Ceremony of the Innocent (19 page)

He stood up to throw more wood on the fire, and she watched him with open admiration now, and conceded to herself that he was really very handsome, if one were a connoisseur of masculinity, which she thought she was. He had none of his cousin’s delicacy, either in speech or manner or in appearance. He had a ruthless and dominant look, totally male, from his black coarse hair to his cynical eves, to his prominent jutting nose and hard and unbending mouth and square dimpled chin. Ah, if I were younger! she sighed deliciously to herself, and felt a very improper thrill. She stared at the firm and inflexible planes of his face, somewhat concave, and she knew him to be inexorable. She glanced at his hands, square and thick and large, and she was thrilled again, and felt very naughty.

She said in a coquettish tone, “I do hope you are visiting for a little while in Wheatfield, Mr. Porter. I should like to give a dinner for you. After all, in a way, you are part of my family. Your uncle, Walter, is my brother-in-law, you know. He was married to my sister.”

“Yes, I know,” said Jeremy, seating himself again and crossing his big and heavy legs, which were covered with large-checked trousers of an excellent and expensive cut and material. “But, I am taking the afternoon train back to New York in a day or two.” He paused and looked at her straightly. “And I am taking Ellen and May with me.”

She was so taken aback that she paled and then she stuttered, “But, Mr. Porter, that is not to be believed! They are my servants; a week’s notice, at least—Surely you are joking, sir. Ellen! A housemaid! Agnes Porter had written me; what she endured when the girl was in her house! Your mother, Mrs. Porter—”

“My mother,” said Jeremy in a cold and deliberate voice, “is a liar, Mrs. Eccles.”

She was shocked. Her eyes widened so that the whites were all about the pupil. “Your mother, your sainted mother! I can’t believe my ears, Jeremy. It is Jeremy, isn’t it? Why should she lie about a wretched creature like Ellen, whom I am trying to train to be a good servant? It is beneath your mother to lie about such. But I forgave Ellen; I believed I could subdue, direct her, make her realize her station in life, make her properly humble, and I protected her morals, no followers, you know, nothing questionable. She lived here as in a convent; I give her a chapter of the Bible to study every night, and send her to church, and admonish her frequently, all for her own welfare, you see, and to preserve her soul—”

“Very good of you,” said Jeremy. She did not hear the irony in his voice, and the condemnation. Therefore, she subsided and even smiled a little.

“Thank you,” she said, preening. “I do my best for these poor creatures; it is only Christian.” Now she shook an arch finger at him and shook her head also. “Mr. Porter—Jeremy—do you think it is fair or kind to delude Ellen like this, with a promise you couldn’t possibly fulfill?”

“But I do intend to fulfill it,” he said. “I’ve been in love with Ellen since she was a child of thirteen, in my mother’s house.”

“Oh,” she said, with a knowing look, remembering what Francis had told her. “Let us be honest, do, Jeremy. You want May and Ellen for your own establishment in New York, as cook and housemaid. Ellen as housemaid,” and she almost winked at him. But his expression was tight and immovable.

“I want Ellen for my wife, and she has agreed to marry me.”

She was more shocked than ever. “Jeremy! A low servant, of doubtful origin—I have heard stories, though I never held it against that poor girl. I have heard that—”

“Yes,” said Jeremy, “I know what you have heard, that Ellen is illegitimate. Quite true.” His manner was calm and quiet. “I have investigated, because my Uncle Walter told me a very interesting story. I didn’t investigate merely out of curiosity; I wanted to verify something in my own mind. And I did. Ellen is the illegitimate daughter of John Sheldon Widdimer, of Philadelphia, of a very prominent family, and very rich, too. Ellen’s mother, and May, too, were housemaids in her father’s house, and the mother, Mary, was small and beautiful. It’s an old story, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Eccles was astounded. “Ellen! Of the Widdimers? I know-well, I know of them, at any rate. Oh, it isn’t possible!”

He nodded his head. “I assure you it is not only possible, but it is true. May took her sister away to Erie; she was older than Mary and felt responsible for her. It was in Erie that Ellen was born, and Mary died shortly after her birth. And there’s something else: John Wid-dimer left a curious will. I can quote one paragraph in it verbatim: To each, if any, of my natural heirs, and surmounting any legal difficulties, I leave the sum of two hundred thousand dollars.’ He must have known that Mary was—shall we say, in a delicate condition? I also discovered that he tried to find both the young women, May and Mary, and failed. He probably wanted to marry Mary, as I want to marry Ellen.”

“I heard, yes, I heard, that he was killed by a horse,” Mrs. Eccles said faintly. “Two hundred thousand dollars! Ellen! But then, the law won’t allow it—”

“Oh yes, it will. I am a lawyer, Mrs. Eccles. No one quite knew what he meant in that will, not even his father, who had had some suspicions, though. Ellen, by the way, is an almost exact replica of her grandmother, Amy Sheldon Widdimer. My Uncle Walter saw her portrait when he was a young man, and he was very startled when he saw Ellen.”

Mrs. Eccles sat upright in her rose wing chair and clenched her hands tightly together. “Are you going to tell Ellen?”

“No. She doesn’t need that money; she is marrying me. I want her to continue to believe whatever May has told her about her parentage, and I am sure that you, as a well-bred lady, won’t mention what I have told you to either May or Ellen.”

“Oh, you can be sure of that!” Mrs. Eccles considered. “It seems unbelievable, yes, truly. Well, I always suspected something like that, not that I condemn the poor unfortunate girl. Your mother wrote that Ellen was really the daughter of May and some low fellow—”

“As I mentioned before,” said Jeremy with deliberate ease, “my mother is a liar and likes to believe the best of herself and the worst of others.”

“How disrespectful, sir, of your poor mother, who sheltered—”

“She never sheltered anyone in her life, and took from all the unfortunate people who worked for her the very means of their survival. That is, she underpaid them and starved them as much as possible. Yes, indeed, she is a good Christian woman, full of loving kindness. I’ve met hundreds like her, all diarrhea of goodwill in the mouth, and constipation of the purse.”

Mrs. Eccles blushed at these crude words, and Jeremy smiled at her winningly. She turned her head aside, modestly, as if offended, but she was an earthy woman and after this one gesture to breeding and her sex, she looked at Jeremy again.

“But Ellen! You, sir, are a handsome man, of position and profession. You could marry anyone, and not just a—”

“Bastard,” said Jeremy.

She fluttered her hands before her face, as if to protect it. “Oh, let us not be so uncouth—I am speaking of Ellen herself, not her parentage. A very homely girl, not in the least pretty or prepossessing. A very homely girl of no name. I consider it most improper, Jeremy, most improper, for one of your station. I don’t know what your parents will think—”

“And I don’t give a damn,” said Jeremy. He had another thought. He had to make matters as smooth and pleasant for Ellen as possible, when she spoke to her aunt. He knew the sad Mays of this world, with their obdurate convictions of impropriety and their obstinate belief in classes. In a way it was a sort of self-protection, as well as a matter of pathetic pride. So he made himself look embarrassed and even a little pleading, and he leaned towards Mrs. Eccles and said, “I should like to ask a great favor of you, Mrs. Eccles, a very great favor, but I hesitate to ask it.”

She preened again. “Do, please, sir.”

He bent his head with such an affection of bashfulness that only those like Mrs. Eccles could be deceived. She leaned at him avidly. “Mrs. Eccles, you know what poor May is, a very sick woman, prematurely old, and very tired. And you know the obduracy of her—class—and their ideas of what is appropriate; God knows, it’s been drilled in them from birth, for very cunning reasons, indeed. I have really two favors to ask of you. I should be most grateful if you went now, very quietly, up to May and explained the situation to her—”

Mrs. Eccles smiled at him shrewdly. “I understand. You are afraid that May will become hysterical and forbid the marriage—after all, she is Ellen’s guardian—and refuse to go with you to New York, and then Ellen won’t leave, either. May has a very keen awareness of the proprieties.”

Jeremy nodded. “Exactly, Mrs. Eccles. And now, for the larger favor. I suppose—no, I don’t think you would even consider it—but I should be in your debt forever if you would accompany the three of us to New York, and be a witness to my marriage to Ellen. I have a large suite at the Waldorf-Astoria, and I will rent, if you consent, another for you, and a nice room for May. No, I am sure you won’t consent—”

She was overwhelmed, then clapped so sharply that Jeremy frowned. But she cried, “Of course, I should be honored, Jeremy! Honored—that you should ask me. And I will be the perfect chaperone for dear Ellen, and help her to buy her trousseau.” She put her fingers to her lips. “But she has no money.”

“Let it be a secret between us, Mrs. Eccles. I will give you all that you need for Ellen.”

“But that would be most unseemly—”

He smiled. “Very well. Let us put this in another way. Another secret. You will tell Ellen that it is your gift to her, and later I will write you a discreet check, but first you will spend your own money, openly. Very seemly, that, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Eccles loved intrigue, like all her kind, and she was enchanted. “You naughty boy, you! You would have me lie, wouldn’t you? But then, it wouldn’t be a lie, really. It would be my own money, from my own purse—”

“And I will reimburse you afterwards. It is our secret. And now, please, would you speak to May?”

She rose, and just then Ellen appeared at the doorway and said, “Supper is served, ma’am, if you please.” She was very white and resolute, and her look at Mrs. Eccles was neither meek nor servile and Jeremy knew that she had iron in her soul, something he had always suspected. She had had time to calm herself in the kitchen, and to renew her faith in Jeremy, and her huge blue eyes glanced at him briefly and in utter trust.

But then Ellen started when Mrs. Eccles fell upon her with cries of deep affection, forgetting that Ellen was only a housemaid in her house. She enfolded Ellen in her plump, black silk arms, and Ellen, stupefied, looked down at the sleek brown head which hardly came to her chin, and then she turned her astounded eyes on Jeremy, and her mouth fell open.

“My dear, dear child!” cried Mrs. Eccles. “Dear Jeremy, the impetuous boy, has just told me everything! Everything! Oh, how wonderful it is, and what a secretive minx you are, and how lucky you are, oh, I am just out of breath! It is too much, entirely too much—”

She hugged Ellen to her broad bosom and the girl almost staggered with the energy of this embrace and the words she had heard, which had stunned her. She was agape, limp in Mrs. Eccles’ fervent arms, and she accepted the kiss on her cheek with more stupefaction. She looked at Jeremy, beseechingly, and he wanted to laugh, but kept his face grave. He nodded at Ellen and said, “Yes, my love. And Mrs. Eccles is now going to tell your aunt, and everything is splendid.”

Then Ellen began to cry, and Mrs. Eccles began to utter cooing sounds like a tender mother and wiped away Ellen’s tears with her scented handkerchief, and kissed her again. Now Jeremy turned abruptly, for he thought it was an inauspicious moment to laugh.

“Let us go up together!” exclaimed Mrs. Eccles, concluding the work on Ellen’s face and eyes, and she caught Ellen by the hand like a gay schoolgirl. “We will tell May together! Oh, how happy she will be! I can hardly wait to see her face when I tell her!”

That’s a sensible idea, thought Jeremy. The hysterics will be just for once, and not double, and May will certainly be intimidated by my artful Hortense, who does have common sense, at least. So he nodded at Ellen and said kindly, “Yes. Go with Mrs. Eccles at once—and give May my love.”

Mrs. Eccles literally dragged Ellen from the room, enthusiastically gripping her hand, and to the last Ellen looked back over her shoulder at Jeremy in a daze, dumfounded, unable to utter a single sound, her hair tossed and muddled about her petrified face. It was as if she had been confronted by a miracle, and was unable to comprehend it. There were tears still on her cheeks and her mouth quivered childishly.

All this emotionalism, thought Jerry, highly pleased with himself and his dubious dexterity in manipulating Mrs. Eccles. And I’m damned hungry, too. I hope the tears and the hysterics and the cuddlings won’t last too long.

He found his way to the kitchen and saw the luscious beef and onions which Ellen had completed roasting, and he idly cut a juicy slice and devoured it, and hummed a little hoarsely. He licked his fingers, then helped himself to some of the browned onions. Excellent. He would permit Ellen to cook occasionally for him, the little love. All in all, he was satisfied that he had put a somewhat sticky situation into Mrs. Eccles’ very competent hands. He must remember that he must buy her a very substantial gift, in gratitude. Very substantial.

That night Mrs. Eccles sent her nephew Francis a discreet telegram.

C H A P T E R   9

JEREMY HAD BEEN ABLE TO procure a very large, warm, and luxurious stateroom on the train which left Wheatfield two days later, and which then would proceed to Pittsburgh and Philadelphia and after that to New York. May, hobbling on two canes, was tenderly assisted by both Ellen and Mrs. Eccles, who was as bright as a bird, and as full of euphoric chatter. When May saw the stateroom she stood on the threshold and stared, her eyes gazing suspiciously at the couches, the chairs and the tables and the big windows draped with damask, and at the carpets and mirrors. She could not believe it; she gulped and blinked. She had the air of one who had been deeply deceived and tricked by some malignant magician, and that at any moment she would be greeted by raucous and derisive laughter for her gullibility. She looked helplessly at Mrs. Eccles, who said vivaciously, “Isn’t it beautiful? And all for us. And very expensive, too.”