Sex Wars (45 page)

William nodded. “And your parents?”

“Work through intermediaries. Make sure they don’t know where the tickets are coming from. Don’t send them first-class, by the way. They would cause too much of a stir. Have them told that the money is from us and that we’re doing well in England.”

“I appreciate your discretion.”

Victoria smiled. “See that you do. And it will continue—to the grave.”

Victoria told Roxanne that they had a lecture tour in England and had been sent only four tickets. She assured her mother she would send for them as soon as they could afford to, providing the lectures went well. If they didn’t, Tennie and she would soon return. In two days, not only were the sisters ready to travel, but they had bought a few gowns. Annie Wood, still in Manhattan, although she had an agent scouting real estate in New Orleans, put them in touch with a source of secondhand society gowns and a seamstress who refitted them overnight. Thus they were more or less ready for the crossing, although they lacked jewels. Tennie got some decent paste from Annie.

As the
Oceanic
left New York Harbor, the sisters toasted each other with champagne. They were both free. They were unmarried, out of jail and in the money again. Zulu Maud was up on deck with Byron, leading him around as she inspected the huge white steamship. She would watch over him and keep him out of trouble.

“The Commodore came through for us one last time. He might be looking down—or more likely up, from the hot place—if it exists,” Tennie said. “Lord Almighty, I am glad to be heading out. We can do it again, Vickie. Good times ahead.”

“We’re going to be respectable this time,” Victoria said, putting down her glass with a smart rap. “No massages, no séances. I’m the widow of
Dr. Canning Woodhull. You can be the widow of whomever you want. I recommend a Civil War hero. That has a nice ring to it.”

“Oh, feel the swell. I hope we don’t get seasick. I think I’m too happy to get sick. Isn’t champagne supposed to settle the stomach?”

“Tennie, listen to me. We must behave.” This time she would not let her chance to flourish be destroyed by her family or anyone else.

“Oh, to a point. I want to have fun. We have money again. Let’s enjoy it.”

“We must invent a family tree. He’ll send Buck and Roxanne over. We’ll stow them in a suburb or a country house, some place where they can’t interfere and get in our way.” Victoria sipped her champagne with a frown. Then she reached for a pen and her little black notebook in which she scribbled ideas. “Let’s go back at least five or six generations. We’ll start before the Revolution. They were merchants. That always sounds respectable, doesn’t it?”

“Sure.” Tennie yawned. “Whatever you say.”

A
NTHONY WENT OFF
to Cleveland and Chicago to pursue pornographers, but in spite of his seizure of close to three boxcars full of filth and his putting seven men and two women in jail, he was ill at ease. He pursued a photographer of naked females all the way to Nevada. He thought of himself as God’s bulldog, for once he had hold of a felon, he never let go. Still, these days he was troubled in his conscience. He was used to the calm conviction that he was the Lord’s strong right arm. Yet there was a mission he had not attempted, going after a great source of evil, that female vulture Madame Restell. He must act. He would proceed against her in the way he proceeded against every criminal, by entrapping her in the commission of a crime. He must prove to the newspapers that he was brave enough to pursue evil, no matter how protected by the high and mighty. David going forth against Goliath, he was armored in virtue
and right. Then why did he feel so ill? He had a cough he had not been able to shake. His limbs and torso ached. He could barely raise his arm above his head. He was so accustomed to being strong and hale that he scarcely knew what to do, away from Maggie on the road and feeling weak in all his joints, feverish some mornings. His throat was constantly dry and his voice rasped.

What mattered the tons of obscene books, dirty pictures, plates, postcards burned in pyres in Brooklyn, what mattered peep shows and dirty plays shut down, what was the use of the mounds of ungodly rubber articles he collected and destroyed, when all the time that notorious murderer of the precious unborn, defiler of the marriage bed, operated in
his
city with impunity, growing rich on the blood of infants. Last year, 72,500 pounds of bound books, 87,000 pounds of nasty pictures and photographs, 36,000 pounds of rubber articles intended for immoral purposes, 2,150 pounds of indecent playing cards, 2,875 pills and powders of abortifacients or preventives of contraception—he made no distinction. All interfered with woman’s sacred duty. He had lists of men and women he had put in prison, lists of those awaiting trial—at which he would be the principal and sometimes the only witness, and a list of those who had died while he pursued them.

A month passed while he had sent letter after letter to Madame Restell in his usual persona of a young woman in trouble. No answer came, not even an acknowledgment of his pleas. She must be hard-hearted indeed to refuse her help to a frail young woman in such dire straits. He would have to go after her in person. He would be using the state statutes then, not the federal. It made little difference. He was master of both.

Although Maggie fed him corned beef that night with cabbage and potatoes, a boiled New England dinner he relished, he had little appetite. The doctor had bled and purged him, but he felt weaker. Adele sat at the table with them, eating daintily. She had fine manners, imitating Maggie. She would follow Maggie about during the daytime and sometimes one of the maids, trying to do what they did. She had not learned to read. She was still working on her alphabet blocks, tracing the letters with her sweet fingers. She was five now, as well behaved as ever. She did not talk much, an admirable thing in a female. She laughed easily, seldom cried, was as good-tempered as they could wish.

“She will be with us all her life,” Maggie said to him. “She’s a little slow, you know, and I don’t think she could make her way.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a girl being slow. Too fast is the problem.”

“I never worry about her getting into mischief. Not on purpose.” Maggie fluffed Adele’s sausage curls. “Aren’t you my little darling girl?”

Adele nodded vehemently, her curls bobbing. “Mama!” she said. “Good girl.”

“Finish your cabbage,” Anthony said.

“Don’t like.”

“But you will finish it. Be a good girl, for Mommy and Papa.”

Slowly, reluctantly but obediently, Adele picked up her fork and shoveled in the cabbage, endlessly chewing with watery eyes. But she ate it all.

A
NTHONY DRESSED THAT DAY
as he always did, in a slightly rusty rumpled black suit, one of four, a clean white shirt with stiff collar, a white bow tie. His warrants, handcuffs and his badges—federal and state—were tucked away in the pockets, and under his belt in back, his loaded revolver. He would have thought that perhaps the old hag would have retired from the bloody work, with her husband recently dead and herself close to seventy, but her ads continued in the
Herald,
vaguely worded, nothing he could proceed on—but everyone in New York knew what she did and where she did it. His fever was up again this morning and his joints ached.

Anthony had taken the train to Albany several times to secure passage of a statute with teeth against abortionists. He had gone after those legislators who opposed the new law until in fear they withdrew their objections. Most men had something to hide. He had nothing to hide, so he was fearless. Under the new statute, possession of any drug, medicine or article intended to prevent conception or cause abortion was punishable by imprisonment—up to twenty years; possession of pills, powders or instruments was a crime. No more need Anthony drag women into court and force them to testify. No witnesses other than himself and his men were needed to convict. He had her.

On a crisp January day, the sky gray with an occasional powdering of snow, he appeared at One East Fifty-second Street and rang the bell of the basement office. An older woman answered and he asked to see Madame Restell. He was shown into an office with a large well-polished desk, anatomical figures, lace curtains and green velvet chairs. A full-figured woman with dark hair marked by a single streak of white strode in and seated herself. She seemed strangely vigorous for her reputed age, moving
swiftly and with authority. She was dressed respectably, but he had met women who dealt in vice and dressed like ladies before. He was unimpressed. “I have come on behalf of a lady who has a problem.”

“And is the lady married or unmarried?”

“I would prefer not to say. But she is very much in need of something to help her resume her female functions.”

“How old is she?”

“She is twenty-eight.”

“How is her health in general?”

“She is quite healthy.”

“Has she borne children?”

“Two.”

She disappeared and returned with some fluid and a bottle of pills, giving him detailed instructions about exactly how the medicines were to be taken, when and how often. She made him repeat back to her the instructions. “If this does not produce the desired result, the lady will have to come to me herself. A brief operation will be required.”

“How much will that cost her?”

“Two hundred payable in cash beforehand.”

“Is this procedure safe?”

“With me, it is. I’ve lost only one patient in forty years of practice. There’s not a doctor in Manhattan who can match that record. With my one failure, it was because she lied to me about how far along she was. Now I make a thorough examination before I begin.”

How cold-blooded she was, boasting about her skill. He had more questions, but the woman who had answered the door came in to say her next appointment was waiting. She turned to him. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Apparently she had another room next to this one. He crossed to the wall and applied his ear. A married woman was purchasing something to prevent conception. When they finished, he rushed to his chair and waited for the abortionist to return. She swished in, her skirts rustling.

“How long would the lady be kept here?”

“We have a place she can sleep, where she will be watched over to make sure there are no complications. If she is fine, she can return home the next day.”

“If anything goes wrong, will you help her?”

“Of course. It’s the first twelve to eighteen hours when trouble occurs.”

The following week, Anthony returned and purchased materials to
prevent conception, claiming that the woman had turned out not to be expecting after all. She held him up for ten minutes, explaining in detail exactly how the syringe was to be used after intercourse and exactly how the powder was to be applied. She again made him repeat her instructions, adding that she very much preferred to see the woman in question and to make sure she understood her own anatomy.

The following week, he made his preparations. He brought a policeman, his deputies and reporters from the
World
and the
Tribune.
They were to wait outside for a few minutes, then the policeman would force his way in with them.

When they were all inside and had rushed into Madame’s office, where she was interviewing a heavily veiled woman, she stood and glanced at them. Anthony could tell she had a pretty good notion what was happening. “You’re back again. And I see you brought quite a party with you.”

“I am Anthony Comstock, agent of the federal government and secretary of the Society for the Suppression of Vice.” He flashed his badge. “I have a warrant to search these premises and seize materials for the prevention of or interference with conception.”

She extended her hand. “May I see the warrant?”

He was startled, but complied. Then, telling the policeman to watch Restell, he grabbed the arm of the woman in the heavy black veil, who began to weep uncontrollably.

“I’m a respectable woman with four children. I came here on behalf of a friend’s daughter, to inquire what could be done. I didn’t mean to break any laws. If my husband learns of this, he will abandon me! I will kill myself if this comes out!”

“May I see your purse?”

There was nothing in it from Madame, no pills or powders, so she could have been telling the truth. He took her name and address. He might need her as a witness, but as he had not caught her in a felonious act, he decided to be generous. She fled at once.

Then he turned back to the gentlemen of his party. “We’ll conduct a search now.” They found her granddaughter playing piano upstairs, and in the kitchen two maids and a houseboy eating a lunch of sausages and sauerkraut. In their first search, they found nothing incriminating. Anthony knew there had to be a cache of pills and powders nearby, since she had absented herself briefly to fetch them on his previous visits. In a wine closet behind the bottles, they found her inventory.

She shrugged at their loot. “Take them and get them tested. There is nothing among these pills and powders that any druggist does not sell.”

“Be that as it may, we found indecent rubber articles.” Womb veils, condoms, syringes.

The granddaughter left off playing and came downstairs. She was in her twenties and attractive, if one didn’t know her connections. She kissed her grandmother on the cheek, addressing her as Mother and asking if she should call their lawyer. Anthony ignored her and led his party on a thorough search of the house.

“See how she lives in luxury off her bloody trade,” he said. She lived much better than he did, like one of the big men—like his mentor Jesup. The woodwork was intricately carved walnut. The floors were laid with Oriental carpets and one had a mosaic of marble. Some rooms had the new flocked wallpaper. Of the paintings and bronzes, only one obscene—a naked woman coming out of a seashell. Restell’s grandson Charlie began following them about, alarmed. The granddaughter told him to go for Madame’s lawyer. Anthony did not try to prevent him. No lawyer was going to get Restell off.

They found nothing else, although the reporters made many notes on the high style of living. Downstairs, Madame had persuaded the policeman to let her have lunch. She was sitting in her kitchen eating oysters. “So I am to go before a judge now? I would prefer to use my own carriage. I cannot gallop off, obviously, so why do you object? At least I’m entitled to that courtesy.”

Anthony objected, but the policeman gave her permission. Anthony made a note not to use this officer again. He was giving the prisoner too much leeway including using her own carriage—infuriating to Anthony, as it was a better carriage than any of his mentors owned, with a pair of handsome, exquisitely curried horses drawing it, one black and one white. Madame went off to court like royalty, but she would soon have her comeuppance. “Let’s see how she’ll enjoy the Tombs,” he said to his assistant. They traveled in their two conveyances to police court where a crowd of reporters waited. Anthony had notified the papers about the imminent arrest. Madame was speedily charged with two counts of selling articles for abortion and for contraception. She waived the examination, as her lawyer had not arrived yet. The judge set bail at $10,000 and she produced bonds from her purse. The judge, Kilbreth, who was sympathetic to Anthony, refused the bonds and insisted on security in real estate.

The scoundrel McKinley, an ex-judge who had helped get Claflin and
Woodhull out of jail, came rushing into court with the grandson, whom he sent to find someone to stand bail. They waited around until six, when Charlie came back. No one would stand bail because of the fear of the publicity, with all the reporters lurking there to write down the names of anybody who did not fear association with Madame. So Madame went off to the Tombs. Anthony went home to a delayed supper and his dear family, satisfied in the knowledge that he had begun her just punishment. He woke in the morning without fever for the first time in weeks. His head felt clear.

The next morning at his office, he perused the newspapers. “A vile business stopped,” the
Tribune
trumpeted. The
Times
lauded him. He was a hero again. Over the next days, McKinley found bondsmen but the judge refused them.

In the meantime, the papers were wavering. Reporters interviewed Restell in the Tombs. She had impressed them with her bearing. They went on about how attractive she still was at sixty-seven and her air of indignation. She claimed she had given Anthony nothing he could not have bought at any druggist. “The little doctors who are behind him are envious of my fortune, because I have such a fine house in such a splendid location.”

In the meantime, her fleet of lawyers tried to secure bond. They found plenty willing, but no one who would sign his legal name and be reported in the papers.