Someone in the House (26 page)

“It must be Aunt Bea’s cooking,” he said with a smile. “Of course I’ve been swimming and playing tennis every day. Daily exercise is a good idea; you ought to swim, Roger, it’s the best activity for a man your age; no strain on the heart.”

Which was one up for Kevin. Roger looked a little annoyed.

When dinner was over we left the men to do the dishes and Bea went upstairs to get her white gloves. It was still light when we drove off; the long, lovely shadows of evening were quiet on the grass, but Roger’s prediction of rain looked more likely. Huge thunderheads, bloodstained by the sunset, pressed down on the ridge.

“What is Roger up to?” Bea asked suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“Those questions about Kevin’s health. Roger is as transparent as a child. I know you’re on his side, Anne, not on mine, but I thought—”

“Hey!” I turned to her. With a peremptory gesture she indicated that I should keep my eyes on the road. “I’m not on anybody’s side,” I protested. “I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“Then do you have any objection to telling me what is behind Roger’s sudden interest in Kevin’s physical condition?”

“It has nothing to do with his theory,” I said honestly.

“All right, if you won’t tell me I must respect your reticence. Can I assume you will treat my confidences the same way, and not go blabbing to Roger?”

“Bea, I wish you and Roger wouldn’t act like this.”

“It is unfair to you,” Bea said, more mildly. “The one in the middle is in an uncomfortable spot.”

“I don’t mind that; I just wish you weren’t at odds.”

“You are passing the parsonage,” Bea said. “Again.”

Father Stephen was pounding away at his typewriter when his housekeeper showed us in. He put his work aside and offered us chairs.

“I apologize for being so mysterious over the telephone,” he said to Bea. “But I wanted to talk to you in person.”

Bea waved his apologies aside. The gesture verged on brusqueness, and proved to me that she was much more nervous about the interview than she had pretended to be. I braced myself for another argument, with me in the middle, as usual.

“First,” Father Stephen began, “I must tell you, Anne, that I was able after all to obtain an answer to your question.”

I had almost forgotten my interest in Ethelfleda. Roger’s theory and my own modification had replaced her. “Ethelfleda’s ashes?” I asked.

“We don’t know what remains,” Father Stephen said, “and I hope we never will. However, the contents of the house removed to Pennsylvania by Mr. Karnovsky included three lead coffins. Presumably the other occupants of the crypt had possessed less durable caskets, of which nothing solid remained.”

He waited for a comment. None was forthcoming, so he went on, in a more casual voice, “It was pure luck that I was able to learn so much. The relevant papers are, as we surmised, now in the possession of Mr. Blacklock. Presumably they were deposited with his lawyer, or man of business. They included an inventory of the objects in the house, based on the shipping lists drawn up for Mr. Karnovsky. I might add that this filled a thick folio volume.

“After Jack had told me this, I was about to give up when an idea occurred to me.” He sighed and shook his head, but there was a suspicion of a smile on his mouth. “I discovered I have a regrettable gift for duplicity. Without actually lying to Jack, I told him that my friend, Mrs. Blacklock’s sister, was somewhat disturbed to think that people were actually buried in the house. We chuckled over your fear of ghosts, Bea—I hope you’ll forgive me. At any rate, Jack admitted he had looked through the inventory. Naturally he had been amused and intrigued by the bizarre transaction. He distinctly remembers the coffins, because they struck an even more bizarre note. I believe we can depend on his memory.”

“Bizarre is not strong enough,” I said. “What kind of people were the Mandevilles, to sell their ancestors? That’s really despicable.”

“They were not Mandeville ancestors,” Father Stephen said. “And some people, my dear, will sell anything. What surprises me is how Mr. Karnovsky obtained permission to transport human remains. But I suppose anything can be done with money.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Now that your curiosity is satisfied, we can forget that matter. I really wanted to see you, Bea, to ask if you have reconsidered my suggestion. Wait—before you answer, I must tell you something I neglected to mention the other day, when I described my conversation with Miss Marion. Her—er—delusion had a name. She referred to it as ‘Edmund.’”

Again he waited expectantly. Again he got nothing from us but blank stares.

“Think what that could mean,” he said urgently. “I spent an hour this morning talking—no, let me use the right word—gossiping with Frances, my housekeeper. If there is anything she doesn’t know about the residents of these parts, living and dead, I would be surprised. She assures me that no one of that name had even been connected with Miss Marion.”

“Even neighborhood gossips miss things,” I said. “Maybe he was someone she met when she was away at school, or on vacation. It could even be a character in a book or movie. When I was twelve I had a terrible crush on D’Artagnan.”

“Possibly. But I seem to recall that one of the Mandeville sons was named Edmund.”

“That is correct,” Bea said reluctantly. “He was shot. A hunting accident.”

“Oh? One is entitled, I think, to wonder about that convenient verdict.”

“Father,” I said, “I hope you’ll excuse me for saying this, but don’t you think we have a superfluity of ghosts?”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He treated me to one of those charming smiles that relieved the austerity of his features. “I won’t press the point, but I do suggest that steps be taken to eliminate whatever influence is at work.”

Bea shook her head. “I can’t give permission for an exorcism.”

“My dear Bea, I’ve no intention of charging into the house with bell, book, and candle. I couldn’t if I wanted to; an exorcism cannot be performed without the Bishop’s permission, and believe me, that is not lightly granted. All I am suggesting is a small private service of prayer and meditation.”

“Well, I suppose it couldn’t do any harm.”

“Excellent.” Father Stephen pounced on this equivocal permission. “Then shall we say tomorrow afternoon? Or would evening be better?”

“You don’t want Kevin to attend, do you?” I asked. “He’s usually around during the day.”

“Yes, it had better be evening,” Bea agreed. “Kevin is taking that young woman somewhere tomorrow night. A dinner theater, I believe he said.She invitedhim .”

The stress she placed on the pronouns demonstrated her opinion of forward young women who pursued reluctant young men. She might be right at that. Kevin appeared to have cooled toward Debbie recently.

“Fine,” Father Stephen said. “When may I come?”

“Come for dinner,” Bea said. “We’ll eat early—as soon as Kevin leaves. I’ll call you.”

A few lurid streaks of dying sun broke the blackness of the clouds in the western sky when we emerged from the parsonage. The breeze had died and the air was breathlessly hot.

“You don’t approve of Father Stephen’s suggestion,” I said, since it was clear that Bea didn’t intend to initiate a conversation. “Why not?”

“All I can refer to are my feelings, my instincts,” Bea said. “But you won’t think that they are important.”

I was strangely hurt when she said that. I hunched down over the wheel and stared straight ahead. After a few moments Bea said, “I’m used to working out problems alone, Anne. I haven’t had people to talk to. Will you promise not to tell Roger?”

“If you want it that way.”

“It has to be that way. If you won’t give me your word, I won’t tell you. But I confess I would like someone with me when I do what I mean to do.”

I felt like the White Rabbit inAlice . Oh, dear, oh, dear—oh, my fur and whiskers! What was the nice, silly woman up to now? I had a nasty suspicion. And if I was right, it was imperative that I be allowed to take part.

“All right, I promise,” I said, with a sigh. “What is it, a séance? That’s Roger’s bag, Bea, not yours. Remember Saul and the Witch of Endor. Remember—”

“I have no intention of engaging in any such irreverent performance,” Bea said coldly. Then, with a sudden change of tone, she exclaimed, “All I want to do is reach out to her, to reassure and comfort. I shall be armed with prayer and love.”

“You must expect some danger, or you wouldn’t want my company,” I grumbled.

“I’m aware of the possibility of self-hypnosis, even of hysteria. I want you for two reasons, Anne. First as a witness. Second, to interfere if anything goes wrong. You’ll be in charge. I’ll stop the minute you tell me to.”

I rolled my eyes despairingly. Never would I cease to be amazed at people. Bea’s project was the oddest blend of mysticism and common sense, of childish Sunday-school Christianity and practical precaution. At least she had wits enough to acknowledge some of the perils. Obviously I couldn’t let her tackle something like that alone. My sensible, down-to-earth mother substitute had some weak streaks that might, under stress, start a landslide.

“All right,” I said gruffly.

“And you won’t tell Roger?”

“No.” He would beat me to a pulp if he knew I was letting her do this.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” Bea said, as if she were thanking me for helping with the dishes. “It will have to be late, after midnight, to avoid interruption. The question is, where? Kevin’s room would be ideal, but how are we to get him out of it?”

I hesitated. Then I thought disgustedly, what the hell; in for a penny, in for a pound. I said, “Kevin was entertaining the idea of changing rooms when I talked to him earlier. His is too hot.”

“Perfect. I wonder why I didn’t think of that. He should not be sleeping in that room anyway.”

But she was quite ready to have us sit there and invite someone—or some thing—to drop in on us. I began to think everybody was crazy but me—and I wasn’t all that sure about myself.

11

IHAD BEEN a little uneasy about how Kevin and Roger would get along without us. They weren’t exactly bosom buddies. We found them in companionable tête-à-tête in our usual corner of the library. A chess-board lay on the table between them, but it had been pushed aside. The space was filled with a familiar jumble of books and papers.

“Back so soon?” Roger said.

“Obviously,” I said, craning my neck to get a look at the books.

Roger anticipated me. “We’ve been talking about the prehistoric remains in the house. Kevin agrees that there is strong evidence for the existence of some ancient cult.”

I heard Bea catch her breath. I was so angry that for a minute I literally saw red. Kevin gave me an uncertain smile. He sensed I was furious and didn’t know why. I felt an overwhelming rush of sympathy and protectiveness. They were using him, both of them—oh, sure, with the best intentions in the world, but quite selfishly, for their own ends and their own private duel.

Roger was making odd little grimaces meant to assure me that I needn’t worry—he had been the soul of tact, Kevin was fine, no damage had been done. From Bea’s expression I knew she shared my anger. But she was just as bad; it hadn’t occurred to her that Kevin might profit from a change in rooms until she needed the room herself.

It hadn’t occurred to me, either.

So I swallowed my gorge and took a seat, and tried to talk about the chess game. The others weren’t having any of that. Even Bea was curious to hear Kevin’s views on ancient religion.

“I like the idea of Ethelfleda being a priestess of the mother goddess,” he said with a smile. “No, Roger, I’ll buy your taurobolium—I never heard of it, but I’ll take your word for it. The rest is a little farfetched, don’t you think?”

“Exactly,” Bea said, before Roger could answer. “I’m glad you agree with me, Kevin.”

“Wait a minute,” Kevin said. “I don’t disagree with Roger, I’m simply not convinced. It’s an interesting idea. I read Murray’s books years ago, and I would say she makes a reasonable case for the survival of some elements of a prehistoric cult.”

After that the conversation became technical and dull, to me, anyway. Kevin had done more reading than I, and proved a good foil for Roger, who, as I might have expected, lost sight of the main point of the discussion. They rambled on about druidism and nature gods and vegetation spirits for some time. It was almost eleven when Bea, who was as bored as I, made her move.