He had soon found out that Molly disapproved of her brother, and he guessed why. He also knew, to his vexation, that she was in love with Jason Garrity, and he knew that it was hopeless. Daniel was by nature a keen investigator, and as a business administrator and lawyer for his uncle, it was his duty to observe, clarify, and understand others and come to certain conclusions, and with no dangerous delay.
He knew all about Lionel and Jason now. Patrick had told him of the incredible beauty of the crippled Joan Garrity. Once Molly, in a moment of unusual despair and fear, had confided to Patrick that her brother was besotted by Joan, “who is just like him, I’m afraid. He needs a better wife than Joan is; they will just aid and abet each other. I know exactly what Lionel is; I know exactly what Joan is.” Patrick had told Daniel of this confidence, not out of a desire to gossip—one didn’t gossip about employees—but because of his fondness for Molly, who should not be upset. “The colleen takes life too seriously for her age.”
Patricia appeared with her father for dinner every other Sunday at the Inn-Tavern, and it had not taken long for Daniel to see that Jason Garrity was in love with her. This amazed him. He had come to an increased admiration for Jason, for all the boy’s short answers. Daniel was impressed by Jason’s total lack of falseness, his tremendous intelligence and integrity, his profound depth of character. That Jason disliked and mistrusted Daniel himself was only too evident. Daniel knew himself to be exigent, but in this world a man had to be, or he perished in his weakness. Jason had an almost feminine intuition. What he saw in Daniel inspired his dislike, and Daniel understood this. “There’s some rock-bound intolerance in that lad,” he had told Patrick. “He’ll never compromise for the sake of his own advantage. Funny thing, though, he’s at war with something or someone, in his mind, or his soul, if you will.”
Daniel dutifully attended Mass with his uncle. He did not see Jason there very often, and when he did, Jason would sit with his eyes unswervingly regarding the great crucifix above the high altar. When he prayed, it was with a strange intensity. It was as if a devoted son contended with a capricious or incomprehensible father and demanded answers to unanswerable questions.
In his spirit he is a priest, Daniel would think with a curious mixture of compassion and mirth.
That such a young man should be in love with Patricia Mulligan was inexplicable to Daniel. Patricia was both stupid and shrewd, sly and meanly obdurate. That a whole world existed beyond her and was unconcerned with her did not enter her mind. She was pretentious, haughty with those she considered her inferiors, and devoted a great deal of time to her appearance. Daniel had never seen her reading even a newspaper, except for the local society column. She was pettish too often, would sulk if crossed, and had a hysterical temper if anything displeased her, which it did often. But if she wanted something, she could be sugary sweet to her father, for whom she had much contempt as well as fear.
Daniel admitted that she had style and a certain cultivated flair, and that she could quote what she had been taught in school with a superficial facility, though he doubted she fully understood what she was quoting. Daniel found her boring, and he disliked her. He knew the dislike was strongly returned. Patricia had a quickness about her; her intuition had warned her that Daniel would never find her admirable.
When Jason, on his Sundays on duty, would stop at Patrick’s table and politely inquire if anything else was desired, Patricia would give a small flounce on her chair and avert her eyes as if from an offending spectacle or intrusion. But Jason would helplessly linger, looking at her, and Daniel felt annoyance at this. Jason was intelligent; how did it happen that he did not really see this girl? But then, Daniel would conclude, does any of us ever really see the obvious, or care to see it?
Daniel was an astute observer and was deeply interested in his fellowman, partly because it was necessary in his profession and partly because he had the Irish tendency to look for meanings beyond the merely patent. In the short time he had been in Belleville, he had completely absorbed his uncle’s affairs and knew more about people than the genial Patrick would ever know.
A little over a week ago Molly had come into Daniel’s office with a downcast face and an unusual timidity. He was very pleased; she had never entered before unless called. He stood up and smiled, his polished-marble eyes alight. He offered Molly a chair, but she preferred to stand before his desk, her hands nervously clasped before her. He waited. She did not speak, but he saw the anxiety and trouble on her freckled face, that face which he was coming to find endearing.
“Is there something I can do for you, Molly?” he asked.
Now she looked at him. Her firm mouth actually quivered. She swallowed. “I don’t know how to begin,” she said, her voice shaking and subdued. “I suppose I should talk to Mr. Mulligan … and then I somehow feel I shouldn’t.”
Daniel was delighted. She had come to him instead of to Uncle Patrick. That implied trust of a kind. “Well,” he said, “do you want to tell me?”
She glanced over her shoulder. She had closed the door. She wet lips he saw were dry. “This is confidential, Mr. Dugan,” she said. “Please.”
“Of course, Molly. You can trust me.”
Now she lifted her head and regarded him sharply. “Can I, Mr. Dugan?”
“You can, indeed. I give you my word.”
The clean white and starched shirtwaist was trembling over her breast. Everything was so crisp about Molly except for that riot of red curls, which even the ribbon tying them back in a huge blue bow could not completely control. The curls seemed to twinkle and laugh, shimmering with copper highlights. The piquant features were very sober now. She studied him as if begging mercy, but there was pride on her face also. “It would be terrible if you said anything, Mr. Dugan. But … I think I need help.”
“Go on, Molly, speak up.” All his interest was engaged now.
Again she wet her lips. “It’s about Miss Mulligan. Patricia. You’re her cousin. I thought you might help …”
Daniel sat down and took up a pencil in his fingers and twiddled it. “Patty? Something wrong with Patty?”
Molly almost whispered, “I don’t know. But I’m afraid it will be.”
Daniel waited, and then he said with gentle impatience, “For God’s sake, Molly, speak up.”
Molly drew a deep breath, and her eyes never left him. “It was two weeks ago. I had rented a buggy for a ride, on a Sunday. I’d saved the money. It was a beautiful day, and my mother told me to go out for a while. She’s an invalid. So I rented the buggy and took it out on Cleveland road.”
Daniel smiled. “That’s where I wanted you to ride with me, Molly.”
She was silent a moment. “I drove, all by myself. And then Patricia passed me fast on her bicycle.”
Daniel’s alertness increased. “Yes? She often rides on it.”
Molly apparently did not hear him. “I called to her, but I think she didn’t hear, or if she did, she ignored me. Patricia and I aren’t really friends. Anyway, she … came to a break in the trees. She was quite a distance beyond me now. She got off her bicycle … went through the break. The trees and the shrubbery are very thick, you know. She disappeared. And then … And then …”
“Yes, Molly?”
“I … A minute later my brother, Lionel, passed me. I was very surprised. I called to him, but there was a lot of traffic and he didn’t hear.” She paused again, and now her eyes were somber with trouble. “He … went through the same break in the trees. Both of them—they acted as if they knew the place. I think they did.”
So, thought Daniel with cold alarm. That explains many things.
“I … I’m not a spy, Mr. Dugan. I think that’s … despicable. But I was frightened. You see, I know my brother, Mr. Dugan. He isn’t … well, the kindest person. Please understand. And I know that Patricia is …”
“Very stupid,” said Daniel.
“I’d say she doesn’t know, perhaps, how to take care of herself. Mr. Mulligan
has always sheltered her. She’s never had to take care of anyone but herself; she’s never worked out in the world. She’s like a child, in spite of all her … airs. Forgive me. I hate to criticize people. It’s not my business. But I thought of Mr. Mulligan; he’s such a good man, such a good father. And so I drove on a little, and then I hitched the horse to a tree and went back to the break. I was really frightened about Patricia. She … she never seemed to notice Lionel at the Inn-Tavern or in church. She … doesn’t pay attention to any of the people who work here.” Molly gave him a tentative smile. “She thinks we’re beneath her, I suppose. And yet, there she was meeting my brother. I wanted to make sure.”
“And so you followed them,” said Daniel when she became silent. Her fingers were twisting together in agitation.
“Yes. I did. I went through the break, very quietly. I just had to see. I just had to!”
“I understand,” said Daniel.
She sighed in despair. “There’s a kind of open space, quite a way from the road. Patricia … Lionel—they were standing there, hugging each other, and Patricia … well, she was sort of crying and laughing and saying, ‘My darling, my darling!’”
Molly looked at Daniel as if waiting for an explosion. But he was only nodding, and his square face was thoughtful. “That was all?” he said.
“No.” Now there was a rush of violent color into Molly’s distressed face. “I don’t know how to say this. But Lionel took her hand, and they went to the other edge of the space, under a willow tree. The branches and leaves covered them. They just disappeared in there. I didn’t hear anything. I went away.”
There was silence in the neat office.
Daniel twiddled the pencil faster in his fingers. He wondered about Molly. How much did she know about these things? “What do you think I should do, Molly?”
She threw out her hands. Her honey-colored eyes were filled with tears. “I thought … I thought you might tell Patricia about my brother. Mr. Dugan, he isn’t a good man, my brother! I couldn’t talk to him. He’d only laugh at me or call me names. Lionel … he doesn’t care about anything but himself. I know it’s terrible for a sister to talk this way about her brother, but it’s true. He … he’ll hurt Patricia terribly. I … I like Mr. Mulligan. He’ll be hurt, too, if he knows. I’d do anything for Mr. Mulligan, anything! He’s such a good kind man, like a father to me. It’s Mr. Mulligan I’m afraid for, but I just can’t tell him.”
“You don’t want me to tell him?”
Molly was aghast. She leaned on the desk and gazed at Daniel imploringly. “No! That would be dreadful! I know he wants Patricia to marry Jason Garrity, but she doesn’t … Patricia wouldn’t even look at Jason.” Molly was almost sobbing. “I just don’t understand why she should meet my brother like that! She doesn’t know the slightest thing about him. When I saw them together, I couldn’t believe it.” Molly, who was never distraught, was incoherent now. “I thought … perhaps you could say something to Patricia, but not telling her about this. In a conversation, perhaps about the Inn-Tavern, and tell her about Lionel. In an offhand way. Never letting her know you know. Mr. Mulligan … he relies on my brother, and Lionel is very smart and ambitious. I … I don’t want to hurt my brother, either, Mr. Dugan.”
“Um,” said Daniel, looking at the pencil. He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve tied my hands pretty well, Molly.”
“I suppose,” she said miserably. “I just don’t want anyone to be hurt. But Patricia should be warned.”
Now Daniel was curious. “What do you think could happen to her, Molly?”
Molly swallowed very hard and averted her face. “Well, if she … if she fell in love with my brother … if she loves him … it would be terrible for her. He … he’s in love with Joan Garrity. He’s planning on marrying her when he has more money. I know that. And she’s in love with him, too. They’re the same kind of people. It’s hard to explain, Mr. Dugan, but they are. Patricia isn’t Lionel’s kind. I don’t know why he is meeting Patricia. I still can’t believe it, really. Why is he?”
Daniel smiled grimly. “I’m sure I don’t know either, Molly.”
Molly looked exhausted. “Well, I know that Mr. Mulligan is raising Lionel’s salary next week.”
“He’s raising Jase Garrity’s, too.”
Molly nodded. “And times are so bad. Even at dinner now, the dining room is not over half-filled during the week. It’s just Saturdays now. And people aren’t buying much whiskey or wine, either. I don’t understand why Mr. Mulligan’s raising their salaries, except that he’s such a good man.” She hesitated, then forced herself to speak. “I think Lionel’s using Patricia!”
Daniel could not help himself. “In what way, Molly?”
“To … to advance himself. And I think he got Patricia to ask her father, and so she had to ask for Jason, too. And I think Lionel put her up to all that! I really do.”
“And, to do that, he’s making love to her?”
Scarlet washed over Molly’s face. Then she cried, “I wouldn’t put it past him! I know my brother. I think he’s telling Patricia he cares about her, and so he’s using her.”
Daniel was still curious. He said again, “Um. Well, Molly, girls will be girls and boys will be boys. As for Patricia—what’s a silly flirtation, anyway? She flirted with a lot of young men in Philadelphia. There’s no harm in that. Is there?” He leaned toward Molly, somewhat amused at her confusion.
“But what if Patricia fell in love with him and he married someone else, Mr. Dugan?”
Daniel sighed. For God’s sake, didn’t the girl know anything? Now he was no longer amused. He said, “Do you think Lionel might really want to marry Patricia for her money, for a big position with her father?”
Molly shook her head wretchedly. “Under other circumstances, I’d suspect that. But Lionel wants Joan; he’s always wanted her. If he could marry Patricia for her money, and have Joan too, he’d do that. I know he would. But, there’s Jason, her brother, among other things. No. Lionel wants only Joan. I’ve watched them for years. They are … one person, really.”
Daniel tapped his very white teeth with the pencil. “If Lionel is truly ambitious, and all for himself, he’d marry Patricia and forget Joan. Other men have done that.”
“But … Mr. Mulligan. He’d never consent. I know that. Lionel … he’s very strange. He’d never give Joan up, never. You’d think he would, but he wouldn’t. It would be like cutting half of him off.” She added, “And there’s the new hotel. When that is built, Lionel will have money too. He’s … I don’t know the word for what he feels for Joan …”
“Obsessed, perhaps?”
Molly considered. Then she nodded. “Obsessed. It was always that way. Lionel can be reckless, too. It doesn’t show often, but it’s there.”
Daniel sighed. “I see I have to be tactful. I’ll do all I can, Molly, I promise you. And thank you for telling me.… Molly, you can’t control other people’s lives, you know.”
“But he’s my brother!”
Daniel was touched. “Yes, Molly, I know. I’ll do my best. And then I’ll report to you.”
He stood up and took her hand and looked down at her, and she was comforted and reassured. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then tried to smile. “Thank you, Mr. Dugan.”
She pulled her hand away and left the room lightly and swiftly. Daniel stared at the closed door. What a hell of a situation. Stupid Patty.
Then all at once he knew that he was in love with Molly Nolan, and he was amazed at himself.
14
The next Sunday threatened rain, and Patricia, Daniel saw, kept glancing anxiously through the window of the dining room as she, her father, and Daniel were eating breakfast. They had just returned from Mass. The day had darkened; the mountains looked rough and brown and there were wisps of fog drifting through the lower reaches of the great hills. The air had become chill, and a new wind was battering the walls of the big, ugly house; wood had been lighted in the firepl
ace. As yet, there was no rain. The gaslight in the overhead chandelier glimmered on the silver dishes on the table.
“I hope it doesn’t rain,” said Patricia. “I promised the Comstock girls to drop in on their mother’s at-home today.”
“You can take the buggy, love,” said Patrick, eyeing more sausages on the silver platter. “You don’t have to use the ’cycle. And Ben can drive you.”
“Oh, it’s Sunday, and I don’t want to bother him. I’ll just wear my mackintosh if it rains.” There was a slash of autumn lightning and Patricia became more anxious. “Elsie, the housemaid, says, ‘If it rains before seven, it will clear by eleven.’ And it rained before seven this morning. It’s”—she looked at the watch pinned to her blouse—“it’s nearly eleven now. I do enjoy the exercise on my bicycle, Dada. It makes me feel so fresh, after this stuffy house and the Inn-Tavern.”
“Glad you visit the Comstock girls now,” said the doting Patrick. “You used to look down on them, love.”
Patricia glanced at him covertly. She said, “Well, I’m more tolerant of silly people now.” Thunder followed the lightning, and Patricia stared through the windows, almost visibly praying.
Daniel watched her closely. “You aren’t friends with Molly Nolan, Patty?”
“Oh, dear, no,” said Patricia. “And please don’t call me Patty, Daniel. After all, she just works for Dada. You don’t cultivate employees. Very injudicious. They do take advantage.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Daniel. “Now, there’s her brother. What’s his name? Yes, Lionel. Your father treats him like a son, and he never takes advantage, as you call it.”
Patricia’s face changed subtly. She sipped at her coffee.
Patrick said, “Oh, and it’s a grand rascal that Lionel is!” He smiled widely. “A real card, he is. But bright as new steel. The ladies all love him at the Inn-Tavern.”
“So they do,” said Daniel, glad of this opportunity. “An Irish Don Juan. Love ’em all, leave ’em all. That’s his style. He’s the kind of dancing scoundrel who will use women for his own purposes, with no more regard for them and their delicate feelings than a young fox. I’ve met many a man like him. Schemers. Opportunists. Adventurers. They love no one but themselves; they don’t really have any honest human sensitivities. The world, they think, is their oyster, and they try to eat it up. Yes, I’ve known many, here and abroad. Women are to be cultivated for their usefulness only. If women don’t have any position or money these men can exploit, then they aren’t worth a second look.”
Answer as a Man Page 22
