
meeting with Arthur Vavasour. As regarded John, he took the event, for
which his mother was making such grand preparations, quite as a matter of
course. Beyond the fact that Mr. Arthur was the Squire’s son, and one to
whom the farmer gave credit for possessing hereditary virtues, the
handsome young man, who, as all the country knew, was engaged to the
heiress of Fairleigh, was no more to him than any other visitor at the
Paddocks. Not that honest John was the very least in the world what is
called “a leveller.” To “even” himself with those socially above him never
entered his head. The ambition which of all others is the most apt to
“o’erleap itself and fall o’ the other side”—the ambition, namely, of a churl
to be a gentleman—was an infirmity quite unknown to the simple mind of
the Sandyshire farmer. He was absorbed, besides, rationally and
wholesomely, in his business, and that business, as John was quite
conscious, he thoroughly understood. A sense of superiority (that sense, let
it be remembered, being indorsed by the fiat of public opinion) is apt to
induce (even though that superiority may be evidenced in a comparatively
humble manner) a certain sense also of independence. This sense, then, was
a strong and healthy resident in John Beacham’s breast. He knew—none
better—that his knowledge of the business in which his soul delighted was
anything but superficial, and it was to him a source of pride that his opinion
in equine matters had grown to be treated as a law. I repeat that John
Beacham was no “leveller”. He was quite as ready as his neighbours to
“give tribute to whom tribute, and honour to whom honour,” is due; but it
was pretty much the same to him, provided that the individual in question
knew something about horse-flesh, whether guest of his were prince or
peasant, duke or dog-breeder. His thoughts ran entirely on his stock, and his
mind was so fully engrossed by the future of his yearlings that he felt
literally none of that common sensation of “not-at-homeishness” which is
apt to render individuals in John’s somewhat anomalous position both
awkward and uncomfortable.
Few men in any rank of life could be pleasanter as a host than the owner
of Updown Paddocks. At his hospitable board, the rich and “great,” and
even the self-important, “forgot to remember” that they were
condescending. A native politeness induced by entire forgetfulness of self
placed him on a par with the most exalted, the most fastidious, and the most
sensitive. But, above all things, let it be remembered that he was true—true
to the backbone. The air of the “stable,” as I have before said, had instilled
no principles of trickery into John Beacham’s breast, and, as Cecil Vavasour
had once been heard to remark, he would as soon expect one of John’s
fillies to be capable of entering into a conspiracy to defraud, as that his old
friend would in a single instance depart from the strict rules of honour and
integrity.
 “Now then, Honor, look sharp; I can’t have any dawdling to-day. When
gentlemen come to lunch at the Paddocks, they expect, and so does John, to
find everything good. You won’t soil your white hands, that I don’t think
likely, with helping in the setting on; but you might gather a few flowers for
the beanpots all the same, and if there’s time afterwards you can change
your gown afore Mr. Arthur comes. A silk one would look a deal better than
that washy muslin. I’m sure John, poor fellow, gave you plenty of smart
dresses, and you needn’t begrudge the wearing one of them now and then.”
Honor, who had already learned that there is ofttimes wisdom in keeping
silence even from good words, proceeded with cheerful alacrity to the
execution of one at least of her appointed tasks. The tasteless arrangement
of those same “beanpots” had long been to her a source of minor
discomfort, and often had she longed to work, with deft and dainty fingers,
a reformation in the huge overgrown posies with which it was Mrs.
Beacham’s pleasure to adorn the windows of the “best parlour” in the old
farm-house. A very snug and pleasant room it was, and would have been a
pretty one, could Honor have effected the change she was often planning,
namely, that of introducing French windows instead of the old-fashioned
lattices, which let in so little light, and impeded the view outside so greatly.
And, as if to make the room still darker, there were, ever and always, those
dreadful beanpots standing never an inch out of their respective places on
the spider-legged pembroke tables in front of the latticed panes. It was
wonderful, Honor sometimes thought, how flowers could be made to look
so little attractive as those which old Mrs. Beacham was in the habit of
packing together for the adornment of her show parlour. The old lady’s
floral tastes were of the massive and gorgeous school. She delighted in
peonies, and many-coloured dahlias were her passion. Honor had more than
once attempted a reform in this delicate branch of household duty; but Mrs.
Beacham, who had no opinion of her daughter-in-law’s taste, had hitherto
declined her offers, and nothing short of a press of business on the occasion
of Mr. Vavasour’s visit would have caused the busy old autocrat to break
through a fixed habit of her life.
Honor wondered to herself, as, with her large garden-hat shading her
eyes from the sun, and a flower-basket on her arm, she bent over a favourite
plant rich with pinks in brilliant blossom, dropping at the same time one of
the treasures into her basket, whether Mr. Vavasour had the least idea what
a commotion his coming to the house for half an hour was causing. She
caught herself marvelling too whether he liked the smell of roast beef and
cabbage: for the house had been redolent of both when Honor gladly
exchanged the scene of bustle and confusion, and the aroma of a meal more
plentiful than refined, for the fresh air of heaven and the perfumes of the
roses and the pinks. She did not hurry over her task. There was time enough
before the arrival of their guest for a little more dallying with the flowers, a
few more quiet thoughts over how she would look, and what he—that half-
dreaded new acquaintance—would say to her. Honor had not the slightest
intention of complying with the last of her mother-in-law’s injunctions; the
“washy” dress—it was of soft blue muslin, and the girl looked like a bright
azure flower in it, as she flitted about between the rows of fruit-bushes,
culling the dear old “common” flowers that are still to be found in such
ancient kitchen-gardens as the one that appertained to Pear-tree House—the
“washy” dress that had provoked Mrs. Beacham’s animadversion was not,
Honor determined, to be cast aside. Since the affair of the bonnet, she had
resisted all attempts at interference with her toilet. The day too, as the sun
rose higher and higher in the heavens, had grown oppressively hot, so hot
that her fair face was a little flushed, and she loosened the strings of her hat
that the light summer breeze might blow more freely round her throat. The
coolest spot in all the garden was the terrace-walk, a little raised above the
level of a shady lane, into which those above could look over the trimmed
sprays of what John—who loved the place, and smoked his quiet pipe there
often in the summer evenings—was wont to call the “nightingale hedge.”
With Honor too the terrace was a favourite resort: she would take her book
there, or her work, and sit dreamily on the rough stone bench for hours, till
summoned home by the shrill voice of her mother-in-law, who, being
essentially a woman of action, had no patience with the “idle ways of
John’s silly chit of a wife.” On that especial day, however, Honor had no
time to waste in reverie. She would, she thought only rest for a moment
under the shade of the old thorn-tree; the sun shone so glaringly down upon
the teeming apple-trees, on the clean-kept rows of strawberry-beds sloping
downwards to the gravelled walks, yellow and glowing in the midday heat.
Honor could not, however, long remain, pleasant as it was, in that cool
breezy place. Only a moment to pluck a sprig of sweet syringa from a shrub
of ancient date, growing near the hawthorn-tree; only a moment to hear—
Well! What did she hear? Why, the slow footsteps of a horse, advancing
with even pace along the lane below! Instinctively she rose from her seat,
and peering over the hedge, she recognised in the equestrian, who politely
raised his hat from his head (for a simultaneous movement had caused him
to look towards the terrace), the figure of Arthur Vavasour.
It was too late to retreat, her blushing face was just above him, and she
could only hope that he would not think her very missyish and forward.
That road—the one that he had chosen—was not the usual one from
Gillingham to the Paddocks, and this, Honor, feeling and seeming a good
deal confused and awkward, endeavoured to make him understand. She had
forgotten, or rather she had never heard, the proverb, that qui s’excuse,
s’accuse; but Arthur both remembered and applied it. It is always a
temptation to jump at conclusions that are flattering to our vanity, and the
“jump” on this occasion was far too alluring to be withstood. Arthur had in
good truth very little grounds for supposing that Honor had betaken herself
to that quiet spot for the purpose of awaiting his arrival. He was profoundly
ignorant, beyond the simple fact that she was beautiful, of all that
appertained to or regarded John Beacham’s wife. Unfortunately too he had
been a good deal thrown among a class of women, who would have taken
no great shame to themselves had they been caught in the deed for which he
gave that pretty, unsuspecting Honor credit. Arthur had met with a good
deal of petting and spoiling from the sex in general. He was handsome, and
he knew it. Honor was looking tantalisingly lovely and attractive as she
stammered forth her silly, smiling excuses; so—it was foolish certainly, but
he was not yet “of age,” remember, and it would have been so “muffish” to
ride on as if she were not there—so Arthur Vavasour, following the impulse
of the moment, and meaning, as he would have said, no more than to be
“civil,” contrived (without awkwardness, which would have been fatal in
such a case) to spring with his feet upon the saddle, and to bring his face on
a level with Honor’s.
She could not help laughing; it was “such a foolish thing to do;” and
then there came, after he had shaken hands with her over the hedge, the fear
that the horse would move on, and that there would be an “accident.”
“He might move on—O, please don’t wait!” she said, feeling a little
smitten with what struck her as an act of chivalry on the part of that good-
looking young aristocrat.
“He won’t stir—he knows better,” Arthur said, as he steadied himself
against a strong ash sapling that jutted out from the bank. “Steady, will
you!” to the animal, who was picking out the tender blades of grass for his
own especial eating from among the ground-ivy, the delicate cranesbill, and
the wild violets with which the pretty rural fence was lined. “He knows this
road, and so do I, of old. Jack was my father’s cob, Mrs. Beacham—one of
your father-in-law’s breeding, and he used always to come this way to the
Paddocks.”
It was a pretty way—the prettiest, Honor thought and said—from the
Castle; not that she had ever been the whole road—far from it, she said. It
was a beautiful way, people told her, all through, but she had never been
nearer to the Castle in her life than the end of Pender’s-lane. John did
promise to take her farther when he had the time, and she was going to
learn to ride, and horses were allowed in many places inside the Chace
where a carriage wasn’t, so John said, and if so, why she might some day
see, without giving trouble, she added meekly, a little of the beautiful place
of which she had heard so much.
Arthur professed himself delighted to think that he could afford the wife
of his old friend pleasure in any way; mentally regretting that, owing to his
insecure footing on old Jack’s saddle, he could not be quite as delightful as
he wished, or as the occasion deserved.
“It will be awfully jolly to have you on horseback,” he said, “and
Beacham will mount you in something like style.”
“O yes,” Honor said eagerly, “there is a chestnut—such a beauty! John
calls her Lady Meg—that he is breaking for me; not a pony—quite a tall
horse; and—O Mr. Vavasour, I told you so! Have your hurt yourself?”
She was answered by a laugh from below, and by the cheerily-spoken
words, “All right!” as Arthur, who had suddenly, and nolens volens, found
himself reseated in his saddle, rode away.
Once more left to the companionship of her own thoughts, Honor began
to think how foolish it had all been; and then came the speculation as to
how Mrs. Beacham would take the news (for it seemed a very important
event to simple-minded Honor) of Mr. Vavasour’s escapade. If Honor had
not been afraid of her stepmother (which she was), it would all have been
plain-sailing enough. It had been a purely accidental meeting—no harm had
been intended—and certainly Honor could not be called to account for the
foolish risking of Mr. Vavasour’s bones. All this, and more, the perplexed
and tired girl repeated to herself as she walked slowly on towards the house,
thinking how best to tell the little story which was already assuming in her
eyes the features of an “event.”
To her surprise—for she had fancied he would be waylaid by John, and
carried off at once to see the “stock”—she perceived, through one of the
parlour-windows, Mr. Vavasour sitting on the ponderous sofa covered with
peony-patterned chintz, and in amiable converse with his hostess, who was
doing her best, in more ways than one, to entertain him. In a few more
minutes Honor was in the room, and—mirabile dictu!—shaking hands with
Arthur Vavasour. It was very evident that for some reason or other—what,
Honor would have found it difficult to determine—he had kept the fact of
that very innocent meeting on the terrace-walk a secret. Honor hardly knew
whether to be relieved or sorry that he had done so. That she could do
otherwise than follow his lead, never for a moment, strange as it may seem,
occurred to her. The nature of this young wife was rather an ease-loving
one, and to be spared the listening to Mrs. Beacham’s diatribes was felt by
her to be a great boon; so she, unwisely it must be owned, held her peace,
keeping Arthur’s secret (alas, that there should have been one, of even the
most insignificant description, between those two!) alike from the
cantankerous old lady, and the husband who had as yet given her no cause
to fear that he would ever be severe either on her follies or her faults.
 CHAPTER XVI.

THE ELEMENTS WERE IN FAULT.

From the time of that chance meeting, Arthur Vavasour became a very
frequent visitor at the Paddocks. Ostensibly there was generally some
business excuses for the “calls” that were made so often, and lasted so long.
There was so frequently an ailing or an unsound horse, concerning which an
opinion was required; and then, as we already know, the Paddocks lay so
conveniently on the road to Fairleigh, that it was hardly surprising that poor
Sophy’s somewhat fickle lover should stop to rest him on the way.
There is no denying the truth that young Mrs. Beacham did greatly enjoy
Mr. Vavasour’s society. They had so many (the old reason!) tastes in
common. He had read the books she liked, and he delighted in less
commonplace and more classic music than “The soldier’s tear,” and that
old, old “Banks of Allan Waters,” which Honor was so tired of. His voice
too, when he spoke, was so soft and low—an “excellent thing” in man as
well as woman—and that same voice sounded doubly pleasant after a
morning spent in listening to Mrs. Beacham’s querulous tones and harsh
Yorkshire dialect.
It was surprising to herself how soon Honor felt at her ease with Arthur
Vavasour, and how short a time had been necessary to make her forget that
he was the son of that formidable Lady Millicent; while she—but what had
been her origin Honor believed herself never destined to learn—it was
enough that she had been but a humble teacher to some farm-house
children, and that John, that best and kindest of created beings, had taken
her, penniless and almost friendless as she was, to his home and to his heart.
There is something not altogether unsuggestive in the fact that John
Beacham’s bride was, at that period of her short married life, for ever
reminding herself that she “owed everything to John.” It almost seemed as
though she were throwing up a line of defence, a formidable battery, to
guard against any future attacks upon his peace. He was so really kind to
her, not tenderly demonstrative certainly, and anything but sentimental; but
she could trust him so entirely. John was never capricious, and rarely hasty
or rough of speech; he never “bothered” either about trifles—a delightful
negative quality which many wives never appreciate properly till they have
experienced the bore of having a womanly, housekeeping kind of helpmate
“worrying” about a home, the space and means of which are necessarily
limited. That John Beacham was all, and more than all, this, Honor was
constantly repeating to herself. Perhaps—it was more than likely—she was
anxious to hide, under this heap of estimable qualities, the aggravation of
some of poor John’s trifling defects of manner, his few uncourtly habits, his
sometimes ill-pronounced words. Be this as it may, Honor betrayed no sign,
even to herself, that she would have desired any change in one so excellent
and unselfish as her husband; it is even probable that, had not the peccant
places been pointed by force of contrast, she would have found little to
regret in John’s cheery voice and genial, though untutored, manners.
One great pleasure—the pleasure of which Honor had spoken with such
girlish glee to Arthur Vavasour—that, namely, of riding on horseback—had
been without loss of time vouchsafed to the breeder’s wife. She had a
“wonderful figure for a horse” he had said from the first, and when to that
was added the conviction that, though she had not been in the “saddle from
a child,” his wife’s seat and hand were perfect, John’s delight was extreme.
The “teaching” proved a comparatively easy matter; Lady Meg was quiet as
a lamb; and very soon (for John was often too busy to accompany her)
Honor was trusted on horseback, with only a small farm-boy as attendant,
to take her equestrian pleasure where she chose.
The only individual to whom this new state of affairs gave any umbrage
was old Mrs. Beacham, who, when John did not happen to be present, grew
very bitter on the subject of Honor’s favourite pleasure.
“It’s more than I ever had—and I a Yorkshire-woman born—is a horse of
my own,” she said one day to Honor, as the latter stood waiting for Lady
Meg, and looking very pretty and graceful at the window, her long green
habit trailing on the floor, and her gauntleted hand (John had got her up
beautifully) playing with her little dandified whip. “I wonder John can
allow of such a thing as your riding about the country in this way. Things
have got turned upside down with a vengeance since I was young.”
“John likes it,” Honor said, turning round with a smile that disclosed two
rows of pearly teeth, and which ought to have mollified the sour old lady’s
temper. “I never should have thought of riding if it hadn’t been for John,
and now I do love it so! I don’t think I ever liked anything half so much.”
 “You’d like anything that kep you idle, that’s my belief. You’d leave
everything for other people to do, you would. Anybody else may slave
themselves to death, so as you keep your hands white and don’t bend your
back to work.”
“Now, that is hard,” replied Honor, trying to laugh off the old woman’s
irritation. “I won’t bear any more of John’s sins! Why, don’t you remember,
mother”—she called her so, to please John—“don’t you remember how he
came home one day and found me rubbing the table, and how angry he was,
and how he said that neither you nor I were ever to do such things again, for
that, thank God, he was rich enough to pay for servants to do the
housework? Dear John! he always tries to please everybody.”
“More fool he! Everybody indeed! That’s the sort of thing that brings
people to the workhouse. I was brought up different. I never could see, not
I, the good of young people being idle. Work keeps ’em out of mischief, and
hinders white hands, which ain’t of no use as far as I can see, except to
make the gentlemen stare at ’em.”
It was perhaps fortunate for Honor that the old lady could not see the
crimson blush that mantled over cheek and brow at this coarse and
uncalled-for remark. Had that been the case, Mrs. Beacham would have
suspected—what was indeed the truth—that her daughter-in-law was quite
conscious of, and felt indeed rather gratified by, the fact that one gentleman
at least had both looked at and admired the taper fingers, white and soft as
those of the finest lady in the land, to which Mrs. Beacham alluded.
At that moment, and while Honor’s face was still turned towards the
window, a few heavy drops were seen to fall against the panes, and the
prolonged roll of distant thunder gave tokens of a coming tempest.
“O, there’s the rain! How dreadfully provoking! Just when I was going
out! What shall I do?”
“What will you do? Why, bear it to be sure, and be thankful you’ve
nothing worse to bear. I’m going across the meadow to see James Stokes’
whitlow. It will be long enough before such a helpless thing as you has the
stomach for such sights;” and so, grumbling as she went, the busy old soul
departed—to do her justice, she was always ready to help—on her errand of
mercy.
Honor sat down before the work-table, which was strewed all over with
the marks of woman’s industry and handicraft—men’s lambswool stockings