The Galton Case

Chapter 23

THE CAB-DRIVER stopped at the curb opposite the gates of the Galton estate. He hung one arm over the back of the seat and gave me a quizzical look:

“No offense, Mister, but you want the front entrance or the service entrance?”

“The front entrance.”

“Okay. I just didn’t want to make a mistake.”

He let me off under the porte-cochère. I paid him, and told him not to wait. The Negro maid let me into the reception hall, and left me to cool my heels among the ancestors.

I moved over to one of the tall, narrow windows. It looked out across the front lawn, where the late afternoon sunlight lay serenely. I got some sense of the guarded peace that walled estates like this had once provided. In the modern world the walls were more like prison walls, or the wire fence around a nursing-home garden. When it came right down to it, I preferred the service entrance. The people in the kitchen usually had more fun.

Quick footsteps descended the stairs, and Cassie Hildreth came into the room. She had on a skirt and a sweater which emphasized her figure. She looked more feminine in other, subtler, ways. Something had happened to change her style.

She gave me her hand. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Archer. Sit down. Mrs. Galton will be down in a minute.”

“Under her own power?”

“Yes, isn’t it remarkable? She’s becoming much more active than she was. John takes her out for a drive nearly every day.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“He actually seems to enjoy it. They hit it off from the start.”

“He’s the one I really came to see. Is he around?”

“I haven’t seen him since lunch. Probably he’s out in his car somewhere.”

“His car?”

“Aunt Maria bought him a cute little Thunderbird. John’s crazy about it. He’s like a child with a new toy. He told me he’s never had a car of his own before.”

“I guess he has a lot of things he never had before.”

“Yes. I’m so happy for him.”

“You’re a generous woman.”

“Not really. I’ve a lot to be thankful for. Now that John’s come home, I wouldn’t trade my life for any other. It may sound like a strange thing to say, but life is suddenly just as it was in the old days – before the war, before Tony died. Everything seems to have fallen into harmony.”

She sounded as if she had transferred her lifelong crush from Tony to John Galton. A dream possessed her face. I wanted to warn her not to bank too heavily on it. Every thing could fall into chaos again.

Mrs. Galton was fussing on the stairs. Cassie went to the door to meet her. The old lady had on a black tailored suit with something white at her throat. Her hair was marcelled in hard gray corrugations which resembled galvanized iron. She extended her bony hand:

“I’m most pleased to see you. I’ve been wanting to express my personal appreciation to you. You’ve made my house a happier one.”

“Your check was a very nice expression,” I said.

“The laborer is worthy of his hire.” Perhaps she sensed that that wasn’t the most tactful way to put it, because she added: “Won’t you stay for tea? My grandson will want to see you. I expect him back for tea. He should be here now.”

The querulous note was still in her voice. I wondered how much of her happiness was real, how much sheer will to believe that something good could happen to a poor old rich lady. She lowered herself into a chair, exaggerating the difficulty of her movements. Cassie began to look anxious.

“I think he’s at the country club, Aunt Maria.”

“With Sheila?”

“I think so,” Cassie said.

“Is he still seeing a lot of her?”

“Just about every day.”

“We’ll have to put a stop to that. He’s much too young to think of taking an interest in any one girl. Sheila is a dear sweet child, of course, but we can’t have her monopolizing John. I have other plans for him.”

“What plans,” I said, “if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m thinking of sending John to Europe in the fall. He needs broadening, and he’s very much interested in the modern drama. If the interest persists, and deepens, I’ll build him a repertory theater here in Santa Teresa. John has great talent, you know. The Galton distinction comes out in a different form in each generation.”

As if to demonstrate this proposition, a red Thunderbird convertible careened up the long driveway. A door slammed. John came in. His face was flushed and sullen. He stood inside the doorway and pushed his fists deep in his jacket pockets, his head thrust forward in a peering attitude.

“Well!” he said. “Here we all are. The three fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Mr. Archer.”

“That isn’t funny, John,” Cassie said in a voice of warning.

“I think it’s funny. Very, very funny.”

He came toward us, weaving slightly, exaggerating the movements of his shoulders. I went to meet him:

“Hello, John.”

“Get away from me. I know why you’re here.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll tell you all right.”

He threw a wild fist in my direction, staggering off balance. I moved in close, turned him with his back to me, took hold of his jacket collar with both hands and pulled it halfway down his arms. He sputtered words at me which smelled like the exhalations from a still. But I could feel the lethal force vibrating through him.

“Straighten up and quiet down,” I said.

“I’ll knock your block off.”

“First you’ll have to load yourself up with something solider than whisky.”

Mrs. Galton breathed at my shoulder. “Has he been drinking?”

John answered her himself, in a kind of small-boy defiance: “Yes I have been drinking. And I’ve been thinking. Thinking and drinking. I say it’s a lousy setup.”

“What?” she said. “What’s happened?”

“A lot of things have happened. Tell this man to turn me loose.”

“Let him go,” Mrs. Galton said commandingly.

“Do you think he’s ready?”

“Damn you, let me go.”

He made a violent lunge, and tore loose from the arms of his jacket. He whirled and faced me with his fists up:

“Come on and fight. I’m not afraid of you.”

“This is hardly the time and place.”

I tossed his jacket to him. He caught and held it, looking down at it stupidly. Cassie stepped between us. She took the jacket and helped him on with it. He submitted almost meekly to her hands.

“You need some black coffee, John. Let me get you some black coffee.”

“I don’t want coffee, I’m not drunk.”

“But you’ve been drinking.” Mrs. Galton’s voice rose almost an octave and stayed there on a querulous monotone: “Your father started drinking young, you mustn’t let it happen all over again. Please, you must promise me.”

The old lady hung on John’s arm, making anxious noises, while Cassie tried to soothe her. John’s head swung around, his eyes on me:

“Get that man out of here! He’s spying for Dr. Howell.”

Mrs. Galton turned on me, the bony structure of her face pushing out through the seamed flesh:

“I trust my grandson is mistaken about you. I know Dr. Howell is incapable of committing disloyal acts behind my back.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” John said. “He doesn’t want me seeing Sheila. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to break it up.”

“I’m asking you, Mr. Archer. Did Dr. Howell hire you?”

“I’ll have to ask you to take it up with Howell.”

“It is true, then?”

“I can’t answer that, Mrs. Galton.”

“In that case please leave my house. You entered it under false pretenses. If you trespass again, I’ll have you prosecuted. I’ve a good mind to go to the authorities as it is.”

“No, don’t do that,” John said. “We can handle it, Grandma.”

He seemed to be sobering rapidly. Cassie chimed in:

“You mustn’t get so excited about nothing. You know what Dr. Howell–”

“Don’t mention his name in my presence. To be betrayed by an old and trusted friend – well, that’s what it is to have money. They think they have a right to it simply because it’s there. I see now what August Howell has been up to, insinuating himself and his chit of a daughter into my life. Well, he’s not getting a cent of my money. I’ve seen to that”

“Please calm down, Aunt Maria.”

Cassie tried to lead her back to her chair. Mrs. Galton wouldn’t budge. She called hoarsely in my direction:

“You can go and tell August Howell he’s overreached himself. He won’t get a cent of my money, not a cent. It’s going to my own kith and kin. And tell him to keep that daughter of his from flinging herself at my grandson. I have other plans for him.”

The breath rustled and moaned in her head. She closed her eyes; her face was like a death mask. She tottered and almost fell. John held her around the shoulders.

“Get out,” he said to me. “My grandmother is a sick woman. Can’t you see what you’re doing to her?”

“Somebody’s doing it to her.”

“Are you going to get out, or do I call the police?”

“You’d better go,” Cassie said. “Mrs. Galton has a heart condition.”

Mrs. Galton’s hand went to her heart automatically. Her head fell loosely onto John’s shoulder. He stroked her gray hair. It was a very touching scene.

I wondered as I went out how many more scenes like that the old lady’s heart would stand. The question kept me awake on the night plane to Chicago.