Literary Love

by Gabrielle Vigot

  Mrs. Archer and her son and daughter, like every one else in New York, knew who these privileged beings were: the Dagonets of Washington Square, who came of an old English county family allied with the Pitts and Foxes; the Lannings, who had intermarried with the descendants of Count de Grasse, and the van der Luydens, direct descendants of the first Dutch governor of Manhattan, and related by prerevolutionary marriages to several members of the French and British aristocracy.

  The Lannings survived only in the person of two very old but lively Miss Lannings, who lived cheerfully and reminiscently among family portraits and Chippendale; the Dagonets were a considerable clan, allied to the best names in Baltimore and Philadelphia; but the van der Luydens, who stood above all of them, had faded into a kind of super-terrestrial twilight, from which only two figures impressively emerged; those of Mr. and Mrs. Henry van der Luyden.

  Mrs. Henry van der Luyden had been Louisa Dagonet, and her mother had been the granddaughter of Colonel du Lac, of an old Channel Island family, who had fought under Cornwallis and had settled in Maryland, after the war, with his bride, Lady Angelica Trevenna, fifth daughter of the Earl of St. Austrey. The tie between the Dagonets, the du Lacs of Maryland, and their aristocratic Cornish kinsfolk, the Trevennas, had always remained close and cordial. Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden had more than once paid long visits to the present head of the house of Trevenna, the Duke of St. Austrey, at his country-seat in Cornwall and at St. Austrey in Gloucestershire; and his Grace had frequently announced his intention of some day returning their visit (without the Duchess, who feared the Atlantic).

  Mr. and Mrs. van der Luyden divided their time between Trevenna, their place in Maryland, and Skuytercliff, the great estate on the Hudson which had been one of the colonial grants of the Dutch government to the famous first Governor, and of which Mr. van der Luyden was still “Patroon.” Their large solemn house in Madison Avenue was seldom opened, and when they came to town they received in it only their most intimate friends.

  “I wish you would go with me, Newland,” his mother said, suddenly pausing at the door of the Brown coupe. “Louisa is fond of you; and of course it’s on account of dear May that I’m taking this step—and also because, if we don’t all stand together, there’ll be no such thing as Society left.”

  Chapter 7

  Mrs. Henry van der Luyden listened in silence to her cousin Mrs. Archer’s narrative.

  It was all very well to tell yourself in advance that Mrs. van der Luyden was always silent, and that, though noncommittal by nature and training, she was very kind to the people she really liked. Even personal experience of these facts was not always a protection from the chill that descended on one in the high-ceilinged white-walled Madison Avenue drawing-room, with the pale brocaded armchairs so obviously uncovered for the occasion, and the gauze still veiling the ormolu mantel ornaments and the beautiful old carved frame of Gainsborough’s “Lady Angelica du Lac.”

  Mrs. van der Luyden’s portrait by Huntington (in black velvet and Venetian point) faced that of her lovely ancestress. It was generally considered “as fine as a Cabanel,” and, though twenty years had elapsed since its execution, was still “a perfect likeness.” Indeed the Mrs. van der Luyden who sat beneath it listening to Mrs. Archer might have been the twin-sister of the fair and still youngish woman drooping against a gilt armchair before a green rep curtain. Mrs. van der Luyden still wore black velvet and Venetian point when she went into society—or rather (since she never dined out) when she threw open her own doors to receive it. Her fair hair, which had faded without turning grey, was still parted in flat overlapping points on her forehead, and the straight nose that divided her pale blue eyes was only a little more pinched about the nostrils than when the portrait had been painted. She always, indeed, struck Newland Archer as having been rather gruesomely preserved in the airless atmosphere of a perfectly irreproachable existence, as bodies caught in glaciers keep for years a rosy life-in-death.

  Like all his family, he esteemed and admired Mrs. van der Luyden; but he found her gentle bending sweetness less approachable than the grimness of some of his mother’s old aunts, fierce spinsters who said “No” on principle before they knew what they were going to be asked.

  Mrs. van der Luyden’s attitude said neither yes nor no, but always appeared to incline to clemency till her thin lips, wavering into the shadow of a smile, made the almost invariable reply: “I shall first have to talk this over with my husband.”

  She and Mr. van der Luyden were so exactly alike that Archer often wondered how, after forty years of the closest conjugality, two such merged identities ever separated themselves enough for anything as controversial as a talking-over. But as neither had ever reached a decision without prefacing it by this mysterious conclave, Mrs. Archer and her son, having set forth their case, waited resignedly for the familiar phrase.

  Mrs. van der Luyden, however, who had seldom surprised any one, now surprised them by reaching her long hand toward the bell-rope.

  “I think,” she said, “I should like Henry to hear what you have told me.”

  A footman appeared, to whom she gravely added: “If Mr. van der Luyden has finished reading the newspaper, please ask him to be kind enough to come.”

  She said “reading the newspaper” in the tone in which a Minister’s wife might have said: “Presiding at a Cabinet meeting”—not from any arrogance of mind, but because the habit of a lifetime, and the attitude of her friends and relations, had led her to consider Mr. van der Luyden’s least gesture as having an almost sacerdotal importance.

  Her promptness of action showed that she considered the case as pressing as Mrs. Archer; but, lest she should be thought to have committed herself in advance, she added, with the sweetest look: “Henry always enjoys seeing you, dear Adeline; and he will wish to congratulate Newland. And on second thought, if you would excuse me, we will be with you presently.”

  Mrs. van der Luyden hurried to her husband’s study and entered without stopping to knock as was her typical custom; she quietly opened the door and peered in. He was seated with his back to her in an oversized, tall chair that sat before a fire that was burning brightly. She started toward him, thinking he must be asleep, as his newspaper had fallen to the floor. Before circling around the chair, Mr. van der Luyden suddenly emitted a loud noise, not a snore that she might be accustomed to hearing, but a manly groan. Only then did she notice his arm pumping up and down in a locomotive rhythm.

  She stopped, bringing her hands to her bosom, not sure what she ought to do, as she had never once caught her husband under these most peculiar and potentially humiliating circumstances. It wasn’t her nature to be shy in the privacy of their quarters. But this was altogether quite different. Then it occurred to her that Mr. van der Luyden had been remiss in his marital duties to her, and with that thought in mind, she felt a spring give way in her loins.

  “Henry,” she said, walking around to greet him face to face.

  He immediately opened his eyes and stopped stroking his member, the crown engorged a reddish purple. “My dear! You’ve caught me red-handed, as they say.”

  “You have rejected me, sir!”

  “Not at all, my dear. Sometimes a man just needs to know himself.” He gave her a devilish smile. “Well, it seems as though you’ve arrived at just the right moment. Raise your skirts, Louise, darling.”

  She lifted her skirts, exposing her feminine folds, for Mrs. van der Luyden was often in the habit of traversing her home without underwear so that she could be ready for a sensuous encounter with her once randy husband. She readied herself and straddled her husband’s lap.

  “We must be quick,” she said.

  “Ah,” he said, nodding compliantly and then quickly ran his fingers through her feminine form to discover that she was indeed impassioned. “My dear, Mrs. van der Luyden. I see you have eschewed the encumbrance that would impede my entry.”

  She giggled suggestively. “Oh, my darling, how I’ve missed you.
”

  “And I, you, though it has only been a few days.”

  “You should have saved yourself for this evening.”

  He slipped a finger inside her moist sheath and moved it in and out. “You needn’t worry over such trivial matters. I will be delighted to pleasure you again, if it pleases you.”

  Mrs. van der Luyden giggled with delight, throwing her head back, enjoying his touch. “Oh, Henry.” The air caught in her throat. “You-you … are a-a, oh yes, yes, Henry … you are a dear.”

  He rotated his finger around as he slid it inside and out of her sheath a few more times. Then he grasped her hips and slowly lowered her body so that the crown of his staff was at the entrance to her moist aperture.

  “Take it inside you, my dear,” he said softly, his breath hot, panting with desire.

  Mrs. van der Luyden slowly lowered herself, swallowing his robust crown first as it slipped between her folds. Then she gently thrust down, taking in his rampant member, savoring the slow slid down as his member filled her sheath. When he was fully immersed to the hilt, she stopped and stared into her husband-lover’s eyes. “Henry,” she said, and then rolled her head around, embracing the moment of ecstasy.

  “My love,” he whispered, grasping her breasts and massaging them.

  And then suddenly, like a tigress set loose on the prowl, Mrs. van der Luyden began thrusting her hips up and down, slowly at first, but then to a more enthusiastic beat, as if she had spotted her prey and the chase was on. She was wild, untamed, and bent on capturing her wildebeest. She moaned exceedingly loud and moved fluidly without any sense of reserve. “Oh, Henry, Henry,” she cried.

  There was nothing Mr. van der Luyden could do except enjoy the ride. His wife was wet with an appetite and passion so voracious that the hunt was worth the kill. And such was her passion and his pleasure that she was in danger of killing him with lust. He let her do the work, but matched her timing, as though he were a flank hunter, waiting to lunge the moment her teeth sunk into the wildebeest.

  “Oh … oh,” Mrs. van der Luyden cried aloud, her husband’s snarls resonating in harmony with her shrieks of passion. Her body rose and fell, undulating and writhing until finally, the prey was at her fingertips. Her loins tightened, and then she leapt with all her body flying through the air. She had captured exactly what she sought, her release.

  Mr. van der Luyden moved in to finish the kill. He groaned loudly as he moved his wife’s hips up and down a few more strokes, and finally finished the task.

  “Oh, Henry. How you do satisfy me, my love,” she said.

  He grasped her face and pulled her near. Their lips touched and he slipped a gentle tongue into her mouth, and together, their tongues began to swirl. The kiss was ever so gentle, a tender counterpoint to their passionate lovemaking. He grasped her breast, lowered the bodice of her dress to find the creamy flesh of her bosom. He licked her erect nipples and then began to suck one of them.

  When a jolt of electricity shot through her loins, causing her to undulate anew, Mrs. van der Luyden began to moan. “Oh, Henry, my dear. That feels so … but we …”

  He raised his mouth from her. “Yes, my dear?”

  “I’m afraid we have guests.”

  He ignored her and began circling his tongue around her nipple again.

  She sighed as he teased the tip of the nipple by stroking it gently with his tongue, and then she felt his remarkably resilient member beginning to arise anew. “Oh, Henry.”

  “You say we have guests?” he asked reluctantly.

  She drew back and looked into his eyes. “Yes, unfortunately …”

  He squeezed her bottom, and said, “Come, my dear. We’ll continue this later.”

  Mrs. van der Luyden giggled girlishly. “Yes, my love, we certainly must.”

  The two readied themselves, and promptly left the privacy of Mr. van der Luyden’s study.

  The double doors had solemnly reopened and between them appeared Mrs. van der Luyden along with her husband, Mr. Henry van der Luyden, tall, spare and frock-coated, with faded fair hair, a straight nose like his wife’s and the same look of frozen gentleness in eyes that were merely pale grey instead of pale blue.

  Mr. van der Luyden greeted Mrs. Archer with cousinly affability, proffered to Newland low-voiced congratulations couched in the same language as his wife’s, and seated himself in one of the brocade armchairs with the simplicity of a reigning sovereign.

  “I had just finished reading the Times,” he said, laying his long fingertips together. “In town my mornings are so much occupied that I find it more convenient to read the newspapers after luncheon.” Mr. van der Luyden cleared his throat and looked at his lovely tigress of a wife. Words were not necessary.

  “Ah, there’s a great deal to be said for that plan—indeed I think my uncle Egmont used to say he found it less agitating not to read the morning papers till after dinner,” said Mrs. Archer responsively.

  “Yes: my good father abhorred hurry. But now we live in a constant rush,” said Mr. van der Luyden in measured tones, looking with pleasant deliberation about the large shrouded room which to Archer was so complete an image of its owners.

  “But I hope you HAD finished your reading, Henry?” his wife interposed.

  “Quite—quite,” he reassured her.

  “Then I should like Adeline to tell you—”

  “Oh, it’s really Newland’s story,” said his mother smiling; and proceeded to rehearse once more the monstrous tale of the affront inflicted on Mrs. Lovell Mingott.

  “Of course,” she ended, “Augusta Welland and Mary Mingott both felt that, especially in view of Newland’s engagement, you and Henry OUGHT TO KNOW.”

  “Ah—” said Mr. van der Luyden, drawing a deep breath.

  There was a silence during which the tick of the monumental ormolu clock on the white marble mantelpiece grew as loud as the boom of a minute-gun. Archer contemplated with awe the two slender faded figures, seated side by side in a kind of viceregal rigidity, mouthpieces of some remote ancestral authority which fate compelled them to wield, when they would so much rather have lived in simplicity and seclusion, digging invisible weeds out of the perfect lawns of Skuytercliff, and playing Patience together in the evenings.

  Mr. van der Luyden was the first to speak.

  “You really think this is due to some—some intentional interference of Lawrence Lefferts’s?” he enquired, turning to Archer.

  “I’m certain of it, sir. Larry has been going it rather harder than usual lately—if cousin Louisa won’t mind my mentioning it—having rather a stiff affair with the postmaster’s wife in their village, or some one of that sort; and whenever poor Gertrude Lefferts begins to suspect anything, and he’s afraid of trouble, he gets up a fuss of this kind, to show how awfully moral he is, and talks at the top of his voice about the impertinence of inviting his wife to meet people he doesn’t wish her to know. He’s simply using Madame Olenska as a lightning-rod; I’ve seen him try the same thing often before.”

  “The LEFFERTSES!—” said Mrs. van der Luyden.

  “The LEFFERTSES!—” echoed Mrs. Archer. “What would uncle Egmont have said of Lawrence Lefferts’s pronouncing on anybody’s social position? It shows what Society has come to.”

  “We’ll hope it has not quite come to that,” said Mr. van der Luyden firmly.

  “Ah, if only you and Louisa went out more!” sighed Mrs. Archer.

  But instantly she became aware of her mistake. The van der Luydens were morbidly sensitive to any criticism of their secluded existence. They were the arbiters of fashion, the Court of last Appeal, and they knew it, and bowed to their fate. But being shy and retiring persons, with no natural inclination for their part, they lived as much as possible in the sylvan solitude of Skuytercliff, and when they came to town, declined all invitations on the plea of Mrs. van der Luyden’s health.

  Newland Archer came to his mother’s rescue. “Everybody in New York knows what you and cousin Louisa represent
. That’s why Mrs. Mingott felt she ought not to allow this slight on Countess Olenska to pass without consulting you.”

  Mrs. van der Luyden glanced at her husband, who glanced back at her.

  “It is the principle that I dislike,” said Mr. van der Luyden. “As long as a member of a well-known family is backed up by that family it should be considered—final.”

  “It seems so to me,” said his wife, as if she were producing a new thought.

  “I had no idea,” Mr. van der Luyden continued, “that things had come to such a pass.” He paused, and looked at his wife again. “It occurs to me, my dear, that the Countess Olenska is already a sort of relation—through Medora Manson’s first husband. At any rate, she will be when Newland marries.” He turned toward the young man. “Have you read this morning’s Times, Newland?”

  “Why, yes, sir,” said Archer, who usually tossed off half a dozen papers with his morning coffee.

  Husband and wife looked at each other again. Their pale eyes clung together in prolonged and serious consultation; then a faint smile fluttered over Mrs. van der Luyden’s face. She had evidently guessed and approved.

  Mr. van der Luyden turned to Mrs. Archer. “If Louisa’s health allowed her to dine out—I wish you would say to Mrs. Lovell Mingott—she and I would have been happy to—er—fill the places of the Lawrence Leffertses at her dinner.” He paused to let the irony of this sink in. “As you know, this is impossible.” Mrs. Archer sounded a sympathetic assent. “But Newland tells me he has read this morning’s Times; therefore he has probably seen that Louisa’s relative, the Duke of St. Austrey, arrives next week on the Russia. He is coming to enter his new sloop, the Guinevere, in next summer’s International Cup Race; and also to have a little canvasback shooting at Trevenna.” Mr. van der Luyden paused again, and continued with increasing benevolence: “Before taking him down to Maryland we are inviting a few friends to meet him here—only a little dinner—with a reception afterward. I am sure Louisa will be as glad as I am if Countess Olenska will let us include her among our guests.” He got up, bent his long body with a stiff friendliness toward his cousin, and added: “I think I have Louisa’s authority for saying that she will herself leave the invitation to dine when she drives out presently: with our cards—of course with our cards.”