Ceremony of the Innocent

  She was surprised, that afternoon, to receive a call from Maude Godfrey, and she became shy and abashed again. She stammered, “I do want to thank you, Maude, for your kindness to me. I just found out about it. You must have thought me very ungrateful.”

  “No,” said Maude. “You could never be ungrateful, Ellen. It is not in your nature. I am glad you were pleased.”

  “And you will come to my tea at four o’clock on November 11?”

  “Of course,” said Maude with real pleasure. She paused. “Charles has been worried about you, that is why we returned earlier than we had expected.”

  “Oh, Charles is always worrying,” said Ellen with a new lightness. “I am so splendid now, so happy. I can’t be grateful enough to Charles for calling Dr. Cosgrove for me.”

  “You see,” said Maude to Charles that night. “You were, thankfully enough, unduly worried about Ellen. I haven’t heard her speak as she did today for many, many years.”

  Charles thought for a moment or two, and then he said, “I don’t know why, but I am still uneasy about her. She is too vulnerable.”

  And I am so very competent, thought Maude, with amused annoyance.

  When Charles spoke to George Cosgrove about Ellen, the latter said, “She is in a state of euphoria, such as one sees in a person who was almost moribund and then is restored to health. Life takes on a color never before seen. There is a light on everything, a surprised joy in existence, a discovery. When all this subsides somewhat in Ellen she will be completely mature, in a large way invincible, and will lead a reasonably happy life for many years, with contentment and balance. She will be able to resist almost any misfortune. And, I hope, she will have forgotten that nonsense of ‘loving and trusting’ anyone, save God.”

  “You sound as cynical as a lawyer, George.”

  “Well, I’ve heard enough in my professional career, God knows, to make me wonder, sometimes, why we aren’t all swept from the face of the innocent earth. And, by the way, I am hoping to rid Ellen of her innocence, which has been her greatest enemy. I even hope to make her more sophisticated, tinged with a little skeptical humor. Too much to hope?”

  “Well, as that German philosopher—Fichte?—said, we are born what we are and nothing can change it.”

  “We are also born with a measure of self-respect and individualism, too, Charles, and a hearty and healthy streak of selfishness. We ought to cultivate these in the young, or we’ll all end up, in America especially, slobbering like infants and whimpering for our nice warm bottles of milk—at someone else’s expense.”

  Charles said, “To change Ellen, or to bring out good latent qualities, will make her a different person, George. I wonder—”

  “I hope it does! She has been a victim of those she loved and trusted too long.” The doctor laughed. “When she does a little gentle victimization herself, I will know she is cured!”

  C H A P T E R 44

  KITTY, OF COURSE, DID NOT know that the Godfreys had returned to New York before they were expected. But she did know that Francis would return this November night of the tenth, from Washington. There should be no interference with her plans and the plans of Ellen’s children. She had enlightened them as to her “idea” a day or two before. “Be sure it will succeed,” she said to Christian, who was somewhat doubtful. “Your enemies are out of town, your mother is alone. We must act at once—that is, if it is still your intention.”

  “We don’t have any other choice,” said Gabrielle. “It’s now or never. Tomorrow may be too late. Look what the Market did today! Even my stockbrokers are gloomy, and when a stockbroker is gloomy it is time to—what is the old sea phrase—trim your sails.”

  Gabrielle called her mother, speaking in a soft and loving voice. “Mama, are you busy this afternoon? Christian and I, and Kitty, would like to have a drink—I mean tea—with you at four o’clock. That is, if it is convenient.” She winked at her brother.

  Ellen was overjoyed. “Do come! What a dismal day it has been, so dark and dull and windy, with some snow swirling. I was wondering what I would do with myself today, except reading. I am getting so restless, Gabrielle! It seems I want to go out to the theaters or museums or art galleries all the time! I have been thinking of taking dancing lessons, so I can keep up with all you young people. Isn’t that disgraceful of me?”

  “Very.” Gabrielle’s voice was more than ironic. She hung up the telephone and turned to her brother. “Yes, we must act now. The old fool is even thinking of taking modern dancing lessons! What next? A divorce from Francis, and probably a new husband. It wouldn’t surprise me. Childish, just about senile. Call your lawyers, Chris, and explain, and ask them to meet us outside of dear old Mom’s house at four. Imperative.”

  “I am thinking of Charles Godfrey,” said Christian.

  “What can he do, when it’s all settled? Signed, sealed, and delivered. The only way he can overthrow our plans or change them is to bring out the fact that Mama is incompetent and didn’t know what she was doing. That would prove our case, don’t you see?”

  Elated at the thought of her beloved children’s visit, Ellen dressed in a new frock, silvery blue velvet. She put on her sapphire necklace, earrings, ring, and bracelet—Jeremy’s last gift to her. She considered her hair. The streaks of gray were softened now, and not so harsh; the red strands were glistening with life. She considered cutting her hair short, and wondered if Jeremy would like it. She rolled up the mass in a reasonable resemblance of a “bob.” It was very becoming.

  She must ask Gabrielle, and Kitty, about it this afternoon. After all, she was not yet forty-four, and that was no great age any longer. Poor Aunt May, it was true, was an old woman then, worn thin by living and hunger and exhaustion. Ellen paused. She thought of May with sorrow and tenderness, but without the old destroying guilt. As Dr. Cosgrove had told her, she had done everything possible for a sick and suffering woman, and with love, and if that aunt had misunderstood, and had endlessly complained, one must remember that illness frequently had an evil effect on anyone’s disposition. Ellen, he had said, must only keep in mind that her aunt had loved her and had worked for her, and in return she had given her aunt all of which she was capable. No one could be expected to do more.

  “False guilt is a destroyer,” he had told Ellen. “It is also a sort of masochism, a self-flagellation—a—a—” He had hesitated a moment, then had smiled widely at Ellen. “I will use a psychiatric term. It is often sexual in origin. A voluptuous self-indulgence. A kind of masturbation.”

  Ellen had blushed, then she had laughed, shaking her head.

  “I have had cases,” said the doctor, “where patients had even hired whippers to ‘punish’ them for sins they imagined they had committed. And then it was resolved in an orgasm, and the patients felt much better.”

  “Oh, Dr. Cosgrove!” But Ellen was laughing again. “Are you applying that to me?”

  “Well, not exactly. But insistence on self-guilt is often only hidden sexual desire. Especially if there is no reason for guilt at all. It is a very strange thing, but the truly guilty never experience guilt. They are certain they are righteous, or were forced to do what they did, or were justified. That is why the wicked hate their victims; they must have a reason for their wickedness. A nice reason.”

  “I have certainly acquired a new way of looking at people,” said Ellen. “I am not sure I like it, but at least it is real.” Dr. Cosgrove was satisfied.

  “Our Lord,” said Dr. Cosgrove, “did not demand that we go unarmed in this dangerous world. In fact, St. Peter, and others, wore swords.”

  Thinking of all this, and smiling, and scented with jasmine, Ellen went singing down the stairs to the library to wait for her children and Kitty. She sat at her piano and played a little Debussy, the notes lifting and shining in the air like golden bubbles. She could see them dancing in the light of the fire, and tinkling like chimes. At four, her housekeeper, a competent and bustling woman, came to the door and announced Ellen’s visitors
, and she flew from the piano stool like a young girl full of anticipation. But she was surprised to see two strange men with her children, two small gray men with foxlike and intelligent faces and hard searching eyes.

  Silently, she let them in. Kitty was there also, wrapped in sable. Ellen noticed, with sudden dismay, that her children looked very grave, even grim, and Gabrielle’s eyes appeared to have been recently weeping. As for Kitty, she spoke to Ellen in a subdued voice, asking her solicitously if she were “quite well.” “You look so tired, dear, and so pale. Didn’t you sleep last night?” She kissed Ellen’s cheek as one kisses the cheek of an invalid.

  Ellen stammered, “I feel very well.” She looked at the strange men. “Mama,” said Christian, “my lawyers, Mr. Witcome and Mr. Spander. Gentlemen, my mother, Mrs. Porter, who is just recovering—we hope—from a prolonged illness. We must make it brief. She is still in very precarious health.”

  The gentlemen bowed to Ellen with a lugubrious air and spoke softly and distinctly, like those who are careful not to disturb the fragility of a seriously ill person. Ellen became confused and distrait. “Please come into the library,” she said. She led the way and glanced back over her shoulder at the strangers. “Lawyers, Christian? But why? Is something wrong?”

  “Very wrong,” said her son.

  “Oh, Mama,” said Gabrielle. “We are so sorry.”

  “Now, don’t upset your mother too much,” said Kitty in a shrill voice and insistent. “You know how ill she still is. We must be careful.”

  “Careful—of what?” asked Ellen. She remembered to be polite. “Please sit down. Tea will be here when I ring. Or would someone like sherry?”

  Mr. Witcome and Mr. Spander looked like twin brothers, so uniformly dun and spectral were they, so sharp of feature yet so expressionless. They laid their briefcases on their knees and folded their hands on them. When the fire flickered on them it was as if it flickered on driftwood. Kitty had loosened her coat, but had not removed it. She looked aside; the fire jumped on her averted face, which appeared to be contorted by some grief or dire emotion. Ellen’s bewilderment grew, yet a hard sick fear began to grow in her.

  She turned to her children. She had begun to tremble, as she had not trembled for a long time.

  “Please,” she said to Christian. “What is the trouble? Is it the Stock Market?”

  Christian’s large head bowed itself so that his chin almost rested on his chest. He wrung his hands. “No, Mama.” His voice was subdued. “What does the Market matter when we are concerned only about you?”

  “Mama, dear,” said Gabrielle, and there were tears in her eyes. She put out her hand to Ellen in a pleading gesture. Ellen looked at that hand; she wanted to take it, but she could not, for some unknown reason, touch her daughter.

  “Have I lost all my money?” she asked. She tried to smile. “Well, don’t worry, dears. Charles has been very careful. I am sure that there will be at least something left over. If that is all that worries you—”

  “Do you think that is why we are all here?” cried Kitty in a passionate loud voice. “You insult us, Ellen! We are here just to help you, just to save you.”

  “From what?” Now fright took Ellen. “Tell me what all this means. Why are you here, Christian, with your lawyers?”

  “To save you,” he echoed Kitty. “From thieves, and lying doctors. From people who would steal everything from you, and have you put away—”

  “Put away!” exclaimed Ellen, and now her entire body felt cold, as if it had become stone. “Please stop all this mystery and tell me what you mean!”

  “Be patient, dear Mama,” said Gabrielle, crying. “You know how we love you, want to help you—”

  Her mother was gazing at her with a peculiar intentness which the girl had never seen before. “Gabrielle,” she said with a new directness which startled her daughter, “was it you who suggested that I be institutionalized, a long time ago?”

  “Institutionalized?” Now Gabrielle was frightened and shaken. She looked at Kitty, and then her brother. They had both suddenly stiffened in their chairs.

  “Yes,” said Ellen. She turned to Kitty. “It was you who mentioned that, only recently. I asked you whose suggestion it was, and you were evasive. Now have you remembered?”

  Kitty’s dark and wizened face turned an ugly scarlet. She dared not look at Christian or Gabrielle. “I don’t remember any such thing, Ellen! You are mistaken—or imagining things! Really! I am your best friend; would I lie to you? Have I ever lied to you?”

  Kitty turned to the lawyers, who had become as alert as fox terriers. “Ellen herself will admit that for a long time, a very long time, she had been suffering from hallucinations and delusions, and hearing voices. She will admit it She was in the hospital for weeks, too. Isn’t that so, Ellen?”

  Ellen was silent a moment, while they all awaited her answer. Then she said, “Yes, I was sick I couldn’t recover from my husband’s death. I also had made a marriage which was—unsuitable I wronged Francis. But all that is past and done with I have completely recovered my health.”

  Mr. Witcome spoke in a low hoarse voice “Who told you that, Mrs. Porter?”

  “My doctor, Dr. Cosgrove.”

  The lawyer slowly took some papers from his briefcase “I won’t trouble you—in your present state—too long, Mrs. Porter. Believe me, I quite sympathize with you, and will spare you as much as possible. I have statements here, written long over a year ago, by Dr. Lubish and Dr. Enright, to the effect that you were seriously mentally ill, and needed to be institutionalized, if your life were to be saved. That was their informed opinion.”

  Ellen was completely white and rigid. “They are no longer my physicians. I have my own doctor, Dr. Cosgrove, who has cured me.” She could hardly control her voice.

  “Mama,” said Gabrielle, leaning forward, “who persuaded you to go to Dr. Cosgrove?”

  Ellen blinked. She said, “Why, you did, Gabrielle But I found out that it was Charles’ suggestion.”

  Gabrielle threw back her head and laughed bitterly. “He suggested that! What a liar he is! It was my idea, and Christian’s, for you did not seem to improve very fast.”

  Ellen could not help it. Her old mistrust of Charles, and Maude, intruded itself like a sinuous finger into her heart, twisting. She clenched her hands on her knees.

  “Do you believe a man like Charles Godfrey, who won’t let you have enough income, and disbelieve your own children, who love you?” asked Gabrielle. “I assure you, he would have been only too glad to have had you institutionalized so he could seize your income, too, and dole it out at his own pleasure.”

  “You take his word before ours?” asked Christian, staring at her with her own large blue eyes. “Do you honestly want to think that, Mama?”

  “How can you be so unjust, to your loving children?” Kitty asked.

  Now the monstrous old guilt began to seep into Ellen, the old crippling guilt. She felt her chair tilting; she looked at her children and the pain of her love shattered her. They would not deceive her, her children. They wanted only the best for her. And then something moved against that guilt, like a strong repelling hand. She said, “What do you want of me, Gabrielle, Christian? What is all this leading to?”

  They had never seen her like this, and had never heard her speak like this, before, and for a few moments they were hugely dismayed and helpless. Christian looked at his lawyers; they only looked back, impassively, at him, waiting.

  “Mama,” Christian said, and hated her more for her strength, inimical to him, which she was displaying. “I will put it very simply. You never did understand complicated things; it’s not your fault. There is something—well, never mind. You see, someone is plotting to have you institutionalized, to claim you are insane, not in your right mind, since Papa died. We want to save you from that, and leave you in peace in your own house.”

  Her great blue eyes fixed themselves brilliantly on her son.

  “Who is doing this,
Christian?”

  “Mama, you have such faith in people who are your enemies! You must take our word for it. There is no time to lose. Tomorrow may be too late. Our lawyers, here, have papers for you to sign. Kitty will be the witness, Aunt Kitty. You assign to me, and to Gabrielle, and to our lawyers, your entire present income and your money, and your future interest in Papa’s estate, into our care and administration. We will then give you a proper income for your own use—in your own house, our father’s house, which you love—and let you live in peace, and in safety. All your lifetime, which we hope will be long and healthy—after you have recovered.”

  Ellen continued to stare at him. Something enormously strange was happening to her, something like iron was expanding in her soul. It was as if she were looking at strangers. All Dr. Cosgrove’s warnings, and the priest’s warning, rushed in on her like a saving battalion, protecting her. But with it came a desolation she had never known before, even more terrible than that she had known on Jeremy’s death. She felt herself suspended over an abyss; there was no foothold. She was alone as she had never been alone before.

  But she said, “I must think about all this. I must talk to Charles, to Dr. Cosgrove—”

  “Your enemies,” said Gabrielle, and now her eyes were openly alive with her hatred for her mother. “You would consult with them, against us, your children? What will they do when you tell them? They will disgrace us; they could even have us arrested—and only because we love you and want to save you! Your enemies. They would destroy us, your children, who have come here tonight to help you. I can see now that you never loved us! You never loved anyone but yourself! It was always what you wanted—and the hell with anyone else! How could we have loved you so much, and so stupidly! You are no mother to us, after all. Or, tell me, Mama. Is Charlie Godfrey blackmailing you about something? Blackmail? That could be the only thing.”

  Ellen had listened, aghast. “Blackmail? You are out of your mind, Gabrielle. For what should anyone blackmail me? What have I done?”