The Titans (2 page)

own position. Yes, he was proud of his Irish heritage. But he was an American now. He had no desire to fight for the country from which his parents had emigrated in poverty and despair. Nor did he want to go to war against other Americans. Corcoran acknowledged his friend's right to his viewpoint. But he didn't agree with it. Corcoran was also the local leader of the Fenians. Still, he promised that if Michael ever changed his mind, the New York 69th had a place for him. Theo Payne was in his office composing the morning's editorial. Michael lingered in the telegraph room as returns continued to come in. New York was going solidly Republican. New Jersey and Massachusetts were tending the same way. A copy boy ran back and forth between the operators and the tally board, where the clerk continually chalked new figures. The totals were coming in faster now. Two of the telegraphers bet on whether Lincoln would carry sixteen or eighteen free states. Breckenridge appeared to be taking the lead throughout the South. Bell's Constitutional ticket showed initial strength only in Virginia and two of the border states, Kentucky and Tennessee, where pro and antislavery sentiment existed in almost equal amounts. The embattled Douglas would be lucky to pull even one state in the winning column. The Titans35 "Washington!" one of the operators exclaimed. Michael stepped forward, awaiting the message from Jephtha Kent. Jephtha, the son of Amanda's cousin Jared, had been a minister of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, until his views on slavery had gotten him removed from his itinerancy in Virginia. Next had come separation from his wife and children, then an ignominious period of self-inflicted martyrdom in the little town where the family made its home. Finally there had been the involvement with the Underground Railroad that had nearly cost Jephtha his life. Broken and disillusioned, he'd fled to New York shortly after Amanda's death in 1852. With Michael's help, he had reconstructed his life along completely different lines. He'd been the Union's reporter in the nation's capital for the past three and a half years. He was content to let Michael and Louis administer the enormous sums of money that came from the California gold mining properties originally belonging to his father, who had been murdered in San Francisco. The money would always remain Jephtha's. But with his approval-given while he was still a minister- Amanda Kent had taken over the management of the Ophir Company on his behalf. The operator transcribed Jephtha's dispatch in less than half a minute. Both he and Michael stared at the sounder, as if expecting more. The message penciled on the foolscap looked stark because it was so short: SECESSION OF ONE OR MORE SOUTHERN STATES SEEN HERE AS CERTAIN CONSEQUENCE OF LINCOLN ELECTION. PRAY IT WILL NOT LEAD TO WAR. Staring at the paper, Michael realized how deeply the night's events must be affecting Jephtha. 36Prologue He hated slavery. At the same time he regarded most Southerners not as evil people, but as misguided ones- a subtle yet Important difference that lingered from his years as a preacher of the Christian gospel. Every few months Jephtha returned to New York for policy discussions with Theo Payne. From those conversations Michael knew Jephtha desperately feared a final confrontation between the two sections. His three sons still lived in the South. Perhaps that explained why, although he no longer professed much religious faith, he had resorted to the word pray. The operator said, "Guess that's all. But I think Mr. Kent's wrong." Michael picked up the foolscap. "For what reason?" "The South will never go to war just because Lincoln's President." "Oh? Then why have the Charleston papers been writing about a "revolution of 1860?"'" In the cubicle he found Payne taking a nip. He handed him the sheet-"From Jephtha."-and tried to ignore his smile after he read it. "Vsee, Michael? Jephtha knows what's coming." "And just what is my cousin's prediction, gentlemen? Biblical apocalypse?" The strong, faintly sarcastic male voice startled Michael and Payne. The editor's right hand, seeming to move with a life of its own, snatched the whiskey bottle from the desk top, jammed it in the drawer and slid the drawer shut with amazing speed. The man who'd spoken was Louis Kent Louis took the arm of the young woman at his side and guided her into the tiny office. Michael gave him the Washington copy. The Titans37 "Read it for yourself." He inclined his head to Louis' wife of two and a half years. "Good evening, Julia." "Good evening, Mi-heaven above! You're cut. And covered with dust!" "Nothing serious." Amanda's son, whom Michael had served as legal guardian until he reached his majority, let the dispatch droop in his hand. "You didn't get that pounding from the Stovall board, I hope." "Not this particular pounding." "Then where?" "It's not important, Louis." The younger man's eyes showed fleeting annoyance. People didn't refuse to answer questions put to them by Louis Kent. But he stayed calm: "How did the meeting go?" "Miserably." Louis scowled. He was slender and strongly built. And although he was only twenty-three, he already possessed a confidence and maturity that turned feminine heads. He looked superb in whatever he wore-tonight a conservative black frock coat, open to show a single- breasted waistcoat in a pattern of black and white checks that matched his trousers. His black satin cravat, tied in a bow, all but hid the round starched collar of his shirt. It was quite a proper costume for a young man of wealth. Yet its subdued blacks and grays represented a kind of negative but unmistakable ostentation. The tones of the clothing complemented Louis' dark eyes and swarthy skin-a heritage from the Mexican officer who had fathered him during the trouble in Texas in '36. His hair was jet black, worn thick at the back. The hair curled down behind his ears to neatly combed side whiskers reaching to a point just below his 38Prologue earlobes. He hadn't yet adopted the Dundreary look- or the latest male adornment, a flowing mustache. Louis laid his gray kid gloves alongside his stick on the editor's desk. "Summarize the meeting for me, Michael." The order irritated him. But perhaps he was just feeling tense because of the way the election was going. And the cut was throbbing again. "I began by telling the board we'd sent agents to Great Britain to investigate a radical new process for converting pig iron into wrought iron or steel. I told them the inventor, Mr. Bessemer, was making claims worth our attention. Saying the converting furnace he designed would one day produce five tons of steel in a quarter of an hour instead of the ten days it takes now. I went over the agents' report line by line. I covered every detail. Well, almost. Then I gave the board our recommendation, including the budget for funding an experimental installation in the Pittsburgh plant. I pleaded the case for more than three hours." Louis blinked. "I should think they'd have accepted the proposal out of sheer relief. Besides, the level of risk is acceptably low." "They almost agreed. Until Foley asked what Mr. Bessemer's fellow Englishmen thought about him." "And?" Michael shrugged. "I was forced to go back and comment on what I'd omitted from the report. That the other steelmakers say Bessemer and his process are crazy." "You told the truth?" Michael was nonplussed. "Of course." "And that's what defeated us?" "The proposal was turned down unanimously." "Why didn't you lie, for God's sake? That vote completely disrupts my plans to make the Stovall operation more competitive." The Titans39 "If you'd been there, would you have lied?" "You're damn right. And it's damned evident I should have been there!" His fingers were white as he forced himself to look at the dispatch from Jephtha. Disgusted, Michael walked out of the office. Louis' wife followed. "Michael, won't you let me find some alcohol for that cut?" "No, thank you." He was still fuming over Louis' anger and contempt. More and more of late, friction was developing between them. It was one more aspect of the future to worry about. "I'm frightfully sorry you got hurt-was Julia began. "Just a scrape with a couple of street thugs." He perched on the edge of an empty desk. She walked around in front of him. "You could have avoided it if you'd joined us. I was looking forward to your company." Julia's remark was coupled with the sort of glance other men might have interpreted as very close to sexual invitation. Michael didn't because he'd seen such glances before. He knew they were automatic and impersonal. Louis Kent's wife was almost as diminutive as Theo Payne. She had glossy dark brown hair and blue eyes whose vividness was exaggerated by her porcelain-pale skin. Her expensive bell-sleeved gown matched the color of her eyes perfectly. The gown fitted closely over her breasts and was open to the waist, revealing a blouse of immaculate white muslin with a frilled collar. Her voluminous skirt over crinolines was trimmed with dark blue satin edged with pleated taffeta. Her hat was a shallow-crowned straw; the wide brim drooped exactly as far as fashion dictated. A dark blue satin rosette decorated the hat's front. Two matching satin streamers down the back had been carefully draped over her left shoulder. In weather 40Prologue more typical of November, an outer cloak would have completed the outfit. Julia stepped closer to him. "I can't see how you of all people could resist Delmonico's." It was a light jibe at his infamous appetite. He consumed huge quantities of food and never gained a pound. He didn't mind the teasing. But he did mind her physical nearness. He rose and stepped away: "I suppose it shows my slum upbringing, but I prefer the Bull's Head. The waiters shout in English instead of whispering bogus French." "But you've never met the Commodore!" "I've seen him driving his buggy along Broadway like a madman. That's enough for me." "Do you happen to know how old he is?" "Sixty-seven, sixty-eight-was "He's certainly spry. And he's a dear. A perfect original!" Michael wanted to laugh. If Cornelius Vanderbilt had been poor, no doubt she'd have said he was one of the most shabbily dressed, foul-mouthed men in New York. Louis, at least, was more honest-and calm again as he walked out of the office carrying a sheaf of copy for the morning edition: "That he is. I don't know many who can swear like a dock hand and chew Lorillard plug at the same time." Proudly, Julia said, "He invited us to Washington Place for cards after dinner." "We invited him down here instead," Louis added. "He went home." "Doesn't he care who wins the election?" Michael asked. "He cares more about playing whist." Julia pouted. "I did so want to see his house." "Ordinary," Louis told her. But the circumstances of its occupancy had been far from ordinary. The wife of the strong-willed The Titansbleda Commodore had originally refused to move from Staten Island to Manhattan. Vanderbilt had committed her to an insane asylum until she "came to her senses." "By the way, Michael," Louis said. "He does have some interesting plans concerning railroad shares. If we're lucky, he might let us in on a small basis." "Papa's already in," Julia declared. Michael nodded. He knew of Vanderbilt's ambition to acquire two short-line roads, the New York and Harlem and the New York and Hudson. The Kent family's bankers had told him on a confidential basis that the Commodore probably wanted to corner freight business in the state by linking the short lines with a larger prize--the New York Central connecting Albany with Buffalo. Julia kept watching Michael as he said, "Well, I'm sorry to have missed such a grand occasion. But the afternoon was a disaster. I needed lager beer more than either you or the Commodore needed my presence." Julia understood the remark was meant for her. Anger, then amusement flickered in her eyes. Through polite but unmistakable rebuffs, Michael had long ago made it clear he didn't want to play her little game. Strangely, with him she persisted. As she did now, moving in his direction again, and contriving to turn so that her breast brushed his arm briefly. She laid a gloved hand on his sleeve: "I'm sure you did your best at the board meeting. I'm sure you were very persuasive." "I was out of my class against that pack of mossbacks." Julia stood on tiptoe to whisper: "You're a bit of a mossback yourself. Some day, dear Michael, I'll break through that shell-was Louis lifted his head. His wife's whisper hadn't been all that soft-perhaps on purpose. He frowned when he saw how close to the Irishman Julia was standing. She 42Prologue ignored the frown and Louis forced his glance back to his sheaf of copy. "Break through?" Michael said to her. "I doubt it." He was smiling. But his words had an edge. Her eyes. opened wide with anger. He stared at her until she looked away, her cheeks scarlet. Julia Sedgwick Kent, twenty-one, was an odd one indeed, Michael thought. In normal social intercourse she only dealt cordially with those whose wealth and influence matched or outstripped the combined wealth and influence she and Louis had achieved by their marriage. Her acknowledged beauty probably made such behavior acceptable. Yet her beauty was the one characteristic about which Julia was astonishingly-even cruelly-democratic. She wanted men to admire her. All men. From the roughest press worker at the paper to the gentlemen of important families. Some men were out of reach. William B. Astor, for instance. Wall Street said his fortune was close to twenty-five million now; the total Kent assets were worth only about half that, placing Louis and Julia several rungs down on the millionaires ladder. And no matter how rich her husband was, Julia would never be socially acceptable to certain of the Whitneys, the Rhinelanders, the Schermerhorns. To those old families, Louis Kent-even Vanderbilt-would always be upstarts. Anyway, Michael doubted Julia would ever let any man except Louis touch her. It was the ability to attract men-the challenge to win a response-that excited her. Any idiot rash enough to make an overture would probably be stunned by Julia's anger-and by a scathing rebuff that he had misjudged her friendliness in a vulgar and wholly unforgivable way. That was only speculation, of course. There'd never been the tiniest scrap of gossip to suggest Julia carried the game to conclusion. But he didn't care to find out The Titansbledc for himself. It was too risky for a number of reasons, including potential damage to his own self-respect, and the continuing necessity of working with Louis, who hewed to the socially acceptable double standard of male society: What's right for me is not right for my spouse. Every few months Louis slept with some young shopgirl who happened to catch his fancy. He didn't attempt to conceal these
escapades from Michael. But let any man attempt to seduce Julia and Louis would undoubtedly become the very picture of the outraged, vengeful husband. Michael didn't like to admit he found Julia hellishly good looking, or that he responded unwillingly to the sexual aura surrounding her like the scent of her cologne. Sometimes he wondered if she sensed he was attracted. That might explain why she pursued him with more determination than she did some who signaled that they wanted no part of her flirtations. Right now she was furious with him for his latest rebuff. He could tell by the stiffness of her posture as she walked a few steps up the aisle and pretended to examine a button on her glove while Louis kept reading. Quite apart from Julia's beauty, he supposed she had good reason for her haughty attitude. Her father, in his seventies, was indeed a close friend of Cornelius Vanderbilt. Julia and "Papa" had been among the privileged few who had cruised New York harbor after the launching of Vanderbilt's opulent 270-foot steam yacht North Star. Julia had only been fourteen, but she vividly recalled the champagne and the lavish fireworks display. Sedgwick had gotten rich on the bases of this friendship. He'd been permitted to invest in the Commodore's immensely profitable Accessory Transit Company. At the height of the gold rush, the company had shortened the sea route to California by two days via a connection 44Prologue across Nicaragua rather than Panama. Next Sedgwick had pumped money into Vanderbilt's lucrative New York to Le Havre freight and passenger line. He was currently using his connection to share in the Commodore's new passion-railroads-and to help his son-in- law do the same if he wished. Sedgwick was by no means old New York society. But he was sufficiently wealthy and well placed so that Louis' successful courtship had been something of an accomplishment. Julia and Louis had married a year and a half after the conclusion of his last term at Harvard. He'd gone there at Michael's insistence but had dawdled through his classes. Louis had never received his degree. By the time he quit the university to devote himself to running the affairs of the family, he had only finished a year and a half of actual study. He'd developed a pattern of growing disinterested by the end of one term, at which time he would come back to New York and spend half a year with Michael learning the business. Twice Michael had been able to persuade him to return for a fall term-and twice, when winter arrived in the city, so did Louis, saying he was bored with Cambridge and eager to get on with his practical education. At the end of the third term, Michael abandoned any hope of Louis' graduating. Not that Louis wasn't bright. He'd quickly absorbed the training Michael had given him, as well as that from the Kents legal and banking advisers. Michael watched Louis grow into a shrewd and capable administrator who weighed every decision in terms of profit or loss. A year after the wedding, Louis succumbed to Julia's constant complaints about the smelly Italians, the quarrelsome Irish, and the stubborn Germans with whom the better classes were increasingly forced to contend in the crowded city. He presented his wife with a second The Titansblede home-a country retreat-even more lavish than the Madison Square mansion, which had become the family seat after Amanda Kent de la Gura had returned east from the gold fields. The new house, a great monster of a place near Tarrytown, had been designed in the popular Gothic Revival style. In Michael's opinion, the house well illustrated the paradox of Louis Kent. He was jealous of even a single penny lost from the profits of the diversified Kent enterprises-and none too scrupulous, sometimes, about how he increased those profits. Yet he liked personal ostentation. Contrary to all advice, he'd indulged his liking on an unprecedented scale by building the country place on wooded property overlooking the Hudson River. Louis was never at ease when imagination was required compyramiding wealth excepted-and so he'd been at a loss for a name for the house. It was Michael who'd proposed a name tracing back to the man who had sired Louis' great-grandfather Philip, the first of the Kents. Philip Kent's father, a British nobleman, had owned a country estate called Kentland. Although Louis acted put out because he hadn't thought of it-and because Michael seemed to know more of his family's history than he did-the name was finally adopted, and the American Kentland was surrendered to its new mistress. Louis and Julia divided their time between Madison Square, where Michael lived, and the country house, to which all of the family heirlooms had been removed. Louis' easy compliance about the house was just one reason Michael considered the alliance with Julia unfortunate. Another was the way her temperament reinforced her husband's. She approved of, and encouraged, patterns of behavior that were a distortion of what Michael considered moral-patterns Louis had already developed in his private life and in business. Louis' approach to business and life had been 46Prologue summed up for Michael in a conversation he'd had with Amanda's son several years after she died. Just prior to her death, Louis had sexually assaulted one of the household girls. Amanda had discovered it. For punishment, she'd beaten her son with a buggy whip and charged him never again to take advantage of anyone of inferior strength or resources. Over whiskey one evening, Michael asked Louis outright whether the whipping had left a lasting impression. To this day, he recalled the boy's handsome, swarthy face lighting with an almost rapturous smile. "An impression, Michael? Definitely. It taught me one invaluable lesson. Whatever you do, no matter how bad, the important thing is not to get caught." "But Mrs. A said you were contrite-was "Of course I was contrite! I was damn mad that I'd let myself have a second go at that little slut of a housemaid. If I hadn't, I'd never have been found out. But I was. Only an imbecile would have denied being sorry. I pretended, Michael-pretended-principally so my mother wouldn't whip me half to death." The lightly'spoken words had tainted their relationship ever since. As was his right, Amanda's son gradually assumed control of the various family enterprises: the publishing house in Boston; the Union; the Kents' partial ownership of the cotton-spinning mill in Rhode Island; the gold mines; and the steel works in which Amanda had acquired a substantial interest during her lifetime. Michael had occupied the Kent seat on the board of The Stovall Works solely as a surrogate; Louis made every decision. While Michael saw Amanda Kent in her son, it was a subtly warped reflection. Louis possessed much of his mother's strength, but without the innate decency and compassion that had helped temper her occasionally ruthless use of that strength. The Titansbledg Michael believed the lack in Louis to be partly his fault. Whenever he felt the failure most keenly, he consoled himself with the thought that once Louis had reached fifteen-the age at which Michael had assumed guardianship-a fundamental change in the boy's character had probably been impossible to achieve. If that wasn't true, at least it eased his conscience. At first, as Louis was learning about the different businesses, he and Michael had been fairly close. When they argued, it was on the merits of a question, with little or no personal rancor. But the more Louis learned, the more he changed. Julia's presence had only accelerated the change- And opened another gulf. Michael felt he was part of the family. Louis and Julia saw it otherwise. Louis was the only true Kent. He finished reading the last piece of copy as Payne emerged from his cubicle. "That has the makings of a good editorial, Theo," Louis said. Michael detected insincerity. Except for insisting upon no unfavorable stories about industrialists or the factory system, Louis wasn't interested in the paper's position on issues, only its earnings. It was Michael who enforced the policy Amanda had outlined when she lay dying. Louis added, "I do hope you're wrong about war- you and our family prophet." "You mean Jephtha?" Payne asked. "Yes." Michael's brow hooked up because Louis actually sounded concerned. "I don't know how many millions the South owes Northern bankers like Joshua Rothman. But I can imagine the panic if all those loans were suddenly to go into default. It would be worse than '57-and that wasn't exactly a banner year." 48Prologue "That's all that worries you?" Michael asked. "The possible effects of secession on business?" Half turned toward the tally board where the clerk was chalking new figures, Louis spun back. "Why else should I be worried? I certainly don't give a damn about a lot of unwashed niggers. It doesn't matter to me whether they're free men or property, so long as they keep supplying the Blackstone mill with cotton. That supply could be drastically cut-or disappear altogether comif we have real trouble with the South." "But the Stovall Works should prosper if the North needs munitions," Payne put in. Louis nodded. "Yes, that's a plus." Michael said, "Apart from the Bessemer proposal, steel for armaments was almost the sole subject of discussion by the board members. They were all licking their chops. Not a one of them seems to care a damn about the possible disruption of the country." "I do," Louis said. Sarcastically, Michael asked, "For humanitarian reasons? Or commercial ones?" Louis' glance was hostile; his tone curt: "The latter. The Republicans promise to encourage industrialization. That means they favor the high protective tariff, which benefits-was "Us," Michael cut in. "The North. And the farmers in the West. It's also one more bone sticking in the backslash iSouth's throat." "Well, you can't blame the Kent family-or New England and New York and Ohio-because shortsighted fools down in Georgia and Mississippi have built their economy on cotton. Did they expect its price to stay high with so many planters growing one crop? Fewer dollars-no factories to speak of-hell, they have to import most of their goods, and it's getting harder and harder for them to come up with the cash. Too bad. I'm interested in our welfare. I'd hate to see the The Titansbledi Republicans forced to abandon their promises about tariffs. It could happen-quickly-if that long-armed lawyer drags us all into a war with his moralizing and his endless dirty jokes." Louis had heard Lincoln speak at Cooper Union. He hadn't been impressed. "His jokes aren't dirty," Payne said. "Just refreshingly crude." Julia pouted. "Louis, you know discussions like this are over my head, and wearisome besides. I'm growing dreadfully tired-was "I want to check the returns and then we'll go along," he assured her. Michael was seething. With a slashing gesture he indicated the board: "There they are. Bad for business!" Louis eyed Michael, but controlled himself. "What about reaction from the South, Theo?" "Did I neglect to hand you the dispatch from Lucas?" He smiled. "In Charleston they're celebrating. Tomorrow will be an informal commercial holiday." "A holidayThat Louis understood. "Damn. It is coming-was He suppressed his anger. "But I suppose we're smart enough to weather it. Alert men should be able to find ways to profit from the wants and misfortunes of both sides. It's conceivable we could turn our need for cotton into trading leverage. Even at war, the South would have to purchase goods somewhere. Michael, we should write a confidential letter to the Lacroix brothers in New Orleans-being cotton factors, they'll have a grasp of what may happen to the supply if some of those hotheads pull their states out of the Union." Michael exploded: "It's a somewhat broader question than supply and demand! It's a question of whether this country can be torn apart at will. Think of what secession could do to this family. Think of Jephtha! He has three sons in Virginia-was 50Prologue Louis shjrugged. "His concern, I'm afraid. Certainly not mine." "I expect your mother would have considered Jephtha's boys her concern. I think they'd be somewhat more important to her than our balance sheets!" Michael's cheeks felt hot Julia inhaled, quickly and loudly. He didn't look at her. Payne fidgeted as Louis abandoned even the pretense of cordiality. "My mother is dead, Michael. I run Kent's according to my lights. And if you don't care for my style of doing business, you're free to disassociate yourself at any time." Like a disgruntled employee? Michael thought, furious at the way Louis had put him in his place by stating the truth of their relationship: he was the outsider. No. That wasn't entirely true. Amanda had given him heavy responsibilities because she'd recognized the potential weakness in Louis. And, at the last, they'd loved one another almost as mother and son. Spiritually if not legally, he was a Kent But he didn't want a scene in front of Theo Payne and the reporters beginning to fill the editorial room. He held his tongue, though doing so only deepened his anger and gloom. One day-maybe quite soon-his differences with Louis could no longer be contained. Then he'd face a crisis. Whether to keep silent, or fight- And lose? He became uncomfortably aware of Julia's cold gaze. She picked up her skirts and hurried to the front windows. For some minutes Michael had been hearing a crowd gathering in Printing House Square. The crowd's murmur was rapidly growing louder. All at once a new sound was added- Drums. "Massachusetts looks certain for Lincoln!" the clerk shouted from the board. "Ohio's going the same way." The Titans51 Louis acknowledged the news with a disgusted nod. He strolled up to join Julia, pushing two reporters out of the way. She pointed: "It's those dreadful Wide-Awakes. The mobs follow them wherever they go!" Michael moved up behind them. The reporters let him through-something they hadn't done for Louis. Louis didn't turn to acknowledge Michael's presence. Julia knew he was there. She adjusted her bonnet. This time she was careful not to touch him. The rhythm of the snare drums drifted up through the November dark. Michael craned to see out the window. To the north of Printing House Square, an orange light began to flicker. People poured into the square ahead of the elongated shadows torchlight flung on the pavement- The shadows of marching men. Four abreast and boots thudding, the first company of Wide-Awakes appeared. The torches put shimmering highlights on black oilcloth capes. Here and there a silver eagle on a glazed black fatigue cap winked like a mirror reflecting the sun. Companies of the political marching organization had been formed all through the North in the months since Lincoln's tacticians had snatched the nomination from New York's Senator Seward out at the Wigwam in Chicago. The Wide-Awakes