The Age of Innocence, Page 27

  XXVII.

  Wall Street, the next day, had more reassuring reports of Beaufort'ssituation. They were not definite, but they were hopeful. It wasgenerally understood that he could call on powerful influences in caseof emergency, and that he had done so with success; and that evening,when Mrs. Beaufort appeared at the Opera wearing her old smile and anew emerald necklace, society drew a breath of relief.

  New York was inexorable in its condemnation of business irregularities.So far there had been no exception to its tacit rule that those whobroke the law of probity must pay; and every one was aware that evenBeaufort and Beaufort's wife would be offered up unflinchingly to thisprinciple. But to be obliged to offer them up would be not onlypainful but inconvenient. The disappearance of the Beauforts wouldleave a considerable void in their compact little circle; and those whowere too ignorant or too careless to shudder at the moral catastrophebewailed in advance the loss of the best ball-room in New York.

  Archer had definitely made up his mind to go to Washington. He waswaiting only for the opening of the law-suit of which he had spoken toMay, so that its date might coincide with that of his visit; but on thefollowing Tuesday he learned from Mr. Letterblair that the case mightbe postponed for several weeks. Nevertheless, he went home thatafternoon determined in any event to leave the next evening. Thechances were that May, who knew nothing of his professional life, andhad never shown any interest in it, would not learn of thepostponement, should it take place, nor remember the names of thelitigants if they were mentioned before her; and at any rate he couldno longer put off seeing Madame Olenska. There were too many thingsthat he must say to her.

  On the Wednesday morning, when he reached his office, Mr. Letterblairmet him with a troubled face. Beaufort, after all, had not managed to"tide over"; but by setting afloat the rumour that he had done so hehad reassured his depositors, and heavy payments had poured into thebank till the previous evening, when disturbing reports again began topredominate. In consequence, a run on the bank had begun, and itsdoors were likely to close before the day was over. The ugliest thingswere being said of Beaufort's dastardly manoeuvre, and his failurepromised to be one of the most discreditable in the history of WallStreet.

  The extent of the calamity left Mr. Letterblair white andincapacitated. "I've seen bad things in my time; but nothing as bad asthis. Everybody we know will be hit, one way or another. And whatwill be done about Mrs. Beaufort? What CAN be done about her? I pityMrs. Manson Mingott as much as anybody: coming at her age, there's noknowing what effect this affair may have on her. She always believedin Beaufort--she made a friend of him! And there's the whole Dallasconnection: poor Mrs. Beaufort is related to every one of you. Heronly chance would be to leave her husband--yet how can any one tell herso? Her duty is at his side; and luckily she seems always to have beenblind to his private weaknesses."

  There was a knock, and Mr. Letterblair turned his head sharply. "Whatis it? I can't be disturbed."

  A clerk brought in a letter for Archer and withdrew. Recognising hiswife's hand, the young man opened the envelope and read: "Won't youplease come up town as early as you can? Granny had a slight strokelast night. In some mysterious way she found out before any one elsethis awful news about the bank. Uncle Lovell is away shooting, and theidea of the disgrace has made poor Papa so nervous that he has atemperature and can't leave his room. Mamma needs you dreadfully, andI do hope you can get away at once and go straight to Granny's."

  Archer handed the note to his senior partner, and a few minutes laterwas crawling northward in a crowded horse-car, which he exchanged atFourteenth Street for one of the high staggering omnibuses of the FifthAvenue line. It was after twelve o'clock when this laborious vehicledropped him at old Catherine's. The sitting-room window on the groundfloor, where she usually throned, was tenanted by the inadequate figureof her daughter, Mrs. Welland, who signed a haggard welcome as shecaught sight of Archer; and at the door he was met by May. The hallwore the unnatural appearance peculiar to well-kept houses suddenlyinvaded by illness: wraps and furs lay in heaps on the chairs, adoctor's bag and overcoat were on the table, and beside them lettersand cards had already piled up unheeded.

  May looked pale but smiling: Dr. Bencomb, who had just come for thesecond time, took a more hopeful view, and Mrs. Mingott's dauntlessdetermination to live and get well was already having an effect on herfamily. May led Archer into the old lady's sitting-room, where thesliding doors opening into the bedroom had been drawn shut, and theheavy yellow damask portieres dropped over them; and here Mrs. Wellandcommunicated to him in horrified undertones the details of thecatastrophe. It appeared that the evening before something dreadfuland mysterious had happened. At about eight o'clock, just after Mrs.Mingott had finished the game of solitaire that she always played afterdinner, the door-bell had rung, and a lady so thickly veiled that theservants did not immediately recognise her had asked to be received.

  The butler, hearing a familiar voice, had thrown open the sitting-roomdoor, announcing: "Mrs. Julius Beaufort"--and had then closed it againon the two ladies. They must have been together, he thought, about anhour. When Mrs. Mingott's bell rang Mrs. Beaufort had already slippedaway unseen, and the old lady, white and vast and terrible, sat alonein her great chair, and signed to the butler to help her into her room.She seemed, at that time, though obviously distressed, in completecontrol of her body and brain. The mulatto maid put her to bed,brought her a cup of tea as usual, laid everything straight in theroom, and went away; but at three in the morning the bell rang again,and the two servants, hastening in at this unwonted summons (for oldCatherine usually slept like a baby), had found their mistress sittingup against her pillows with a crooked smile on her face and one littlehand hanging limp from its huge arm.

  The stroke had clearly been a slight one, for she was able toarticulate and to make her wishes known; and soon after the doctor'sfirst visit she had begun to regain control of her facial muscles. Butthe alarm had been great; and proportionately great was the indignationwhen it was gathered from Mrs. Mingott's fragmentary phrases thatRegina Beaufort had come to ask her--incredible effrontery!--to back upher husband, see them through--not to "desert" them, as she calledit--in fact to induce the whole family to cover and condone theirmonstrous dishonour.

  "I said to her: 'Honour's always been honour, and honesty honesty, inManson Mingott's house, and will be till I'm carried out of it feetfirst,'" the old woman had stammered into her daughter's ear, in thethick voice of the partly paralysed. "And when she said: 'But myname, Auntie--my name's Regina Dallas,' I said: 'It was Beaufort whenhe covered you with jewels, and it's got to stay Beaufort now that he'scovered you with shame.'"

  So much, with tears and gasps of horror, Mrs. Welland imparted,blanched and demolished by the unwonted obligation of having at last tofix her eyes on the unpleasant and the discreditable. "If only I couldkeep it from your father-in-law: he always says: 'Augusta, for pity'ssake, don't destroy my last illusions'--and how am I to prevent hisknowing these horrors?" the poor lady wailed.

  "After all, Mamma, he won't have SEEN them," her daughter suggested;and Mrs. Welland sighed: "Ah, no; thank heaven he's safe in bed. AndDr. Bencomb has promised to keep him there till poor Mamma is better,and Regina has been got away somewhere."

  Archer had seated himself near the window and was gazing out blankly atthe deserted thoroughfare. It was evident that he had been summonedrather for the moral support of the stricken ladies than because of anyspecific aid that he could render. Mr. Lovell Mingott had beentelegraphed for, and messages were being despatched by hand to themembers of the family living in New York; and meanwhile there wasnothing to do but to discuss in hushed tones the consequences ofBeaufort's dishonour and of his wife's unjustifiable action.

  Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who had been in another room writing notes,presently reappeared, and added her voice to the discussion. In THEIRday, the elder ladies agreed, the wife of a man who had done anythingdisgraceful in bu
siness had only one idea: to efface herself, todisappear with him. "There was the case of poor Grandmamma Spicer;your great-grandmother, May. Of course," Mrs. Welland hastened to add,"your great-grandfather's money difficulties were private--losses atcards, or signing a note for somebody--I never quite knew, becauseMamma would never speak of it. But she was brought up in the countrybecause her mother had to leave New York after the disgrace, whateverit was: they lived up the Hudson alone, winter and summer, till Mammawas sixteen. It would never have occurred to Grandmamma Spicer to askthe family to 'countenance' her, as I understand Regina calls it;though a private disgrace is nothing compared to the scandal of ruininghundreds of innocent people."

  "Yes, it would be more becoming in Regina to hide her own countenancethan to talk about other people's," Mrs. Lovell Mingott agreed. "Iunderstand that the emerald necklace she wore at the Opera last Fridayhad been sent on approval from Ball and Black's in the afternoon. Iwonder if they'll ever get it back?"

  Archer listened unmoved to the relentless chorus. The idea of absolutefinancial probity as the first law of a gentleman's code was too deeplyingrained in him for sentimental considerations to weaken it. Anadventurer like Lemuel Struthers might build up the millions of hisShoe Polish on any number of shady dealings; but unblemished honestywas the noblesse oblige of old financial New York. Nor did Mrs.Beaufort's fate greatly move Archer. He felt, no doubt, more sorry forher than her indignant relatives; but it seemed to him that the tiebetween husband and wife, even if breakable in prosperity, should beindissoluble in misfortune. As Mr. Letterblair had said, a wife'splace was at her husband's side when he was in trouble; but society'splace was not at his side, and Mrs. Beaufort's cool assumption that itwas seemed almost to make her his accomplice. The mere idea of awoman's appealing to her family to screen her husband's businessdishonour was inadmissible, since it was the one thing that the Family,as an institution, could not do.

  The mulatto maid called Mrs. Lovell Mingott into the hall, and thelatter came back in a moment with a frowning brow.

  "She wants me to telegraph for Ellen Olenska. I had written to Ellen,of course, and to Medora; but now it seems that's not enough. I'm totelegraph to her immediately, and to tell her that she's to come alone."

  The announcement was received in silence. Mrs. Welland sighedresignedly, and May rose from her seat and went to gather up somenewspapers that had been scattered on the floor.

  "I suppose it must be done," Mrs. Lovell Mingott continued, as ifhoping to be contradicted; and May turned back toward the middle of theroom.

  "Of course it must be done," she said. "Granny knows what she wants,and we must carry out all her wishes. Shall I write the telegram foryou, Auntie? If it goes at once Ellen can probably catch tomorrowmorning's train." She pronounced the syllables of the name with apeculiar clearness, as if she had tapped on two silver bells.

  "Well, it can't go at once. Jasper and the pantry-boy are both outwith notes and telegrams."

  May turned to her husband with a smile. "But here's Newland, ready todo anything. Will you take the telegram, Newland? There'll be justtime before luncheon."

  Archer rose with a murmur of readiness, and she seated herself at oldCatherine's rosewood "Bonheur du Jour," and wrote out the message inher large immature hand. When it was written she blotted it neatly andhanded it to Archer.

  "What a pity," she said, "that you and Ellen will cross each other onthe way!--Newland," she added, turning to her mother and aunt, "isobliged to go to Washington about a patent law-suit that is coming upbefore the Supreme Court. I suppose Uncle Lovell will be back bytomorrow night, and with Granny improving so much it doesn't seem rightto ask Newland to give up an important engagement for the firm--doesit?"

  She paused, as if for an answer, and Mrs. Welland hastily declared:"Oh, of course not, darling. Your Granny would be the last person towish it." As Archer left the room with the telegram, he heard hismother-in-law add, presumably to Mrs. Lovell Mingott: "But why onearth she should make you telegraph for Ellen Olenska--" and May'sclear voice rejoin: "Perhaps it's to urge on her again that after allher duty is with her husband."

  The outer door closed on Archer and he walked hastily away toward thetelegraph office.