by Peter Straub
“About eleven or twelve tonight, they’ll get more than they can handle. In the meantime, find anything in those books?”
“Not yet.” She took another ledger from the pile. The entries began in June of an unspecified year with the receipt of a five-hundred-dollar check from G.W., presumably Georgina’s father, and the expenditure of $45.80 for gardening supplies. The next entry was 18 June, $75—, Selden Liq., Veuve Clicquot, so the ledger had been filled sometime after 1933. The handwriting had only just begun its deterioration.
“What a diligent little person you are, Nora-pie.” He lounged over to the shelves and pulled down a box marked PHOTO-GRAPHS. Nora flipped pages of the ledger, and Dart began sifting through the box. She worked her way through another three or four pages without finding mention of any sum larger than a few thousand dollars. “Agnes wasn’t bad-looking way back then,” Dart said. “No wonder Chancel groped her.”
He handed her a small black-and-white photograph, and she looked at the pleasant face of the young Agnes Brotherhood, whose prominent breasts plumped out the front of her black uniform. Undoubtedly the maid had been forced to swat away any number of male paws. She passed the photograph back to Dart, and the instant he took it from her, she knew how Katherine Mannheim had died. She had known all along without knowing: her own life gave her the answer.
Shaken, she turned a few pages at random, scarcely taking in the cryptic entries. A case of gin and two bottles of vermouth from the liquor store owned by Georgina’s former bootlegger. Meds., $28.95. Disc, $55.65. Whl.Mt., $2.00. Mann &” Ware, phtgrs., $65.
“Hold on,” Nora said. “Did professional photographers take any of those pictures?”
“Sure. The big group photos.”
Dart rooted through the box and handed her an eight-by-twelve photograph of the usual group of men in suits and neckties surrounding a regal Georgina. Stamped on the back was the legend “Patrick Mann &” Lyman Ware, Fine Portraiture, Mann-Ware Studios, 26 Main St., Lenox, Massachusetts.”
Patrick Mann, Paddy Mann, Paddi Mann.
Lyman Ware, Madame Lyno-Wyno Ware, Lena Ware.
Shorelands, Night Journey, Davey Chancel.
Two photographers who took the group portrait every year, two fictional characters, a troubled Driver fanatic who had pursued Davey.
“A little bee is buzzing around up there.”
She handed the photograph back to him. A girl named Patricia Mann, Patty Mann, had immersed herself in the Driver world and become first Lena Ware, then Paddi Mann. Part of her entry into the world of lunatic Driver fans had been the coincidence of her name resembling that of a Lenox photographer.
Then it came home to Nora that Paddi Mann had been Katherine Mannheim’s niece: family rumor had pushed her even deeper into the Driver world. She had been convinced that her father’s unconventional sister had written her sacred book and had twice tried to rescue her aunt from oblivion. She had even dressed like Katherine Mannheim.
Nora riffled the pages of the ledger, and a name and a number seemed to leap up toward her. Rec’vd L. Chancel: $50,000. “Lincoln Chancel gave her fifty thousand dollars.”
Dart ambled over to look at the entry. “Isn’t even a date there. It sure as hell doesn’t prove she blackmailed him. Nobody could blackmail that old bastard.”
Nora turned another few pages. “Here are the renovations. Look, five hundred dollars to a roofer, two hundred to a painter. About a week later, the same painter gets another two hundred. Fifteen hundred to a building contractor. Six hundred to B. Smithson, electrician. The painter again. Then down here at the bottom of the page, the contractor is getting another thousand. It goes on and on.”
“The old scorpion guzzled a lot of the widow, didn’t she?”
“The widow?”
“The widow Clicquot, you ignoramus. All right, he gave her a lot of money, and she used it to spruce up the place. Chancel was greedy, but he sure as hell wasn’t a miser. Made a lot of money and threw half of it away. ‘Georgina, you old ratbag, here’s fifty thou, whip those hovels into shape, and get yourself a couple cases of the widow while you’re at it.’ That’s what happened.”
“Lincoln Chancel voluntarily gave fifty thousand dollars to a woman he probably despised? At a time when fifty thousand was about three or four hundred thousand in today’s money?”
“The man was hardly petty. Besides, he had two other reasons for being generous to Georgina. He wanted to enlist her in his movement, and he met Driver because of her. I bet he had some idea of how much he was going to make out of Night Journey. Fifty thousand was chump change.”
Nora smiled at him. “You don’t want to think that your hero could have been blackmailed.”
“The man was a hero,” Dart said. “The more you learn about the guy, the better he gets. Anyone tried to blackmail him, he’d start up the chain saw. Trust me.”
Dart adored monsters because he was one himself, but about this he was right: it would not have been easy to extort money out of Lincoln Chancel. Someone knocked at the door.
“Refill,” Dart said. “Love that woman.”
Marian Cullinan peeped inside. “Sorry to interrupt, Norma, but you have a phone call. A Mr. Deodato?”
Dart looked lazily down at her.
“I’ll wait in here until you’re done,” Marian said.
94
DART CLOSED MARIAN’S door and whispered, “Be a smart girl, now.” Smiling, he waved her to the telephone. When Nora picked up the receiver, he came up beside her and pressed his head next to hers.
Nora said, “Jeffrey? It’s nice of you to call.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Jeffrey said. “I called before, but some woman told me you were on a tour. Why didn’t you phone me?”
“There are hardly any telephones in this place, and I’ve been pretty busy. I’m sorry you were worried, Jeffrey.”
“What did you think I’d be? Anyhow, I made it most of the way there before the rain stopped me. How did you manage to get to Shorelands?”
“It’s not important. Once I saw all those policemen at the hotel, I went out by a side door and ran into a friend who gave me a ride. I’m sorry I couldn’t get in touch with you. Where are you now?”
“A gas station outside Lenox. It looks like I’ll have to stay here a couple of hours. Look, Nora, I have some important things to tell you.”
“You must have walked into all those cops.”
“Did I ever. I spent most of the day at the police station. I was sure I was going to be arrested, but they finally let me go.”
“I saw Davey just before I left. Did he meet your mother?”
“That’s one of the things I want to tell you. He came to her house with a couple of FBI agents. It was quite a scene. Davey broke down and cried. Even my mother was touched. From what she told me, all hell broke loose in Westerholm this morning. Davey went to his father with what you told him last night, and Alden threw him out of the Poplars. Davey’s falling apart. He wants you back. I didn’t know how you’d feel about that, so instead of calling him after I talked to my mother, I wanted to get in touch with you. I’d prefer to be doing it in person, but from here on the road is underwater.”
“Instead of calling him? Why would you call Davey?”
“To tell him you might have gone to Shorelands. Or, what I was afraid of, that Dick Dart had managed to get ahold of you again.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you don’t know the rest of my news. After I get to Shorelands, you’ll probably want to come back to North-ampton with me. Or I could drive you back to Connecticut, if that’s what you want to do.”
Dart pulled the knife from his belt sheath and held it in front of her face.
“Jeffrey, slow down. I have to stay here tonight, and I don’t want you to come until tomorrow. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. How could I go back to Connecticut, anyhow?”
“Well, it’s kind of strange, but everything’s cleared up,”
he said. “You’re not wanted anymore.”
Dart’s eyes flicked toward her.
“What happened? How do you know, anyhow?”
“My mother. Nobody really understands this yet, but one of the FBI men said that Natalie Weil has completely recanted. She told the police that you didn’t kidnap her after all.”
“I’m in the clear?”
“As far as I know. The whole thing seems very confused, but I guess Natalie did say that she was wrong or mistaken or something, and she’s sorry she ever involved you.”
Dart’s gaze had become flat and suspicious. Nora said, “I don’t understand that.”
“I get the impression that Natalie has everybody a bit baffled, but it’s certainly good news as far as you’re concerned. The only thing the police want to talk to you about now is Dick Dart. He got out of Northampton by stealing an antique Duesenberg, if you can believe that.”
“Did he really?” Nora asked.
“Why don’t I pick you up as soon as I can and take you wherever you want to go?”
“I know it’s a tremendous inconvenience, but I want to stay here and wrap up the work I’m doing.”
“You want me to wait at this gas station until the rain stops and then drive back to Northampton?” He seemed almost dumbfounded.
“I wish there were a way to do this that would be easier on you.”
“So do I. Can you call me tomorrow? After about eight in the morning, I’ll probably be at my mother’s house.” His voice was flat.
“I’ll call you.”
“You want me to call Davey and tell him you’re okay?”
“Please, no.”
“You must be on to something pretty interesting, to want to stay there.”
“I know you deserve better than this, Jeffrey. You’re a good friend.”
“Have I earned the right to give you some advice?”
“More than that.”
“Leave him. He’ll never be anything but what he is right now, and that isn’t good enough for someone like you.”
“So long, Jeffrey.”
Dart set down the telephone. “I think you broke his heart. Jeffrey wanted to spend the night with my own Nora-pie. But let’s consider a more crucial matter. Little Natalie has recanted. You never kidnapped the whore after all.” He waved his hands in circles at the sides of his head. “The curse of Shorelands strikes again” we’re wading through lies.” Dart put the point of the knife under her chin and brushed it against her skin. “Help me out here.”
“I can’t explain it.” Nora raised her chin, and Dart jabbed her lightly, indenting her skin without breaking it. “You heard him. Nobody understands what Natalie’s doing.”
“Give it your best shot.”
“Natalie’s been medicated for days. I don’t think she can even remember what happened. And she takes drugs. Davey told me the cops found a bag of cocaine somewhere in her house.”
“Adventurous Natalie.”
“Maybe she can’t remember what I did. Maybe she has some other reason for lying. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I was going to kill her.”
He stroked her cheek. “These threats of unexpected visitors make me uncomfortable. Let me tell you what I want to do tonight. Everything is going to work out fine. Daddy has a new plan.”
95
AT A LITTLE past six, Marian returned to say that dinner would be ready in a few minutes. She had applied a pale pink lipstick and a faint eyeliner and put on a necklace of thin gold links which drooped over her clavicles like a pet snake. “I hope you’re hungry again,” she said to Dart, who was bored and grumpy because he had not been offered a second drink.
“I’m always hungry. I tend to be on the thirsty side, too.”
“Could that be a hint? Margaret opened a bottle of wine, and I think you’ll enjoy her selection.”
“Only one?” Dart held out his glass. “Why don’t you do your best to guarantee high spirits by arranging at least one more bottle to go with our feast?”
Her smile slightly strained, Marian took the glass and stepped behind Nora. “Find anything useful?”
Nora had seen two more entries of payments from Lincoln Chancel, one for thirty thousand dollars, the other for twenty thousand. Each had been followed by outlays to dressmakers, milliners, fabric shops, and the ubiquitous Selden. After spending most of the first fifty thousand on the estate, Georgina had devoted the second to herself.
“I’m getting there,” she said.
“You could come back here after dinner, if you like.”
This suggestion dovetailed with Dart’s new plans for the night, and Nora forced herself to say, “Thank you, I might want to do that.”
“I’d better tend to your thirsty husband or he won’t be in a good mood.”
“Damn right,” Dart said. “Speaking of moods, how’s Lady Margaret’s? Has she bounced back?”
“Margaret doesn’t bounce,” Marian said. “But I’d say there’s still hope for a civilized evening.”
“Boring. Let’s get down and dirty.”
“I’d better hurry up with that drink.”
The chandelier had not been turned on, and all the light in the room came from sconces on the walls and candles in tall silver holders. Five places had been set with ornate blue-and-gold china. Reflected candle flames shone in the silver covers of the chafing dishes and the dark windows. Invisible rain hissed onto the lawn. Margaret Nolan and Lily Melville turned to Dart and Nora, one with an expression of neutral welcome, the other with an expectant smile. Lily danced up with her hands folded before her.
“Isn’t this storm terrible? Aren’t you happy this didn’t happen when we were on our tour?”
“Rain was invented by the devil’s minions.”
“Big storms always scare me, especially the ones with thunder and lightning. I’m always sure something awful is going to happen.”
“Nothing awful is going to happen tonight.” Margaret came toward them. “Except for the usual power failure, and we’re well equipped to deal with that. We’re going to have a lovely evening, aren’t we, Mr. Desmond?”
“Are we ever.”
She turned to Nora. “Marian says that you’ve been roaming through our old ledgers in aid of a project related to Hugo Driver. I hope you’ll share your thoughts with us.”
Margaret was willing to overlook Dart’s provocations for the sake of the business to be brought in by Hugo Driver conferences. Nora wondered what she could say to her about the importance of Shorelands to Driver’s novel.
“What became of Marian? We expected her to come in with you.”
“Arranging a libation,” Dart said.
Margaret raised her eyebrows. “We have a good Châteauneuf for the first course, and something I think is rather special, a 1970 Château Talbot, for the second. What did you ask Marian to bring you?”
“A double,” Dart said. “To make up for the one she forgot.”
“You are a poet of the old school, Mr. Desmond. Mrs. Desmond? A glass of this nice white?”
“Mineral water, please,” said Nora.
She went to the bottles as Marian hurried in with the refilled glass. “Margaret, I hope you won’t mind,” she said, handing off the drink, “but Norman felt that one bottle of the Talbot might not be enough, so I looked around and opened a bottle of Beaujolais. It’s down on the kitchen counter.”
Margaret Nolan considered this statement, which included the unspoken information that the second bottle was perhaps a tenth the price of the first, and cast a measuring glance at Dart. He put on an expression of seraphic innocence and swallowed half his vodka. “Very intelligent, Marian. Whatever our guest does not drink, we can save for vinegar. Please, help yourself.”
Marian poured herself a glass of white wine. “I called Tony and asked him to bring up rain clothes for Norman and leave them inside the front door. The telephone lines might go down, and the poor man has to get back to Pepper Pot. I can loan Norma some things of my o
wn.”
“Another intelligent decision,” said Margaret Nolan. “Since you are on a first-name basis with our guests, all of us should be. Is that agreeable?”
“Completely, Maggie.” Dart raised his glass to his mouth and gulped the rest of the vodka.
With elaborate ceremoniousness, Margaret indicated their seats: Norman to the right of the head of the table, Nora across from him, Marian next to Norman, Lily beside Nora. “Please go to the sideboard and help yourselves to the first course. Once we are seated, I will describe our meal, as well as some aspects of this wonderful room not covered during the normal tours. Lily, will you start us off?”
Lily skipped to the sideboard, where she lifted the cover from an oval platter next to a basket of baguettes. On either side of a mound of pale cheese strips lay broiled peppers, sliced and peeled, red to the left, green to the right, flanked with black olives and topped with anchovies. Quarters of hard-boiled eggs had been arranged at either end of the platter. An odor of garlic and oil rose from the peppers. Lily took a salad plate from the stack next to the platter and held it up before Dart. “This is Georgina’s own china. Wedgwood.”
“ ‘Florentine,’ ” Dart said. “One of my personal faves.”
“Norman, you know everything!”
“Even beasts can learn,” Dart said.
Lily gave herself minute portions of both kinds of peppers, a few olives, and a single section of hard-boiled egg. Dart took half the red peppers, none of the green, most of the olives, half of the eggs and cheese, and all but three of the anchovy slices. Atop it all he placed a six-inch section ripped from the French bread. The others followed, choosing from what was left.
Dart sat down, winked at Lily, and filled his wineglass with white wine from the bucket.
Margaret took her seat and gave his plate a lengthy examination. “This is what Miss Weatherall called her ‘Mediterranean Platter.’ Monty Chandler grew the peppers, along with a great many other things, in a separate garden north of Main House.”
While she spoke, Dart had been shoveling peppers into his mouth, demolishing the hard-boiled eggs, loading strips of cheese onto chunks of bread and chomping them down. As she finished, he bit into the bread and tilted in wine to moisten it all. His lips smacked. “Weird cheese.”
