Carmen Ariza Part 118

"Stay, Monsignor!" The Beaubien roused up and laid a detaining hand upon his arm. "Our versatile friend, what other projects has she in hand? What is she planning for her young ward?"

"Why, really, I can not say--beyond the fact that the girl is to be introduced to society this winter."

"Humph! Going to make a try for the Ames set?"

"That, I believe, Madam, would be useless without your aid."

"Did Mrs. Hawley-Crowles say so, Monsignor?" demanded the woman, leaning forward eagerly.

"Why, I believe I am not abusing her confidence when I say that she intimated as much," he said, watching her closely and sparring now with better judgment. "She mentioned Mrs. Ames as New York's fashionable society leader--"

"There is no such position as leader in New York society, Monsignor,"

interrupted the Beaubien coldly. "There are sets and cliques, and Mrs. Ames happens to be prominent in the one which at present foolishly imagines it const.i.tutes the upper stratum. Rot! And Mrs.

Hawley-Crowles, with nothing but a tarnished name and a large bank account to recommend her, now wishes to break into that clique and attain social leadership, does she? How decidedly interesting!"

Then the woman's eyes narrowed and grew hard. Leaning closer to the churchman, she rested the tip of her finger on his knee.

"So, Monsignor," she said, with cold precision, "this is Mrs.

Hawley-Crowles's method of renouncing the world, is it? Sublime!

And she would use both you and me, eh? And you are her amba.s.sador at the court of the Beaubien? Very well, then, she shall use us.

But you and I will first make this compact, my dear Monsignor: Mrs. Hawley-Crowles shall be taken into the so-called 'Ames set,'

and you shall cease importuning me to return to your Church, and what is more, shall promise to have no conversation on church matters with her ward, the young girl. If you do not agree to this, Monsignor, I shall set in motion forces that will make your return to New York quite undesirable." When she concluded, she looked long and steadily into his eyes.

Monsignor got slowly to his feet. "Madam!" he exclaimed in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "my astonishment--"

"There," she said calmly, as she rose and took his hand, "please omit the dramatics, Monsignor. And now you must go, for to-night I entertain, and I have already given you more time than I intended.

But, Monsignor, do you in future work with or against me? Are we to be friends or enemies?"

"Why, Madam," he replied quickly, "we could never be the latter!"

"And you always respect the wishes of a friend, especially if she is a lady, do you not?"

"Always, Madam," he returned after a moment's hesitation, as he bowed low over her hand.

"Then, good-bye. And, Monsignor," she added, when he reached the door, "I shall be pleased to attend the dedication of the Hawley-Crowles altar."

When Monsignor's car glided away from her door the Beaubien's face grew dark, and her eyes drew to narrow slits. "So," she reflected, as she entered the elevator to mount to her dressing room, "that is her game, is it? The poor, fat simpleton has no interest in either the girl or myself, other than to use us as stepping-stones. She forgets that a stone sometimes turns under the foot. Fool!"

She entered her room and rang for her maid. Turning to the pier gla.s.s, she threw on the electric light and scrutinized her features narrowly.

"It's going," she murmured, "fast! G.o.d, how I hate those gray hairs!

Oh, what a farce life is--what a howling, mocking farce! I hate it! I hate everything--everybody! No--that little girl--if it is possible for me to love, I love her."

She sank into an easy chair. "I wonder what it is she does to me. I'm hypnotized, I guess. Anyhow, I'm different when I'm with her. And to think that Hawley-Crowles would sacrifice the child--humph! But, if the girl is made of the right stuff--and I know she is--she will stand up under it and be stronger for the experience. She has got something that will make her stand! I once asked her what she had that I didn't, and now I know--it is her religion, the religion that Borwell and Lafelle and the whole kit of preachers and priests would corrupt if they had half a chance! Very well, we'll see what it does under the test. If it saves her, then I want it myself. But, as for that little pin-headed Hawley-Crowles, she's already signed her own death-warrant.

She shall get into the Ames set, yes. And I will use her, oh, beautifully! to pay off certain old scores against Madam Ames--and then I'll crush her like a dried leaf, the fat fool!"

The Beaubien's position was, to say the least, peculiar, and one which required infinite tact on her part to protect. It was for that reason that the decorum which prevailed at her dinners was so rigidly observed, and that, whatever the moral status of the man who sat at her board, his conduct was required to be above reproach, on penalty of immediate ejection from the circle of financial pirates, captains of commercial jugglery, and political intriguers who made these feasts opportunities for outlining their predatory campaigns against that most anomalous of creatures, the common citizen.

It was about this table, at whose head always sat the richly gowned Beaubien, that the inner circle of financial kings had gathered almost nightly for years to rig the market, determine the price of wheat or cotton, and develop mendacious schemes of stock-jobbery whose golden harvests they could calculate almost to a dollar before launching. As the wealth of this clique of financial manipulators swelled beyond all bounds, so increased their power, until at last it could be justly said that, when Ames began to dominate the Stock Exchange, the Beaubien practically controlled Wall Street--and, therefore, in a sense, Washington itself. But always with a tenure of control dubiously dependent upon the caprices of the men who continued to pay homage to her personal charm and keen, powerful intellect.

At the time of which we speak her power was at its zenith, and she could with equal impunity decapitate the wealthiest, most aristocratic society dame, or force the door of the most exclusive set for any protegee who might have been kept long years knocking in vain, or whose family name, perchance, headed a list of indictments for gross peculations. At these unicameral meetings, held in the great, dark, mahogany-wainscoted dining room of the Beaubien mansion, where a single lamp of priceless workmanship threw a flood of light upon the sumptuous table beneath and left the rest of the closely guarded room shrouded in Stygian darkness, plans were laid and decrees adopted which seated judges, silenced clergymen, elected senators, and influenced presidents. There a muck-raking, hostile press was m.u.f.fled.

There business opposition was crushed and compet.i.tion throttled. There tax rates were determined and tariff schedules formulated. There public opinion was disrupted, character a.s.sa.s.sinated, and the death-warrant of every threatening reformer drawn and signed. In a word, there Mammon, in the _role_ of business, organized and unorganized, legitimate and piratical, sat enthroned, with wires leading into every mart of the world, and into every avenue of human endeavor, be it social, political, commercial, or religious. These wires were gathered together into the hands of one man, the directing genius of the group, J. Wilton Ames. Over him lay the shadow of the Beaubien.

An hour after the departure of Monsignor Lafelle the Beaubien, like a radiant sun, descended to the library to greet her a.s.sembled guests.

Some moments later the heavy doors of the great dining room swung noiselessly open, and the lady proceeded unescorted to her position at the head of the table. At her signal the half dozen men sat down, and the butler immediately entered, followed by two serving men with the c.o.c.ktails and the first course. The chair at the far end of the table, opposite the Beaubien, remained unoccupied.

"Ames is late to-night," observed the girthy Gannette, glancing toward the vacant seat, and clumsily attempting to tuck his napkin into his collar.

The Beaubien looked sharply at him. "Were you at the club this afternoon, Mr. Gannette?" she inquired coldly.

Gannette straightened up and became rigid. Pulling the napkin down hastily, he replied in a thick voice, "Just a little game of bridge--some old friends--back from Europe--"

The Beaubien turned to the butler. "William, Mr. Gannette is not drinking wine this evening." The butler bowed and removed the gla.s.ses from that gentleman's place.

Gannette turned to expostulate. "Now, Lucile--" he began peevishly.

The Beaubien held up a hand. Gannette glowered and sank down in his chair like a swollen toad.

"May be Ames is trying to break into the C. and R. directors'

meeting," suggested Weston, himself a director in a dozen companies, and a bank president besides. A general laugh followed the remark.

"They tell me," said Fitch, "that for once Ames has been outwitted, and that by a little bucket-shop broker named Ketchim."

"How's that?" queried Kane, Board of Trade plunger, and the most mettlesome speculator of the group.

"Why," explained Weston, "some months ago Ames tried to reach Ed.

Stolz through Ketchim, the old man's nephew, and get control of C. and R. But friend nephew dropped the portcullis just as Ames was dashing across the drawbridge, and J. Wilton found himself outside, looking through the bars. First time I've ever known that to happen. Now the boys have got hold of it on 'Change, and Ames has been getting it from every quarter."

"Long time leaking out, seems to me," remarked Kane. "But what's Ames going to do about it?"

"Nothing, I guess," returned Weston. "He seems to have dropped the matter."

"I think you will find yourself mistaken," put in the Beaubien evenly.

"Why?" queried Fitch, as all eyes turned upon the woman. "Have you inside information?"

"None whatever," she replied. "But Mr. Ames always gets what he goes after, and he will secure control of C. and R. eventually."

"I don't believe it!" vigorously a.s.serted Murdock, who had been an interested listener. "He will never oust Stolz."

"I have one thousand dollars that says he will," said the Beaubien, calmly regarding the speaker. "William, my checkbook, please."

Murdock seemed taken back for the moment; but lost no time recovering his poise. Drawing out his own book he wrote a check in the Beaubien's name for the amount and sent it down the table to her.

"Mr. Fitch will hold the stakes," said the woman, handing him the two slips of paper. "And we will set a time limit of eighteen months."

"By the way," remarked Peele, the only one of the group who had taken no part in the preceding conversation, "I see by the evening paper that there's been another accident in the Avon mills. Fellow named Marcus caught in a machine and crushed all out of shape. That's the third one down there this month. They'll force Ames to equip his mills with safety devices if this keeps up."

"Not while the yellow metal has any influence upon the Legislature,"

returned the Beaubien with a knowing smile. "But," she added more seriously, "that is not where the danger lies. The real source of apprehension is in the possibility of a strike. And if war breaks out among those Hungarians down there it will cost him more than to equip all his mills now with safety devices."