Family Vault (15 page)

“We are going to change it.”

“Yes, we are, but there’s no sense in asking for trouble.”

Looking worried again, Alexander put on his sensible gray Jaeger bathrobe and went to calm his mother. Sarah could hear her saying, “I hope you’ve got over whatever was ailing you yesterday. Leila’s out of town, so you’ll have to take me to the protest meeting at Faneuil Hall.”

“If you do, I’ll hold my own protest meeting,” Sarah called out

“Yes, darling. I’m explaining about the change in plans. I didn’t realize Leila would be out of town. I’m afraid that means we’ll have to take Mother with us.”

“Of course, I’d assumed we would. It’s better to have her where we can keep an eye on her.”

Sarah put on her own robe and went to brush her teeth. She could hear that Aunt Caroline was not taking kindly to the idea of spending the weekend at Ireson’s Landing. Good. Maybe she’d stay home with Edith and sulk, and they could have the place to themselves.

However, by the time they were settled around the breakfast table, Mrs. Kelling had changed her tune and begun organizing the expedition to suit herself. She was giving orders about one thing and another when the telephone rang. Edith must have picked it up on the kitchen extension, for she came into the dining room looking puzzled.

“It’s some man wanting Mrs. Kelling. I told him she don’t talk on the telephone, but he says she’ll talk to him. Name’s Dee.”

“Edith,” said Alexander gravely, “there are two Mrs. Kellings in this house. Isn’t that the chap from Harry’s office, Sarah?”

“Yes, I expect it must be about the illustrations for that jewelry book. He said something the other night. Tell him I’ll be right there, Edith. What time are we leaving?”

“Mother says after lunch. Would that suit you?”

“Let me see what this man has to say. I told him I’d be willing to meet with him and Mr. Bittersohn, and he may have something already arranged.”

Dee, it appeared, had done exactly that. “I’ve got it lined up for half-past ten this morning, Sarah, here at the office. Can you make it?”

“Yes, if we can be through before noon. My husband and I have plans for later.”

She went back and told Alexander about the appointment. “Is it all right with you if I go?”

“Fine. That will give me a chance to get squared away with Lomax and do these multitudinous errands Mother is thinking up.”

“Forget them. None of them matters a rap. We can stop for groceries somewhere along the way, and since I’m going to do the cooking, I get to plan the menus.”

“We’re not taking Edith?”

“No!” The negative came out more sharply than she’d intended. “You know what a hothouse flower she is, she’d be complaining every minute. Let her stay and mind the house. She can have some of her cronies or that nephew from Malden in to visit.”

Sarah would much rather not have kept thinking about what Alexander had told her the night before, but how could she forget? As for her own father, if he had been deliberately poisoned, she could see only one way it might have been managed. She’d often wondered why, when Aunt Caroline had to let the rest of the servants go, she’d kept the one who was least competent. Now she could think of a possible reason.

Edith was a dreadful servant, but she might make a pretty good accomplice. If the woman had any loyalty at all, it was to Caroline Kelling. She had enough brains to carry out an order when she had to, and she was probably also shrewd enough to have figured out that her best hope of keeping a job was to have some hold over her employer. Until they could get Caroline Kelling under safe control, they’d be wise to keep her separated from the old retainer as much as possible.

Sarah did her customary morning chores, packed the few things she meant to take with her for the weekend, and told Alexander, “I might as well pick up the car after I leave Harry’s office, since I’ll be so close to the garage. Let’s take off as soon as I get back here and not bother with lunch. We can stop for a hamburger if we get hungry on the way.”

“Whatever you say, my love.”

He kissed her and went back to his own concerns. Sarah walked down to Charles Street thinking what a relief it was she didn’t have to worry any more about what Bittersohn or Dee might tell Harry Lackridge. She would give Alexander the full particulars of her visit to Ireson’s Landing in due time. Perhaps they might look for a clue as to who the trespasser was, although it wasn’t likely they’d find anything after such a downpour.

The publishing house had the same mummified atmosphere that the Lackridges’ apartment did. Everything was still pretty much where Leila’s grandfather had put it. Even the titles in the bookcases didn’t include many fresh jackets. It was surprising that Bittersohn hadn’t taken his lavish grant to some more up-and-coming firm.

Meager as his output was, Harry managed to keep going while larger houses foundered. He was his own sales manager, constantly searching out new markets, talking to book sellers, attending library conventions and book fairs wherever they could be found. Neither he nor Leila ever seemed to lack the price of a plane ticket.

Of course, they might be dipping into capital, and why not? They had no children to provide for, and it was stupid to go without the things one wanted in order to save for a future that might never arrive. Sarah thought of her own father and his scrupulous economies. He’d been so worried about not having enough for his old age. What an irony!

Nobody was sitting at the reception desk. Harry was between secretaries again, or perhaps the girl was just out for coffee. Sarah was wondering whether to venture past the switchboard when Bittersohn breezed in from the street and Bob Dee emerged almost simultaneously from some inner office.

“Good show! Both of you right on the button. Why don’t we sit right down here at the conference table and lay it all right out? I’ll get us some coffee. How do you take yours, Sarah?”

“I won’t have any, thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d rather get on with whatever we have to do.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You said you and your husband were going out to your other place for the weekend. Taking Mrs. Kelling with you?”

“We always do, Mr. Bittersohn, I believe you have some photographs to show me?”

Bob Dee wasn’t that easily discouraged. “Sure you won’t have anything? Maybe a Danish? Wouldn’t take a second. Bittersohn, what about you? Cream and sugar?”

“No, I just had breakfast.”

The author opened a large manila envelope he’d brought with him and spread some black-and-white glossies on the table. “Got the outline, Dee? Mrs. Kelling might like to know what we’re talking about.”

Bob Dee hustled off with a great air of efficiency and was gone rather a long time. Bittersohn waited for him about thirty seconds, shrugged, and began explaining his project to Sarah. They worked through the pile, she taking notes and asking an occasional question, and had the business fairly well settled between them by the time the young assistant came back.

“Sorry to take so long, folks. I got stuck on an out-of-town phone call, then had a heck of a time tracking down your stuff. Harry’s desk is something else.”

“I should think his secretary would keep track of things,” said Bittersohn.

“You would, wouldn’t you? Okay, Max, old buddy, let’s roll it.”

“We’ve already rolled, thanks. I think Mrs. Kelling is pretty clear on what we want.”

“Oh. Well, look, could we take another quick run-through just to make sure we’ve touched all the bases?”

“I hardly think it’s necessary,” Sarah told him.

Dee paid no attention. He began thumbing through the photographs, mixing up her notes, raising irrelevant points of dispute, all with a running patter of wisecracks which nobody else thought were funny. Sarah endured the performance for about ten minutes, then stood up.

“I honestly don’t think we have to discuss this any more. Mr. Bittersohn obviously knows exactly how the work should be done, and I’m sure he’ll put me straight if I get into any difficulties. As for the technique, Harry knows the way I draw, and I can’t imagine he’d have recommended me if he didn’t think I could do an adequate job. Why don’t I simply try one or two and let Mr. Bittersohn have a look at them? If he feels they won’t do, I shan’t charge him anything, and you can find another artist.”

“Yeah, but we don’t want to waste a lot of time,” said Dee.

“My feeling exactly.”

Sarah started to put on her gloves. “I’ll take along whatever photographs you want to give me, and have something ready for you by Wednesday at the latest, Mr. Bittersohn. Where can I get in touch with you?”

She knew she was being rude to this young fellow, who was trying so hard to impress them and making such a hash of it, and was ashamed when he took the snub so cheerily.

“Great, then we’ll leave it like that. Why don’t you give me a buzz when you’re ready, Sarah, and I’ll set up a meeting? That okay with you, Max?”

“How much is this going to cost me?”

“Hey, what do you know? We never did get around to talking price, did we? What do you say, Sarah, thirty bucks apiece? Got to watch the budget, you know.”

“Thirty would be lovely,” Sarah replied. “Harry generally gives me ten. I really don’t see, though, why Mr. Bittersohn should get stuck just because it’s coming out of his pocket this time and not the firm’s. Perhaps we’d better split the difference and say fifteen.”

“I can’t let you do that, Mrs. Kelling. Thirty’s fine with me. You’ll still be working cheap, considering the detail involved.”

The author was clearly amused by this turn of affairs. Dee’s sense of humor, on the other hand, seemed finally to have deserted him. It really was not kind of her to have said what she did. He’d probably thought he was doing her a big favor, giving her the chance of making extra money off a novice who didn’t know he was being skinned. If that was the sort of thing Bob Dee was picking up from Harry Lackridge, he might as well also learn that a sharp deal could cut more ways than one.

Bittersohn started to put his photographs back in the envelope. The publisher’s assistant made one last attempt.

“Don’t you think I should make some Xeroxes, in case these get lost or anything? It wouldn’t take long.”

“I don’t see why,” said the author. “Xeroxes would come out looking like mud, and I can always get duplicate prints if we need them.”

“Please don’t worry, Bob,” said Sarah, trying to make amends for her curtness now that the end of this unexpectedly trying interview was in sight. “I shan’t lose them. We’ll see you next week, then, and perhaps we’ll have time for that coffee you promised.”

“Sure, great. Any time you say. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

He walked them to the door and still showed an inclination to stand and chat, but Sarah bade a firm goodbye and went to get the car. It would have been a wise move to telephone from the publishing house and tell Alexander she was on her way, but Bob Dee would probably have torn the switchboard apart in his eagerness to oblige.

If that young man thought he had a future in publishing, he’d better think again. He’d be more at home as master of ceremonies on one of those frenetic game shows Edith was always watching. There was a pay station in the garage, and she used that. Alexander said they’d be waiting on the sidewalk when she came up, and they were.

“Shall I drive, Sadiebelle? Oh, I forgot, you’re a big girl now.”

“Yes I am, and just for that I shan’t let you.”

Sarah smiled up at her tall husband, thinking he still looked a bit wan around the mouth, and wishing to spare him as much as she could. “Do you prefer to sit in back with your mother or in front with your wife?”

“Need you ask?”

He helped his mother into the back seat and settled her with the Braille book and note pad she always took along to relieve the tedium of having nobody to hand signal for her, since Alexander would as a rule be driving the car. Mrs. Kelling could write in longhand with a wire grid to mark off the lines, but she had become so proficient in Braille that she often preferred to punch out the dots with a stencil and stylus and have Sarah transcribe them later on the typewriter.

Sarah had gladly learned Braille and took pleasure in performing this service. She had never ceased to wonder at how lucidly the blind and deaf woman could express herself. Aunt Caroline’s style was chilly and sometimes abrupt, but always to the point. She never rambled or repeated, she always knew precisely what she was going to say next and put it down in a way that left no conceivable doubt as to what she meant. She didn’t misspell words or leave out letters, except when she abbreviated to save time. It was hard to believe there was much wrong with Caroline Kelling’s mind.

Nevertheless, Sarah had said to her husband that it would be hard to judge Aunt Caroline by normal standards, and she still thought there was truth in that statement. One could not condone what she’d done to Uncle Gilbert, but one could make a fair guess at how she’d been driven to think of murder.

Caroline Kelling was still a beautiful woman; in her heyday she must have been stunning. She’d been a New York debutante, used to a lively social life, opera all winter long, theater, parties, travel, contacts with fascinating people and places. Gilbert Kelling, with his handsome appearance, family connections, and great wealth, must have seemed like the catch of the decade, but Caroline would soon have learned he wasn’t much fun to be married to. She’d also have found that Boston ladies of her circle were more involved with good works than good times. Life on the Hill had probably not been much duller for her than it was for some of her neighbors, but to a beautiful woman with a fabulous collection of jewelry to show off and no place to wear it, the marriage must have been one long frustration. Travel abroad was out of the question. Uncle Gilbert wasn’t up to it, and he wouldn’t have gone anyway. All he cared about was sailing in the Caroline, and since he refused to have an engine in the craft even that must have been a poky business at times.

Alexander described his father as austere. Uncle Jem always referred to him as the dead fish. Sarah’s own mother had wondered how Caroline ever endured living with a human iceberg. That Gilbert’s wife had tried to save his life instead of shoving him overboard was a source of general wonderment and, everybody thought, a tribute to her nobility of spirit. If Gilbert Kelling had been better liked, Caroline might have become less of a heroine. Had she taken that factor into account when she chose such a subtle and dramatic way to get rid of him?