The Gilded Cage

by Susannah Bamford

  She rose shakily. “Is it Ned?”

  Olive shook her head quickly. Her hands were cold as she grasped Columbine’s. “No, no. There’s no change. It’s something else. Columbine, sit down.”

  Columbine sat like a child. “Please tell me.”

  “The police have made an arrest.”

  “Yes?”

  “They’ve arrested Bell Huxton.”

  Columbine stared into Olive’s eyes, absorbing the knowledge. “Bell? That’s impossible! She liked Ned, they were friends—I don’t believe it.”

  “She took a package to his house on Friday afternoon. The maid confirms it. She put it in the library. Ned must have opened it.”

  Columbine’s hands flew to her mouth. “No.”

  “She’s converted to anarchism, you know. It’s possible.”

  “Is she admitting she did the deed?”

  “She will only say that she acted alone. The police have solid evidence, it’s said.” Olive saw Columbine’s expression, and she took her by the shoulders. “You have no responsibility for this, Columbine. Do you hear me?”

  Columbine nodded, but hell was in her eyes. “I hear you,” she said numbly. “Let’s get back to Ned.”

  Ned regained consciousness that evening. He was in terrible pain, and did not recognize them. He was given morphia and relapsed into a fitful sleep.

  At two in the morning, while Columbine was nodding in her chair, Olive touched her shoulder briefly. “Would you like some tea?” she whispered. At Columbine’s grateful nod, she said, “I’ll see if I can get that dragon of a nurse to let me make some. That bilge she serves is hardly fit for consumption. I brought some Earl Grey from home this afternoon.”

  Olive rustled out, and Columbine, fully awake now, rose for a turn around the room. The moon was full; pale, silvery light flooded the room. The moon seemed tangled in the high branches of the crabapple tree outside the window. Columbine could make out the delicate blossoms, faintly pink in the light. She and Ned had first met in the spring.

  “Columbine.”

  His voice made her jump. She turned, and saw the one eye that wasn’t bandaged was open. “Ned,” she breathed, hurrying toward him. “Oh, Ned.”

  “For a moment,” he said with difficulty, “I thought I was in our house.”

  “Yes,” she said. There was an apple tree outside the bedroom window at the Tenth Street house. “The apple tree,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s in bloom now.”

  “I rather think I’m dying, Columbine,” he said groggily.

  “No. Don’t say that.” Tears began to slip down her cheeks. “Don’t, Ned.”

  “I wanted to tell you that I loved you.”

  “And I love you. I should get the doctor—”

  “No, don’t go. Take my hand.”

  She slipped her hand into his. He grasped her fingers feebly.

  Columbine swallowed. “You have to live, Ned. We’ve been sitting here, Olive and I, waiting for you to come back to us.”

  “It’s funny,” Ned said. “I remember everything so clearly. I was working, I couldn’t concentrate. I was thinking of you. I was thinking …” A small grunt escaped him.

  “Ned, let me get the doctor.”

  “No, not yet. I want to talk to you, just for a minute. I was thinking what it would be like, to live my whole life without you. How I would ever come to find joy in things again. Do you know?”

  Columbine nodded, thinking of Elijah. “I know.”

  “And I got up from the desk, thinking it useless to work. I would pour another cognac and go upstairs and think of you, I decided. Give myself up to it. To memory. That’s when it happened. So you see, you almost saved my life. I was moving away toward the door. I should have been … quicker.”

  “Oh, Ned.”

  “But that isn’t what I wanted to say at all. Damn. I was thinking, I was thinking—what if it isn’t over? What if a year from now she’ll come to you? What if she could make a life with you after all? And now I’m wondering, were those foolish thoughts, Columbine? Is there really no hope for me?”

  Columbine’s breath went out of her. Ned was dying, she could see it in his eyes. And it was through her that it had happened. She had brought him heartbreak and she had introduced his killer to him. But she could do one last thing for him now.

  “There’s hope for you, Ned,” she said. Tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve been here every day.”

  “If I asked again—”

  “I would marry you. Ned, perhaps we’re meant to be together after all.” And at that moment, Columbine believed it.

  He closed his eyes. “My love,” he said.

  “Ned?” Columbine pressed his hand. “Ned?”

  The door opened, and Olive came in, following by the nurse carrying a tray of tea things. She took the situation in with a glance and put down the tray immediately.

  “What is it?” Olive asked frantically.

  Columbine stepped back from the bed. The nurse bent over Ned, checking his pulse, his pupils.

  “I’ll get the doctor,” she said, turning away.

  “Nurse!” Olive’s voice was panicked. “Is he worse? Is he dead?”

  The nurse smiled under the white veil. “No, my dear. I think he may be quite a bit better.”

  Elijah had been packing his books when he heard the news about the bombing. He stopped packing. He went to Columbine’s and discovered from Mrs. Haggerty that she was spending all her time at the hospital. He left his card and went back to his own parlor.

  He sat in his parlor for a week while his trunks went unpacked and his letters unsent. He must have taken meals, slept, tried to read. But to Elijah, whenever he thought of those seven days, he thought of himself, sitting heavily in his chair, not moving. Thinking, in a way he knew was slow and ponderous, almost confused, about who he was and the decisions he had made.

  It wasn’t merely that death could strike some surprising evening over cognac and a cigar in one’s own study. It wasn’t only that Ned was a good man and an inexplicable target for any anarchist. It wasn’t just the awfulness of the crime, or his own friendly feeling for Ned. It was all of those things, and it was more. It was Columbine.

  It was how fiercely he wanted to go to her. It was how desperately he wanted to see her face. It was how piercingly he wanted to share her pain. It was how deeply and irrevocably he loved her. Great tragedy had done its work. It had brought so freshly home to him how important life was. Elijah would have despised himself for succumbing to such a cliché, but he was too puzzled.

  His body trembled as he sat, thinking these things. There had been a worm in the center of his love, and he hadn’t examined it before. The worm was Lawrence Birch. It was how secretly, in his heart, Elijah had despised Columbine for loving, however briefly, that man. How could someone like Columbine not see through such a man? He had pushed the question away, not wanting to answer it. Now, he looked at the question, and he also looked at the arrogance of the man who had asked it. What right did he have to judge?

  But now, what must she be thinking? Elijah felt sure that Lawrence Birch must have been involved in the bombing plot. As he remembered Bell’s visit, went over it in his mind, he saw that her mind was possibly unbalanced; at the very least, it showed an alarming susceptibility to Lawrence’s direction. Had Lawrence used that to suggest such a course? It was possible. And if Elijah was thinking these things, surely Columbine was as well. Could she bear it, knowing that Lawrence had possibly been instrumental in the attack on Ned?

  He saw culpability there, but he did not care. The question was, could he offer himself to her and wipe the slate clean?

  Should she choose to keep the child, could he raise it? Should she want to marry him, would he do it? Should she tell him that she loved him irrevocably, could he answer truthfully that he felt the same?

  It took him seven days to realize that the answer was yes.

  Elijah arrived at it in no blinding moment of
clarity, no spinning, dizzying revelation. It was just there, quietly in front of him, as he stirred his coffee on the last morning. He loved this woman, and suddenly, that love was enough for anything.

  He read in the paper that Ned Van Cormandt had turned a corner, that he was sitting up, receiving a few visitors, though he was still in great pain. Dr. Temple was hailed as a savior. The Van Cormandt family was donating a wing in his name to the new St. Luke’s hospital which would be built on Morningside Heights.

  Elijah put on his hat and went out. Columbine was at the hospital, Mrs. Haggerty told him when he rang the bell. He caught a horsecar going up Fifth and got off at Fifty-Fourth.

  He left his card at the desk and in a few minutes the nurse came back to tell him Ned Van Cormandt would be happy to see him. He followed her upstairs and through passageways and down a long corridor. Elijah was not at his best in hospitals; he’d spent long months recuperating in one, after the war. He came to a corner room with relief, and the nurse pushed the door open.

  The window was open, and sun was streaming in through lace curtains. A group of chairs was clustered around a small table with a silver tea service. Apparently the Van Cormandt money could buy amenities, even in a hospital, Elijah thought. And then he looked at the bed and wished Ned Van Cormandt all the silver tea services in the world.

  He was thin, and bandages covered much of his body. He’d lost most of his hair. In silk pajamas and a paisley dressing gown, he appeared the height of sartorial elegance, but Elijah could see immediately in what great ways Ned had changed. It wasn’t only his injuries, and his bandages. Great pain had marked his face. Even though the smile was still as generous, the eyes had changed.

  “How good of you to come, Mr. Reed,” Ned said.

  “I heard you were receiving visitors, so I took the liberty,” Elijah said. “It’s good to see you back among us, Mr. Van Cormandt.”

  “It’s good to be back.”

  “I see that Miss Huxton hasn’t been formally charged as of yet.”

  Ned frowned. “Yes, there is some uncertainty still. They thought I had unwrapped a package, but I did not. The bomb suddenly went off, so they think now that a fuse was set and the bomb was detonated outside. There was a window open in the summer parlor. And the remnant of the papers which Miss Huxton brought were found with the evening mail, though of course they were unreadable. The only discrepancy was that I had not asked for any of Columbine’s papers. Miss Huxton volunteered that she’d often brought me articles of Columbine’s she’d thought would be of interest, which is true, though she hasn’t done so since … well, for some time.”

  “Puzzling,” Elijah said. “And how are you feeling?”

  “Well, I’d rather be bicycling in the park,” Ned said, flashing an unsteady grin. “I have my bad periods, I must admit, but I’ll be back on my feet in no time. And, may I add, I have the best nurse in the world. Columbine has been here every day. She’ll be sorry to miss you, she just went for a walk on the grounds.”

  At that, the door opened, and Columbine walked in. When she saw Elijah, she blushed deeply. She was wearing a summer dress in a light blue and white pattern with lace at the throat and wrists, and her hair was drawn back simply in a bun. Elijah drank in the sight of her.

  He bowed. “Mrs. Nash.”

  “Mr. Reed.” She closed the door behind her. “It’s kind of you to come and see Ned.”

  “Come, Columbine.” Ned held out his good hand, and she took it slowly. “I was just about to tell Mr. Reed the good news.”

  Foreboding snaked through Elijah. Something about the way Ned reached for her hand. Something proprietary in that. It was not merely the clasp of friendship. “Yes?”

  “We’re going to be married. At the hospital chapel next week. We hope you can be there.”

  It was probably three seconds, but it felt like three hours, before he was able to reply. Columbine had looked away, out the window, and he couldn’t see her eyes. She was staring fixedly at a crabapple tree. “I’m sorry,” Elijah found himself saying pleasantly, “but I won’t be able to. I leave for Paris at the end of the week. But do let me offer my very best wishes to both of you.”

  When the door closed behind Elijah, Columbine heard the click, and her shoulders shook with a convulsive jerk.

  “You were lovers, weren’t you,” Ned said.

  “Yes, Ned.”

  “It’s funny, I thought it in the cards at one time, and then I ceased to think about it. I wouldn’t have told him that way if I’d known.”

  “It’s all right. It was over already.”

  “For him, or for you?”

  “For him,” Columbine admitted. “And Ned, there’s something else. Something I haven’t told you. The doctors tell us not to upset you, so I haven’t, but I must before next week. Before we marry.”

  “Don’t listen to the doctors,” Ned said. “Tell me.”

  They hadn’t looked at each other. Columbine still stood by the head of the bed, holding his hand. “I’m pregnant,” she said. “It’s Elijah’s child.”

  His hand tightened on hers, but Ned said nothing.

  “I want the baby, Ned. And obviously, I’ll understand if you want to call off the wedding. I’ve felt dishonorable, agreeing to marry you without telling you about it. But I was worried about your health. I thought, well, I thought you’d be a good father, if you could find it in your heart to take it on. It’s a big decision, and I very much regret having to place it before you.”

  Ned didn’t speak for several minutes. She waited, still holding his hand. All of her future would be directed by this one moment, she knew. She didn’t know what was right anymore, what she needed, what she should do. All she knew was that she wanted her child, she wanted Ned to get better, she wanted to get back to her life and her work. She wanted to give up her life to someone else to manage. She wanted someone to tell her what to do.

  When he continued to be silent, Columbine tried to extricate her hand from his, but he grasped it more firmly. “I’ve been quiet,” he said, “not because I was reconsidering, but because I was considering you. Columbine, I would be happy to marry you and become a father to your child. But I also know what I’m honorbound to say. It’s just that I find it so difficult, now that I have you at last…” Ned paused. “I release you from your promise, should you wish it.”

  She looked at him searchingly. She saw that he was in pain; the drugs must be wearing off. How could she abandon him when it was because of her that he was here? Wasn’t it time she brought Ned happiness instead of grief?

  That idyllic, brief period when she had tasted true love was over. She would never feel that way again. But she had always loved Ned, could still love him. And there was a child to consider. Columbine honestly did not know how she could bring an illegitimate child into the world. That would be a sin to her, in these times. She reminded herself that she loved Ned, she loved his sister. She would create, at last, a family, not just a marriage. She would not live to please only herself any longer. That was a wrong way to live, and too narrow for her now. Ned would give her a direction. She felt as though she was poised between two high places, with a yawning chasm beneath. She put out her foot, and it slid along the outcropping rock, found a foothold, and she crossed over.

  “No, Ned,” she said. “I don’t want to be released.”

  Twenty

  TOBY HAD PLANNED to go out for lunch with some friends to celebrate the closing of the show, saying it was his last chance for festivity for awhile. He did not say that after this, there were no prospects, though Marguerite knew, of course, that this was the case. Money would soon be even more of a problem for them. Already they were skimping on meals and coal. Toby had not mentioned an audition for her again. He was tender with her, waiting until he thought she’d regained her strength.

  Toby was a puzzle to her, there was no doubt about it. He never implied, by word or touch, that he wanted to sleep with her. Still, why was he so kind? Marguerite turned this
over in her mind as the days went by. She had never met with such kindness, and she waited every day for him to come to his senses and call her a slut or a tease, and throw her out of his house. She thought it quite remarkable that time went on with them remaining merely comrades, giggling like brother and sister together.

  As soon as the door closed behind Toby that day, Marguerite sped to the closet. She reached for her blue velvet gown and shook it, smoothing out the creases. Once she had thought the gown sumptuous and elegant; the months with Edwin had shown her how plain it was. But still, Marguerite knew there was a simplicity to it that made it fresh and pretty. She hesitated, a pair of sharp scissors in her hand. She’d planned this, but she hated to ruin her only good dress. Sighing, she began to cut away at the simple lace on the yoke.

  Within ten minutes, she had carefully cut away all the lace, leaving an even simpler, deeper neckline. While she worked, she ran a bath. Marguerite bathed quickly but carefully, washing her hair with the last of Toby’s fine shampoo. She dried her hair by the coal stove and left it loose, tying it behind her with a blue velvet ribbon. Then she slipped into the dress and went to examine herself in the mirror.

  She had lost weight over the past weeks, and she looked even more childlike than usual. But the low, dramatic neckline of the dress showed a slight swell of bosom, even without handkerchiefs stuffed in her chemise. Marguerite rubbed a tiny bit of Toby’s rouge on her cheeks and put a touch of salve on her lips. She rubbed cream into the tops of her breasts and her shoulders. Then she put on her gray spring coat and hat and went out.

  She didn’t have enough money for a cab, so she took the horsecar to the theater. She knew that Willie P. always arrived at four, so she’d have a little while to wait. The side door to the theater was open, thank goodness, but there was no one in sight as she crossed the back of the theater toward the center aisle. As she started down the aisle, she heard voices raised in anger. A couple was arguing in the front of the theater, and before she had gone a few steps Marguerite saw that it was William Paradise and the gorgeous Mollie Todd.