Men of No Property (53 page)

Priscilla hesitated. “I…I forgot his wings.”

Vinnie laughed aloud, doubting very much that it was the omission of wings from a naked babe that offended the holy women.

“I expect I’m talking too much. Mother said I would.”

“Nonsense,” Vinnie said.

They were discovered then by Phipps who had the next dance with Priscilla. Vinnie had but time to ask if she would go in to supper with him. At her nod of acquiescence, a tweak of pleasure caught at him. And even that he was not allowed to contemplate further, for Alex came and insisted on taking him on an introductory tour of the available young ladies. He accounted the virtues and antecedents of each sotto voce. How different he was here, Vinnie thought, from at school. A chameleon, Alex: at ease on a hearthstone creepie or balancing a tea cup with the Astor ladies. And what a handsome fellow. It was, Vinnie thought, to win Alex’ favor that these maids allowed a dance to his friend.

“Halt, enough!” he cried, after a fourth had signed him on.

Alex turned on him. “Snob!”

“Me?” said Vinnie.

“Yes, you! You’d be less disguised in the robes of a bishop. I’ve got a half-dozen dear, charming friends who have asked to meet you, hoping your excellency might offer them an arm to dance, but you cry halt, enough!”

“Alex, Alex, my only thought in the matter—I suspected every last dear of them to be accepting my attentions to gain yours.”

“Good God!” Alex cried. “Come along then and stow your modesty.”

Perhaps, Vinnie thought wryly, finding himself booked for the night, that was not quite his only thought in the matter. He danced also with Anne and Therese who concealed very nicely their fear of him and went then to claim the dance he had asked of Mrs. Taylor, and needed to conceal his own fear. It was but a turn or two until she claimed fatigue and a preference for conversation.

“Did Priscilla tell you of her travels, Mr. Dunne? She had three months in Italy, France and England. With the Prescotts. Do you know them?”

“I don’t believe I do,” Vinnie said.

Mrs. Taylor fanned herself. “You must meet them while you’re with us. Jeanette was in school with Priscilla. Arrangements are so difficult to make for girls. Young gentlemen have no troubles over the proprieties if they are well brought up….”

Vinnie wondered how long it would take her to approach the matter she was working up to, but as it turned out, Mr. Taylor rescued him.

“Here you are, my boy. I want you to meet someone.” To his wife he explained, “Grisholm in Judge Sanders’ firm. Will you excuse us, my dear?”

She should have been on the stage, Vinnie thought, with that ability to smile through chagrin. She had set her mind to persuading him abroad, the better to persuade Alex’ father, and here was the old boy carrying him off to the opposite pole. “From what Alex tells me, Dunne, you are not yet connected with a law firm?”

“No, sir, but I have several introductions, and I shall go fairly recommended.”

“You know who Grisholm is, I assume?”

“Yes, sir. I greatly admire him.” Sanders, Grisholm and Cox was one of the most highly respected law firms in New York. Grisholm himself was primarily a criminal lawyer. He was renowned for a scathing tongue with witnesses and the gentleness of a shepherd with a jury. The closer Vinnie came to the man’s presence, the fiercer beat his heart.

“Mind,” Taylor said, “I don’t propose suggesting tonight that he take you in. He must be up to his elbows in clerks now. But it may someday be well for him to have met you here.”

“I understand, sir, and I am grateful.”

His introduction of Vinnie was, however, by no means so casual. “Grisholm, this is one of Judge Bissell’s boys, the lad we were speaking about at dinner.” (Judge Bissell until his retirement the year before had long headed the Law School at Yale.)

Grisholm was a tall, gaunt man, past middle age. He looked at Vinnie from under slashing dark eyebrows which it was said were as eloquent sometimes as his speech. By the time he spoke Vinnie’s knees had begun to tremble. “Ah, yes,” he said at last, “the lad who would persuade Irishmen to vote Republican. What do you think are your chances?”

“Fifty-fifty, sir.”

“Oh?”

“They will vote one of two ballots, sir, and I should not like to predict the worst.”

Grisholm smiled. “I can see the mark of Bissell on him. How is the old gentleman?”

“Well for his years, sir. I visited him last week.”

“I never knew so sour a countenance to go with such a convivial nature,” the lawyer said.

“Quite,” Vinnie said, although he had yet to see old Bissell convivial.

Grisholm nodded a moment to some thought of his own. “Good fortune to you, Dunne. It’s good to be reminded that it was David slew Goliath.”

Vinnie clasped the hand offered him. “Thank you, sir. Good evening.”

Mr. Taylor gave Vinnie a wink as their eyes met. He did not drink often but with a little spirits in him he was wonderfully expansive. Now, Vinnie thought, would be the proper time for Mrs. Taylor to plead Alex’ European cause with him. But, of course, her dignity would not permit it.

“I’ve been waitin’ the whole blessed evenin’, Vinnie, to tell you what I meant about Priscilla.”

Vinnie did not want to talk about Priscilla with anyone at the moment except Priscilla.

“I’m very fond of her,” Delia went on, “and we’re the dearest of friends, I’ll have you know. I went abroad to school, too, you know.”

“Were you a child then, Delia?”

“Of course I was a child, but I didn’t think so.”

“I don’t think Priscilla is a child,” he said. “She’s much more sensible than her sisters.”

“But Vinnie, that was my very meanin’! She’s ever so much wiser than her years. One mornin’ when Jem was frettin’ I got up with him. Just dawn it was and I looked out the window. She was ridin’ in the mist like a spirit. Stephen was there and I woke him up to come see. I forget his words, just—a changelin’ of man’s heart, somethin’ like that. It just fit beautiful. A broodlin’. Oh, I’ve got it all mixed up and I thought I’d never forget it. I’ve had some champagne.”

“Broodling,” Vinnie said, smiling. “I like that word.”

“There’s no such, is there?”

“Now there is,” he said. “Shan’t we dance?”

She nodded and took his arm. “Tomorrow will you come to tea? Mr. Grisholm, the famous lawyer, is comin’ and Stephen says it’s important that you meet him.”

Vinnie nodded. There was something about Stephen now that made him sad, something deeper than the change from law to politics, or maybe something very shallow: he didn’t like to see him as the king of hearts.

“I also plan to ask Miss Priscilla Taylor,” Delia added.

“Forgive me, Delia. I too, have been at the champagne. I was trying to remember if I had otherwise committed myself. I should love to come to tea, and I’ve not seen Jem and I’ve not seen Nancy.”

“They’re both fat as pullets and twice as scratchy.”

A hundred people went in to supper at once. Vinnie did take Priscilla. He had hoped that they might sit between couples absorbed in themselves only, but Mrs. Taylor followed as close as the sunrise dawn, and then having her husband seat her next to Vinnie, had the bad grace to proclaim it a charming surprise.

“Look, Mother,” Priscilla cried across him, “gold plate!”

“And golden birds,” said Vinnie, for as one set of attendants served those seated, another group paraded in the roasts to be carved for the next seating. “Don’t it make you feel like Midas’ daughter?”

“I’d rather be a match girl,” Priscilla said. “Do you know how I hit upon the notion? I mean for this costume? I remember ever so often the night you told us about arriving in New York, going about the streets singing with Mrs. Stuart. It’s strange you know, but I always thought it a very sad story. And you were happy, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Vinnie said, “but that’s why it’s a sad story, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I do, I do,” she cried, as though she had discovered the world’s wisdom.

“What is it you do, child?” Mrs. Taylor queried.

“Understand something Mr. Dunne said, Mother.”

It was like sitting before a roaring hearth in a drafty room, Vinnie thought, sharing himself with these two: toasted on one side and frosted on the other.

“How nice,” Priscilla said, for at that moment the king and queen of hearts came up and took the places opposite the elder Taylors, Delia with ever so slight a wink at Vinnie.

Mrs. Taylor inquired after the senator. He would retire before the President, Delia said, if the President stayed up after midnight. The White House, however, was early darkened these days.

“Old Buck will keep him up,” Mr. Taylor said. “There’ll be sociability in the White House when he’s elected.” And Vinnie first realized that he must plan to vote Democrat. That was something of a shock. But then a great many old time Whigs were going Democrat, in the hope of keeping peace—and prosperity.

“Frémont will retire him early,” Vinnie whispered to Priscilla.

“Mr. Buchanan is at least a gentleman,” Mrs. Taylor said then.

Vinnie knew she was contrasting him with Douglas, not Frémont. So did Stephen, for he said: “I must protest that having shared the company of an English queen does not necessarily make a gentleman.”

“In fact,” said Vinnie, “it’s been the unmaking of a few.”

Even Mrs. Taylor laughed, and Delia, bless her, then took upon herself the distraction of Priscilla’s mother until the ices were served. What little things they talked about, he and Priscilla, but turning each one over discovering in it a charm, always a new and shining charm. Once when his eyes met Delia’s and she smiled at him, he thought she must be as happy as he was at the moment. Perhaps she was touching Stephen’s hand beneath the table—as he longed and dared not to reach for Priscilla’s. And God knows, he wished Delia happiness, he wished it upon all the world of men and women—such pleasure as this exquisite moment of discovery when hearing her first whisper his name, Vincent. It gave him such joy that he sat grinning, speechless.

“Vincent,” she said again, “papa’s sending for the carriage.”

Vinnie pushed away from the table, making a clatter that turned many eyes upon him. “Mrs. Taylor,” he said, and even his voice seemed to rattle. “May I ask Priscilla for a last dance before you leave?”

She looked up at him, a trifle annoyed and obviously about to refuse him. Suddenly her face changed. Compassion, God knows what, but he could feel the muscles in his own face ease. “Why, yes, Vincent. You may ask her.”

A waltz, he prayed, please Lord, a waltz, even a Verdi waltz. They stood, Priscilla’s fingers on his arm, poised at the ballroom door while the conductor tapped on his stand. “I’m rapping spirits,” Vinnie whispered. “I too,” she said. And the night was full of spirits all attending them. It was a waltz, a glorious spiraling waltz, traveling them far and soon and beyond the garden doors for a shadowed instant when he brushed her lips with his, a kiss as brief as a grace note and unsuspected by anyone save everyone whom their spirits touched that night.

“I
SHOULD VERY MUCH
like Priscilla to have it, Mrs. Taylor,” Vinnie said.

“It is a lovely painting, but I should think you would want to keep it for your own home some day, Vincent. Didn’t it belong to your guardian?”

“I gave it to Mr. Finn, and I should now like to give it again,” Vinnie said.

“And he shall have it back, Mother, when he has—when he has his own home.” Priscilla blushed at having hesitated. But God knows, Vinnie thought, he would never call the bachelors’ boarding house he now lived in home.

“In that case we shall ask your father if you may accept it,” Mrs. Taylor said. “It would seem that you two have already discussed it.”

“We often discuss paintings,” Vinnie said. Not often enough did they discuss anything, however, and then almost always in her company or that of her other daughters.

“Jabez Reed,” she read the signature. “Is he an American?”

“He is,” Vinnie said. “I hope Priscilla will meet him this afternoon.”

“So,” Mrs. Taylor said, having already consented to their attending the opening at the Academy of Design. “Where does he live, this Jabez Reed?”

“I have no idea,” Vinnie said. “We shall be meeting him at the exhibit.”

“I should certainly hope that’s where you were meeting him,” the woman said tartly. Vinnie knew that her inquiry had been directed toward discovering Reed’s measure of respectability by his address. Nor was he rebuffed by her tartness. Such exchanges had become common between them, the warning fire by which they had come to respect each other’s strength. “And will you not have to return to the office today?”

“Not today,” Vinnie said.

“How generous of Mr. Grisholm. Mr. Taylor won’t allow himself a day from the office.”

“I spent the morning closing out my guardian’s business.”

“Oh. That’s very sad, Vincent.”

“It was a matter which would have decided itself before long, and no more happily,” he said.

“Perhaps you should have discussed it with Mr. Taylor—as a friend. But I suppose you had advice.”

Vinnie had discussed it with Mr. Taylor, but if he had not mentioned it to his wife, Vinnie did not intend to.

“And was there nothing you could salvage?” she persisted.

Vinnie restrained himself from looking at his watch, wondering if she was purposely diminishing the time he was to have with Priscilla. “The property is valuable, and the people, the clerks and all.”

“Surely they will find other employment. And you have kept them…how long is it?”

“Three and a half years.”

“More consideration surely than they would have found at the hands of most heirs.”

Vinnie met her eyes and gave her the answer she deserved, but he cloaked it in a question: “Any word from Alex?” Alex would go into his father’s office when he returned from abroad, a business into which it was expected he would take his children when that time came.

“No, no word,” she said, having quite understood his meaning.

“I do think that if Mr. Finn intended you to be a locksmith,” Priscilla said then, “he would not have sent you to law school.”