Death and Sensibility

by Elizabeth Blake

  “Probably something along the lines of how adorable his daughter is. He’s a widower, of course. These people can be single, but they never divorced. If one of them has a child, the spouse is dead—tragically, in a car accident, or cancer, or something equally pitiable. Sometimes the woman is the one with the kid, but here it’s him, so you know he’s a perfect match for her. I’m guessing she’s ambivalent about having kids, but not because she doesn’t love children—she does—but because her sister died young, or something like that.”

  Erin laughed. “If you have these so well figured out, why don’t you write them?”

  “That would ruin everything. I’d have to stop making fun of them.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Are you expecting someone?” asked Erin.

  “Not really. Be a love and answer it, would you, pet?”

  Rather than being annoyed by Farnsworth’s demands, Erin was relieved that, evidently, all was forgiven. There would be no mention of her friend’s snit fit—Farnsworth was usually embarrassed by her own bad behavior, and if she didn’t outright apologize, would prefer to just forget about it. An apology might still be forthcoming, but Erin wasn’t holding her breath.

  She opened the door to find Hetty Miller, in a white terrycloth robe and Japanese-style bamboo flip-flops decorated with bright pink plastic flowers.

  “Hello, ladies,” she said cheerfully. “Anyone care to accompany me to the spa?”

  “Is there a sauna?” said Farnsworth.

  Hetty rolled her mascara-caked eyes. “It’s a spa, darling.”

  “I could use a nice sauna,” said Erin. “Good for the sinuses.”

  “And the skin,” Hetty added hopefully.

  Farnsworth looked stricken. “What about Suzie Perkycheeks and her budding romance with Johnny Squarejaw?”

  “You can tell me what happened,” said Erin.

  “I already told you what’s going to happen. That’s not the point.”

  “I could really use a sauna.”

  “Fine—abandon me!” Farnsworth said, but her tone was only half-serious.

  “Look,” said Erin. “Why don’t we watch another one tonight?”

  “Promise?”

  “Girl Guide’s honor.”

  “You were a Girl Guide?” said Hetty.

  “Briefly. The less said about it, the better.”

  “I’ll bet you were brilliant at it. I mean, you’re so outdoorsy and all.”

  “Girl Guides have to follow orders, pet,” Farnsworth remarked without taking her eyes off the television screen. “She’s not so good at that.”

  “Right—well, shall we go?” said Erin, pushing Hetty out the door.

  “Remember to stay hydrated,” Farnsworth called after them.

  The spa was indeed luxurious, with a fourteen-meter swimming pool, state-of-the-art gym, whirlpool, and two kinds of saunas. Erin opted for the Aromatic Steam Room over the Nordic Dry Sauna, and Hetty agreed to join her. After a quick dip in the pool, they wrapped themselves in fluffy white bath towels and lounged on soft flowered cushions in the steam room. It looked just like the Nordic sauna, with classic teak paneling and benches. Steam seeped in from a pile of rocks in a large wooden box in one corner, and there was a variety of aromas to choose from. Hetty and Erin agreed on Lavender Rose, which the brochure claimed was “calming and meditative.”

  “This is the life, eh?” said Hetty as the steam rose in thick clouds around them.

  “It’s lovely,” Erin agreed, taking a deep breath. She could feel her sinuses clearing.

  The door opened and Judith Eton entered the steam room. She was clad in the same fluffy white towel, in full makeup, including lipstick and blush. Long gold earrings dangled from each lobe; a matching necklace sparkled on her chest. She clutched a mobile phone in her hand—strictly forbidden in the spa.

  “Nice jewelry,” said Hetty as Judith eased herself onto one of the cushions.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “Almost didn’t see you there through the steam.”

  “It is pretty cloudy in here,” Erin agreed.

  “Better than what’s going on outside,” Judith said with a shudder. “I think it’s actually sleeting at the moment.”

  “Ugh,” said Hetty.

  Erin said nothing—she enjoyed extreme weather.

  “That was a good panel this morning,” Hetty said.

  “You were there?” said Erin. “I didn’t see you.”

  “I popped in about halfway through. I enjoyed your remarks,” she told Judith.

  “That’s very kind of you,” Judith replied.

  “It reminded me how lucky we are to be alive now instead of two hundred years ago.”

  “We still have a long way to go,” said Erin.

  “True,” said Judith. “But at least we don’t have to rely on marrying well to survive.”

  “How do you know Winnifred Hogsworthy?” Erin asked.

  “We were at school together.”

  “She seems to admire you quite a lot.”

  Judith sighed. “Poor Winnie. She always was an odd duck, even at school, and I was one of the few people who were nice to her.”

  “That reminds me,” said Erin. “Did Prudence ask if you would be willing to fill in as keynote—”

  “Yes,” said Judith. “I’d be thrilled to bits.”

  “Oh,” said Erin, a little surprised at her cheerful response. Judith obviously wasn’t grief-stricken over her ex-husband’s death. “That would be lovely.”

  Judith smiled grandly. “Say no more. I’m sure Barry will be turning in his grave, but then he never did think much of women’s intellect.”

  Erin frowned. “Seriously?”

  “Serves him right, then,” said Hetty.

  “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” said Judith, “but he could be a real tosser.”

  “Interesting,” Erin said. “That’s just what Grant Apthorp said.”

  “Figures,” Judith said with a toss of her elegant head. Her gold earrings jingled faintly. “Barry’s not exactly popular among his colleagues.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He is—was—devious. Brilliant lecturer, of course, but in it for himself. Didn’t care where the chips fell.”

  “Oh?”

  “Take what happened to Terrence Rogers, for instance.”

  “What was that?” asked Hetty.

  “You didn’t know? Barry stole a department chair position Terrence should have had. Snatched right from under his nose.”

  “Where was this?”

  “Oxford, of course. Terrence was up for the position, and Barry—well, let’s just say he got what he wanted, but not in the most ethical way. And now Terry’s stuck teaching at Newcastle Uni—not that there’s anything wrong with it, mind you, but it’s not Oxford.”

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, it’s been donkey’s years. But if I were Terrence … well, let’s just say it’s not the sort of thing easily forgiven.”

  “What did Barry do, exactly?”

  “Well—” she began, just as her mobile phone trilled Beethoven’s “Für Elise.” “Sorry, I have to take this,” she said, and left the steam room.

  “Mobile phones aren’t allowed in the spa,” Hetty said when she had gone.

  “She managed to smuggle hers in.”

  Hetty wiped a damp lock of hair from her cheek. Her bright red hair was remarkably thick for someone her age—whatever that was. Erin wondered if she used extensions. “Wonder who called her.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Erin said. She tiptoed to the door and listened, but the thick teak was an effective sound barrier, and she couldn’t make out any words. Wiping the steam off the tiny window, Erin could make out enough of Judith’s facial expression to tell she looked concerned. She wasn’t doing a lot of talking, mostly just listening to whoever was on the other end.

  “Catch anything?” Hetty asked when Erin sat down again.

  “No,” she ans
wered. “But she looked worried.”

  “I’d give anything to hear what she’s saying.”

  “So would I.”

  “I’ll tell you something else,” said Hetty. “I saw Winnifred Hogsworthy trail Judith all the way down the hall, and it looked to me like she might feel more than just admiration.”

  “You think?”

  Hetty tended to sexualize everything, but she could also be very observant.

  “I’m just saying … you never know with people,” she said as Judith entered the sauna again.

  “Sorry,” Judith said. “Business call.”

  “Watch out for the spa attendant,” Hetty said. “She’s not above confiscating your mobile.”

  “They’re very strict about that,” Erin agreed.

  “Tell you what,” Judith said. “I have to go to the loo. Will you be a dear and watch my phone? I don’t need some snarky little prat nicking my mobile.”

  “No problem,” Erin said.

  “Ta,” Judith said, handing her the phone. “Back in a jiff.”

  When she had gone, Hetty stared at Erin. “Well? Are you going to look at it?”

  “It would be wrong to spy on her.”

  “You’re no fun,” Hetty said, stretching out her long, remarkably toned legs.

  “I’ll just slip it into my pocket,” Erin said. “And if I happen to see—oops, there it is.”

  “What?” Hetty said, leaning forward.

  “The last call she received.”

  “What is it?”

  “That would be telling,” Erin said. She was too busy memorizing the number.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Back in her room, Erin opened her computer and typed the number into a reverse phone number search engine. The result showed up immediately: William B. Holbrook, Solicitor. Wills and Probate Law. So, she thought as she got dressed for her afternoon panel, Judith Eton was already sniffing around Barry Wolf’s estate.

  The panel, Jane and Cassandra: Sisterhood in the Nineteenth Century, was well attended, though not as full as the morning one. Predictably, women outnumbered men in the audience, though she was pleasantly surprised to see a number of males who actually seemed interested in the famously close relationship between Jane and her older sister. There was a lively discussion of the fact that neither sister married in a time when it was one of the few ways a woman of their class could manage to live in anything approaching comfort.

  Much was made of the tragic death of Cassandra’s fiancé, who succumbed to yellow fever while serving as an army chaplain in the West Indies.

  “He only took the job to earn enough money to support poor Cassandra,” said Winnifred Hogsworthy, who had planted herself in the front row, her enormous satchel taking up two chairs. “Another proof of how helpless women were financially during the Regency.”

  No one could reasonably object to this remark, but her tone was so whiny and irritating that Erin wondered if she had any idea of what she sounded like. She was one of those people who had neither grace nor charm of personality, doomed by Nature to repel her fellow humans. Erin felt sorry for her, but she too had an impulse to avoid Winnifred, which made her feel guilty. When the panel was over, Erin resolved to seek her out—perhaps she would be better company one on one.

  But the sight of Jonathan Alder lingering in the doorway took her mind off poor Winnifred. Catching her eye, he grinned and waved, and a little piece of her heart couldn’t help responding to that smile. Whatever gifts Nature had cruelly denied poor Winnifred, she had capriciously bestowed upon Jonathan Alder. When he walked down the hall, women parted for him like the Red Sea bending to Moses’s will, falling under his spell like enchanted fairy tale princesses. Erin doubted Winnifred Hogsworthy had ever cast a spell on anyone. And so, waving at Jonathan, she marched over to Winnifred and extended her hand.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Erin Coleridge.”

  “Oh, I know who you are—indeed I do,” Winnifred replied, blushing as she shook Erin’s hand. “I have even sampled your poetry, thanks to my friend Charles—you know him, yes? Charles Kilroy. Built like a pillow, dresses as if he’s on a safari.”

  “Oh, yes, I met him earlier,” Erin said, relieved to hear Winnie had a friend.

  “He and I have attended so many conferences together,” she said, pulling absently on a strand of hair. “Anyway, he showed me some of your poetry in a literary magazine. Quite nice, quite nice indeed.”

  “Thank you so much,” said Erin. “I wonder if you’d care to join me for a drink?”

  “Well,” Winnifred replied, her eyes wandering. “I’m not sure …”

  “My treat, obviously.”

  She brightened instantly. “How could I refuse such a generous offer?” she said, picking up her satchel. “Certainly. Lead the way.”

  Erin had to smile as they walked toward the door. Winnifred Hogsworthy might be truly impoverished, but she was most certainly cheap. When they entered the hotel corridor, Erin saw Jonathan Alder at the water station chatting with a couple of young women. He caught her eye and nodded, and Erin pointed in the direction of the 1906 Bar. He nodded again, and she continued on with Winnifred in tow, with the hopeful thought that he might join them. A glance at the hotel clock told her that it wouldn’t be long before Charles Kilroy showed up for her autograph, and she hoped even more fervently that Jonathan would come.

  The bar was nearly empty when they arrived, though she expected it would fill up as people filtered in as the day’s last panels ended. In the far corner of the room, a pint in front of him, was Charles Kilroy. Erin sighed. It was a full half hour before they were due to meet, and she didn’t fancy being trapped between Winnifred and Charles. Seeing them, Charles waved.

  “Oh look,” said Winnifred. “It’s Charles! Shall we join him?”

  “Why not?” said Erin.

  “Hello there,” Charles said as they approached. “What a pleasant surprise, two lovely ladies instead of one.”

  Winnifred giggled. “How very galante of you, Mr. Kilroy,” she said, affecting a posh accent. “If I did not know you to be a man of great integrity, I might suspect you are flattering me.”

  “My dear Miss Hogsworthy, nothing could be further from the truth,” he replied in the same accent, rising from his chair. “You are the very vision of female pulchritude—as are you, Miss Coleridge.”

  Erin realized they were playing the same game she and Farnsworth did, imitating the elaborate elocution of characters in a Jane Austen novel. She felt a little put out that someone else had discovered what she had always considered their private joke, though she couldn’t really begrudge them their fun. Besides, she thought, she and Farnsworth did a better job of it.

  “Please allow me to offer you ladies some refreshment,” Charles said with a little bow.

  Erin looked at Winnifred. “But I was going to—”

  “I insist. It is not often a man has the pleasure of entertaining such charming and beguiling members of the opposite sex.”

  “I’ll have a cosmopolitan,” Winnifred said, licking her lips.

  “That sounds good,” said Erin. “Make it two.”

  “My pleasure.” Giving another little bow, he headed for the bar.

  “So you know Charles from other conferences?” Erin asked.

  “Yes, we’re both literarily minded. We met at a Game of Thrones conference.”

  “I’m sorry,” Erin said, seeing Jonathan enter the room. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Go on, then,” Winnifred said, rummaging around in her bag. “I have my knitting to amuse me.”

  “I’ll only be a minute,” said Erin, hurrying over to Jonathan, who stood near the entrance.

  Jonathan winked at her as she approached. “I see you’re in a nerd fest. Lucky you.”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  Gazing at his shoes, he cleared his throat. “Look, about last night—”

  “What about it?”

&nb
sp; “Well, we’d both had a few drinks, and—”

  “Are you implying you weren’t responsible for your actions?”

  “Well, I—”

  “I most certainly was responsible for mine, and I’m not sorry.”

  “I didn’t mean … I just wanted to—”

  “To clear the air?” she said.

  “Something like that, I suppose.”

  “From where I stand, the air is just fine. And the view isn’t bad either.”

  A deep pink flush flared on his cheeks. “Why, Miss Coleridge, I hardly know what to say.”

  “Why don’t you join us?” she said, pointing to Charles and Winnifred.

  “I’d love to, but—”

  “Coward.”

  “All right—one drink.”

  “Come along,” she said, pulling him by the wrist. “Look who I found,” she said to the others. Charles looked annoyed, but Winnifred broke into a wide smile.

  “Why, hello. I’m Winnifred Hogsworthy. You can call me Winnie.”

  “Jonathan Alder, at your service,” he said, kissing her hand, and she giggled again.

  Erin was afraid for a moment he was mocking her, but believed Jonathan too kind for that.

  He turned to Charles Kilroy. “Mr. Kilroy, I presume? I hear you are quite the expert on nineteenth-century literature.”

  Charles’ face relaxed into a smile. “Yes, indeed, though you have me at a disadvantage, Mr.—?”

  “Jonathan Alder, at your service.”

  “Delighted to meet you. What’ll you have?”

  “I’ll have a whiskey, thanks, but allow me to get the next round.”

  “I’m supposed to buy—” said Erin, but Jonathan interrupted.

  “Please.”

  “Very well,” said Charles, returning to the bar.

  “May I see what you’re working on?” Jonathan asked Winnie, pointing to the pile of knitting in her lap.

  “It’s not finished yet,” she said, blushing.

  “The yarn is a beautiful color.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said, lifting it up so he could see. It was a half-finished turtleneck, made of multicolored wool in warm earth tones.

  “Your work is so skillful,” he said, examining it.