The Scarlatti Inheritance(15)

Elizabeth recognized the unpleasant fact that her two older sons had neither Giovanni’s gift of imagination nor her own perception of their fellow man. It was difficult to know with the youngest, Ulster Stewart, for Ulster Stewart Scarlett was emerging as a problem.

In his early years it was merely the fact that he was a bully—a trait Elizabeth ascribed to his being the youngest, the most spoiled. But as he grew into his teens, Ulster’s outlook changed subtly. He not only had to have his own way, he now demanded it. He was the only one of the brothers who used his wealth with cruelty. With brutality, perhaps, and that concerned Elizabeth. She first encountered this attitude on his thirteenth birthday. A few days before the event his teacher sent her a note.

Dear Madame Scarlatti:

Ulster’s birthday invitations seem to have become a minor problem. The dear boy can’t make up his mind who are his best friends—he has so many—and as a result he has given out a number of invitations and taken them back in favor of other boys. I’m sure the Parkleigh School would waive the twenty-five limit in Ulster Stewart’s case.



That night Elizabeth asked Ulster about it.

“Yes. I took some of the invitations back. I changed my mind.”

“Why? That’s very discourteous.”

“Why not? I didn’t want them to come.”

“Then why did you give them the invitations in the first place?”

“So they could all run home and tell their fathers and mothers they were coming over.” The boy laughed. “Then they had to go back and say they weren’t.”

“That’s terrible!”

“I don’t think so. They don’t want to come to my birthday party, they want to come to your house!”

While a freshman at Princeton, Ulster Stewart Scarlett displayed marked tendencies of hostility toward his brothers, his classmates, his teachers, and for Elizabeth the most unattractive, her servants. He was tolerated because he was the son of Elizabeth Scarlatti and for no other reason. Ulster was a monstrously spoiled young man, and Elizabeth knew she had to do something about it. In June of 1916 she ordered him to come home for a weekend, and told her son he had to take a job.

“I will not!”

“You will! You will not disobey me!”

And he didn’t. Ulster spent the summer at the Hudson mill while his two brothers in Oyster Bay enjoyed the pleasures of Long Island Sound.

At the end of the summer, Elizabeth asked how he had done.

“You want the truth, Madame Scarlatti?” asked the youngish plant manager in Elizabeth’s study one Saturday morning.

“Of course I do.”

“It’ll probably cost me my job.”

“I doubt that.”

“Very well, ma’am. Your son started out in raw baling as you ordered. It’s a tough job but he’s strong.… I yanked him out of there after he beat up a couple of men.”

“Good Lord! Why wasn’t I told?”

“I didn’t know the circumstances. I thought that maybe the men had pushed him around. I didn’t know.”

“What did you find out?”

“The pushing was at the other end.… I put him in the upstairs presses and that was worse. He threatened the others, said he’d get them fired, made them do his work. He never let anyone forget who he was.”

“You should have told me.”

“I didn’t know myself until the other week. Three men quit. We had to pay a dentist bill for one of them. Your son hit him with a lead strip.”

“These are terrible things to hear.… Would you care to offer an opinion? Please, be frank. It will be to your advantage.”

“Your son is big. He’s a tough young fella.… But I’m not sure what else he is. I just have an idea he wants to start at the top and maybe that’s what he should do. He’s your son. His father built the mill.”

“That gives him no such right. His father didn’t start at the top!”

“Then maybe you should explain that to him. He doesn’t seem to have much use for any of us.”

“What you’re saying is that my son has a birthright, a temper, certain animal strength … and no apparent talents. Am I correct?”

“If that costs me my job, I’ll find another. Yes. I don’t like your son. I don’t like him at all.”

Elizabeth studied the man carefully. “I’m not sure I do, either. You’ll receive a raise starting next week.”

Elizabeth sent Ulster Stewart back to Princeton that fall, and the day of his departure she confronted him with the summer’s report.

“That dirty little Irish son of a bitch was out to get me! I knew that!”