Theophilus North (17 page)

“Well, my friend,” said Dr. Bosworth in Italian, “everybody wants to see that you get home safely tonight.”

Willis appeared at the door and announced that Mr. North's car was waiting. . . .

“What car is that, Willis—mine?”

“No, madam, a car called for by Mr. North.”

“Well,” said Persis, “let's all go and see Mr. North to the door . . . !”

We made quite a procession advancing down the hall. From the foot of the staircase Mrs. Leffingwell approached us agitatedly. “Sally, I can't find Cassius anywhere. I think he's out of the house. Please help me find him. If we can't find him I shall drive Mr. North home in my own car.—Willis, have you seen Mr. Leffingwell anywhere?”

“Yes, madam.”

“
Where
is he?”

“Madam, he is in the bushes.”

“Yes, Aunt Mary,” said Persis. “I saw him lying in the bushes. That's why I asked to drive Mr. North home. He had something in his hand.”

“Persis, that will do,” said Mrs. Bosworth. “Hold your tongue. Go to your room.”

Willis said to Mrs. Bosworth, “Madam, may I speak to you at one side for a moment?”

“Talk up, Willis,” said Dr. Bosworth. “What are you trying to say. What is it that Mr. Leffingwell has in his hand?”

“A gun, sir.”

Mrs. Leffingwell was too well brought up to shriek. She squeaked. “Cassius is playing with guns again. He will kill himself!”

The driver who had called for me stepped forward. “Not at present, madam. We have taken the gun from him.” And he held it under our noses.

“And who are you?” asked Mrs. Bosworth grandly. The driver flipped his lapel and showed his badge.

“God bless my soul!” exclaimed Dr. Bosworth.

“And,”
asked Mrs. Bosworth. who enjoyed beginning a question with “and,” “what authority have you for trespassing on this property?”

“Mr. Loft . . . Mr. Left . . . the gentleman in the bushes . . . has been overheard in three places threatening to kill Mr. North. We can't have that, madam. Is Mr. Leveringwall a resident of Newport?”

“Mr. Leffingwell lives in Jamestown.”

“The Chief told us not to press charges, if the gentleman lives outside Aquidneck County. But he must agree not to appear in this township for six months. Felix, call him in.”

Mrs. Leffingwell said, “Officer, please do not call him in now. I am his wife and I will stand guarantee that he will not return here. We have a farm in Virginia, also,
where a man may carry a gun in self-defense wherever he goes
.”

That's what's called the last word. She delivered the line grandly and couldn't have looked handsomer.

My rescuer (“Joe”) had had free ingress to all motion-pictures and knew how to behave in great houses. “If Mr. North is ready to go, the car is waiting for him. We have a call to the Daubigny cottage. Good night, ladies and gentlemen, we are sorry to have been an inconvenience to you.”

I bowed in silence to the company and left.

Outside Joe said to his companion, “Let's see where the gook's gone.”

“He's knocking at the side door, Joe. Do you think he needs any help, Joe?”

“They'll find him. . . . The Chief says to have as little to do with these people as possible. They're crazy as coots, he says. Let them wash their own sheets, he says.”

If I'd had a grain of decent feeling in me, I'd have resigned the next morning; but what's a little family unpleasantness compared to discovering Bishop Berkeley, Croce, Vico, and letting one's eyes rest on Persis Tennyson?

When the hour arrived for the Sunday drive to “Whitehall” Dr. Bosworth and his granddaughter were waiting at the door. It was a beautiful afternoon in August (but I remember no others; on Aquidneck Island rain fell—considerately—only when the inhabitants were sleeping ).

Persis said, “I shall sit in front with Jeffries. Mr. North, will you sit with Grandfather. He likes to drive slowly and I know he wants to talk to you.”

“Mrs. Tennyson, I have never had the pleasure of being introduced to you?”

“What!” said Dr. Bosworth.

“We have exchanged greetings,” I said.

Persis laughed. “Let us shake hands, Mr. North.”

Dr. Bosworth was bewildered. “Never met! Never introduced! What a house I live in! Cassius lying in the bushes—policemen passing around guns—Sarah and Mary behaving like . . .” He began laughing. “Makes an old man feel like King Lear.”

“Let's forget all about it, Grandfather.”

“Yes.” He began pointing out to me some eighteenth-century doors and fanlights. “There are some beautiful houses all over town—going to rack and ruin. Nobody appreciates them.”

“Dr. Bosworth, I've discovered a resident in Newport who could have helped us with those metaphysical passages in Bishop Berkeley.”

“Who's that?”

“Someone you know well—Baron Stams. He has a doctorate from Heidelberg in philosophy.”

“Bodo? God bless my soul! Does Bodo know anything?”

“He also has a doctorate from Vienna in political history.”

“Do you hear that, Persis? He's a pleasant fellow, but I thought he was just one of these dancing-partners that Mrs. Venable collects for her parties. You always found him rather empty-headed, didn't you, Persis?”

“Not empty-headed, Grandfather. Just difficult to talk to.”

“Yes, I remember your saying that. Surprised me. He seems to be able to talk easily to everybody he sits by except you. A regular
gigolo
. Your Aunt Sally always seats him by you and Mrs. Venable always seats him by you, I hear.”

Persis remained silent.

Dr. Bosworth again addressed me confidentially. “I always thought he was one of these fortune hunters, if you know what I mean—title, good looks, and nothing else.”

I began laughing.

“Why are you laughing, Mr. North?”

I made him wait for it and laughed some more.

“You find something droll about it, Mr. North?”

“Well, Dr. Bosworth, it's Baron Stams who has the fortune.”

“Oh? He has money, has he?”

I looked Dr. Bosworth in the eye and I didn't lower my voice. “A fortune: excellent brains, excellent character, a distinguished family, an assured career. He has been decorated by his country for bravery in battle and he almost died of his wounds. His castle at Stams is almost as beautiful as the famous monastery at Stams—which you must know. In addition, he's lots of fun.” Again I laughed. “That's what I call a fortune.”

Persis had turned her profile toward us. She appeared to be annoyed and bewildered.

We arrived at “Whitehall.” I had to hold my breath from awe.

Bishop Berkeley was the author of the line “Westward the course of empire takes its way.” There we were, pilgrims from the East.

In spite of kind invitations I never drove out in Dr. Bosworth's car again; though I was taken for a drive in Persis Tennyson's—an account of that starlit encounter I must defer. It will be found in a later chapter entitled “Bodo and Persis” whom it more closely concerns. Persis became her grandfather's constant companion—running head on into the danger from which I was escaping, “favoritism.” Mrs. Bosworth's tone became increasingly sharp to her, but Persis held firm. One afternoon I called on Dr. Bosworth at his request for a short talk following his daily drive. While waiting in his study for him to change his clothes I overheard the following conversation in the hall.

“You must be able to see, Aunt Sally, that these drives agree with Grandfather.”

“You are an ignorant girl, Persis. This activity will
kill
him.”

“I asked Grandfather as a favor to me to submit to an examination by Dr. Tedeschi. Dr. Tedeschi recommended the drives.”

“How could
you
take such a responsibility? Dr. Tedeschi is a puppy, and an Italian puppy at that.”

Dr. Bosworth reentered his study. He was overflowing with ideas that had occurred to him. He was preparing to present the great project to a still unselected board of directors. There was to be an administration building with two lecture halls, a large and a small; a well-stocked library; at least nine separate residences; large annual grants to the Masters; a dormitory and dining hall for whatever students the Masters consented to accept. Further expenditures were added in pencil along the margins. . . . The project called for millions and millions. Very exhilarating.

Two evenings later I arrived at the usual hour. Persis was waiting outside the house. She put her fingers on her lips, raised her eyebrows, and pointed toward the hall. There was trepidation and a shade of amusement on her face. She spoke no word. I rang the bell and was admitted by Willis. Mrs. Bosworth met me in the hall at some distance from her father's study. She addressed me in a low voice but very distinctly. “Mr. North, since you entered this house you have been a constant source of confusion. I regard you as a foolish and dangerous man. Will you explain to me what you are trying to do to my father?”

I replied even more quietly. “I don't understand what you mean, Mrs. Bosworth.”

It worked. Her voice rose. “Dr. Bosworth is a very sick man. These exertions may kill him.”

“Your father invited me to accompany him to ‘Whitehall.' I assumed that he had his doctor's permission.”

“
Assumed!
It is not your business to assume anything.”

I was now almost inaudible. “Dr. Bosworth spoke of his doctor's approval.”

“
He refuses to see his doctor—the man who has been his physician for thirty years
. You are a trouble-maker. You are a vulgar intruder. Mr. North, it was I who engaged you to come to this house. Your engagement is terminated. Now!
Now!
Will you tell me what I owe you?”

“Thank you . . . Dr. Bosworth is expecting me. I shall go to his study to say goodbye to him.”

“I forbid you to take one step further.”

I had one more trick up my sleeve. Now I raised my voice. “Mrs. Bosworth, you are very pale. Are you unwell? Can I get you a glass of water?”

“I am perfectly well. Will you lower your voice, please?”

I started dashing about, shouting, “Mr. Willis! Mr. Willis! Is anybody there? Mrs. Turner! Nurse!”

“Stop this nonsense. I am perfectly well.”

I ran the length of the hall, calling, “Smelling salts! Help! Asafoetida!”

I overturned a table. Persis appeared. Mrs. Turner appeared. Willis appeared. Maids emerged from the kitchen.

“Do be quiet! I am perfectly well!”

“Call a doctor. Mrs. Bosworth has fainted.” I recalled a smashing phrase from eighteenth-century novels, “Unlace her!”

Willis pulled up a chair behind Mrs. Bosworth so abruptly that she sank into it, outraged. Persis knelt and patted her hands. Dr. Bosworth appeared at the door of his study and the room fell silent. “What's the matter, Sarah?”

“Nothing! This
oaf
has raised a great noise about nothing.”

“Persis?”

“Grandfather, Aunt Sally suddenly felt unwell. Fortunately Mr. North was here and called for help.”

Now it was like grand opera—that relief in the air
when things crack open
. Mrs. Bosworth rose and advanced toward her father—“Father, either that monster leaves this house or I do!”

“Willis, call Dr. McPherson. Sarah, you're tired. You're overworked. Mrs. Turner, will you kindly take Mrs. Bosworth up to her room. Go to bed, Sarah; go to bed! Persis, I want you to stay here. Willis!”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will have a whiskey and soda. Bring one for Mr. North, too.”

Whiskey! It was that request that made it clear to Mrs. Bosworth that her authority was at an end. After years of gruel,
whiskey
. She started for the stairs, brushing Mrs. Turner aside. “Don't touch me! I can walk perfectly well by myself.”

“Dr. Bosworth,” I said, “I have great respect for Mrs. Bosworth. I shall certainly discontinue my visits here since they are so unwelcome to her. May I remain a few minutes to thank you for the privilege it has been to meet with you here?”

“What? What? We must talk this over. Persis, will you please join us?”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Mr. North feels that he must leave us. I hope he will be able to meet me from time to time at the ‘Reading Rooms.' ”

Willis entered with our drinks. Dr. Bosworth raised his glass, saying, “Dr. Tedeschi recommended today that I have a little whiskey in the evening.”

Persis and I exchanged no glances, but I felt that we shared a sense of something accomplished.

That was my last engagement at “Nine Gables.”

Both Mrs. Bosworth and I left the house—she to visit a dear friend in England, I to offer my services elsewhere. But, as I have already told the reader, I had not yet entirely terminated my relations with all the residents at “Nine Gables.”

Toward the end of the summer I met Dr. Bosworth by chance. He was as cordial as ever. He confided to me that he was too old to cope with the numerous details involved in setting up an Academy of Philosophers; he had another project in mind—still a secret; he was planning to build and endow a clinic for that “excellent young physician Dr. Tedeschi.”