“In her bedroom. She put the bag out as a decoration.” I wasn’t sure if Ariel had heard me; she had whisked ahead, a straggly-haired wraith in spectacles. Moments later our descent brought us to a second landing, this one with a narrow rectangle of window to our left.
“It overlooks the passageway separating the two parts of the house.” Ariel swiveled around on one foot to point. “If you squint, you’ll get a view of Mavis’s car and see what I mean about it being a rattletrap.”
I did see it-I’ve always been a good squinter-and I also got a partial view of the Dower House and someone walking away from it.
“It’s Ben.” Ariel peered over my shoulder, adding, just a little too quickly, “I expect he had an uncontrollable urge to bond with Nanny Pierce. Val probably isn’t even there; she’s been going for a lot of walks lately. Keeping in shape, I expect. Mrs. Cake says you don’t get a figure like that by sitting on it.”
“And right she is. Lead on, Macduff!” I followed her down the rest of the steps, determined that the one thing I would not exercise was my imagination. Ben could have gone to the Dower House for a variety of perfectly innocent reasons, including the wish to see Val. They were old friends. They had years to catch up on. Really, it was heartwarming to think of them chatting about the past. How they had danced the night away in each other’s arms, night after wretched night. I discovered I was grinding my teeth. This was not good. It might well lead to cavities, of which I had none and hoped Val had a great many. I wished Mrs. Malloy were with me so I could lay my head on her robust shoulder and weep copious tears down her taffeta bosom.
Blessed relief! There she was, in the passageway, when Ariel and I came to the door that had lost its key and welcomed burglars.
“A fine time I’ve had, Mrs. H, looking all over for you,” she announced, as Ariel faded away in the direction of the main house. “I want you to hear me recite the poem I’ve written for Melody.”
“That would be nice,” I said, hoping she would notice I sounded wan and would usher me indoors where I could sit on her knee and tell her I was being spiteful and petty again and ask if she knew of something I could take for it.
“Nice to hear you sound so encouraging, Mrs. H. Now hold on a minute, let me get posed just right.” She squared her shoulders, drew in her elbows, and clasped her hands over her middle. This not being quite what she was after, she made some adjustments. One hand went to her bosom and then down to her side. “Don’t rush me, Mrs. H!”
I thought of Mr. Gallagher’s parents, who had, according to Miss Pierce, doted on his teatime recitations. Perhaps my failure to get into the poetry mood was because there were no little sandwiches and fancy iced cakes on a table in the passageway. Despair tends to make me hungry; it had to be time for elevenses, if not for lunch. Sausages would be nice and perhaps some bubble and squeak. Ben made wonderful hubble-bubble, as we called it. Quite possibly it would be the thing I would miss most about him when he was gone.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him walking toward us, dark head bent, seemingly intent on counting every piece of gravel on the path.
“Here goes, then! Tell me if the words’ gas meter, or whatever they call it, is all right.” Mrs. Malloy cleared her throat before beginning:
“ ’Tis forty years since last we met,
And I am filled with deep regret,
That I didn H see your point of view,
Like an older sister’s meant to do.
But now it’s time to start again,
May lessons learned not be in vain.”
“Very poignant,” I said, with what I hoped was a noticeable glow of enthusiasm. Ben had looked up and seen us. He had a piece of paper in his hand, which he now waved.
“I’m not finished.” Mrs. Malloy rebuked me. “I did seven more verses. I got so carried away I forgot to give meself a manicure.”
“Then you’d better go in and do it before I rope you in to help with lunch.” Ben drew up in front of us and flashed her a smile. “Escape while there’s still time.”
“I don’t see as it would hurt Betty to get one meal. It’s not like she’s always been a lady of leisure. Too much time on the hands all of a sudden isn’t good for nobody. Probably bored out of her mind and picking holes in Tom and Ariel for something to do. But I’ll leave you two together,” said Mrs. M magnanimously, before teetering down the passageway on her high heels-different shoes from the ones she and Val had in common. I looked at Ben, seeing the flecks of gold in his eyes before he lowered his head, again concentrating on the gravel as he slid an arm around my shoulders and we walked toward the kitchen door.
“When I was talking to Mrs. Cake, she suggested I go down and ask Miss Pierce for her recipe for currant scones.” He folded the piece of paper and put it in his trouser pocket. “She said it’s a good one and the old lady would be pleased.”
“Thoughtful of Mrs. Cake to suggest it,” I told his shoes, “and nice of you to take her up on the idea. You’ve nothing to learn when it comes to making scones.”
“I thought it was my hubble-bubble you were particularly fond of.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Funny you should mention it. I was just pining for some.”
“Two hearts that beat as one.” His arm drew me closer. I should have brimmed over with happiness. I was happy. There had been a perfectly reasonable explanation for his visit to the Dower House.
“Will Miss Pierce and Val-Valeria-be at the tea?”
“Of course.” It was said lightly, but I felt I’d stepped on his toes. Had I sounded like the jealous wife in Master of Darkwood Manor? Would it not be wise to reflect that she had not lived happily ever after?
9
A back door to the main house opened and Betty stuck out her head. “Hello there. Tom and I just got back from church.”
“Good sermon?” Ben asked.
“I couldn’t concentrate. Tom said he felt wonky in the middle of it and went out to sit on a bench.”
“Is he feeling better?” I inquired of her back, as we went inside.
“Who knows? He’s been out of sorts ever since you arrived.” Betty made up for this tactless observation by saying the magic words. “I’ll get coffee and biscuits, if you like. I really was fairly domesticated, before there no longer seemed any point. Or would we do better having an early lunch, as we’ll be having the tea at three? Anyway, come into the kitchen and we’ll sort it out.”
We found Tom slumped in a chair at the table and Ariel staring moodily into space. The wall clock showed that it was almost noon, so we agreed on lunch, which I offered to get, but Ben said he would handle it and there was no need for the rest of us to clear out because he worked well with an audience.
“I’ll applaud like mad if you hit Dad over the head with a frying pan,” said Little Miss Sunshine. “Okay”-holding up her hands-“I just meant he needs waking up.”
“Sorry.” Tom got to his feet and asked Ben, without looking at him, whether he required help finding things.
“No, thanks, I’ve learned my way around.”
“Up early this morning, weren’t you? Hope it wasn’t because you didn’t sleep well.”
“Never better. I wanted to get organized for the tea. All that’s left on that score is to make Miss Pierce’s scones that Mrs. Cake recommends so highly.” Ben was cracking eggs into a bowl. “Mushroom omelets agreeable to everyone?”
“Aren’t we all having the loveliest time?” said Ariel, getting in his way. “Smile, Betty! You look almost as sour as Dad. Didn’t church agree with you either?”
“Will you ever learn to zip your mouth? It wasn’t church, it was bumping into Frances Edmonds afterward and being forced to invite her to tea this afternoon. I thought I had put her off yesterday, by saying we’d have her and Stan on their own next Sunday. But this morning she kept pressing, saying she was dying to meet Lady Fiona, and finally she came out with it.”