“What does Rountree want now?”
Geoffrey struck a pose. “I applied for the job of Watson, but the offer was not well received.” Then, in a serious voice: “Surely you don’t expect me to know? Something trivial, I expect.”
“I suppose so. He has already talked to all of us.”
They went into the dining room, where Amanda and Captain Grandfather, already seated, were talking together in low voices. Elizabeth made her way to the other end of the table, where Charles and Dr. Shepherd were sitting. Geoffrey started to follow her, but then he seemed to remember something and hurried back out into the hall.
A moment later he was back, waving a blue and white envelope. “I nearly forgot, Elizabeth! This Mail-gram came for you today. Perhaps an offer from one of those supermarket newspapers to tell your side of the crime!”
He handed her the envelope, and everyone stopped and looked at her while she opened it. Elizabeth read the message twice, and slid the paper back into the envelope.
“From Margaret?” asked Amanda.
“No,” murmured Elizabeth. “From Bill.”
“No doubt he is informing you of when they will be down for the funeral.”
“Well… they’re not sure yet.”
Alban appeared at the door. “At dinner already! Oh dear. Shall I go away?”
The question was addressed to Amanda, but Captain Grandfather answered it. “You might as well stay, Alban. I just had a call from Wesley Rountree and he’s coming back out to talk to us this evening. Tommy Simmons has asked for a conference with us, and Wes will be sitting in on that as well.”
“Stay to dinner?” asked Dr. Chandler.
“If it’s no trouble. Shall I call Mother and let her know about the meeting?” He sauntered toward Elizabeth’s end of the table.
“Yes, please, Alban,” said Amanda. “I spoke to her about the Simmons meeting earlier today, but she may need to be reminded. She said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“No. She’s hardly been out of her room today.”
“Perhaps I’d better step across and see her,” said Captain Grandfather quietly.
Amanda’s jaw tightened. “Of course, if anyone ought to be taking this in seclusion, it is I. None of you can possibly understand the strain that all this has been…”
“Can’t we have just this one meal in peace?” snapped her husband.
“Robert, I
“Do you want him caught?” thundered Captain Grandfather. “Damned if
The bickering leveled out to a series of strident tones, which washed over Michael Satisky, leaving no meaning to soak into his consciousness. He was trying to think about Eileen. There should be grief somewhere in his mind. He was sure that if he could burrow through the tension of the enforced stay as a houseguest, and his terror that the police might obligingly arrest “everybody’s favorite suspect,” he would feel some sorrow for Eileen herself. Each time he tried to find her in his mind, he encountered a wave of relief that he was freed from an awkward relationship. The temptation of so much money had finally been removed, so that he could go back to being the sincere and unworldly person he was sure he was. Poverty dragons were much easier to slay than the monsters Eileen had presented him with. He was glad to be released from the commitment, but it bothered him that he could not grieve for the sad little princess he had loved. He was sure that beneath his personal anxieties he was devastated. Of course he was! A person of his perception and sensitivity might take years to get over such a tragedy. A slim book of verse perhaps… “The Lady of the Lake and Other Poems” by Michael Satisky… His thoughts drifted lazily toward similes and imagery.
“Hello, Elizabeth, I haven’t seen much of you lately,” said Alban, taking a seat beside her.
“Well, Carlsen and I went to church yesterday, and then we visited a museum.” She was surprised to feel herself blushing.
“I see,” said Alban quietly. Without another word he began to eat his salad.
Elizabeth looked down at her plate and tried to think of something to say. Her mind was not blank-that was just the problem. It abounded with possible topics of conversation. “Are you jealous that I was out with Dr. Shepherd?” “When is the inquest?” “Do we have to attend?” “Do you think one of us is a murderer?” Since none of those subjects seemed likely to produce peaceful dinner conversation, she was trying to clear her mind of them and find something more neutral to talk about. She was worried about Geoffrey. Despite his breezy repartee in the hall, he had been unusually quiet since they sat down to dinner. This might be a sign of tactfulness-perhaps he had foresworn a natural urge to torment certain of his table partners-but she thought the odds were against Geoffrey doing anything from altruistic motives. At the moment, his face was a courteous blank; she wished she knew the state of the mind behind it.
Charles looked up suddenly from his squash and rice casserole and remarked to no one in particular, “Actually, I find it comforting to think of death as the great benefactor of mankind. Death has made possible natural selection, which allowed for genetic improvement. Reproduction by mitosis merely duplicates the existing organism.”
Geoffrey sent his fork clattering into the center of his plate and ran from the room.
“Don’t go after him!” said Shepherd, as Elizabeth rose from her chair. “He works so hard at that brittle facade of his. He won’t thank you for seeing him without it.”
“He’s been so quiet. I wondered what he was thinking.”
“I think he feels it very much,” Shepherd told her. “Just from casual observation, I’d say that like most defensively witty people, Geoffrey is awed by real-how shall I put it-innocence. He seemed very protective of his sister.”
“Did she ever say anything about him?” asked Elizabeth.
Shepherd smiled. “You really mustn’t ask.”
“He’s right, though,” said Alban. “Geoffrey was always quite human with Eileen.”
“Which is more than he is with anyone else,” snapped Satisky.
“He shows his feelings, yes,” offered Shepherd. “I find it commendable that he has any to show.”
Satisky smiled maliciously. “Or else he finds it necessary to put on a show-for other reasons!”
Alban set down his coffee cup with a clatter. “Enough! Just stop all this talk about the murder! If you just let it alone, time will fix it-”
“Time-is-relative!” chanted Charles, pointing a fork at Alban.
Alban seemed about to roar back across the table, but suddenly he checked himself. “I’m very sorry,” he mumbled. “All of this is getting on my nerves, I’m afraid. I don’t like scenes, you know. Never have. I think people ought to be well-bred about things. I hate it when people go raking things up.”
Elizabeth stared. Raking things up? So Alban’s attitude about Eileen’s death had come down to “least said, soonest mended.” She wondered if he would be so forgiving if one of his precious antiques had been smashed-but then Eileen hadn’t been worth much, had she? Just a colorless young woman, not even pretty enough to interest the crime magazines.
Setting her napkin beside her plate, Elizabeth stood up. “Excuse me, please.”
It took her half an hour to find Geoffrey. She had checked his room, Eileen’s room, and the fields near the house before she thought of the attic that used to serve as a playroom when they were children. She remembered it as she was walking back to the house from the apple orchard, when she caught sight of the round window beneath the eaves. They used to pretend it was the porthole of the
Elizabeth hurried up the narrow stairs which led to the eaves. The door was unlocked. Afternoon light filtering in through the circular windows enabled her to see the dressing-up trunks and cast-off toys which furnished the attic. When her eyes grew more accustomed to the dimness, she saw Geoffrey, hunched up against the far wall with his arm clasping his knees. He did not look up.
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment. Comforting did not come easily to her, particularly when it was a grief whose magnitude she could not share. At such times there was an awkwardness to her conversation, and she could make no move without consciously planning it. I may be worse than nothing, she thought. Somehow, though, it was
