Rebuked, Beatrice said, “You may not want to feel such things, but you can’t always help it.”
“Yes, you can. If you want to.” She looked at Louise. “If it’s worth it.”
I think Beatrice spoke for all of us when she said, “Well, I guess you’re just cut from finer cloth than the rest of us, Aunt Alva.”
“Aunt Alva for president!” said Emily. “Are you going to the suffrage parade, Aunt Alva?” she asked eagerly. “A lot of us from Vassar are going.”
Alva Tyler shook her head. “I don’t seem to have much energy these days. Certainly not for marching.”
Emily’s bright expression dimmed at her aunt’s dismissal. Hugging her knees to herself, she turned and stared out at the ocean.
In the meantime, Mrs. Benchley had grown restless. Now she burst out with, “Louise, you simply must reconsider.”
Almost immediately, Mrs. Tyler weighed in with, “You must remember that men are different from us. They’re weak.”
This was an uncomfortable reference to the girls’ father. Beatrice flinched. “I thought we were supposed to be the weaker sex.”
“Hogwash,” said her mother crisply. “When it comes to women, men can be utter fools and it’s just as well Louise learns this now.”
Everyone looked to see how Louise was taking her “education.” Thus far, with silence and flushed cheeks.
Now she said quietly, “I can learn it, but I don’t have to like it. Or live with it.”
Her mother gasped. The rest were quiet. No one knew what to do with this new Louise who had embraced the unorthodox position that her life was her own.
I said, “May I…?”
A chorus of “Yes, please,” and “By all means, Jane.”
“I think perhaps Miss Louise is speaking with the wrong people.” Remembering something Anna had said long ago, I added, “After all, she’s not marrying any of us. What we think doesn’t really matter.”
Louise went pale. “I don’t want to talk to William Tyler ever again.”
“I think you have to,” I told her. “I think you owe him that. It would be…” I tried to think of a word that might be compelling to this new Louise. “Dishonest not to. You don’t have to marry him. But you do have to hear him out. That way, whatever you do, you’ll know you…”
An odd phrase came to mind: “have all the evidence.”
For a long while, we sat, each lost in her thoughts. Then Emily said, “The Babylonians believed the ocean was female. A goddess who gave birth to everything that exists.” She smiled, her nose wrinkling. “She had a bad temper, though. Her children annoyed her, so she tried to destroy them.”
Alva Tyler’s needle missed its target. “That’s dreadful.”
“Is it? In revenge, her son chopped her in half. One half became the sky, the other the earth.” She gazed up at the clouds, then stood up, brushing the sand from her legs. “I say do what you want, Louise. There’s no need to marry if you don’t want to. I’m going for a swim.”
Her mother said, “Surely it’s too early. The water’s far too cold.”
But Emily had already started to walk down the beach. After a moment, Louise got up and followed her. Beatrice looked at her mother, aunt, and Mrs. Benchley. Then she joined her sister.
* * *
That afternoon, Louise made a point of staying in her room, far beyond the reach of argument. I offered to keep her company, but she dismissed me. Which left me on my own to ponder the life and death of Sofia Bernardi. Or Rosalba Salvio. Other people seemed so certain about who she had been. What had happened to her. Time after time, I put all the pieces of what I knew together and hoped to see the picture they saw. And time after time, all I saw were the gaps and ill-fitting pieces. I needed more parts of the picture.
As I left my room, I told myself I was being ridiculous. I might not know her full story, but we knew who had killed the poor girl; as Michael Behan had said, just because people enjoyed reading about the Black Hand didn’t make it fiction. And yet I kept walking, finally climbing the small, narrow stairs that led to the nursery wing. All the doors were shut; the quiet was mournful rather than peaceful. The silence of absence. The children’s rooms were to be moved to a different part of the house entirely; there was even talk of Mrs. Tyler moving herself and them to her mother’s in Saratoga, although Mr. Tyler was said to vehemently oppose that plan.
I went to what had been Sofia’s room and turned the knob.
Servants’ rooms were always interesting to me, as they were to most people who worked in service, as they were a sign of importance and prestige. When I had started at Mrs. Armslow’s, I had shared a room with two other parlor maids. When I began attending Mrs. Armslow personally, I had been allowed only one other roommate; Mrs. Armslow’s official ladies’ maid had her own quarters and was addressed as Miss, as I was now. It was only at the Benchleys’ that I had my own room. The space people made for others in their home said a great deal.
Sofia had been given her own room, but it was by far the smallest room on the floor; three of her rooms could fit into Frederick’s, two into Mabel’s. I noted there was only one small, round window; I tried to open it, found it sealed. I wondered if Sofia had preferred sleeping in Frederick’s larger room with its two windows that opened.
Still, it was a simple, pleasing space. Snug rather than cramped, it was dominated by a large bed with a plain white coverlet. Nearby, an armchair covered in a rose-pattern slipcover. A sturdy dresser with a bowl and water jug stood to the right of the door. Opening the drawers, I saw that Sofia’s things had already been removed. What lay here now were faded clothes—children’s rompers, maids’ aprons—somewhere between repair and ragbag. In another drawer, a wooden box of singularly hideous silverware, in another, cracked frames and abandoned needlework pieces. A search of the closet yielded the same sort of thing: out-of-date dresses, yellowing, watermarked papers, dingy shoes. Sofia’s room had become a storage space for things the family didn’t want, but could not yet get rid of. It told me nothing. Frustrated, I sat down on the bed and tried to remember the young woman I had walked with. She had been afraid, I saw that clearly now. At first I thought she was afraid of Aldo Grimaldi. Now I wondered. What had she said? All of a sudden, I could hear her voice so clearly.
“‘Oh, he is one of my people, I trust him, he’s a good man. Good woman.’ Once, I try to tell him, I say, Mr. Tyler, you want to trust this person, but—”
Good woman. Had she meant herself? Had she been trying to tell Mr. Tyler that he shouldn’t trust her?
I almost didn’t hear the creak of stairs, but I became suddenly aware that someone was at the door. I stood up from the bed and the door opened.
“William,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
* * *
He stepped inside the room and closed the door. “I don’t know.” His gaze fell on the bureau. “I suppose I wanted to see if there was anything of her left. I suppose Aunt Alva got rid of it all.”
I asked, “Why did you do it, William?”
He met my eye, then looked away.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Why does anyone do anything?”
“That’s not an answer.”
He leaned against the wall, arms folded. “It was only—”
“Only?” Then I reminded myself people could not confess if you insisted on interrupting them.
He took a deep breath. “A few weeks ago, Sofia had put Freddy to bed and was walking outside on the lawn. She did that sometimes.”
I had a memory of my first night here, the shadow in the moonlight. So, that was who the midnight walker had been.
“I was having a walk because I’d just had an argument with my mother about starting at the firm and I was feeling, well—”
I nodded to say I understood.
“Sofia said something like, what a beautiful night, and I said yes. Then she said she was having trouble sleeping because Aunt Alva didn’t like the windows open and there w
as no air. She admitted sometimes she felt a bit trapped in the house and I said I knew how she felt. And we started talking. It was nice. Like talking to you, Jane. I told her I didn’t really want to practice law and she asked why I had to, if I was—”
Here he went red.
“Marrying a wealthy woman?” I guessed.
“Yes. Then she said, Oh, but maybe you don’t want to marry this woman. I told her that was not the case, that I loved Louise very much. Only—”
“Only” was fast becoming my least favorite word. Why did men not understand that the moment you tell another woman you love someone very much, only—the other woman sees an opportunity? Or did they understand that very well?
As if sensing my disapproval, William lifted himself off the wall, then fell against it in frustration. “I’ve never done anything, Jane! Nothing that I decided to do, nothing I wasn’t supposed to do. Look at Uncle Charles. He hasn’t done a single thing he was supposed to and has done loads of things he wasn’t, and he’s a genuine success, his own man. When I was a boy, I wanted to be just like him.”
He dropped his head. “I guess I’m not quite ready to give that up yet.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
“Don’t I? What sort of husband am I if I go flying across the country or join a polar expedition? If I say, No, sorry, I’m not going to be a lawyer, I’m going out west and shooting buffalo instead.”
William was never going to do those things and Louise was not the reason. But now was not the time to tell him that. “Then what happened?”
“So, then I was an idiot and said, Do you know, Louise is the only girl I’ve ever kissed? And she said, Well, that’s not right, kiss me, I’ll tell you if you’re doing it right.”
William’s shoe made a long progress along the floor.
“So … I did.”
I didn’t want to ask the extent of the experiment; I could guess it was somewhere between a friendly peck and full-blown indecency on the Tylers’ lawn. I wasn’t surprised. Men often gave up their freedom with a last dalliance. We had never expected it of William because he had always been the safe, dutiful—and poor—Tyler boy. Despite more romantic inclinations, he had done exactly as his family wanted, followed his uncle’s prescriptions on how to behave as a proper gentleman, and stayed unfailingly courteous in the face of provocation and foolishness. At parties, he was a great favorite of women over fifty and avoided by girls under twenty-one. A word often used to describe him was “kind”; I used it myself.
And just as I had wished to be more like Alva Tyler, he yearned to be a heroic man of action like his uncle. Those men and women don’t always think of others. And those men and women break rules; it was part of what made them so wonderful and daring.
But I wished with all my heart William had joined the rodeo rather than make love to Sofia.
“I see,” I said, aware that I was absolving him with those two words. “But why tell Miss Louise?”
“I didn’t. Someone must have seen us—or guessed—and decided Louise deserved to know the truth.”
I would have to ask Louise who had been so kind as to deliver the news. And then, if possible, wring that person’s neck.
“Your trip to the city, the one you decided not to take—it wasn’t to meet Sofia, was it?”
“No!” He looked genuinely shocked, then sheepish. “I was supposed to have lunch with one of the partners at the firm. Mother arranged it, even though I told her I wasn’t certain I wanted to go into law. Said my personal sentiments didn’t matter. Then when Sofia … died, I told myself, Well, with everything that’s happened and Louise needing me so much, I certainly can’t leave now. The partner phoned Mother and told her I hadn’t shown up. She wasn’t happy with me.”
Remembering the argument, I felt a wave of relief that William had not been balking at marriage to Louise, but at a future as a lawyer. Still, I reminded myself, he had given her grounds for doubt.
“William, do you want to marry Louise?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t say of course, tell me why.”
“Because … she’s lovely and … kind.…”
“No, tell me why. Truly. You can say it’s the money.”
He looked at me curiously. Then said, “Well, that helps. But I don’t feel alone when I’m with Louise. I feel she’s on my side. Even if she doesn’t say anything, I feel it. And I feel, well, I can’t be so useless if such a person thinks well of me.”
“She thinks the world of you.”
“Then why won’t she talk to me? I’ve told her I’m sorry for what I did.”
Did he? Alva Tyler’s odd little question drifted through my mind. She doubted … what? Should I also doubt?
“I know I’ve hurt her, badly, but she must know it would never happen again.”
He sounded sincere, was sincere. Uneasy, I thought there was a chance Louise knew him better than he knew himself. But he wanted to make it right. And didn’t he deserve a chance to try?
I said, “You’ll tell Louise it was only the one lapse? That she’s the only girl in the world that you care for?”
There was a fraction of hesitation. “Yes, of course.”
“Let me talk to her.”
* * *
I intended to talk to Louise after dinner that night. But early that evening, she announced she would be returning to the city. To think, she said.
17
The next morning, Mrs. Benchley announced she was not yet ready to leave. The reasons for delay were unclear. I had packed her trunk, but she felt certain something was missing. Then she felt unwell, either the head or stomach, she wasn’t sure. Then she worried that the train would arrive at midday and the streets were crowded at midday, would it not be better to arrive later in the afternoon? But before people left work … oh, perhaps it would be best to simply travel the next day.
To which Louise replied that she understood her mother’s worry. But she herself would be leaving as planned.
Louise’s lack of compliance upset her mother’s sense of the universal order to a degree that she had to lie down and it was agreed she would travel tomorrow. In the meantime, Louise and I left for the station.
“Good,” she said on the drive. “Now you can have Mother’s seat.”
As I settled her case on the train, it was hard not to remember the way William had taken charge on the journey out. Louise must have been thinking the same thing because as the train lurched into motion, she said, “William wanted to accompany us to the station. I said I would rather he didn’t. It would just make it more difficult.”
The difficulty remained unspecified, and I asked, “To end the engagement?”
“To … decide.” She looked troubled. “Has William said anything to you?”
“He has.”
“And?”
She listened to my report without speaking, her eyes averted, her thoughts her own. I finished by saying, “I believe he loves you. And means it when he says he would not hurt you again.”
She looked at me, hopeful, and I had to add, “But I also believe he is young and possibly naïve. About the world and himself. You have to ask yourself: can you bear to see him fail again?”
I had asked the right, cruel question. Louise’s face creased with misery. “I don’t know.”
“Then can you bear to give him up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, then.” I hesitated. “My apologies for being crass—but the marriage would give you a firm place in society. You would be Mrs. William Tyler.”
“And who is that?” She settled back in her seat restlessly. “Who is Louise Benchley, except the girl who married William Tyler? William thinks he hasn’t done enough. Well, I haven’t done anything.”
Stunned by this display of ambition, I said, “What do you want to do?”
“That’s the problem: I can’t think of anything to do and it’s so horrible for women if they’re not married.”
I loo
ked out the window at the world rushing past. Turning back to Louise, I said, “Well, why should it be horrible? We can’t be the only ones not to marry. We should look at this differently. We could do all sorts of things married women can’t. We could sail down the Amazon River. Or go on a trek to the South Pole. I think there’s one leaving in May. Or we could study forensic science in Paris or…” My imagination was failing me. “Break wind!” I finished triumphantly.
Louise gave a shocked scream of laughter. Several passengers glanced at us.
Lowering my voice, I said, “The point is, you are a woman of great means…”
“But small intelligence.”
I pretended to glare. “And even though I am a woman of small means…”
“But great intelligence.”
“There are many, many things we might do, Miss Louise. Many things.”
She smiled. “I like that.”
For a while, she gazed out the window as if it offered a view of her future. At one point, she said, “Jane?”
“Yes, Miss Louise?”
But she decided the question wasn’t worth asking and she shook her head. I thought to ask her how she had found out about William’s dalliance. But I didn’t want to plunge her back into unhappy memories.
I did notice that in all our talk of the future, Louise hadn’t once asked me to stay with her. What would I do if she decided to marry William—but did not ask me to join their household staff? Would I stay with Charlotte? That didn’t feel like a secure position. The murkiest question of all: What did I want?
If she does not ask me, I thought, I will go back to my uncle’s house. I will work for him. I will not be paid. And that will be my life. I tried to persuade myself this was a good future, a safe future. It felt like defeat.
Mrs. Benchley had been right to worry about the noonday crowds. We had to struggle through the station out to the street, where O’Hara waited with the car, and it was a slow journey to the Benchley house. Louise looked weary by the time we arrived; I was trying to decide between recommendations for various forms of oblivion—a nap, tea, bath—when the front door opened and Charlotte appeared.
Death of a New American--A Novel Page 17
