The Furies

by John Jakes

  Damned if she’d wait till morning to have it out with him!

  Instead of proceeding to her room, she turned the opposite way on the second floor, toward his. She frowned when she tried to open the door.

  Locked.

  She thought she heard a voice—not her son’s—whispering inside. Curious and a little alarmed, she knocked.

  “Louis?”

  No answer.

  “Louis, this is your mother. Why do you have the door bolted? Please open it at once.”

  Chapter VII

  The Box

  i

  AN IRRATIONAL DREAD SETTLED over Amanda while she waited for a reply. The wind whined across the roof. A door closed below, Michael leaving the library. In her son’s room, she heard furtive footsteps and, if her ears weren’t tricking her, that unfamiliar voice.

  “Louis, unless you answer me—” she began, only to be interrupted.

  “I’m here, Mother.” The sound of a yawn—too exaggerated to be genuine. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to open the door immediately.”

  “You woke me up.”

  He’s lying, she thought, the knowledge a sickening shock. She’d never known her son to lie before. The other voice whispered again. This time she identified it as a woman’s; the shock was instantly compounded.

  Amanda had long ago realized Louis would probably have his first experience with a girl without her knowledge. She’d decided she would have little control over the time and place, and that about all she could do was exert her influence to see he didn’t become involved with some diseased tart from the slums. But she hadn’t expected the encounter to happen so soon. Nor in her own house—

  Who was with him?

  Of all the females who worked for her, she suspected Kathleen McCreery. Kathleen was young, not unattractive. Who had taken the initiative, the boy or the maid? Kathleen didn’t strike her as a scheming sort. But obviously the girl knew she was working in a wealthy household—

  Her mind a chaos of questions, Amanda finally realized the door was still closed.

  “Louis, I’m not going to continue to speak to you this way. Let me in!”

  The door opened. But not far.

  That Louis had been lying to her was immediately apparent. He was still dressed. But he was barefoot. The tail of his shirt hung over his left hip. Far from sleepy, he was sweating.

  “Mother, you woke me out of a sound—”

  “The devil I did!” She shoved the door and rushed past him before he could stop her.

  Beside the bed, looking utterly terrified, was the McCreery girl. She was clumsily trying to smooth her black skirt. And sure enough, there was the evidence: the rumpled bed with covers tossed back, a damp stain tinged pink at one edge—

  Louis started to speak. Kathleen was quicker. “Ma’am—please—believe me—he forced me—”

  “What do you mean, forced?”

  “Just—just that. I was fixing the room for the night. He came in—he said—ohhh—”

  “For God’s sake, Kathleen, don’t start crying! I can hardly make sense of what you’re saying as it is—”

  Louis stormed between them. “Who cares what she’s saying? Every bit of it’s a lie! She practically begged me—”

  Kathleen’s face convulsed with shame and rage. “You filthy boy. You filthy, filthy boy—” To Amanda: “I’ve never been with a man before—God as my witness! He locked the door—”

  “Shut your mouth!” Louis cried, running at her with his hand raised.

  Amanda lunged, caught her son’s wrist, flung his fist down to his side. He glared at her, tried to strike her—

  Amanda slapped him across his left cheek, then across his right.

  The boy stumbled back, upsetting a chair. He almost blundered against one of the windows before he righted himself, staring at his mother with astonishment and fear. His normally swarthy face had drained of color. The sight of him sickened her.

  She pointed to the overturned chair.

  “You sit down while I listen to Kathleen’s side of this. Then I’ll give you a chance—”

  He hesitated. But he finally obeyed, righting the chair in front of the window and sinking down. Outside, the rooftops of the square showed thickening crusts of white—so clean in contrast to the ugliness she’d discovered—

  The boy watched his mother apprehensively as she shut the door. Walking back to Kathleen McCreery, Amanda felt her belly aching again, worse than ever—

  She put her arm around Kathleen. With their backs to the boy, she gave the girl’s trembling shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Don’t be afraid to speak. If Louis abused you, he’ll be punished—”

  “Oh yes?” the girl retorted. “He’s never punished for anything.”

  “He will be this time. Now tell me precisely what happened.”

  Kathleen tried, her speech breathy and punctuated by loud sniffles that might have made Amanda laugh in other circumstances.

  “He said that—he said he wanted me—in his bed and—if I wouldn’t, he’d—he’d say he caught me—trying to steal something—”

  Amanda studied the maid’s red, puffy eyes. Unless the girl was a superb actress, she wasn’t pretending.

  “So you consented?”

  “I consented because I’d have been accused if I didn’t! He demanded that I undress—”

  “Demanded?”

  “Just the way he demands everything. Don’t you know how your own son behaves with the people who wait on him?”

  “No, I—I guess I don’t. Evidently I’ve been too busy to give Louis the right sort of attention—”

  But I’ve given him the pattern to follow, haven’t I? She remembered California, the boy’s odd, almost admiring smile when she talked about the man she’d shot—

  Struggling against rage that was directed more toward herself than her son, she faced him. Walked to him. Stood before him, her stare fixed on his guilty, evasive eyes—

  “Louis, do you deny what Kathleen says?”

  “Yes—yes, I do,” he answered, though without firmness. “She flaunted herself—”

  “May the saints summon me this minute, I didn’t!” the girl burst out. “I’d never do such a thing, Mrs. de la Gura. I’d never risk losing this job—I spent months searching for a house where they’d take Irish. Do you think I’d throw that away even—even if I wanted the likes of him?”

  “No,” Amanda said wearily. “No, that wouldn’t be at all likely.”

  “Ma, I tell you she’s making it all up—!” Louis began.

  “Louis”—her voice was pitched low, her eyes stark—“I am not going to tolerate a single lie from you. Did you or did you not demand that Kathleen obey you?”

  He still evaded her gaze. She dug her nails into his shoulder. “Louis, answer me.”

  “I—” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, as if realizing he was trapped, he turned defiant. “What if I did? Why shouldn’t I have her if I want? This is my house, not hers—and she’s nothing but slum trash.”

  Kathleen began to weep again. As Amanda let go of his shoulder, her lips were almost colorless. “Of all the insufferable arrogance—”

  “Are you taking her part?”

  “Yes! I am! What gave you the right to think you could order her about any way you wished? No one—nothing gives you that right!”

  “No?” A kind of cowering nastiness wrenched his face. “You seem to do exactly what you please. Anywhere—and any time.”

  She struck him with her fist, savagely. He toppled off the chair, fell on one knee, still glaring. She shook with fury—realizing belatedly that she’d really been striking out not at him, but at his accusation—

  Because she knew it was true.

  ii

  She ordered Louis to remain in his room. With as much control as she could muster, she put her arm around Kathleen again, shepherded her out to the hall and led her toward her own quarters.

  Amanda pitied the
young girl. But she also knew what had to be done. Louis must be dealt with firmly, decisively—and at once. Kathleen’s presence would only compound the difficulty of taking him in hand.

  She turned up the gas in her private sitting room and eased the girl gently into a chair. Then she sat down opposite her, trying to speak calmly. “Kathleen, I can’t tell you how ashamed I am of what Louis did—”

  The girl made a faltering effort to straighten her disarrayed hair. “If only—if only he hadn’t used me like—like some piece of goods—”

  “I’m afraid I must bear the blame for that. I’ve inadvertently let Louis believe he can do whatever he wishes. I intend to correct that—”

  Provided it isn’t already too late.

  “However”—here was the thorny place—“I think you can realize it would only make things more difficult if you were to remain in the house.”

  Kathleen’s head lifted. Her coppery hair glinted in the flickering glow of the gas—and so did her reddened eyes. “You’re going to turn me out?”

  “I don’t want to, but you wouldn’t be happy here in the light of what’s happened. Nor would it be good for Louis to—”

  “It is his part you’re taking. It is!”

  “Kathleen, I assure you it isn’t. I’m thinking of your welfare too.”

  “Then for God’s sake think of how much I need this position!”

  “I’ve considered that.”

  “You’re not going to punish him, that’s it,” she declared.

  “I assure you I’m going to punish him. Severely.”

  “No, you’re getting rid of me so you can smooth it over. Pretend it never happened—”

  “You’re being unreasonable, Kathleen. Don’t you appreciate the problems it would cause for you to see Louis every day, feeling as you do about him? I’m asking you to leave for your own sake. In fact I want you to go tonight.”

  “Tonight!”

  “Yes, go downstairs and speak with Michael. Tell him to write you a draft for eight weeks’ wages. Give him your address, and I’ll do my utmost to locate another position for you—”

  “So I’m to be thrown out as though I’m the criminal?”

  “You don’t seem to understand I’m doing it for your peace of mind as well as—”

  “I want him to look at me! I want him to remember how cruel he was!”

  Amanda shook her head. “That won’t serve any useful purpose. In a few days you’ll see the wisdom of—”

  “I won’t be treated this way, Mrs. de la Gura. I did nothing wrong. The wrong’s all on the boy’s side.”

  “And mine,” Amanda said wearily. “I’ve admitted that.” Her voice hardened just a little. “But I still insist you go.”

  All at once Kathleen’s eyes brimmed with resentment. Her face showed a wrath Amanda had never seen her display before. “You’d better not do this to me—”

  Amanda bristled. “Young lady, I’m trying to act in your own best interests. I won’t be threatened.”

  “If you force me to leave, I have friends who’ll take my part.”

  Somehow the plain words made Amanda’s spine crawl. “Friends?”

  “My uncle’s a pal of Mr. Rynders. You know who Mr. Rynders is, don’t you?”

  “Isaiah Rynders? Of course.”

  “I’ll make sure he learns what you’ve done.”

  “Have you heard nothing I’ve said? I know you’re the one who’s been wronged. I’m trying to make what amends I can—”

  To salve my conscience?

  “I need this position,” the girl repeated, more firmly. “It’s the best I’ve ever had, and no one else in my family is old enough to bring home steady wages. If you put me out, Mr. Rynders will hear about it.”

  “And do what, may I ask? Send some of his hooligans to throw stones at the house?”

  “I—I don’t know what he’ll do, but he’ll do something. And it won’t be just stones, either.”

  Her reddened eyes seethed with anger—the same kind of anger Amanda had occasionally seen on Michael’s face when he spoke of blacks, or the crowded, filth-ridden stews of his childhood. But understanding the girl’s rage didn’t mean she could condone it.

  “I’m afraid I’m losing patience with you, Kathleen—”

  “You’ll lose a lot more before this is over!”

  “Don’t you dare utter one more threat, young lady! You go see Michael this instant!”

  The girl started to retort, recognized how deeply she’d stirred Amanda’s wrath, and kept silent. With a last, hateful glance at her former employer, she rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Amanda sat motionless for the better part of five minutes. Then, overwhelmed by misery and exhaustion, she buried her face in her hands and cried.

  iii

  When the crippling despair passed, she went to her bedroom. She found the whiskey she kept at hand for those nights when sleep refused to come easily. She poured a generous measure and drank it in swift swallows.

  The effect of the whiskey was almost instantaneous.

  A semblance of control restored, she walked down the hall to Louis’ room and knocked.

  He replied with a sullen monosyllable.

  “I’ll be back to speak with you as soon as I’ve talked with Michael,” she said.

  Silence.

  Amanda shook her head, wheeled and strode toward the staircase.

  She found Michael at the desk in the library, his demeanor as melancholy as it had been following their discussion of the Phelans. She closed the doors and leaned against them.

  “Has Kathleen been here?”

  “Yes, Mrs. A, she just left. I wrote the draft as you instructed. She’s downstairs, packing her belongings. Considering the snow and the late hour, I doubt we can whistle up a hack. I’ll have to hitch the carriage and drive her home myself.”

  “How much did Kathleen tell you?”

  “Enough to make it clear master Louis all but raped her.” He hesitated. “What do you plan to do about the boy?”

  “We’ll discuss that in a moment. Do you agree Kathleen should go?”

  Michael rose and walked toward his chair. He’d refilled his plate with mutton. He picked up a slice and bit into it without much relish. Eventually he answered, “Under the circumstances, I do.”

  “The girl made some wild threats about setting Isaiah Rynders on us.”

  Michael’s brow hooked up. “The ward boss?”

  “Yes. She claims he’s a friend of her uncle. Could she make good on a threat like that?”

  “I expect so. There isn’t a major gang with which Isaiah Rynders doesn’t have connections—the Patsy Conroys, the Daybreak Boys, the Shirt Tails, the Plug Uglies. If Rynders could do her uncle a favor—rather, have some of his thugs do it—he would. Such little acts of kindness ensure loyalty to the Society of Saint Tammany come election time.”

  “Do you have any idea what they’d do?”

  “None whatever. It could be a friendly little street assault when you least suspect it. Or Louis might be the target. Some of the roughest gangs specialize in such charming touches as stomping a victim with shoes in which they’ve embedded a couple of knife blades—”

  “Dear God!”

  “They’re also fond of quick raids to wreck and loot a house. Or arson—that’s relatively safe. The possibilities are almost without limit—” He shrugged. “On the other hand, Kathleen’s threat may be more heat than substance.”

  “You’re not entirely convinced of it.”

  Michael’s eyes slid away. “Not entirely.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s time for me to resurrect my old revolver and keep it handy.”

  “Not a bad notion,” he agreed.

  “As for Louis—I know what I’m going to do. First I intend to punish him personally. Then I’m going to withdraw him from Professor Pemberton’s Day School for a while. Put him to work around the house. Any sort of project that needs doing—or can be invented.
I want you to take charge of that phase. Work him to exhaustion.”

  “What are you trying to do, Mrs. A, break him like a horse?”

  That irritated her. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  “I think so—though it’ll make you even more angry.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Michael drew in a deep breath. “Set him a different kind of example.”

  She turned red. “Just exactly what do you mean?”

  “Simply this. You’re a determined woman. You go after what you want, no interference allowed—and you make no secret of it. I suspect Louis is only showing his admiration of that.”

  “In a very warped way!” She said it sharply. But she knew Michael had touched the essential truth of the problem.

  “Agreed,” he said “Still, you might find things changing favorably if you displayed—shall we say—a less aggressive attitude?”

  “I can’t be what I’m not.”

  “Certainly. But you can be less outspoken about your intention to own Kent and Son at any cost. Louis may not understand the reason for it, or know how you’re going about it. But he can’t help being aware of your hostility. You’re quite a different woman when Mr. Stovall occupies your thoughts than you are, for example, when you’re entertaining Mrs. Ludwig or arguing the pros and cons of abolitionism. You may not even realize the disparity—”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  “Then perhaps I’ve made you angry in a good cause.”

  Amanda gazed restlessly around the library.

  At the painting of her grandfather highlighted by the flicker of flames from the hearth—

  At the polished scabbard of the French sword and the lustrous wood of the Kentucky rifle—

  At the shimmering green glass of the tea bottle—

  She sounded almost despondent when she spoke. “Everyone wants to convince me I’m a fool for trying to get control of the firm.”

  “Everyone? There have been others before me?”

  “Quite a few,” she said, sourly. “Rose Ludwig just this evening. My cousin Jared before he died. Captain McGill—but that’s immaterial. I consider it my duty to deal with Stovall.”