Kitabı oku: «Juggernaut: A Veiled Record», sayfa 6
XIII
[From Helen's Diary.]
A few evenings ago some gentlemen called to see Edgar. He entertained them here in our own parlor, and something in their manner produced a great change in my way of looking at matters.
I had been in a species of revolt against Edgar's way of directing me how I was to receive the different women who called upon me – how I was to be very deferential to this one, haughty to that one, and to assume an easy familiarity with the other, all according to their husbands' relations to Edgar's business. He seemed to be making use of me, and the sense of being made use of in that way was degrading, especially as it involved insincerity in my manner toward these women. But when I saw how these men of wealth and influence treated Edgar, it opened my eyes to my stupidity. They recognized him in every way as a superior, a man to be heard with deference, and whose opinions were to be treated with profound respect.
As I listened and watched, a mingled feeling of exaltation and humiliation swept over me; exaltation in the thought that this superior man loved me and had made me his wife, and shame that I had ventured, even in my own mind, to question his instructions. I resolved then that I would devote my life to the task of making myself a fit companion for him, and would never again assume to doubt anything he might say or do. There will always be things that I cannot understand, of course, but that is because I am not his equal in ability and knowledge, and I can at least accept his superior judgment concerning them.
One of the gentlemen was charming, a Mr. Van Duyn. His daughter, Gladys, was to call upon me the next day, and Edgar had been at great pains to impress me with the importance of receiving her in just the right way. I was to wait for her to make all the advances, and to receive them with becoming appreciation. I almost hated the girl in advance, till I saw her father. Then that feeling passed away. He is a somewhat grave gentleman, whose earnestness impresses one. I liked him and decided that I should like his daughter very much.
After they left, Edgar stood at the window looking down into the streets below. He seemed to have forgotten me. My heart was so full of pride and a desire to be with him in everything, that I was oppressed and could not speak. It seemed to me that we had come to a fork in the road, and I must decide whether I should go with him, or travel the other path alone. There already seemed to be a little distance between us. I felt the tears coming into my eyes, and I went to the window and touched him. He turned and looked at me with a little smile, but he looked abstracted and a little sorrowful. I could no longer endure it and I burst into sobs. He took me at once in his arms and soothed me, but it was in a way that impressed me with the thought that I was a child to him, who was irresponsible and needed protection, instead of a woman who shared his hopes and ambitions and thoughts.
I suddenly threw my arms about him, and begged him to let me help him, and to make me understand all things that he strove for. The half shadow on his face disappeared, and a strange gladness took its place. He held me very close and said solemnly:
"Our life, love and ambition, failure or success, shall be mutual. We are man and wife – what can mean more?"
I met Miss Van Duyn the next day. I will say little of her. She is a woman I love. Strangely enough, I could not try a system of propitiation. I looked at her and thought "This is my equal." She is neither superior nor inferior to me, and she seemed to know it at once. She is calm, cold, dignified, with a high-bred trick of hand and head; sweet toned and fascinating. There is something subtle about her. I was impressed the moment she entered the room with her immaculateness, her irreproachableness of thought and feeling. She is a woman who might be greatly good or greatly wicked I believe – though one instinctively believes her to be greatly good. There has sprung up between us a strange intimacy – no familiarity whatever, but a dignified intimacy.
Edgar was at first half amazed, and then held out his arms and said: "I ought to have known, though, that it would be so; that my wife did not need experience to make her prized even by the most experienced of people."
I took luncheon with Miss Van Duyn yesterday. To-night Edgar and I dined with her at Delmonico's. I am tired and in a sort of maze, but have felt impelled to write while Edgar was down-stairs, smoking. I hear him coming down the corridor now. I know his step as well as his voice. This dinner to-night has affected me peculiarly. It has seemed to open to me a new life, a life that is almost as desirable as the one I have dreamed of – the life in the cottage at Thebes, with my editor and his great plans, and his greater love. It is a life of beauty and intelligence and luxury. It has impressed me strangely. I have a feeling that perhaps, in time, even I would not be out of place there – with Edgar who would reign there. I —
A man is in the doorway. He has stood watching the woman at the table, who has written on unconscious of his presence, for a moment.
She sits with her delicate face turned half towards him, her graceful, sunny head bent over the paper, one white hand guiding her pen, the other resting on the paper.
There is a magnetism, a sweetness, a rare charm and simplicity about her. And one looks at the man in the doorway, and knows that they are man and wife, of a truth.
XIV
Helen had no opportunity to decline Gladys Van Duyn's invitation to Dorp House, the Van Duyn summer place on the Sound, even if she had been reluctant to go thither, as, in a certain way, she was. She craved seclusion with her husband, but she also craved a fuller immersion in that life of ease and art and culture in which she had as yet only dabbled with her feet. She was a trifle appalled by her own ignorance of the ways of that life, and shrank a little from it, as one shrinks from the cold bath while still desiring its shock.
But there was no choice left to her. Gladys Van Duyn was a peremptory little lady, accustomed to have her own winning way, and moreover, the whole matter had been arranged between the elder Van Duyn and Braine before it was mentioned to Helen at all.
Dorp House was within easy reach of the city, so that no business obstacle interposed. It would be infinitely pleasanter for Helen to rest there than to swelter in a hotel; Van Duyn and Braine had need of many and prolonged conferences over the business operations in which they were engaged, and Van Duyn wished Braine to meet a number of gentlemen whose connection with that business it was necessary to conceal as much as possible. These were so often Van Duyn's guests in summer that the necessary conferences with them could be had at Dorp House without observation, whereas any meeting in town would have set tongues wagging.
Thus all arguments pointed in one way, and it only remained for Helen to discover that the change would be beneficial to Braine, on whom heat and work were beginning to have some effect, in order that she should dismiss all her little fears and hesitations.
It was not until she had grown somewhat used to the sumptuous but easy hospitality of the house that she again resumed her diary.
[From Helen's Diary.]
I have had no time to write for many days. I am living in a whirl of excitement, and yet there is no occasion for excitement, as I am made to feel that I can really do precisely as I please.
The charm of this house's hospitality is that it sets one free. I need never go anywhere, or make the least apology for not going. I need not go to bed or get up till I like. I need never appear at a meal if I wish to stay away, and I need not wonder what anybody will think. And yet I feel as if I were in a whirl of excitement, I suppose because all the people about me are so bright, and the atmosphere so intellectual. Every species of high thought is represented here. Among the guests are artists, connoisseurs, musicians, authors, statesmen, financiers, and a world of brilliant and beautiful women. Good taste seems the only law existing or necessary in this society. It never occurred to me before, but good taste seems to be a complete code of morals, whose observance renders all other statutes unnecessary.
Edgar is ever the lover, – one whose caresses and endearments are never exhausted, and there is endless delight in the thought that my life holds nothing but to-morrows with him.
Gladys is altogether such as I imagined her to be at first sight – a charming, delicate woman, full of affection that never blunders, and is never lacking in tact. She is the most graceful hostess in the world. When I see her in this capacity, a sudden longing to have such a home, and such opportunities to bring about me such men and women, comes over me. I never mentioned this to Edgar until last night, for I feared he would think me dissatisfied – and that is impossible. I must always be happy where he is.
The cottage at Thebes is not forgotten, and at times, amid all this luxury and charm, I long for it with Edgar all to myself.
Last night I said something that conveyed my thought to him, quite by accident. I was confused for a moment afterward, and wanted to turn it off; but a sudden happy light came into Ed's eyes, and he said: "You would like to live like this?" I admitted it a little reluctantly, but told him that I would be just as well satisfied, though, when we were back in Thebes. He said that he was glad to know that this life made me happy, and that if I had not the ambition for it, at least the life would not be distasteful to me; that in another year I should entertain these same people in my own house, and that that house should be where I wished it to be.
This produced in me a strange emotion. It was one of joyous intoxication – and regret. I don't know what the regret was for, and it vanished in a moment.
Every one is very attentive to us. Edgar at once took the reins in his own hands. There seemed to be no effort on his part. He appeared to be almost unconscious of it. They are people whom he had never seen before, but people that every one hears of. There is something almost aggressively non-aggressive in Edgar's manner. It is impossible that he should appear in any company or walk through a room without impressing every one who sees him.
To-night there were some strange guests at dinner, and I was seated next to one of them, while Edgar took in Gladys. My neighbor did not understand that I was Edgar's wife, and during dinner the conversation turned on some public question, and some one referring to Edgar for his opinion, he gave it. He seemed to forget the company after a moment, he was so deeply interested in the subject, and talked on. Every one at the table seemed suddenly to cease talking, and to be listening intently to him. I forgot them, myself, everything but Edgar and his voice. There is a quality in his voice that I have never known in any other person's. It is a magnetic quality that compels one, that fascinates one.
When he stopped speaking every one was silent for a moment, and then a murmur of approval ran round the table.
The man next to me turned and said: "Do you remember the gentleman's name?" and I said, "Yes, Mr. Braine," and he said with a sudden surprise, "The man who has just – Why, he is a statesman; I had thought him only a speculator!"
He said it with a funny little snap of his teeth, and a decisive nod. I did not dare say that I was Edgar's wife. I felt that I deserved punishment for daring to be his wife. I cannot be interested in the conversation of people, unless they are talking of him. Every one seems to have discovered this, and so they all talk to me a great deal of him.
One or two of the gentlemen here I do not like particularly. I seem to afford them a certain amusement, and they endeavor to corner me on every occasion, and talk to me.
One of them said last night: "You are one of the most naïve women that I have ever known." It made me a little angry for some reason, and I told Edgar about it afterward, and he held my face in his hands and said: "Well, you certainly are," and his eyes smiled. I seemed to like it when Edgar said it.
There is a Mr. Everet coming to-morrow. Every one seems to enjoy the anticipation of his visit. Gladys talks a great deal of him. He is evidently a very superior man. We leave here to-morrow night, and return to Thebes. I have a little curiosity to meet the man, and hope that he will come before we leave.
August. We are still at Dorp House, and do not leave for some days yet. Mr. Everet came yesterday morning. He is a charming man, and reminds me of Edgar in many ways. He is a dignified man, too. I do not like men who do not impress me as earnest and grave. He is a courtly sort of man. I was very anxious to see him, for I desired to compare – impartially – Edgar and a man who is so much sought after and lauded for his brilliancy.
Well, I have seen him. Edgar is only the more magnificent. Mr. Everet and he seem to appreciate each other greatly. They smoke together and have had a long talk. They seem to have a great respect for each other's opinions – though they do not agree.
After dinner this evening, Mr. Everet came out on the piazza where I was sitting, and we had a delightful talk for an hour. I did not feel at all embarrassed. I have never felt just that since we left Thebes. I feel often that I am not the equal of many of those whom I meet, in an intellectual way, and I regret it, but I have the assurance that I am honest in doing my best for Edgar, and that they will overlook any mistake of mine, kindly, as I am his wife.
We talked of many things, and finally he regretted that we were going so soon, and hoped that he would see us in Washington – his interests are there, and he spends the winters there, and does something politically. I don't know anything about that. I told him about Thebes, and that we were to live there; that we had taken a cottage, and that I did not suppose that we could go to Washington for a long time, as I thought we should have to be quite economical.
For some reason I found myself talking very confidentially to him, and we seemed to have known each other a long time. I told him about the people at Thebes, and the Enterprise, and that it was just possible that sometime we could live somewhere else, and differently – a little like this.
He listened very attentively and sympathetically. There seemed to be a puzzled and surprised expression on his face at first, but soon it disappeared, and he smiled and said meditatively: "Yes, I understand."
After a while I happened to look up, and Edgar stood leaning against the railing, watching me. There was a beautiful look in his eyes, and he and Mr. Everet looked at each other and smiled.
I thought they seemed a little amused, but very much pleased. I asked Edgar afterwards, and he said, he could never look otherwise than pleased when listening to me, could he?
I presume he can't.
It was with a little sigh of regret that Helen received the final summons for an immediate return to Thebes. She reproached herself for the feeling, and resolutely made up her mind that her one supreme longing was to begin the quiet life she had planned to lead with Braine, in the little white cottage, with the bed of sweet-williams before the door.
Gladys had solemnly promised to visit her there during Lent, when, "Society is so deadly dull, you know." (A promise which she kept, making Thebes her place of retirement and meditation in preparation for her marriage after Easter.)
Braine set out on the return journey with a peculiar buoyancy of spirits which helped to drive away Helen's little regrets.
"Never mind, dear," he said, as they took their places in the palace car, "you have not seen the last of your New York friends. You shall spend winters there before you are many years older. I have only to emphasize myself in Thebes, and then we shall seek larger pastures."
"But hasn't this trip cost you a great deal of money, Ed?"
"Well, it hasn't impoverished me, at any rate," he answered, with his queer smile. "Perhaps that is because I am not altogether the paymaster."
But he did not explain.
XV
Abner Hildreth was closeted in the parlor of his bank with a grave, but eager-faced man of perhaps fifty, who sat with his left hand doubled up into a fist, while he snapped the spaces between the knuckles with the fingers of the right, making a succession of little nervous snaps, which would have annoyed a more irritable person than Hildreth.
The banker had been reading aloud to his companion, and half a dozen copies of the Thebes Daily Enterprise lay open on a chair by his side. Hildreth had been reading the leading articles one after the other, and had just concluded, the series.
"I don't like the looks of it, Duncan. I don't know what it all means, or how much."
"Perhaps he is only guessing, and getting things wrong. These newspaper men often do that, you know."
"Yes – " returned Hildreth, meditatively, "but Braine isn't that sort. He is apt to surprise you just the other way. When you squeeze him to see if he knows what he has been saying, you're apt to find out he knows a good deal more. He's a cautious fellow, and not too previous." [Hildreth's speech declines to reduce itself to subjection, and must be reported faithfully.] "Besides, I particularly cautioned him when he began this series on 'Thebes as a Railroad Centre,' to go slow, and deal in glittering generalities. I told him we weren't quite ready to call the hand yet."
"What did he say?"
"Not much. He said he understood the situation, and I suppose he really thought so. I'm afraid he's upset the milk pail. I wish I'd taken him into full confidence."
"I wish you had, almost. But if you had, we should have had to let him in a good deal deeper than we intend. I suppose he's keen enough to know how thick the butter is on a slice of bread, when he gets a good look at it?"
"Keen enough? Yes, he's keen enough for anything. I'm afraid he's been too keen for us. I don't know what he's up to, or how much he knows, but it looks serious. Maybe after all it would have been cheaper to let him in on the ground floor, instead of pretending. What if he's leased the ground floor himself, and made up his mind to turn us out?"
"Had he money enough for that?"
"No, I suppose not. But brains count sometimes, and he's got brains. Couldn't you find out anyway what Van Duyn means to do?"
"No. He said he was in other things, and couldn't go in with us. Of course that means whatever he wanted it to mean. With a man of his wealth and banking connections, being in one thing or twenty things, don't prevent his going into others. But whether he's up to anything or not, I couldn't find out."
"Well, it looks bad. Braine played it very sharp on me when he got that charter and ferry franchise. I didn't know he knew of their existence, or would dream of their value if he did. Then he went to New York and got in with a lot of people there. I don't know how. Then came the sudden drop in Northern stock before we began selling short. Somebody must have been selling it quietly for days. Then when we went in to buy, you couldn't get a controlling interest at any price, and all we can make out is that a big block of it is held off the market. Now comes this series of articles."
"Read that last paragraph again."
Hildreth took up the paper and read:
"These plans are now about matured, and the hopes of Thebes approach fruition. It is yet too soon to publish particulars, but this much, at any rate, may be stated. A strong body of capitalists have secured control of the lines south of Columbia. Associated with them are the owners of the franchise for the connecting line between Thebes and Columbia. Contracts for the rapid construction of that line have been let, and the road will be in operation by the new year. Negotiations are in progress, or soon will be, for a traffic arrangement with the roads running north from Thebes, and there is now every assurance that the great tide of commerce between the North and South will speedily flow through this city."
The two sat silent for a time after the reading was done. Then Duncan said:
"Hildreth, there's more behind that; the fellow has a masked battery of some kind. Let's have the others down at once."
Hildreth rang for a clerk to whom he said:
"Telegraph to Tucker and Fanning to come down by the night express without fail, and meet Duncan here at ten in the morning. Say it's imperative."
When the clerk had gone, Duncan asked:
"What shall we do about Braine, in the mean time?"
"That's what puzzles me. On the whole, I think we'd better have him here to-night, and have it out with him some way. We may not be able to manage him, but I think we can. At all events, we'd best know how much powder he has in his magazine. Confound the fellow!"
"Don't be too hasty. He is evidently a man we want with us, and of course we can get him in some way. A very little slice of this cut will seem a feast to him. Send for him, and when we get him here we'll manage him."
Hildreth rang again, and said to the answering clerk:
"Go up to Braine's after you lock the vault for the day, and tell him to come down and see me here at eight o'clock sharp."
When this message was delivered to Braine an hour or two later the editor was quietly reading the "Biglow Papers" to his wife in the little white cottage with the sweet-williams in front. He had half an hour before received a note by messenger, which he crumpled up and threw into the waste basket. A moment later he picked it out again, went into the kitchen and placed it carefully on the fire.
When Hildreth's clerk delivered his summons, Braine quietly said to him:
"Take down my answer in shorthand and deliver it accurately. Tell Mr. Hildreth I am reading a very interesting book to my wife, and don't care to disturb myself. You may say to him, also, that after he has had a talk with Duncan, who is with him now, and Tucker and Fanning, who are to arrive by the express at ten to-morrow morning, I shall be at his service for any conference he may think necessary. Good evening, Charley."
"Why, Ed," exclaimed Helen, as soon as the clerk had gone, "this reading is of no consequence."
"I know it, dear. In fact I'm tired of it and shall read no more."
"Why didn't you go then? It may be of consequence."
"It is – to Hildreth."
"Why did you send him so – well, so curious a message, then?"
"Because I wanted him to know that I knew who was coming and by what trains."
"Didn't you get the information from him?"
"No, dear. He didn't know it himself till he telegraphed for them an hour ago, when we were at tea."
"Then how on earth did you find it out?"
"I pay for my education, dear, as I go on. The little note I burned in the kitchen brought me the information."
"But why did you treat Mr. Hildreth's message so – well, so curtly? I'm sure – "
"My dear, let me tell you a story. There was once a rich man and a poor man. The rich man wanted to make use of the poor man, and he carefully arranged matters so as to make himself the poor man's master. When he had things all ready, he went to the poor man and told him about it. He promised to be a kind master and to pay the poor man well for serving him. But the poor man was constituted a little curiously. He didn't like to have a master, even a kind one who paid him well. He liked to be master himself, and so he carefully arranged matters so as to make himself the rich man's master. When he had matters in readiness, he sent a reply to one of the rich man's orders, which let the rich man know that the poor man was master now. That's a little fable. But fables are often true."
