Katherine met his gaze. “I agree with you that she is troubled.”
Bishop Chan smiled, his face crinkling into a fine network of wrinkles. “You see, I want you to work miracles with Yolande, as you have with Llew, as you have with Felix. Felix has regained his serenity, and I know that you are responsible for that.”
“No.” She was angry now, though she tried to keep her face as unreadable as that of the old Chinese bishop. “I work no miracles. Llew, in the natural order of time, was moving away from his grief. Felix is—Felix.”
“And he has told me something of what you have done for him. But I mustn’t put too much on you, and that is what you think I am doing?” He smiled again. “As for me, here I am, half dead in body, but struggling on. So I must assume that God still has work for me to do. Would you be kind enough to play just one more piece before I go? Something”—and his crinkles moved outward and upward—“something comforting. Strengthening.”
She thought for a moment, then moved into a fugue, not Bach, but the master who had so influenced him, Pachelbel. When she was through, holding her fingers on the keys so that the last notes continued to sound, murmuring slowly down the nave; she saw that Bishop Chan had been joined by the four Davidson young ones. Katherine smiled at them all. “I hadn’t planned to include that piece in the program, but I think I will.”
Emily clapped her hands. “It worked with the space, Madame, it worked beautifully, like little waves lapping at the shore, one following the other, not blurring.”
“Em’s right,” John said. “I don’t know that fugue, but I’m going to. Have you recorded it, Madame?”
“Yes. It’s one of my pets. It’s on a recording of ‘music-before-Bach’ which I did—let’s see—not more than a couple of years ago, so it still ought to be available.”
Bishop Chan bowed over Katherine’s hand. “Madame. Thank you.”
She looked directly into his kind, weary eyes and wondered how much he, too, had added up, and to what conclusions he had come. “Goodbye.”
He moved slowly down the nave. “I do like him,” Emily said. “Llew loves him, now that he’s back into loving again.”
Jos spoke through her words, not listening. “What John and I thought we’d do, Madame, is make a fireman’s chair with our hands and carry you upstairs.”
“No. Thank you, Jos, but no. If I do not exercise my arthritic knees, they’ll just get worse. The four of you gallop upstairs at your usual pace, and let me follow along at mine.”
When they were outside she looked up at the lowering sky. A warm wind was blowing from the south, and the air felt wet enough to squeeze. At this moment Katherine would not like to be completely alone on Tenth Street with the phone dead.
John insisted on going up the Deanery stairs behind her, putting no psychic pressure on her to move more quickly than was comfortable.
“Em had an awful time with the stairs after the accident. It was almost easier for her at first, when she heaved herself up with her crutches and one leg, than when she got the artificial leg and Mom took the crutches away from her. Now she goes up and down like the rest of us—a little slower, because she can’t take the stairs two at a time. I’m very glad she doesn’t play the violin. I might be jealous of her if I thought she was getting better than me—I. But she’s learned more at the piano lessons with you than in all the rest of her piano lessons put together.”
Katherine paused on the red-carpeted stairs to catch her breath. “I gather Emily and her previous teacher had a considerable personality clash.”
“Yah, and Mom and Dad don’t like us to complain about our teachers. I’m glad she’s got you now.”
“Thanks.” She continued the climb. She liked the Davidsons because, although they tended to treat her like Venetian glass, it was out of consideration; they also allowed her to be a normal human being. They respected her for her accomplishments, but they were used to being with accomplished people. They did not put her on a pedestal.
3
When she reached the Davidson apartment, Emily was waiting. “Mom says I can show you your room. Llew brought up your bag long ago.”
She followed Emily through the apartment, through the library into a small hall off which there were three doors. “You’ll be private here,” Emily said. “We kids are all upstairs, and Mom and Dad are at the other end of this floor.” She opened a door. “This is your bathroom. I hope you’re not mad for showers. This is the biggest bathroom in the house, but it only has a tub. There’s a shower in—”
Katherine stopped her. “I infinitely prefer a tub.” She looked at the deep, old-fashioned bathtub, up on claws, and wondered how she was going to get out.
Emily opened a second door. “Your room. The other is a sort of sitting room where the practice piano is—it’s not as good as the one in the living room, but we can bang away and not disturb anyone.” She led Katherine into the guest room, indeed a pleasant room, nearly square, with a fireplace in which were laid some birch logs. There was an old-fashioned mahogany sleigh bed, with a small love seat at the foot. The wide, uncurtained windows had shutters, open now, and the two largest windows looked directly at the Cathedral, with a good view of the roof, with St. Gabriel, horn raised.
Emily said, “Mrs. Undercroft used to call Gabriel the Christmas angel. But of course he isn’t; he’s standing there ready to blow the last trump. I don’t find him frightening. Tory used to be scared of him, but I’ve always felt he was taking care of the Close, keeping bad things out. Of course I know he doesn’t—at least the statue doesn’t—and bad things get in. But I’m still glad he’s there. And I’m glad you’re here,” Emily said softly.
Katherine was not glad at all. But she said only, “Since I’m here, we’ll work in an extra lesson tomorrow. What’s your schedule?”
“Saturday’s free. Weekdays I work with the little kids in the play school, and I do some French and Latin tutoring. I’m not that great at French and Latin, but I’m okay, and the tutoring helps me, too. We’d better get on to the living room. I know Mom and Dad want to offer you a glass of wine before dinner.”
Tory appeared in the doorway. “Oh, there you are, Madame Vigneras. There’s a phone call for you, and then Mom and Dad are waiting.”
Mimi checking in, probably, to make sure she was really at the Davidsons’ and not on Tenth Street.
“It’s hello and goodbye for me,” Tory said. “At least for a few hours.” She wore a flowered print skirt and a white peasant blouse.
“Off to a party?” Katherine suggested as she followed her.
“Not mine. The Undercrofts are having frightfully important people for dinner, and they’ve asked me to help out as well as Fatty. I need the ten dollars.” She looked obliquely at Emily.
Emily looked back. “You don’t seem very pleased.”
“Maybe I’m getting too grownup for it all. But I need the money.” They had reached the small library. Tory pointed to the phone. “When you’re through, Mom and Dad say just to come along to the living room.”
“Hello,” Katherine said, slightly sharply.
But it was not Mimi’s voice. Instead, a pleasant, lilting voice replied, “Madame Vigneras, at last I’ve tracked you down. This is Grace Farwater, from the Times.”
“Oh. Yes. Hello.”
“I just found out this morning, by accident, that you’re giving a benefit. Someone called the paper about tickets. I would really love to do a small story on you if at all possible.”
So Yolande had not made arrangements with the Times after all.
Grace Farwater continued. “I gather you’re staying with the Davidsons for the weekend. Would sometime tomorrow be possible?”
“I don’t think so,” Katherine said slowly. “I’d really rather talk to you at home.”
“Tenth Street?”
“Yes. How about early Monday afternoon? I give a piano lesson at three.”
“Early afternoon would be fine. Would between one-thirty and two b
e all right?”
“Yes. Fine.”
“I do look forward to it, and you’re very gracious to be willing to see me at such short notice. You are an inspiration to a great many of us, Madame Vigneras. I’ll promise to keep the interview short and not take up much of your time.”
“Thank you. Monday, then.”
She put down the phone, looked at it for a moment, as though for an answer, then went to join the Davidsons in the living room.
“It’s going to pour,” Suzy was saying. “I hope the Undercrofts have sense enough to lend Tory an umbrella.”
The air had the yellow light which often precedes a storm. “Speaking of rain,” Katherine said on impulse, “my daughter lives in Norway, where the sun seldom shines, and I’d like to give her a ring. I’ll bill it to my number.”
“We could plug the phone into your room,” Suzy said, “but it’ll probably be easier for you just to go back to the library.”
“Yes. Thanks. We don’t talk long. I just like her to know where I am.”
When she heard the phone ringing in Aalesund, as clearly as though she were calling Mimi upstairs at home, she hoped she would find Julie at home.
Eric answered. “Good to hear your voice, Maman. Julie said she planned to call you. She’s right here. You just caught us.”
“Maman, is everything all right? I had you on my mind today and, as Eric said, I’d planned to call you.”
“Bless you, darling, that’s why I called, just in case. I’m not home. I’m up at the Cathedral at the Deanery, for the weekend—so that I can have some extra time at this piano before the concert.”
“You’re a marvel, Maman, able to sleep in strange beds. I have insomnia if I’m not at home.”
“Years of practice,” Katherine said. “I’d have died of insomnia long ago if I hadn’t learned to adjust. Everything all right in Aalesund?”
“Fine. We flourish.”
“Good. I’ll be back in my house Sunday evening.”
“Thanks for calling, Maman.”
She hung up and went back to the living room, glad she had obeyed her impulse to call.
4
The evening passed pleasantly. With Tory absent; there was no squabbling. The dean and Suzy were both entertaining, telling Katherine about the early days of their courtship, and the vicissitudes of a seminarian trying to arrange dates with a medical student when their hours were in complete conflict.
After dinner Jos went to his room to study, and John put a record on the player. Katherine sat in a comfortable chair, eyes closed, listening, hardly hearing the rumbles of thunder, until all at once there was a violent clap, and simultaneously a flash of lightning which seared through her closed lids. She opened her eyes and the lights went out. The needle on the record slowed to a stop, the sound winding down with a groan.
“We’ll give it a few minutes,” the dean’s voice came calmly out of the darkness. “If the lights don’t come back on quickly, I’ll get candles.”
“Oh, Madame!” Emily sounded tense. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Actually,” Katherine said, “so am I. Thunderstorms are fun when you’re with pleasant company, but I no longer enjoy them when I am alone.”
“I wonder if it’s citywide?” Suzy’s voice came from the direction of the windows. “I don’t see any lights.” Her silhouette was outlined in the next flash of lightning, and the phone rang at the same time that the thunder clapped.
“At least the phone’s still on.” The dean moved, in the next flash, to the instrument. “Hello … well, that’s very kind of you, Yolande, but I doubt if the power’s going to be off for long … Of course, but …” He slammed down the receiver. “The phone’s dead now, too. That, as you may have gathered, was Yolande, suggesting that Tory spend the night if the power doesn’t come back on.”
Suzy closed the window. “How about upstairs? This rain is blowing in from all directions, it seems.”
Katherine heard the dean calling, “Jos! Check the windows, please.”
And Jos calling down, “Right, Dad.”
The dean moved through the darkened apartment, occasionally bumping into something, and Katherine could hear windows being closed. The rain lashed into the building, but the lightning and thunder were no longer on top of each other; the storm was quickly passing over.
The dean returned, carrying a candle. The moving light sent flickering shadows over the walls, but it was a relief after the heavy darkness. “I didn’t shut your windows, Madame Vigneras; the rain is from the southwest. I have candles for us all, and we’ll have to make do. Fortunately, the water supply isn’t affected.” He gave Katherine an old-fashioned pewter candle-holder, lit the candle, then went round the room, giving light to everyone.
Jos came in, carrying a flashlight. “But I’ll take a candle, too, Dad. I don’t want the batteries to run down.”
Katherine rose, holding her candle. “Under the circumstances, I think I might as well go to bed. Is it really possible for me to take a hot bath?”
“We do have some of the comforts of home left,” Suzy assured her, and then, under her breath, “I really wish Tory were here instead of at the Undercrofts’.”
“What about the rest of their guests?” Emily asked. “Are they going to have to keep all those bigwigs for the night? Tory and Fatty are probably making up beds. Daddy, can I have an extra candle to put in Madame Vigneras’s bathroom?”
“Of course, Em. Get one from the kitchen.”
The light of the single candle wavered in the large bathroom, but was adequate. Katherine took a hot bath, trying to relax and not worry about getting out, which she managed to do by turning over in the water and getting up on her hands and knees and pushing up from there. She was smugly pleased at her accomplishment. At first glance, the tub had looked formidable.
She brought the bathroom candle into the bedroom, but even two candles did not give sufficient light for comfortable reading. She moved to one of the windows and looked out. The rain had stopped, though it was still shaking from the trees. The Close looked dark and full of even darker shadows. She saw something move, and looked down. It was hard to tell with the lack of light, but she thought it was Topaze. Poor child, waiting for his mother and sister. Why didn’t he wait in Ogilvie House?
She jumped slightly as the clock tower boomed out the first of ten strokes. She moved back toward her bed, listening. Yes, she heard a faint tapping at the door.
Certain who it would be, she took one of the candles and went to the door. Yes. Emily, holding her candle, her hand trembling slightly.
“Please—can I come in for a minute?”
Katherine moved back to her bed and the child followed and put her candle on the night table. Katherine got into bed and indicated that the child should sit beside her.
“I’m scared,” Emily said.
It was more than the dark. Katherine said, “I’m not likely to be as much help as your parents.”
“I think it’s moral support I want,” Emily said.
“What are you afraid of?”
“It’s so dark.”
“You’re at home. I’m with you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
The shrill shrieking of several police cars speeding along the avenue assailed their ears. Emily’s voice was low. “There’s always something to be afraid of.”
Nightly fears and fantasies? “Something real?”
“Very real,” the child said. A thin wash of lightning flooded the room, then left it seeming darker than ever. There was a pause of nearly ten seconds before the thunder grumbled its way across the sky.
“You’ve been afraid of something ever since I first met you, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
Katherine sensed a shudder moving across the child’s body. “I think you’d better tell me about it.” Did she want to know? Not necessarily. But she had come to love this child. She had to ask.
“I want to tell you, but I can’t.”
&n
bsp; “Why not?”
“She said something terrible would happen to me if I said anything, and it did.”
“Who said?”
Now she could feel Emily’s trembling. “I can’t tell you. If I told anybody, it would be you, but I can’t.”
There were times when Manya had had to prod the young Katherine. “I think you must.”
Now Emily’s arms reached for her, clutched her. Katherine held the child, smoothed the soft, fair hair. Emily whimpered, “I can’t. I can’t.”
Katherine soothed her. “Hush. What are you afraid of? Who has threatened you?”
“I don’t dare … She said something terrible would happen if I said anything, and it did.”
“Who did you speak to?”
Emily clutched at her. “You promise me that nothing will happen, that I won’t get hurt again?”
“I can’t make that kind of promise. But my instinct tells me that you are less likely to be hurt if you stop holding on to this secret and let me share it.”
Emily pressed her cheek against Katherine’s shoulder. “You know that Tory goes over to the Undercrofts’ a lot in the afternoons?”
“Yes.”
“I used to, too, before … We’d go there and Mrs. Undercroft would have Mrs. Gomez bring us tea, and little sandwiches and cakes. Sometimes other kids, from Tory’s class mostly, came, too. I don’t think Mom and Dad liked it much, but they weren’t home when we got back from school, and we both got good grades. And Mrs. Undercroft made us feel special.”
Katherine pushed the pillows up behind her, so that she could lean more comfortably against the headboard.
The child continued. Now that she had started, her words were splashing out like a small stream released. “She said that we—Tory and I—had spiritual gifts, special spiritual gifts. She said she can sometimes see into the future, and that she can tell what people are thinking. And she said she couldn’t have children, and she was sad about this. So we were the children of her heart.” The child’s last words were cut off by the screaming of an ambulance, the shrilling of more police cars. “I wish the lights would come on,” Emily whispered. “If they don’t come on soon, there’ll be lots of violence. Listen to all those police cars.”
A Severed Wasp Page 41
