Watchfires

by Louis Auchincloss

  He reeled under the unexpected shock of this reassurance. "Always?"

  "Always? What rational human being could promise that?"

  "Well, for how long, then?"

  "Until I tell you. I shan't deceive you. So you see? There's nothing to be jealous about. Nothing even to worry about. And you, of course, will have the same freedom."

  The more that Dexter thought about this, the less he was able reasonably to object to it. The only trouble was that it had nothing whatever to do with passion. And now he discovered that he had a new dread: not that Annie would tell him a lie but that she would tell him the truth. Every time that she appeared, or failed to appear, in South Vesey Street, he would wonder if she was about to greet him, or send him a note, with the news that she had found another lover. It began to seem to him that his whole existence had come to depend on silence: Annie's, Rosalie's, Charley's, the world's. Words had become thunderbolts, and speakers avenging gods. He made love to Annie with a fierceness that seemed almost a revenge that he was only a fantasy to her.

  He knew that she was bound to tire of her fantasy, because she was bound to tire of the few little facts that constituted its base. But he had never really fooled himself that his dream was going to last forever. Everything in Annie's nature from the beginning had bespoken her essential fickleness, and some of the drive with which he thrust himself into her arose from his need to make her a more lasting part of himself. Yet he knew that this could never be done, just as he knew that the very transiency of her passion was part of its appeal. There was even a kind of horrible relief in his knowing that this madness had its own finale built into it, and some of the violence of his passion went into a kind of cold storage to be used for consoling memories on the day that the affair should end. He lived on two levels: one where everything yielded to his senses and another where he measured those senses with the eye of an observer who knew that never again would such heights or such depths be achieved. He was like a Faust who had sold his soul to the devil, but who would carry with him to hell a diary of his days of bliss.

  15

  THERE WAS NO WAY that Dexter could get himself invited without Rosalie to the parties that Annie was attending, and it was too much, even for a man as disturbed as himself, to expect Rosalie to go with him to spy on her sister. But when Annie let fall at one of their meetings that she was going to a ball to be given that night by his own sister, he privately determined that he would present himself there.

  Jane Ullman did not ask her brother and sister-in-law to all her parties, or even to all of her larger ones; a coolness had long existed between her and Rosalie. The latter had made it a bit too clear that she had no wish to be used as a knight or bishop, or even as a pawn, in the Ullmans' social game. She was perfectly happy, she had told too many persons, to accept everything about David Ullman but his aspirations, and Jane, like many of those married to social climbers, having had to accept her share of snubs, was all the more sensitive to even a fancied one in a relative. So the two families met mainly on family occasions.

  David Ullman had purchased a large corner brownstone at Twentieth Street and Fifth Avenue, and had encased it in white marble and added a ballroom in the rear. It was universally known as the "marble brownstone." Jane had packed the long hallway to the ballroom with potted plants and banks of flowers so that when Dexter saw her, tall, blond, straight and very thin, standing under the arched doorway in white satin and diamonds, she might have been a fairy princess. Only on closer approach, as he recognized the middle-aged squareness of the Fairchild chin, was the image blurred.

  "I thought you might need an extra man for your dance," he said, as she presented, rather gingerly, a cheek for his fraternal kiss. "Rosalie's away somewhere, and I was lonely sitting home."

  "I'm delighted, my dear." Jane's tone a bit reflected the marble of her mansion's exterior. "You shall be my partner in the cotillion. David never dances."

  "That's very kind of you, but I'm sure somebody more important should be so honored. Don't you think I ought to ask my sister-in-law? Charley's not here, is he?"

  "No. Charley is not here."

  "Then shouldn't I keep an eye on Annie?"

  "Is she inclined to misbehave?"

  "Not at all. But a girl so young and lively, going about without her husband ... well, some young blade might get the wrong idea, mightn't he?"

  "Might he? When she's chaperoned by her sister's husband—unaccompanied by her sister?"

  Dexter ignored her irony. "Well, that's just it. She needs a chaperon. Rosalie's been worried about her."

  "So Rosalie sent you tonight, did she?"

  Really, she was as spiteful as when they were children! "It's not Annie's fault. She has a hard time with Charley, you know."

  "No, I don't know, Dexter."

  "Well, he drinks."

  "Dear me!" exclaimed Jane, who was perfectly aware of Charley's habits. "What a pity she didn't marry a Jew. That's so rarely a problem with them."

  Dexter left her at this and moved into the ballroom where a waltz was in progress. Annie, in a golden dress, was dancing with great animation with his eighteen-year-old nephew, David, Jr., who was obviously entranced with his vivacious and sophisticated "older woman" partner. She evinced no surprise when she spotted Dexter, giving him only a brief "family" smile. But its very briefness seemed to indicate that she had no intention of confusing South Vesey Street with Fifth Avenue. Determined to dance with no one but her, he walked past the mirrored doors crowned with ivy to the table where champagne was being served to the gentlemen. As he sipped from his glass and gazed about the room, he suddenly froze at the vision of a large, hulking figure in black bowing to their hostess.

  It was Jules Bleeker.

  What was almost as unsettling as the hated sight of his former rival was the latter's behavior. Recognizing Dexter across the room, he simply raised a heavy arm in casual greeting and turned back to the group with whom he had come.

  Dexter, beside himself, hurried off in search of his brother-in-law. He found the latter standing alone in an alcove, smoking a cigar and watching the dancers with a rather supercilious air. David, who had been anxious enough in the earlier days to have people come to his parties, had now, at sixty, achieved a sufficient social security to permit him to condescend to such frivolities as dancing. His concentration was more on the inner world of power. He would, for example, have given much to belong to the gentlemen's discussion group known as the Hone Club that met at its members' houses for monthly dinners. But Mr. Handy, the chairman, still drew the line at Jews.

  "Good evening, Dexter. I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you were too serious a man for these affairs. Your sister seems to take a perverse pride in assembling under one roof the heaviest jewels and the lightest heads of the city. But perhaps you view it all as a student of manners, eh? Good! These idiots should be put to some use."

  David was a fine-looking man for his age, with a good strong figure and smart, if slightly too elegant clothes, a noble brow and jaw and dark, receding hair, but he was just a bit too cocky, just a bit too sure that the sharpness of his intellect and the power of his money would awe his fellow burghers. Dexter, who liked to think that he had no prejudices, was yet troubled by the fact that he was most conscious of David's Jewishness when he dwelt on David's defects. He wondered if even Mr. Handy was not basically more tolerant than he. The latter was frankly anti-Semitic until it was to his smallest interest to cultivate a Jew, and then he would drop his animus as easily as a ship captain might dispose of surplus cargo in a storm.

  "I certainly share your opinion as to one of your guests," Dexter replied. "Only that if he's an idiot, he's a rather dangerous one. I had thought that every decent door in New York had been closed to Mr. Bleeker."

  David's eyebrows were arched. "My dear fellow, where haVe you been? All that is quite forgotten. Jules Bleeker is the chairman of a committee of Richmond businessmen who have come to New York to explore the ways and means of
preserving the union. There's a meeting next week at your own father-in-law's."

  Dexter gaped. "At Number 417?"

  "Yes, sir! At the sacred 417. I'm going there myself. You weren't asked?"

  "Perhaps it's because I told him I was for Lincoln."

  "Or perhaps because Mr. Handy thought it might be a bit embarrassing for you and Bleeker to meet! After all, you did make the town rather hot for him."

  "But I still can't understand it. Mr. Handy knows all about Bleeker!"

  "You mean about that business with Rosalie's sister?" David, however lofty, liked it to be known that he was abreast of every piece of scandal in society. "Evidently he regards Annie as being in no further danger."

  "Did she know Bleeker would be here tonight?"

  David burst into a rough laugh. "My dear Dexter, do you think even an international banker can read a lady's mind?"

  Dexter left him, fuming at his own indiscretion. Did all New York know about him and Annie? The idea made him suddenly reckless, and he approached the group where Annie was standing. It was during an intermission between dances.

  "May I have a word with you?" he asked loudly.

  Nobody looked surprised. It was a brother-in-law's prerogative. Or was that the reason? Annie raised her eyebrows slightly and moved with him to a less crowded part of the dance floor. "You're not very discreet."

  "Discretion be damned! I came to tell you that if you dance with Bleeker I shall strike him in the face!"

  Her eyes glittered. "You wouldn't dare!"

  "You'll see."

  "You're going to be sorry about this."

  "That's my affair."

  "I warned you that I should not tolerate any interference with my social life!"

  "You are absolutely free. Except with that bounder!"

  "Some freedom! Very well. I shall go home. Not, let me make it entirely clear, for your sake. But for Juley's. I want to spare him the embarrassment of having to knock you down!"

  She turned and walked in rapid short steps to the doorway and disappeared. He simply stood staring stupidly after her until he felt his sister's presence at his side.

  "You're making an absolute spectacle of yourself!" she hissed. "I'll thank you not to use my house as a maison de passe!"

  ***

  Annie did not appear in South Vesey Street at their next appointment, but this came as little surprise to Dexter. He waited until five and then went uptown to pay his weekly "business call" on his mother.

  "Please put away those papers, Dexter. I have something much more important to discuss with you today. You know I've never been one to beat about the bush. How long is this shocking business between you and Annie Fairchild going to continue?"

  Dexter seemed to be seeing the incensed little woman before him with the drowsy, half-curious eyes of a man who is being shaken out of a deep and absorbing dream.

  "I suppose Jane made a great thing about that little scene at her house."

  "Jane is not my only source of information!"

  "Well, you know how people gossip."

  "Does that mean you're going to deny it?"

  "I don't see why I should dignify such an accusation with a denial. You lay a grave charge at my door. What is your evidence? Have I been seen with Annie in some place we shouldn't have been? Have we been spotted slipping in and out of doorways in shady parts of town?"

  "Do you presume to act like a defense lawyer with your own mother?"

  "Certainly. When she acts like a prosecutor."

  Mrs. Fairchild's fingers worked furiously with her needlepoint. Her brow was puckered, and she kept her snapping eyes directed at her work. His attitude, so different from his customary deference, had evidently taken her aback. "I simply say that your intimacy with your wife's sister—not to mention that she's the wife of your own first cousin and law partner—is on its way to making you the talk of the town. I don't presume even to suggest how far this intimacy may have carried you. In these things the appearance is quite as good as the fact. You're sitting on a barrel of dynamite, my son. Be warned!"

  Dexter reflected that if his mother had had wind of the house in South Vesey Street she would certainly have mentioned it. She had never been one to hoard her trumps. But it was also more than possible that Annie had been indiscreet. Could she have resisted hinting of her affair to some of her girl friends? It would have been too humiliating to have them believe that she was without consolation while Charley made love to a bottle.

  "Have any of my in-laws been complaining?"

  "No, I'll say that for them. The Handys have been perfect. But then what else could they do? The scandal of a thing like this would be more than any family could bear, even one of their station. No, they must sit on their tempers and smile at the world. Trust old Charles Handy to keep them in line!"

  "In that case, what is there to worry about?"

  "Dexter Fairchild, I can't believe it's you talking!" She stared at him in total exasperation. "One can sit on a thing like this just so long! When it blows up, my boy, it will blow away your marriage and your whole life! It will be your poor father all over again, except worse. Much worse!"

  "I admit to nothing, Mother. Nothing whatever. In a matter so serious I must insist on a little hard evidence. But I will tell you one thing, for whatever slight consolation it may afford you. I am not engaged in any activity the consequences of which, should it become generally known, I am not entirely prepared to face."

  "And what consolation is there in that?" There were tears, rare tears, in his mother's pleading eyes. "What consolation is it to me that you're willing to destroy yourself?"

  But his only reaction to her tears was astonishment at his own lack of feeling. Never had he dreamed that such a demonstration, which would have shattered him as a boy, could leave him so unmoved. Was he a monster? Or was he, at long last, simply a man? He rose to walk to the window and stood, looking down at the street, with his back to her.

  "Suppose, Mother—just suppose, mind you—that what you suggest is true. And suppose further that everyone concerned—Charley, Rosalie, Mr. Handy, the other daughters—had their reasons for not wishing to be involved. Not just to avoid scandal, but for some ... some deeper indifference. Where would be the harm? Who would be hurt?"

  "Society would be hurt! Do you think you can flout the most sacred rules of Christian ethics and get away with it? Do you think you can pull away the foundation stone of our whole civilization and not hurt people? Why, why..." She paused before this yawning nadir of infamy. "Why, God himself is hurt!"

  They faced each other in their common surprise that she should have introduced the deity. It was not only unlike her; it rang a note that was utterly false. Between them seemed to lie the ruins of a culture somehow betrayed. But betrayed by which of them? By both? What would be the fun for his mother of living in her intensely personal world, a world of gossip elevated and of gossip murky, of an endless murmuring over the teacups and against the gentle clash of silver, if there were no accepted moral judgments to tag to every recounted misfeasance?

  "Oh, Dexter, you don't know what you're doing to me! All your life you have stood for the good, right things. More so than the child of anyone I knew. There were even times when you seemed to go too far. Jane used to say you were a bit of a prig. But I see now how much we both depended on you. Oh, yes, from the very beginning! It was you who got me through your father's terrible desertion. It was you who gave me the strength to go forward and make a go of my life. Because I believed in you! And because I believed that you believed in the right things: goodness and kindness and decency and keeping one's word and being true. And that was what made those things real to me again. You see, I gave up God when your father left me!"

  "Oh, poor Mother." He went over to the sofa to take her hands in his. "I'm so sorry. But I can't be other people's religion. Even yours."

  She pushed him away angrily at this. Then she took a handkerchief from her workbag and vigorously wiped her eyes.
/>   "You came to discuss the renewal of the lease on this house. I suggest we get on with it."

  16

  ROSALIE found her reaction to her husband's affair confusing. There were times, usually in the morning after he left for the office, when she was seized with spasms of anger. How dared he presume, after years of sanctimoniousness, to turn his back on all the sacred lares and penates that he had so long and proudly displayed on his family mantel, and embrace, without the least apparent qualm, the twin sins of adultery and incest? Did he care nothing for the scandal that hung over the heads of her old father, whom he had always so tiresomely professed to revere, and of his sons, whose future he had sworn to keep unstained from the very crime that had reduced his own youth to dust and ashes?

  And then, by the time she made ready to go to her work at Saint Jude's parish house, she would be calmer, more judicious. Was it not, after all, a bit her own fault that he had waited so long for a truly reciprocated passion? Had not her initial doubts about him created doubts in himself about his love? Was he not simply enjoying what every man basically wanted? Was it not possible for her to rise above smallness and jealousy and try to see him for once as he really was? And as she too—ah, there was the rub!—had always, deep down, wanted him to be? A Dexter dedicated to the passions of the flesh, a seeming contradiction in terms!

  Besides, had she not been bought? Had she not sold her neutrality for five thousand dollars? With the assurance of more to come? And had she not found peace and a sense of mission? Was not that worth a little humiliation?

  "If I were you, I shouldn't care what Annie was up to!" Joanna told her hotly. "You and I are engaged in work that makes her little flirtations seem simply vile!"

  "Please, Jo! I don't want to talk about Annie."

  It was true that Rosalie found her work at the parish house engrossing. At times she nursed the ill; at times she played games with the children; at times she simply listened to the fugitives' tales of their lives and escapes. She was struck by how little bitterness the victims of slavery seemed to show; they tended to accept what went on in the South as something decreed and inevitable that they had simply been blessed enough to get away from. They were more interested in the future than in the past and asked eager questions about life in Canada. It did not occur to them that the slave states would ever submit to emancipation; on the contrary, they appeared to view the might of their old masters as so great that no one in any part of the United States was safe. When Rosalie suggested that the day might come when the Northern states would be able to enforce emancipation by statute, they simply gazed at her in polite silence.