Houses of Stone (12 page)

"Fame and fortune will be yours." Peggy lit another cigarette. "If you found the right publisher, one with a little imagination and a lot of know-how, you could make a lot of money out of the book. Enough to buy me out."

"You won't be out unless you want out. I'm counting on you to help with the historical part. You can publish anything you like on that aspect."

"I wouldn't publish without consulting you."

"I know that."

Peggy tossed her cigarette out the window and gripped the wheel so fiercely her knuckles whitened. "Then why the hell did you make such a fuss about the money? What difference does it make who has legal possession? It's your field, not mine; I wouldn't tackle a project like that, I have better sense. Did you think I'd sell the publication rights to someone else?"

"Don't be an idiot!" Karen's voice rose to match Peggy's. "God, I'm sick of apologizing for things I never did and explaining statements that ought to be self-evident!"

"Give it one more try," Peggy said in a strangled voice.

"I have absolute confidence in your integrity. I didn't think for a moment that you'd double-cross me. I just want to own it myself. I want . . . control. For the first time in my life I want to be the sole determiner of what happens to me."

"The first time? You've been an adult for several years."

"Somebody's always trying to boss me," Karen muttered. "My parents, my professors, my ex-husband, Joe Cropsey . . . They all treat me as if I were a child. It's this damned chubby-cheeked face of mine, I suppose. You wouldn't understand—"

"Whew." Peggy let out a long, relieved sigh. "So that's the problem. You think I don't understand? I'm five feet tall, for God's sake! You think it's tough being a chubby-cheeked woman, try being a short chubby-cheeked woman."

"I don't think of you as short," Karen said, genuinely surprised.

"Neither do I. That's the trick. But it took me a long time to figure it out." Peggy smiled wryly. "Well, that cleared the air. At least I hope it did. We're more alike than you might suppose, Karen. I've been through
it too—the patronizing smiles, the condescending remarks, the pats on the head. And although it was a long time ago, I was once as prickly as you are. Yes, you are—with some reason—but take it from me, my friend, being constantly on the defensive makes life a lot tougher than it has to be. I'll try not to boss you if you try to bear in mind that I boss everybody. It's one of the privileges of age. Nothing personal."

"I'll try," Karen agreed, still in a mild state of shock. Peggy was so mature, so respected, so completely in control
of
her life, it was almost impossible to believe she had ever been shy and insecure. With a violent effort of imagination Karen tried to picture Peggy as a timid young girl. She couldn't do it.

"So where do we go from here?" Peggy asked.

"To Virginia. I'm leaving on Monday, as soon as I turn in those exam scores and clear up a few odds and ends. I talked to Cameron Wednesday; he said he'd find me a room or an apartment. I can't afford to stay in a motel for weeks on end."

"Weeks," Peggy repeated. "That long?"

"I can work on the manuscript there as well as anywhere," Karen argued. "Maybe the ambience will inspire me."

"Be funny if it turns out to be the wrong house," Peggy said. "You still don't know for certain."

"I have a hunch."

"Oh, great. I can't go with you, Karen." She gave Karen a sidelong smile and added, "No, I'm not sulking. I really can't. I promised a friend I'd come for a visit. He's been ill and he ... What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Now
you're
sulking. I'll be back in a week or ten days. Have you found out when the auction is to be held?"

"Memorial Day."

"The delay does makes sense, at that," Peggy said thoughtfully. "Memorial Day and Labor Day are the big weekends for country auctions. They're hoping to attract the city slickers. Well, I'll be back by then. I hope you won't take offense if I suggest that my experience could be useful."

"No." Karen decided she might as well admit the truth, before Peggy misinterpreted her frown. "I'm in trouble," she admitted. "Joan and I
were supposed to go to Nag's Head for a week, right after graduation.

To unwind. I forgot about it until you mentioned your friend." " 'Were supposed,' " Peggy repeated. "You're going to cancel?"

"What else can I do? Don't answer that! I've been waiting for weeks
already. Having to postpone it another week would make me crazy. I'll
just have to think of some excuse for Joan."

"You could tell her the truth."

"I don't want her to—" Karen stopped. "Maybe I should, at that."

"Truth is not only more virtuous, it's a helluva lot easier in the long
run," Peggy muttered. "You can't keep the manuscript a secret much
longer. Too many people know about it."

The accuracy of Peggy's assessment was brought home to Karen when they arrived at the bookstore to find that Simon was—reluctantly— entertaining a guest. His guarded look was sufficient warning; when the other man advanced to greet her, smiling amiably, his hand outstretched, Karen bit her tongue and kept her mouth closed. However, she could not bring herself to shake hands with him.

"I'm leaving," Meyer said, before she could speak. "Mr. Hallett has already explained you have a business appointment." He turned to Peggy, offering the hand Karen had rejected. "Dr. Finneyfrock? I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you. I'm Bill Meyer."

"How do you do?" Peggy gave him her hand, and a smile as broad and hypocritical as his. "I've heard a lot about you, Dr. Meyer."

"How nice. Allow me to congratulate you, ladies. May I have the additional pleasure of taking you to lunch after you've concluded your business? Mr. Hallett too, of course."

"Why not?" Peggy said, before Karen could refuse.

"Good. I'll wait in that charming little bar across the street. Take your time."

The door closed behind him with a musical tinkle.

"I'm sorry," Simon began.

"It's not your fault." Karen gave the closed door a resentful scowl. "He doesn't know we were in that bar, does he? If that son of a bitch knew I was following him ... He led me on a wild-goose chase that day,
through the worst traffic in Baltimore, in the rain ..." Rage choked her.

"Cool it," Peggy said. "So what if he did? You've won and he's lost."

"Perhaps he is only being a courteous loser," Simon suggested.

"Sure," said Karen.

Their business was soon concluded. As Karen's hands closed over the precious bundle she saw that Simon's eyes were fixed on her and that his expression was not that of a man who has just accepted a large check. She smiled at him. "Thanks, Simon. Thanks for letting me win."

Simon shook his head. "I hope I won't regret it."

"The check won't bounce," Peggy said cheerfully.

His dour expression brightened as he turned to her, offering one of the small glasses he had filled from a cut-glass decanter. "That was my chief concern, of course."

Peggy insisted they all accept Meyer's invitation. "He's up to no good," she declared with obvious relish. "But we may as well find out what he wants. If the three of us can't outwit him we ought to be ashamed of ourselves."

Simon rolled his eyes heavenward. "I suppose I must join you. The superior intelligence of an older and wiser man is obviously needed."

Meyer had been watching for them. They took his car—Simon in front with Meyer, "ladies" in the back. Typical, Karen thought. Peggy let out a gurgle and poked Karen in the ribs when he pulled up in front of one of Baltimore's most expensive restaurants. "He's definitely up to no good," she mouthed.

They drank another toast, in imported Chablis. Peggy studied the menu with an anticipatory expression that made it difficult for Karen to keep her face straight. As she had expected, Peggy ordered the most expensive entree available.

Meyer directed the conversation skillfully, sticking to neutral subjects until their orders had been delivered and the obsequious waiter had left. Then he opened fire.

"I hope your ankle is better, Karen?"

Simon didn't choke on his food or demand an explanation; he was far
too well-bred. But the look he gave Karen assured her that she was due for a lecture when the truth came out, as Meyer intended it should.

"It's fine," she said. "Not a twinge."

"I'm glad we arrived when we did," Meyer mused. "I shudder to think what might have happened if you had been trapped in that filthy hole, unable to climb out, with the water rising and night coming on."

Simon did choke then, and Karen lost her precarious hold on her temper. "You've been reading too many Gothic novels, Bill," she snarled. "I stumbled into a window well, Simon. It was a basement window, and the hole was less than five feet deep. I could easily have gotten out by myself. My ankle was twisted, not sprained, and the water was three inches deep."

"All the same, you were taking a dangerous risk, going to such an isolated place alone," Meyer said. "I'm surprised you would let her do it, Dr. Finneyfrock."

"I'm not her keeper," Peggy retorted, while Karen sputtered speechlessly. "She doesn't need one, even if she is a woman. Seems to me you've got some explaining to do yourself, Dr. Meyer. What were you doing there? Mr. Hayes is the executor of the estate. You didn't have his permission."

"I was accompanied by Miss Fairweather, who is one of the heirs. Come to that," Meyer added gently, "Karen didn't have Mr. Hayes's permission either."

Simon's head had been turning from one speaker to the other. Now he said, "She was in touch with him, however. I didn't give you his name, Dr. Meyer."

"Karen is aware of that, Mr. Hallett. Your integrity has never been in question." Meyer leaned back, smiling smugly. "I reasoned it out myself."

"But you haven't any right," Peggy began.

"Ah, but I do. Let's be candid, shall we? Cards on the table."

"That," said Karen, "I would like to see. No, Peggy, let me speak for myself. Dr. Meyer is correct. We can't prevent him from pursuing his own inquiries. Publication of the manuscript is the main issue, but the identity of the author is also important. If my honorable colleague can figure that out before I do he diminishes my achievement and adds further luster to his distinguished career. A nice guy would give up gracefully
and admit I have a moral, if not legal, right to pursue that search. But you're not a nice guy, are you, Bill?"

"Now, now, let's not be rude," Meyer said with a grin. "I was about to suggest a compromise. We can waste a lot of time and energy getting in one another's way; and I must warn you that Dorothea is also on the trail. She's even less interested in nice than I am, and she's furious at being outbid."

A brief silence followed, while they considered this information. It was Simon who spoke first. "That sounds to me like a threat, Dr. Meyer."

"A warning, not a threat," Meyer said smoothly. "I can't imagine why Karen is so determined to think the worst of me. You don't suppose I would be stupid enough—or unscrupulous enough—to do something illegal, do you? Dorothea might. She has a grudge against Karen, who is everything she'd like to be"—his eyes lingered on Karen's flushed face, moving deliberately from her eyes to her lips—"and whose career is on the rise as Dorothea's is fading. Dorothea hasn't published anything significant for over a decade. I wouldn't like to commit myself as to what she might do to get that manuscript—or a copy of it. Think it over, Karen. I can be useful to you in a number of ways if you agree to my offer of assistance. If you don't agree ..." He glanced at his watch. "Excuse me; I have another appointment. You'll want to discuss the matter with your friends, I'm sure."

"If he thinks he's going to stick us with the check," Peggy began, as Meyer made his way between the tables.

"He wouldn't be so crude," Simon muttered. "Good heavens, Karen, what have you gotten yourself into? This is beginning to sound like gang warfare."

Peggy patted his hand. "Poor Simon. You don't know much about the inner workings of the academic world, do you?"

Ismene woke to find herself wrapped in warmth and in light. Her thoughts were as diffuse and hazed as her vision; how strange, she mused, that Paradise should present itself in such familiar and homely images; not the dazzling brilliance of That Divine Visage, or the splendor of golden palaces, but a soft red glow like firelight. The softness that enclosed her might be that of blanket and comforter, rather than cloud or feathery wings.

The wings of the faceless angel? She shuddered at the recollection. So might Lucifer, the shining child of the morning, have appeared to the all-seeing Eye that observed in the shadowing of that angelic face the dread forecast of his inevitable fall from grace.

The face that presented itself to the field of her vision was no angel's visage, unless the Redeemer's promise to the oppressed was indeed fulfilled in a sense more literal than hope dared envisage. Wrinkled and kindly, dusky dark and crowned with a close-wrapped cloth of purest white, it smiled upon her and spoke in the soft accents of a living woman.

With a cry Ismene rose to a sitting position and glared wildly around the room.
Flames
flickering on a low hearth left the upper portions of the chamber in shadow. Its ceiling was high, its proportions ample. The bed on which she rested had a canopy of rich damask, gathered in folds. Curtains of the same fabric had been drawn back. The woman bent over her, pressing her back, murmuring words of reassurance.

"My sister.'"
Ismene cried. "Where is Clara? Oh, heaven, tell me she lives!"

Her eyes fixed on the servant, she did not observe the opening of the door nor note the person who approached till he stood next to the bed.

“
Lie still,'' he said gently.
“
You were overcome by
cold and wet when we carried you here, but all is well; and your companion, though in worse case than you, has taken no lasting harm. She lies in the adjoining chamber, tended with loving care.
Let me
bid you welcome, dear Ismene
—
for you can be no other than she whom we have long awaited.

Locks of palest silver-gilt framed the countenance now visible to her wondering eyes.
It
was as beautiful as that of the angel her fainting mind had imagined, the perfection of the sculptured features unmarked by weariness or age.

"But surely," she began, "I am dreaming still, or wandering in delirium. Are you
—
you cannot be
—
Mr
.
]oshua Merrivale?"

"Alas.
" He
took her limp hand in his and clasped it in a warm, comforting grasp. "It grieves me to greet you with such painful tidings, but I feel sure your fortitude is equal to the dread news. Poor girl, you have lost an uncle as well as a parent
—
and so have
I
.
I am your cousin Edmund, and I give you my solemn promise that my affectionate care for you and Clara will be at least the equal of that my dear lost father would have rejoiced to provide."