Gracie was sitting up on the bed, looking cheerful.
“Look!” she said brightly.
So Isobel looked and saw Miss Rudd squatting on the floor beside the bed. Miss Rudd, too, looked cheerful. She was chewing the rest of Gracie’s chocolates.
“The poor old thing said she was hungry,” Gracie said. “Reminds me of the aunt I told you about, always hungry she was.” She turned to Miss Rudd. “Now take it easy. One at a time like I told you.”
Isobel said in a faraway voice: “Gracie. How did she...? I mean, how...?”
“Oh. That. Well, there she was, the poor dear, pounding and pounding on that door, just like that aunt of mine again. So I let her out. We get along fine, don’t we, Frances?”
Frances nodded pleasantly.
“Was... was Floraine in there with her?” Isobel said.
“No,” Gracie said. “Just the rifle. She was playing with it, so I took it away from her and threw it out the window. Was that the right thing to do?”
“Oh, yes,” Isobel said, gulping. “Oh, yes, yes.”
“Come on. Sit down. Just like a party practically, isn’t it?”
“Just,” Isobel said, and sat down because she was too weak to stand. Gracie lit a cigarette and let Miss Rudd blow out the match.
There was a silence, friendly on the part of Miss Rudd and Gracie, stupefied on the part of Isobel. She decided that Gracie, in her way, was strongly akin to Miss Rudd, hence the bond between them.
“I told her Floraine was gone,” Gracie said. “She just laughed. I don’t think Floraine was good to her.”
Miss Rudd shook her head violently and made a few unprintable remarks on Floraine’s character.
“See?” Gracie said. “She’s quite sensible.”
“Just like your aunt,” Isobel said. “The three of you ought to get together sometime.”
“What do you think we should do now?” Gracie said. “It’s nearly three. It should be light in five hours. I suppose we could all just sit here and talk.”
“I’m afraid I’d be conscious of some strain,” Isobel said.
Miss Rudd had finished the chocolates. She wiped her mouth on her shawl and came over to the bed. She touched Gracie’s hair with her finger.
“Like it?” Gracie said, without a tremor. “It used to be brown, but brown doesn’t suit me, I’m too vivid. Go on, sit down again, Frances.”
Miss Rudd smiled, almost shyly. “I have something for you,” she whispered in Gracie’s ear. She rolled her eyes.
“That’s swell,” Gracie said. “What is it?”
“Something,” said Miss Rudd.
“Is it a secret?”
Miss Rudd nodded vigorously. “I took it from Floraine. I took it from her desk.”
“Where is it?”
For answer Miss Rudd darted to the door and out into the hall.
Isobel said, “Come back. Frances! Please come back.”
“Let her alone,” Gracie said easily. “She’ll come back. She can even see in the dark like my...”
“Please,” Isobel said.
“I hope it’s a bottle of rye.”
But it was not a bottle of rye. It was a bunch of old newspapers, some of them badly torn.
“Gee, thanks,” Gracie said, taking the newspapers. “Just what I wanted. Something to read. Here, Isobel, have one. You want to read too, Frances?”
Miss Rudd did. She sat down again on the floor holding one of the papers stiffly in front of her.
Gracie looked curiously at the rest of the papers. “Wonder why Floraine would save these.”
“She’s the type who’d save anything. Give me that one.” Isobel reached for it.
That one turned out to be the Montreal Star. It was dated September 3, 1942.
“Quite a little reader, our Floraine,” Isobel said, “Montreal Star. Ottawa Citizen. Quebec Courier... Gracie, what’s the date on yours?”
“September 4, 1942.”
“Look through the others.”
There were twelve papers altogether. Each one bore the date September 3rd or September 4th. Five of them were in French and looked like small-town newspapers and came from places Isobel had never heard of.
“That’s funny,” she said. “Move the lamp closer and we’ll look through them all. Something must have happened on September the third that interested Floraine very much. She’s not the type who saves paper for the war effort.”
“How about “R.A.F. Raid Over Germany” or “Wife Clubbed to Death by Hired Man”? And here’s the picture of kind of a cute man. I’m crazy about little dark mustaches, only he probably hasn’t got his now, he’s in jail.”
Isobel leaned over and looked at Gracie’s cute man. Miss Rudd put down her paper and came over, too. Her mouth moved as if she were reading silently to herself. But Isobel knew she was not reading, her eyes didn’t move but remained fixed on the picture.
“Go on, Frances,” Gracie said. “Stop pushing. Do you want this one? Go on, take it then.” Gracie thrust the paper at her and picked up another one, yawning. “I still wish I had a bottle of rye. I never did like reading.”
“Here’s your cute man again,” Isobel said. “Demoted to page five this time. He looks familiar, doesn’t he?”
“Like Cary Grant,” Gracie said dreamily. “What’s his name?”
“Pierre Jeanneret.”
“I think that’s sweet. I wonder why he’s in jail.”
“He talked too much,” Isobel said. She quoted from the news item: “ ‘Jeanneret, long known as a political agitator, was apprehended at Montreal while leading a student riot against conscription. He was interned for the duration under the Defense of Canada Regulations. As he was led from the court.’ ”
“More chocolates,” said Miss Rudd, who was easily bored.
“Haven’t any,” Gracie said.
“I’m hungry. I’m a poor, hungry, old lady, and I want some more chocolates.”
“Hush. We’ll be having breakfast in a few hours.”
“Harry stole all my food,” Miss Rudd whined. “He comes in the night and Floraine locks me up.”
“Now don’t get excited,” Gracie said pleasantly. “Floraine’s not going to lock you up tonight.”
Miss Rudd giggled suddenly. Isobel didn’t like the sound of it.
“You don’t know what happened to Floraine?” she said, keeping her voice calm.
“She’s gone,” said Miss Rudd, “and she won’t be back.” She came over to the bed and began to stroke Isobel’s coat. “Pretty. Very soft and pretty, like Etienne.”
Isobel sat rigid.
“You give me this coat,” Miss Rudd whispered. “You give it to me, eh?”
“No, no, I can’t. I’d be cold without it.”
“I’m cold. Harry’s friends took all my coal. I heard them. I’ll be very cold without this coat.”
Gracie said, “Look, Frances. I have a pretty necklace for you. You want it?”
Miss Rudd’s hands darted out for the necklace. Then, whispering to herself, she slipped out into the hall again. She was gone a long time.
Isobel said nervously, “I wonder what she’s doing.”
“Hiding it,” Gracie said. “My aunt used to hide everything like that.”
“I’m getting a little tired of your aunt.”
“Well, we did, too,” Gracie said, “but she finally died.”
“I think we should go out and look for Frances. You shouldn’t have let her out of her room. She may be all right when she’s with you, but the rest of us haven’t had your experience.”
“Oh, she’ll come back. Anyway, I can’t go skipping around with fur mittens on my feet. Just leave her alone.”
“We left her alone before,” Isobel said, “and something happened to Etienne. I can’t understand you. You’re scared to death to search the house and yet you let Miss Rudd out of her room. You have no sense of proportion.”
“Maybe not,” Grace said.