The Wide House Page 22

  “You contemptible Irishman,” whispered Joshua, his hand on the bell-rope. His face was a death’s-head. “You come into my house and assault and insult me, because I refuse you my daughter. Go. Go, before I send for the police.”

  But Stuart was too insanely excited and enraged to hear this. He stood over Joshua with knotted fists, and his eyes leapt in their sockets,. “There is no one who knows you that does not curse you! You are an abomination! You call me a blasphemer. Every breath that you draw is a blasphemy, you foul bastard!

  “Look you, were I less of a man than I am, and more of your kidney, it’s seducing your daughter I’d be doing, instead of coming to you like a gentleman, and praying for her hand. And, by God! I may do it yet, as a lesson to ye, ye scum and filth!” He paused, his voice breaking with his fury, then continued, shouting wildly: “D’ye thing it is a comfort to me to think that my sons might be like ye, with your blood in their veins? Or my daughter a trollop, with your soul?” The brogue, so carefully long absent from his speech, came back thickly, and it was a savage Irishman, indeed, who looked down on the bent and emaciated Joshua.

  Joshua tugged the bell-rope with so much terror that it was torn down in his hand. But the butler, a tall gaunt man with a sly and lip-licking face appeared, smirking. Joshua saw him with mighty relief; he was trembling visibly. He pointed to Stuart. “Show this fop, this blackguard, this popinjay, to the door!” he squeaked, struggling for breath. “And never let him enter again.”

  Stuart flung back his head and laughed raucously and furiously. “Enter again, this den of thieves? This ante-room to a brothel? This usurer’s pit of serpents?” He paused abruptly, and now his dark and swollen face gleamed. He bent over Joshua and thrust his fist under the shrinking old man’s nose. Fascinated with terror, Joshua stared at him. “But you’ve not seen the last of me, I swear! You and I have a reckoning to make.”

  Fortified by the presence of his butler, and his hatred, Joshua squealed: “I’ll have you in Court, I’ll have you in bankruptcy, you puppy!”

  Suddenly Stuart relaxed. His rage was gone, leaving only his laughter and contempt. “That is easier said than done, thief though you are. There is still law in America. The tale isn’t finished yet. There is another chapter.”

  He looked down at Joshua as though he were an unspeakable obscenity, then swung away, arrogant and confident in his contemptuous strength and wholeness of body and handsomeness. He was exhilarated by his fury, as with whiskey. Never had he felt so buoyant and invulnerable. The butler, still smirking, accompanied him to the great and spectral hall, where the most pallid of light drifted. The man gave Stuart his hat and cane and gloves, peeping at him from under granulated lids, and bowing stiffly.

  There was something in his manner which made Stuart pause and scrutinize him narrowly. Now he was more sober, though his emotions were still elated. He remembered that “Like master, like man,” and recalled that thieves are always supremely devoted to their masters, with a devotion far beyond that given by a decent man to an honorable master. This butler, doubtless, continued the old tradition. Nevertheless, Stuart decided that he, himself, had nothing to lose, and decided to chance a broaching of the man’s defenses.

  Stuart glanced swiftly at the door beyond which Joshua crouched. Then he returned to the butler, who was watching him with his covert grin. Meeting Stuart’s look, the man expressed silent tentativeness and watchful interest. Stuart, loathing him, bent towards him and whispered: “I am at home every evening at ten the balance of this week.”

  The man said nothing. He only bowed again, and smirked, and opened the door. Stuart stepped out into the cold brisk May air, and looked back. The door closed promptly behind him.

  Now his assurance suddenly faded. He walked away, with his usual swagger. But he had sobered. The fumes of rage and triumph began to leave him. For years, he had ached to strike at Joshua Allstairs; his loathing had been like a festering poison in him. It had been a release. But now that it was over he was enormously depressed and sunken.

  However, he reflected, had he continued to be all respect and deference to Joshua, it would have brought him nothing but continued oily and benign insults. The old man would not countenance him for his daughter. Stuart’s respectful importunities, his controlled pleadings, would only have increased Joshua’s malevolence, and he would have enjoyed himself. Stuart, then, had lost nothing at all, and had delivered himself of an unbearable load of venom.

  His depression was very dark. But his natural ebullience of spirits would not let him fall too low this time. He proceeded to the shops, and by the time he had arrived there he was smiling again, and greeting the ladies with the utmost deference and affability. They adored him, condescended to him pleasantly, and the older ladies looked at his broad shoulders and narrow waist with wistful affection.

  But Sam Berkowitz, subtle and sensitive always, soon discerned that there was something disorderly and pent about Stuart today, despite all his amiable chatter and eagerness with the customers. Stuart had once complained that one could have no secrets from his old friend, that he was a “witch,” and knew all things by “divination.” At any rate, Sam studied Stuart with careful earnestness, and after a little he was less disturbed. It was not money, this time, apparently. Stuart, when pressed for money, or in financial difficulties after some hideous extravagance, wore a certain sultry and preoccupied expression, was hasty and short of manner, and confused. He was none of these, today. To be sure, he seemed to be thinking deeply, was restless, and had a way of pursing his lips. He was scheming, doubtless, meditated Sam, with relief. It was not money, then. What was it?

  Sam speculated. It was a woman. Only money and women could so turn Stuart’s attention away from his beloved shops. Then Sam knew. Stuart had apparently spoken for Miss Marvina, and had been refused. Sam’s relief increased tremendously. Some chronic tightness in him relaxed. It was a good thing! A very good thing, thank God.

  At five o’clock that evening, Janie appeared, luxuriously arrayed, and in Stuart’s most formal carriage. She minced into the main shop, her downcast lashes brushing her cheeks, and gowned in rich purple velvet and ermine. At the sight of her, Stuart colored, but he came forward gallantly and seated his cousin in an empty chair. The few ladies now in the shop bowed to that pathetic little widow, and smiled at her amiably. So far, Janie had been a great social success, and she had managed to ingratiate herself even with those with whom Stuart was no social favorite, and who had only grudgingly accepted him. Her meekness, her amiability, her professed gratitude for the kindness of new friends in this “strange land,” her admiration for everything, her fascinating conversation and careful diction, had impressed all very favorably. Moreover, it was evident that she was a lady of fortune, and had the most remarkable jewels, and the most elegant of Continental airs.

  Sam had retired to the office behind the shop, and had begun to look over the day’s accounts. He was surprised when Stuart suddenly entered, shutting the door abruptly behind him. “Look here,” whispered the young man urgently, “come out into the shop and tell me in front of Janie that I must not forget our dinner together tonight.”

  “But we haf no dinner,” said Sam, in surprise.

  “Oh, damn you! Who said we have?” Stuart glared at him with ire. “But I’m not in the mood to dine tête-à-tête with the strumpet tonight. If I do, there’ll be fireworks, I vow. I can’t afford that, just yet. I’m in a bad state. Besides, your mama can give me a bite or two, if I appear. If you think not, I’ll go to the tavern.”

  “I see,” said Sam, thoughtfully. It was very sad, this good Stuart constantly involving himself with women. Sam remembered how one distraught and hysterical married lady had haunted the shop every day for several months, merely to see Stuart, and how there had been many distressing scenes in this very office, behind closed doors.

  Stuart left the office, and returned to his dwindling customers, for it was approaching the dinner hour. Janie decorously awaited him, all
modesty and tremblings. He ignored her, putting all his charm into his ministering to the belated ladies. Janie smiled under her long nose, and bit her lips vigorously to increase their color. Sam’s door remained obdurately shut, though Stuart kept glancing at it with fury. The last customer was now preparing to leave. Stuart coughed loudly. The male clerks, folding up the silks and velvets, and murmuring among themselves, were relaxing at the end of a long hard day.

  Stuart conducted the last lady to her carriage, and lingered on the walk with her. His anger increased. Damn Sam, anyway! Finally, there was nothing to do but to re-enter the shops, and to say to Janie: “Well, my love, shall we leave now?”

  Janie rose, simpering coyly. Just at that exasperating moment, Sam’s door opened, and he entered the shop. Stuart glared at him, with relief. Sam was apparently surprised to see Janie there. He bowed to her. “Good efening, Mrs. Cauder,” he murmured.

  Janie regarded him with haughty but pleasant condescension. “Good evening, Mr. Berkowitz,” she said. She laid her mittened hand on Stuart’s arm. “It is late, my dear. Shall we go now?”

  Sam cleared his throat diffidently. He pretended to regard Stuart with confusion. His unhappiness, however, was sincere. He said, in a low and hesitating voice: “But, my Stuart, haf we not a dinner together, tonight, to discuss some financial matters in quietness?”

  Stuart, happy, affected to start. He frowned. “Damn it, yes! But Sam, can’t it wait until tomorrow night? Janie’s come for me, and I had something in mind for the evening.”

  Sam, unused to duplicity, stared unaffectedly at him, wondering. But Stuart winked impatiently. Sam cleared his throat again. He shook his head, sadly. “The banks—they haf the auditors tomorrow, and will consider those matters, Stuart. It cannot be delayed.”

  “O hell, then,” said Stuart, pettishly. “If I must, I must.” He turned to his cousin, and took her hand. “My love, you can see how it is. Business affairs. Always business affairs. Sam is very obdurate. But he is right, of course.”

  Janie turned her green eyes upon Sam with hatred. He was more and more confused. He murmured something very feebly, and made an expressive motion with his hands. He was afraid of Janie, as he was afraid of all heartless and cruel people.

  Janie spoke with hoarse loudness: “There is nothing to be done, it seems. But I do deplore that you are at the beck and call of the most unfeeling—persons, my darling Stuart.”

  Stuart flushed. He regarded Sam sheepishly. But Sam betrayed no reaction. “Ma’am,” said Stuart, with formality, “there are matters which are beyond female comprehension. Shall I conduct you to your carriage now?”

  He led Janie with ceremony to the street. The May evening sky was pure mauve, shining with the last sunlight. The cold North air rushed through the streets, like a wall of fresh water. Stuart assisted Janie into the carriage. She was enraged and disappointed. But she managed a seductive smile, as she looked down at Stuart. “Early?” she whispered, languishing at him.

  He smiled at her gallantly. “If possible,” he whispered in return. He watched the carriage as it rolled down the cobbled street. She waved her kerchief coquettishly to him. He waved back. He felt sick and hot when he returned to the shops. He was already tired of Janie, and her knowledgeable ways, and some fundamental decency in him was revolted. He slammed the door angrily behind him. The clerks had slipped away. Sam was waiting in the warm dusk, and Stuart could see the clear brown shining of his eyes. They were like a dumb but wise reproach.

  “I thought I’d never rid myself of her,” Stuart fumed, setting a chair into place. “Damn it, how do I get into such abominable scrapes? What do I do? Nothing! Nothing, I swear to you! But the women hang about like damned fainting sheep, smothering a man until he can’t breathe for the likes of ’em.”

  Sam smiled faintly. Stuart did not look at him. Then Sam said, gently: “You are to marry Mrs. Cauder?”

  At this revolting suggestion Stuart forgot his embarrassment, and swung on his friend. He burst into violent laughter. “Marry her? For Christs’ sake, Sam! Am I an idiot? Do I impress you as an idiot, an imbecile?”

  “Yes,” said Sam, firmly.

  Stuart stared at him, astounded.

  Sam continued, with more gentleness: “In your affairs with women, my Stuart, you exhibit no intelligence at all. You do not learn. Every man may haf one bad time, but more than one bad time a wise man does not. This lady, Mrs. Cauder: was it necessary to haf a bad time with her, in your house?”

  Stuart’s face was crimson. He laughed abruptly. He glanced at his watch. “It wasn’t such a bad time. On the contrary. But enough is enough. That is the hell with women: they never have enough. They gather the rosebuds where they may, but insist on embalming the damned dried leaves forever, and push them into a man’s face on all occasions. I’m finished with them.”

  Sam sighed. He said, tentatively: “You haf promised Father Houlihan to look favorably upon his niece, whom he loves so much. Marriage might be excellent for you, my friend.”

  Stuart still scrutinized his watch. “I think you are right, Sam.” He turned to Sam, and his mercurial face now expressed nothing but blandness and innocence. “Shall we go? Thanks for extricating me.”

  “Tonight, there was the extrication. But am I to invite you to supper every night, without end?”

  Stuart had recovered his good temper. “Who knows?” he said, affectionately. “Sam, what would I do without you?” He took his friend’s arm. But Sam resisted. His face was now grave.

  “You haf not forgotten that Mrs. Cauder is now our partner? Embarrassment will not cease.”

  “O hell, let the future take care of itself. In the meantime, I have things to do. Shall we go?”

  He whistled gaily as they left the shops, and locked the doors behind them. All at once Sam was ill with uneasiness.

  CHAPTER 24

  At half past nine that evening Stuart let himself softly and furtively into his house. It was most horrible, he fumed, that he must creep into his own darling house as though he had no right to be there, and all because of a strumpet with lascivious green eyes. He tiptoed up the stairs, and peered down the hallway. Janie’s door was open a mere crack, but a light shone out into the darkness. He cursed her silently, retreated, and rang for a servant.

  “I may have a visitor tonight,” he said curtly. “I wish you to stand by the door, and watch, until half past ten at least. I do not wish a bell to ring. It—it is a matter of importance and privacy.”

  The servant immediately suspected the coming of a woman, which was not unusual. He nodded silently, and withdrew, grinning to himself in the hall.

  Now Stuart cursed himself for his indiscretion. He ought not to have suggested that Allstairs’ butler come to the house. Janie would eavesdrop, if she heard voices. I never think! thought Stuart, fuming at himself. He went into the great white hallway, where the servant had taken up his vigil. Stuart glanced up the stairs, then whispered, frowning haughtily: “It is a gentleman I expect. You will conduct him quietly to the sun-room, where I will await him.”

  He marched away, and then cursed himself again. The servants of the city doubtless knew each other very well. The rumor would get about that Mr. Allstairs’ man had visited Mr. Coleman that evening, on a secret matter. There was nothing to do now but work fast.

  The sun-room was cold and brilliantly empty. Stuart sat down and glared at his watch. Fifteen minutes to ten. He folded his arms across his chest, and frowned. All at once he felt certain that Allstairs’ man would not come tonight. Or on any other night. He had been a fool to think so. His gorge rose. He crossed his knees and swung a long leg. Its suave outlines, under the strained fawn broadcloth, pleased him with their symmetry. He cocked his head, the better to observe the silken flow of strong muscles shimmering under the crystal chandelier.

  Then he was despondent again. There were other ways, of course, through which to approach Marvina. But in a week or less she would be gone from Grandeville. His volatile despai
r rose to a high pitch. Was he to be balked? Never! He had never been balked in his life. He would not be so now.

  He heard whispering footsteps on the rich rugs outside the room. His heart began to beat. His servant entered with Joshua’s man, lank and gaunt in black broadcloth, his hat clutched in his two hands against his lean breast, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight. He was smirking respectfully. He bowed to Stuart. Stuart, sweating with relief, dismissed his servant. He sat down again, with languid grace, and surveyed the butler with a haughty smile.

  What a vulture it was, fit servant for fit master! The cadaverous face was long and sunken and livid, the nose a curving thin hook, the eyes the eyes of a weasel, without conscience or faith, and lit only with the avid light of greed.

  “What is your name, my man?” Stuart asked, condescendingly.

  He very well knew what it was, but when the man murmured: “Grimshaw, if it please you, sir,” Stuart inclined his head regally.

  “Excellent, excellent,” he said. He hesitated, then with a royal gesture indicated a chair. “You may sit down, Grimshaw.”

  Grimshaw was only amused by this elegant show of imperialism. He sat down on the edge of a rose-damask little chair, holding his hat on his bony knees. His attitude was all humility.

  There was a little silence. Stuart began to feel uncomfortable. The man was not looking at him, but Stuart was uneasily aware that all his affectations had not in the least impressed the slinking cur. Stuart stared at the floor. The black-and-white stone was exquisitely polished, so that all objects were reflected in it. The dim rose of the draperies stirred at the windows as the night wind rose strongly.

  “You are probably conjecturing why I suggested you come to me tonight?” said Stuart.

  The man coughed deprecatingly. “I considered perhaps, sir, you wished to make a change?”