Hunt with the Hounds

by Mignon G. Eberhart

  “Calm down, Wat.” Fitz did not move from the footstool. “Calm down. You’re not making a political talk.” There was a faint smile on his mouth but his eyes were extremely intent. He said quietly and sincerely: “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Wat. I don’t think you killed your father; nobody does. Put your coat on.”

  Caroline said suddenly, “It’s a very terrible thing to suggest that a man would kill his own father—or a woman her own sister or …”

  Camilla gave a faint, shrill scream. Caroline went on with a grave solemnity that held them quiet “… or that a friend would lift his hand against a friend. But murder is a terrible thing, too.” She looked at them with her blue, grief-stricken eyes for a long moment; no one spoke. Caroline said: “I don’t think Fitz meant to suggest that you had fired that shot at Sue tonight, Wat. For one thing you wouldn’t have any reason to. Nobody needs to be afraid of Sue; she wouldn’t hurt anybody. Even,” said Caroline looking down at her strong, small hands, “even if she knew something that could hurt anybody she wouldn’t tell it, she’s not that kind. But Fitz means that we—all of us here—knew Ernestine the longest and knew her better than anybody else. And we knew”—she bit her lip and said with a little quaver—“and we knew Tom Luddington, too. Of course, Ernestine knew other people, especially lately since the war and since it’s got so fashionable around here, with all the rich New Yorkers and the people from Washington coming out here to buy places and hunt and all the—the politicians and the diplomats and the—everybody,” finished Caroline with a sigh, “but I still think that if we tried we might—we just might get some idea, some fact …” she floundered, seeking a word, pushing back her untidy wad of hair and Woody said with a gleam that was half amusement and half pride, “Clue …”

  “Why, yes, that’s what I mean. Clue. If we could just talk about it …”

  “We have talked about it,” Ruby said unexpectedly from the couch. “We’ve talked and talked about it. All winter.”

  “Yes, I know but …” Caroline’s troubled gaze appealed to Fitz. “That is what you meant, isn’t it?”

  Fitz’s brown face was closed and thoughtful. He said, after a second or two, “Yes. Yes, that’s right.”

  Caroline said, “For instance, maybe Wat passed somebody on the highway, somebody that turned in at the woodland and …”

  “I didn’t,” Wat said. “I went by the other road. Much earlier, too, unless the fellow was hidden out there all afternoon, or all day for that matter, waiting his chance.”

  Waiting his chance—creeping nearer and ever nearer the house, from one leafy covert to another. Something cold and inimical seemed to hover at the edges of the room, to walk on soundless feet along the hall, to peer secretively through the windows from the darkness outside. Sue rose, not knowing what she was going to do nor where she was going, and Fitz got up, too, and took her hand again. “It’s all right, Sue. We’re here with you.”

  She met his eyes which tried to reassure her; she sat down again, slowly, holding tightly to Fitz’s hand. Caroline was making a valiant attempt to smile at her, giving her courage.

  Ruby said from the couch, “I tell you it’s a tramp.” She was not in riding clothes. She had taken time to change to a red tweed suit; a diamond pin sparkled at the throat of her white blouse. She reached in one pocket and then another for a handkerchief; the shifting of her weight displeased Reveller who rose with an outraged look, got down from the couch and stalked out.

  Jed saw Fitz’s hand on Sue’s; he also saw the look she and Fitz exchanged. He started forward and stopped, watching, his face tense. Camilla saw it, too, and sat up; her jaw seemed to widen and fix itself. It was again a look of Ernestine’s. Sue was aware of that; she was aware of Jed, yet in a curious way she seemed to be aware of it without looking away from Fitz.

  He said, “Remember, now you’ve been warned; now we’ve all been warned. So we can take steps, we can do something, we can …”

  “Exactly what?” Jed demanded. He was angry. There was a deep flush in his handsome face, his shoulders squared aggressively and he flung back his black head and looked at Fitz with anger and defiance. “Exactly what? And exactly why and how have you constituted yourself an authority, Fitz? You act as if you own Sue. I’ll take care of her. I don’t need your help. And besides,” added Jed suddenly, “you’re not exactly in the clear about Ernestine. You were always hanging around after her; she told me so. Maybe you shot her yourself. Maybe she wouldn’t have anything to do with you and you …”

  Camilla stood up, her face white, her eyes far back in her head, “Jed Baily, that’s not true! Ernestine always thought every man was after her. Ever since she was a little girl. She was just as vain as she could be. She always tried to take my beaux away from me. She just couldn’t stand it if anybody liked me. You know that, Jed Baily. You know it was me you liked first, when you first came down here. You liked me but Ernestine thought you were a catch and a better catch than either of us was ever likely to get again and she just walked right in and took you away from me and you know it. You didn’t have a chance.”

  Jed started to speak, stopped, thrust his hands into his pockets. Camilla swept on, “That’s the way Ernestine was. She couldn’t stand it if anybody got ahead of her. She was going to make the best match, and have the finest house and the finest position and when Ruby came back with all that money and Wat headed for a high position in Washington just as sure as anything, you know how mad Ernestine was. And then Fitz came, and he’s famous with all that war-correspondent background; everybody knew who he was and what he’d done, and here he was, settling down to write his articles and all sorts of Washington people, statesmen and everybody—people Ernestine wanted to know—kept coming out to talk to him and she saw that he was important, and besides he’d inherited the Fitzjames place so he was Virginia, too—when she saw all that she just went after Fitz, too, and …”

  “Camilla,” said Fitz, but rather helplessly, too. “No. No, she didn’t.”

  Camilla did not even take a breath. “… but I’ll tell you this, Jed Baily. Ernestine was so vain she’d say anything but—Fitz didn’t like her. He didn’t like her one bit. She used to invite him and invite him but he wouldn’t come and …”

  Caroline said in an icy voice, “Camilla, it’s not decent to talk like that. However …” she added, “now that you’ve said so much you may as well go on. You say Ernestine was interested in men; do you mean that she would have divorced Jed if another man had come along whom she liked better?”

  But Camilla had thought twice. She stood there, her hands clenched at the sides of her flowing, flowered silk dress, her jaw firm. But her eyes, sunken so far back that there was only a dark glimmer had a rather frightened glimmer. She looked like Ernestine, her coronet of blonde braids was so like Ernestine’s that from the back they would have been indistinguishable. But Ernestine was smarter than Camilla; Camilla only then saw that she had gone too far. She turned to Jed, her voice high and plaintive. “Jed, I didn’t mean all that. I’m nervous and upset. But you—I never meant to hurt you, Jed, or to—you’ve always been so good to me. So was Ernestine, after she married you. Nobody could have been nicer to me than you. You gave me a home, and you gave me everything just as if I were really your sister. You—I didn’t mean I thought you were in love with me; Ernestine was prettier and—Ernestine just naturally got whatever she wanted, she wouldn’t give up. I …”

  “Oh, that’s all right, Camilla,” Jed said. “I guess it’s the truth, too. I did know you first, before I knew Ernestine. But then Ernestine—but I sort of disappointed her. I—I guess all I ever wanted was just to live in the country and ride and …”

  Camilla flared again but this time in defense, “Why shouldn’t you? What’s the matter with that kind of life? Ernestine hadn’t any right to nag you the way she did. Ernestine …”

  “Ernestine had so much talent,” Jed said, staring at the carpet. “She was made for a more—more glittering sort of
life. Ernestine …”

  “Ernestine,” said Ruby, sitting bolt upright, “was a pig! There’s no use in looking at me like that, Wat. She was. I know all about not speaking ill of the dead, but she was downright mean.”

  “Ruby!” cried Wat.

  Camilla, thoroughly aroused and reckless turned on Ruby. “That’s just because she wouldn’t sell Duval Hall to you. You thought you’d come back home with all that money you got out of that old man you married and you’d just ride high, wide and handsome. You’d get Wat into politics and push him along with that money till he really got to be somebody important and you’d buy Duval Hall because it was the loveliest and oldest place anywhere around here and you’d set up the kind of establishment there that would make the rest of us feel like ten cents. You had a real quarrel with Ernestine about it, too. I knew it but didn’t tell anybody because I knew you wouldn’t really shoot her; it didn’t mean anything that way. But you did quarrel with her. She knew she’d got the loveliest place in the county and it rightfully ought to have been hers, too; it was our grandfather’s house. But you wanted it to get ahead of Ernestine. You’ve always been like that, you and Ernestine, ever since you were little girls, only Ernestine used to spit things out and you always just kept quiet and …”

  Wat, spluttering again, went to Camilla. “You shut up, Camilla Duval! It’s disgraceful for you to talk like that. Besides,” he took a breath. “Besides, suppose Ruby did offer to buy Duval Hall and pay a handsome profit to Ernestine, too. What’s wrong with that? You can make an offer for a house, can’t you, without being accused of murder!”

  “I didn’t accuse Ruby of murder. I said she didn’t. But they did quarrel and they kept right on quarrelling even after Ruby gave up and bought that huge place of the Chesters’ with all that land and the stables and the greenhouses and swimming pool and,” said Camilla running out of breath, “that English butler. English butler. None of us around here has an English butler!”

  “Ruby!” Fitz said in a voice that sounded, by contrast to Camilla’s, extremely quiet and friendly. “Did you really quarrel with Ernestine?”

  Wat turned quickly to Ruby. “Tell Camilla she doesn’t know what she’s talking about! She can’t go around making statements like that! It’s—it’s …” Wat hesitated and said rather flatly, “I don’t know exactly what it is but we’re not going to let her. Now you tell them the truth, Ruby.”

  But Ruby, after her burst of energy, had lapsed back into her usual rather cow-like stolidity. It was a troubled and anxious stolidity; she turned her great brown eyes to Wat and to Fitz appealingly, she knotted up the handkerchief she had finally found and diamonds winked on her fingers as she did so, but she wouldn’t talk. Wat said, “You see? Ruby wouldn’t quarrel with anybody.”

  “Woody,” Caroline said clearly. “You put that gun right down.”

  Woody did have a gun, a heavy business-like revolver held in a very business-like way in his right hand. As if they were on a string which Caroline unexpectedly pulled, everyone jerked that way. Sister Britches behind Caroline got up and snapped.

  She didn’t snap at anyone, she snapped into the air, but she was suspicious and nervous; her amber eyes sparkled; Caroline’s voice hadn’t been right.

  Woody said, “I’m not going to shoot anybody, for Heaven’s sake, Aunt Caroline.”

  Fitz got up. “It’s late. We’ll see what the police dig up about the thing tomorrow. May I stay here, Miss Caroline, tonight? Woody and I can take turns watching.”

  Jed said, “You go on home, Fitz. This is none of your business. Sue and I … If anybody stays here I’m going to stay. You go on home.”

  Ruby got up and started in a stolid but determined way for the door. Camilla cried, in her thinnest, highest voice, “But Jed, if you stay here, I’ll have to stay at home alone and I’m afraid, too. I’m afraid …”

  “The servants will be there …”

  Camilla went on plaintively and determined, gathering up her long coat, “It isn’t that I mind your staying. I think it’s right that you should. Sue is engaged to you; she’s going to be married to you and it’s your place to stay, but I’m afraid and I—Fitz, maybe I could stay at your place.”

  Fitz got out cigarettes and said nothing and Caroline pushed up her hair and said severely, “That’s not a bit proper, Camilla. I’m surprised at you. Besides, there’re all sorts of servants at Duval Hall and you can have Sam Bronson sleep in the house if you want to. He’d be protection—not that I think Jed needs to stay here or anybody—we can lock all the doors. I got new keys this winter and Woody—Woody,” snapped Caroline, suddenly angry, “I told you to put down that gun.”

  Woody put the gun down on the table. Camilla, shrugging into her coat, said, “Sam Bronson, pooh! He’s no account, half drunk most of the time. Besides he’s not been near the place for days.”

  Wat, following Ruby, turned nervously to Camilla, “We’ll take you home, if you want us to, Camilla. I suppose you could stay at our place, eh, Ruby?”

  Ruby was already in the hall and out of sight; her voice came back like a disembodied sort of echo, but very calm and stolid, “No. I don’t want her.”

  “But—but …” Wat’s sharp face wrinkled up; he darted after Ruby. “But Ruby, that’s not—it’s Camilla—you can’t …”

  Ruby had progressed slowly but methodically down the hall; again her voice came back, although from further along. “I don’t like what she said. I won’t have her in my house. If you’re coming home with me, Wat, you come on now.”

  “But you—you didn’t say good night to Miss Caroline or …”

  “Good night, Miss Caroline.” Ruby’s voice came back in an unmoved and unhurried way and the front door closed firmly.

  Wat put his head in the door, blinked rapidly, adjusted his tie and said to Caroline: “I’m sorry, Miss Caroline, I—you know how women are. And Camilla wasn’t nice. She wasn’t one bit nice but still …”

  Caroline, too, was aroused. “I don’t think Ruby acted very nice either, Wat, and you can tell her so. Fitz, if you want to stay you’re welcome to. Or …” she looked worried but turned to Sue questioningly. “Or Jed if—if, well …”

  Wat disappeared into the hall; Jed put his arm around Sue and Fitz said coolly, “We’re not going to quarrel about it as long as somebody stays and keeps an eye on the place. Not that I think whoever was in the woods is going to risk coming back tonight.… Do you want me to take you home, Camilla? I really think you’ll be safe there. Sam Bronson probably has turned up by now.”

  “Well, he hasn’t,” Camilla said. “He’s been gone for days now. Just disappeared without saying a word to anybody. Lazy, no account …” She took a breath and went to put her hand on Jed’s arm. “Jed, you will forgive me if I said anything bad and cross, won’t you? You’ve been wonderful to me, just like a brother. I didn’t really mind about Ernestine and you, I mean I—I only meant …”

  “It’s all right, Camilla.”

  Fitz said to Woody, “You and Jed can fix things, of course—but it seems to me you might take turns …”

  Jed’s eyes had angry lights. “We don’t need your advice, thank you.”

  “All right.” Fitz turned in an unperturbed way to Sue. “Good night, Sue. I don’t think anything’s likely to happen tonight. Honestly I don’t.” He took her hand briefly. She couldn’t read anything in his eyes or in his voice. It wasn’t like Fitz to give up like that, resign her to Jed’s fiery air of proprietorship. It wasn’t like Fitz to walk calmly away and that was exactly what he did. He said good night to her; he said good night to Miss Caroline. Woody walked down the hall with him and Camilla hurriedly followed, the little ghost of Ernestine’s perfume drifting after her.

  Jed sighed. “Miss Caroline, could I have a nightcap?”

  “Why I—why yes.” Caroline gave Sue a troubled look, then rose and went out. Sister Britches, still worried, glaring at Sue and at Jed in a threatening manner, pattered after her. Jed said, “Sue
, do you suppose—it just occurred to me—but suppose it was Sam Bronson. In the woods tonight?”

  Of the bewildering factors that made up that bewildering night this suddenly seemed to Sue the most fantastic. She looked blankly at Jed. “But—but why? Why? Sam Bronson …”

  Woody from the front door said loudly: “Okay, Fitz—we’ll phone in the morning …” A car started down the driveway—Fitz’s car with Camilla riding with him. Jed heard it, too. He said, “Sue, I wish you wouldn’t—well, encourage Fitz, it looks …”

  “Jed,” she said desperately, “you must believe me. I’ve tried to tell you—everything’s changed. You must believe …”

  But he did believe her, she was sure of it; he had believed her, at last, that afternoon. His face, however, darkened; he stood for a moment regarding her with something of the sulky look of a boy in his dark eyes. He said finally, “So it’s Fitz …” and Caroline came in with a tray in her hands and Woody followed and looked at the tray with raised eyebrows. There was a glass of milk for Sue, a dark-colored drink for Jed and another for Woody—a bow to his new maturity, but of a markedly lighter color. “And now,” said Caroline firmly as they drank, “you are all going to bed.”

  Actually the two men arranged to take turns sitting up in the downstairs hall; Jed took the first watch, Woody the second. Caroline, Jed and Woody made a tour of the doors, locking them securely. Sue found cigarettes for Jed and Caroline gave him a light woolen rug and a pillow.

  It seemed very late when Sue at last turned out the light in her own room. The room itself was reassuring. It was as it had always been; it denied such things as murder—as a shot from the pine woods. Certainly the house was safely locked and guarded; no one could possibly enter it and if anyone did Sister Britches would raise such a hullabaloo as to wake the dead.