Nelson DeMille - The Gate House

I stopped reading and drew a deep breath. My God. I reread the last line, then continued:

He fancied the foreign born girls, those being the most unlikely to resist him. Before and during the war, it was the Irish girls who fell prey to him, and one of them, Bridget Behan by name, attempted to take her own life after he had his way with her. And after the war, there were a number of displaced persons, mostly German and Polish girls who could hardly speak English, and who were terrified of being deported, and this caused them to bend to his will. One of these girls, a Polish girl of no more than sixteen, whose name I am sorry I cannot recall, became pregnant by him, and he had her returned to her country.

I cannot tell you here all that happened during those years, but I can tell you that his disgraceful behavior continued, unabated, until he and Mrs. Stanhope departed for Hilton Head.

And now, Mr. Sutter, you are thinking to yourself why have I waited until this moment to reveal this? First, I must tell you that I, and others at Stanhope Hall, attempted to bring this matter to the attention of Augustus Stanhope while he lived, but to his shame, he would not hear our complaints. And to my everlasting shame, I did not press the matter with him. And to my husband George’s shame, he would not take the matter to Augustus Stanhope, and told me to be silent. You must understand that in those days, it was not likely that these girls would make a complaint to the authorities, or if they did, would they be believed over the word of William Stanhope? I know, too, that these girls were at times threatened with discharge or deportation, and at times they were paid to keep their silence. I cannot tell you how many young girls fell victim to William Stanhope, but by my reckoning, not a year passed without some incident or complaint that came to my attention. Now, I must say here that some of these girls, perhaps more than I know, were willing participants in these liaisons, and sold themselves for money. But there were at least as many who did not welcome his attentions, but who nonetheless succumbed to his insistent pressure and his physical aggression.

I realize, as I write this, that I have no proof of what I say, except that there is a fine, upstanding lady who is as familiar with these events as I am, and her name is Jenny Cotter, a name which you or Mrs. Sutter may recall from her years as head housekeeper at Stanhope Hall. Mrs. Cotter is alive as I write this, and is in residence at Harbor View Nursing Home in Glen Cove. She can, and is willing to, give you more particulars if you should need or want more than I have written here.

And so, Mr. Sutter, my letter to you is as much my confession as it is my apology for staying silent all these years. Please understand that my only purpose in remaining silent, aside from my husband’s insistence that I do so, was so as not to cause young Miss Susan – later Mrs. Sutter (and Mrs. Stanhope, for that matter) any pain or heartbreak. But now that I am about to make my journey into the Kingdom of Heaven, I know that I need to unburden my soul of this, and I know, in my heart, that you are the person I should have gone to with this matter many years ago. And I would have, if not for Mrs. Sutter, and this is now in your hands to decide if she should know. I pray that you read this letter, and pray that you confront Mr. Stanhope with this letter and the word of Mrs. Cotter as proof of his transgressions and offenses against these girls. I know that God will forgive me for my silence, and God will forgive him as well if he is forced to look into his soul and face up to his sins and ask for God’s forgiveness.

Sincerely yours,

Ethel Allard

I looked at the four pages in my hand, then looked out the window at William Stanhope, sitting impatiently in his car, waiting for his wife and daughter to finish with their visit.

I opened Susan’s phone book and dialed William’s cell phone.

I saw him find his phone in his jacket pocket, look at the Caller ID, then answer, “Yes?”

I said to him, “William, this is your future-son-in-law. Come in here. I need to speak to you.”

“Istill don’t understand,” Susan said, “how you convinced him to change his mind.”

“I can be very persuasive,” I replied.

She’d been questioning me about this, on and off, since her parents left an hour ago, but mostly she was just happy and relieved that it had turned out so well. She called it a miracle, and maybe it was. Thank you, Ethel, and tell that angel at the Heavenly Bar to give you another sherry. It’s on me.

We were sitting in the shade on the patio, celebrating with a few beers, and Susan asked me, “What can I make you for lunch?” She promised, “Anything you want.”

“I was thinking of yogurt. But a pepperoni pizza wouldn’t be so bad.”

Without comment, she picked up her portable phone, called information, then connected with a local pizza parlor. She’d have to memorize that number.

The protocols involved in ordering a pizza seemed to be a mystery to Susan Stanhope – Sicilian or regular? – but she was making good progress. She said to the pizza man, “Hold on,” then said to me, “He wants to know if there is anything else you want on that?”

“Well, how about sausage and meatballs?”

She added that to the toppings, listened to another pizza question, then asked me, “Do you want that cut into eight slices or twelve?”

I remembered a joke that Frank had once told me and I replied, “Twelve – I’m hungry.”

She smiled, then gave our phone number and address – Stanhope Hall, Grace Lane, Lattingtown – no, there’s no house number, just look for the gatehouse – then she called the gatehouse to clear the deliveryman.

I sat with my bare feet on the table and took another swallow of beer.

Susan returned to the subject of William’s apparent capitulation and said to me, “I know my father, and I know that these are going to be tough negotiations.”

“I’m a good negotiator.” Especially when I have the other guy’s balls in my hand, and I’m squeezing. Or should I twist?

“John… do you think he was… insincere? Or that he’ll renege?”

“He will do no such thing.”

“But… I just don’t understand-”

“Susan, I believe that your father had… well, an epiphany. I think, when he was sitting alone in his car, that it just came to him that he was wrong, and maybe he was moved by the Holy Spirit. I mean, I couldn’t believe it myself when I saw him from the window, getting out of the car with this rapturous look on his face, then coming into my office, and saying, ‘John, I would like to speak to you.’”

What he actually said was, “How dare you insist that I come into your office?”

Well, I apologized to him, of course – or did I tell him to sit down, shut up, and read the letter? In any case, as he read the letter, he went from livid to pale, and it was sort of interesting to see someone’s skin color change that quickly. I wish I’d had a video camera. Also, his hands trembled. After that, the negotiations were rather easy. He did bluster now and then, saying things like, “No one will believe the ramblings of an old woman on medication,” and so forth. So I suggested we show the letter to his daughter and his wife to see what they thought, then pay a visit to Mrs. Cotter at the nursing home to see if she could clarify any of this. That shut him up, of course, but he did utter the word “Blackmail.”

I know this is blackmail, and I’m a lawyer, and this goes against all my beliefs and principles. What William had done – or what he is alleged to have done – was not only despicable, but also a crime, though unfortunately the statutes had run out on his crimes years ago. So if he was to pay for these crimes, then it would have to be in another way. The Bar Association and the courts might have another view of this, but at least Ethel would speak up for me when I stood before the Final Court.