by John Jakes
Seconds later, the rhythmic noise of the sea began to lessen. Or so he thought. Gentle lassitude filled him. Despite the forbidding day—darker by the moment—he was content.
The wind intensified; it smelled of salt and of vast reaches of open water stretching into the distance. They savored their intimacy and their nakedness a moment longer. Then, cooling, they separated. They put on their wrinkled and sandy clothes, all the while murmuring endearments.
He maneuvered her toward a rock, so that she sat with her back partially against it, partially against his side. His arm was behind her, cradling her.
She rested her forehead against his cheek. Eyes closed, she murmured, “You were too much for me, darling.”
“What do you mean?”
“I lost control. I couldn’t stop.”
“Neither could I.”
“It was bliss—”
He touched her nose. “Because of you.”
“I knew it would be,” she finished.
He was proud and happy. How lucky he was to have such a girl, so fine and soft and white. He remembered the feel of her waist naked under his hands and shivered with pleasure.
Abruptly, a little stick-legged shore bird rushed from behind a rock and stopped to peck at the damp sand. The bird sensed intruders, turned to regard them with a bright eye as distant lightning flashed again.
Undisturbed by their presence, the bird marched on, pecking at the sand, pecking—
The omens for the future were fine, he thought.
They clung to one another in silence, both of them with relaxed, almost dreamy smiles on their faces. After about ten minutes had passed, conscience compelled him to say, “We should start back.”
“Soon.” She snuggled closer. “Do you know you’re the first lover I’ve ever had?”
Reassured, he said, “I’m glad.”
“I’ll confess something else. When I met you, I set out to trap you. Now I’ve succeeded. Once a girl’s done what I just did, honor demands that her suitor marry her.”
She spoke in a teasing way, yet he thought he detected a serious undertone. It was heady to realize what her words promised. He laughed softly.
“Yes, I’ve been told that’s the way things work. But don’t say you set a trap. Traps are for the unwary. I’ve wanted to marry you since the day Marcus introduced us. So if your parents will have me—”
She kissed his cheek. “They’ll have you. If I say I want you, it’s settled.” Another quick peck. “Now I admit a physician in the family may not be quite as grand as a European duke. But dukes are becoming common. All the girls in my set want a title along with a wedding ring.”
“And what do you want?”
Her hand dropped down, caressing. “Need you ask?”
Then she looked at him, her gaze steady, almost without emotion. The bantering tone was gone. “I’ll tell you the truth, Will. Until this morning I thought I wanted to marry you, but I wasn’t sure. Now I am.”
“Then I’m delighted that roughneck from the Casino threw the rock. He seemed to know you—”
She pulled away sharply, crossing Her forearms over her breasts, and rubbing her upper arms. She avoided his eyes, staring instead at the mountainous waves.
“At the start of the season, Marcus and I went to the Casino nearly every day. We went to hear the concerts, or to watch Dickie Sears play tennis. But the shackers soon changed all that. They make it a point to push themselves on nearly every female visitor under fifty. Some of the more jaded members find that amusing, but I don’t. Once, just as I was leaving, the boy with the scar accosted me. Marcus threatened to thrash him. Then other people stepped in to prevent the fight. But before I left I gave that boy a piece of my mind. We tried to get him discharged, but we failed. He’s someone’s relative. That’s the whole story.”
Will nodded. “I figured it was something like that.”
Her story certainly explained the shacker’s behavior. The boy was getting back at her. Just one thing in the account troubled Will; Marcus’ purported eagerness to fight. That didn’t jibe with his reaction when Will suggested the same thing. What had been different the first time? Had there been a crowd present? People Marcus felt he must impress? Undoubtedly that was it.
“Island filth, that’s all those shackers are,” Laura said. “Because of them, I can’t go back to the Casino. I haven’t been there since the day I had the trouble.”
That’s one more score I must settle. I knew the bastard was spreading lies about her.
“Oh, but we shouldn’t waste time talking about some dirty Irish ball boy. Do you plan to speak to Father about an engagement?”
“Yes. The moment I can get an appointment with him in New York.”
She sighed. “I wish we could be married tomorrow. I dread the rigmarole if Mama insists on a huge church wedding. Wouldn’t it be grand if we could just slip away and surprise everyone afterward?”
“You mean elope? Could we?”
She grew thoughtful. “It’s a very exciting idea. We can certainly think about it.”
The sky erupted at last, spilling fat raindrops on the sand with loud plopping sounds. Will scrambled up. “Right now we’d better think about running for the carriage. This looks like a cloudburst.”
So it proved. By the time they reached the landau they were drenched. Neither minded very much. And while most girls would have wanted to ride inside, Laura insisted on sitting beside him. Will took that as another fine omen.
They laughed and talked all the way back to Coggeshall Avenue. He drove the carriage into the fragrant stable, imaginary scenes of an elopement vivid in his mind.
Quite suddenly, the swarthy face of his stepbrother was there too, equally vivid. Will laughed loudly.
Laura brushed at her wet hair, ignoring the grooms waiting to help her down. “What’s funny?”
He fibbed. “I was thinking of how ridiculous we must look.”
He told the lie because he was fearful she’d misunderstand the truth. He wasn’t sure he could clearly explain one of the reasons he was so happy. She might misinterpret his words if he said, What happened this past hour will help me keep a promise.
iii
That night, Will had trouble sleeping. One minute he was consumed with excitement at the prospect of marrying Laura; the next, his mind churned with thoughts of repaying the shacker. He planned to do that tomorrow.
Will had never been prone to settle anything by fighting. But this case was an exception. He knew what Roosevelt would have done in similar circumstances, and that helped him make up his mind. He didn’t intend to tell Laura of his plans, though.
If Laura wanted to elope, he’d have to contact Drew right away, tell him that he couldn’t come to New York just now. So much to think about—
Despite his wakeful night, he was in a fine mood when he went down to breakfast. His euphoria soon disappeared. He found Laura looking paler than ever. She was cross with the servants, and with him.
After they finished their coffee, they walked out on the loggia. With a smile, he asked whether she’d had any further thoughts about an elopement. She reacted as if she’d been stung.
“I know we discussed that. But I hope you didn’t take me seriously.”
He stiffened. “I beg your pardon. Am I talking to the same young lady with whom I spent the morning yesterday? Or have I met some disagreeable twin sister she never mentioned?”
Her irritable look faded. She sighed and offered a lame smile. “I know it must seem that way. I apologize. Today all of a sudden, I just feel—oh—blue. It happens to women periodically, you know.” She gave him a significant look before she turned away.
So that’s her trouble, he thought. At least she wouldn’t become pregnant as a result of their hour on the beach.
Laura leaned on the balustrade, gazing out to sea. The gray clouds were beginning to fragment along the horizon, revealing swatches of blue beyond. It might turn out to be a splendid day.
At len
gth she said, “I’m sorry you took my remarks about eloping too literally.”
“Yes, I did. I honestly thought you disliked the idea of a church wedding,”
“I dislike the idea of being disinherited even more.”
“All right,” he said equably. “We’ve settled the misunderstanding. I’ll speak to your father soon.”
“There’s no hurry.”
It took him a moment to recover from the shock of hearing that. “Laura—if you didn’t mean any of what you said yesterday—”
“I meant it, darling. I love you. I want to marry you. You’ll make a fine, distinguished husband. But we—we needn’t rush things. A long engagement is ever so much more fun than a short one. There’ll be lots more parties for us to enjoy—you’ll see.”
Baffled by her abrupt reversal, he was still anxious to please her. “We’ll do it any way you wish. The marriage— our life together—that’s what counts.”
A footman opened one of the great glass doors from the central hall just as Laura patted his hand. “I knew you’d be understanding.”
“Miss Pennel?” the servant said. “Your mother wishes to remind you that her guest will be arriving at one.”
Laura dismissed the man with a brusque nod. “What guest?” Will asked.
“Mamie Fish. Stuyvesant Fish’s wife.”
“I’ve heard of him. Wasn’t his father Grant’s secretary of state?”
“That’s right. He’s president of the Illinois Central. His wife’s a perfectly dreadful person. Barely able to spell or read a newspaper. But socially, she’s nearly as important as Mrs. Astor. I forgot to tell you she’d be dining with us this afternoon. She and Mama are planning a ball at the Casino.”
The word reminded him of his obligation.
“I hope you and your mother will excuse me if I don’t join you. I have an errand.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“It could, but I’d prefer that it didn’t.”
“At least have the courtesy to tell me where you’re going.”
He grinned. “I gave in to you on horse doctoring. You’ll have to give in to me on this. I’ll tell you afterward.”
He walked toward her, intending to give her a kiss. She stepped quickly to one side and stalked into the mansion.
iv
Will began to pace the loggia, hands in the pockets of his jacket. She was confusing him mightily—and angering him in the bargain.
It was possible to understand her quarrelsome mood, but not her abrupt reversals on important matters. Could her behavior be ascribed solely to the fact that she was suffering a familiar feminine complaint? He knew some women went through torment every month, year after year; Laura might be one of those. The explanation didn’t satisfy him, but he could find no other.
Ah, well. He’d always been told women were difficult to understand, and that romance never proceeded smoothly. If Laura was to be the mercurial half of the family, he supposed it would behoove him to be the calm, steady, forgiving half. Most of the time his disposition inclined him in that direction anyway. He could play the role if it would help him get what he wanted.
Or what you’ve convinced yourself that you want.
“Damn!” Elbows on the balustrade and a scowl on his face, he stared at the whitecapped Atlantic. Where did these traitorous thoughts keep coming from? He didn’t know—any more than he knew why he was unable to get rid of them.
CHAPTER VIII
ACCUSATION
i
MRS. STUYVESANT FISH HAD brilliant black eyes, an ugly face, and a surprising lack of pretension. Laura and her mother were nervous and almost sickeningly obsequious in her presence, Will observed when he made his brief courtesy call on the ladies.
The Pennel women and their guest were seated in the morning room. Mrs. Pennel performed the introductions. Mrs. Fish knew Gideon by reputation, and immediately told Will how much her husband disliked the Union’s editorial positions.
He silently shrugged off the familiar criticism, determined to be polite. He asked Mrs. Fish where her summer cottage was located. Just down Bellevue Avenue, she replied. He asked how large it was. Instantly, she said, “Why, my sweet lamb, I can’t tell you. It swells at night.”
She tossed her head back and uttered a loud, raucous laugh; she sounded very much like a cackling parrot.
Will laughed too. He found her remark funny—probably because it was so outlandish, and she’d said it with a perfectly straight face. The Pennel ladies were not amused, however. Mrs. Pennel tried to smile, but the best she could manage was an insincere moue. Laura stared at her lap to hide her disapproval.
When Will offered an apology for leaving so soon, Laura didn’t hesitate to show her annoyance. In spite of it, Will bowed and walked out. She’d get over her pique. And he wouldn’t feel comfortable until he’d done something about the shacker.
Marcus caught him as he was crossing the main hall. “Not staying to keep the old bat company?”
“Mrs. Fish isn’t so old. I like her sense of humor. But the answer’s no.”
“That explains why the dear girls are acting miffed. I’m afraid they’ve dragooned me to take your place. Being a houseguest, you can get away with doing whatever you please. Once or twice, anyway,” he added. “Going anyplace interesting? Blanche’s, maybe?”
“I have an errand at the Casino,” Will said as he left.
“The Casino—?”
When Marcus recovered from his shock, he dashed to the front door and peeked out. He thought about chasing Will, who was already halfway down the drive. He didn’t for two reasons. First, his mother expected him to help entertain her guest. Second, and more important, the ladies were in charge of this little affair involving Will; he had no intention of making decisions on their behalf. He’d just keep quiet and hope Will learned nothing.
That conclusion reached, he turned around and proceeded toward the morning room with a worried look on his face.
ii
Early that same afternoon, in the house on Beacon Street, Gideon lost his temper with his daughter.
A visitor provoked the outburst—a visitor, and the tension he’d felt ever since he grew aware of the emerging pattern in Eleanor’s behavior.
To be sure, Eleanor still showed flashes of her former personality. But the changes were unmistakable. Consider the matter of her refusal to work. In Philadelphia, she’d have been among friends, and busy. But she had said no to Louisa Drew’s offer.
So despite the chaos in the household—Molly’s illness, the trouble with his son—Gideon knew something had to be done, and soon. The question then became—was he the one to do it? Did he have the ability to arrest the transformation taking place within his daughter? He didn’t know. The mind was a far, dark country only just now beginning to surrender its secrets to the first explorations by doctors specializing in mental disorders.
Gideon had used the resources of the Union to turn up the name of the best alienist on the Eastern seaboard—but he had not yet raised the subject of medical help with Eleanor. He continued to feel that her problem was first and foremost a family problem. His problem. And when he was in one of his confident moods, he believed he had a real chance to help her—if only he had the courage to try. What held him back was fear of a mistake, and of doing even more damage.
Today, Eleanor’s behavior had canceled all those nice concerns, and plunged him into a rage. Harsh words spilled out almost without his being aware of it.
“You insulted him! You insulted him so badly, he didn’t even finish his meal. While Julia’s down in Long Branch looking after Molly, you’re supposed to make my guests welcome, not drive them away!”
The first-floor office was hot and still. Eleanor struggled to open the window as she said, “But that man’s a buffoon. A hypocritical fraud.”
“In your opinion! Levi Morton is also vice president of the United States. He agreed to come here and share the president’s thinking on a voting rights bill that will
come up in the next Congress. Morton’s only in town for two days, and when he’s willing to give up part of that time to come here, it’s my duty to treat him courteously.”
“You feel you must treat him courteously when he spouts homilies?”
“Politicians are allowed a certain amount of rhetoric.”
“Well, kindly don’t subject me to it.”
“Then why the hell did you agree to help me entertain?”
She covered her eyes. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have.”
“That’s quite right. You shouldn’t have!”
Abruptly, a melancholy feeling replaced the anger that reddened his face and made breathing difficult. Eleanor sensed the momentary lessening of tension; she spoke more calmly.
“I apologize, Papa. I just couldn’t tolerate Morton’s pious cant about”—she lowered her voice, imitating the visitor—“our—great—country.”
“So you ridiculed it. In effect, you ridiculed him.”
“I—”
“Eleanor, I want to say something you’ll no doubt receive with as little enthusiasm as your brother receives my warnings about the Pennels.”
“Papa, I’m tired.” She rubbed her palms on her black skirt. “Another time—”
“Now!” His fist struck the mantel so hard, the tea bottle jumped. “I don’t want to add to your unhappiness, but what I’m going to say is long overdue.”
“Papa, I beg you—no platitudes. I hate—”
“I know you hate this country,” he broke in. “You say it constantly. Theodore Roosevelt has a name for people who talk the way you do: fireside moralists.”
His bitterness astonished her, even frightened her a little. On Beacon Street, two ladies carrying sunshades clucked at the unseemly noises issuing from the open window of the office.
Gideon knew he was on treacherous ground, but his patience was exhausted. “Fireside moralists,” he repeated. “I regret to say you’ve become an accomplished member of that group.”