Captains and The Kings (16 page)

Mr. Healey watched her go, fondly, his face suffused and contented, and he went up the steps motioning for Joseph and Bill to follow. "Bought Miss Emmy from a whorehouse when she was fifteen, three years ago," said Mr. Healey over his shoulder, and without the slightest embarrassment. "Come from Covington, Kentuck, raw as an egg. Cost me three hundred dollars, but cheap enough for a piece like that, wouldn't you say, Joe?" Joseph was not entirely unfamiliar with the traffic in white flesh, though he had only heard of it in Winfield from the snickering men at the sawmill and knew of the discreet houses which harbored unfortunate girls. He stopped on the steps. "You bought her, Mr. Healey? I thought only blacks could be bought." Mr. Healey had reached the door. He looked down at Joseph with impatience. "That's what the madam said she was worth, but more, and I own the whorehouse and Miss Emmy drew a lot of money and she was young, and the madam had cleaned her up and dressed her and taught her manners like a lady, and so she was worth the money. Not that I own her like you mean, boyo, like a nigger, but I own her, by God I do! And God help the man who looks at her now and licks his lips!" Joseph had not read many pious books recommended by the Church, and only when he had been bereft of other books, and it had been his conviction that "women of shame" were drabs, and tortured with remorse and despair and showed the marks of evil and degradation on depraved countenances. But Miss Emmy was as fresh as the blue wild flowers along the roads in Pennsylvania, and as fair and gay as spring, and if she felt "remorse" or bewailed her condition it certainly had not been evident in that brief encounter of a few moments ago. Happiness and exuberance had sparkled visibly from her, and she had left a trail of haunting and expensive scent in her passage. He felt like an uncouth and ignorant bumpkin when he entered the long and narrow hall behind the white doors. He looked about him with increasing uneasiness and confusion. The hall was dim after the glare of sunlight outside, but after a moment Joseph could see that the tall walls were covered with red silk damask-he had read of such in romantic novels-and were profusely covered with landscapes, seascapes and classical subjects, very decorous, in heavy gilt frames. The walls were also lined with handsome sofas and chairs in blue and green and red velvet, and the floor under Joseph's feet was soft and he saw the Persian rug in many different hues and of a tortuous pattern. At the end of the hall an overpowering staircase of mahogany rose and turned upwards in the direction of the second and third stories. Joseph could smell beeswax and old potpourri and cinnamon and cloves, and something else which he could not as yet define but which he later learned was gas from the oil wells of Titusville. Behind him waited, in that sinister and patient silence of his, Bill Strickland with Haroun still in his arms. A door banged open in one of the walls, and Joseph heard Miss Emmy's teasing and laughing voice, and another voice, rough and strident and protesting, and he was taken aback when he saw the owner of the voice for he had thought it had come from a man. But a middle-aged woman was entering the hall with a rocking tread, like iron, and the old polished floorboards creaked. Joseph's first impression of her was that she was a troll, short and wide and muscular, the torso like two big balls superimposed one above the other, the billowing black taffeta skirts made huge by many petticoats, the two balls parted by a white frilled apron. There was, too, the third ball which was her oversized head set squarely on corpulent shoulders straining against black silk. A white ruffle puffed out under the roll of flesh which was her chin, and jet buttons winked over her truly awesome bosom. But it was her face that immediately caught Joseph's attention. Me decided he had never seen an uglier, more belligerent or more repellent countenance, for the coarse flesh was the color and texture of a dead flounder, the nose bulbous, the tiny eyes pale and vicious, the mouth gross and malignant. Her hair was iron-gray and like unravelled rope, only partly seen from under a mobcap of fine white linen and lace. Her peasant's hands were as broad as they were long, and swollen. "Miz Murray, ma'am, it's home I am," said Mr. Healey in a most genial voice; and he doffed his hat in a gesture both mocking and elaborate. She stopped in front of him and made fists of her hands and planted --them on her splayed hips. "So I sec, sir, so I see, and welcome, I suppose!" she said in that repulsive voice Joseph had just heard. "And what's this about unexpected visitors, sir?" It was as if Joseph and Bill and Ilaroun were invisible, but Joseph had caught the malevolent glitter of her eyes for an instant wnen she had appeared in the hall. "Now, Miz Murray, these arc my friends, Joe Francis here, who's joined up with me, and little Harry Zeff you see in Bill's arms. It's ill, he is, and needs care, and so Bill will go for the doctor when the lad's in bed." Mr. Healey spoke genially as always, but now his own face had become rosy rock and the woman's stare faltered. "You'll do your best, as my housekeeper, Miz Murray, and ask no questions." She dared not show further urhbrage towards her employer, but she affected to be disbelieving at the sight of Joseph and Bill and Haroun, and let her mouth fall open in absolute disgust. Miss Emmy's face, vibrant with happy mischief, now appeared over the woman's shoulder, and glee danced in her girl's eyes. "These, sir, are your friends?" said Mrs. Murray, pointing stiffly. "They are that, ma'am, and it's best you hurry before little Harry dies on us," said Mr. Healey, and laid his hat and cane on a sofa. "Call one of the girls." "And their wicker baggage, sir, and their portmanteaus? Or perhaps their traveling trunks are on the way from the depot?" "That they are," said Mr. Healey and most of the geniality had left his voice. "Miz Murray, Joe Francis here, and Bill with little Harry, will follow you upstairs and Miss Emmy can call one of the girls. We're all aweary from the long train and need a wash and refreshments." The woman turned like a gray and black monolith, swishing in all her skirts and petticoats, and marched towards the staircase, followed by her master and the sad little procession led by Joseph. She walked heavily on her heels and her manner suggested that she was marching towards the scaffold with determined courage and valor. Mr. Healey chuckled, and they all walked up stairs padded with Persian carpets. Smooth mahogany- slid under Joseph's hand in the duskiness of the stairwell. Now he was beginning to feel his familiar harsh amusement again, and a loathing for Mrs. Murray. The upper hall was dim also, lighted only by a skylight of colored glass set high in the ceiling of the third story. The passageway was narrower than the one downstairs, and colored light from the skylight splashed on thick Oriental runners and on walls covered with blue silk damask. A row of polished mahogany doors lined the walls, their brass knobs faintly gleaming in the diffused light. And now, a very thin and frightened little housemaid, in black and with a white apron and cap, literally bounced into the hall by way of the rear staircase, all eyes and moist mouth, and cringing. She was hardly more than thirteen, and there was not a single curve on her flat body. "Liza!" roared Mrs. Murray, seeing an object for her rage. "Where were you? You need a strapping agin, within an inch of your worthless life! We got company, hear? Open those two back rooms, the bfue one and the green one, and quick about it, my girl!" "Yes'm," whispered the child and raced to one door, throwing it open and then to another, and Joseph thought, And this is what Regina will come to if I do not make money for her, and very soon. Liza stood aside, cowering and with bent head, but her humble attitude did not save her from a resounding slap on her cheek, bestowed by Mrs. Murray. The girl whimpered, but did not lift her eyes. Joseph now saw pockmarks ort her thin pale cheeks, and her young face was plain and fearful. In about eight years, thought Joseph, who had seen scores of abused children in America, Regina will be her age, and only I stand between my sister and this. "Now, here you are, Joe, my lad," said Mr. Healey, and waved majestically at one opeti door. "You'll do with a good wash, and then we'll have our breakfast like decent Christians, and Bill here will put little Harry down and go for the doctor." Joseph fumbled at his pinned pocket and took out his treasured twenty- dollar goldpiece. He held it out to Mr. Healey and even Mrs. Murray's malign attention was caught. "What's this, what's this?" asked Mr. Healey in surprise. "For our expenses, Mr. Healey," said Joseph. "I told you I take no charity." Mr. Healey lifted his hand in protest. Then he saw Joseph's face. Mrs. Murray had sucked in her vindictive mouth, and was staring blankly at the youth, while behind him Bill waited with that sinister patience of his and appeared to see nothing. "All right," said Mr. Healey, and he took the shimmering golden coin and tossed it in his hand. "I like a man with pride, and have no quarrel with it." Now he looked more closely at Joseph, and with curiosity. "Some cJLthe money you-borrowed?" "No," said Joseph. "I earned it." "Hum," said Mr. Ilealey, and put the coin in his pocket, and Mrs. Murray regarded Joseph with squinted and wicked eyes and nodded her head in affirmation of some invidious remark she had made silently to herself. Liza gaped abjectly at Joseph as at an apparition, for now she saw his ragged appearance and his shock of hair like a dull blaze under the skylight. Mr. Healey turned. "In half an hour, Joe, in half an hour." Mrs. Murray followed Mr. Healey to the door of his own room and then stood on the threshold. "That one's a thief, sir," she said. "Plain as day." Mr. Healey began to loosen his cravat. He looked at himself in a long mirror on the silken wall. He said, "Possibly, ma'am, very possible. And now please close the door behind you. Unless you'd like to see me nekkid, like Miss Emmy does." He looked at her blandly, and she rumbled away.
Chapter 11
It had not been impulse or the bravado of pride which had made Joseph force his hoarded twenty-dollar goldpiece on Mr. Healey. It had been the instinct of perceptive genius. Shrewdly, Joseph understood Mr. Healey; under all that jocular good-will and Irish sentimentality lay a cunning man who could be ruthless and probably frequently was, a man who could be a jaunty bully but a bully for all that, a man who respected no other man but one who stood toe to toe with him and would not give an inch, a man who would exchange something for something and honored only men who were similar. For a fool or a weakling, or a witless man who did not know his own worth or permitted himself to be cheated, or who stood solely on principle and even then not with strength, Mr. Healey had the most honest contempt. Mr. Healey might praise "gents with scruples" but Joseph suspected that Mr. Healey despised them openheartedly. In giving Mr. Healey that money Joseph had given him silent notice that not only was he prepared to pay his way but that he would not be another Bill, a sycophant or unreservedly devoted follower. He would serve Mr. Healey if it would also serve himself, equal for equal. His loyalty was not for sale, and could not be bought with fair words, promises, affectionate laughter, moneyless generosities and rich hints, and avowals of friendship and facile agreements, or any other lying beguilements of no value which men like Mr. Healey would use to exploit and deceive the unwary and trusting. Joseph's loyalty was for "cash on the counter," as Mr. Healey would say. Joseph also understood that it was not Joseph's angry and forced concern for Haroun that had touched Mr. Healey's sensibilities. Had Joseph been maudlin or entreating and had begged for help, Mr. Healey would not have concerned himself for a moment with him. He would have been only another ragged pauper, a sniveler, to be kicked aside. Yet Joseph also knew that Mr. Healey, when the spirit moved him, as he would call it himself, could be kind provided it did not inconvenience him for an instant, cost him anything of moment, or distract him. His own kindness flattered him, raised a self-esteem already high, and was a personal indulgence such as a stout woman feels in the presence of bon-bons, and then against all sense takes one. It sweetened Mr. Healey's nature for days, and he was pleased with himself. It was not a paradox, Joseph reflected, that he found himself respecting Mr. Healey also for what he was: A strong and exigent man, inexorable in the pursuit of his own interests. Mr. Healey, in behalf of his own affairs, might attempt to inspire trust, but he would never trust the man who took him simply at his word, for that man would be an idiot fit only for the plucking. "Always get it in black and white, with witnesses to the paper," Mr. Healey would say. "That's the only way to do business." On the other hand, if Joseph should tell him-Joseph suspected-that he, Joseph, had borrowed money from Mr. Squibbs and intended as soon as possible to return it, with scrupulous interest, Mr. Healey would approve immediately. One must not become indebted, through open theft or otherwise, to men such as Mr. Squibbs, who was only a small and unimportant scoundrel. He looked about him in the "blue room" to which he had been assigned. He had read about houses like this, and the Tom Hennesseys' houses, in the many books he had read, but he had never been in one before. Yet, from his reading and some stir of aristocratic blood, he recognized and accepted it at once, with one of the few grudging pleasures he had ever known. It was a tall square room, and had obviously not been furnished by Mr. Healey who liked only opulent and obvious luxury. Here was all muted color, restrained and haughty, from the pale blue silk walls to the same blue of the draperies at the window, and to the darker and softer blue of the antique rug. The furnishings were plain and spare and not crowded with expensive furniture as the hall below had been crowded, but the wood gleamed like dark honey and the brass trimmings were delicate but solid. The bed had a blue velvet coverlet, worn but still handsome, and the posts of it were uncarved. There was a rosewood desk here, the desk of a lady, and some fine steel etchings on the walls, and a fireplace of black marble adorned only by two brass candelabra and a black marble clock ticking defiantly against the profanation of usurpers. Joseph drew a deep breath then let it out slowly. The room seemed to know him, as he knew it. Then he saw that there was a bookcase in the far corner and he went to it at once. A lady may once have occupied this room, a banished or dead lady, but her taste in literature had been sophisticated, and all the books in the case were classics bound in blue and gold leather. For a moment, Joseph, handling them, even forgot the room and even where he was. Among many others he saw Goethe, Burke, Adam Smith, and the Aeneid, various Greek dramas, the earlier Emerson, Manzoni, Aristotle's Ethics, Washington Irving, Two Years Before the Mast, the Odyssey, and Spinoza. He hungered for them with a deeper hunger than the voracity of the body. He touched them as a lover touches a woman. There was a timid knock on the door and he answered it and saw the little maid there, Liza, with a copper can steaming with hot water, and fresh towels. He had forgotten her existence, and the existence of everyone else in the house, and so stared blankly at her for a few moments. "Hot water, sir, and towels," she whispered. "The gong will sound in a few minutes." He had not eaten since early last evening, and suddenly he was conscious of hunger. He stood aside and the girl came in and poured hot water into the china bowl on the commode and put the towels neatly beside it. She pointed to the commode, and blushed. Then she ran from the room. He wondered why she had blushed, and so opened the bottom compartment of the commode and saw the chamber pot there. He laughed aloud, for there had been no chamber pots in his room at the house of Mrs. Marhall, such luxuries being reserved for more affluent boarders than himself. He took off his grimy shirt and bathed, and used the highly scented soap and the soft warm towels. He had but one clean shirt in reserve so he opened his cardboard box and put the shirt on and fastened it with a button. He had no cravat. He brushed down his worn coat and wrinkled pantaloons, then took out his steel comb and ran it briskly through his thick russet hair. He was still shaving but twice a week, and as he had shaved last Friday and this was Monday there was a soft faint stubble of reddish hair on his pale young cheeks and chin. Though he had scrubbed his long slender hands with their finely shaped fingers there was still grime under his nails which could not be removed. A brass gong hit vigorously below startled him. But he had read of such in novels and was not confused. He went downstairs. Mr. Healey, jauntier and more pleased with himself than ever-due to the occasions Joseph had given him to be kind-was waiting in the long hall dressed in fresh pantaloons of a Tartan any Scotsman might have admired, a deep red silk waistcoat and a long pale-gray coat. His white cravat was pinned with a diamond horseshoe. Beside him stood the demure Miss Emmy with her mischief-brimming eyes and her sparkling smile. He said, "Though you've not asked nor seemingly cared, boyo, I've had the doctor for your Harry Zeff. The lad's in a bad way, that he is. Blood poisoning and such. But, he'll live, with good care. Miss Emmy will see to that, and Miz Murray and the maids, and my Bill, when I can spare him." He chuckled. "I paid the doctor out of that money piece you gave me. That's what you wanted, didn't you?" "Yes. Thank you," said Joseph, without much interest. Haroun was out of his hands. He hoped the matter would remain that way. "You like your room, eh?" ' "Very much." Joseph looked at him blandly. "The other people furnished it, didn't they?" "Well, yes," said Mr. Healey, with superiority. "Not so fine as the rooms I done over, myself, but adequate, boyo, adequate, for a lad your age. Comfortable. Now we'll go into the dining room." Mr. Healey had furnished the dining room with stupendously large pieces of furniture of ornate and expensive taste. The mahogany sideboard covered one wall almost entirely, and was loaded with glistening silver of an elaborate pattern. The china closet was filled with gilt cups and saucers and other objects not so easily identified, and the round and pedestaled table was enormous and wore a stiffly ironed white linen cloth with napkins folded in a lily design. There were crystal goblets and gold- bordered plates and heavy silverware and an epergne and a bowl of roses also, and the chairs were of black leather with studs of bright brass. The old rug was scarlet, overlaid with a pattern of flowers, and the walls were of yellow silk. Mr. Healey looked at it with pride, believing that it all had evoked Joseph's humble awe, but Joseph was not awed. He had never been in a dining room of the gentry, but instinctively he knew this was grossly vulgar. He also knew that Mr. Healey was "shanty" Irish, and not the "lace curtain" Irish of his mother's family. Puffed with importance, Mr. Healey gallantly seated Miss Emmy on his left and indicated Joseph's chair on his right, he taking the huge armchair at the head of the table. Mr. Healey was not without sensitivity, himself. Without consciously knowing or understanding it, he had felt that Joseph was of superior lineage. Had anyone suggested this he would have hooted loudly, but the impression was there, a little galling, however. There were three tall windows on one wall and a luminous green light from the trees and the gardens filtered into the room very softly even through lace of a tortuous pattern. It was, as Mr. Healey frequently mentioned, real Venetian lace. He pointed it out without modesty to Joseph, who looked at it with indifference. Joseph said, "Are your houses in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia as fine as this, Mr. Healey?" If his tone was ironic Mr. Healey did not discern it. He beamed happily. "Well, now, sir, not quite," he said. "I live in hotels in them cities. More handy. I don't throw my money away. I like to move around, quick like, and houses hamper a man. I come here to rest, and do business in Titusville. Besides, I don't think Miss Emmy would like Pittsburgh or Philadelphia, would you, love?" "Fie!" said Miss Emmy, coquettishly slapping the back of Mr. Healey's fat hand. "You never showed me, sir." Mr. Healey colored with self-satisfaction. "Never intend to, either, love. I know cities too well. Too distracting for the young." Two little maids, one of them Liza, came in with silver and porcelain dishes of food, and immediately Joseph was ravenous. He had never smelled such delicious odors in all his life as those steaming from the vessels. Mr. Healey filled a small glass with whiskey for himself, then filled one for Joseph. "Real good bourbon," he said. Joseph was never to develop a taste for "spirits" or even for wine, but he lifted the delicate crystal glass and sipped at it. It made his stomach revolt. But he had disciplined himself for too many years to permit a mere stomach to dictate his actions. He drank the whiskey and carefully refrained from even a grimace or a cough, and drank a little water. Mr. Healey watched him cunningly. A cool customer, this one. A hardheaded young cockerel. He'd never give anything away, and a man like this was a man Mr. Healey needed urgently. A vast silver tureen was set before Mr. Healey, and with dramatic and operatic gestures he ladled soup out into fragile soup plates. With a flourish, he served Miss Emmy first, to be rewarded by a simper and a bridling. He next served Joseph, and then himself, while the two childish maids hovered anxiously. Mr. Healey covertly watched his guest but Joseph had had thirteen years of his mother's training and so did not furiously fall on the food as Mr. Healey had hoped he would. Joseph ate the thin soup, which was excellently flavored, and he recognized thyme though he had not tasted it for years. Miss Emmy ate with that excessive daintiness which only reformed whores can display, her little finger thrust out stiffly from her hand, and she preened with that gentility found exclusively among prostitutes. She, too, watched Joseph but with a different sort of interest, one of which Mr. Healey would not have approved. "Miz Murray is one fine cook," said Mr. Healey, with an expansive air. "Pay her six dollars a week, a fortune, but she's worth it." There was roast lamb with dressing (and Joseph was acutely reminded, and with pain, of his mother's kitchen) and roast potatoes, turnips, parsnips, and cabbage. The whiskey had made him lightheaded. He could smell peat fires, damp plaster, rich grass and lilacs in the rain, and earth voluptuously carnal beyond any ground in America. The coffee cups, with their faint festoons of little rosebuds and green leaves, were of the same pattern and vintage of his mother's china, and all at once his chest was filled with the swelling of misery and sorrow. "Don't like your dinner, maybe?" asked Mr. Healey, freshly pleased. But Joseph raised his eyes and Mr. Healey, taken aback, saw the deep blue fire hidden behind those auburn lashes, and he became confusedly silent for a few moments. Upstart, above himself, Mr. Healey grumbled inwardly. Pretends, like all this is nothing to him. Know these high-nosed Irish; lords of the manor-they think. Well, we'll take him down a peg, soon. I've taken down better men than this spalpeen who forgets I've took him right out of the gutter. He's right pretty, thought Miss Emmy, and right smart, too. She smiled brilliantly at Mr. Healey and again touched the back of his hand with her coquettish gesture. He eats like a hawg, thought Miss Emmy of her master. Mr. Francis is a real gentleman, and he's got a fine figure, though skinny like a squirrel out in the rain. Don't talk much, though. I wonder what he'd be like- After the heavy dinner had been concluded by a hot apple pie and coffee Mr. Healey gallantly dismissed Miss Emmy and invited Joseph into his "lib'ry to talk business." It was indeed a handsome library and Joseph immediately noticed that the walls were filled with books, and that the leather furniture gleamed softly and the tables glowed. Here was a room, like his upstairs, which soothed his abraded sensitivity, and he resented Air. Healey who sat behind a low long table and proceeded to preside, his cigar smoke blue in the rays of sunlight which came between long blue velvet curtains. "Do all my business here," said Mr. Healey, leaning back in his chair. His rings glittered and so did the trinkets on his watch chain. "Now, then. I don't do business with mysteries. I got to have answers to my questions. You see that, don't