Family Vault (12 page)

He must have waked long enough to drink his eggnog, since the tumbler was empty and she could not believe he’d pour good food down the bathroom sink. This frugality of his had alternately amused and exasperated her, now she was beginning to wonder if there could be something pathological about it.

His father, Uncle Gilbert, had been as rich as any of the Kellings, and that was saying a good deal. To be sure, Aunt Caroline’s medical bills must have been enormous, money wasn’t worth what it used to be, and keeping up the two places was getting more expensive every year, even though they ran them both on cheeseparings. Nevertheless, there ought to be a good deal left of Uncle Gilbert’s fortune besides the real estate and the jewelry.

In spite of that, ever since they had been married, Sarah, her husband, and his mother had all been living on the interest from Sarah’s own inheritance which was a relative pittance by family standards. Sarah knew they had, because Alexander insisted on presenting her annually with an itemized account showing what she’d earned in interest, what they’d spent, and precisely how much was left in the trust fund.

She’d never fully understood why they lived on her money instead of his. She’d assumed it was proper because Alexander was her legal guardian under the terms of her father’s will, and he wouldn’t do this if it were not in her interest. Besides, they were man and wife, so it was only right to share. But was it right? Ought she to have recognized this miserly streak as a symptom of some deep disturbance? Ought she to be realizing this minute that her husband was having some kind of mental breakdown? Was it possible he’d had one before, and that Ruby Redd was what happened the other time?

No, it was not possible. Sarah went down to the kitchen and boiled herself an egg for lunch, put on her coat and walked twice around the Public Garden at a furious pace, came back and found Alexander up and dressed, looking like a marble effigy but clearly intending to go to Anora’s tea.

“Mother’s back,” he said. “She’s upstairs resting.”

“Why aren’t you?” Sarah retorted.

“My dear, I slept all morning. I must go and bring the car around.”

“No, you mustn’t. I’ll do it as soon as I change. I have to run down to Clough and Shackley’s, anyway. By the way,” Sarah added, trying to sound casual, “could you give me a couple of dollars? I have to get some things.”

This was the family euphemism for articles of feminine hygiene and the one request Alexander was sure to meet without question. He handed over five dollars, as she’d known he would. Now she could put gas in the car before he had a chance to observe that the gauge was down. Goody for her. She’d rather have a flaming row than this grayfaced apathy any day.

“I’ll fix you a bite before I go upstairs,” she said.

“Please don’t bother.” He sat back in his father’s chair and closed his eyes.

Sarah didn’t press the issue. There would be plenty to eat at Anora’s, and he’d hear nagging enough from his mother on the way. She got herself ready and went on her errand. When she got back with the Studebaker, Alexander and his mother were waiting in the library.

Caroline could have passed today for the younger of the two. Her hair was magnificently coiffed, she had on a lovely violet-colored frock her sister, Marguerite, had picked out for her birthday. Her face had been delicately made up by the hairdresser, her lips touched with the pale rose lipstick she always favored. She looked exactly like a beautiful lady going to a party with every intention of enjoying herself, probably because she knew Edgar Merton would be there, too.

Edgar Merton was what Alexander would turn into if he lived another twenty years: a gentleman of the old school, handsome, quietly distinguished, exquisitely courteous, always impeccably dressed in a style that had never varied during the past fifty years. It was generally supposed that he cherished a lifetime’s adoration of Caroline Kelling, although he had never told anybody so and never would so long as his wife was alive.

Alice Merton was in a rest home now, practically a vegetable according to last report, and Edgar had a little freedom at last. It was hardly thinkable that he’d care to saddle himself with another such responsibility as Caroline after having had to cater to Alice all these years. Still, he played backgammon with her three or four times a week, and when he tried to converse with her in sign language, Caroline did not pull her hand away and demand that Leila or Alexander do the translating.

The Kellings were putting their coats on when Leila called in a fury to say that Harry had taken her car and gone off God knew where till God knew when without saying a word as usual, and could they give her a lift to Anora’s?

“Of course,” Sarah told her. “We’ll pick you up in about three minutes.”

That was a stroke of luck. Leila could keep Caroline amused and let Alexander rest. Sarah didn’t ask if he’d prefer to drive now that his mother had someone to talk with, and he didn’t offer. It seemed about all he could manage to get out and open the door for Leila, who piled in beside Caroline and went on airing her grievance.

“I ought to be used to it by now, I suppose. I’ve put up with him for twenty-three years, don’t ask me why. Just picks up his heels and goes, comes back when he feels like it. Probably got a woman somewhere. What do you think, Caro?”

Caroline thought the idea was uproarious. She was in tearing spirits this afternoon. Could there be a little more going on between her and Edgar than she was letting anybody know? What absolute Heaven it would be if Edgar should inherit Alice’s fortune and take Aunt Caroline off their hands! Even now they’d make a handsome couple, although he was almost a full head shorter than she.

Sarah murmured something to that effect to her husband, but he didn’t seem to take it in. He was so remarkably silent the whole way that at last even Leila noticed.

“What’s eating you, Alex? I’ve never seen you so mopey.”

“He has a bug,” said Sarah. “I tried to make him stay in bed, but he came along to infect everybody, thus proving that he’s the noblest Roman of them all. Aren’t you, darling?”

“No, my dear. Where did you say Harry went, Leila?”

“Alex, you’re getting deafer than your mother. I’ve been telling you for the past fifteen minutes that I haven’t the foggiest idea. Harry goes where he pleases. At least I assume he pleases, because he keeps going. Which reminded me, Caroline. I’ve decided I’d better ride along with the delegation to Washington next week. Somebody’s got to be around to light a fire under those halfwits or we’ll never get anywhere.”

“Better tie a note to Harry’s toothbrush this time,” Sarah put in slyly. “Speaking of not knowing who’s where, it seems to me we’ve heard a good deal from him on that score. Remember the time you forgot to tell him you’d be in California for three weeks, and he took it into his head you’d been kidnapped?”

“Oh, that.” Leila shrugged and kept on talking. Sarah couldn’t get another word in, and Alexander didn’t even try. Once they got to Anora’s, he made a beeline for the inglenook.

Sarah could hardly believe what she was seeing. Nobody ever went to the inglenook of his own free will. For one thing, it was blistering hot next to the open fire. For another, that was where old George Protheroe sat like a bloated spider, never moving from his place but always alert to net any victim who ventured too near, and tell him the story about the bear.

Nobody had ever heard the end of George’s bear story. He never got that far. He rambled, lost track, went back and repeated, lapsed into boozy mumblings but would magically revive and bellow, “Wait, I’m not done yet,” if his exasperated prey tried to tiptoe away. Those who felt duty-bound to pay their respects to their host were wont to go in groups so that George couldn’t fasten on a particular target. Even Alexander, long-suffering slave to duty that he was, never went to the inglenook as a rule without arranging with Sarah to call him away on urgent business after a decent interval.

From force of habit, Sarah went once or twice to see if her husband wanted rescuing, but he appeared content to sit baking by the red-hot logs, letting the old man’s ramblings wash over him unheard. She brought him a large whiskey and a plate of sandwiches, and left him to the bear.

Caroline was having a gorgeous time with Edgar at the backgammon table. Leila was holding forth about the perfidy of some elected official, always a popular topic with this group. Sarah ducked out of the party and went to visit the cook, who’d been her special friend since milk-and-cookie days and had once owned an obese tortoiseshell cat named Percival. She’d much rather reminisce about Percival than have to describe Ruby Redd’s teeth one more time.

She stayed with Cook as long as she dared. When she went back to the drawing room, Alexander and George were both asleep in the inglenook, Leila still pontificating, and Aunt Caroline beating the pants off Edgar Merton, who seemed content to have it so. He showed signs of wanting Sarah’s attention, so she walked over to the game table.

“I was wondering,” he said, “if I might ask Caroline to dine with me at the Harvard Club after we leave here. You and Alex, too, of course.”

“Edgar, how sweet,” she replied. “I’m sure Aunt Caroline would adore to. I’m afraid Alexander and I couldn’t. He’s not feeling well, and I was just thinking I must chase him home to bed. Why don’t you take Leila Lackridge if you’re nervous about managing by yourself? She’s at loose ends tonight because Harry had to go off on business, and you know how good she is with Aunt Caroline.”

“Yes, I know.”

Edgar eyed the chattering Leila with no particular favor, but must have decided he wasn’t up to coping with the blind woman’s needs alone. “I’ll do that, then. Too bad about Alex. I’d been thinking he wasn’t quite himself today. Perhaps you and he might come another time?”

“That would be lovely. Shall I tell Leila while you finish your game?”

“Would you?”

Sarah got the dinner party organized, then went to the inglenook and unobtrusively shook her husband awake. “Alexander, we’ve got to go.”

He looked up at her, still in a daze. “Is Mother ready?”

“She’s not going home with us. Edgar Merton’s inviting her and Leila to the Harvard Club for dinner.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t look surprised or pleased, or anything but exhausted. Sarah steered him across the room to take leave of his mother and his hostess, got him his coat, and led him out to the car. On the way home he spoke not one word.

She drove up to the house, had to double-park in the narrow street, drawing outraged yells and horn blasts, long enough to get him into the front hall. When she came back from taking the car to the garage, he was still slumped in one of the carved rosewood chairs that flanked the doorway. He hadn’t even unbuttoned his overcoat.

“I
’M GOING TO CALL
the doctor,” said Sarah.

“No, don’t”

Alexander struggled to his feet. “I’m feeling much better. Truly.”

“I don’t believe you,” she sighed, “but I don’t suppose he’d come anyway. Give me that coat, and go into the library. You look totally worn out.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t quite up to George’s bear story,” he admitted with a ghastly attempt at a smile. “Where’s Mother?”

“I told you she’d gone to dinner with Edgar and Leila. Don’t you remember?”

She wasn’t sure he understood even now. He stumbled into the next room and collapsed into his father’s armchair as he’d done the night before. Sarah went after him and made up the fire. It occurred to her that he’d left the sandwiches untouched at Anora’s, which meant he’d had nothing in his stomach all day but an eggnog and two stiff whiskies. Perhaps he was simply a little bit drunk. It would be a comfort to think so. She poked a few more bits of kindling into the fire and went to fix him a snack.

She found Edith in the kitchen, doing nothing in particular.

“I was wondering what you expect me to do about dinner,” the old retainer said with an air of being greatly put-upon.

“Nothing,” Sarah replied. “Mrs. Kelling has gone out with friends. Mr. Alexander and I will have something on a tray. You fix what you want for yourself.”

“What, for instance?”

“I don’t care. If you can’t find anything in the fridge that suits you, go out to a restaurant.”

“Costs a fortune.”

Sarah didn’t bother to reply. Edith went on grumbling.

“Seems to me there’s been mighty few decent meals cooked in this house lately.”

“If the cooking were left to you, I daresay there would be even fewer,” Sarah replied. “Would you mind standing away from the stove so I can get at it?”

“I’m not putting up with insults! I’m going straight in there and talk to Mr. Alex.”

“You’re doing nothing of the kind. He’s not well, and I won’t have him bothered with your nonsense. I mean it, Edith.”

Edith looked into Sarah’s face and must have decided she did mean it. She flounced off down the basement stairs. Sarah filled the teapot, heated soup, made toast with melted cheese on it, and carried the tray into the library.

“I want you to eat every bit of this.”

Her husband didn’t move, so she filled the soup spoon and held it to his lips. Automatically he swallowed a mouthful or two, then began to feed himself. By the time he’d emptied the cup, he did look a trifle more alive.

“Feeling better?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, my dear. You’re being very patient with the old man.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’ve always been an angel to me.”

“I wish that were true. Though God knows I’ve tried!”

The sudden agony in his voice was like a blow in her face. Sarah sat on the arm of his chair and took his head in her arms.

“Has it been that desperate a struggle?”

Alexander set down his teacup with fumbling care, and closed his eyes. “Sarah, I’m afraid I can’t keep it up any longer.”

“What do you mean? Do you want a divorce?”

“A divorce?” Her question jerked him out of his lethargy. “Good God, no! Whatever put that into your head?”

“What you just said.”

“I don’t know what I said. I only know that I’ve reached the end of my tether. One does, sooner or later, I suppose.”