Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  Anyhow, he wasn’t worried about that. Loretta was right about Marjorie; she was an exceptionally proper young woman. Now that she’d given herself to him, she’d naturally expect him to marry her.

  Jason could hardly wait.

  # # #

  Bother. Her hair was so thick, it would probably never dry. Marjorie kept brushing it, standing in front of the fireplace in her downstairs room, but it was still damp.

  Her mind’s eye kept featuring Jia Lee in Jason’s arms, and every time it did so, her heart squeezed painfully. Bluidy damned heart. Bluidy damned mind’s eye. Bluidy damned man. Loretta was right. Men were all fiends.

  She never wanted to see Jason Abernathy again.

  She wanted to see him right this minute and give him a piece of her mind.

  She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to marry her.

  She wanted to shoot herself.

  “Codswallop. It’s no good. I’ll just put the cursed mess up into a bun.”

  In spite of her mixed emotions regarding Jason, she didn’t want him to get away before she could see him again. Just see him. That’s all. Just once more. And she wanted to look her best at the time.

  The urge to cry assailed her, and she ruthlessly suppressed it. How could he have embraced that woman in front of her, though? How could he, after taking Marjorie’s virginity that very same day, fall into the arms of another woman? Marjorie didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure she wanted to understand, actually. If that’s the way Jason Abernathy was, then she wanted nothing to do with him!

  “And just who are ye trying to fool, ye blathering loony?” She wanted him to love her as she loved him, was what she wanted, confound it. “Ye’re a pathetic jackanapes, Marjorie MacTavish,” she told herself as she stabbed hairpins into her bun. “He doesna care, and you’d be best off if you just accept it.”

  Not the least bit comforted by this piece of practical advice, Marjorie inspected the result of her efforts in the mirror. At least she no longer looked like a drowned rat. Actually, she looked rather good in her green poplin house dress. If life were fair, Jason would take one look at her and rue his callous behavior toward her.

  Marjorie, of all people, knew better than to expect fairness from life.

  Nevertheless, taking her courage in both hands, she sucked in a deep breath and prepared to meet her fate. Or, at least, to meet Jason, Loretta, and Captain Quarles, all of whom were awaiting her in the parlor.

  Because she felt obliged to do so, she knocked on Jia Lee’s door. It was answered at once, and Marjorie, by gestures and the few Chinese words she knew, asked the girl if she would like to join her in the parlor.

  She was surprised when the girl shook her head and gestured at her bed. “Sleep,” she said. “Please.”

  Although jealousy raged in her heart, Marjorie understood that nothing that had happened in the past few weeks was Jia Lee’s fault. Therefore, she smiled, said, “Of course,” and was grateful for small favors. The upcoming encounter was going to be nerve-wracking enough without Jia Lee present, cuddling up to Jason.

  Damn them both.

  She didn’t mean that.

  Or maybe she did. At the moment, she was confused.

  The telephone shrilled as she passed the telephone room off the hall. Glad for the reprieve of even a few seconds, Marjorie detoured into the room to answer the ring.

  “Quarles residence.”

  “Mrs. Quarles?”

  “Nae. She’s in the parlor. May I tell her who’s calling?”

  “This is the police station at the pier. Is this Miss MacTavish?”

  Marjorie’s heart flipped over. “Aye. This is Miss MacTavish.”

  “Sergeant Harkwright here, ma’am. I was at the Quarleses’ place earlier in the day. We met at the station. Don’t know if you recall.”

  “Aye. I recall. Do you wish to speak to Mrs. Quarles, or will I do?”

  “You’ll do fine, ma’am.” Marjorie heard the smile in his voice. “Will you take a message, please, and let them know that I’ll be at their house in about twenty minutes?”

  “Certainly. May I relay any more pertinent information, Sergeant? Have you found the boat? Mr. St. Claire?”

  He hesitated for a minute then said, “We’ve found the boat.”

  “And Mr. St. Claire?”

  “I’d best tell you in person, ma’am.”

  Confound his confounded delicacy! Marjorie almost told him as much, but caught herself in time. Passing a hand over her brow, she reminded herself that she was still understandably upset. It wasn’t in her nature to snap at strangers who were only trying to help her.

  “Very well.” She replaced the receiver in the cradle with care, took another deep breath, and resumed her aborted journey to the parlor.

  The desultory conversation being carried out there stopped abruptly when she entered the room. Pausing in the doorway, Marjorie surveyed the scene. Loretta rose from her chair, a baby in her arms. The captain didn’t rise, probably because he feared waking up another baby. Jason had been pacing, but he stopped as soon as he saw her and looked rather as if someone had glued the soles of his shoes to the carpet. Marjorie pointedly ignored him and went to Loretta.

  “Och, let me take the wee bairn. I didna think I’d ever see them again in this lifetime.”

  She heard a squeak come from the direction of the Jason-Abernathy statue in the corner, but didn’t turn to acknowledge it.

  “Oh, Marjorie, dear, I’m so glad you’re safe!”

  Loretta handed over the infant who was, Marjorie noted, Olivia. She’d asked to hold her primarily so she’d have something to do with her hands and eyes, but now that Olivia was in her arms, she felt a passionate desire to hug her close, press her cheek to Olivia’s fine baby skin, and break down crying. She fought the desire, although she did cling hard to the baby.

  “Take a seat, dear, and tell us all about it. Was it you who answered the telephone when it rang just now?”

  “Aye. It was Sergeant Harkwright. They found the yacht, and the sergeant will be here in twenty minutes or so to tell us all about it.”

  “The yacht?” Jason.

  Marjorie said, “Aye.” She didn’t look at him.

  “What about St. Claire?”

  “He said he wants to tell us in person.”

  “What the devil does that mean?”

  Since he’d managed to irk her, she dared look at him, frowning. “I presume he’ll tell us when he gets here.”

  Jason muttered something Marjorie didn’t understand and sat in a chair across the room from her. Fine. If that’s the way he wanted it, Marjorie couldn’t care less.

  Liar.

  “So,” said Loretta, “tell us all about it.”

  Marjorie did. She had got to the part where she and Jia Lee had stripped to their underwear in order to slip over the side of the yacht and into the water when they were interrupted by the doorbell. Marjorie took in a deep breath and held it, praying this interruption would prove to be Sergeant Harkwright, and that he’d be able to tell them more about the yacht and Hamilton St. Claire.

  Sergeant Harkwright walked into the room carrying his hat, and he executed a pretty good bow to the ladies and shook hands with the men. Marjorie’s heart sped up.

  “So,” said Malachai in a voice that rumbled even though he’d tried to make it soft, “please tell us what you’ve found, Sergeant Harkwright.”

  “Yes, sir.” He saluted. Marjorie would have rolled her eyes, had the circumstances been different. For some reason, Captain Quarles inspired all sorts of people to salute him. “Mr. St. Claire’s boat was found adrift in the bay about two hours ago. There was no one on-board.”

  “Mercy,” Marjorie whispered.

  Again the telephone trilled in the background. The noise startled Marjorie, who jerked and woke little Olivia up. She soothed the baby as one of the housemaids answered the ring. Shortly afterward, Molly appeared at the parlor door.

  “Yes, Molly?”
Loretta smiled at the girl.

  “If you please, ma’am, a person wants to talk to the sergeant.”

  “Ah,” said Harkwright. “Perhaps they have more news for us.”

  He followed Molly to the telephone room, and the parlor’s occupants all exchanged nervous glances. No one spoke. As the minutes dragged on, Marjorie inspected the sleeping infant in her arms. She wished Olivia was hers, but she doubted that she’d ever have children now. For a few hours there, earlier on this very day, she’d actually allowed herself to think about having children with Jason, idiot that she was. Och, weel. Too bad about that. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  Sergeant Harkwright, appearing once again at the door to the parlor, cleared his throat.

  Loretta said, “Yes?”

  Entering the room, still with hat in hand, he stopped and stood at attention several feet away from Captain Quarles. “They found Mr. St. Claire.”

  “Oh?” Malachai’s left eyebrow lifted.

  “Oh?” Jason’s right eyebrow lifted.

  Marjorie held her breath.

  Loretta said, “Well?”

  “I’m afraid Mr. St. Claire’s body has just been recovered by one of the harbor tugboats. We’re not sure how he drowned, but he did drown. I’m sorry.”

  Silence filled the room. After what seemed like hours, Jason said, “I’m not. It’s best this way.”

  “Why do you say that?” Marjorie asked sharply. Not that she didn’t agree with him, although she would have liked to see the pernicious monster stand trial for his crimes.

  “Because he’d never have had to face charges.”

  Indignantly, Loretta cried, “But why not? He did a horrible thing!”

  “Yes, he did. But how could he be arrested for a crime that is presumed not to exist? His father’s rich, remember?” Jason’s voice was dryer than Marjorie had ever heard it.

  “That’s baneful,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” said Loretta, “it is.”

  “I’m glad the bastard’s dead,” said Malachai.

  Marjorie had almost become accustomed to his swearing, although she doubted that she’d ever get used to Loretta’s. “Aye,” she said slowly. “Perhaps it is for the best.”

  And, although she knew it was foolish, she couldn’t but be happy that his body had been recovered. Now there was no possible way Hamilton’s bones could ever intermingle with those of Leonard.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rain battered the church roof, sounding like a hail of pebbles against tin. Jason had arrived at rehearsal early. He was determined to talk to Marjorie, no matter how stubborn she tried to be. The woman had been avoiding him for days now; ever since her heroic rescue of Jia Lee. He couldn’t understand what she was up to now.

  Jia Lee herself had been taken up by one of Loretta’s radical friends, who intended to train her to do something useful. Jason didn’t have any idea what that might be. Jia Lee was a very young girl—perhaps fifteen or sixteen—and she only knew how to do one thing so far. Knowing that Loretta’s friends were every bit as moralistic as she, he didn’t doubt that Jia Lee would receive a proper education and learn to make an honest living. Perhaps one day, she’d overcome her dreadful experiences, both as a singsong girl and as a pawn in a battle not of her making.

  He presumed that Marjorie had moved back upstairs to her own bedroom, although he didn’t know it for a fact. Every time he showed his face at the Quarleses’ house, she headed out another door. Even though Loretta was one of his oldest and dearest friends, he didn’t expect she’d countenance his chasing Marjorie through her house. She was an ardent feminist, after all. He knew good and well she’d take Marjorie’s side, whatever it was.

  Damn it, though, what was it? If she’d only talk to him, he might have a clue.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here!” Mr. Proctor, his thick white hair standing on end, probably as a result of having his fingers thrust through it seventy-five or eighty times, rushed up to Jason. “We’ve got to rehearse the opening scene with our new Frederic tonight.”

  Since he already knew that or he wouldn’t have bothered coming to the church on a Monday evening, Jason nevertheless only smiled and said, “Right.”

  “We have to rehearse every night this week and next. Do you realize our opening night is the Friday after this coming Friday?”

  As the elderly man rushed away from him, Jason gave him another soothing, “Right.”

  Poor Mr. Proctor had been in a dither ever since the news of Hamilton St. Claire’s death had reached him. Jason acquitted him of caring only about his opera. He was certain that the dear man truly regretted the loss of a man he considered a fine, upstanding pillar of the community.

  If he only knew.

  The newspapers and most of the people who had known Hamilton St. Claire were calling his death a tragedy. A travesty would have been more appropriate, but the only people who knew or cared about that were Jason, Marjorie, and the Quarleses. And Jia Lee, of course, but nobody but them cared about her, either. The hypocrisy of it all chafed on Jason’s feelings, although there wasn’t much he could do about it, barring agitating on street corners and writing letters to elected officials, as Loretta did all the time. The feeling of helplessness didn’t sit well with him.

  Hamilton’s funeral was being held the next day, in this very church, and Jason planned to attend. He wanted to see for himself that the evil man was put away underground forever and covered with the dirt so appropriate to him, even if Jason couldn’t tell the world about St. Claire’s viciousness. Well, he could, but nobody would believe him. It was frustrating, damn it.

  But, by God, he could figure out what was going on with Marjorie, and he intended to do so. Damned woman drove him crazy. The sanctuary door crashed open, undoubtedly blown by the wind, and Jason saw Marjorie enter the room with Ginger Collins. Damn it, she was always with somebody. Jason needed to get her by herself.

  Intending to do just that, if he had to cut her out of the herd like a cow pony cutting dogies, he marched up the center aisle toward her. Producing a probably vulpine smile, he said, “Good evening, ladies!”

  “Oh, my, it’s Dr. Abernathy!” Ginger trilled in that annoying little-girl voice of hers that made Jason’s teeth itch.

  Marjorie took one look at him, said, “Oh, dear, Ginger, I forgot something. Do see what Dr. Abernathy wants, won’t you?” And she made an abrupt left turn and rushed off in another direction. Finding himself caught between two rows of pews and Ginger Collins, Jason silently steamed. Foiled again. But he’d get her to himself soon. What was the matter with the woman?

  “Oh, good!” came Mr. Proctor’s relieved voice from behind him. “Here’s our Mabel. Mr. Kettering, will you and Dr. Abernathy please take your places? We’ll begin at the opening scene.”

  Damn. Well, there was no talking to Marjorie now. Jason turned and, his shoulders sagging along with his mood, he went back to the stage and took his place. The new Frederic, Theodore Kettering, had a pretty good voice. And he was a fairly nice fellow. But he was a trifle older than Hamilton St. Claire and, as far as Jason was concerned, had a much sounder character. It would be just like Marjorie to fall in love with the man.

  Damn her. Damn Kettering. Damn them all!

  Watching from the sidelines, Marjorie tried to view the opening scene of Pirates without allowing her emotions to interfere with the view. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. And then there was Ginger, who wouldn’t stop yakking in her ear.

  “What do you think about your new Frederic, Marjorie?” Ginger tittered. Ginger always tittered.

  “I believe he’ll do very well.” Marjorie strove to achieve a neutral tone of voice.

  “It was such a tragedy about Mr. St. Claire. I just can’t imagine such a thing.”

  Although she didn’t look, Marjorie imagined Ginger with a crafty expression on her face, avidly inspecting Marjorie for any signs that she had cared for Hamilton and was now bereft over his death. She said, “Mmm.”


  “He was quite taken with you, my dear,” Ginger went on.

  Suppressing the urge to shudder, Marjorie again said, “Mmm.”

  “Why do you suppose he took his boat out on such a foggy day?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “It almost seems as if he were trying to kill himself, although I know that’s a shocking thing to say.”

  Good Lord! Marjorie said, “Mmm.”

  “I don’t suppose he proposed to you, and you turned him down, and he decided he could no longer live?”

  “Nae. He didna.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t pining for you? And you told him your heart belonged to another?”

  That was enough for Marjorie. Turning on the sly cat in a fury, she said, “Ye daft gudgeon, if you begin spreading that story around town, I’ll tell the whole world you’re a scheming, lying vixen!”

  Ginger’s mouth fell open.

  “And furthermore, if you ever so much as hint of such a thing in my presence again, I’ll deny it and call you what you are, and that’s a mean-spirited, lying cat!”

  Ginger’s mouth stayed open.

  “I didn’t care much for Mr. St. Claire, even before—” She stopped herself before she could blurt out the truth. Frustration made her temper rise higher. “I’m sorry he’s dead,” she lied, “but I had nothing to do with his emotional or mental state of health. If he was stupid enough to go out on a day like that, perhaps he got what he deserved.”

  A gasp was all Ginger could manage.

  “And furthermore,” said Marjorie, hissing the words out through her teeth so that she wouldn’t interrupt the rehearsal, “If you think I’m going to stand for your sly whispers and innuendoes, either, you’re wrong. Just because neither Hamilton St. Claire nor Jason Abernathy wanted anything to do with you, that doesn’t give you the right to tear another person’s reputation apart.”

  Ginger gasped again.

  “Anyhow,” Marjorie concluded. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and you’ll only make yourself out to be the idiot you are if you start any such rumors.” She might not dare enlighten her, but maybe she could get her to shut up.