“Who knows?” Ben handed me a pair of his pajamas to put in the suitcase. We were in our bedroom, a roomy apartment with warmly aged dark oak furniture and rose-patterned chintz fabrics. Bright sunshine poured in through the windows, as if eager to atone for the storm. “Betty may enjoy demonstrating her detective skills to you and Mrs. Malloy by flaunting a spyglass when looking under rocks for the body of the missing husband.”
“Who, according to Ariel”-I zipped up the case-“is in reality off on a safari or climbing Mount Everest. It seems the more probable scenario. Had his absence aroused suspicion, there would surely have been a hue and cry from the police.”
Ben eyed me thoughtfully. “Has it occurred to you Ariel is hoping you’ll blow the Mr. Gallagher’s Ghost theory out of the water as a means of publicly humiliating Betty? That kid is a tough little customer if ever I saw one.”
“That could be a front.” I crossed to the dressing-table mirror and assessed my reflection critically. “She’s vulnerable. That’s something I can understand because so was I at her age. Where she’s thin and pasty, I was podgy and pie-faced. Under those circumstances, one learns either to stand up for oneself or let the bullies reduce you to a cowering huddle.”
“You were never pie-faced.” Coming up behind me, Ben placed his hands on my shoulders. “Must I punish you for such statements?” His lips brushed my neck.
“That’s how I saw myself. It didn’t help that I sat next to the prettiest girl in our class. Her name was Bridie O’Donnell. She had beautiful black curly hair, perfect skin, and the bluest eyes. I used to go to bed at night and pretend I was her. For good measure I gave myself a wonderful singing voice, a flair for languages, and the ability to perform cartwheels.”
“I bet you could give her a run for her money now.”
“Nice of you to say, Mr. H.” I smiled at him in the mirror and decided that I did look better than might have been hoped when I was twelve or thirteen. My hair had decided to comply that morning and stay put in its chignon, and a flick of mascara had brought out the green in my eyes, matching rather nicely the dress I was wearing. “Perfume,” I said, reaching for the bottle, but Ben turned me to face him.
“I like your scent. Eau de Ellie, sunshine with a subtle bouquet of furniture polish.” He kissed me deeply and there were no shadows at Merlin’s Court.
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I admitted. “My mind was too busy, so I got up early and had a whip round with the spray can of lavender wax. There’s nothing like a little light housework for clearing away the mental cobwebs. Mrs. Malloy headed for the bus stop after breakfast. She should be back by now with her suitcase. If her sister doesn’t offer to put her up, she’ll be looking for a place in Milton Moor to spend the night. Which will be the same for us, if Tom and Betty send us smartly on our way.”
Ben kissed me again. I inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave and the other essence that was essentially him. There are aromatic moments that put romance back into marriage, without thought of a ticking clock or a moody thirteen-year-old girl to be returned home.
I stroked his crisply curling black hair. “What about Abigail’s?”
“Freddy will handle things. We got it all sorted out over the phone while you were getting breakfast.”
“I know the situation has altered since last evening, but you so much wanted to get a quick start on the new book; also, you said you’d feel like a third wheel traveling with Mrs. Malloy.”
“It was the reverse. I didn’t want her feeling like piggy-in-the-middle when she was already under strain with this reunion with her sister looming.”
“Oh!” Talk about feeling small!
“I thought you’d guess where I was coming from.”
Perhaps I would have if I hadn’t said all the wrong things about the review in Cuisine Anglaise and leaped to the conclusion that he was eager for some time alone. I had been petty and petulant, a prey to foolish insecurities. But I wouldn’t let it happen again. From this moment on, I would trust unwaveringly in his love for me. Not a quiver of doubt would intrude.
“You’re wonderful.” I was bathed in sunlight, inside and out.
“Let’s hope the Hopkinses do boot us out and I can prove myself tonight in a hotel bedroom,” Ben murmured in my ear.
“I hope Betty doesn’t know Mrs. Malloy and I have done some sleuthing in the past. If she’s set on making it her mission to prove Lady Fiona murdered her husband, she’s unlikely to want either help or competition.”
“I don’t think you need worry about that angle. There was only one article in the local paper when the two of you took over that private investigator’s case and solved it-much to his chagrin.”
“Poor Milk Jugg. I hope he’s forgiven us.”
“Time to get going.” Ben picked up the suitcase and ushered me out of the bedroom.
“What’s Tom like?” I asked, as we headed downstairs.
“Quiet. Low-key.”
“Any hint of hidden depths beneath still waters?”
“We were never pals, even when working together at Uncle Sol’s restaurant. The only times I saw any real emotion in him was when he talked about his girlfriend and then on the couple of occasions I saw them together. The one before Ariel’s mother.”
“Who was his parents’ pick.”
“Right Angela. Same religious background. Safe choice.”
“For him, perhaps, but not for her. She died in a car he was driving.” I paused but found myself unable to ask Ben if he thought there was the remotest possibility it hadn’t been an accident. “Poor Angela! I wonder if he was ever madly in love with her. It’s obvious Ariel believes, or wants to, that it was the perfect union and Betty is a poor substitute turned pain-in-the-neck.”
“Then he’s got double trouble: his wife and his daughter.”
“Tom didn’t insist on coming to collect Ariel?”
“A halfhearted offer. He said there was some sort of household panic going on that made it difficult for him or Betty to take off.”
“Maybe they have Lady Fiona tied up in the kitchen waiting for the police to arrive.” We stepped down into the hall to see the front door standing open and Tobias seated on the top outdoor step sunning his coat and lazily stirring his tail. Further investigation showed Mrs. Malloy heaving an enormous suitcase into the back of the Land Rover and Ariel standing off to the side with her skinny arms folded and a disapproving expression on her face.
“What’s in there,” she snipped, “the washing machine? So you don’t have to wash out your knickers in the sink at Crag-stone?”
Mrs. M was puffing too hard to reply.
“Let me help you with that.” Ben hurried over to her, and while he was stowing our luggage along with hers, which included the addition of a couple of hatboxes and a makeup case, Freddy ambled up the drive. Though looking the worse for his evening at the Dark Horse, he smiled amiably in our general direction. Scooping up Tobias, he nuzzled him into his beard, making it difficult to say where either of them left off.
“Never fear, Ellie.” He yawned a grin at me. “All will be well at Merlin’s Court under my command. Don’t bother to get in touch unless somebody dies.”
Hardly the best send-off. But Freddy has his own brand of humor. He claims the bodies start piling up wherever Mrs. Malloy and I put in an appearance. Completely unfounded… or, shall we say, exaggerated. Ben and I, having returned his wave, watched him head into the house and close the door. Paradise lay within: our entire refrigerator to himself.
We took our seats in the front of the vehicle while Mrs. M and Ariel got into the back. For a while we drove in silence, presumably each busy with our own thoughts. I for one was glad of the lengthy drive ahead. It would take us a couple of hours to get into Yorkshire. Mrs. Malloy had to be wondering what reception she would get from her sister, Melody. Ariel was surely somewhat nervous about being returned to the bosom of her family. Ben was probably the only one of us capable of enjoying the scenery as
it slid past the windows. Or was I projecting my unease onto the two in the backseat? Maybe they only had happy thoughts in their heads. Ariel sounded chipper enough when she finally spoke.
“I hope nobody minds that I used the phone this morning.”
“Not at all,” I replied. “Did you ring your-”
“I’d rather not say for the moment who I spoke to.”
“That’s up to you,” Ben told her.
“Are we stopping soon for something to eat?” she inquired, with that imperious note in her voice that I’d compassionately ascribed to a desperate need to be loved. “I’m starving.”
“What, already?” Mrs. Malloy retorted before either Ben or I could flex our lips. “After that enormous breakfast you ate? I don’t know where you put it. Nice and slim as you are,” she added hastily, before letting out a piercing squeal.
Had Ariel pinched her? Before I could twist my head around, Mrs. M explained.
“It’s the underwire of me bra poking into me. They always do it after I’ve had them for a while.”
“Why not switch to another make?” I asked, as Ben passed a double-decker bus, only to discover it had been lumbering behind a lorry that seemed to be laboring under the delusion that it was a hay cart being pulled by a tired old nag. Making for further frustration, we were now going uphill, unable to see oncoming traffic.
“I couldn’t do that, Mrs. H. Like I’ve told you before, I had no trouble getting rid of me husbands when they didn’t work out, but I’ve kept me solemn vow to stay married to one make of bra for life.”
“I wish Dad would get rid of Betty,” muttered Ariel.
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Ben replied, without shifting his gaze.
Silence pervaded the Land Rover’s interior. We finally made it past the lorry and came to a roundabout, followed the arrow marked TO THE NORTH, and got off at the right exit. Had I been driving, we would have circled until we were giddy. I dozed off and wakened to hear Mrs. Malloy rustling around in her handbag; there followed the crackle of candy wrappers.
“No, thank you,” said Ariel.
“Want a toffee?” A paper bag was handed up front.
“Not for me, thanks.” Ben edged to a stop at a red light in a street lined by narrow-faced gray stone shops, with an open-air market glimpsed around one corner.
“Then I’ll take two.” I handed the bag back.
Mrs. Malloy said it was always good to have a few sweets on hand. I agreed and we sped on, leaving the town behind and entering the motorway, which we stayed on for an hour or more. We might have been anywhere in England. Everything seemed the same from one moment to the next, an unending stream of uniformity from the vehicles to the buildings. Metal and glass… concrete and glass… all stripped of color, scale, and shape. Everything moving at the same automated speed. Where were the famous dales, the mysterious, beckoning moors? Did the Yorkshire I had imagined exist anymore? Or had it been paved over and roofed in for a shopping center?
“I’ve changed my mind.” Ariel spoke from behind my head. “I will have a toffee, Mrs. Malloy.”
“Aren’t you the kind little miss?” An irritable rustling of paper bag. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you the word please hasn’t been rationed since World War Two?”
“Maybe Betty attempted to clamp down on her behavior.” Ben spoke in a low aside to me, but Ariel must have heard. She sucked in an infuriated breath.
“Ellie, can we please put him out of the car?”
“That’s enough.” I almost yanked my head off in turning around to face her. “I understand you’re on edge-”
“I’m not. I’m perfectly calm.”
“That’s neither here nor there.”
“You just said-”
“What my wife is attempting to explain, Ariel, is that we are fast losing sympathy for you,” Ben informed her, “whatever your grievances.”
I settled back in my seat, staring rigidly at the windshield. More silence. We were exiting the motorway to a view of hills as rough-hewn as the stone walls bordering the fields surrounding the outline of a farmhouse that might have been Wuthering-not Withering-Heights. Way off to our right spread a shadowy stretch of what I hoped might be moorland. But I couldn’t enjoy this introduction to the county of gothic glory. Had Ben and I spoken too sharply to the girl? How precarious was her state of mind? Would Tom and Betty prove especially difficult if we returned her blank-eyed and silent?
“I don’t know why I have to come off sounding bratty, at the very times when I really want to be nice so people will like me,” Ariel remarked plaintively. “Like last night, Ellie, when I knew I needed to win you and Mrs. Malloy over. I could hear myself talking and it didn’t sound right, but there just didn’t seem anything I could do about it.”
“Got one of them multiple personalities?” Mrs. M asked eagerly.
“I suppose I’m perverse.”
“Probably.” Ben laughed, and I felt myself relax.
“Our own worst enemies, that’s what we all are sometimes.” Mrs. Malloy sounded ready to enlarge on this theme. But Ariel announced that we were now within a few miles of Milton Moor.
“And we haven’t stopped for lunch.” I looked at my watch to see that it was nearly noon. “Should we look out for somewhere?”
“It’s all right. That toffee did the trick. I’m not starving anymore. Why put off the evil hour? Of course, it’ll be bread and water for me.” Ariel sounded almost cheerful. It was Mrs. Malloy who betrayed uneasiness.
“I wonder if Melody will think I’ve aged some.”
It seemed likely after a span of forty years, but I crossed my fingers and said probably not. Ben nosed the car onto a sharply steep road with buff-colored houses, grimed with smoke, butting up against the pavement. All very prim and properly Victorian, with lace curtains screening the windows and pots of stiff-looking maroon and purple flowers on the steps. It was truly like stepping back in time. Finally my heart thrilled. A woman opened her door and whacked a mat against the wall. A cat leaped out of a tree and a little boy of about three came pumping along on his tricycle. A woman with orange hair came out of a house with a BED AND BREAKFAST sign on the gatepost. I noted a couple of side streets with shops and other businesses. Then we were again looking out on more open country, bordered by the dry-stone walls and punctuated by solitary trees and outcroppings of rock. Some cultivation, but mostly a sea of coarse wavering grass. We passed a man with shaggy black hair streaked with white, striding alongside a similarly colored sheepdog, both of them completely at one with the landscape. Elemental. Timeless.
“Who said a moor is merely a lawn in need of mowing?” Ben inquired.
“I don’t know.” I was a little peeved that he’d broken the mood.
“You made that up yourself, Ben.” Ariel actually giggled, like a real child.
“Caught out!” He grinned and I simmered down. It was good that the two of them seemed to be coming to terms. Now all we needed was a little harmony on meeting Tom and Betty.
“We’re here. Time to face the music!” Mrs. Malloy tapped on her window. “Look! It says it on the brass plate on that brick wall: Cragstone House. And there’s the roof and the chimneys towering up to the sky. Well, I never!” She continued her raptures as we drove in through the gateposts. “There’s a cottage off to the side, but much bigger than the one Freddy lives in back at Merlin’s Court. This one could house a family of six without anyone bumping walls.” She had rolled down her window and stuck out her head, risking getting scratched by the shrubbery lining the drive, which gave way on either side to flower beds in a park setting.
“Oh, you’re talking about the Dower House! It’s rather nice inside. Lady Fiona still owns it and a couple of acres of land.”
“Is that where she’s living?” I asked.
“No, she’s temporarily in residence at a hotel. Mr. Gallagher’s old nanny is at the Dower House with her great niece, Val. Their last name is-”
She didn’t get to f
inish. Ben had parked the Land Rover facing a flight of steps that would have seated a full orchestra. The moment called for a rousing flourish of Mozart. The handsomely carved front door opened to reveal a man and a woman descending to meet us. The stiffness of their gait suggested that they were either made out of fiberboard or were rigidly controlling their emotions. I decided the latter was more likely; Ben and I got out of the vehicle as if ordered to do so by two police officers. Mrs. Malloy and Ariel followed. I didn’t turn to see if they had their hands up.
The couple had reached the bottom step. Tom wasn’t much of a surprise. I had pictured him as being of medium height and stocky build, with pale, slightly protuberant blue eyes and a weak mouth. And there he stood. The reality was completed by the brown tweed sports jacket and elderly cords he was wearing, perhaps in ineffectual hope of looking like a landed squire, of the kind that lived for his trout fishing and pheasant shooting and had only given up smoking a pipe when it became politically expedient to do so. Betty was another matter. I had got her all wrong. She was neither an ethereal blonde trailing organza nor a raven-haired beauty wearing spiffy riding togs. She was a diminutive redhead in a too-large pale blue suit, with a nose that had been pinched out of plastic. Her eyes were clear green glass.
“Ariel!” Her voice was a spurt of ice-cold water. “Get over here.”
“Oh, Betty darling!” I was staggered to hear the girl reply. Indeed, I clutched at Ben’s arm and was glad of the additional support of Mrs. Malloy’s sturdy presence behind me. “Daddy!” A breeze, absent until now, fanned my cheeks and fluttered my skirts. It was caused by Ariel’s sobbing breath. She raced around me, hands extended, spectacles askew, and limp hair flying. “Please, please don’t be cross. I’ve got the loveliest surprise planned.”
Tom’s smile had the look of a false mustache that could be taken off and hurriedly slipped into his pocket if it didn’t meet with his wife’s approval.
“Get indoors this minute, Ariel!” Betty’s rigidity suggested an outraged Barbie doll. So far she had not deigned to glance at Mrs. Malloy, Ben, or me. Neither, for that matter, had Tom.
Withering Heights Page 6
