The stroke had clearly been a slight one, for she was able to articulate and to make her wishes known; and soon after the doctor’s first visit she had begun to regain control of her facial muscles. But the alarm had been great; and proportionately great was the indignation when it was gathered from Mrs. Mingott’s fragmentary phrases that Regina Beaufort had come to ask her—incredible effrontery!—to back up her husband, see them through—not to “desert” them, as she called it—in fact to induce the whole family to cover and condone their monstrous dishonour.
“I said to her: `Honour’s always been honour, and honesty, in Manson Mingott’s house, and will be till I’m carried out of it feet first,’” the old woman had stammered into her daughter’s ear, in the thick voice of the partly paralysed. “And when she said: `But my name, Auntie—my name’s Regina Dallas,’ I said: `It was Beaufort when he covered you with jewels, and it’s got to stay Beaufort now that he’s covered you with shame.’”
So much, with tears and gasps of horror, Mrs. Welland imparted, blanched and demolished by the unwonted obligation of having at last to fix her eyes on the unpleasant and the discreditable. “If only I could keep it from your father-in-law: he always says: `Augusta, for pity’s sake, don’t destroy my last illusions’—and how am I to prevent his knowing these horrors?” the poor lady wailed.
“After all, Mamma, he won’t have SEEN them,” her daughter suggested; and Mrs. Welland sighed: “Ah, no; thank heaven he’s safe in bed. And Dr. Bencomb has promised to keep him there till poor Mamma is better, and Regina has been got away somewhere.”
Archer had seated himself near the window and was gazing out blankly at the deserted thoroughfare. It was evident that he had been summoned rather for the moral support of the stricken ladies than because of any specific aid that he could render. Mr. Lovell Mingott had been telegraphed for, and messages were being despatched by hand to the members of the family living in New York; and meanwhile there was nothing to do but to discuss in hushed tones the consequences of Beaufort’s dishonour and of his wife’s unjustifiable action.
Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who had been in another room writing notes, presently reappeared, and added her voice to the discussion. In THEIR day, the elder ladies agreed, the wife of a man who had done anything disgraceful in business had only one idea: to efface herself, to disappear with him. “There was the case of poor Grandmamma Spicer; your great-grandmother, May. Of course,” Mrs. Welland hastened to add, “your great-grandfather’s money difficulties were private—losses at cards, or signing a note for somebody—I never quite knew, because Mamma would never speak of it. But she was brought up in the country because her mother had to leave New York after the disgrace, whatever it was: they lived up the Hudson alone, winter and summer, till Mamma was sixteen. It would never have occurred to Grandmamma Spicer to ask the family to `countenance’ her, as I understand Regina calls it; though a private disgrace is nothing compared to the scandal of ruining hundreds of innocent people.”
“Yes, it would be more becoming in Regina to hide her own countenance than to talk about other people’s,” Mrs. Lovell Mingott agreed. “I understand that the emerald necklace she wore at the Opera last Friday had been sent on approval from Ball and Black’s in the afternoon. I wonder if they’ll ever get it back?”
Archer listened unmoved to the relentless chorus. The idea of absolute financial probity as the first law of a gentleman’s code was too deeply ingrained in him for sentimental considerations to weaken it. An adventurer like Lemuel Struthers might build up the millions of his Shoe Polish on any number of shady dealings; but unblemished honesty was the noblesse oblige of old financial New York. Nor did Mrs. Beaufort’s fate greatly move Archer. He felt, no doubt, more sorry for her than her indignant relatives; but it seemed to him that the tie between husband and wife, even if breakable in prosperity, should be indissoluble in misfortune. As Mr. Letterblair had said, a wife’s place was at her husband’s side when he was in trouble; but society’s place was not at his side, and Mrs. Beaufort’s cool assumption that it was seemed almost to make her his accomplice. The mere idea of a woman’s appealing to her family to screen her husband’s business dishonour was inadmissible, since it was the one thing that the Family, as an institution, could not do.
The mulatto maid called Mrs. Lovell Mingott into the hall, and the latter came back in a moment with a frowning brow.
“She wants me to telegraph for Ellen Olenska. I had written to Ellen, of course, and to Medora; but now it seems that’s not enough. I’m to telegraph to her immediately, and to tell her that she’s to come alone.”
The announcement was received in silence. Mrs. Welland sighed resignedly, and May rose from her seat and went to gather up some newspapers that had been scattered on the floor.
“I suppose it must be done,” Mrs. Lovell Mingott continued, as if hoping to be contradicted; and May turned back toward the middle of the room.
“Of course it must be done,” she said. “Granny knows what she wants, and we must carry out all her wishes. Shall I write the telegram for you, Auntie? If it goes at once Ellen can probably catch tomorrow morning’s train.” She pronounced the syllables of the name with a peculiar clearness, as if she had tapped on two silver bells.
“Well, it can’t go at once. Jasper and the pantry-boy are both out with notes and telegrams.”
May turned to her husband with a smile. “But here’s Newland, ready to do anything. Will you take the telegram, Newland? There’ll be just time before luncheon.”
Archer rose with a murmur of readiness, and she seated herself at old Catherine’s rosewood “Bonheur du Jour,” and wrote out the message in her large immature hand. When it was written she blotted it neatly and handed it to Archer.
“What a pity,” she said, “that you and Ellen will cross each other on the way!—Newland,” she added, turning to her mother and aunt, “is obliged to go to Washington about a patent law-suit that is coming up before the Supreme Court. I suppose Uncle Lovell will be back by tomorrow night, and with Granny improving so much it doesn’t seem right to ask Newland to give up an important engagement for the firm—does it?”
She paused, as if for an answer, and Mrs. Welland hastily declared: “Oh, of course not, darling. Your Granny would be the last person to wish it.” As Archer left the room with the telegram, he heard his mother-in- law add, presumably to Mrs. Lovell Mingott: “But why on earth she should make you telegraph for Ellen Olenska—” and May’s clear voice rejoin: “Perhaps it’s to urge on her again that after all her duty is with her husband.”
“I’m feeling rather worn out at the moment, I’m afraid I need a rest,” the ancestress said. “May, would you close the sliding doors as you leave. Your mother and I need a moment.”
May lifted the heavy yellow damask portieres and slipped into the hallway only to find Newland standing idly by the entrance table. She was surprised to see him there. “You’re still here? I thought you might have gone already.”
“No.” He paused, wondering if he should engage her in conversation, and then decided that he would. “I wonder why Ellen must be summoned?”
May’s face flushed. “She would want to be with Granny now, I’m sure.”
“But your Granny has disowned her, let her live penniless.”
“Ellen has made her choice in the matter.”
“Vile, May. It’s simply vile to expect your own cousin to return to a corrupt marriage, and then be penalized if she chooses not to.”
“Newland dear, come with me. This is not a conversation to be overheard.” She turned and entered a private drawing room. When he did not follow, she turned around to face him.
He stood rigid, not appreciating his wife’s chastisement.
“Come along, Newland. I insist.”
Newland hated his wife’s attitude about the Countess and the way the family was treating him. Why was it acceptable to allow him to venture off to Washington, but require the Countess to appear? Was he simply a dispensa
ble family member? A fill-in? He had been called away from his work to attend to the needs of the family, and yet now their needs were not so urgent that he was required to remain in town. And then suddenly, like a brick smacking him on the side of the head, he understood—this was all May’s doing. His wife meant to keep him away from Ellen. This angered him. He felt the heat race up the back of his neck, and he promptly followed May into the drawing room to have it out with her.
Inside, May secured the latch, and then faced her husband. “You needn’t be distressed over Ellen,” she said. “We all care about her. And I’m certain Granny will look after her. Just as I will look after your needs.” She smiled at him in a manner that signaled the subject was closed.
Newland turned away from May and walked to a painting. His crafty wife had forestalled any argument that he might have otherwise made. He studied the painting of a hunt scene and somehow felt as though he were the fox being pursued. May was the huntress.
“Come dear, I think all you are feeling is frustration,” May said. “Let me satisfy your needs. We shall make haste.”
“Not now, May. How can you think it appropriate? Your grandmother is—”
“It’s a time to live, Newland. What better way is there than to experience the sensuous pleasures of the flesh? It reminds us that we’re meant to embrace life and live it fully. Look.” She pulled a package from her dress pocket. “I was waiting until this evening to show you these treats.” She smiled as she opened the package. “They’re called sleeves.” She held one up.
His brows rose in astonishment.
“For your member,” she said.
“Honestly? I can’t imagine where you find these things.”
“Take your trousers off. I’ll put one on you.”
“I rather think not. This isn’t the reason we’ve taken our conversation to this room. I don’t appreciate your—”
She approached him and began unfastening his trousers. But Newland was in no mood for theatrical sex. And now he became even angrier with May for skirting the issue of Ellen. He grasped her hands to stop her.
“Release your hands,” she said, astonished, and then pulled away from him, walked to the door, and unlatched it. From there, she spoke to a housemaid who was passing down the hallway. “Would you please be so kind as to invite Eduard in for a word.” Then she turned back toward Newland, who stood firm.
“What is the meaning of this?” he said.
“You’ll see,” she said with a new and unfamiliar tone to her voice.
Presently, someone rapped on the door.
“Enter,” she said, calling out and remaining in place.
A dark, handsome young man dressed in the clothing of a servant entered and stood before May.
“Oh Eduard, I was just showing Newland these new sleeves that I found at the pharmacy.”
“May!” Newland said.
“If you would be a dear and remove your trousers,” she said to Eduard, her facial expression unyielding.
Eduard glanced helplessly at Newland, but said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Certainly not, man,” Newland said. “I shall have you sacked!”
“You shall do no such thing,” May said. She walked to the handsome, young Eduard, unfastened his trousers, and began stroking his large member, which immediately rose to impressive proportions. She glanced defiantly at her husband.
“May, this is an outrage,” Newland shouted.
“Come now, Newland,” she said in a chiding tone. “You can’t honestly believe that I haven’t been having my fun. Not with you frolicking with the chambermaids. Not to mention slobbering over my cousin Ellen.”
“I’m speechless,” Newland said.
She gave Eduard a few more brisk strokes, bent over and kissed the crown of his staff, and resumed her stroking. She glanced over at Newland, who was standing stock-still. “Unfasten your trousers, Newland. I have plenty of these French sleeves. And they are varied, which makes them all the more fun. See here, the ripples are different on each one.”
May continued to undress Eduard, and when he stood before them unclothed, the most prominent feature on his lean body was his fully erect manhood. May slipped one of the sleeves on his member, and then clasped his member in her hand and led him to a settee.
“I forbid this!” Newland said.
“Why not join in the fun?” she said as she quickly disrobed.
“You’re my wife, I forbid this, May,” Newland repeated.
“You shan’t deny me my pleasure, dearest husband,” she said, and then straddled the young Eduard’s lap. She looked at the virile young servant and said, “Touch me.” When he hesitated, she guided his hand to her intimate folds. “Oh, yes,” she said, and began to writhe and moan.
Newland stood gaping at them, horrified. May had become quite liberal in the bedroom, but he never expected that she would resort to this. This was absolutely outrageous. Newland could not put reason to her behavior. He concluded that this had to be some jealous ploy.
“Join us, Newland,” May said, wriggling her firm bottom. “You know what I like.” Then she lowered herself down on Eduard’s staff. “Oh, yes.” Her voice lowered to a deep moan. “How delicious.” Eduard, being young and virile, immediately began humping his hips, bobbing May up and down with his hard thrusts.
Still horrified, Newland regarded his young wife with mixed emotions. He was angry, angrier than he had ever been in his life. Yet against his will, he found himself becoming excited by May’s wantonness, her willingness to live as freely as a man. And at this moment, she was freer than Ellen. He wanted to act, to do something, but what? Then he suddenly realized that his manhood was fully erect. He touched himself to be sure, and without further hesitation, he stripped the clothes from his body and approached May and her lover.
“Don’t just stand there, Newland. Put a sleeve on,” May commanded, nodding toward the package she left lying on the table. “It is a time for a little pleasurable experimentation.”
Newland did as she asked, unable to do anything else but obey his wife.
“And lather your staff so that you might enter more easily,” she said.
After he did as she wished, Newland stood behind his wife, who was still writhing her hips on the young valet’s impressive member. He clasped his hands around her waist to fall in sync with the rhythm.
“Don’t keep me waiting Newland,” she said, raising her derrière to him as she continued riding her stud.
Newland grasped his staff in one of his hands, and with the other, he began massaging May’s nether door.
“Oh, yes,” May said, moaning lustfully. “Eduard, do slow down so Newland can join us.”
Newland pressed his member between her back fold and began sliding in rhythm with the two. After a few thrusts, it was time. He positioned himself so that his sleeved staff would slide inside of May on her next fall. The moment he entered, he felt such an intense rush of excitement race through his limbs that his legs almost buckled underneath the weight of the pleasure.
May shrieked and threw her head back. “Harder,” she cried. “Faster, Eduard. Faster.” Eduard obligingly resumed the rapid pace.
“Yes, yes,” she kept repeating overcome with passion. Then she clasped Eduard’s head and guided his mouth to her breast, and when his lips clasped her nipple, she gurgled in lust. “Newland, take the other,” she said hoarsely. “I want it all … everything!”
Newland grasped the other breast and began to squeeze the hard tip. May moaned incessantly, obviously thrilled with being enveloped in the flesh of two lovers. And after she had had her fill, she announced that she was nearing her climax.
Her body tightened. The grind intensified and finally she cried out, urging the men to finish. Together, the three climaxed, and then collapsed in on themselves with satisfaction and utter fatigue.
After Eduard had been dismissed, May walked Newland to the door of the drawing room. “Now kiss me goodbye dear. I will see you this evening.”
She offered him her cheek, which he kissed chastely. And as he took leave of her, she smiled wickedly at him as she twirled the package with the remaining sleeves.
The outer door closed on Newland Archer and he walked hastily away toward the telegraph office.
Chapter 10
“Ol-ol—howjer spell it, anyhow?” asked the tart young lady to whom Archer had pushed his wife’s telegram across the brass ledge of the Western Union office.
“Olenska—O-len-ska,” he repeated, drawing back the message in order to print out the foreign syllables above May’s rambling script.
“It’s an unlikely name for a New York telegraph office; at least in this quarter,” an unexpected voice observed; and turning around Archer saw Lawrence Lefferts at his elbow, pulling an imperturbable moustache and affecting not to glance at the message.
“Hallo, Newland: thought I’d catch you here. I’ve just heard of old Mrs. Mingott’s stroke; and as I was on my way to the house I saw you turning down this street and nipped after you. I suppose you’ve come from there?”
Archer nodded, and pushed his telegram under the lattice.
“Very bad, eh?” Lefferts continued. “Wiring to the family, I suppose. I gather it IS bad, if you’re including Countess Olenska.”
Archer’s lips stiffened; he felt a savage impulse to dash his fist into the long vain handsome face at his side.
“Why?” he questioned.
Lefferts, who was known to shrink from discussion, raised his eyebrows with an ironic grimace that warned the other of the watching damsel behind the lattice. Nothing could be worse “form” the look reminded Archer, than any display of temper in a public place.
Archer had never been more indifferent to the requirements of form; but his impulse to do Lawrence Lefferts a physical injury was only momentary. The idea of bandying Ellen Olenska’s name with him at such a time, and on whatsoever provocation, was unthinkable. He paid for his telegram, and the two young men went out together into the street. There Archer, having regained his self-control, went on: “Mrs. Mingott is much better: the doctor feels no anxiety whatever”; and Lefferts, with profuse expressions of relief, asked him if he had heard that there were beastly bad rumours again about Beaufort… .
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