Scold's Bridle

Sarah's heart leapt, but Sergeant Cooper only eyed him thoughtfully for a moment or two. 'Assuming I've interpreted these pictures correctly, sir, I'd say a blend of blues and purples, for hard-headed cynicism-cum-realism, common to your wife and Mrs. Gillespie, some greens which I think must represent the decency and honour of Dr. Blakeney because they are markedly absent from Mrs. Gillespie's portrait,' he smiled, 'and a great deal of black.'

'Why black?'

'Because I'm in the dark,' he said with ponderous humour, fishing his warrant card from his inside pocket. 'Detective Sergeant Cooper, sir, Learmouth Police. I'm enquiring into the death of Mrs. Mathilda Gillespie of Cedar House, Fontwell. Perhaps you'd like to tell me why she sat for you with the scold's bridle on her head? In view of the way she died, I find that fascinating.'

Arthritis is a brute. It makes one so vulnerable. If I were a less cynical woman, I would say Sarah has the gift of healing, though, frankfy, I'm inclined to think anyone would have been an improvement on that old fool, Hendry. He was lazy, of course, and didn't bother to keep up his reading. Sarah tells me there have been huge advances in the field which he obviously knew nothing about. I am rather inclined to sue, if not on my own behalf, then on Joanna's. Clearly, it was he who set her on the path to addiction.

Sarah asked me today how I was, and I answered with a line from

King Lear

: 'I grow; I prosper. Now, gods, stand up for bastards.' She quite naturally assumed I was referring to myself, laughed good-naturedfy and said: 'A bitch, possibly, Mathilda, but never a bastard. There's only one bastard I know, and that's Jack.' I asked her what he had done to deserve such an appellation. 'He takes my love for granted,' she said, 'and offers his to anyone who's foolish enough to flatter him.'

How very flawed are human relationships. This is not a Jack I recognize. He guards his love as jealously as he guards his art. The truth, I think, is that Sarah perceives both herself and him 'through a glass darkly.' She believes he strays, but only, I suspect, because she insists on using his effect on women as a criterion by which to judge him. His passions frighten her because they exist outside her control, and she is less adept than she thinks she is at seeing where he directs them.

I adore the man. He encourages me to 'dare damnation,' for what is life if it is not a rebellion against death .

*6*

Violet Orloff stood motionless in the kitchen of Wing Cottage, listening to the row that had broken out in the hall of Cedar House. She had the guilty look of an eavesdropper, torn between going and staying, but, unlike most eavesdroppers, she was free of the fear of discovery, and curiosity won out. She took a glass from the dishwasher, placed the rim against the wall, then pressed her ear to the base. The voices drew closer immediately. Perhaps it was a mercy she couldn't see herself. There was something indecent and furtive about the way she bent to listen, and her face wore the same expression that a Peeping Tom might wear as he peers through a window to see a woman in the nude. Excited. Leering. Expectant.

'...think I don't know what you do in London? You're a fucking whore, and Granny knew it, too. It's your bloody fault all this, and now you're planning to whore him, I suppose, to cut me out.'

'Don't you dare speak to me like that. I've a damn good mind to wash my hands of you. Do you think I care tuppence whether you get to university or not?'

'That's you every time. Jealousy, jealousy, fucking jealousy! You can't stand me doing anything you didn't do.'

'I'm warning you, Ruth, I won't listen to this.'

'Why not? Because it's true, and the truth hurts?' The girl's voice was tearful. 'Why can't you behave like a mother sometimes? Granny was more of a mother than you are. All you've ever done is hate me. I didn't ask to be born, did I?'

'That's childish.'

'You hate me because my father loved me.'

'Don't be absurd.'

'It's true. Granny told me. She said Steven used to moon over me, calling me his angel, and you used to fly into a temper. She said if you and Steven had got a divorce, then Steven wouldn't be dead.'

Joanna's voice was icy. 'And you believed her, of course, because it's what you wanted to hear. You're your grandmother all over again, Ruth. I thought there'd be an end of it once she was dead but I couldn't have been more wrong, could I? You've inherited every drop of poison that was in her.'

'Oh, that's great! Walk away, just like you always do. When are you going to face up to a problem, Mother, instead of pretending it doesn't exist? Granny always said that was your one true accomplishment, to brush every unpleasantness under the carpet, and then carry on as if nothing had happened. For Christ's sake'-her voice rose to a shout-'you heard the detective.' She must have caught her mother's attention because her tone dropped again. 'The police think Granny was murdered. So what am I supposed to tell them?'

'The truth.'

Ruth gave a wild laugh. 'Fine. So I tell them what you spend your money on, do I? I tell them Granny and Dr. Hendry thought you were so bloody mad they were thinking of having you committed? Jesus'-her voice broke-'I suppose I might just as well be really honest and tell them how you tried to kill me. Or do I keep quiet because if I