A Dangerous Fortune

One by one they all went up to visit Seth; one by one they came down and said how marvelous he was. Micky waited until last. He finally went up at half-past five.

Seth was in what used to be Hugh’s room. A nurse sat outside with the door ajar in case he should call her. Micky went in and closed the door.

Seth was sitting up in bed reading The Economist Micky said: “Good afternoon, Mr. Pilaster. How are you feeling?”

The old man put his journal aside with obvious reluctance. “I’m feeling well, I thank you. How is your father?”

“Impatient to be home.” Micky stared at the frail old man on the white sheets. The skin of his face was translucent, and the curved knife of the Pilaster nose seemed sharper than ever, but there was lively intelligence in the eyes. He looked as if he could live and run the bank for another decade.

Micky seemed to hear his father’s voice in his ear, saying Who is standing in our way?

The old man was weak and helpless, and there was only Micky in the room and the nurse outside.

Micky realized he had to kill Seth.

His father’s voice said Do it now.

He could suffocate the old man with a pillow and leave no evidence. Everyone would think he had died a natural death.

Micky’s heart filled with loathing and he felt ill.

“What’s the matter?” Seth said. “You look sicker than I.”

“Are you quite comfortable, sir?” Micky said. “Let me adjust your pillows.”

“Please don’t trouble, they’re all right,” said Seth, but Micky reached behind him and pulled out a big feather pillow.

Micky looked at the old man and hesitated.

Fear flashed in Seth’s eyes and he opened his mouth to call out.

Before he could make a sound Micky smothered his face with the pillow and pushed his head back down.

Unfortunately, Seth’s arms were outside the bedclothes, and now his hands grasped Micky’s forearms with surprising strength. Micky stared in horror at the aged talons clamped to his coat sleeves, but he held on with all his might. Seth clawed desperately at Micky’s arms but the younger man was stronger.

When that failed Seth began to kick his legs and squirm. He could not escape from Micky’s grasp, but Hugh’s old bed squeaked, and Micky was terrified that the nurse might hear and come in to investigate. The only way he could think of to keep the old man still was to lie on top of him. Still holding the pillow over Seth’s face, Micky got on the bed and lay on the writhing body. It was grotesquely reminiscent of sex with an unwilling woman, Micky thought crazily, and he suppressed the hysterical laughter that bubbled to his lips. Seth continued to struggle but his movements were restrained by Micky’s weight and the bed ceased to squeak. Micky held on grimly.

At last all movement ceased. Micky remained in place as long as he dared, to make sure; then he cautiously removed the pillow and stared at the white, still face. The eyes were closed but the features were still. The old man looked dead. Micky had to check for a heartbeat. Slowly and fearfully, he lowered his head to Seth’s chest.

Suddenly the old man’s eyes opened wide and he took a huge, dragging breath.

Micky almost cried aloud with horror. A moment later he regained his wits and shoved the pillow over Seth’s face again. He felt himself shaking weakly with fear and disgust as he held it down; but there was no more resistance.

He knew he should keep it there for several minutes, to be sure the old man really was dead this time; but he was worried about the nurse. She might notice the silence. He had to speak, for a pretense of normality. But he could not think what to say to a dead man. Say anything, he told himself, it doesn’t matter so long as she hears the murmur of conversation. “I’m pretty well,” he mumbled desperately. “Pretty well, pretty well. And how are you? Well, well. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better. Splendid, Mr. Pilaster. I’m very glad to see you looking so well, so splendid, so much better, oh dear God I can’t keep this up, very well, splendid, splendid …”

He could stand it no longer. He took his weight off the pillow. Grimacing with distaste, he put his hand on Seth’s chest where he imagined the heart would be. There were sparse white hairs on the old man’s pale skin. The body was warm beneath the nightshirt, but there was no heartbeat. Are you really dead this time? he thought. And then he seemed to hear Papa’s voice, angry and impatient, saying Yes, you fool, he’s dead, now get out of there! Leaving the pillow over the face, he rolled off the corpse and stood up.

A wave of nausea engulfed him. He felt weak and faint, and he grabbed the bedpost to steady himself. I killed him, he thought. I killed him.

There was a voice on the landing.

Micky looked at the body on the bed. The pillow was still over Seth’s face. He snatched it up. Seth’s dead eyes were open and staring.

The door opened.

Augusta walked in.

She stood in the doorway, looking at the rumpled bed, the still face of Seth with its staring eyes, and the pillow in Micky’s hands. The blood drained from her cheeks.

Micky stared at her, silent and helpless, waiting for her to speak.

She stood there, looking from Seth to Micky and back again, for a long moment.

Then, slowly and quietly, she closed the door.

She took the pillow from Micky. She lifted Seth’s lifeless head and replaced the pillow, then she straightened the sheets. She picked up The Economist from the floor, placed it on his chest, and folded his hands over it, so that he looked as if he had fallen asleep reading it.

Then she closed his eyes.

She came to Micky. “You’re shaking,” she said. She took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth.

For a moment he was too stunned to react. Then he went from terror to desire in a flash. He put his arms around her and embraced her, feeling her bosom against his chest. She opened her mouth and their tongues met. Micky grasped her breasts in both hands and squeezed them hard. She gasped. His erection came immediately. Augusta began to grind her pelvis against his, rubbing herself on his stiff penis. They were both breathing hard. Augusta took his hand, put it in her mouth, and bit down, to stop herself crying out. Her eyes closed tight, and she shuddered. He realized she was having an orgasm and he was so inflamed that he, too, reached a climax.

It had taken only a few moments. Afterwards they clung together, panting, for a little longer. Micky was too bewildered to think.

When Augusta had caught her breath she broke the embrace. “I’m going to my room,” she said quietly. “You should leave the house immediately.”

“Augusta—”

“Call me Mrs. Pilaster!”

“All right—”

“This never happened,” she said in a fierce whisper. “Do you understand me? None of it ever happened!”

“All right,” he said again.

She smoothed the front of her dress and patted her hair. He watched helplessly, immobilized by the force of her will. She turned and went to the door. Automatically, he opened it for her. He followed her out.

The nurse looked an inquiry at them. Augusta put her finger to her lips in a hushing gesture. “He’s just dropped off to sleep,” she said quietly.

Micky was amazed and appalled by her coolness.

“Best thing for him,” said the nurse. “I’ll leave him in peace for an hour or so.”

Augusta nodded agreement. “I should, if I were you. Believe me, he’s quite comfortable now.”