Never had she spoken like this to anyone before, and Miss Ember gaped, astounded. Then her small eyes glinted cunningly. May had begun to cry and whimper like a sick child, her face in her hands. “You’ll pay for this, madam,” said the nurse, in one of the ugliest voices Ellen had ever heard, and one of the most intimidating. “I know all about you, my fine madam. Everybody does. I don’t know why I’ve stayed so long, in the same house with a shameless creature like you. Everybody knows. I know what really made you so sick when you had those kids. After all, I am a nurse. You’ll pay me for a month, and give me a good reference or—”
“Or what?” asked Ellen, freshly stricken. She felt as if she would faint. The woman appalled her.
Miss Ember nodded and smirked. “I’ll tell the whole town about you. You won’t be able to lift your head again in the high society that laughs at you behind your back, anyway.”
What could she possibly say about me? thought Ellen dimly. But it came to her then, for the first time in her life, that lies and calumnies are accepted joyously by the majority of people, and the truth is ignored or denied. Jeremy! she thought. His enemies will believe anything that would discredit him, even though it is just about his wife.
Her fear rose to terrified heights; her heart lurched and pounded in her throat. Miss Ember watched her with pleased exaltation and hatred, seeing the girl swaying and trembling. “A month’s pay and a good reference,” she repeated.
Then suddenly the iron which underlay Ellen’s magnanimity and genuine solicitude for all that lived flashed visibly into her face. She clenched her thin and delicate hands at her side. She looked at Miss Ember and her eyes were dark with anger and disgust.
“You utter one lie about me, and this household, or anyone in it, and I will have you arrested,” she said, and her voice hardly shook. “Who are you? You are nothing, nothing. My husband is a respected Congressman, and a lawyer. Pack and go at once or I’ll call him, and you’ll spend a considerable time in jail, for dangerous threats. Threats. Get out! There’ll be no recommendation from me. But I will be merciful enough not to expose you to the hospital who sent you here. Go, before I lose what little patience I have left.”
Then May uttered a high shriek. “What about me, Ellen? Who’ll take care of me? Why are you doing this thing? Miss Ember—she didn’t mean anything wrong. She was just trying to soothe me.”
“That’s true!” cried Miss Ember, whose face had turned to the color and texture of lard. “I’m only a poor woman, a nurse, trying to do my duty by my patient, and you turn on me—turn on me—Mrs. Porter, like a snake! But that’s just like you rich people. No heart for anyone but your purses.”
Ellen went to her aunt and put her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. She bent and said, “Annie will take care of you tonight and until we can get another nurse for you, Aunt May. We’ll get a good nurse for you, tomorrow.”
“I don’t want anyone but Miss Ember,” moaned May, turning her head away from Ellen, as if Ellen had struck her. “I don’t want that - girl.”
“I should think not!” exclaimed Miss Ember, realizing for the first time the enormity of her conduct, but immediately blaming Ellen for it. “She’s nothing but a hussy, and incompetent.” She breathed heavily and loudly. She had thought that since May was an invalid, and Ellen “soft in the head, and weak,” she could abuse both without caution. Over these years she had insulted Ellen covertly and overtly, and the girl had merely looked depressed and had not replied, and so the nurse had become bolder and bolder with her sneers and innuendos, and had told herself that as aunt and niece “weren’t any better than me, and lower,” she could speak and act with impunity. Not until today had Ellen ever challenged her, and she was outraged. Who did the red-haired nothing think she was, anyways?
Miss Ember was shrewd. She saw Ellen’s white and strangely obdurate profile as she bent over her aunt. She knew all about Ellen’s character, so she resorted to tears, sobbing convulsively. “Here I am, faithful and loyal all these years, day and night, doing everything, on call all the time! Loyal as a slave! Nothing was too much for me to do for my patient—”
“Only too true,” May wept. “Loyal and faithful—that’s Miss Ember. And now you make her leave me, all alone, with no one to care, maybe dying up here by myself. I won’t have that girl, or anyone else, Ellen. Send me to the poorhouse; that’s what you want, you always did, and that’s the payment I get for taking care of you all your life.”
Ellen looked at Miss Ember, whose reddened and swollen face was running with tears, and who was sobbing in long hard gulps. Her treacherously compassionate heart began to overcome and drench the iron in her nature. Where would this poor woman go if ejected from this house, without a recommendation, disgraced and alone? Yes, she had been impudent. But so deep was the self-betrayal in Ellen that she forgot the woman’s cruelty and insults for a moment. Her eyes began to soften and Miss Ember saw this and sobbed more vigorously. “Loyal, faithful,” she groaned. “But what else could I expect, a poor and defenseless creature at the mercy of rich people?”
Ellen thought of the Sermon on the Mount: “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.” She could see the sunlit drab little church in Preston, and could hear the pastor intoning. She opened her mouth, even as she began to accuse herself of hardheartedness, when Cuthbert’s voice, cold and grave, came from the open doorway.
“May I assist you, madam?” he asked. All in the room started violently, and turned, to see Cuthbert and Annie Burton on the threshold. Never had Ellen seen Cuthbert so harsh of countenance, and never had she seen the lively Annie with so enraged an expression.
“I—I don’t know,” said Ellen helplessly. “It was just a little disagreement—I think everything is all right now—”
“No, madam,” said Cuthbert in a strong severe tone. “It was never ‘all right’ from the beginning. You’ve endured too much from this woman.” He looked at Miss Ember, and the nurse cowered. “You will pack at once and leave this house, with no extra pay and with no recommendation. I’ve known your kind before, bullying, exploiting the kindness of others, offensive, overbearing, and extremely bad. I will give you half an hour to leave.”
Miss Ember shouted, her face contorted with such hatred that Ellen involuntarily stepped back. “Who do you think you are? You’re only a servant like me, and that girl, too! It’s what Mrs. Porter wants, not you, and Mrs. Watson!”
“Get out,” Cuthbert said, and advanced on her formidably, and Miss Ember shrank at his look. “I’ll go, I’ll go,” she muttered, wiping her wet face with the back of her none too clean hands. “I was only doing my duty. I get paid like this.”
“Don’t leave me!” screamed May, and for the first time she looked at Ellen with glittering eyes of actual hatred, and Ellen was again appalled. “I have a say in this, too.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Watson, but Mrs. Porter has the say,” said Cuthbert. “She discharged this woman. Go,” he said to the nurse, and took out his watch and glanced at it. “I will call the police if you have not left within the hour. Threats and attempted intimidation. My patience is running short.”
“But,” Ellen began timidly. He looked at her with affection but also with severity, and her lips closed. “Please let me manage this as Mr. Porter would manage it,” he said, and his voice was not too gentle. “I will take the responsibility. You have endured too much.”
Annie spoke for the first time, and to Miss Ember. With briskness, and a determined wave of her rosy hand, she said: “I’d like to throw you out personally.” She sniffed. “This room’s dirty. Edith wanted to come in a few times and clean up, but you wouldn’t let her, and besides it’s your job. ‘Faithful and loyal!’ People like you always say that when they get caught.”
“I won’t have you near me!” May wept, and so distraught was she that she could force herself quickly to her feet. Her white hair was disheveled about her face, a face now passionately alien and tight. Ellen took a step towards h
er but Cuthbert caught her upper arm and held her as a father would. Then Ellen, distracted, said to her aunt, “Don’t look at me like that, Auntie. I can’t stand it. Please don’t.”
May turned to her almost savagely. “I will, I will. You deserve it, Ellen. You’re as bad as your father, maybe even worse. I knew it when you were a child. Willful, always trying to get your own way, never caring for anybody but yourself. And what are you, anyway? You are a—”
Cuthbert lifted his hand commandingly. “Mrs. Watson, I have heard the whole conversation in this room. I will have a word with Mr. Porter myself, tonight. Now, if you please, would you sit down?”
But May was beside herself, all the years of her frustration rushing into her mind, all her imagined abuse, all her resentment. She spoke only to Ellen. “You haven’t any shame! You spent the night before you got married with that man! Like a slut! You was lucky he ever married you. He didn’t want to, but I was there to protect you. Like a slut you was, Ellen, and maybe you’re no better now.”
Ellen averted her head so that no one could see her tears. Her love for her aunt was still too strong for her to completely comprehend what had been said to her. She only knew that she felt deprived, alone, vulnerable, abandoned, by someone who had loved her and cared for her; now her aunt was an enemy who despised her, and perhaps with reason. Her aunt had cherished and fed her and had worked for her for many years—if Aunt May rejected her like this the fault was probably her own. Worse still, she felt degraded, lewd, and unworthy.
Annie had moved threateningly on Miss Ember, and Miss Ember dodged her outstretched hand and ran heavily from the room to her own, where she began to pack. Cuthbert looked at May, who was still standing, but holding the back of her chair and glaring at Cuthbert. “You’re only a servant! I’ll talk to Mr. Porter tonight. I’ll tell him all about you.”
“I’m sure you will,” he replied courteously. “As you don’t want Annie, I will send up one of the housemaids to be with you, Mrs. Watson.” Again he took Ellen’s arm. “Isn’t it time for your walk with the little ones, madam? Yes. You need the fresh air, before it rains. Remember, your health has not been completely restored, and Mr. Porter will be displeased if you don’t take your walk.”
At the mention of Jeremy, Ellen immediately became submissive. She allowed Cuthbert to lead her to the door. But she looked pleadingly, desperately, at her aunt, who returned her look with obdurate rejection, and so Ellen dropped her head and went downstairs with Annie, who assisted her with tenderness though her light-blue eyes were flaring. Annie said, “The kids are all ready, waiting for us. Let’s hurry, before it rains. You got to take care of yourself, Mrs. Porter, for Mr. Porter’s sake. Dear me, you look very ill.”
“I haven’t any mercy,” said Ellen in a low voice.
Annie smiled at her. “People forget,” she said. “God’s a God of wrath as well as a God of mercy. And we should be like that, too, or we’ve got no self-respect as a human being, and no pride. Just keep in mind what that bitch said to you. She’s been talking like that, more or less, to you and your aunt, for years, and you never said a word back! You got to have pride and discipline, Mrs. Porter, or everybody will think you’re a poor thing and kick you. I’d like to have given that woman one!” she added wistfully. “I’ve been wanting to bash her for a long time.”
Ellen was still pale, but more composed, as she left the house with Annie, her little son walking beside her impatiently, her infant daughter tucked into the perambulator. Her light-green wool walking suit set off her fiery hair, and her green felt hat with golden plumes was very becoming. Her white silk shirtwaist was held at the collar with a diamond-and-ruby pin. Her gloved hands were still trembling, and she tried to control them. Annie pushed the perambulator briskly and made gay conversation, to which Ellen tried to reply, as she also tried to smile. But she could not forget the stare of malignity which her aunt had given her, and her throat would close with repressed emotion.
Annie was an attractive little figure in her white nurse’s clothing, half covered by its long blue wool cape. Her white cap perched on top of her curling yellow hair and the sharp wind brought strong color to her round pert face with its tilted nose. When Christian tried to pursue a random dog she called to him sharply, and he returned to her side with a rebellious expression. But Annie could make him obey as Ellen could not. At the age of three he already had a clear idea of his mother’s gentle character and exploited her in Annie’s absence with shouts of defiance and tears, so that she would inevitably give in to his shrill demands. However, he feared and respected Annie, and would actually become docile in her presence. Annie had a hard swift hand, which she used on Christian in spite of Ellen’s feeble protests. Christian respected his father even more than he did Annie, and Jeremy had only to give him a stern glance to enforce his discipline.
He was a handsome little boy, strikingly like his mother in appearance, and with her own mass of glistening red hair, and her own beautiful blue eyes and large carved lips. But his expression was not hers. It was ruthless and defiant, even at his young age, and his chin was obstinate. He walked proudly and arrogantly, as Ellen did not, very charming in his sailor’s blue suit and short little trousers, and with all those bright brass buttons, a sailor’s hat cocked at a challenging angle on his head, his small hands gloved, his black boots shining. Ellen watched his marching pace with mingled apprehension and love. Such a lovely child, she thought, and smiled involuntarily.
The little girl, in her white wool coat and lacy bonnet, was a vigorous child, sitting upright in her carriage and watching everything with great and intelligent dark eyes, her dark curls fluttering about her pink cheeks and clustering around her neck and over the collar of her coat. She kept up a constant strong babbling, pointing here and there and bouncing on her cushions. She was very insistent, but Annie could give her a quelling look which would cause her to subside for a moment or two. In Jeremy’s presence she was so engaging and so bewitching that he was almost persuaded she had a honeyed disposition. To Ellen she was as rebellious as her brother, and her elfin face, with the pointed chin, would become, even as an infant, hard and calculating, and she would watch Ellen alertly for signs of weakness. She and her brother were excellent friends, for they understood each other with certitude.
“You’ve got to teach ‘em, once and for all, even the first day, who’s boss,” Annie would tell Ellen. “Let ‘em get out of hand, even one single time, and you’ve got monsters on your hands.” Then she would grin.
“Children don’t need punishment. They need love,” Ellen would suggest, forgetting the children of her childhood.
“Sure, they need love. Who don’t, Mrs. Porter? But everybody’s got to learn there’s limits, or there’ll be pain. Kids are like puppies. They got to be trained by a master, or they’re all over the place and shitting on everything, even when they grow up. I’ve seen plenty, believe me!” Ellen, after a moment’s shock, laughed.
Today, as they all walked together, Annie slowed her usual brisk pace to accommodate Ellen’s exhausted movements. She prattled, though she was deeply concerned over Ellen’s pallor and her listless expression. She saw Ellen was not really listening, and the girl felt some impatience. She’s thinking of that aunt of hers, thought Annie. Never saw such looks in my life! Fit to kill. And for what? Because Madam is so kind and so sweet and gives in. I’d pack that aunt off, that I would, if it was me. She isn’t good for that house.
The earlier sunlight had vanished. The brownish clouds moved lower in the sky, and there was a chill wind blowing, filled with dust and fine manure and flakes of soot. The air was permeated with the stench of coal gas. The small trees along the street clutched the last of their bronzed leaves tenaciously. Those fallen flew before pedestrians and carriages and trolleys and drays with a crackling sound. The whole scene fitted Ellen’s mood, which was bleak and dreary and filled with anguished sorrow. She shivered, and drew her sable stole closer over her shoulders. The little parade turned
into Fifth Avenue, where the windows of mansions were already flittering with the lamplight within.
A young man came towards them with a swaying but priggish stride. He was tall and thin rather than lean, dressed in rich black broadcloth which enhanced his appearance of fleshlessness, his black vest brocaded, his black derby hat half concealing his fair hair The pin on his black cravat was a black pearl, and he carried a walking stick in a gloved hand and he wore square steel-rimmed spectacles which did not hide the cold and rigid fixity of the light eyes set straight ahead. He had a rigorous pale complexion, a tight compressed mouth that showed no sign of humor or laughter. He moved swiftly towards Ellen, Annie, the carriage, and the prancing little boy, as if he did not see them and as if he would collide with them, and Annie halted in alarm and made a slight warning sound. Ellen looked up from her sad contemplation of her feet, and then she flushed and halted. “Mr. Francis!” she said.
The young man stopped abruptly, then also flushed. He lifted his hat, then stood squarely before them, the hat in his gloved hands, the wind lifting his fine fair hair. “Ellen,” he said, and a slight tremor ran over his face.
Annie regarded him inquisitively. So this was the “Mr. Francis” of whom Ellen had spoken a few times, and with hesitant affection and gratitude. Well, he was a stick of a man if ever she saw one, though a gentleman. Good-looking, too, in a bloodless way, if you liked the kind. Annie did not.
Ellen had not seen him for nearly four years. She smiled at him timidly and extended her hand, and he took it. Then she tried to withdraw her fingers but he held them so hard that they immediately began to ache and a ring cut into her flesh. Neither Jeremy nor Walter Porter mentioned him in her presence, but she often read about him in the newspapers. “The lawyer of the workingman.” Some papers lauded him; others were derisive, and their cartoons were “quite unkind,” Ellen would comment to herself. His nose was not that sharp and thin, like a stiletto, nor his expression that grim and venomous. Otherwise the likeness was only too true, if a little cruel, and exaggerated, like all political cartoons. Francis was also designated in hostile papers as a “muckraker.”
Ceremony of the Innocent Page 31
