Theophilus North (45 page)

We returned to our table. He lifted a flask and the cups out of the pail and poured. We exchanged a hearty
“Zum Wohl!”
and drank.

“Old man, I've wanted for a long while to clear up something between us. When I told you at Flora Deland's that I was a fortune hunter you must have thought that I was a contemptible skunk, as they say over here. Now don't answer me until you hear my story. In fact, before we part you're going to talk to me tough and straight. This is the situation: I am the head of my family. My father was aged and broken by the War. My older brother went off to Argentina and is selling automobiles. He has renounced his title and taken Argentine citizenship to help him in his business. He has a family of his own and cannot send back much money to the
Schloss
and my parents don't want him to. My mother's a wonderful manager. During the summer and especially during the winter she takes in paying guests. More and more people are interested in the winter sports resorts nearby. But it's hard work and the profits are small. The castle needs repairs all the time—roof, drainage, heating. Try and imagine all that. I have three sisters—angels every one of them. They have no
dots
and I must and will see them married comfortably and happily in their own class. Legally, the castle is mine; morally, the family is mine.
—Zum Wohl, Bruder!
”

“
Zum Wohl, Bodl!
”

“I shall marry within a year. In Washington young women are pushed at me all the time—attractive, charming girls, with visible
pecunia
. I've selected two, either one of whom I could come to love and whom I could make happy. I'm old for marriage. I want to have children who will know my parents; I want my parents to know my children. I want a
home. . . 
. For two years I've been having a love-affair with a married woman who wants to divorce her husband and marry me; but I can't take her to my parents—she's had two husbands already. She's very accomplished and for the first year she was delightful, but now she cries most of the time. Beside I'm tired of little hotels in the country and signing idiotic names. And something more—I'm a Catholic; I'd . . . I'd like to try harder . . . to be a good Catholic.”

Here for the first time tears appeared in my friend's eyes.

“
Zum Wohl, Alter
.”

“
Zum Wohl, Bursche
.”

“So within a year I shall be married to a girl with a fortune. Can I call that an act of filial duty or am I still a skunk?”

“I am a Protestant, Bodo. My father and my ancestors went about grandly telling others where their duty lay. I hope that will never be said of me.”

He threw back his head, laughing. “God in Heaven, what fun talking is—maybe I mean unloading.”

“Are you drunk or can we get back to the subject of Persis? I have no right to call her that, but I shall while talking to you.”

“Yes, oh yes! But what is there left to say about her?”

I put my elbows on the table, clasped my hands, and looked him in the eye gravely.

“Bodo, don't laugh at what I'm about to say. It's a hypothetical case, but I'm trying to make a point of urgent importance.”

He sat up straight and returned my gaze, somewhat disturbed. “Go on! What's on your mind?”

“Suppose—just
suppose
—that two and a half years ago there had been a hushed-up scandal in your Foreign Affairs Office. Some secret documents had disappeared and it was thought that someone in the Foreign Office had sold them to the enemy. And suppose that a shadow of suspicion rested on you, just a shadow. There was of course a very thorough inquiry and you were completely cleared. The heads of the government departments went out of their way to invite you to the most important functions. The Foreign Secretary seated you beside him at a very high council or two. You were ostentatiously declared innocent. There was no trial, because there were no charges—but there was
talk
. A retired diplomat once told me that the two worst cities that he'd served in, for gossip and malicious tongues, were Dublin and Vienna. Everything damaging about you—real or imagined—was kept alive decade after decade. You'd be a ‘man under a cloud,' wouldn't you?”

“Why are you asking me these questions?”

“What would you do about it?”

“Ignore it.”

“Are you sure? You have a very delicate sense of honor. Your wife and children would also learn that there was a faint bad odor connected with the family. You know how people talk. ‘There was more to that matter than met the eye.' ‘The Stams are so well connected that they could hush anything up!' ”

“
Theophilus, what are you driving at?
”

“Maybe Persis Tennyson is a ‘woman under a cloud.' You know and I know and God knows that she could not have been capable of anything dishonorable. But as Shakespeare says somewhere, ‘Be thou as . . . pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.' ”

Bodo arose, glared at me with something between fury and despair. He strode about the room; he opened the door onto the road as though to fill his lungs with fresh air. Then he returned and flung himself into his chair. His eyes resting on me had now taken on the air of a trapped animal.

“I'm not trying to torment you, Bodo. I'm trying to think of some way that you and I can help that splendid unhappy young woman locked up in that ‘Nine Gables,' that spiteful, loveless house. . . . Isn't that just the way a woman of impeccable feeling would behave toward any man she respected—maybe loved—who approached her as a suitor; she wouldn't want to bring a suspicion of malodor into his family. Think of your mother!”

He was now looking at me with a terrible intensity.

I went on brutally: “You know that her husband killed himself?”

“All I know is that he was a crazy gambler. He shot himself over some debts.”

“That's all I know. We must know more. But we do know that the town is busy with hateful gossip. ‘There's more in that case than meets the eye.' ‘The Bosworths have enough money to hush anything up.' ”

“Oh, Theophilus! What can we do?”

I pulled the letter out of my pocket and laid it before him.

“I know the urgent thing she wants to talk to me about. She wants to warn me that there are Bosworths who are planning to do me harm. I know that already. But maybe what she wants to do is to tell me the story of her husband's death—the true full story—so that I'll put it in circulation. Take heart and hope, old Bodo. We know that Mrs. Venable admires and loves her. Mrs. Venable looks upon herself as the guardian of correct behavior on Aquidneck Island. Mrs. Venable must know all the facts. She does everything she can to shield and protect Persis. But it's possible that Mrs. Venable hasn't enough imagination to see that it's not enough to take Persis under her wing. There may be some details relative to Archer Tennyson. She thinks that silence is the best defense;
but it isn't. . . 
. Bodo, I have a hard day tomorrow. I must ask you to drive me home. Can I propose something?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What time is your dinner over tomorrow night when you start driving for Washington?”

“Oh—about eleven-thirty, I should think.”

“Could you postpone your departure for two hours? Persis will drop me at my door at about one-thirty. Could you be waiting in your car up around the corner? I may have the
facts
to tell you. We'll have something to go on. Don't you think that to rescue a damsel from injustice is one of the noblest jobs a young man can have?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Well, you fall asleep in the car. I hope to have something for you to think about as you drive through the night.”

At my door I said, “We're sure that Archer Tennyson didn't kill himself because of any imperfection in his wife's behavior, aren't we?”

“Yes! Yes, we are!”

“Well, take heart! Take hope!—What were Goethe's dying words?”

“
Mehr Licht! Mehr Licht!
”

“What we're looking for is more light. Thanks for the
Schnapps
. See you tomorrow night.”

The next day held a crowded schedule. I hadn't come to Newport to work so hard, but I checked up fourteen dollars before supper. Then I took a short nap and wheeled out to “Nine Gables” for my ten-thirty appointment.

Since the alarming improvement in his health Dr. Bosworth had felt the need of some refreshment during the evening. This took the form of a French
tisane
and biscuits (I declined with thanks) that Mrs. Turner brought to him at about eleven-thirty. It did not escape me that these interruptions in our work were designed to afford an occasion for desultory conversation. My employer was longing to talk. We were now reading (for reasons best known to ourselves alone) Henri Bergson's
Deux sources de la morale et de la religion
when Mrs. Turner arrived with her tray.

What followed was something more than a conversation: it was a military foray, a diplomatic maneuver, with some of the character of a chess game. I had noticed earlier that he had tardily concealed an
aide-memoire
, an “agenda,” such as he had drawn up so often in his career. I put myself on the alert.

“Mr. North, September is the most beautiful month in the year in Newport. I hope you are not planning to leave the island then, as so many do.” Silence. “I would be very sorry to hear it. I would miss you very much.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bosworth,” et cetera, et cetera.

“Moreover, I have some projects involving yourself that could most profitably occupy you here. I wish to employ you on the planning staff of our Academy. You have a quick apprehension and grasp that would be invaluable to me.” I bowed my head slightly and remained silent. “During the winter months my circle of friends narrows. Now that I am able to drive about there is much that I can explore—
we
could explore—in this part of New England. It is a great joy to me that my granddaughter takes pleasure in these drives also. I have begun to share with her some aspects of what I call my ‘Athens-in-Newport.' ” (Silence.) “Mrs. Tennyson strikes some people as a ‘reserved' person. She is, but I assure you that she is a woman of marked intelligence and wide culture. She is also an accomplished musician—did you know that?”

“No, Dr. Bosworth.”

“On winter nights, I shall hear much fine music. Does music appeal to you, Mr. North?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, yes. Up to the time of her husband's tragic death she continued to take lessons of the best teachers in New York and abroad. Since that unhappy occasion she refuses to sing for my guests or for Mrs. Venable's. Had you heard of the unfortunate circumstances of Mr. Tennyson's death?”

“I know only that he took his own life, Mr. Bosworth.”

“Archer Tennyson was a very popular man. He derived great enjoyment from living. But there was also in him, perhaps, an element of eccentricity. The whole unhappy business is best forgotten.” He lowered his voice and added significantly, “On winter evenings the three of us could make rapid progress on the design for our Academy.”

The game of chess was being played very rapidly and recklessly. There was no need of any subtlety on my part. I advanced my black knight boldly.

“Sir, do you think that Mrs. Tennyson has put out of her mind any intention of marrying again?”

“Oh, Mr. North, she is a superior woman. What younger men are there around here—or even in New York!—who could interest her? We have a few yachtsmen; we have a few of that type that is called ‘the life of the party'—tiresome quips and gossip. She now refuses her Aunt Helen's invitation to join her for a few weeks in the winter season. She refuses all those opportunities to attend concerts and the theater. She has turned in upon herself. She lives only for her small son, for her reading and her music—and, I am happy to say, for her devoted kindness to me.” Again he lowered his voice. “She is all I have—Persis and the Academy. Her Aunt Sarah has lost all patience with her and I am at my wit's end. I would be happy if she married anyone,
wherever
he came from.”

“She must have many admirers, Dr. Bosworth. She's an exceptionally beautiful and charming woman.”

“Isn't she?” He advanced his white queen the length of the board, again lowering his voice. “And, of course, very well off.”

“
Is she?
” I asked with surprise.

“Her father left her a large fortune and her husband another.”

I sighed. “But if the lady gives no sign of encouragement, there's not anything a gentleman can do. I have the impression that Baron Stams is most deeply and sincerely interested in Mrs. Tennyson.”

“Oh, I've thought of that. Especially since you opened my eyes to his excellent qualities. He called on us here to say goodbye yesterday. I've never been so mistaken in a man in my life . . . and such interesting connections! Did you know that his mother's sister is a marchioness in England?” I did not know this and shook my head. “It was she who put him through Eton College, as they say. To think that he knows so much about philosophy and philosophers. If he were a little older I could consider appointing him Director of our Academy. But I must tell you something: Persis became quite cross with me—quite firm—when I spoke of him, last night, with high commendation. I couldn't understand it. Then I remembered that there have been a number of disappointments among our friends in the matter of international marriages—especially with European aristocrats. My daughter Sarah had a most unhappy time—perfectly nice fellow, but couldn't keep his eyes open. I don't think a foreigner would be very welcome, Mr. North.”

This foolishness had gone on long enough. I brought my rooks and bishops forward. I spoke lightly, “I wouldn't know anything about such obstacles, Dr. Bosworth. I'm just a Wisconsin peasant.” It was my turn to lower my voice. “I have been engaged to be married for some time, but I must tell you in confidence that I am slowly and painfully dissolving that engagement. A young man cannot be too careful. Even in my walk of life a man would hesitate to marry a woman whose former husband took his life in her presence.”