The Hellfire Club

glanced again at the holder.

'What are your feelings about Budweiser?' She leaned into him more firmly.

'I think I like the looks of the one beside it.'

Nora pulled a cleaver from the rack, and Dart's eyes crinkled. 'Yes that's a lovely shape. Pull it out, so I can get a good look at it.'

Marian reached into the refrigerator, bringing herself into closer contact with Dart. 'Grolsch does have a nice shape, doesn't it?'

Nora carried the knife and the cleaver to the counter. While Dart and Marian Cullinan admired different sorts of vessels, she opened her bag and slipped them inside. She moved over to stir the soup, and the other two stood up. Marian gave her an uncertain smile. Her face seemed a little flushed along the tops of her cheekbones.

Nora poured the soup into a bowl, and Marian found a soupspoon and a bottle opener in a drawer.

Dart raised the Grolsch bottle and took a long swallow.

Nora slid her bag off the counter and took it to a chair beneath a wall-mounted telephone.

'Don't hang back, darling spouse. Join the party.'

Nora considered her bag. Dart still had his back to her. 'Are you abandoning us?' Marian asked, smiling at Nora as she assembled beef, Swiss cheese, and lettuce on top of a slice of toast. Dart waved her forward, and she walked away from the fantasy of ramming a carving knife into his back.

Nora patted a spot beneath his left shoulder blade. 'Are you happy now?'

Dart sang the first phrase of 'Sometimes I'm Happy' and pushed away the empty bowl. 'Bring on the meat.'

'I didn't imagine you could actually quote Hugo Driver,' Marian said to him.

Dart said something unintelligible through a mouthful of food, apparently quoting more of Night Journey.

'Don't get him started,' Nora said.

'Could we get him to recite some of his poetry during dinner?'

Dart uttered a gleeful 'Ungk!' around the sandwich. His eyes sparkled.

Forced to deal directly with Nora, Marian fell back on cliche. 'What was your favorite part of the tour?'

'Can I ask you about the restorations?'

'That's practically an obsession with us. Lily must have told you about how hard we worked to put Honey House together. I could tell you lots of horror stories.'

'I wasn't thinking so much of Honey House.'

'Main House is a more interesting problem, I agree. As great as Georgina Weatherall was, she had been going downhill for some time before her death, and toward the end she pretty much retired into one room on the second floor. Which meant that the roof leaked in a hundred places, and there was water damage just about everywhere. As you probably saw when you came in, we're still having work done. The next big project is restoring the gardens, and that's a huge job.'

'Are any of the former gardeners still around?'

'No. Georgina had to let everyone but Monty Chandler, the head gardener, go. You saw the Song Pillars and Monty's Glen?'

'We did.'

'When you were up there, did you hear the stones singing?'

'They sing?' Nora asked.

'When there's any kind of a wind, you can hear them make this music. Eerie.'

'I suppose Monty Chandler is dead.'

'He passed away a couple of years before Georgina, which was another reason things got out of hand. Monty Chandler kept things in line by being a sort of handyman-carpenter-security force. There used to be problems with poachers and people breaking into the cottages, but Monty scared them all off. And when he wasn't overseeing the gardens, he was patching roofs and doing other repairs. That's why Georgina could get by for so long without bringing in workmen. I know she spent a lot of money fixing the place up when her father gave it to her, but she didn't have to do that again until the late thirties!'

'I understand she was having some money troubles then,' said Nora.

Footsteps sounded on the metal staircase.

'Margaret and Lily are coming down to start dinner. We'd better do the second floor.'

Heavy lace-up brown shoes topped with swollen ankles appeared on the stairs, followed by a long, capacious navy blue cotton dress buttoned up the front, then a wide arm, and finally an executive face, broad in the cheeks and forehead, and gray hair clamped into place with a tightly wound scarf, also navy blue. Margaret Nolan reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, her hand on the railing, taking them in with an alert curiosity which did not completely disguise her mild irritation. Lily Melville smiled at Dart from over her shoulder.

'Our special guests have an interest in the kitchen, Marian?'

'One of them had a special interest in a snack,' Marian said.

Margaret inspected Dart with a level glance. 'Looking at Mr Desmond, I don't suppose it will affect his performance at dinner.' She pushed herself away from the stairs and came puffing toward them.

'Margaret Nolan.' She extended a wide, firm hand to Dart. 'I run this madhouse. We are delighted to have your company, Mr Desmond, though I must confess that I've never read your work. Marian tells me that it's very exciting.'

Dart said, 'We do what we can, we can do no more.'

Margaret turned to Nora with the air of having chosen to ignore this remark. Her handshake was quick and dry. 'Mrs Desmond. Welcome to Shorelands. Are you happy with Pepper Pot?'

'It's great,' Nora said.

'I'm pleased to hear it. But now, if we are to meet our schedule, we must begin. You'll forgive us, I hope?'

'Certainly,' Nora said. Here before her, five feet, eight inches tall, weighing one hundred and eighty pounds, chronically short of breath, radiating decisiveness, common sense, and strength of character, was her answer. This woman would take in Nora's situation and figure out a way to resolve it in three seconds flat. She would need half as much explanation as Frank Neary, and a tenth as much as Marian Cullinan. But when could she get her aside? After dinner she would volunteer to carry the plates down to the kitchen - something, anything - to be alone with Margaret Nolan and whisper, He's Dick Dart. Call the police.

'All right, then.' Margaret smiled as briskly as she had shaken Nora's hand. 'Lily?'

Lily trotted to the side of the kitchen to take two white aprons from a hook on the far side of the wall telephone, and paused at the chair on the way back. 'Isn't this your bag, Mrs Desmond?'

'Oh, it is, I'm sorry.' Nora took a step toward Lily and the chair, but Margaret stopped her with a touch. 'Bring it to her, Lily.'

Lily picked up the bag. 'What do you have in here, brass knuckles?'

'I never go anywhere without my weapons collection,' Nora said.

Marian said, 'We should go upstairs and let them work their wonders.'

'Where is that carving knife?' Margaret asked. 'It couldn't have just walked away.'

'I'm so curious,' Dart said. 'What treat are you two wonderful ladies going to whip up?'

Looking at Dart as if she were a second-grade teacher faced with an impertinent student, Margaret turned from the rack and put on her apron. 'We are going to prepare one of Ezra Pound's favorite meals.'

'Georgina liked Ezra, didn't she?'

'She did.'

'Real-world politics,' Dart said. 'None of that guff about equality our leaders spout while they plunder the till. I'm on their side. Let's call a jackboot a jackboot, okay?'

Both Lily and Margaret were staring at him. Dart held up a hand. 'Hey. What was good enough for Ez is good enough for me.' Smiling at the two women frozen behind the chopping block, he pulled Nora toward the stairs.91

Marian closed the door with a bang. 'Norman, don't you understand that I could lose my job?'