Theophilus North (51 page)

“Yes, and take her out of Coventry, Chief,” said Edweena.

Three mornings later I telephoned “Nine Gables” and asked Willis, who answered, if I might speak to Mrs. Tennyson.

“Mrs. Tennyson is seldom here in the morning, sir. She is in her own cottage beyond the greenhouses.” He gave me the telephone number.

“Thank you, Willis.”

I had frequented “Nine Gables” all those weeks without learning that Persis had a residence of her own. She retained an apartment at her grandfather's and spent much time there but even more with her son and his nurse and her books and her piano in her own cottage, “The Larches.” This was merely another example of the stifling reticence that Mrs. Bosworth had introduced into her father's home. No words were wasted that could convey any intimation of a family existence. Coventry, indeed.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tennyson.”

“Good morning, Theophilus.”

“This morning I am leaving some documents at your door. Might I call on you this afternoon about five to discuss them?”

“Yes, indeed. Will you give me a hint as to what I may find in them?”

“Is Frederick well?”

“Oh, yes—very well.”

“Some day he will be glad to know that there is official evidence that his father did not take his own life in a fit of depression but in one of foolish but hopeful high spirits.”

“Ah! . . .”

At five o'clock I drove my bicycle to her door. “The Larches” was built in the style of “Nine Gables” and was often referred to as the “little cottage.” Diminutives were constantly misapplied in Newport. The door was open and Persis came forward to greet me. Again she was wearing a linen dress, this time in crocus yellow. There was a string of pale amber beads around her neck. My expression involuntarily expressed my admiration. She was accustomed to such expressions of admiration and met them with a light disculpatory smile—as much as to say “I can't help it.” Her small son peered at me from behind her and fled—a sturdy young citizen with enormous eyes.

“Frederick's shy. He'll lurk about and gradually try to make friends with you later. . . . Let us have a cup of tea first and then discuss the surprising material you left at my door.”

I was led into a large sitting room with tall windows open to the sea air. I had often seen them when passing on the Cliff Walk. Two elderly maids were busying themselves with the tea urn, the sandwiches, and the cake.

“Mr. North, this is Miss Karen Jensen and Miss Zabett Jensen.”

I bowed. “Good afternoon, good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Your name is very well known in this house, Mr. North.”

“I think I have had the pleasure of meeting the Miss Jensens at Mrs. Cranston's.”

“Yes, sir. We have had that pleasure.”

As Mrs. Cranston had said, I was a very famous person “in certain circles.”

When the tea things had been cleared away Persis asked, “Please tell me what I am to think about these clippings and documents.”

“Mrs. Tennyson, you will soon become aware that the climate that surrounds you is undergoing a change. Those who enjoyed—
enjoyed
—putting a malicious interpretation on your situation at the time of your husband's death must find some other victim for their spite. You are no longer a woman who drove her husband to desperation; you are a woman whose husband was imprudent in the choice of his friends. Mrs. Venable has received a copy of these papers; Miss Edweena, who is in and out of many cottages these days and who has always been your devoted champion, is
hard at work clearing the air
. You are in the situation of many women a century and a half ago whose husbands were killed in duels over foolish quarrels about racehorses or card games. Do you feel that the climate is changing within yourself?”

“Oh, yes, Theophilus, but I can scarcely believe it. I must have time.”

“Let us not talk about it any more,” I laughed. “We can be certain that a considerable number of people are talking about it at this very moment. There is something else I want to talk to you about. But first!” I rose. “I am incapable of seeing music on a music rack without wanting to know what has been studied or played.”

I walked over to the piano and saw Busoni's transcriptions of six Bach organ chorale preludes. I glanced at her. With her same “disculpatory” smile she said, “My grandfather's very fond of Bach. For the coming winter evenings I've been preparing these for him.”

“There is very little good music on the island of Aquidneck. I'm starved for it. Could you
try
these on me?”

“Oh, yes, if you wish it.”

She was indeed accomplished. She was ready for Schloss Stams. The music blew away spite and condescending self-righteousness and the presumed shelter of worldly gratifications. . . . She set ringing the carillon of
“In Dir ist Freude”
; she found voice for the humility of “
Wenn wir in höchsten Nöten sein
.” Frederick crept back into the room and sat down under the piano.

When she ceased playing she rose and said, “Frederick, I'm going into the garden to pick some flowers for Granddaddy. Don't let Mr. North go away while I'm gone,” and she left the room.

I rose hesitantly from my chair. “Did your mother say she wanted me to go away, Frederick?”

“No!” he said loudly, coming out from under the piano. “No . . . you
stay!
”

“Then we must play the piano,” I answered in a conspiratorial manner. “You sit here on the bench and we'll play church bells. You play this note softly, like this.” I put his finger on the C below middle C and showed him how to repeat it slowly, softly, and on count. I put my foot on the damper pedal and I released the overtones of the note, including the dissonances in the higher registers. Then I reached over and played the C in the bass. This is an old musical parlor-trick. The novice has the sensation of playing many notes and of filling the air with Sunday morning chimes. “Now a little louder, Frederick.” He looked up at me with awe and wonder. What did that Frenchman say? “The basis of the education of the very young is the expansion of the sense of wonder.” There is also an element of fright in awe. His eyes fell on his mother standing motionless at the door. He ran to her, crying, “Mama, I'm making piano!” He'd had enough of that disturbing Mr. North and fled upstairs to his nurse.

Persis advanced smiling. “The Pied Piper of Hamelin!” she said. “I just invented that visit to the garden. Frederick doesn't have an opportunity to see many gentleman callers in this house.—What else did you want to discuss with me?”

“A notion.—I have become a close friend of Edweena Wills and Henry Simmons. Just now because of Edweena's delayed return from that almost disastrous cruise in the Caribbean they are very busy with their plans for the Servants' Ball. They've engaged the Cranston High School Band again. They've sold many cards already, but they're searching for a novel idea that will make the thing take on new life. I suggested they invite some guests of honor, beginning with the Chief of Police and six gallant young members of his force and Chief Dallas and six gallant young firefighters. They certainly are public servants.”

“What a good idea!”

“Then I told them about Vienna's famous ‘Fiaker Ball' where all levels of society mingle happily together. Then it occurred to us to begin gradually with an idea like this: to invite a young gentleman and a young lady of the summer colony—the best-looking, the most charming, and particularly those who had shown themselves most appreciative of the servant community. They didn't have much confidence about this, but they took a straw vote in their committee for such a gentleman and the votes were unanimous: Baron Stams. Have you noticed how his beautiful manners include
everyone?
”

“Indeed, I have.”

“Well, I sounded him out. Did he feel it was beneath his dignity to be such a guest, or did he think it would bore him? On the contrary! He said he'd long wanted to meet the staff at Mrs. Venable's,
socially
, and the staff at “Nine Gables” and at Mrs. Amis-Jones's and those other houses where he's dined so often. But he didn't see how he could get away. His Chief couldn't spare him from the embassy. Edweena laughed at that. Edweena and Mrs. Venable are not only valued friends but are often fellow-workers on projects that make Newport a congenial place for those who both work and play here. She is sure that she has only to suggest that she call the Ambassador. ‘Dear Ambassador, could I ask a small favor of Your Excellency? We wish to institute a sort of Fiaker Ball here. Could you lend us Baron Stams who has been chosen as the most popular guest of the summer season? Vienna-in-Newport, that kind of thing?' Don't you think that could be done?”

“It's a charming idea.”

“Then the committee cast votes for the young lady guest of honor. They chose you.”

“Me? . . .
Me?
But that's impossible. I hardly go out to dinner at all! They don't know I exist.”

“Persis, you know better than I do that the domestic servants in Newport seldom change from year to year. They are like a silent spellbound audience watching the brilliant world they serve. How often you ‘great folk' are astonished at all they know. They have long memories and deep sympathies, as well as deep resentments. The misfortune that happened to you happened to them also. They remember you in your happiest years—so few years ago. They remember that you and Mr. Tennyson won the cup for the best dancers at the benefit ball for the Newport Hospital. But most of all they remember your graciousness—you may have seemed removed and impersonal to your fellow-guests, but you were never impersonal to
them
.”

She put her hands to her cheeks. “But I'd disappoint them so. I can understand their admiring Bodo, but as I told you, I'm just a dreary old widow-lady ‘under a shadow.' ”

“Well,” I said sadly, “I told them it was doubtful that you would wish to accept their invitation; that your Aunt Sarah would feel that you were
degrading
yourself, and all—”

“
No! No! Never!
”

“May I present their ideas a little further? The grand march is set for midnight. Henry and Edweena would advance down the center of the hall to a march by John Philip Sousa, followed by the members of the committee, two by two. Then Chief Diefendorf and his six gallant men and Chief Dallas and his six gallant men in their dashing uniforms. Then you and Bodo in your finest clothes, smiling to right and left. When you reached the head of the line Henry would raise his staff (with all those ribbons) as a signal to the band which would start playing softly the ‘Blue Danube Waltz.' You two would make a tour of the room dancing. Then the band would fall silent; Miss Watrous would take her place at the piano and you two would encircle the room first with the polonaise, then the polka, then the varsovienne, dancing like angels. Then the band would come in again with the ‘Blue Danube Waltz' and you two would pick a succession of partners from right and left. Finally you would bow to the assembly, shake hands with Henry and Edweena—and then you could go home. . . . No one would ever forget it.”

There were tears in my eyes. I am never so happy as when I'm inventing. Bodo had not yet heard a word of this. The Ambassador had not yet received the request.

Just sheer soap-bubbles.

Just sheer kite-flying.

But that's what finally happened.

Edweena and Henry and Frederick and I were invited to attend one morning a dress rehearsal of those dances at “The Larches.” Persis wore a many-layered dress of pale green tulle that billowed about her in the waltz (“as danced in Vienna”), although dresses of that sort were not in fashion in 1926. After the close of the rehearsal and after the Master and Mistress of Ceremonies had praised the dancers, Edweena and Henry sat on in silence for a moment.

Henry said, “Edweena, my love, that show could have gone on at the Queen's Jubilee in the Crystal Palace, I swear it could.”

Frederick was practicing the polka all around the room. He fell down and hurt himself. Bodo returned, picked him up in his arms, and carried him upstairs to his nurse—as one accustomed.

As we rose to go, Henry said, “Now, Teddie, old Choppers, couldn't you tell a little lie just once and say that you were a servant? We'll give you a card and let you into the show tomorrow night.”

“Oh, no, Henry. You made the rule: There are those who go in the front door of the house and those who don't. I can picture you all in my mind's eye and shall do so many times.”

We were standing on the gravel path before the cottage.

Edweena said, “I think you're trying to say something, Teddie.”

I raised my eyes to Edweena's. (It was true; they were more blue than hazel in the morning.)

I said hesitantly, “I always find it hard to say goodbye.”

“So do I,” said Edweena and kissed me.

Henry and I shook hands in silence.