Carr, Caleb - The Alienist 02 - The Angel Of Darkness by Caleb Carr

Author:Caleb Carr [Carr, Caleb]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: detective
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 32

The Ballston-Saratoga trolley system was only a year old, and looked it: the car that we boarded had polished railings and clean appointments, and it was set on top of a shining set of narrow tracks. The thing moved at a good clip through the four or five miles of countryside what separated Ballston Spa from Saratoga’s main street, Broadway, and the breeze that hit us in our seats at the front of the car was refreshing and even exciting, given where we were going. It was the kind of air what heightens anticipation, you might say; and though the trip lasted only fifteen minutes or so, it seemed to my young soul to go on forever.

When the car finally did slip into America’s greatest recreational center, it did so by way of the southern end of Broadway. From that spot we got an excellent view down into the heart of the town; and I’ve got to say, it was a wonder to behold. Lined by spreading, beautiful elm trees, Saratoga’s Broadway, taken as just a street, would’ve been a credit to any town anywhere; but behind the trees, the well-tended sidewalks, and the streetlamps stood the blazing lights of countless shops and the city’s massive hotels, all of which promised excitement of every stripe and gave the lie to the town’s outdated label of “resort.” There was no sign that retreat and relaxation were prized goods (or even possibilities) in Saratoga: the old days, when political men, scholars, and artists from all over the world had met to “take the waters” together and talk of lofty things, were definitely gone by 1897, and the place was a full-blown pleasure market.

Canfield’s Casino was a square, mansionlike building located down in a green, shady park where the Congress Spring (one of the town’s many old mineral water fountains) had formerly been the main attraction. The Casino had actually been built by another famous gambler, John Morrissey, a burly Irish prizefighter and Tammany tough who’d made use of his winnings to set himself up in the gaming room and horse track businesses (Morrissey’d also built Saratoga’s first track). During the construction in 1870-1871 of what’d then been known as “the Club House,” Morrissey’d pumped every Italianate luxury he could think of into the place, and it’d done a booming business from the start. It hadn’t been enough, though, to net Morrissey the prize he wanted most: acceptance by the society types who came to fritter their dollars away by the thousands in his establishment. He’d died in 1878, and ownership of the joint had passed around to various second-rate operators for a time, until it was bought and refurbished in 1894 by its current owner, Richard Canfield.

Canfield, like Morrissey, had made a personal fortune in the gambling trade, though he didn’t have the thug’s past what’d kept Morrissey from ever being treated like a true gentleman. Having run gaming houses in Providence, Rhode Island, and then in New York, Canfield had

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