Mr. Doherty appeared at the doorway, staring, aghast. Then he ran into the boys’ bedroom and emerged holding a bottle and a spoon. His face was white and strained. As Jason held Nicholas, Francis pinched the child’s nose, and forgetting the spoon, poured a measure of the red liquid down the boy’s resistant throat.
“He’ll be all right in a minute,” Francis said. “Whew!” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and shook his head. “It grows worse.”
Nicholas spat, beat his fists against Jason’s chest. Then all at once he subsided, smiled a beatific smile, and said, “Pretty, pretty. Boom boom!” He kissed Jason with enthusiasm, over and over, hugged him around the neck. “Papa, Papa!” he shouted. “Nick loves Papa! Nick loves Nickie! Nick loves Bastie! Nick loves Mama!”
God help my son, thought Jason, and put the child gently down. Nicholas embraced his knees. He ran off and kissed his sister, then his brother, then Francis Doherty. His little face glowed with affection. He was oblivious of the rivulets of urine that accompanied him.
Jason asked, “How long has this been going on?” He was weak and sick and had to sit down abruptly.
Mr. Doherty said, “Why, sir, over a month!” He added, “I thought you knew, Mr. Garrity.”
Jason was silent.
Mr. Doherty said, “Your neck is bleeding, sir! I’ll get some iodine.”
“His medicine, what is it?”
“Tincture of morphine. It quiets his … excitement.”
“Morphine! Has it come to that?”
Francis did not reply. He went to the children’s bathroom for a washcloth and a bottle of iodine. Jason was barely conscious of the ministrations. He said absently, “Thank you.”
Nicole had taken Nicholas into his bedroom, to change him, and Sebastian went with her. Jason looked at the pool of urine on the rug. Then he went to his wife.
Patricia’s bedroom was completely dark. She had drawn shades to keep out any light; it was as if she desired to burrow in a cave, to hide, like an animal that had bitten itself in unbearable distress. A dim reflection came from the hall lamp. Jason stood by her bed in silence. She was huddled up in a blanket despite the heat, which was smothering. The sweet and overpowering effluvium was sickening. Jason finally admitted to himself what it was.
He felt a huge repugnance and disgust. Then suddenly he thought of Bernard’s remark: “The good Lord says, Who knows the travail of the heart which is being condemned? We’re all strangers to one another.” Jason considered it. Then he made a gesture of denial. A sufferer should not inflict his suffering on the innocent. After all, who does not suffer in one way or another? He thought of Molly, and a spasm of acute desolation struck his chest.
There was a virtue in suffering in silence. But Patricia screeched aloud in her sorrow over Nicholas. She shared it with the other children and her husband and father. However, prior to Nicholas’ affliction, his mother had been drinking, at first unknowingly and then deliberately. Alcoholism. Jason felt renewed repugnance in spite of what he had told Patrick, that alcoholics were sick people. Jason thought of Bernard again. “There comes a time when men have to choose self-control or pain,” the old man had said. “If the pain gets bad, then the hell with the self-control! It’s no righteousness to bear unbearable pain, though some think it is. It can lead to murder or suicide. The bottle seems safest.”
Jason had come to the conclusion that his wife was stupid, selfish, shallow, and pretentious, in short, a trivial woman. A man’s capacity for pain varies in the individual. Patricia’s pain, mysterious as it was to father and husband, might be the result of mere egotism or a more serious malady. Whatever it was, she was either incapable of expressing it, due to her lack of intellect, or she dared not.
Patricia groaned in her drunken sleep, and the groan seemed to come from unendurable torment. Jason was confused, and he said aloud, “What is it, Patricia? Tell me!” He turned on the bedside light, fumbling in his agitation. It started to fall, and he barely caught it.
Patricia sat up, disheveled and stupefied. Her face was haggard and old; she drooled, like Nicholas, and she wiped away the saliva. Her cheek was crumpled, her hands tremulous. Her frock was twisted and creased, her fine hair unpinned. She had a dazed look, and while she struggled to orient herself, she gulped dryly. Suddenly she shivered violently. An aura of sour alcohol surrounded her and Jason recoiled. Her eyes were dull and lifeless and far away.
Then she came fiercely alive and glared at Jason with such malignance that he was afraid. Her hair actually rose on her head, and she bounded to her feet and confronted him wildly, her teeth glittering in the lamplight. Jason stepped back.
“You!” she screamed. “You and your pet! You’ll both go! Dada agrees with me. Out, out, out, both of you! Bag and baggage!” She smiled now with mad glee and pointed her finger at Jason. “Out!”
“Wait,” said Jason. “I know all about it. Your father has just told me.” He wanted to grasp Patricia by her arm, but she danced away from him like an insane dervish. He began to shout, attempting to control her. “Sebastian didn’t destroy your ornament! It was an … accident.”
Patricia abruptly stopped her whirling dance. She threw back her head and screamed again, one tearing shriek after another. Then she picked up a crystal bottle from her dressing table and hurled it at Jason. He dodged. He could not control his rage. He strode to Patricia and grasped her by her shoulders and shook her over and over. “Listen to me, you fool! Nick did it, only Nick, and you know as well as I do! Nick, Nick. Sebastian only took the blame—”
“He confessed! The sneak. He was forced to confess he did it! He tried to lie his way out of it! He knew how I loved Mama’s ornament and wickedly smashed it. He took revenge!” Patricia’s hair, a tangled mass, fell around her face. “Why would he take the blame?” She moaned, “You broke my neck; wait till I tell Dada! He’ll kick you out!”
“Sebastian took the blame to spare you, and to keep Nick from being sent away—as your father advised me dozens of times. I’m half-convinced of that, in the last few minutes. Yes, I am. A drunken mother is bad for him.”
Immediately Jason was sorry he had spoken so, and broken his word to Patrick and to himself. But the disastrous words could not be recalled.
Patricia was absolutely still. She put both hands to her cheeks and stared at Jason. She muttered, “A drunken … Nick, Nick, my baby. He’ll be sent away—all the fault of your pet, Sebastian. He’s always lying about Nick, blames him for everything he does himself—trying to send Nick away, my poor baby! Next he’ll try to send Nicole away, me away! So he can have it all to himself, Dada’s money …” Her voice became hysterically shrill. “A drunken mother! Me, a drunken mother! You—”
“Yes. A drunken mother,” and now Jason was contrite. “I knew it for a long time. Your father didn’t; I hid it from him, for both your sakes. Now it’s out. Why do you do it, Patricia?”
She shrieked, and tears flew from her eyes. “Because I can’t stand being married to you! I hate you!” She clutched her head in her hands and groaned over and over, “I can’t stand being married to you. I never could.”
Jason knew he was hearing the truth from Patricia for the first time. I always knew it, he thought with extreme pain. I lied to myself. No excuse. Then he became conscious of Patricia, who had clapped both her hands over her mouth and was staring over them at him. Her eyes glistened in terror—there was no mistaking it for anything else.
“Why, then, did you marry me? You proposed to me, not I to you. You said you wanted to marry me right away. Why?”
“Because of Dada,” she mumbled. The terror grew brighter in her eyes, and Jason knew she again spoke the truth, but it was curiously ambiguous. “He wanted me to marry you.”
“You said you loved me, Patricia.” Jason’s voice broke with pity for himself and his wife, and a deep grief.
“I … thought I might love you in time—it was all for Dada. To please him. That’s all.”
“And to pleas
e your father you sacrificed yourself, me, our children and ultimately your father himself. What devotion. I thought you weren’t capable of it.” He spoke with immense bitterness.
“Now you know, Jason. Why don’t you leave—with Sebastian?” She actually put her hands out pleadingly to him, like a beggar.
He was amazed. “Divorce?” Something like elation stirred in him.
“No!” Horror sounded in Patricia’s voice. “Dada wouldn’t stand for it! We’re Catholic. A divorced woman—his daughter. I couldn’t bear the disgrace. I’d say … I’d say … you left me at my request. Yes! a legal separation.”
Jason watched her narrowly. “I’ll leave. But all three of the children leave with me.”
“No! Nicole and Nicholas remain with me!”
“No.” In his pain he taunted her. “With a drunken mother?”
“I’ll take the pledge!”
“What will that be worth, in your state?”
“If you leave, I swear I shall not take a drink again, not even wine.”
Jason pondered. His acute Irish perceptions were aroused. “It’s not only being married to me, the cause of your … drinking. There’s something else, too. Why don’t you tell me? Patricia, once I loved you. I’m still your friend, your husband. Tell me.”
She clasped her hands tightly together. “There’s nothing else.”
“And I know you’re lying.”
Renewed terror jumped brilliantly to her eyes. “No! No!”
Jason turned from her. “Bastie stays. I stay. The other children stay. I can’t hope that you’ll stop your drinking, but I’d advise you to not make it as obvious. For all our sakes. I suspect all the children know it, God help them. And I insist you treat Bastie with more justice. Or”—he turned to her—“I’ll take the children and leave.”
She studied his face, grim and hard and resolute, and she caught her breath audibly. She knew he meant it. “I’m warning you, Patricia.”
Now she turned away. “I’ll take Nicholas to Lourdes in August. Then … he’ll be cured. Things’ll be better then. Jason …?”
He struggled against his pity and tried to feel contempt. “Yes. August. The twenty-eighth. I’ve already bought your tickets.” Patricia mutely mouthed something, but he made a gesture and left.
The house was silent. A maid informed him that Mr. Mulligan had had a dinner tray in his room, and Mrs. Garrity had ordered one. The children were in bed. Jason dined alone.
All at once he was filled with foreboding. The June night was tranquil. The scent of roses came through the windows on the warm breeze. Jason forgot that he and Patricia were to have dined with Daniel and Molly.
The Archduke of Austria and his wife prepared for their journey from which they would not return.
28
Mrs. Lindon, more bosomy and imperious than ever, smiled with amusement at Chauncey Schofield. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” she said as if she had invented the cliché. “We’ll get what we want. It’s worth waiting for. Old Patrick can’t live much longer.”
“Then the thousand acres will belong to Garrity, and goodbye to our scheme,” Chauncey said.
“Not so fast, dear. We have other resources of which I told you. Jason was always simple-minded; he believes in honor, even among bankers. Behind his cynical Irish facade he believes in the loyalty of friends. He can’t learn that a man has no friends, especially when it comes to money. That is why I take care to remain solvent! You extend yourself too much, a masculine fault.”
Chauncey’s too-handsome face was smooth as glass, charming and conciliatory. He put on an expression of admiration. “Guilty, as charged, Clementine. Did you take my advice six months ago and invest in munitions stocks?”
“I did, and thank you, Chauncey. Doubled in value. You have knowing friends in Washington. Did you take your own advice?”
“Anita did. I wish I had. My money is all tied up in previous commitments.”
They were in Clementine’s private parlor, richly furnished but too crowded with knickknacks and furniture. She fanned herself and was slightly “rosy” and too fat, but her figure had remained impressive. She reminded her admirers of a ship in full sail, grand and imposing. She wore her new Sunday dress of gold-threaded red silk, by Worth, an original, and there were egret plumes in her dyed hair attached to a circlet of genuine diamonds; this and a splendid diamond bracelet and diamond earrings created a blaze in the late sunlight. Clementine could not be accused of restraint, for she was a lusty woman who believed in display. “Restraint is for the shabby,” she would remark. “And decorum for women who have not been tempted. Necessity is the virtue of those who can’t afford luxury. And righteousness is for people who have nothing else for which to pride themselves. But knowledge of human nature has made me tolerant; I know what motivates it. And it amuses me. But I’m not Irish, as is our friend Jason Garrity. He’ll become bitter.”
“He is already displaying signs of it.” Chauncey laughed. “It is the fault of his wife. Thank God Anita has more sense.”
Clementine became thoughtful, and she studied Chauncey in his light blue Palm Beach suit and gaudy tie, which was the latest fashion in New York, though not approved in more conservative circles. Aware of the scrutiny of his hostess, Chauncey became innocent and attentive.
She tapped his hand lightly with her fan. “I advise you to be a little more discreet,” she said. “You were seen by my youngest ‘cousin,’ Arabelle, down near the river; she was taking a constitutional with a friend. Last Sunday, in the late afternoon. You were with Elizabeth, Anita’s daughter, in a compromising position, let us say.” Clementine delicately cleared her throat and reached for her whiskey glass. Her corrupt eyes were cool and intent. “If Anita gets wind of it, you’ll be ruined, and disagreeable things could happen to your associates also. Including me.”
Chauncey became pale. Clementine nodded. “You can rely on Arabelle to keep her mouth shut; she likes you and knows I am your friend. She confided only in me, I assure you. But if you’re seen by some of the other townsfolk … What on earth possessed you? In the daylight, in the bushes? An uncomfortable place and time.”
Chauncey smiled weakly. “We were carried away. It won’t happen again.”
“Be carried away in a more secret place than down by the river.” Clementine smiled, but her eyes remained hard. “Men are so reckless. But I gave Elizabeth more credit for discretion.”
“We are in love,” said Chauncey.
“Hah. I don’t believe in love. I have had too much experience with men. A haughty sex, and fickle. Don’t try to diddle me with talk of love.” She shrugged. “I read your mind. I’m no blackmailer, though I was once, a long time ago. But I warn you: I’ll not be jeopardized by anyone injudicious enough to create a scandal.”
“I promise to be more careful.” Chauncey felt panic. The old bitch! he thought. She’ll use it, when it serves her purpose.
Clementine said, “You visit my girls from time to time. Why aren’t you satisfied? They’re safe. Closemouthed.” When Chauncey did not reply, she said, “Is it that Elizabeth inherits her father’s fortune if her mother dies?”
“You do me an injustice, Clem.”
“Hah. When a man puts on a virtuous expression with regard to money, women should be wary. Money comes first with men, and I don’t blame them. I can’t stand hypocrisy. Anita is healthy. Do you plan to murder her?” Clementine laughed. “Her lawyers are too suspicious of you.”
Chauncey stood up, much agitated. Clementine again laughed. “Sit down. Have another drink.” She said, “We are all murderers, one way or another. Oscar Wilde said, if I remember, each man kills the thing he loves—the coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword. Not only should Anita beware. But Elizabeth, too, if you love her. She is in the greatest danger.”
The June day was hot, as hot as midsummer. The earth seemed in a state of jubilation. It was ironic, Lionel repeated with amusement in the following months, that Jason, long kn
own to him as “Doomsday Jase,” felt more cheerful than he had in years. Lionel said, “Jase was forever speaking of a ‘Grand Conspiracy’ which would lead to war, but when it happened, Jason was humming Irish ballads in his office. He even smiled as I happened to pass by the door. I said, ‘Well!’ and he said, ‘Pippa Passes,’ though God knows what he meant.”
Jason could have told him. That morning Molly Dugan came to visit her husband, Daniel, in his office, and encountered Jason in the hall at Ipswich House. They exchanged a few words, and these only casual, but all at once Jason felt elated. He stared down in Molly’s eyes and they both smiled. Moments passed in silence, and then they began to speak, and neither one remembered what they said, but neither one forgot the encounter. Molly continued on her way, but she had pressed Jason’s hand in parting, a gesture full of consolation and sympathy and love. He watched her go; she turned a corner and he was still bemused and joyful; he was not alone any longer. He had a companion and friend, and Molly had not forgotten him after all. He was convinced that she knew all his recent travail and had tried to convey comfort and hope to him, and her steadfastness. He began to hum. The mood lasted well into the day, in slowly diminishing effect, but it left him with a sense of tranquillity.
At the end of the day, just when he was leaving, Edmund Patterson knocked and entered. Jason did not protest and say, “Speak to Mr. Nolan.” Instead he asked, “Now what is it?” in a tone of great good humor. “Have a drink.” Edmund proceeded to the cabinet and filled two glasses with whiskey. He dropped a newspaper beside his chair, gravely saluted Jason with his glass, and drank in silence, as though he had forgotten where he was. His handsome black face was preoccupied.
Jason watched with fond amusement and drank also. Edmund said, “Mr. Garrity. You remind me more and more of a Roman centurion.”
“Formidable?”
“Yes. But at this moment”—Edmund smiled—“not as formidable.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful day.”
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