Chapter 26

Every year, Fifth Avenue woke on October fifteenth. Houses opened their window covers. Servants rolled out the carpets. They hung three heavy curtains at every window.

By November first, this household act was complete. The social world began to look at itself. By mid-November, the season was busy. The Opera and theaters offered new shows. Dinner plans grew, and people chose dates for dances.

At this time, Mrs. Archer always said one thing. New York had changed very much.

She watched that world but took no part in it. Mr. Sillerton Jackson and Miss Sophy helped her. Together, they found each new crack in its smooth face. They saw strange weeds among its neat rows of plants.

As a young man, Archer enjoyed his mother's yearly view. He waited for her list of small signs. His careless eyes always missed them.

In Mrs. Archer's mind, every change was bad. Miss Sophy Jackson fully agreed.

Mr. Sillerton Jackson knew more of the world. He held back his judgment. He listened to the ladies with an amused and fair mind. Still, even he agreed that New York changed.

Now Archer was in his second year of marriage. That winter, he also saw it. Perhaps the city had not changed yet. But it was clearly changing.

As usual, the subject came up at Mrs. Archer's Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving was a day for giving thanks. On that day, she sadly counted the year's gifts. Then she wondered what deserved her thanks.

That world did not. She was not sure it still lived. Its state seemed to call for God's anger. Everyone knew that Dr. Ashmore agreed.

He was the new Rector of St. Matthew's. The church chose him because his ideas seemed new. His words were also fresh and bold. For his Thanksgiving talk, he chose a dark part of Jeremiah.

Dr. Ashmore often spoke against the rich social world. He always called its change a "trend." A trend was a broad change in one way.

Mrs. Archer feared this word but also enjoyed it.

She belonged to a group that was moving somewhere. This thought gave the word a strange power.

"Dr. Ashmore is certainly right," she said. "There is a clear trend."

She spoke as if the trend were a crack in a wall. Anyone might see and measure it.

"It was odd to speak about it on Thanksgiving," Miss Jackson said.

"Oh, he wants us to give thanks for what remains," Mrs. Archer answered dryly.

In earlier years, Archer smiled at his mother's dark claims. This year, he listened to her list. He had to admit that the trend was real.

"Look at the wild spending on clothes," Miss Jackson began. "Sillerton took me to the Opera's first night. Jane Merry wore the only dress I knew from last year. Even that had a new front."

"I know she bought it from Worth two years ago," she continued. "My dressmaker fixes her Paris dresses before Jane wears them."

"Ah, Jane Merry is one of us," Mrs. Archer said sadly.

This group no longer seemed so lucky. Ladies now wore Paris clothes as soon as they came. They did not lock them away first. Mrs. Archer's friends always waited before showing new clothes.

"Yes, Jane is one of the few," Miss Jackson said. "New fashions seemed common and cheap in my youth. Amy Sillerton says Boston people waited two years. They put their Paris dresses away."

Then she told them about old Mrs. Baxter Pennilow. That lady always did things in a grand way. She ordered twelve Paris dresses each year. Two were velvet, a rich cloth with a soft surface.

Two were satin, and two were silk. The other six used poplin or the finest cashmere. Poplin was a strong cloth with fine raised lines. Cashmere was very soft cloth made from goat hair.

The order never changed. Then Mrs. Baxter Pennilow was sick for two years. When she died, her family found forty-eight Worth dresses. No one ever removed them from their thin paper.

Her daughters wore black after her death. Later, they put on the first group of dresses. They wore them to the Symphony music events. Even then, the clothes did not look too new.

"Boston keeps old ways more than New York," Mrs. Archer said. "Still, a lady should hide French dresses for one season. That is always safe."

"Beaufort started this new fashion," Miss Jackson said. "He made his wife wear new clothes at once. Sometimes Regina needs all her fine manner. Without it, she would look like... like..."

Miss Jackson looked around the table. She saw Janey's wide and eager eyes. So she hid the dangerous ending in a low sound.

"Like the women who fight for his love," Mr. Sillerton Jackson said.

He sounded pleased with his clever answer.

"Oh," the ladies said together.

Mrs. Archer changed the subject for Janey's sake. "Poor Regina! Her Thanksgiving cannot be very happy. Sillerton, have you heard the stories about Beaufort's money deals?"

Mr. Jackson gave a careless nod. Everyone knew those stories. He did not repeat news that was already common.

A dark silence covered the table. No one truly liked Beaufort. They did not mind thinking badly of his private life. But bad business could bring shame on Regina's whole family.

Even Beaufort's enemies could not enjoy that thought. New York accepted false goodness in private love. In business, it demanded perfect honesty. A famous bank had not failed in shame for many years.

Still, everyone remembered the last such failure. Their world shut out the leaders of that business. The same end would come to the Beauforts. His power could not save them. Regina's many Dallas relations could not save her either.

That would happen if the stories were true. Beaufort's money deals might be against the law.

The guests escaped to safer subjects. Yet each new subject supported Mrs. Archer's fear. The trend seemed to move faster and faster.

"Of course, Newland, you let dear May attend Mrs. Struthers's Sunday nights," Mrs. Archer began.

May spoke with a bright voice. "Oh, everyone goes there now. Mrs. Struthers even came to Granny's last party."

Archer thought about New York's way of changing. People all agreed to ignore each change. When it was complete, they accepted it. Then they claimed it happened long ago.

Someone always opened the gates of their social fort. Usually that person was a woman. After she gave up the keys, the fort was open. No one could still claim that it was safe.

People enjoyed Mrs. Struthers's easy Sunday welcome. They would not stay home after tasting it. They no longer cared about her family's shoe polish money. Her sparkling wine helped them forget.

"I know, dear," Mrs. Archer said. "I suppose such things must happen. People now go out only to enjoy themselves."

"But I never forgave your cousin Madame Olenska," she continued. "She was the first of us to accept Mrs. Struthers."

May's face suddenly became red. The change surprised Archer and every guest.

"Oh, Ellen," May said softly.

Her voice held both blame and a wish to excuse. Her parents used the same voice about the Blenkers. The family now used it whenever anyone named Ellen.

She refused her husband's new offers. Her firm answer surprised and troubled them. On May's lips, the family voice made Archer think. Sometimes she seemed like a stranger when she spoke for her world.

Mrs. Archer did not notice the feeling at the table. "People like Countess Olenska knew great European society. They should help us protect our social lines. They should not ignore them."

May's face stayed bright red. It seemed to mean more than Ellen's social mistakes.

"Perhaps we all look the same to foreign eyes," Miss Jackson said sharply.

"I do not think Ellen cares about society," May said. "But nobody knows what she does care about."

She seemed to search for safe words.

"Ah, well," Mrs. Archer said again.

Everyone knew that Ellen lost her family's warm support. Old Mrs. Manson Mingott was once her strongest guard. Even she could not defend Ellen's refusal now. The Mingotts never stated their anger in public.

Family unity was too important to them. Instead, they followed Mrs. Welland's plan. They let poor Ellen find her own social place.

To their shame, she chose the lower world of the Blenkers. Writers and other untidy people met there. They followed their own strange social ways. Ellen had many chances to choose better company.

Still, she became what they called "Bohemian." A Bohemian lived freely among artists and writers. This fact seemed to prove her great mistake. She should have returned to Count Olenski.

A young woman belonged under her husband's roof. That seemed even more true in Ellen's case. People could ask why she first left him. But polite people stopped before saying the answer.

"Madame Olenska is very popular with gentlemen," Miss Sophy said.

She sounded helpful when she knew her words could hurt.

"Ah, a young woman like her always faces that danger," Mrs. Archer said sadly.

The ladies reached their final judgment. Then they gathered their long skirts. They went to the sitting room with its round glass lamps. Archer and Mr. Jackson entered the Gothic library.

The room followed the dark pointed style of old churches. A fire burned behind an iron screen. Mr. Jackson sat before it with a fine cigar. The cigar made up for a poor dinner.

Now he became serious and ready to share secrets.

"If Beaufort's business falls," he said, "many things will come out."

Archer quickly raised his head. Beaufort's name always brought back one picture. He saw the heavy man in rich fur and fine shoes. Beaufort walked through the snow at Skuytercliff.

"There will be a very ugly cleaning," Mr. Jackson continued. "He did not spend all that money on Regina."

"Everyone already knows about other women," Archer said. "I believe he will escape this trouble."

Archer wanted to change the subject.

"Perhaps he will," Mr. Jackson answered. "He planned to visit powerful men today. We must hope they can carry him through this time."

"Poor Regina might spend her life in some cheap foreign town," he continued. "People without money go to such places. I would not like that."

Archer said nothing. Beaufort gained money in bad ways. A cruel payment for that seemed natural, though sad. Archer gave little thought to Regina's future. His mind returned to a nearer question.

Why did May become red at Ellen's name?

Four months passed since Archer's summer day with Ellen. He did not see her again. She returned to Washington. There she shared a small house with Medora Manson.

Archer wrote to her once. He asked in a few words about their next meeting. Her answer was even shorter.

"Not yet."

Nothing else passed between them. Inside himself, Archer built a secret holy room. Ellen sat at its center among his hidden thoughts. His wish for her also lived there.

Slowly, that room became his real life. He carried each book there in his mind. He brought every key idea and feeling. His views and dreams belonged there too.

Outside it, his daily life felt false and empty. He hit old social ideas like furniture in a dark room. He was not truly present. Sometimes he was shocked that others still thought he was there.

Mr. Jackson cleared his throat. He was ready to tell another secret.

"I do not know what your wife's family has heard," he said. "People talk about Madame Olenska. They discuss her refusal of her husband's last offer."

Archer stayed silent.

"It is a pity that she refused," Mr. Jackson continued.

"A pity? In God's name, why?"

Mr. Jackson looked down his own leg. His sock was perfectly smooth. It met a shining evening shoe.

"Let us take the simplest reason," he said. "What money will she live on now?"

"Now?"

"If Beaufort..."

Archer jumped up. His fist struck the black wood edge of the writing table. Two brass ink bottles danced in their holders.

"What the devil do you mean, sir?"

Mr. Jackson moved a little in his chair. His calm eyes met Archer's burning face.

"I heard this from a very good person," he said. "Old Catherine told it herself. Ellen firmly refused to return. Then the family greatly cut the money they gave her."

"Her marriage money also depended on her return," he continued. "Olenski offered to give it back under that condition. She refused, so she lost it. Why do you ask what I mean?"

His voice stayed friendly.

Archer moved to the shelf above the fire. He bent down and knocked his cigar ashes into the grate.

"I know nothing about Madame Olenska's money," he said. "I do not need to know. Your dark suggestion cannot be true."

"It is not my suggestion," Mr. Jackson said. "Lefferts said it, for one."

"Lefferts tried to make her love him," Archer cried. "She refused him!"

"Ah, did she?" Mr. Jackson asked sharply.

He seemed to wait for that very fact. He still sat sideways near the fire. His hard old look held Archer like a steel spring.

"Well, she should have returned before Beaufort's fall," he said. "If she returns after he fails, people will believe the story. Lefferts is not alone in thinking it."

"She will not return now," Archer said. "She will be less willing than ever."

At once, he knew this was another waiting trap. Mr. Jackson studied him.

"That is your opinion? No doubt you know," he said. "But Medora's last small amount is all in Beaufort's hands. Everyone will tell you that."

"How will the two women live if he fails?" he asked. "I cannot imagine it. Ellen might still win old Catherine's heart. Catherine can give her any amount she chooses."

"But Catherine now most strongly opposes Ellen's choice," he continued. "She also hates giving away good money. The other relations do not care if Ellen stays."

Archer burned with useless anger. He knew he might do something foolish. Yet he could not stop the feeling.

Mr. Jackson saw that Archer knew nothing of this family fight. He surely formed his own ideas. He wondered why the family kept Archer outside its plans. This should have warned Archer to speak with care.

But the claim about Ellen and Beaufort made him wild. Still, Mr. Jackson sat under Mrs. Archer's roof.

Therefore he was Archer's guest. Old New York had strict rules about guests.

A discussion could never become an open fight.

"Shall we join my mother?" Archer asked in a short voice.

Mr. Jackson's last gray cone of ash fell. It dropped into the brass plate beside him.

During the drive home, May was strangely silent. Darkness hid her face. Yet Archer still felt surrounded by her dangerous red color. He could not understand the danger.

Ellen's name caused it. That fact gave him a clear warning.

At home, they went upstairs. Archer turned into the library. May usually followed him. This time, he heard her walk toward her bedroom.

"May!" he called with sudden anger.

She came back. His voice seemed to surprise her a little.

"This lamp is smoking again," he complained. "The servants should keep it cut correctly."

"I am very sorry," she answered. "It will not happen again."

Her voice was firm and bright. Mrs. Welland used the same voice.

Archer felt that May now treated him like another Mr. Welland. She gently managed his small bad moods.

The thought made him more angry. May bent over and lowered the lamp's burning string. The stronger light touched her white shoulders. It also showed the clear lines of her face.

She was so young. Archer thought of the endless years before them. Their shared life must go on through all those years.

He felt his own strong youth with fear. His blood moved hard and fast inside him.

"Listen," he said suddenly. "I may need to visit Washington for a few days. It may happen next week."

May kept her hand on the lamp key. She turned toward him slowly. The heat gave color to her face. Then her face became pale.

"For business?" she asked.

Her voice allowed no other possible reason. The question only seemed to finish his own statement.

"For business, of course," Archer said. "A case about an inventor will reach the Supreme Court."

He gave the inventor's name. Then he added many smooth details. Lawrence Lefferts could tell a false story in that easy way. May listened carefully.

"Yes, I see," she said from time to time.

When he finished, she answered simply. "The change will be good for you. You must be sure to visit Ellen."

She looked straight into his eyes. Her smile was open and clear. Her voice made the visit sound like a hard family duty.

They said nothing more about it. Yet both understood the secret rules inside her words. May knew what people said about Ellen. She agreed with her family's wish.

They wanted Ellen to return to her husband. May also knew that Archer opposed this plan. He did not tell May why. His support helped Ellen stand against the family.

Now Ellen faced the kind of talk Mr. Jackson shared. May knew that this talk made Archer angry. Other people offered him warnings. He refused to understand them.

So May gave him a warning herself. Polite people of their kind spoke in this hidden way. She knew he planned to see Ellen. Perhaps that was his only reason for going.

May openly approved the visit. That approval carried a demand. Archer must tell Ellen where her present choice could lead.

All this passed without another spoken word. May's hand still rested on the lamp key. She turned the light down. Then she lifted the round glass cover.

She blew upon the unhappy flame.

"They smell less when someone blows them out," she said brightly.

At the bedroom door, May turned and waited.

Archer gave her the usual kiss.