Tandy, Harkness and Swift occupied two genteel floors in a somewhat new building with an elevator. They were lawyers of substance, power, rectitude, and considerable repute and managed a number of excellent estates in conjunction with their regular legal work, which was never concerned with anything the least reprehensible. Everything was conducted soberly and with distinction; no raised voices had ever been heard in their offices, for they did not accept clients of excitable disposition or tangled affairs. In a city which teemed with colorful dubiousness, they were a cool aridity of elegance and probity. Cousins, the sons of three sisters (two had been born in Boston), they had, of course, been educated in genteel Harvard. Their fees were exceedingly substantial.
As relatives, they had a strong family resemblance, all being small and slight and impeccably groomed in long black coats, striped trousers, and spats, even in hot weather. After all, they had a standard to maintain. They all had deceivingly large limpid eyes of a clear brown, which concealed their intelligence and astuteness, and smooth brown hair. All were clean-shaven; all wore white cravats with black pearl stickpins; they had small white hands and were very precise. They had accepted John Ames as a client on the recommendation of other valued clients, though they had on many occasions disapproved of him. He was not a gentleman; he was not really a Bostonian. But, as Bostonians, they had the customary reverence for large fortunes, and as John had always behaved in a gentlemanly fashion and had never become heated or emotional and had always listened to their advice, they had given him a measure of their dignified approval.
Each occupied a large quiet room with a separate waiting room and a tiny office containing two clerks. Timothy Winslow worked in a little office which he shared with another junior and a clerk. There was also a conference room, the floor covered with an Aubusson carpet, several palms in tubs, heavy mahogany chairs, and a cabinet in which waited bottles of excellent sherry and crystal glasses. The walls were paneled with mahogany, and there were draperies of blue velvet at the two long thin windows. A funeral quiet hung in the room even when it was occupied, for grave affairs concerning finance and estates were discussed here. The firm was co-executor of John Ames’ estate, with Caroline. They approved of Caroline; after all, her mother had been an Esmond and she was a young lady of no flamboyance and had a proper respect for money, a dignity of her own, and was a Bostonian who possessed all the virtues of Bostonians.
She was led with real affection, concern, and solicitude into the conference room. Her nose was immediately assaulted by an expensive but rank scent, for in that place of austere virtue and unsullied affairs sat old Maggie Broome — Mrs. Norman Benchley Broome — as haggard, as soiled, as bejeweled, as depraved and overdressed as always. She was like a gaudy and lascivious parrot with a raucous voice in that paneled and subdued quiet. Five years had not changed her. She was still erect and bony, mottled of dry skin, still heavily painted, still yellowish, still raddled, disrespectful, lewd, and dyed. Worse, she was dressed in a violently pink silk suit and wore pink slippers with gemmed buckles, and her shirtwaist, though obviously expensive and flowing with handmade laces, was dirty. She looked at Caroline with her varnished raisins of eyes, noted her dress and general appearance, and her mouth twisted and the red grease upon it wrinkled. But she shouted, “Dear, dear Caroline! God! I haven’t seen you since poor old Johnny’s funeral! With all the nabobs there with their tall hats! God, child, you look healthy!” Her bangles rattled.
Messrs. Tandy, Harkness and Swift did not handle the Broome affairs, for which they were thankful. They wore sober expressions; they could not express any distaste for Maggie, for as Bostonians it would have been inconceivable for them to reveal aversion in the face of money. After all, old Norman had been of a fine family even if he had married this harridan. They were quite pleased that Caroline’s impassive face showed no pleasure and that she bowed in cold silence and seated herself stiffly and looked only at the gentlemen. The effect was somewhat spoiled by Maggie’s hoarse chuckle and the swish of her pink silk skirt as she crossed her legs.
“I should like my cousin, Timothy Winslow, to be present today,” Caroline said to Mr. Tandy.
“Who?” demanded Maggie, cocking her head, which was roofed by a large Milan straw hat burdened with blue and pink silk roses. Caroline ignored her and continued to regard Mr. Tandy with massive expectation.
“Oh!” said Maggie. “Winslow. Son of Johnny’s fancy lady, eh?”
The gentlemen’s mouths opened. Caroline continued to look at Mr. Tandy.
“Pretty gal, for her age,” continued the malicious old woman, grinning. “Saw her a couple of times in Delmonico’s with Johnny. Style. Flair. Excellent taste. Drank champagne like it was water and ate sherry lobster. All the men couldn’t stop looking at her. She wasted her time on Johnny, and I say that even if I did love him.”
She had been enraged at Caroline’s ignoring of her and at the minx’s glacial attitude. Now she was creating a sensation, and she basked in it. The gentlemen were clearing their throats and looking at the backs of their hands with distressed expressions.
“Your aunt, eh?” said Maggie. “Oh, he never told me she was his doxy. Never a word out of him, no ma’am. She was always, when I saw her, ‘my wife’s sister, Mrs. Winslow, Maggie, in New York concerning her affairs’. But there was a look on his face. Mad for her, and she for him. Charming gal. Looked at me and we laughed together; no hypocrite, she. Pretty as a Gainsborough picture.”
It was inconceivable to Caroline that her father ever patronized Delmonico’s. She had always thought of him as living as austerely in New York as he did in Lyndon or Lyme, and as obscurely. After all, New York was not Europe, and he did not need to impress Americans. Her first fierce thought was that Maggie was lying. But Maggie was chuckling and nodding with delight, and Caroline suddenly believed her. “And he dressed like a dandy, too,” said Maggie with admiration.
Caroline looked down at her gloved hands. She felt sick and betrayed.
Mr. Tandy pulled a bell rope and murmured to the answering clerk that Mr. Winslow’s presence was requested. Then he sat down and looked helplessly at his cousins, and the twitching of their eyes answered his distress. Maggie swung her big pink foot and regarded Caroline with enjoyment.
“No secret he left his lady’s adopted kid nearly a million dollars,” she said. “And no secret in New York about what the government did to his ships and clippers yesterday. Everybody’s talking about it. Kind of a jolt to you, wasn’t it, Caroline?”
Caroline was startled. For the first time she looked at the old woman with bitter hazel eyes. “What are you talking about?” she demanded rudely.
Mr. Harkness cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I sent you a telegram last night. Didn’t you get it?”
“No,” said Caroline. She was frightened. “Please tell me.”
But before he could answer, Maggie laughed resoundingly, and she showed all her yellow fangs. “The boys in Washington just confiscated everything, that’s all! All the ships and schooners and sloops and clippers, Just like that!” And she snapped her fingers with a crack. “Seems like Johnny was up to nothing good; God, girl, you must have known that! And then he died and the bribes weren’t handy any more, and they got a fit of virtue in Washington and came to life all at once and they grabbed everything. Opium and other contraband, they said, as if they hadn’t known it for years and years all the time! But, no bribes, no protection. No Johnny, no campaign funds; no Johnny, no funds for the Department of Commerce and the customs boys and the Cabinet officers. Simple as that. Now they’ll all share in the loot when the government sells Johnny’s fleet, and everybody will be happy and put an extra dollar in the collection plates on Sundays and buy themselves handsomer doxies. The boys in Washington never sleep.”
“You have no proof — er — of all that, Mrs. Broome,” said Mr. Swift.
She screamed with mirth. “No proof! Good God, sir, you don’t need proof. Everybody knew all about it.”
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“When everybody knows all about anything, you can be sure it isn’t true, madam,” said Mr. Harkness.
Maggie uttered an obscenity. Caroline shrank. “Tell me, please,” she pleaded. “Is it true that all Papa’s ships have been seized by the government?”
“I’m afraid so, Caroline.”
“But it doesn’t belong to them!” Caroline exclaimed, turning a dark red with fury. “It belongs to me! They’ll have to pay me for it!”
“Ho!” laughed Maggie. “You’ll be lucky, gal, if they don’t take away half your fortune in fines out of Johnny’s estate! There’s one thing about the Washington boys: they’ve got big teeth and big bellies, and when they take, they take everything. Never any bottom to their bellies.”
Caroline was terrified.
“I don’t think it will be as bad as all that,” said Mr. Swift. “You know, Caroline, we did not manage that part of your father’s affairs. That was his own. But it is true that the government has seized the fleet and that they will sell it. We hope — we have reason to hope — that they will be satisfied with the proceeds and not demand any fines from you. In fact,” he said compassionately, “I can almost assure you that they will consider the confiscation sufficient.”
Maggie narrowed her gleaming eyes at him. “Um,” she said. “Seems like I remember that three congressmen owe you a lot, sir. Yes, it seems to me. Good luck.”
“My property!” cried Caroline. “It is my property!”
“Not any more, dearie,” chuckled Maggie, shaking her head so that all the silk roses danced.
“The Constitution guarantees the right of property!” said Caroline.
“Not when the Washington boys want it,” said Maggie. “There ain’t no Constitution when Washington wants something and its paws are sticky. Constitution, hell!”
“Please, Mrs. Broome,” said Mr. Tandy. “I think Miss Ames has had a severe shock. Caroline, would you like some sherry?”
“No,” she said. “If this is all so,” she stammered, “then America is no better than any other country.”
“Much worse,” Maggie assured her. “Really foul, dearie. Always was. You can buy anybody here; old Norman used to say so, and by God he ought to know! Your money or your life: that’s the government, if you’ve got any real cash behind you. You got to buy your safety, and buy it regular.”
Caroline thought suddenly of Tom Sheldon and Beth. She was distracted. “I don’t believe it!” she cried. “Not everybody’s filthy and a thief and a liar!”
“Yes, not everybody’s like poor old Johnny and the government,” said Maggie, vastly enjoying herself. “You got to be poor here to be let alone. Once you got enough to grease hands, they’re pounding at your door. Think I don’t grease palms, myself? And all the Vanderbilts and the Belmonts and the Astors too? Sure they do! They couldn’t operate if they didn’t. How do you suppose they get laws passed to protect ‘em? Answer me that.”
Timothy Winslow had entered silently a few minutes ago and had closed the door behind him. Maggie suddenly became aware of him. “Hah,” she shouted. “Who’s the silver boy, eh?”
“Allow me,” murmured the anguished Mr. Tandy, conscious of the shocked and frozen girl in her chair. “Mrs. Broome, this is our junior partner, Mr. Winslow.”
“Well, now, there’s a handsome one for you,” said Maggie with admiration. She held out her hand and Timothy shook it, and she openly inspected his slender height, his ascetic face, his eyes and hair. She ogled at him.
Caroline, overcome with her thoughts, did not look at her cousin. Mr. Tandy indicated a chair at a little distance, and Timothy sat down. He too was enjoying himself. The Gargoyle was definitely in a whirl, he was pleased to see. He wondered why she had wanted him here. He could see her pale and sweating face, her stricken eyes, her dry lips; he could see her gloved hands trembling. Maggie continued to study him with pleased fascination. Fine face there; a little cold, but interesting. She knew these cold and quiet men; underneath, they had twice the strength of the noisy boys.
“Shall we consider what we are here for?” asked Mr. Harkness, committing one of the first grammatical errors in his life. He was deeply upset.
“By all means,” said Maggie gustily. “I’ve got a party tonight; couple of government fellers, too. Time for the August pay-off, y’know. Big fellers.”
“Well, dear Caroline?” asked Mr. Swift, more and more concerned for the girl. “Or is it too much for you today?”
Caroline pulled up her sagging body. Her eyes were dull and heavy. “No, it won’t take long,” she said. “There is the matter of my owning fifty-one percent of the stock of Broome and Company — ”
“Right,” said Maggie. “I want to buy it. Johnny as much as promised me. He’s not chairman of the Board no longer. You don’t aim to be that, do you, Carrie?” she cackled. “Not that you’d have a chance, being a female.”
But Caroline looked only at the lawyers, who smiled at her hearteningly.
“I’m going to retain the stock,” she said.
Maggie scowled, and all her evil years immediately webbed and distorted her face. “You trying to go back on Johnny’s word to me?” she screamed. “A promise is a promise!”
Caroline turned her head slowly and looked at her. “He never told me of any promise,” she said coldly. “Nor was there any such promise or a document among his papers. I would respect a promise made by my father — if there had been any. I therefore do not believe there was.”
“You’re calling me a liar, you trollop?” Maggie cried.
Even Tandy, Harkness and Swift had to suppress involuntary smiles at this epithet. But Timothy smiled openly.
“I am saying,” said Caroline, her voice clearing, “that I found no such promise. My father was very meticulous; all his affairs are in absolute order. Therefore, I will go on the — assumption — that there was no promise. I am keeping the stock.”
“The hell with you,” said Maggie, breathing hard. A purple tint spread under her rouge. “The very hell with you, you ugly numskull. I want that stock.”
“You are not going to have it,” said Caroline. A little color returned to her lips. “I have other plans. I know I cannot be chairman of the Board or even a director. So I will appoint a director.”
The lawyers were immediately interested. They cleared their voices in anticipation.
“My cousin, Mr. Winslow,” said Caroline.
An astounded silence fell over them all. Timothy sat up very straight, electrified. He stared from Caroline to his employers and then at Maggie. He turned very white.
“At a salary of twenty thousand dollars a year,” Caroline continued.
Again they were very silent. Then Maggie breathed, “The hell you say.”
Mr. Tandy stirred. “Caroline,” he said. “Your cousin is very young. Hardly twenty-four. Oh, I know that even younger men are appointed to boards. But have you considered all the circumstances, my dear?”
“I have,” said Caroline. “I have given it a great deal of thought.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Tandy, stupefied.
Maggie began to smile. She tilted her head at Timothy. She almost forgot her own fury. She licked her cracked and painted lips.
Then Timothy spoke properly and in a subdued voice to his cousin. “Caroline, you know this is a startling, a wonderful, offer. I can’t be grateful enough. It’s true” — and he bowed apologetically to the older lawyers — “that I have been studying the Ames estate lately. After all, Mr. Ames was my uncle. Perhaps I should not have let my curiosity, my natural curiosity — ”
“Perfectly natural, dear boy,” murmured Mr. Harkness, dazed.
“Perfectly natural,” echoed his cousins.
“Damned natural,” said Maggie vigorously. “Who’s going to marry this lump of a girl, anyway? So, who’s her heirs? Got to keep money in the family.”
“Twenty thousand dollars salary,” said Mr. Swift.
“Of course,” said Timothy with a generous
smile at his employers, “I will hope to remain with you, sirs.”
He concealed his exultation, and his really wild astonishment as to why Caroline should do this for him, Caroline who had always feared and hated him and had been hated in return. Little beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
He said seriously, “You are sure you want this, Caroline?”
“I am.” The girl spoke firmly.
“Why don’t you give him some of the Broome stock too?” asked Maggie.
Caroline’s loathing eyes turned to her. “No,” she said. “He might sell some of it to you, and I’d no longer have the fifty-one percent.”
“Don’t trust him, eh?” Maggie chuckled. “Think he might sell it to me, eh?”
Then she was infuriated again. Her face became utterly repulsive in its ancient malice. “You are a bitch,” she said. “A nasty bitch. Going back on your father’s word. I won’t forget it. One of these days you’ll find hot coals in your drawers, and Maggie’ll have put them there. I don’t know Washington for nothing.”
A Prologue to Love Page 32
