a marriage of convenience: viii. the visitor
viii. the visitor
The next morning after the party, Wentz's card was sent in while they were still at breakfast. It was a rather late breakfast, but still, a visit at that time of morning was, to say the least, unusual. Of course, Jon thought, Wentz would not be caught dead doing something usual.
The man himself followed his card with unseemly haste, brushing off Jon's servant at the door and pulling out a chair, helping himself to an orange from the dish in front of him. "Good morning," he said to Jon, "I hope I am not disturbing this charming tete-a-tete," with the grin that let everyone know that of course Wentz knew precisely how much he was disturbing Jon, and was enjoying it. For a moment Jon was tempted to tell Wentz exactly that, but then he caught sight of the way Tom looked at Wentz, grinning easily the way he had the night before, in a way he had rarely - perhaps never - smiled in this room, or in Jon's house. Jon confined himself to saying sulkily,
"You're up and about early, I would have thought it unlike you."
"Never went to bed," Wentz said cheerfully. "You both left a good party, I was looking for you later, Tom."
"I'm sure," Tom said in a light-hearted tone Jon would not have thought he could feign. "You were probably too busy trying to break the young heir's heart to spare a thought for me."
"Oh, that young man has more chaperones than a Turkish harem, and they were all bigger and uglier than the ones I saw in Turkey besides. I was lucky to escape with my life - you don't think they'd let me near him for longer than they had to for me to make my bow, do you?"
"Were you in Turkey?" Tom said eagerly, his face lighting up. "I know you said you wanted to go -"
"I was," Wentz said, as he swung himself to his feet. "I'll tell you about it, but come along on a walk with me. I could use your opinion -- I'm considering buying some new horses, I've been lucky in cards lately, if not lucky in love."
Tom pulled a tragic face, twisting his mouth comically in a way Jon had not seen before. Then he grew more serious and looked at Jon, but before he could say a word Wentz said, with a mocking edge, "Is Tom allowed to come out and play?"
Tom looked sharply at Wentz, and for a moment Jon was tempted to say no, just to deny Wentz something, but he looked again at Tom and then said, "Of course, you must do as you like, I was about to leave anyway. I have plans for the day."
"Oh, of course," Tom said, and then walked out with Wentz, who was already jabbering nonsense. Jon sat for a while over his tea and then retired to the library to read. It was a long time before Tom came back.
Over the next few weeks Jon had ample reason to regret his generosity in allowing Wentz the run of his house. For one thing, Wentz took his invitation to heart, coming over at all hours of the day, bearing Tom off with him to hear some poet read or look at some work of art Wentz was contemplating acquiring, or else settling himself in the parlor, stretched out on the carpet talking at Tom incessantly. Jon didn't understand how Tom did not have the headache after a quarter hour in Wentz's company. God knew Jon did.
Although Jon's thoughts were uncharitable to the greatest degree, he did do his best to stay out of their way. Whatever his thoughts about Wentz, it was undeniable that Tom was happier in his company, laughing out loud in the faded rooms, listening to Wentz's babbling about his travels with a crease in his forehead that betrayed intense interest, sometimes asking a question or two in a low voice that made Wentz sit up and talk even more quickly. Tom was happy, Jon told himself, as he holed up in his library where neither the papers nor the latest scandalous novel could hold his attention.
He was walking across the hallway toward the front door - he had to leave his library sometime, and besides, it was his house - when he heard Wentz say his name.
"I won't talk to you about him," Tom said quietly as Jon drew closer to the room.
"I don't like the way he treats you," Wentz said. "I don't like the idea of you married to a fool."
Before Jon could make himself known Tom said, "You have no right to an opinion in this matter, and besides, you don't know what you're talking about."
"Like that ever stopped me before," Wentz said, and when Tom didn't laugh he continued, "Or are you saying that I gave up my right to an opinion? You're right, I did, but play me fair, Tommy, I didn't know what would happen when I left. My father just offered me the opportunity to travel - to get me out of trouble, he said, and I didn't know - I'm always in trouble, at least according to him, I just thought I'd been rude to the wrong rich maiden aunt and they wanted me out of the way for a while. It never occurred to me that people would say that you and I - "
"We were caught," Tom said, and Jon bit his lip. "We were caught, coming in at night, alone, what did you think people would say? That you just took me out to the park to draw by candlelight?"
Wentz said, "I'm a fool, I know it, but if I'd known what people were saying I never would have left you alone to face it, you have to know that -"
"I know," Tom said. Then he said, "It doesn't matter. What would you have done if you were here - marry me?"
"Was that really the only thing for it? Surely the gossip would have died down eventually. Did you really have to -"
"My father," Tom said, in a voice full of pain. "He wasn't - he was never angry, not at me, but he was so hurt, so hurt for me. He never believed it, he said, but - he was just so happy, when he arranged the marriage, and he asked me for so little, and I'd - I had my own reasons, besides. And it's been all right, it's been fine, I am not - unhappy."
"You were never a liar, Tom, before you were married," Wentz said. "I don't like it, I don't like it at all."
"I think you should leave now," Tom said. "I'm tired, and I have to see that supper is underway."
"So you can eat it alone?" Wentz said. When Tom didn't answer he said, "I'll be off, then. I didn't mean to upset you." He paused for a moment, then said with more sincerity than Jon had ever heard in his voice, "You may find it hard to believe, but I never do."
As he got up Jon backed quickly toward the library and stood with a hand on the doorknob as if he were just coming out. When Wentz caught sight of him he gave him a knowing look, as if he suspected what Jon had been doing. Jon looked at him coldly. He'd never been an eavesdropper, before Wentz came to his house. "On your way out, then?" Wentz said. "Another night at the club for you?"
"Yes," Jon said as he let Wentz precede him to the door. "And for you?"
"Oh, I've no need to bury myself at the club," Wentz said as he left. "After all, I'm not a married man."
Jon set out for his club without another word, but somehow he did not manage to find his way there. Instead he went downtown, and then returned home before supper was even on the table. He found Tom in his room, lounging in the window with a novel he wasn't reading. "I have tickets for the play tonight," he said abruptly. "It's new, you'll like it."
"Oh," Tom said, sitting up straight and dropping his book. "Thank you, that is kind, but Pete - Lord Wentz - has a box for tonight, he asked if I would like to go, and you said you'd be at the club, so I - but I'm sure you can come along, he won't mind -"
"No," Jon said. "I don't care about going, I'd rather go to the club. I just wanted to make sure you got to see it." He reached down and picked up Tom's book for him. It was a scandalous new novel, just published anonymously, with a lurid red cover. Jon had a copy himself, the one that had failed to hold his interest this afternoon. His had a blue cover. "Do you enjoy this trash?" Jon said, and Tom flushed.
"Not really, I found it a little overblown, but when Pete gave it to me he said it was all the rage, so I thought I'd try it."
"Read what you like, I don't care," Jon said, throwing it onto the window seat beside Tom. "I'll dine at home tonight, can you have them send me a tray in the library?"
"Oh, if you'll be at home, I can stay in, I'll just send a note to -"
"Can't I be alone in my own house for one night?" Jon said, and Tom looked at him for a long moment before he said, quietly,
"Of course. I'll have a tray sent in to you."
"Thank you," Jon said, because unlike some other people he could name, he had manners. Then he went to the library to brood over the papers and sulk over his novel and refuse to eat his supper and drink quite a lot of claret. He heard Wentz's voice in the hallway, and the front door shut behind Tom, and then nothing but the sound of his own thoughts and the clink of the decanter against his glass for a very long time. Finally, quite late, he heard the door open, and Tom's step in the hall, quicker and lighter than it usually was when he came in with Jon. When Jon opened the library door he could hear Tom singing a little, under his breath.
"Was the show to your liking?" he said.
Tom turned to him with a smile. "Yes, it was wonderful," he said, and then he said, "Are you drunk?"
"I am not," Jon said firmly, and then lost his grip on the wall and nearly fell.
"Here," Tom said, hurrying toward him, sliding an arm around Jon's shoulders, "should I call your man?"
"No," Jon said. "No, I'll just go back in here -" and cried out as he missed the door and banged his nose on the jamb.
"Let me call someone," Tom said, "to put you safely to bed."
"No," Jon said stubbornly, "I'll sleep in here. I like it."
"Fine," Tom said. He followed Jon into the library, guiding him away from the walls with a hand on his arm. When Jon sat down heavily on the sofa and then fell onto his side, pulling his legs up, Tom sighed and knelt in front of him. He slipped Jon's shoes off and loosened his cravat for him and slid a small hard pillow under his head. "Are you sure you won't go to bed?"
"I don't like my bed," Jon said. "I like it here." He motioned toward the decanter on his desk. "Bring it here, I want it."
Tom got up obediently but as he brought the decanter back he said, "Are you sure you really want more?"
"I need more," Jon said, "I am in great need, I need more to drink."
"I'm not sure of that -"
"I am," Jon said. "I am in great need of strong drink, because I am not happy."
Tom stopped a few steps away, the decanter in his hand. He didn't move until Jon waved his hand at him again and called again for the claret. Then he bent down and put it on the floor next to the sofa. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said quietly. "I truly am."
"Not your fault," Jon said. "Nobody's fault. Well, Wentz's fault, maybe."
"No," Tom said. "What decisions I made, I made myself. No one else is at fault."
"Decisions," Jon said. "Some things - they're not decisions. You do something and you think it's all right, you think you can do it and it won't mean anything, it won't change anything, but then you get all caught up, you never thought you would but you do and then it's too late. You're caught, it's too late," he said sadly, and lifted the decanter to his mouth, spilling claret down his jacket. Tom took the decanter from his hand before he could drop it and put it safely on the ground.
"Yes," Tom said. "You're caught, and it's too late." Then he said, "I think I will go to bed now. Are you sure you'll be all right here?" Jon grunted, and Tom left, leaving the door ajar behind him. Jon could hear his step on the stairs, slow and heavy.
When he woke up the next morning, Jon was tangled in his jacket and his pants were ruined, dried claret sticky down one leg. His valet took one look at him and tendered his resignation, though he relented when Jon complained of his headache. He repaired himself enough to go in to breakfast, though he took nothing but strong coffee, and plenty of it. Across from him Tom drank tea and pushed at a piece of toast and stared distractedly out the window. He looked tired.
"I'm sorry," Jon said finally, when Tom got up to leave, "if, last night, I said or did anything to disturb you. I'm afraid I have only the fuzziest memory, but I did not wish to upset you."
"You spoke only the truth," Tom said, with an odd smile. "They say a man will in his cups, if at no other time." Then, when Jon looked at him uneasily, he said, "You said nothing you should not, last night - don't worry about that."
[ix. the season]