“Good gracious, how frustrating!” A tremendous vibration as Mrs. Bottomly plonked herself in a chair. “And to think we had it all set to have him go out with a bang!”
“Yes, but I have learned a lot from this miserable misalliance.” I paused to get my breathing under control. “What I should have done was to marry Rowland Foxworth.”
“Indeed you should, my dear!” Vast, sentimental sigh.
“And I still can, can’t I?” My voice slid into a blend of petulance and hope. “The only problem is my cousin Vanessa. She seems to have got darling Rowland infatuated, but if she were out of the way permanently, as in-”
“Mrs. Haskell, I cannot listen to such nonsense!” The receiver vibrated in my hand. “You can’t realise what you are saying!”
“Certainly I do. I want Vanessa done in. What’s the big deal? I’ve paid my dues, and I don’t want a refund; all I want is my money’s worth. If I don’t get it, I may say some things to the police that-” But the line was dead. Mrs. Bottomly had hung up.
Now the hardcore waiting began. We all avoided the hall because of the sounds we imagined below. A bitter pill to swallow was when Freddy pushed open the garden door as if nothing had changed.
“What’s wrong with this house?” He lounged against the door jamb. “The drawing room windows are locked up tight as a safe, and who are these people? Leftovers from a party?” He flicked his plait of hair toward Butler. “Don’t I know him?”
“You are correct, sir.” Butler held the frying pan aloft on his fingertips. “I did a stint as a waiter at Abigail’s. Now if you’ll h’excuse me, I don’t ’ave time to converse. My ladies get h’indigestion if they don’t eat breakfast at the appointed time.”
Freddy’s darting eyes reminded me of a ray gun. “Hey! What’s going on here? Even the doggywog”-he bared his teeth at Sweetie-“looks like it would go spewing if I pushed its belly button. Where’s Ben?”
The Tramwells’ faces had tightened. My mother-in-law’s lips moved in prayer. Butler stopped slicing bread and tested the knife blade against his finger, eyes on Freddy.
Arms and legs extended, my cousin’s body formed an X in the doorway. “I heard tell the pressure cooker backfired at the demo,” he mused, “but most of the chitchat at The Dark Horse last night was about Sidney pelting into his shop, shovelling the lolly out of the till and crying, ‘So long, it’s been good to know you.’ I do hope I didn’t drive old Sid into a flit.” Freddy’s body sagged. “I’d decided not to sue, and I keep telling myself there’s bound to be a simpler explanation, like he killed Mrs. Delacorte and the police were closing in.”
I had to get rid of Freddy. Picking up a stack of plates, I shuffled them. “Afraid I’m not going to ask you in because… Ben has gone away for a few days and I really”-one of the plates slipped-“want to be alone.”
Freddy yanked at the heavy chains around his neck, his eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong, Ellie, old sock?” He made another move to push past me. Butler took a measured step forward.
“There’s something going on here, but I know when to bugger off; I’ll just stay for breakfast and-”
“Freddy,” I said, “if you have any feelings for Ben and me, take care of Abigail’s until he gets back.”
I shut the door on him and leaned against it, trembling. I hadn’t felt so abandoned since Dorcas and Jonas left. Where was the bride who thought marriage meant never having to say I’m lonely?
“What a truly delightful young man!” Primrose said. “Concerned, thoughtful-patently he did not like us at all. And now I do think we should get down to making plans; we can’t continue to let the day slide away from us.”
It was agreed that I should go to morning service at St. Anselm’s. I usually attended so, if Mrs. Bottomly had been quick off the mark, it was a possibility that The Founder might try some not very funny business as I went to or fro or even as I knelt in prayer. Hyacinth would trail me with her duelling pistol at the ready. Butler and Primrose would stay with Magdalene. My mother-in-law was very distressed at having to miss Mass at such a time, but did feel that under the circumstances Father Padinsky would continue to give her a pass.
I went to church. I returned. No hand reached around one of the elms to encircle my throat. No car tried to nose me over the cliff. No whisper from bodyguard Hyacinth that we were being stalked. The day wore on with no one telephoning and attempting to lure me to a false rendezvous. Every time I forced myself to cross the hall to go upstairs I shuddered. Not a sound could be heard from below, but my head still rang with the tortured cries of Ben and Poppa as they descended into the stygian darkness of their prison.
Butler prepared lunch. Afterward we gathered in the drawing room and he gave the Tramwells what appeared to be an ongoing lesson in picking pockets. Magdalene and I sat and read, or pretended to. Dinner. Supper. I went out to the courtyard to fetch Sweetie in from her romp, but I wasn’t tossed in the moat or shot through the heart. When the hall clock struck ten, Hyacinth rolled up her knitting, Primrose laid down her embroidery hoop, and Magdalene awakened from her nap.
“Ellie, should we not prepare for bed?” Primrose’s eyes brimmed with the eager fear of a child playing murder in the dark. “I will conceal myself in your wardrobe, leaving the door agap, and Hyacinth will remain with dear Magdalene. Butler will be on the prowl.” She turned to him. “Should you hear two screams at once, pray answer the loudest.”
“Certainly, madam.”
Lying between the silver grey sheets, I watched the shadowed pheasants on the wallpaper and counted the folds in the velvet curtains. What if all our hopes were in vain? What if The Founder did not act with dispatch, or at all? What if he/she decided to punish me some other way? Or worse, grant me a reprieve? Where could I hide Ben on a permanent basis?
Monday morning came. I was congratulated on having survived unmolested, but I sensed a growing impatience and began to wonder how long it might be before the others began to blame me, unconsciously, for my ineffectualness. When nerves are frayed, nothing soothes like a scapegoat.
Roxie stomped through the garden door at 8:00 A.M. She did a double take on seeing the Tramwells and Butler.
“What ho, Mrs. H., taking in paying guests, are we?” She dumped the supply bag on the table and began popping open the buttons on her burgundy brocade coat. “Stands to reason it will be twice as hard on me, weaving the mop between all them extra legs, but I won’t charge you extra.”
I was about to say that I really didn’t need her today, but read Hyacinth’s eyebrow signals. Should Roxie, perchance, be the one, she must be given free rein to push me down the stairs, choke me with the Hoover cord, or hit me over the head with one of Magdalene’s statues. The sisters made a big production of sending Butler on an errand and saying they would walk in the garden and perhaps out onto Cliff Road, if Magdalene would accompany them. Minutes after the garden door closed, my hopes lurched when Roxie asked me to accompany her into the drawing room.
Since the curtains were still closed, it had a dim, unused look. “Over here, Mrs. H.” Roxie’s voice had an unmistakable gloat to it. “Now”-she flung out an arm-“if this isn’t going to kill you.”
An amazing calm enveloped me. My eyes followed her finger. Behold Sweetie, chewing on the leg of the bureau. Surprisingly, my heart and soul had not quite shrivelled away. A flame of fury leapt up in me. Thrusting open the French windows, I shoved a snarling Sweetie out into the garden. She might have remained planted in the flower bed had Tobias not shot out from under the bookcase and, like tabbied lightning, given chase.
“I’ll put some scratch-cover polish on that bureau leg. I have some upstairs,” I told Roxie. Out in the hall I listened to the deadening silence, then started up the staircase. I liked Roxie, but I wasn’t prepared to pick and choose villains anymore. Let her be the one. I knew the polish to be in the kitchen so I was elaborately enticing her. No sound. I sat on the stairs and waited, maybe dozed… A hand clutched at me, almost toppling me over backward.