Cashelmara (2 page)

The formality of customs inspection had already been completed on the boat, and fortunately a man in my position need not trouble himself with the regulations which hinder the progress of visitors entering a foreign country. When I had instructed my manservant and secretary to attend to my possessions, I paused only to accept a dinner invitation from the British Consul, who had also come to the docks to welcome me, before I battled my way through the riffraff to the Marriott carriage.

It was abominably hot. Sweat prickled my neck, dust tickled my nose, and above in the hazy sky the alien sun was blazing on those rutted teeming streets.

“What—no pigs?” I said, peering out of the window as the coachman cracked his whip at beggars and horses alike.

“Pigs! Land’s sakes, they’ve all been banished to the piggery uptown! I can tell it’s been a long time since you were last here, my lord.”

“No doubt I shall see many changes.”

“You will indeed. Wait till you see the new buildings! We have a beautiful park now, you know, and the finest Catholic cathedral in the Western Hemisphere is being constructed on Fifth Avenue.”

“I suppose you have the Irish immigrants to thank for that.”

“Well, we’d best not talk about immigrants,” said Francis, still smiling, “since it’s a subject that makes a lot of people here ill-humored.”

“Still?” I said, remembering how America had finally managed to slam the door in the face of the hordes of Irish who had crossed the Atlantic to escape the famine ten years before.

“My lord, the increase in population, the difficulties it creates …” And he embarked with gusto upon a description of New York’s problems while I listened politely. At last I managed to deflect him by murmuring with a smile, “In England we’re more interested in President Buchanan’s attitude toward secession.”

“Ah, Buchanan knows what he’s doing,” said Francis confidently. “There’ll be no war. No one wants war—so bad for trade and the stock market suffers.” Both Francis and his father had made fortunes on Wall Street. “Even talking of war is a crime in my opinion. Gold has already gone into hiding, and as for commercial credit … Things have never really recovered since the panic of ’57, when Ohio Life failed and the Bowery Bank collapsed.” And he talked for a minute longer on financial matters before we drifted into a discussion of my voyage, the welfare of my family and the welcome that was awaiting me at the Marriott mansion north of Washington Square.

I would not have thought it possible that the mansion could appear more gross than I remembered it to be, but before he died Francis’ father had ordered that the gutters and gargoyles be painted gold, and the innovation had enabled the house to achieve a new and unbelievable pitch of vulgarity. I am incapable of further description; all I can add is that Greek ideas had married Gothic affectations in the architectural plans, and the marriage had not been a happy one.

The carriage turned off Fifth Avenue, rolled through a pair of gates (also gilded, I regret to say) and swayed to a halt in the wide courtyard. As the footman helped me down I saw that a red carpet had been patted over the porch steps, and in the hall beyond another carpet of an identical shade of red rolled endlessly into the distance beneath a constellation of chandeliers.

“My family are all most eager to make your acquaintance, my lord,” said Francis with his peculiarly brilliant smile. “My sister Blanche in particular has been counting the days till your arrival.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting both your sisters,” I said politely. Since Blanche could hardly have conducted her correspondence with me without his permission, I knew he must assume that her interest in me was reciprocated, but I had no wish for him to assume too much.

His family were waiting in the hall.

I saw Blanche at once. She was smaller than I had imagined, but her figure was exquisite. She had a pale, unblemished skin, high cheekbones and a long lovely neck. Having constantly told myself that I was certain to be disappointed when I met her face to face, I was now so stunned to discover that for once in his life David had not exaggerated a woman’s attractions that I almost lost my composure altogether, and it was only with a considerable effort that I maintained a neutral expression on my face while Francis was introducing me to his wife, Amelia.

Amelia was a large woman, her skin prematurely lined by the New York climate, her brown eyes bearing a perpetually worried expression. Perhaps she worried about her husband’s infidelities, which, I felt sure as soon as I saw her, were numerous and varied. Her two children resembled Francis in looks. The girl, Sarah, was a pretty child with a spoiled mouth, and the boy, Charles, though shyer, had a bright, alert look about him.

“And now permit me,” said Francis at last with a sweep of his arm, “to present my sister Blanche. Blanche, my dear, may I introduce …”

He was so enrapt at the opportunity of introducing Blanche to me that he quite forgot his other sister. However, fortunately by that time I had my wits about me again, and after greeting Blanche with the appropriate amount of courteous enthusiasm I turned to the small sandy-haired miss of seventeen who stood sulking in the background.

Francis brushed aside his absent-mindedness with a fine display of winning charm. “Ah yes! I see I’m so excited that I shall soon forget my own name! My lord, this is my sister Marguerite.”

I felt sorry for the girl being so plain, particularly when I saw how jealous she was of her delightful older sister, so I took care to greet her with almost as much enthusiasm as I had greeted Blanche. This surprised everyone, I noticed, especially Blanche, and I realized then that I had deceived myself in thinking that no one could attach any importance to our correspondence with each other. However, even though I had been uncharacteristically naïve, I was still far from being a romantic fool. Resolving firmly that my attitude toward both girls was going to be wholly paternal, I decided I must take care never to favor one sister to the exclusion of the other during my short stay in New York.

But there was no denying that Blanche was extraordinarily beautiful.

“I shall miss you considerably when you go to Washington tomorrow, Cousin Edward,” said Blanche to me three weeks later. “Isn’t it possible for you to postpone your visit for a week or two?”

We were in the garden. An elm tree shaded us from the hot afternoon sun as we sat on a wrought-iron bench, and in front of us the lawn had a sickly brownish tinge which reminded me how far I was from home. To our left was a summer house, to our right a waterless fountain, and far away beyond the high wall we could hear the rattle of carriage wheels and the clatter of the horse carts as the traffic plunged up and down Fifth Avenue.

“We have so enjoyed having you in New York,” said Blanche, sighing.

“I’ve enjoyed myself also,” I said. That was much too true, unfortunately. Francis had wined and dined me with a zest that bordered on the feverish, and Blanche had always contrived to be at my elbow just when I was thinking how pleasant it would be to have her company. I admit that I was flattered by such attention, but on reflection I was not altogether surprised. Americans are susceptible to English titles, and, besides, my public career has not been undistinguished. If New York society wished to treat me as a celebrity, I was certainly not about to protest that they made too much fuss over too little.

“I shall come back here after my travels to Washington, Wisconsin and Ohio,” I promised Blanche.

“I can understand you wishing to visit Washington,” said Blanche, pouting very prettily, “because everyone says the state buildings are so fine. And besides, Lord Palmerston wishes you to convey his respects to the President, and of course men are always so interested in politics and diplomacy and that sort of thing. But why, oh, why must you visit Ohio? And Wisconsin! I can’t see why anyone would want to go to Wisconsin.”

“A farmer there has just invented a machine that might revolutionize reaping,” I said, watching the way her rich dark hair lay coiled on the nape of her neck. “And in Ohio they have developed a mutant strain of Indian corn that might be suitable for cultivation in Ireland.”

“I didn’t think anything ever grew in Ireland except potatoes,” said Blanche.

I did not answer. I never discussed Cashelmara.

“Did Cousin Eleanor share your interest in agriculture when she was alive?”

My watch was in my hand although I was unaware of removing it from my pocket. “Dear me,” I said, surprised. “Look at the time! Aren’t you going to be late for your harp lesson?”

“Oh, that horrid harp!” She smiled at me from beneath her lashes, and I noticed the fullness of her wide, mobile mouth. The air in the garden was stifling. I could not imagine how Blanche appeared so cool, and suddenly I longed to press my hot fingers against her pale skin until all the heat in my body had spent itself.

Without stopping to think I said abruptly, “When can I expect Francis to bring you to England to visit me?”

“Why, when you invite us, of course!” she said, laughing, and the next moment she had slipped her arms around my neck and was kissing me lightly on the cheek.

“Blanche …” But she was gone. She was moving swiftly across the lawn, and it was only when she reached the house that she turned, smiled and raised a white-gloved hand in farewell.

I was so shocked, both by her behavior and by the violence of my reaction, that I remained where I was for some minutes after she had disappeared into the house, but at last when I could think coherently again my first thought was to reassure myself. To be shocked by her behavior was foolish. American girls were notoriously forward, and it would be wrong to judge Blanche by the standards I would have set for my own daughters. And my own feelings? But they were known only to myself. I had done nothing foolish and still had every intention of behaving sensibly.

I was beginning to be confused, however, about what constituted sensible behavior. I had never been prejudiced against Americans, but did one marry them? Almost certainly not. The Marriotts were, in their own way, aristocracy, but by English standards they would be considered vulgar as well as foreign. But was I the kind of man who would be cowed by society’s conventions, as if I were a newly arrived member of the middle classes with no confidence in my social position?

“I’ll do as I damned well please,” I said to the listless birds on the sundial, “whatever that may be.”

It was curious that I worried more about Blanche’s nationality than her age, but girls of twenty often married older men; there was nothing unusual about that. Of course she shared none of my deeper interests, but did I really want a woman whose sole virtue lay in her intellectual companionship? I thought not.

I sat thinking for a long time about what I did want, and then at last I returned to the house. It was quiet inside. Amelia had taken the children out, Marguerite had as usual hidden herself away somewhere—I had hardly seen her since my arrival—and Francis to my knowledge had not yet returned from his chambers in Wall Street. Upstairs I heard the soft, halting chords of Blanche’s harp, and I decided to listen to her in the little drawing room next to the music room where she was taking her lesson. The two rooms were joined by a communicating door, which as usual stood ajar. Taking care to make no noise that might disturb her, I sat down, picked up a magazine in which I had no interest and listened with amusement as Blanche complained to her music master what a difficult instrument the harp was to play.

I thought she played remarkably well.

I had just settled down to enjoy a pleasant half hour when there was an interruption. Sharp footsteps rang outside, the door of the music room opened from the corridor and Francis’ voice said curtly, “Blanche, I want to talk to you alone.”

“For heaven’s sake, Francis, I’m in the middle of my lesson!”

“I wouldn’t care if you were in the middle of your prayers. Good day to you, Mr. Parker.”

“Good day, sir,” stammered the little music master. “If you wish me to wait downstairs …”

“I don’t. You can get out. Now, Blanche,” said my host when they were alone in the music room after this gross display of rudeness and ill-breeding, “what the devil do you think you’re doing?”

“Francis! How dare you use such dreadful language to me!”

“And how dare you behave like a whore in a concert saloon! I saw you just now in the garden!”

“Well, you told me to be pleasant to him!”

“I didn’t tell you to behave like a trollop! My God, what sort of an upbringing will the old fool think I’ve given you? You’ve probably ruined us both in his eyes!”

“Well, if I have it’s all your fault! I never wanted to have anything to do with Cousin Edward. It was you, huffing and puffing at me ever since that beastly financial crash two years ago—write to Cousin Edward, keep Cousin Edward sweet, flatter Cousin Edward to pieces—”

“If you knew as much as I know about bankruptcy you’d see how important it is to keep on good terms with rich relatives!”

“Yes—an English relative! You, who despise Europe and everything European! What a hypocrite you are, Francis! It sickens me to listen to you sometimes.”

“Be quiet!” shouted Francis. “Don’t you dare have the impertinence to speak to me like that!”

“Impertinence! Who talks of impertinence? It was pretty considerable impertinent of you, don’t you think, to tell me to go simpering after an old man!”

I left the room.

The corridor was shadowed and cool. Leaning against the wall, I pressed my forehead against the dark wallpaper, but when I realized I could still hear the voices raised in argument, I moved, groping my way along the corridor as if I were blind.

My fingers found a recess in the wall. I had reached a door I had never noticed before, and wanting nothing except to find some corner where I could be alone, I fumbled with the handle and blundered into the room beyond.

When the door was shut I closed my eyes and leaned back against the panels. There was a long moment of absolute silence, and then, just before I heard the small polite cough, my instinct told me that I was not alone in the room.