Chapter XLV
Say what one will about prison life in general, modify it ever so much by
special chambers, obsequious turnkeys, a general tendency to make one as
comfortable as possible, a jail is a jail, and there is no getting away from
that. Cowperwood, in a room which was not in any way inferior to that of
the ordinary boarding-house, was nevertheless conscious of the character of
that section of this real prison which was not yet his portion. He knew that
there were cells there, probably greasy and smelly and vermin-infested, and
that they were enclosed by heavy iron bars, which would have as readily
clanked on him as on those who were now therein incarcerated if he had not
had the price to pay for something better. So much for the alleged equality of
man, he thought, which gave to one man, even within the grim confines of
the machinery of justice, such personal liberty as he himself was now
enjoying, and to another, because he chanced to lack wit or presence or
friends or wealth, denied the more comfortable things which money would
buy.
The morning after the trial, on waking, he stirred curiously, and then it
suddenly came to him that he was no longer in the free and comfortable
atmosphere of his own bedroom, but in a jail-cell, or rather its very
comfortable substitute, a sheriff's rented bedroom. He got up and looked out
the window. The ground outside and Passayunk Avenue were white with
snow. Some wagons were silently lumbering by. A few Philadelphians were
visible here and there, going to and fro on morning errands. He began to
think at once what he must do, how he must act to carry on his business, to
rehabilitate himself; and as he did so he dressed and pulled the bell-cord,
which had been indicated to him, and which would bring him an attendant
who would build him a fire and later bring him something to eat. A shabby
prison attendant in a blue uniform, conscious of Cowperwood's superiority
because of the room he occupied, laid wood and coal in the grate and
started a fire, and later brought him his breakfast, which was anything but
prison fare, though poor enough at that.
After that he was compelled to wait in patience several hours, in spite of the
sheriff's assumption of solicitous interest, before his brother Edward was
admitted with his clothes. An attendant, for a consideration, brought him
the morning papers, and these, except for the financial news, he read
indifferently. Late in the afternoon Steger arrived, saying he had been busy
having certain proceedings postponed, but that he had arranged with the
sheriff for Cowperwood to be permitted to see such of those as had
important business with him.
By this time, Cowperwood had written Aileen under no circumstances to try
to see him, as he would be out by the tenth, and that either that day, or
shortly after, they would meet. As he knew, she wanted greatly to see him,
but he had reason to believe she was under surveillance by detectives
employed by her father. This was not true, but it was preying on her fancy,
and combined with some derogatory remarks dropped by Owen and Callum
at the dinner table recently, had proved almost too much for her fiery
disposition. But, because of Cowperwood's letter reaching her at the
Calligans', she made no move until she read on the morning of the tenth
that Cowperwood's plea for a certificate of reasonable doubt had been
granted, and that he would once more, for the time being at least, be a free
man. This gave her courage to do what she had long wanted to do, and that
was to teach her father that she could get along without him and that he
could not make her do anything she did not want to do. She still had the
two hundred dollars Cowperwood had given her and some additional cash of
her own—perhaps three hundred and fifty dollars in all. This she thought
would be sufficient to see her to the end of her adventure, or at least until
she could make some other arrangement for her personal well-being. From
what she knew of the feeling of her family for her, she felt that the agony
would all be on their side, not hers. Perhaps when her father saw how
determined she was he would decide to let her alone and make peace with
her. She was determined to try it, anyhow, and immediately sent word to
Cowperwood that she was going to the Calligans and would welcome him to
freedom.
In a way, Cowperwood was rather gratified by Aileen's message, for he felt
that his present plight, bitter as it was, was largely due to Butler's
opposition and he felt no compunction in striking him through his daughter.
His former feeling as to the wisdom of not enraging Butler had proved rather
futile, he thought, and since the old man could not be placated it might be
just as well to have Aileen demonstrate to him that she was not without
resources of her own and could live without him. She might force him to
change his attitude toward her and possibly even to modify some of his
political machinations against him, Cowperwood. Any port in a storm—and
besides, he had now really nothing to lose, and instinct told him that her
move was likely to prove more favorable than otherwise—so he did nothing
to prevent it.
She took her jewels, some underwear, a couple of dresses which she thought
would be serviceable, and a few other things, and packed them in the most
capacious portmanteau she had. Shoes and stockings came into
consideration, and, despite her efforts, she found that she could not get in
all that she wished. Her nicest hat, which she was determined to take, had
to be carried outside. She made a separate bundle of it, which was not
pleasant to contemplate. Still she decided to take it. She rummaged in a
little drawer where she kept her money and jewels, and found the three
hundred and fifty dollars and put it in her purse. It wasn't much, as Aileen
could herself see, but Cowperwood would help her. If he did not arrange to
take care of her, and her father would not relent, she would have to get
something to do. Little she knew of the steely face the world presents to
those who have not been practically trained and are not economically
efficient. She did not understand the bitter reaches of life at all. She waited,
humming for effect, until she heard her father go downstairs to dinner on
this tenth day of December, then leaned over the upper balustrade to make
sure that Owen, Callum, Norah, and her mother were at the table, and that
Katy, the housemaid, was not anywhere in sight. Then she slipped into her
father's den, and, taking a note from inside her dress, laid it on his desk,
and went out. It was addressed to "Father," and read:
Dear Father,—I just cannot do what you want me to. I have
made up my mind that I love Mr. Cowperwood too much, so I am
going away. Don't look for me with him. You won't find me
where you think. I am not going to him; I will not be
there. I am going to try to get along by myself for a
while, until he wants me and can marry me. I'm terribly
sorry; but I just can't do what you want. I can't ever
forgive you for the way you acted to me. Tell mama and Norah
and the boys good-by for me.
Aileen
To insure its discovery, she picked up Butler's heavy-rimmed spectacles
which he employed always when reading, and laid them on it. For a moment
she felt very strange, somewhat like a thief—a new sensation for her. She
even felt a momentary sense of ingratitude coupled with pain. Perhaps she
was doing wrong. Her father had been very good to her. Her mother would
feel so very bad. Norah would be sorry, and Callum and Owen. Still, they did
not understand her any more. She was resentful of her father's attitude. He
might have seen what the point was; but no, he was too old, too hidebound
in religion and conventional ideas—he never would. He might never let her
come back. Very well, she would get along somehow. She would show him.
She might get a place as a school-teacher, and live with the Calligans a long
while, if necessary, or teach music.
She stole downstairs and out into the vestibule, opening the outer door and
looking out into the street. The lamps were already flaring in the dark, and a
cool wind was blowing. Her portmanteau was heavy, but she was quite
strong. She walked briskly to the corner, which was some fifty feet away,
and turned south, walking rather nervously and irritably, for this was a new
experience for her, and it all seemed so undignified, so unlike anything she
was accustomed to doing. She put her bag down on a street corner, finally,
to rest. A boy whistling in the distance attracted her attention, and as he
drew near she called to him: "Boy! Oh, boy!"
He came over, looking at her curiously.
"Do you want to earn some money?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied politely, adjusting a frowsy cap over one ear.
"Carry this bag for me," said Aileen, and he picked it up and marched off.
In due time she arrived at the Calligans', and amid much excitement was
installed in the bosom of her new home. She took her situation with much
nonchalance, once she was properly placed, distributing her toilet articles
and those of personal wear with quiet care. The fact that she was no longer
to have the services of Kathleen, the maid who had served her and her
mother and Norah jointly, was odd, though not trying. She scarcely felt that
she had parted from these luxuries permanently, and so made herself
comfortable.
Mamie Calligan and her mother were adoring slaveys, so she was not
entirely out of the atmosphere which she craved and to which she was
accustomed.
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