These cutting words reminded Aileen of some of her own indiscretions in the not too distant past, and her voice suddenly lost some of its vibrato as she said:
“I don’t want to discuss any of the personal angles of this matter with you or anyone else, Dr. James, so please, don’t call me again on any matter connected with Mr. Cowperwood, no matter what happens. You have Miss Fleming there to wait on and comfort my husband. Let her take charge, and please don’t call me. I’m tired of the whole wretched relationship. And that’s final, Dr. James.” Here the telephone clicked, for she had hung up.
As Dr. James turned away from the phone, his face wore a faint smile. From his long years of professional experience with hysterical women, he knew that the force of her rage had spent itself in the hours since she had seen Berenice. For, after all, as he also knew, this was not a new story to Aileen. And he felt reasonably sure that her vanity would not allow her to give free reign to public utterances. She had not done so in the past and would not do so now, he felt. And with this much assurance, he went to call on and report to Berenice, whom he found still nervous and impatiently waiting to hear from him.
He still smiled as he proceeded to explain that he felt sure that Aileen’s bark was worse than her bite. For although she had threatened him and Cowperwood and Berenice with exposure, still, after his talk with her, he had the definite feeling that her rage had spent itself and that nothing more of a violent nature was likely to occur. Now, he added, since Aileen had declared finally that she proposed never to see her husband again, it looked to him as if he should have to ask Berenice to take charge, and they would, both of them, see if they could not pull him through. She might take the evening nursing shift from four to twelve.
“Oh, how wonderful!” exclaimed Berenice. “I’ll be so happy to do all I possibly can to help him—anything within my power! For, oh, Doctor, he must live! He must get well and be free to do the things he has planned. And we must help him.”
“I’m very grateful to you for this. I know that he cares for you deeply,” said James, “and he will no doubt be much better in your care.”
“Oh, Doctor, it is I who am truly grateful to you!” she exclaimed, taking both of his hands in hers.
Chapter 69
Cowperwood’s attempt to clarify for Aileen the significance of the wealth that would be hers at his death, and the necessity on her part for a practical understanding of the problems she would be likely to encounter as its custodian, instead of inducing an atmosphere of tender regard, left him with a sense of the probable futility of it all. And this because of his knowledge of her lack of realization of how important these matters were to him, as well as to her. For he knew well she could not read the characters and intentions of men, and were he no longer here, what assurance could he have of the fulfilment of the various ideals which most of his bequests embodied? And this thought, instead of favorably affecting his mood in regard to living, really discouraged him. So much so that he was not only a little weary, but a little bored and spiritually dubious of the import of life itself.
For how strange the almost unbroken irritability of their lives together, covering, as they did, a period of over thirty years! There was, to begin with, his early enthusiasm for her when she was seventeen and he was twenty-seven, and then a little later his discovery that her beauty and physical strength concealed also a lack of understanding that had kept her unaware of his financial and mental stature, at the same time that it caused her to consider that he was an unchanging possession of hers which was not to be modified by so much as a glance in any other direction than that which led to her. And yet, for all the storms that followed his least diversion, here they were, after all these years, with little understanding on her part of the qualities in him which had slowly and yet surely led him to his present wealth.
Even so, he had finally discovered a woman whose temperament made his life supremely worth while. For he had found Berenice, and she had found him. Together they had clarified themselves, each to the other. Her wondrous love shone in her voice, her eyes, her words, her touch. For bending over him from time to time, he could hear her say: “Darling! Beloved! This love of ours is not just for today, it is forever. It will live in you wherever you are, and yours in me. We shall not forget. Darling, rest and be happy.”
It was at this point in his meditations that Berenice, clad in the white uniform of a nurse, entered the room. He stirred at the sound of her familiar voice as she greeted him, and gazed as if not fully comprehending what his eyes beheld. Her costume made such an attractive setting for her unusual beauty. With an effort he raised his head, and although obviously very weak, exclaimed:
“You! Aphrodite! Goddess of the sea! Immaculately white!”
She bent down and kissed him.
“A goddess!” he murmured. “The golden red of your hair! The blue of your eyes!” And then, pressing her hand, he drew her closer to him. “And now I have you with me. I see you as you beckoned to me that day in Thessalonika by the blue Aegean!”
“Frank! Frank! If only I were your goddess, forever and ever!”
She knew that he had become delirious, and tried to pacify him.
“That smile,” went on Cowperwood. “Smile on me again. It is like sunshine. Hold my hands, my Aphrodite of the Sea!”
Berenice sat on the side of the bed and began to cry softly to herself.
“Aphrodite, don’t ever leave me! I need you so!” and he clung to her.
At this point Dr. James walked into the room, and noting Cowperwood’s condition, went directly to him. Turning and surveying Berenice, he said: “Be proud, my dear! A giant of the world salutes you. But leave us along for a minute or two. I need to restore him. He is not going to die.”
She left the room while the doctor administered a restorative. In a few moments, Cowperwood came out of his delirium, for he said: “Where is Berenice?”
“She will be with you in a moment, Frank, only now rest and quiet will be best for you,” said James.
But Berenice heard him call her, and came in and sat on a little chair beside his bed, waiting. In a few moments he opened his eyes, and began talking.
“You know, Berenice,” he said, as if they had been discussing the matter, “it is so important to keep the mansion intact as a home for my art objects.”
“Yes, I know, Frank,” replied Berenice, softly and sympathetically. “You have always loved it so.”
“Yes, I have always loved it. To leave the asphalt of Fifth Avenue and in ten seconds, after crossing the threshold, to be within a palm garden, walk through flowers and growing things, sit down among them, hear the plash of water, the tinkle of a rill dropping into the little pool, so that I heard notes of water music, like a brook in the cool greenness of the woods—”
“I know, darling,” whispered Berenice. “But now you must rest. I will be right near you even when you sleep. I am your nurse.”
And as Berenice went about her duties that night, and on every other night, she was impressed by his unbroken interest in the many affairs which he could no longer possibly manage. One day it was the art gallery, next day the underground, and next, the hospital.
Although she did not actually anticipate it, any more than did Dr. James, Cowperwood had only a very few more days to live. And yet, during such hours as she spent with him, he seemed more cheerful, except that after talking for a moment or two, he now invariably manifested a great weariness and a desire to sleep.
“Let him sleep as much as possible,” counseled Dr. James. “He is merely conserving his strength.” A statement which discouraged Berenice greatly. So much so that she asked if something more could not be done for him.
“No,” replied James. “Sleep is truly the best thing for him, and he may pull through. I am trying the best restoratives I know, but we can only wait. He may take a turn for the better.”
Only he did not take a turn for the better. Instead, forty-eight hours before he died he took a definite turn f
or the worse, which caused Dr. James to send for his son, Frank A. Cowperwood, Jr., and Anna, his daughter, who was now Mrs. Templeton. But not Aileen, as his daughter and son noticed when they arrived. When asked why Mrs. Cowperwood was not present, Dr. James explained to them that for reasons of her own she had refused to come to visit him any more.
However, although they had known of the existing estrangement between Aileen and Cowperwood, his son and daughter still had their own misgivings as to why she refused to come to see Cowperwood at this crucial time, and they felt obligated to inform her as to his condition.
Therefore, they hurried to a public telephone and called her. But, much to their surprise, they found she was not in a mood to consider anything in connection with him or them, asserting that Dr. James and Miss Fleming, having arranged Cowperwood’s affairs with his consent and with no regard for her wishes, surely could take care of everything. She flatly refused to come.
And so, while they were stunned by this seeming cruelty on Aileen’s part, they felt there was nothing they could do but return to watch the outcome of his turn for the worse. For fear controlled all present: Dr. James, Berenice, and Jamieson, all of whom stood by helpless for the want of a single clarifying idea. They waited for hours, the while they listened to his heavy breathing or periods of silence, until suddenly, twenty-four hours later, as if seeking to conclude a great weariness, he stirred sharply, even half-rose on one elbow as though looking about, and then as suddenly fell back and lay still.
Death! Death! There it was—irresistible and bleak in the face of all of them!
“Frank!” cried Berenice, stiffening and staring as if in supreme wonder. She hurried to his side and fell to her knees, seizing his damp hands and covering her face with them. “Oh, Frank, my darling, not you!” she cried out, and then drooped slowly to the floor, half-fainting.
Chapter 70
The consternation that followed Cowperwood’s death involved so many immediate, as well as remote, problems that for several minutes all stood as if stupefied. Of the entire group, the doctor was the calmest and most resourceful in his thoughts and actions, his first direction being that he and Jamieson remove Berenice to one of the couches that were in this room. After doing this, he suggested to Jamieson that he call up Mrs. Cowperwood at once in order to obtain from her instructions as to the burial.
This inquiry, when made by Jamieson, resulted in a most shocking and disturbing reaction on the part of Aileen, a reaction plus an attitude which posed a problem that was seemingly insurmountable without resulting in practically a national scandal.
“Why do you ask me?” she said. “Why don’t you ask Dr. James and Miss Fleming? They have been in complete charge of his affairs ever since he has been here, and before.”
“But, Mrs. Cowperwood,” said Jamieson, astounded. “This is your husband. Do you mean to say that you do not wish to have him removed to your home?” An inquiry which brought from her the sharp and staccato reply:
“I have been personally ignored and lied to by Mr. Cowperwood, and also by his doctor and his mistress. Let them arrange to have his body sent to a funeral parlor and have the funeral from there.”
“But, Mrs. Cowperwood,” insisted Jamieson, in an agitated voice, “this is a most unheard-of proceeding. All the newspapers will find out. Surely you wouldn’t like that in connection with so great a figure as your husband.”
But at this point Dr. James, hearing this shocking statement, came forward and took the telephone receiver from Jamieson.
“Mrs. Cowperwood, this is Dr. James,” he said, coldly. “I am the physician, as you know, who was called in by Mr. Cowperwood when he came back to this country. Mr. Cowperwood is no relative of mine, and I have served him as I would any other patient, you included. But if you persist in this astounding attitude toward a man who is your husband, and whose property you are to inherit, I assure you that you will never be done with the scandal of it. It will follow you to the end of your days. Surely you must realize the significance of that.”
He waited for a second, but there was silence on her part.
“Now, I am not asking you to do me any favor, Mrs. Cowperwood,” he went on. “Only yourself. Certainly his body can be removed to an undertaker’s establishment, and buried anywhere, if that is what you wish. But is it? As you know, the press can learn from me or from the undertaker as to what has become of his body. But once more, and finally, for your own sake, I am asking you to think this over, for if you do as you say, I will see that tomorrow’s papers print the whole story.”
At this point he stopped talking, waiting and hoping for a more humane reply. But hearing the telephone click, he realized that she had hung up the receiver. Whereupon he turned to Jamieson, saying:
“That woman is, for the time being, not wholly sane. We’ll simply have to take this matter into our own hands and act for her. Mr. Cowperwood is so well liked by his own servants that I’m sure there will be no difficulty in reaching them, so that, without her knowledge, his body can be transferred to the house and remain there until it can be properly removed to his tomb. This is something that we can and must do. We cannot possibly allow this tragedy to occur.”
And taking his hat, he went out, but not before looking in on Berenice, who by then had recovered her composure, and asking her to return to her room and wait there until she heard from him.
“Do not despair, Berenice. Believe me, this will all be arranged in the most correct and unobtrusive manner possible. I can promise you that,” and he pressed her hand affectionately.
His next move was to have Cowperwood’s body taken to an undertaking establishment located near the hotel. Next, he intended to consult with Jamieson as to the character and mentality of the Cowperwood servants. Surely one or two of them could be depended on for assistance. For he was morally convinced that Aileen should not have her way. He might have to overstep his rights, but he saw no other course. Long before this he had sensed the basis of the difference between her and Cowperwood. She was, as he had seen for himself, really deeply in love with her husband, but so jealous of his every action as to make her dream of happiness a vehicle of pain.
Curiously enough, at this very difficult moment, Jamieson was called upon by one Buckner Carr, head butler at the Cowperwood home, a man who had been in Cowperwood’s service since his Chicago years. His purpose in calling, as it turned out, was to convey to Jamieson not only his great sorrow and dismay at Mr. Cowperwood’s death, but, because of a telephone conversation which he had overheard, and which seemed to indicate that Mrs. Cowperwood was charging her husband with unjust accusations and, most terrible of all, refusing to allow him now to be brought into his own home, he desired to offer his service toward averting such a tragedy.
When Dr. James returned to the hotel, he found Jamieson and Carr together, and he immediately explained to them the plan he had worked out in his own mind. He had instructed the undertaker, he said, to prepare the body for burial, provide a suitable casket, and await further directions. The problem now was to decide when it could be transferred to the mansion, and whether the servants would be there to assist in the arrangement of a secret and silent reception of the body, together with the labor of taking it to the proper room, and in the most noiseless fashion, in order that Mrs. Cowperwood would not be aware of its arrival, at least until the following morning. Did Buckner Carr believe that this could be done without interference? Carr replied that if he were now allowed to return to the Cowperwood home for an hour or two he would call back and state whether the exact conditions outlined by Dr. James could be fulfilled. After which he left, and at the end of two hours called on the telephone to say that the best time would be between ten o’clock in the evening and one o’clock in the morning; all of the servants were anxious to help, and the house would be dark and silent.
And, in consequence, as planned, the transfer of Cowperwood’s body in its casket was executed, at one o’clock in the morning, while Carr outside silently patrolle
d a practically deserted street. The faithful servant followers of their former master had arranged the large living room on the second floor for the reception of the richly ornamented casket in which he lay. As he was being carried in, one of them stood before Aileen’s door, listening, in anticipation of any least stir.
Thus the unheralded funeral cortege of Frank Algernon Cowperwood, in the silence of the night—he and Aileen once more united in their own home.
Chapter 71
No troublesome thoughts or dreams concerning the entire proceedings of the night disturbed Aileen before the light of early morning awakened her. Although usually she felt disposed to linger in her bed for a period, on this occasion, hearing a noise as though some heavy object had dropped to the floor of the balcony below, and fearing that it might have been a valuable Greek marble recently purchased and more recently temporarily placed, she arose and descended the staircase that led to the balcony. Looking around curiously as she walked past the large double doors leading into the main drawing room, she went directly to the newly placed art piece, but found it quite in order.
Yet, as she turned about to retrace her steps, and as she again approached the doors to the drawing room, she was startled by the presence and appearance of a large black, heavily draped, oblong box, standing in the center of the huge room. A shivering cold swept across her body, and for the time being she could not move. Then she turned as if to run away, but then, pausing, returned again to the entrance of the room and stood there, amazed and staring. A coffin! God! Cowperwood! Her husband! Cold and dead! And he had come to her, although she had refused to go to him when he was alive!
With trembling and remorseful steps she walked forward to gaze on his cold and death-stilled body. The high forehead! The distinguished, well-shaped head! The smooth brown hair, even at this time not gray! The impressive features, all of which were so familiar to her! The whole figure suggesting power, thought, genius, which the world had so readily recognized in him from the beginning! And she had refused to go to him! She stood stiffly, inwardly regretting something—his own errors and hers. And the endless, almost inhuman storms that had come and gone between them. And yet, here he was, at home at last! At home!
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