Testimony of Two Men

by Taylor Caldwell

  "We believe you," said Louis Hedler. "If we did not, you'd not be here now. But here is a statement, or affidavit, made to me by Martin Eaton, who died two days ago and was buried today. He made it in my presence, and in the presence of others."

  Jonathan's hands were trembling more and more so that the paper rattled. He read Martin Eaton's first affidavit, then reread it, made a slight sound, and read it again. He put it down and contemplated Louis Hedler and the black spark in his eyes was ferocious.

  "Eaton lied," he said. "Or, it may be that he believed Mavis, in spite of all the evidence. He was besotted by her. She was always a liar and a humbug and a fraud. She is dead now, and I wish she had died before I ever saw her." His voice was all the more forbidding because it was so quiet. "I never used a curette on her, mine or anyone else's. I wish now that I had really killed her."

  Louis, without speaking, opened the drawer of his desk, removed a covering of linen and laid it down before Jonathan. He nodded at it. Jonathan took the cloth and opened it and his curette lay in his hand. He looked at it incredulously. Louis said, "Martin gave that to me after he made that affidavit. I must admit he gave it up reluctantly."

  Jonathan held it in his hand. He said, "I explained some of the instruments to her. She was always curious about everything but rarely retentive of anything. When I explained its purpose she made a round, imitation frightened mouth and stretched her eyes. Then she cuddled against me. She was always cuddling against—everybody. That was at least two years before she died." His low voice was suddenly charged with cold violence and hatred. His mouth opened and he choked. "I need a drink," he said.

  "Give Jon a drink please, Robert," said Louis. Robert went to a cabinet and poured a glass of water for Jonathan and brought it to him. He looked at it numbly, as if it were a hemlock cup, then put it on Louis' desk. "I didn't mean that kind," he said.

  "I suspected not," said Louis.

  Jonathan again examined every face in the room. At last he said, "Is there anyone here who thinks I am lying?"

  "No," they said. "No, no, no."

  Louis folded his hands on the sheets of paper. "Kenton Campion is behind most of this, and this I know. He is the one who insisted that I send for members of the State Medical Board. They will be here Tuesday. They will issue an— order—for you to be present for examination. The sheriff will also be present—with a warrant for your arrest, Jon."

  The ugliest smile stood on Jonathan's face. "I might have expected it," he said. "I have too many enemies, as you remarked yourself, Louis." He thought. "Campion. The traitor, the seller-out of his country. It's quite in character for him. Well, it all comes back to Mavis, doesn't it? She was the starting point."

  They felt the ghost of Mavis Eaton in the room, like a raucous and exultant presence, even Robert Morgan, who had never seen her and had only heard descriptions of her. Jonathan repeated, "I wish I had really killed her. At least I'd have that satisfaction now."

  "Mavis wasn't the starting point," said Louis Hedler. "You were, when you were born. Campion, these women, Martin Eaton, all the others who made affidavits against you, would be guiltless of this perjury if they'd never known you. You were the precipitating element, Jon. Now, wait"—and Louis held up his hand. "I am trying to make something clear to you. I am not blaming you for anything. Campion is a scoundrel and I've know it for years. But I've never known him to hate anyone as he hates you, and he is a very sound hater. In a way you should be complimented"—and for the first time Louis smiled.

  Jonathan said, "So they'll have their wish. I'll be tried on the strength of these affidavits and the evidence of these whores, and that will be the end of me. I should have left months ago." They saw the sudden shine of his teeth between his parched lips.

  Louis nodded to Howard Best, who began to take a thick sheaf of papers from his briefcase. Louis said carefully, "Oh, I don't agree with you, Jon. While you were busy making more enemies and antagonizing more people and generally making a nuisance of yourself, your friends, who believe in you, were very busy. Very busy, indeed."

  Howard was smiling broadly. "I've given up a great deal of my time to you, Jon, and your predicament. Louis called me and Father McNulty in some time ago and showed us those affidavits, and I've been busier than a bee since. Now, read these, and then you may make obeisance to me and perhaps I'll forgive you for slighting me over the past months. Perhaps."

  Jonathan saw their smiling faces. He was still in a state of shock. He took the thick sheaf of papers and began to read. Louis had prudently removed Martin Eaton's dying statement.

  There was Peter McHenry's abject apology and new affidavit, which Jonathan hastily read then put aside with bitter contempt. Then he said, "That poor little kid Elinor." He read Amelia Forster's "affirmation" closely, and he began to smile, and then he smiled exultantly. "So, that explains the bills! Good old Amelia! I must give her a pension at once. No, we can't spare her. God bless our Amelia. And the affidavits of my other patients: I see that they thought they were 'protecting' me from a false claim of injury to the Beamish bitch. There are times when I begin to hope for human nature, that is, when humanity shows itself, which is very rare."

  Then he read Howard Best's affidavit of his interview with William Simpson, chief of police of Scranton, and Jonathan swore in delight, and laughed out loud. "So, she was Campion's little bed-pillow, was she! I ought to have thought of that myself. I can see it all. He sent her to me to involve me, and then to someone else who actually did the abortion. It would be a miracle if we could find that murderer. He might be able to tell me something about Mavis, too."

  "Go on," said Howard, pleased at the sudden color in Jonathan's pale face. "You've only finished the soup of the meal. Wait for the entrees."

  Jonathan read on. Howard had made another affidavit, attesting to the following affidavits of Louise Wertner and Mary Snowden. He mentioned that he had "persuaded" the young ladies, in the name of justice, to abjure their previous affidavits—which they had made under duress, and to make others which were absolutely true. (Howard neglected to explain, in his own affidavit, that he had visited the girls separately, told them he was an officer of the court—which had sounded terrifying to the unsophisticated girls. He promised them immunity from prosecution, or at least amelioration of any punishment for their being parties to the crime of abortion, and seeking out an abortionist, if they would now swear fully and freely to the truth.)

  They did not name the abortionist but explained that they had given the name to Mr. Howard Best, to be opened in a courtroom if necessary, for they feared reprisals.

  They testified on separate dates in November 1900 that they had been aborted "of illegal offspring," and that they were unmarried. They had paid fifty and seventy-five dollars, respectively. They had thought that the end of it, though each had suffered "minor inconveniences" afterward, which were trifling. Then, on July 15th, 1901, the abortionist had called at their residences, had declared that he was "under investigation" by various unnamed parties for performing criminal operations, and that if he were arrested, he would not spare their part in seeking him out, imploring him to be a party to a crime and working on his sympathy. "I," he had told them, "am a rich man. I may be fined. But you will go to prison for years, and then released only to the streets, where you rightfully belong."

  However, related the cowed and terrified girls, the abortionist had promised to use his influence with "unnamed parties" if they would make affidavits to the effect that Jonathan Ferrier, physician of River Road, Hambledon, Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, had performed "these criminal acts" upon them and had extorted enormous fees from them. They were to go to his offices, during his absence—of which they must make sure—and claim to his clerk that they owed those sums of money but had forgotten the bills. They were to ask the clerk to predate the bills—as of the time of the alleged abortions—and then to receipt them. The clerk had followed their instructions "in all innocence and in good faith, believing the stories tol
d to her." The affidavits then followed. The girls admitted perjury, begged for mercy and for understanding of their plight and their "natural terror" before a man who was rich and certainly powerful and who could do them great injury. They also added that when they had delivered their affidavits to Dr. Louis Hedler of St. Hilda's Hospital, of Hambledon, they each received fifty dollars from the abortionist "in appreciation of their services."

  A peculiar look had been gathering on Jonathan's face, which no one present had ever seen before and which they did not recognize. It was a look of compassion and not disgust and anger. It was a look of pity and even sadness. It was almost soft.

  "The poor girls," he said, and stared at the affidavits, his head bent.

  The others were naturally startled at this and looked at each other with amused raised eyebrows. Jonathan said, "What can be done about these young things? When the case comes to court—as it must—will the girls go to prison for their part? I don't want that. I refuse to have it."

  Howard chuckled. "Who said anything about court?"

  Then a new and angry light glittered in Jonathan's eyes. "I demand it! I want full exoneration! I want revenge!"

  "You shall have it," said Louis. "But now, here is the piece de resistance." He held Martin Eaton's dying statement in his hand now, or rather a copy, for he was afraid to trust the original to the unpredictable Jonathan Ferrier. Louis became very sober. "Jon, this is a fearful thing I have here—a copy of a very long affidavit. It is a pathetic thing. It is a tragic thing. In a way, it will affect you more than anything else has ever done in your life, I am afraid, even your arrest and trial. I want you to compose yourself. I want you to read this quietly. I want you to display, for this man, some of the pity you have displayed for Louise Wertner and Mary Snowden, who had less reason to injure you than he. At least, they were under duress, and in fear. This man was under no such. He wrote it in his own hand to right a wrong. He exposed his soul and the soul of someone he loved more than anything else on earth—to help you, and for no other purpose. He admits that he wronged you, and explains why. Now he has rectified it."

  Jonathan had listened acutely, and his eyes almost disappeared under his frowning brows.

  "Jon," said Louis, "there is something else in this affidavit which affects you very close to home, and I must ask you in advance to control yourself and not to go off into one of your wild, uncontrolled, violent rages before us, and to promise that you will keep your peace about the matter until everything else is resolved. If you cannot give me this promise, I shall not let you read this."

  "I promise." Jonathan's tone was curt. He was clenching his hands on the arms of his chair.

  Louis hesitated. He was very grave. A deep tension rose in the warm room. Lightning flickered at the windows. The hospital was as quiet as death about them.

  Louis spoke. "I have endangered my position by showing you these affidavits, Jon. I have done it out of regard for you, in spite of our past—differences. We have all endangered ourselves, with, perhaps, the exception of Father McNulty, whom I consulted long ago when I first heard of the plot against you. For this is confidential. None of it should have been shown to you, to your lawyer, or anyone else until after the hearing before the State Medical Board. Now you understand the gravity of the situation. You understand how we have jeopardized ourselves. For you to do anything, to say anything, of what you have read, and what you will read, or to name any names, or seek a private revenge on anybody— before the time is ripe—then you will have destroyed us. Have I made this clear, desperately clear?"

  "You have," said Jonathan. He was beginning to sweat again.

  Louis looked at the others. "I have shown these things to Father McNulty and to your friend, Robert Morgan, your replacement. I have consulted them all and asked their advice, especially Howard's. They said in all fairness—though it is very dangerous—I should show the affidavits to you, for they know your character. They wished you to read what you have read, and now this, so that an interval can pass so you can calm and prepare yourself and think clearly. If you should appear before the State Medical Board members and your enemies in a state of passion—as you should if you had not known all this—and with your usual recklessness and fury, you would be exonerated of the alleged crimes, but you would make such a vile impression on the members of the Board that you would be in disgrace for the rest of your life. The State Medical Board does not like physicians who lose their heads, and threaten, and rage. Your reputation would be irretrievably lost. Is that clear, Jon?"

  "Louis," said Jonathan, and he was visibly moved. "I will do nothing to hurt anyone here. No one will ever know, before Tuesday, or even afterward, that you have shown me these things beforehand." He suddenly grinned, for the tension was growing. "I kiss your hand, Louis."

  "I don't know which is more distasteful, your rages, your sarcasms, or your humor, Jon, if you can call it humor." But Louis smiled, also, and shook his head.

  "The best thing, of course," said Howard, "would be to gag him right here and tie him up and hide him in that closet until Tuesday, allowing him out, still gagged and tied, for only strictly sanitary purposes."

  "Excruciatingly funny," said Jonathan. He was white again. "Now may I read?"

  "With compassion," said Father McNulty. "The man was weak and tragically foolish."

  Jonathan made an unpleasant grimace. "I never had compassion for such men, Frank," he said. "Except for my father. He cured me of sentimentality because he was the most sentimental of creatures. I see these papers are typewritten. I thought you said they were in the man's own handwriting."

  "The original is," said Louis. "But we have a reason, which no doubt you will understand after you've read the affidavit, to keep the original from you as of now."

  Jonathan frowned at him, but Louis only nodded at the papers, and Jonathan began to read. After a moment, when he saw that this was the last affidavit of Martin Eaton, he uttered a loud and contemptuous curse and then was still.

  They all watched Jonathan, and now no man smoked but sat very stiff and rigidly in his chair. They were like men watching a powerful but unpredictable lion, waiting for a movement of its eyes, a bristling of the mane, a twitch of a muscle, to inform them in which direction he was about to leap. By a flick of his lashes, the tightening of his mouth, the raise of his brows, and by his color, they knew almost exactly the paragraph he was reading. Amazement, hatred, repulsion, scorn, disbelief, somber melancholy, fury, even surprise: they saw them all.

  They knew when he came to the account of Mavis' death, for every muscle in his body straightened and his mouth became ugly and hard. When he uttered one foul expletive, they knew he had come upon his brother's name. It was then that he looked up at them, and yet did not see them. He was looking inward, not outward, and there was an ominous expression about his eyes and mouth. He was too quiet. They watched him tautly, leaning toward him. The silence in the room became unbearable. They wanted him to speak, to swear, even to rave. That would have been more normal than this quietude, this glittering reflectiveness, this pallid lack of emotion.

  Then he laid the papers on his knee and lit a cigarette and he smoked a little, still staring blindly at each face, then at the walls, then at the ceiling and the floor. They knew he was not conscious of smoking, and that in himself something very dire was going on, something so profound and explosive that it could not reach the ear or any other sense. His emotions were beyond human expression, too turbulent for speech. His nostrils were flared as if he were lacking oxygen, and then his eyes narrowed and he picked up the papers again and resumed reading.

  I asked for calm, thought Louis Hedler, but I'd prefer raving to this. I'd almost prefer that he'd lose his mind—temporarily, of course.

  Then he had finished. Very slowly and carefully he put the papers on Louis' desk and crushed his cigarette in the tray. He watched the last smoke curl up as if it were of the most intense importance. He finally said. "You have the original, in his own writing?"


  "I have," said Louis.

  "Where is it?"

  "In a very safe place." Then Louis knew he had been very discreet, indeed, in having copies made by a trusted clerk and not giving Martin Eaton's affidavit to Jonathan.

  "It must be destroyed." Nothing could have been more indifferent than Jonathan's voice.

  "I thought you'd think that," said Louis. "But no. I am not going to ask you for your reasons. I suspect them. Your pride. The pride that kept you silent in the courtroom. Jonathan, you are not the first man whose wife betrayed him, nor will you be the last. In a way, you may have saved your life by your silence, for then there was no motive for any alleged crime."

  Jonathan said, "I was trying to protect that old bugger, Eaton—his dream of Mavis. I remembered how it was between us when I was a kid and how he helped me all the years of my— He knew all the time! He knew the truth. Yet, he never said a word except to scream 'No, no!' when the verdict came in."

  "Remember," said Father McNulty, "he did, in his grief and pain, believe that you were in part guilty of your wife's death. It was insane and twisted thinking, but who has not been guilty of that? Not you, Jon?" The priest smiled sadly. "I know it will take much understanding on your part to feel pity for that distraught father."

  But Jonathan had relapsed into his profound meditation again and was lost to them. Robert Morgan was somewhat relieved, being still young and uncomplicated, at Jonathan's apparent control of himself when he had expected madness and terrible rage. But Howard Best and the priest and Louis Hedler knew Jonathan much better, and now they were greatly alarmed and very uneasy and disturbed as they watched the silent man.

  "No one else must see Eaton's letter," said Jonathan, after long minutes.

  "Jon," said Louis Hedler, "I'm not interested as to your reasons for asking that. I know it is the one thing that can lift the libel and hostility and hate this town feels for you. You must be exonerated from even the suspicion that you injured, killed, Mavis.