Authors: KATHY
He stood in the open door watching them as they picked their way
along the treacherous surface of the walk. They were in the car and on their way before Karen ventured to speak.
"I hope we didn't ... He won't be angry with you, will he, for letting
us come?'
"Oh, no," Mrs. Madison said placidly. "He doesn't like people seeing her like that, is all. But he'll get over it—two nice ladies like you. Some people in this town, not naming any names, aren't so understanding."
"It's very good of you to take on that job," Peggy said warmly. "Not everyone would."
"She's just like a poor little baby," Mrs. Madison murmured. "No harm in her at all. There but for the grace of God . . . Anyhow, poor Cameron's got enough to worry about. I'm only there eight, ten hours a day. He's got her the rest of the time. And it's harder, you know, when it's one of your own."
They dropped her off and headed for the motel. Neither spoke for some time. Finally Karen murmured, " 'Sometimes it is better not to see what lies hidden in the dark.' "
"Very philosophical. What brought that on?"
"Just thinking."
Peggy did not pursue the subject. To judge by her expression, her thoughts were running along the same uncomfortable lines as Karen's. But she's not the one who should feel guilty, Karen told herself. I interpreted his reserve, his refusal of my offer of friendship, as a personal affront. I despised him for being greedy and money-mad. In my consummate selfishness, it never occurred to me that he might have good reasons for behaving as he did, reasons that had nothing to do with me.
She twisted uncomfortably and raised one hand to shield her flushed face from Peggy's curious glance. "What's bugging you?" Peggy asked.
"I hate feeling like a jerk."
"So do I. You'll get used to it," Peggy said with a wry smile. "It's the inevitable consequence of being a human being."
They found a number of messages waiting for them. Peggy thumbed through them as they rode up in the elevator. "Aren't we popular? Here's one from Cameron; we needn't return his call, we've already heard what
he thinks of us. At least he hasn't canceled our permit to excavate . . . Lisa! I'll call her first; she may have something for us ... William Something or other—I can't read the writing. Is that the fire chief? Better call him, it's probably an official demand . . . Bill Meyer . . . Bobby Mansfield . . . The pimply brother-in-law. What do you suppose he wants?"
"He's probably wondering if I'm going to sue the old lady," Karen grumbled. "And hoping to charm me out of it. The hell with him, I don't want to talk to him."
"How about Bill?" Peggy unlocked the door.
"I don't want to talk to him either."
"He might buy us dinner."
"I don't want—"
"Oh, all right. I'll talk to him. You have no objection to his joining us tomorrow, I hope."
It wasn't a question, so Karen didn't answer it. She unpacked her purchases and employed her brand-new toothbrush while Peggy spoke on the telephone. When she came out of the bathroom Peggy reported, "Bill is deeply hurt but resigned. He'll meet us tomorrow at Amberley. Lisa's on her way over here. I figured we might as well make her come to us if she's as eager as she sounds. She must have something good. You've got time to call Bill the Chief before we meet her in the bar."
She sat on the bed listening while Karen talked. "What was that all about?" she demanded, as Karen slammed the phone into the cradle. "I can see you're furious, but I didn't get enough out of your side of the conversation to make sense of it. Did I hear something about smoking? He didn't imply—"
"He didn't. Mrs. Fowler did." Karen bit off the words. "She claimed I must have been smoking in bed. There's no other way the fire could have started, she says."
"Well, she would say that, wouldn't she? A good offense is the best defense. How about the papers and paint cans in the garage?"
"She says Bobby Boy cleared the garage out that day. He supports her. It's my word against theirs, and I can't even swear the garage wasn't empty when we got there that night. I didn't look."
"Well, well. Now we know why Bobby Boy called, don't we? They
can't prove negligence on your part since there was none, so he's hoping to scare you into a tidy little out-of-court settlement."
"It won't work."
"Of course not. Have the cops got any idea how the fire did start?"
Karen's furious scowl turned to a thoughtful frown. "I got the distinct impression that there is something suspicious about it. I mean, wouldn't the chief have told me if it was something like spontaneous combustion or faulty wiring?"
"Maybe not. Officials of all varieties are tight-lipped by nature." Peggy glanced at her watch. "We'd better go down and meet Lisa the Greek."
"The who?"
"You know about Greeks bearing gifts." Peggy picked up her purse and gestured toward the door.
Lisa was waiting for them. She had already ordered a drink—not a ladylike pastel concoction or a glass of white wine, but a stiff shot of Bourbon. Before getting down to business she wanted to know all about the fire. There was something almost ghoulish about her repeated questions and expressions of concern. Finally Peggy put an end to them.
"So how is Mrs. Fowler?"
"They sent her home this afternoon. She's still pretty upset, as you can imagine. Bobby is staying with her till she gets over the shock."
"Shock, hell." Peggy didn't bother being tactful. "She ought to be apologizing to Karen and thanking her. Her negligence was responsible for the fire, and if the house had caught she'd have been burned in her bed. She was dead drunk."
Lisa choked. "That's a terrible accusation to make."
"It's the truth," Peggy said. "I'm tired of gossip and innuendo and veiled threats. You tell the old bitch we know what she's trying to do, and she isn't going to get away with it. If she wants to start trouble she'll get more than she's bargained for."
"I don't—"
"Of course you don't. Let's drop the subject. What have you got?"
Wide-eyed and silent, Lisa produced her offering. It was a Bible—a huge folio four inches thick, with brass clasps and engravings from Durer. Lips set in a sneer, Peggy thumbed through the pages at the front. "No good," she said curtly.
"What? You said you wanted—"
"This edition was printed in 1890. We've already got this information, it's in the genealogy."
She laid the book on the table and held it open. The page was headed "Births" and framed by an elaborate border of vines and flowers and fat, doughy-faced cherubs. The first name was that of Frederick Cartright, born February 18,
1798. Karen recognized the name; it had been that generation, the third, that Peggy had investigated in such detail. Peggy closed the Bible and pushed it toward Lisa.
"You don't want it?" Lisa's face had fallen.
Peggy shrugged. "I'll give you twenty bucks for it. As a gesture of goodwill."
After Lisa had gone—with the twenty-dollar bill—Peggy paid the check and hoisted the Bible into her arms. "That was a bust. I guess I should have expected it."
Karen had remained silent, transfixed by mingled horror and admiration. Following Peggy into the elevator she exclaimed, "You were absolutely vicious. What happened to your policy of winning people over by tact and kindness?"
"I'm getting mad," Peggy said briefly.
"So I noticed. What are you going to do with that Bible? You're right, it's of no use to us."
Peggy tossed the book irreverently on the bed. "I'll give it back to Cameron. Lisa probably stole it from his mother's house, along with the other cartons. Now that you've seen the situation there, you can see how she got away with it. Mrs. Madison wouldn't dare interfere with her."
Karen sat down on the bed and opened the Bible. "It belonged to Eliza," she said in surprise. "I thought the handwriting looked familiar. She started with her parents' generation. Do you suppose there was an older Bible, with the earlier names?"
"Unlikely and irrelevant. If such a book existed it's long gone. Who's Eliza?"
"A Victorian bluestocking," Karen answered. "I ran across her diaries ... Oh, Lord! They're gone too, in the fire. Mrs. F. will probably raise hell about that. She forced them on me the day I went to the Historical Society."
"Don't worry about Mrs. Fowler." Peggy brandished the hairbrush she had been using. "We're going to break that woman! Let's go have dinner."
The phone was ringing when they returned to their room. Peggy made a dash for it. From the way her face fell, Karen deduced she had hoped the caller would be someone other than Joan.
"We're fine, how are you?" she said. "Uh . . . No. Nothing new. What? Do you want to talk to Karen?" Karen had opened the briefcase and placed the manuscript on the table; she shook her head vehemently. "Good," Peggy said. "She doesn't want to talk to you either, she's working. Oh, yeah? Well, I'll tell her. We'll let you know."
She hung up. "Joan's bored."
"She hadn't heard about the fire?"
"It wouldn't make the wire services," Peggy said. "We can pray Simon hasn't heard about it either. He'd have a fit."
"Were you expecting him to call?"
"He said he would. Maybe I'll take the phone into the bathroom and call him instead. That way you won't be disturbed."
"You just don't want me to hear those erotic verses you quote at one another," Karen said with a smile.
"That too. Go ahead, I won't bother you again."
She vanished into the bathroom trailing the telephone cord behind her and shut the door with a decisive slam.
"
We
are fortunate indeed, Doctor, that you happened
to
be in the house when this occurred," Ismene said gratefully. "You have been a frequent visitor of late; I hope that means that you have acquired many new patients in this region.''
A dark, unbecoming flush mantled his swarthy cheeks.
"
My
services, such as they are, were unnecessary; your sister suffered an ordinary swoon, from which she would have recovered under your
ministrations
;
but what was that wild talk of withered faces and dark forms?
Miss
Clara's constitution is delicate, I know; is her mind also given to morbid fancies?"
Fairness to Clara as well as concern for another moved Ismene to speak. "It was no fantasy, but an actual living woman she saw
—
Isabella's poor mad mother, whom Edmund, in the kindness of his noble heart, maintains here in her home. From time to time she escapes her guardian and wanders the house. The sight of her is startling in the extreme, and Clara did not know of her
presence; to come upon her unawares would be a shock to the strongest system. It was to mine the first time I saw her."
"Good heavens!" the doctor murmured. "I had no idea such an individual existed. Is she not dangerous? Should she not be confined more closely?"
"I do not believe she means the least harm," Ismene said firmly. "She is too old and frail to constitute a danger to any but herself Indeed, she appeared to be as terrified of Clara as
my
poor sister was of her; I found her cowering against the wall, unable or unwilling to move, when I rushed to the spot in answer to Clara's cries. Her attendant had to carry her away, and I fear she may have taken harm. It would ease my mind if you would see her."
"Certainly." But the smile that altered his features so attractively did not linger. In an uncharacteristically hesitant manner he went on, "Are you certain Mr. Merrivale will not object? He appears to have kept this
woman's
very existence concealed from the world
—"
“
Only out of compassion for her, I feel certain, and to spare the feelings of those who knew her in happier days. I would wait to ask him,'' she added, seeing that his countenance continued to mirror his doubt,
“
but he and Isabella will probably not return until later this afternoon, and I know you must be anxious to continue your journey.
He no longer demurred, but followed her toward the remote and lofty regions where Edmund had assured her his stepmother dwelt. The door was now secure; in response to Ismene's knock came a rattling of bolts and chains whose sound engendered awful suggestions of imprisonment. Yet when her arguments with the attendant, who appeared reluctant to let them in, had at last won them admission to the chamber, she saw Edmund had spoken no more than the truth when he assured her the unfortunate creature lacked no comfort he could provide. The windows were closely barred and a heavy screen covered the hearth, which was now dark and cold, for the mild summer weather required no other source of heat. Yet the chamber was clean and airy, and the low bed had been furnished with ample covering.
“
Let her see and hear me first,'' Ismene urged, placing a hand on the doctor's arm. "She may take fright at the sight of a stranger. "
The old woman was not sleeping, as the attendant had claimed, and as
Ismene
had believed. Hearing the soft low voice of her visitor, she opened her eyes. Almost could Ismene have fancied she saw a gleam of intelligence in the single operative orb. It was short-lived; frenzy transformed the withered features and a gabble of agitated speech distorted the gaping mouth.
With an alarmed exclamation the doctor stepped quickly forward. "There is no cause for concern," Ismene hasted to assure him.
"It
is her old mania, the same vague, meaningless warnings she always utters. Who knows what dread phantoms her troubled brain sees around us? Dear madam"
—
taking the bony fingers in hers and leaning closer
—
"dear madam, here is a physician come to see you. He is my friend and would be yours. Will you allow him to examine you?'
She had not expected a response nor dared even hope for comprehension. Whether this occurred or not she could not be sure, but at least the old creature lay still, submitting without visible demonstrations of alarm to the doctor's cautious approach and gentle touch. One by one he lifted the bony limbs; delicately he ran his hands over the wrinkled scalp and frail body.
“
There appears to be no injury,'
'
he murmured; and Ismene saw he had forgot all else in the exercise of his noble art.
“
She does not cry out in pain. What does she say?"
For his patient had begun to speak, if speech it could be called. Even
Ismene
could not distinguish words in the hoarse mumble.
"It is only nonsense
,
I
fear," she began. "Her troubled mind
—"
He
broke in, with the same touch of irony she had heard before. "If her mind were untroubled she would have difficulty expressing her thoughts with her organs of speech so impaired. It is difficult to articulate without dental apparatus. Speak more slowly, madam
;
I
am listening. What would you tell me?"
There was no evidence of repugnance, only compassion and interest, on his face as he bent closer; when the clawlike fingers groped for his sleeve he folded them unhesitatingly in his. Ismene's heart swelled. To see him thus, to behold the tenderness he displayed toward the helpless and infirm was to comprehend the limitations of physiognomy as a designation of character. Who could suppose, having seen those forbidding features in their normal expression of sardonic silence, that they could soften so remarkably?
The chamber door opened. Edmund stood on the threshold.
His sudden appearance broke the spell. The old woman's mumble erupted in a ghastly shriek
.
Ismene
started to speak, but was prevented by
Edmund
.
His tones were soft, but they quivered with anger.
"How dare you come here?"
He addressed not Ismene but the doctor, whose expression had resumed its old harsh cast. Detaching the fingers that clutched at him he rose to his feet. "I must apologize
—"
“
No apology can compensate for this inexcusable intrusion,'
'
Edmund said in a low savage tone. "Begone, and never return to this house."
"Edmund, you are unjust, " Ismene protested. "If anger is called for here, it should be directed at me. I proposed
—
nay, I insisted upon
—
this
visit. You do not know what transpired.''
Quickly and tersely she told all. Edmund's furious color subsided as he listened. "I see. Well, sir, no doubt you meant well. If you have assured yourself there is no need of your services
..."
"Yes" was the curt reply. With a final look at the old woman, who had slumped back against the pillows and closed her eyes, he walked quickly to the door and went out.
"Wait,
"
Edmund said, as Ismene would have followed. "You are still angry with me. That condition must not endure. "
"I am not so much angry as surprised
—
shocked
—
astonished," Ismene replied.
"
I
had not supposed you capable of speaking and acting so rashly, without waiting to hear explanations. "
"
My
dear. " He drew her to the door and closed it behind him. The corridor was deserted. When he would have taken her in his arms Ismene stiffened and drew away.
"
I
was not angry with you," Edmund said softly. "How could I feel other than admiration for the benevolence that prompted your action? Seeing him with you, watching his false actions, I was overcome by jealousy.
''
At
first she could not believe she had heard aright. "What!" the cry burst from her. "You insult me, Edmund, if you believe
—"
"
My
dearest girl." His arms enclosed her. Gently but inexorably he overcame her resistance and pressed her to his breast.
"
How
can you be insensible to my overpowering affection? Is your modesty so great that you have failed to observe that I love
—
worship
—
adore you? That same modesty and innocence veils
his
intentions from you, but they are no secret to me. Now that you have been warned you will avoid them. He is unable to offer you a heart worthy of your acceptance, Ismene. Your happiness shall be the sole study of my life. I cannot
—
will not
—
live without you.