by Peter Straub
“She isn’t, that’s why she’s unsuitable. The only thing wrong with her is that she was foolish enough to marry into that family. But you’re under Alden Chancel’s thumb just like Jeffrey, so you can’t be expected to comprehend the trail of destruction left behind by the Chancels.”
“Are you finished, Sabina?” Jeffrey asked.
“I’d better be. Everett never enjoyed being kept waiting.”
69
A STOCKY MAN with a steel-gray Vandyke beard and short, silver gray hair abruptly closed the book in his hands and looked up frowning. “Twenty minutes, Sabina. Twenty full minutes.”
“It was only fifteen minutes, Ev. As I am to be excluded from this gathering, I needed a little time by myself with Jeffrey and his companion.”
One side of Everett Tidy’s frown tucked itself into his cheek in what might have been amusement.
“Would you like some coffee or tea, Jeffrey? Nora?”
“No, thank you,” Jeffrey said, and Everett Tidy said, “Tea. Gunpowder.”
“Gunpowder tea, then.” She closed the door behind her.
Nora glanced back at Tidy and caught him looking at her. Unembarrassed, he held her eyes for a moment before turning to Jeffrey. “Hello, Jeffrey.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Tidy nodded, turning over the book in his hands as if puzzled to be still holding it. He moved toward a high-backed velveteen sofa, placed the book on an end table, and looked up at Nora again. A cold, brisk wind, as much a part of him as the crease in his khaki trousers and the brutal little brush of his beard, seemed to snap toward her.
“Sabina thinks I’m impatient,” he said. “The reason for this misperception is that my awareness of the many tasks which immediate obligations keep me from fulfilling makes me testy.” The temperature of his private breeze dropped by several degrees.
“Until my retirement, I lived in college housing, which means that for twenty-two years I had an extremely pleasant house with plenty of room for my family and my library. I could have remained in my extremely pleasant house, but my wife is dead and my children are gone, and other faculty members had much more need of the space than myself. Therefore I bought an apartment, and when I am not writing two books, one about Henry Adams, the other about my father, I am weeding out books so that I can fit the remainder of my library into three rooms. Half an hour ago Sabina told me that an acquaintance of Jeffrey’s wished to speak to me on a matter of the gravest importance. This matter concerned my safety.” He inhaled, and his chest expanded. “Well, here I am, and I must insist that you tell me what the ragtag hell is going on here.”
Jeffrey said, “Ev, you should know that—”
“I am talking to your companion.”
The abyss between this man’s experience and hers momentarily silenced Nora. She would never be able to convince Everett Tidy that someone wanted to kill him.
Tidy conspicuously looked at his watch, and Nora at last registered why he had to sort through his books. “How long ago did you move into your apartment?”
He lowered his arm with exaggerated slowness, as if he thought sudden movement might startle her. “Six weeks. Is there some point to your question?”
“If someone came looking for you at your old house, would the new people tell him where you are? Do they know your new address?”
He turned to Jeffrey. “Are we to go on in this fashion?”
“Please answer her question, Ev.”
“Fine.” He swung back to Nora. “Does Professor Hackett know the street address of my apartment building? No, he does not. In any case, the Hacketts are spending the month in the upper valley of the Arno—the Casentino. Who are you, and what are you after?”
“Her name is Nora Chancel,” Jeffrey said.
Tidy blinked rapidly several times. “I know that name.”
“Have you been watching the news the past few days?”
“I don’t own a television set. I listen to the radio.” He was talking to Jeffrey but keeping his eyes on Nora. His entire body seemed to lose its stiffness. “My God. Nora Chancel. The woman who was . . . Heavens. Until now I didn’t connect the name to . . . Good Lord, and to think . . . So that’s you.”
“That’s me.”
Sabina Mann backed through the door carrying a tray and stopped moving as soon as she turned around. “I seem to be interrupting you.” She looked at each of them in turn. “It must be an extraordinary conversation.” She put the tray on the end table and fled.
Tidy had not taken his eyes from Nora. “Are you all right? You don’t appear to have been injured, but I can’t even begin to imagine the psychic trauma of such a thing. How are you doing?”
“I can’t really answer that.”
“No, of course not. What a thoughtless question. At any rate, you escaped that fellow and had the good sense to summon Jeffrey. If I were in trouble, I’d want Jeffrey’s help, too. Please, let’s sit down.”
He patted the sofa, and Nora sat on the worn plush. He added milk to a cup of tea and gave it to her. She felt slightly dizzied by the reversal of his manner. Jeffrey slid into an overstuffed chair on the other side of the fireplace. Tidy remained on his feet, fingering his beard. There was no trace of the arctic wind.
“I apologize for blustering. I got in the habit when I discovered that it was useful for intimidating my students.”
Nora said, “I’m glad that you’re willing to hear me out.”
He perched on the edge of the sofa. “I can only suppose that what you want to say to me concerns the man who abducted you. Please remind me of his name.”
“Dart,” she said. “Dick Dart. You wouldn’t ever have heard of him.”
He considered the notion for a few seconds. “No. On the other hand, I gather that he has heard of me. I’m right in saying he is a murderer, aren’t I? There is no doubt about that?”
“No.”
“And he wishes me ill.”
“Dick Dart wants to kill you.”
He straightened his back and gave her the benefit of his fine blue eyes. “What an extraordinary thing, to hear such a sentence. I find myself at a loss.”
“Everett,” Jeffrey said, “would you please shut up and let her talk?”
“Let me ask one more question, and then you can fill in the details, if there are any. Is there a motive, or did this man pick my name out of a hat?”
Nora looked at Everett Tidy, visibly restraining himself, all but biting his tongue. “He wants to kill you because you’re Bill Tidy’s son.”
Tidy brought his hand to his cheek as if he had been slapped. Making a monumental effort to remain silent, he nodded for her to continue.
When she had finished, Tidy said, “So Dart assumes my father kept journals, which he did, that they deal with his stay at Shorelands, which they do, and that I am in possession of these journals, which I am. Tell me, do I have the honor of being first on Dart’s list? I suppose I must.”
“You’re the second. This afternoon he started in Springfield with a doctor named Mark Foil. Foil was the longtime companion of Creeley Monk, and now he’s his literary executor. I saw Foil just before he went out of town. Dart got there a little while later.”
“Dart set the fire in Springfield?”
“He isn’t very subtle,” Nora said.
Tidy sat perfectly still for a moment. “Might I ask why you and Jeffrey did not go to the police before arranging to see me?”
“I can’t talk to the police.”
Tidy faced Jeffrey. “Is that so? She cannot?”
“Leave it alone, Ev,” Jeffrey said.
“I don’t imagine this fellow will have any luck finding my apartment, but I cannot allow him to destroy Professor Hackett’s house under the impression that I still live there. I do not have to give my name or mention you in any way. All I have to say is that I saw a man resembling Mr. Dart in the area, and they will do the rest. Then I have some things to tell you, if you have the time.”
“Good,” she said.
Tidy stood up and gazed at her for a moment, biting his lower lip. “I won’t let Sabina overhear my call.” He bustled out of the room.
“Oh, I brought you some money.” Jeffrey stood up, digging his wallet from his back pocket as he came toward her. “Three hundred dollars. Pay me back anytime, but take it. You’re going to need money.” He offered her what seemed a large number of bills.
Here she was, Nora Chancel, about to accept the offer of Jeffrey’s money. She did not want to take it, but she supposed she had to. She was the object of other people’s whims, some of them kindly, others malign. “Thank you,” she said, a little stiffly, and accepted the money. “I’m grateful.” She bent down for her bag and snapped it open. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“There’s no rush.” He glanced at the door. “I hope Ev isn’t saying too much.”
The door opened just as he finished speaking, and Tidy walked in, frowned at him, and closed the door with theatrical care. “I had to persuade Sabina to go upstairs before I placed the call. She isn’t very happy with us, I’m afraid.” He watched Nora fasten her bag, then looked back up at her face. “Would you mind going somewhere with me? You too, of course, Jeffrey.”
“Another trip,” Nora said. “Where this time?”
“Amherst College Library, where I deposited my father’s papers. It’s closed, but I have all the keys we’ll need. Jeffrey, it might help if you picked up that tray.”
Sabina Mann was stationed on her bottom stair as the three of them came out of the living room. Everett Tidy did not see her until he was almost directly in front of her, and then he stopped short. Nora, right behind, almost bumped into him. Jeffrey fell into place beside her, and an awkward moment passed.
“Sabina,” Tidy began, but she interrupted him.
“They come, they confer, they make clandestine telephone calls, and then, en masse, they depart. It’s like a play.”
Jeffrey held out the tray, and she reluctantly stepped down to accept it. “I promise to explain everything as soon as I can.”
“The Lord knows what that means. Everett, may I ask where you are going, unless that is another state secret?”
“Sabina,” he said, “I understand that all of this must be very puzzling to you, and I regret the necessity of rushing out without an explanation. However, I—”
“Why don’t you try telling me, in simple words, where you are taking them?”
He tilted his head. “How do you know that I’m taking them somewhere?”
“You’re holding your car keys,” she said.
With all the dignity he could summon, Tidy said, “We have to go to the college library, Sabina. I’ll come back in half an hour or so, shall I?”
“Don’t bother. Call me tomorrow, if you have anything to say. Jeffrey, will you be returning?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to get to Northampton. I’ll see you soon, I promise.”
“You are the most maddening person.” She gave Nora a look in which outright disapproval threatened to appear. “I’ll see you to the door.”
70
THERE WAS SO much space in front of the long backseat that the two men seemed to be twice the normal distance from her. “That woman isn’t happy with me.”
“It isn’t just you,” Jeffrey said. “Sabina’s used to being unhappy with me.”
“Your aunt hasn’t been happy with me since I dropped out of the Emily Dickinson Society,” Tidy said.
“Your aunt? Sabina Mann is your aunt?”
“You really do talk too much, Ev.”
Tidy swung his head sideways to stare at him, then looked forward again. “Excuse me, Jeffrey, but I naturally assumed that your friend knew who you are. Why would she get in touch with you if—”
“That’s enough.”
“Damn you, Jeffrey, let him talk,” Nora said. “I tell you everything, and all you do is move me around like a puppet. I don’t care if you won the Congressional Medal of Honor and the Nobel Prize, you hear me? You’re not my golden boy. I’m really, really sick of this.”
What she really wanted to do, what every cell in her body told her to do, was open the door and jump out. If she didn’t get out of the car soon, she would have to flail out, scratch their faces, bite whatever she could bite, because if she didn’t something worse would happen to her.
“I don’t blame you for being annoyed with me, Nora.”
“Stop the car.”
“I want you to think about two things.”
“I don’t care what you want, Jeffrey. Let me out.”
“Calm down and listen. If you still want to get out afterwards, fine, do it.”
“To hell with you.” She gripped the door handle.
“You were fed up back at the house, too, weren’t you? That was when this started—when we were alone in the living room.”
Nora opened the door, but before she could jump out, Jeffrey had scrambled over the seat and was lunging toward her. Tidy shouted something from the front. As Nora leaned out of the door, Jeffrey caught her around the waist and pulled her back in. Holding her tight while she fought to get free, he slammed the door and locked it. She hit him in the arm, but he fastened his hands around her elbows and pushed her down into the seat.
“Let go of me!”
His face was a few inches from hers. She kicked at his ankle, missed, and tried again. Her foot banged against his leg. “Ow,” he said, and his face came closer. “Tell me why you’re mad. It isn’t because of me.”
She kicked out again, but he had shifted his leg and her foot shot into empty air. She tried with the other foot and missed again. He pressed her arms against her body and pinned her to the seat. “Come on, tell me why you’re mad.”
She yelled, “Let go of me!”
“I’m letting go.” Little by little, his grip loosened as his face drew back, until finally he was no longer holding her at all. She raised her right hand, but it was too late to hit him. Her mind was already working. She lowered her hand and glared at him. Jeffrey fumbled with something beneath him which floated upward and became a jump seat.
“What kind of car is this, anyhow?” she said, collapsing back into the seat. “A taxi?”
“A Checker,” said Everett Tidy. He had pulled over to the side of the road and was staring back at them with one arm over the top of his seat. “My father used to drive one, and they’re all I’ve ever owned. Had this one since 1972. Are you all right?”
“How could I be all right?” Nora said. “People keep grabbing me and moving me from one place to another without ever telling me the truth. Even before the FBI showed up, my life turned into a catastrophe, and then horrible things happened to me and I just about lost my mind. People lie to me, they just want to use me, and I’m sick of all these secrets and all these plots.”
She stopped ranting and drew in a large breath. Jeffrey was right. She was not angry with him. It had come to her that she was still furious at Dan Harwich, or if not at the real Dan Harwich, the loss of the man she had imagined him to be. This loss felt like an enormous wound, and part of her fury was caused by the knowledge that the wound had been self-inflicted.
“Excuse me,” Tidy said.
“Wait a second,” Jeffrey told him. “It’s Dick Dart, isn’t it? Plus Davey moving out of your house. You have been mistreated, of course you feel like you have no control over your life. Anybody would.”
“I suppose.” Another recognition moved within her: that her real resentment had to do with an almost impersonal aspect of her predicament. From the beginning, she had been forced to concentrate on a matter far more important to everyone else around her than to herself. A cyclone had smashed her life and whirled her away. The cyclone was named Hugo Driver, or Katherine Mannheim, or Shorelands, or Night Journey, or all of these together, and even though Dick Dart, Davey Chancel, Mark Foil, and the two men in the Checker cared enough about the cyclone to open their houses, ransack
papers, battle lawsuits, drive hundreds of miles, risk arrest in its name, it had been she, who cared not at all, who had been taken over.
Tidy said, “Jeffrey, I must—”
“Please, Ev. Nora, I didn’t feel I could speak for my mother, so I had to postpone certain things until she could meet you. What would you like to do? It’s up to you.”
She leaned back against the seat. “I’m sorry I got wild. Why don’t we just forget about it and go back to what we were doing?”
“I’m sorry,” Tidy said, “but I can’t do that until somebody tells me what you meant about the FBI.”
Jeffrey said, “You heard her say she couldn’t go to the police. You took that in stride, I remember.”
“I want to know why the FBI is involved. I’m not going anywhere until I do.”
“Nora?” Jeffrey said, and put a hand, one of the hands which had recently held her down, on her knee.
She jerked the knee from under his hand. “No problem. I don’t have any secrets, do I? You want to hear the story, Professor? Fine, I understand, you want to know if you’ll be morally compromised by associating with me.”
“Nora,” Jeffrey said, “Ev is only—”
“A neighbor of mine was kidnapped. We thought she was murdered, but she wasn’t. When she turned up, she claimed that I kidnapped her. At least that’s one of the things she says. She isn’t very rational. Because it turned out my husband was sleeping with her, which was news to me, the FBI took her seriously. Is there anything else you’d care to know?”
Tidy scratched his beard. “I think that will do. Are we still going to the college library, then?”
“I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else,” Nora said.
71
NORA TOLD EVERETT Tidy what she had learned about Creeley Monk in a monastic room on the top floor of the Amherst library. Beside her at a long wooden table, Tidy had listened with a gathering excitement which finally had seemed to freeze him into the inability to look at anything but the old upright typewriter at the end of the table and the photograph on the wall of his father seated before the same typewriter.
