Ceremony of the Innocent (56 page)

Charles also thought of Jeremy Porter, who had died because of his knowledge and his attempted exposure of the enemies of mankind. Charles winced. He had no desire to die as terribly, and as futilely, as Jeremy had died. He turned his attention to the work on his desk as the day darkened and the storm increased.

Ellen cowered before the fire in the library this cold February day, with its shining white sky and brilliant air. Kitty Wilder sat near her, busy with the tea tray and pastries which Cuthbert had brought. Kitty’s appetite was enormous; she could devour food in vast quantities all day long and never attain flesh. Her spirit consumed it feverishly. Her dark face was lined and avid. She bent over the tray, voluptuous murmurs in her throat, considering every delicious morsel like a woman in love, her clawlike hands hovering. Her agate eyes were desirous. “Urn, um, good,” she crooned. She licked a finger delicately. “Really, Ellen,” she said, “Cuthbert, though he is very old, is a wonderful pastry cook. Why don’t you have one of these?” But she snatched at another cake and thrust it eagerly into her mouth, as if Ellen had threatened to take it first.

“I’m not hungry, Kitty,” said Ellen in her dull voice.

“Um,” Kitty said, and pounced on still another cake. Her eyes glistened with lewdness and she raised her eyes in ecstasy. She was always hungry; nothing could satisfy her avarice. Her lips were white with cream. “Would you like me to stay for dinner, dear?”

“Yes,” Ellen said, and pushed a lock of her hair from her thin cheek.

“What have Cuthbert and your cook in mind?”

“I don’t know,” said Ellen. Kitty looked at her with contempt. Bread and cheese and a slice of salt pork and a cup of weak tea—that was Ellen’s preference, no doubt. “Ellen, you must really try to eat and regain your strength. You owe that to your children. What would Jeremy think of you now? You refuse to get well.” She paused. “You make me very sad, Ellen. You must strive to live again.”

Ellen was silent. She thought of what Kitty had said, and her old guilt returned. Her eyes filled with tears, and the thick agony in her heart was like an iron fist. She looked at the large, almost demolished tray of sweets and for an instant she was disgusted by Kitty’s greed. She immediately quenched this thought and her guilt increased. Kitty said, her eyes fixed on the tray, “Why don’t you ring for Cuthbert and find out what he and the cook have prepared? You really should take an interest, Ellen.”

Ellen pulled the bell rope and Cuthbert entered. “Cuthbert,” said Ellen, “Mrs. Wilder would like to know what we have for dinner.”

Cuthbert glanced at Kitty with restrained distaste, and then at Ellen with compassion. The poor lady’s mind had returned, but she ate very little and was always very listless and exhausted.

“A shrimp bisque, a cold lobster salad, fresh broiled trout, a joint of veal with herbs, vegetables, hot French rolls, white wine, fruit, and a torte, madam. An Austrian torte, with warm apricot marmalade, and whipped cream and a chocolate icing.”

Kitty’s eyes again glistened. Ellen had heard with apathy. “Very good, Cuthbert,” she said.

“In one hour, madam?”

Kitty coquettishly hugged her stomach and leered at Cuthbert seductively. “I may starve before then!” she laughed. Cuthbert withdrew. “It’s this weather,” said Kitty. “It makes me so hungry, I could eat everything in sight.”

So I see, Ellen thought, and once more quenched the uncharitable thought. The fragrance of the tea and the cakes made her ill. Kitty seized still another cake after first regarding it with smiling pursed lips as though she thought herself naughty. She no longer wore the pompadour of her youth. Her lightless black hair was puffed out in immense clusters over her ears. She said, “I am thinking of having my hair bobbed like Irene Castle. Do you think it’s extreme, Ellen?”

“I never thought about it,” said Ellen. She wore a thin black wool dress from Worth with a string of pearls which Jeremy had given her. She wore but one other piece of jewelry, her wedding ring. Kitty was wearing red velvet with a tight long skirt, a “hobble skirt.” Rubies shone in her ears, to match her painted lips. As she chewed, her huge white teeth glittered and clamped. She said to herself: Do you ever think about a single thing, you vulgar idiot?

“Is that Maude Godfrey and her husband coming to dinner, Ellen?”

“No, their little girl has the Spanish flu. They have a bad time getting servants these days, Kitty. The people are all in the factories working for Preparedness.”

Kitty sighed happily. “Well, that’s prosperity, preparing for war. We’ll soon be in it, you know.”

Ellen said, and for the first time showed animation, “Jeremy knew it was coming. He fought terribly—it did no good.”

“You can’t go against fate, Ellen. Besides, we must overthrow the Kaiser and all that he represents. Just a beast.”

She added, “I detest that Maude. So sly. Whatever possessed a man like Charles Godfrey to marry a mere servant?”

Ellen’s sunken cheeks suddenly flushed. “She wasn’t exactly a servant, Kitty. She was a governess, and a lady.”

Kitty shrugged. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I—well, no, I never did. But it is not her fault. There is just something about her—”

“Sly,” repeated Kitty. “I know her kind. Servants watch everything; they have no minds of their own and so are interested in the affairs of those they serve. It fills up their empty souls, and their malice.” She glanced cunningly at Ellen. Ellen still had Miss Evans and a personal maid, yet her red hair was always disordered, Kitty thought, and she never used paint for her lips or cheeks. She looks like a corpse, thought Kitty with satisfaction, and shows her years. Why does she lie about her age? She’s almost mine. Kitty refused to believe that Ellen was only thirty.

Kitty’s husband, Jochan, was highly regarded by Charles Godfrey, and was still a member of Jeremy’s law firm. For all his gentleness he was a shrewd lawyer. His kind mistress had presented him with a son five years ago, and he was proud of the boy. Moreover, his good fortune had returned, and Kitty thought of that with contentment. Then she said, “You’re very lucky, Ellen, to have Francis Porter so concerned with you, and so helpful. I hope you appreciate him.”

“Oh, I do,” Ellen replied. “He’s very thoughtful. The children are fond of him, and he of them. When he’s in town he visits us often. He’s quite a comfort.” She moved uneasily in her chair. “But he wants Christian and Gabrielle to attend our public schools in the city. Jeremy would not like that.”

“He is thinking of saving you money, Ellen, and that’s not wrong.”

“Charles says I don’t need to save money He knows what Jeremy would want.”

Kitty and Francis were
en rapport
Kitty cultivated him sedulously. One never knew. And Francis was a powerful Congressman. The fact that Jochan absurdly disliked him was of no consequence. One must court the powerful, something Jochan still did not understand.

A few months ago Kitty had given Francis a long and serious consideration. He was rich; he was powerful; he was frequently quoted in the New York newspapers, though the
Times
had found him slightly ridiculous and had implied this in sedate prose. It was rumored that he would soon seek the nomination of his party for the Senate. He was not married. He was thought to be a “great catch” in the society news. Though not physically attracted to him, Kitty had attempted a very subtle and skillful seduction of him, for her own purposes. He had not responded. She had some obscene thoughts about him, then, for Kitty knew all the darknesses of the human soul. She directed an attack on him in another direction: She pretended to support all his policies and idealisms and ideas. She agreed with him heartily when he spoke, though she laughed inwardly. She was enthusiastic when he was palely enthusiastic. She was grim when he was grim; she denounced what he denounced. She insisted she had always been a feminist. As much as possible he began to warm towards her. A lady with intelligence was a rare phenomenon.

When Francis asserted, at a dinner party she and Jochan gave for him, that America must go at once to the rescue of the embattled Allies, most of the guests looked at him coldly and condemningly, including the amiable Jochan. But Kitty cocked her head and said in her insistent and emphatic voice, “Francis does know what the sentiment in Washington is; he is privy to counsels we never hear of, and he has Importance and is a Leader. We only know what we read in the press, and it is cautious. But Francis Knows what he Knows, so his opinion must come from a source hidden from us.”

Jochan, who had never been noted before for sarcasm or bitterness, said, “Perhaps that is the trouble.” His usually kind eyes had hardened on Francis. Kitty pretended to meek dejection at her husband’s words, though the guests smiled amusedly. Francis had not been amused. But he saw Kitty’s sympathetic eyes and was grateful. Thereafter, whenever he encountered her he felt that he was in the presence of an understanding friend. A little later Kitty mused on marrying him. Divorce was not quite the stigma it had been in her youth, and she despised Jochan. She now knew all about his mistress and his son. At first she had laughed when Jochan had hinted at divorce, for it pleased her to thwart him and make him miserable and prevent him from marrying the woman he loved, who had been a pretty member of the Floradora chorus.

She might not be able, she would think, to seduce Francis into her bed, for he had the austere tight air of a Puritan. (She even suspected that he was a virgin.) But marriage? That would be a holy and sacred thing to him, or at the very least “proper.” She had long ago discovered that the “reformers” were not full-blooded men with the sexual power of most males. They were priggish, in the main, inclined to a womanishness under all that icy violence they often displayed in their conversations and their writings. They had the innate and relentless brutality of the Puritan, but it was mental and not physical, though Kitty had no doubt that if the opportunity ever came to them they would enforce their ideas with death and oppression, and these without a single qualm, and only a conviction of righteousness. At heart, they were sadists, and Kitty had read enough to know that sadists were usually impotent men and if they possessed any voluptuousness at all it was closely allied with cruelty and hatred, and not buoyantly of the flesh.

As their friendship increased, Kitty thought more and more of marriage to him. A Senator’s wife! Perhaps, later, even a First Lady! She began to hint to him of her own political influence and how she had been much admired in Washington and often invited to the White House. Francis had listened with increasing interest, and made pompous and approving remarks and had even flattered her, not only with his attention but with comments on her astuteness and knowledge. Once he had actually said, “You are a charming lady,” and had colored as if he had made an improper remark.

There was one thing Kitty did not know, that he was in love with Ellen Porter and wanted to marry her. For did he not speak always with disapproval and criticism of Ellen? He confided to Kitty that Ellen really needed a guardian herself. She was unworldly; she was naive; she was not truly educated and had no real intellect. But, after all, one must remember her Unfortunate Background. She needed Guidance. (“Guidance” was one of his favorite words, and he used it often in referring to the Masses.) He approved of nothing Ellen did or timidly said. He thanked Kitty for her affection for “that poor young woman,” and expressed his hopes that Kitty would never desert her. Kitty could Influence her for the better, and soften her gauche manners and give her some Character, a trait she obviously did not possess in spite of all the tutors she had had and all the Advantages for many years. Kitty had bowed her head humbly and had whispered, “I try, I do truly try, Francis, though sometimes—” He had actually touched her thin arm in consolation for an instant.

She had some thoughts about his potency in bed. She doubted not only that he was potent but was capable of potency. It would be like being in bed with an icicle, she would laugh to herself. No matter. It could be endured and there were always other men. That Francis was capable of wild passion she did not believe, for all his secret intensity was reserved for Ellen, and was waiting.

So, while dining with Ellen tonight, and lovingly savoring the excellent dinner, Kitty continued with her conversation about Francis.

“I do wish, Ellen, that you would listen to Francis more. He has only your welfare at heart.”

“I know, I know,” said Ellen with humility. She had hardly touched the fine food and her chronic look of exhaustion increased. “He had always been so kind to me. He was the first person, outside of my aunt, who showed me any interest and concern. But I’ve told you that very often, Kitty. I can never forget it. But why should the children of Jeremy Porter go to a public school in the city?”

“It’s more democratic,” Kitty said, and again laughed in herself at Francis.

For the first time Ellen actually smiled spontaneously. “Jeremy did not believe in democracy. He thought it pretension on the part of the rich, and a trap for the poor, who were envious and resentful. He used to say that democracy was like the beds in Sodom and Gomorrah.”

Kitty was puzzled. “Are you joshing me, Ellen? What in the world does that mean?” She was annoyed that Ellen had made a reference alien to her.

“Well, it seems that in Sodom and Gomorrah they had beds of only one length, and when they caught a stranger in their midst, or an enemy, they would cut off his head, or his feet, to make him fit their beds.”

“How uncivilized,” said Kitty.

“That’s what Jeremy said of democracy,” and Ellen was smiling again. “In some ways I think Jeremy was a monarchist. He said republics never endured; he was quoting Aristotle. They declined into democracies and degenerated into despotisms.”

“How un-American,” said Kitty with tartness.

“No. Jeremy was a realist. And to many, he was a dangerous realist. That is why he was killed.” Her eyes filled with tears; she was not conscious of them. One or two slowly rolled down her white cheeks. She stared into the distance and her throat underwent a spasm.