“I — I am ready to accept — my punishment, ma’am,” he choked.
“Come up!” she snapped, heading for the stairs. “In deference to your mother’s demoralized state, I shall release you and your sister in the morning. But if you try to take advantage of my clemency in any way, you will regret it for a long time to come.”
She marched him upstairs, holding a candle in one hand and the key in the other. She tried the key in his door, and gave a little grunt of satisfaction on finding that it worked. She gestured him in with a nod, and snapped, “You will bring your sorrowing mother untimely to her grave, young man. Mend your ways, sir!” The door closed behind him, the key turned with a click, and he was alone in the dark.
He was shaking, but his heart was jubilant. ‘Not bad,’ he thought, ‘not bad! You carried out your mission without getting caught, and you held firm in the face of the enemy.’ He patted himself on the upper arm, restoring himself to rank. ‘Not bad at all, Corporal!’
“Bedtime, Isabelle!” Cousin Jane commanded from the head of the stairs. “Your nerves are overwrought, and I am feeling somewhat fatigued myself. We must restore ourselves for the tasks of tomorrow.”
All would be quiet soon. He would unlock his door, creep into Vick’s room, tell her about the plan of campaign—
His hand froze for an instant, then clutched wildly in his pocket. A hot flash surged through his body. There was a hole in the bottom of his pocket, and the key was gone.
He collapsed on the bed, sobbing. In his mind’s eye he tore the Corporal’s stripes from his sleeve, snatched the decorations from his breast and trampled them underfoot, snapped his sword in half, and drummed himself out of the regiment forever.
20. The Plan in Ruins
… from bad to worse. Our “cat fight” saved us and we got into the house finally, but I couldn’t go to the elevator because Maggie came downstairs to fill her pitcher. Bobbie set Vicky free, but they were surprised by Cousin Jane. Bobbie got away. Everybody ended up downstairs. I was found by Cousin Jane. I knew it was all over when I saw Daddy and Mr. Sweeney come in …
Susan shrank into the bushes and looked up. A second story window was being opened, inch by inch.
Whose? In her mind’s eye she surveyed the inside of the house. When you went up the stairs, Vicky’s room was here, Bobbie’s was here; which meant, from the outside of the house, that — that she was now crouching under Bobbie’s bay window. Ch … ch … ch … Bit by bit the window sash slid up, until there was a gap of nearly two feet between it and the sill. For a few minutes Susan thought she could hear rustling sounds. These were followed by a quiet thump. A white shape materialized over the sill, and slithered ground-ward in a series of little jerks. It was a knotted bedsheet. Another thump … Out of the window came a pair of legs. The legs kicked. Then there was a gasp, a scrape of buttons over wood, and the rest of Robert appeared with a rush. His feet thunked against the carved wooden arch of a downstairs window.
‘Good grief!’ Susan thought. ‘He’ll put his foot through the glass in a minute! She must stop his swinging. She squeezed into the shrubbery, grabbed the end of the sheet, and pulled it to one side. His startled white face looked down on her over his arm.
“Bobbie!” she whispered. “It’s —”
There was a ripping noise.
He gave a stifled yelp. The sheet went slack in her hands. She tried to throw herself aside, but it was too late. His weight struck her right shoulder, and they toppled into the shrubbery. The crash was like a forest tree collapsing.
She spat out a mouthful of leaves and twigs, and whispered, “You all right?”
“Think so. My ear hurts.”
High above them came the sound of a window being thrown open.
“Cat fight!” Susan whispered. “Quick!” She rounded her lips and crooned, “Ow-w-w-w-w-w-w-w.”
Robert caught on at once. “Oooo-oooo-oooo-oooo,” he sang, glissando.
“Yow-wow-wow!” Susan shrieked, thrashing in the shrubbery with her legs.
Maggie’s voice floated down through the darkness. “Wisha! Wisha! Get on out o’ that, ye divels!” Something heavy clunked against her windowsill, and a stream of water cascaded down into the bush next to them.
“There’s more o’ that if ye want it,” Maggie threatened. “And divel a drap o’ milk will ye be gettin’ from me in the mornin’, Toby! Ye black limb o’ Satan!”
The window slammed shut.
Susan let out a tremulous breath, and whispered, “Where’ve you been? Why were you climbing out the window?”
“Oh, Sue, I made such a mess of everything! Cousin Jane locked me up and then I found that I’d lost my key. What’re you doing here?”
“I can’t get in! Oh, it’s all so awful—the whole plan is falling apart!”
“There’s still a chance to make it work, Sue! Your Papa and Mr. Sweeney are hiding in the back yard! I saw them for a second over by the pond after Mr. Hollister fired. I’ll bet they mean to carry on as soon as everything calms down again. We have to get ready for them!”
“How? We’re locked out!”
“Nil desperandum, Sue. There’s more than one way to get into the house. Come on!”
They extricated themselves from the wreckage of the shrubbery, and crept around to the other side of the house.
“Here,” Robert whispered. “There’s a broken pane in the cellar window. I can reach through and undo the catch.” He dropped to his hands and knees to crawl under the hydrangeas. She crouched to follow him, but he whispered, “This is a hard way in, Sue. Go to the front door. I’ll have it open in a jiffy.”
“All right.”
She trudged back to the porch, and leaned against the door frame. Good grief, what a night! Once, long ago — it seemed years ago now — she had had a lovely vision: strolls in the country, picnics by a babbling stream, her father and Mrs. Walker gazing into each other’s eyes, while she and Victoria and Robert played tag and laughed in a meadow full of flowers and sunlight … How had that dream turned into this nightmare of frustration and panic and scurryings around in the dark? She sighed. ‘If I just survive tonight,’ she thought, ‘nothing will ever faze me again.’
The bolt slid back with a stealthy scrape, the door opened, and she was inside.
“All set!” Robert whispered. “I unlocked the back door, too. Here’s the closet key, so I can let Vicky out. It doesn’t exactly fit, but if you kind of lift it at the same time you turn it, it usually works. I’ll go up and tell her what the plan is.”
“Good! I’ll call up the elev—”
“Great Caesar!” Robert hissed, clutching her arm. “Somebody’s moving around up there!”
They crouched and listened. There were quiet shuffling footsteps somewhere on the second floor, and a wavering glow of candlelight was approaching the top of the stairs.
“Into the parlor!” Robert whispered.
They ducked behind the sofa and watched. It was Maggie, padding downstairs in carpet slippers, a robe several sizes too big for her, and a frilled cap tied under the chin. She was carrying a candlestick in one hand, and a large gleaming china pitcher in the other. She yawned as she passed by the parlor entrance.
“Going to fill her pitcher,” Robert whispered. “I’ll charge upstairs while she’s in the kitchen. Get the elevator ready as soon as the coast is clear. We’ll be down as soon as we can.”
“Right! I’ll be waiting for you.”
He tiptoed to the parlor entrance, glanced down the hallway, and then silently vanished up the stairs.
“Klunk-ump, klunk-ump,” the pump in the kitchen complained.
Susan took a step toward the other hallway, the one where the elevator was, and hesitated. Could she risk it yet? Maggie might come back that way …
Oh — good — grief! Her hands were empty — at some point during all the hurly-burly outside she had lost her pillowcase and her Harper’s Bazar. Now what was she going to use to wedge the elevator door open? She was
going to have to find something, quick! Her trembling hands felt along the surfaces of plush, brocade, polished wood … This box wouldn’t work, this vase wouldn’t, wasn’t there anything —?
Oh, oh, Maggie was coming back — candlelight was wavering down the hallway by the stairs. Susan dove behind the sofa, and peeked over the back. Maggie shuffled into view, leaning a little to the right under the weight of her pitcher.
Crash! A door was hurled open upstairs.
Both Susan and Maggie jumped. Maggie’s candle dipped so wildly that it almost went out, and a dollop of water from her pitcher splashed on the floor.
“Robert!” Cousin Jane’s voice snapped. “What are you doing out of your room? How did you open that door? Answer me, sir!”
Another door banged open.
“Isabelle! Will you kindly look at this? Do you see what comes of relaxing discipline even for an instant? Oh! Oh! Victoria! What are you doing with your door open? Isabelle, this is an outrage! These children are defying me! I will not have it! Robert! Robert!”
Robert came bolting down the stairs like a rabbit. His momentum carried him into the front door with a glass-rattling smash. He rebounded, dodged around Maggie — another dip of the candle, another splash of water on the floor — and disappeared down the hallway.
“Mer-r-ciful hivvens!” Maggie exclaimed.
“Come back here this instant, you ruffian!” Cousin Jane shouted. “Return at once or I shall come down and fetch you! If you put me to that trouble, I promise you that you will never forget it!”
“Jane!” Mrs. Walker’s voice cried. “I have reached the end of my tether! Don’t you dare touch that boy!”
“I see my duty and I intend to do it!”
“Jane—!”
“Interfere with me at your peril.”
Down the stairs Cousin Jane stormed, in a red flannel robe and a nightcap. She carried a candle in one hand and brandished her umbrella in the other. Even in the soft candlelight her eyes and pince-nez glasses seemed to glitter. Mrs. Walker and Victoria came running down behind her.
“What are you doing here, you nincompoop?” Cousin Jane shouted at Maggie. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
“Sure, Mum, with both me hands full? And himself passin’ by like a cannonball?”
“Imbeciles!” Cousin Jane raged. “I am surrounded by imbeciles! Where did he go?”
“Sure, Mum, how could I tell with him skinnin’ out so fast he was gone before I could turn me head?”
“If you touch that child, Jane,” Mrs. Walker said quietly, “I shall — I don’t know what!”
“Sure,” Maggie said, lifting her chin, “and whatever it is, Mum, I’ll help ye!”
“Your wages will be stopped as of this instant,” Cousin Jane snapped. “As for you, Isabelle, I shall deal with you later.” Suddenly, with amazing agility for one of her stoutness, she pounced into the parlor, raising her candle as she did so. Susan was completely taken by surprise, with her face lifted above the back of the sofa. She shrank with a squeak of dismay.
“Aha!” Cousin Jane cried. “You thought to outwit me, did you? Stand up, you heathen! You insubordinate — Oh! It’s that Shaw baggage! What are you doing here?”
Her umbrella was poised to strike. Her glasses glittered like the eyes of a serpent. Susan began to back away on legs that threatened to buckle under her. “I—” she croaked.
“This is a plot,” Cousin Jane hissed. “I can smell it. And Robert is implicated too, isn’t he? You have corrupted him, haven’t you? Oh, I saw right through you and your father the minute I laid eyes on you. A precious pair of scoundrels and thieves! Where is he? What are you up to? What are you doing in this house? Where is Robert?”
Susan, backing away, stumbled over a hassock, staggered a few steps, grabbed out with both hands to keep from falling, and seized something that bore her weight. Fringed portieres … She was in the doorway of the hall. She continued to retreat before Cousin Jane’s implacable advance. The grandfather clock ticked and tocked as though nothing were passing but time.
“Out with it! Out with it!” Cousin Jane cried, slashing with her umbrella. The steel tip whistled in a downward arc one inch from Susan’s face. The door at the other end of the hallway opened.
“What’s that? Who’s that?” Cousin Jane snapped. She stopped, lifted her candle, and peered past Susan into the shadows. Maggie came up by Cousin Jane’s left side; she was moaning, and her round eyes were fixed on Susan. Mrs. Walker stopped one pace behind. Victoria, waxen-faced, stared over their shoulders.
“Aha!” Cousin Jane said. “Exactly! That scoundrel Shaw! And another villain! Oh, yes, quite a little plot, isn’t it?”
Susan turned. Her father, looking very strange, was coming into the light, followed by Mr. Sweeney. He was soaking wet. His hair was plastered down over his skull, his boots made squelching noises, his lovely suit was dark and clinging and festooned with water-weed. And oh! — oh!
Did Mr. Sweeney have in his hand what she thought he had?
Yes …
Susan’s legs would not hold her up any longer, and she collapsed against the wainscotting.
21. Mr. Shaw Goes Under
… told us that his part of the plan went pretty well at first. Mr. Sweeney was suspicious, but Daddy calmed him down until the police came with that runaway boy. Mr. Sweeney insisted on going to the house to find out what was happening. Mr. Hollister fired as they began to cross the yard, and from then on everything got out of hand for Daddy too …
“Sweeney? Sweeney?”
There was no answer. The stable was empty.
“Good night!” Mr. Shaw muttered. He groped through the dimness until he came to a manger, where he sat down.
Was Sweeney going to show up, or had the plan miscarried? Mr. Shaw rather hoped the latter. Throughout the afternoon his original enthusiasm had been slowly giving away before the onslaught of doubts and scruples. He was a law-abiding man, after all, with small taste for either violence or deceit. Sweeney would come to no physical harm in the elevator; but still, to be snatched from your own century and hurled into another was a serious matter.
So was taking the law into one’s own hands …
But then the vision that had been haunting him ever since last night suddenly glowed in his imagination again: Isabelle Walker, her tumbled hair glinting in candlelight, her cheeks wet with tears … His heart leaped. And yet the man he was worrying about could pretend to pay court to her for the purpose of stealing every last thing she had! And without a qualm! Mr. Shaw could hear that smooth voice saying, “Why, she has her house and plenty of leisure. Let her take in boarders, or do laundry, or something …”
Ah, the dog! Feel scruples about him? His fists clenched. At that instant a quiet footfall sounded, and a low voice said, “Shaw?”
Mr. Shaw, trembling with rage, had all he could do to keep from hurling himself on Mr. Sweeney. “Here,” he grated.
Mr. Sweeney crunched over the straw until the pale oval of his face was visible. He leaned against a post. His voice was intense and quiet. He said, “Look here, Shaw, I want an explanation!”
“About what?”
“That business this afternoon with the policeman.”
“Oh. It’s nothing to do with us. Robert disappeared for a while, that’s all.”
“Why? He was supposed to be playing with the girls.”
“They, ah, had a quarrel, and that cousin who’s staying with them lectured him about manners. So he went off to sulk, and the ladies thought he’d run away, and called in the police. And then he came home again, and it all blew over.”
“I didn’t see the boy going anywhere,” Mr. Sweeney said. “Or coming back either.”
“Well, you can’t watch everywhere at once, can you?”
“But I did see you consulting with the police!”
“Sweeney, don’t be a flaming fool. I know you’ve been watching me. If I wanted to bring the police into our business, I wouldn’t do it right
in front of you. I spoke to that policeman simply to find out what he was doing here. In fact, I suspected you were behind it. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind and denounced us after all.”
There was a short silence. Then Mr. Sweeney said, “That won’t do. If you really thought you’d been denounced, you wouldn’t have walked out into the arms of the police like that. You’d have made your escape.”
“Sweeney,” Mr. Shaw sighed, “your suspicions bore me. I’ve given you my explanation; you can take it or leave it. If you think something funny is going on, why aren’t you making your escape?”
“Ah!” Mr. Sweeney said. “Ah! You were just hoping I’d do that, weren’t you, Shaw? That’s your game, isn’t it? And then you’d have the jewels all to yourself, wouldn’t you? Well, abandon that hope, Shaw. I’m staying right here. We will proceed as planned.”
“You know, Sweeney, one might be led to conclude that you don’t trust me.”
“Oh, perish the thought, Shaw! I trust you implicitly — mainly because I know that you know how hot I can make it for you if you try to betray me. That means in any particular, Shaw. Do we understand each other?”
“I guess we do.”
“Excellent!” There was a rustling noise as if Mr. Sweeney were taking something out of his pocket, and then the faint tinkling of a little bell.
“What’s that?”
“My repeater,” Mr. Sweeney said impatiently. “What’s the matter with you, Shaw? Nerves?”
“No, it just, ah, took me by surprise.” ‘Repeater …?’ he wondered.
“Mmm. After nine. We have some waiting to do, Shaw. We might as well do it comfortably.” And Mr. Sweeney threw himself down on the straw.
Repeater! Of course — it was a watch that struck the time when you pressed a button … Mr. Shaw sighed, and sat down on the straw himself. Yes, they would proceed as planned. He felt no more doubts, no more scruples. The very tone of Mr. Sweeney’s voice had cured him of those.
They waited.
“Hullo!” Mr. Sweeney said when they heard the horse and buggy stop out in front of the house. They held their breath and listened. There was a long silence; then the faint snap of a whip and the sound of the horse cantering away.
All in Good Time Page 15
