This inquiry, when made by Jamieson, resulted in a most shocking and disturbing reaction on the part of Aileen, a reaction plus an attitude which posed a problem that was seemingly insurmountable without resulting in practically a national scandal.
“Why do you ask me?” she said. “Why don’t you ask Dr. James and Miss Fleming? They have been in complete charge of his affairs ever since he has been here, and before.”
“But, Mrs. Cowperwood,” said Jamieson, astounded. “This is your husband. Do you mean to say that you do not wish to have him removed to your home?” An inquiry which brought from her the sharp and staccato reply:
“I have been personally ignored and lied to by Mr. Cowperwood, and also by his doctor and his mistress. Let them arrange to have his body sent to a funeral parlor and have the funeral from there.”
“But, Mrs. Cowperwood,” insisted Jamieson, in an agitated voice, “this is a most unheard-of proceeding. All the newspapers will find out. Surely you wouldn’t like that in connection with so great a figure as your husband.”
But at this point Dr. James, hearing this shocking statement, came forward and took the telephone receiver from Jamieson.
“Mrs. Cowperwood, this is Dr. James,” he said, coldly. “I am the physician, as you know, who was called in by Mr. Cowperwood when he came back to this country. Mr. Cowperwood is no relative of mine, and I have served him as I would any other patient, you included. But if you persist in this astounding attitude toward a man who is your husband, and whose property you are to inherit, I assure you that you will never be done with the scandal of it. It will follow you to the end of your days. Surely you must realize the significance of that.”
He waited for a second, but there was silence on her part.
“Now, I am not asking you to do me any favor, Mrs. Cowperwood,” he went on. “Only yourself. Certainly his body can be removed to an undertaker’s establishment, and buried anywhere, if that is what you wish. But is it? As you know, the press can learn from me or from the undertaker as to what has become of his body. But once more, and finally, for your own sake, I am asking you to think this over, for if you do as you say, I will see that tomorrow’s papers print the whole story.”
At this point he stopped talking, waiting and hoping for a more humane reply. But hearing the telephone click, he realized that she had hung up the receiver. Whereupon he turned to Jamieson, saying:
“That woman is, for the time being, not wholly sane. We’ll simply have to take this matter into our own hands and act for her. Mr. Cowperwood is so well liked by his own servants that I’m sure there will be no difficulty in reaching them, so that, without her knowledge, his body can be transferred to the house and remain there until it can be properly removed to his tomb. This is something that we can and must do. We cannot possibly allow this tragedy to occur.”
And taking his hat, he went out, but not before looking in on Berenice, who by then had recovered her composure, and asking her to return to her room and wait there until she heard from him.
“Do not despair, Berenice. Believe me, this will all be arranged in the most correct and unobtrusive manner possible. I can promise you that,” and he pressed her hand affectionately.
His next move was to have Cowperwood’s body taken to an undertaking establishment located near the hotel. Next, he intended to consult with Jamieson as to the character and mentality of the Cowperwood servants. Surely one or two of them could be depended on for assistance. For he was morally convinced that Aileen should not have her way. He might have to overstep his rights, but he saw no other course. Long before this he had sensed the basis of the difference between her and Cowperwood. She was, as he had seen for himself, really deeply in love with her husband, but so jealous of his every action as to make her dream of happiness a vehicle of pain.
Curiously enough, at this very difficult moment, Jamieson was called upon by one Buckner Carr, head butler at the Cowperwood home, a man who had been in Cowperwood’s service since his Chicago years. His purpose in calling, as it turned out, was to convey to Jamieson not only his great sorrow and dismay at Mr. Cowperwood’s death, but, because of a telephone conversation which he had overheard, and which seemed to indicate that Mrs. Cowperwood was charging her husband with unjust accusations and, most terrible of all, refusing to allow him now to be brought into his own home, he desired to offer his service toward averting such a tragedy.
When Dr. James returned to the hotel, he found Jamieson and Carr together, and he immediately explained to them the plan he had worked out in his own mind. He had instructed the undertaker, he said, to prepare the body for burial, provide a suitable casket, and await further directions. The problem now was to decide when it could be transferred to the mansion, and whether the servants would be there to assist in the arrangement of a secret and silent reception of the body, together with the labor of taking it to the proper room, and in the most noiseless fashion, in order that Mrs. Cowperwood would not be aware of its arrival, at least until the following morning. Did Buckner Carr believe that this could be done without interference? Carr replied that if he were now allowed to return to the Cowperwood home for an hour or two he would call back and state whether the exact conditions outlined by Dr. James could be fulfilled. After which he left, and at the end of two hours called on the telephone to say that the best time would be between ten o’clock in the evening and one o’clock in the morning; all of the servants were anxious to help, and the house would be dark and silent.
And, in consequence, as planned, the transfer of Cowperwood’s body in its casket was executed, at one o’clock in the morning, while Carr outside silently patrolled a practically deserted street. The faithful servant followers of their former master had arranged the large living room on the second floor for the reception of the richly ornamented casket in which he lay. As he was being carried in, one of them stood before Aileen’s door, listening, in anticipation of any least stir.
Thus the unheralded funeral cortege of Frank Algernon Cowperwood, in the silence of the night—he and Aileen once more united in their own home.
Chapter 71
No troublesome thoughts or dreams concerning the entire proceedings of the night disturbed Aileen before the light of early morning awakened her. Although usually she felt disposed to linger in her bed for a period, on this occasion, hearing a noise as though some heavy object had dropped to the floor of the balcony below, and fearing that it might have been a valuable Greek marble recently purchased and more recently temporarily placed, she arose and descended the staircase that led to the balcony. Looking around curiously as she walked past the large double doors leading into the main drawing room, she went directly to the newly placed art piece, but found it quite in order.
Yet, as she turned about to retrace her steps, and as she again approached the doors to the drawing room, she was startled by the presence and appearance of a large black, heavily draped, oblong box, standing in the center of the huge room. A shivering cold swept across her body, and for the time being she could not move. Then she turned as if to run away, but then, pausing, returned again to the entrance of the room and stood there, amazed and staring. A coffin! God! Cowperwood! Her husband! Cold and dead! And he had come to her, although she had refused to go to him when he was alive!
With trembling and remorseful steps she walked forward to gaze on his cold and death-stilled body. The high forehead! The distinguished, well-shaped head! The smooth brown hair, even at this time not gray! The impressive features, all of which were so familiar to her! The whole figure suggesting power, thought, genius, which the world had so readily recognized in him from the beginning! And she had refused to go to him! She stood stiffly, inwardly regretting something—his own errors and hers. And the endless, almost inhuman storms that had come and gone between them. And yet, here he was, at home at last! At home!
But then suddenly, the strangeness, the mystery, the final defiance of her will, emphasized by his being here, aroused her to anger. Who had brought him, and how? At what hour? For only the previous evening, she, by her orders and commands to the servants, had barred all doors. Yet here he was! Obviously, his, not her, friends and servants must have collaborated to have done this for him. And so plainly now, all would be anticipating a change of attitude on her part, and if so, all the customary and formal last rites due to any such distinguished man. In other words, he would have won. It would appear as though she had altered her views and condoned his unfettered self- directing actions. But no, never should they do this to her! Insulted and triumphed over to the very last; Never! And yet, even as she declared her defiance to herself, there he lay, and even as she gazed on him, there was the sound of footsteps behind her, and as she turned her head, Carr, the butler, approached, a letter in his hand, saying:
