Death in lilac time, p.4
Death in Lilac Time, page 4
In the living room Jane lit a cigarette and spent a few minutes in the confused mire of her own thoughts. She felt divided, lost, her emotions split up, vague. She was definite and determined, however, not to spend the night in this house. Her bag was still in Bart Wayne’s car. There it must stay until she had Seth Godwin’s permission to go to the local hotel. It didn’t occur to her at this time that she might need official permission from the police to make any move at all.
The terrible pressure of the silent house eventually became unendurable. Jane pocketed her cigarettes and, leaving the house by the side door, walked under the white lilacs to the drive of crushed white limestone. At once her mind seemed to clear. The sky, which from the plane had been so morose, was now a pastel pageantry in exquisite colors. Dark clouds on the northwest rim of the sky were rapidly receding. The sun was setting in a flurry of pink and blue and spring green. In the grounds around the house were yellow and red and white tulips, hyacinths and masses of white narcissus. On the bank above the creek they glowed against backgrounds of wild purple violets and lavender sweet william.
Jane sat down on a bank of moss at the top of the bank. The water moved in a gay rush. Meadowlarks and robins were chanting to the end of the day. Jane smoked quietly and began to feel at peace. She took stock. Just what was her situation? Seth Godwin would stand by her. Seth would believe her. The others would line up against her. Two, Uncle Victor and Amelia Mallory, would take no positive stand, but neither really mattered. Mrs. Rollo? Would she risk her job at her age? Why should she?
Bart Wayne?
Bart was a member of the family. Jane could not expect his loyalty to deviate to her on such short acquaintance.
A great yellow car sped along the black pike. Brakes crashed. Denise Clarke in blue tweed sped up the lane, braked again, and got out with a slam of the door of her yellow car. Less than a minute later another car came to a careful stop north of the entrance to the gates.
It backed up cautiously. It stopped again. The motor was cut. It was concealed by the stone wall and embankment from the house but from where Jane sat she could see the spotlight on the roof. It was a police car.
So Seth had been sure of his diagnosis. He had notified the police.
Seth had called the police. That settled it. Dick had been murdered!
But why? Who would want to deprive Dick Mallory of his miserable existence? Could it by any possible chance be a mercy killing? If it were, who would do it? Only Sarah Mallory, his mother, and the very thought was insupportable. Sarah loved him selfishly. She would want to keep him alive for her own sake. In her eyes he had never been wrong. Others, notably Jane, had been the reason Sarah gave for Dick’s making himself ill.
Had he managed to do it himself? Was it suicide?
Oddly enough this idea made sense. It would have been exactly like him, in a macabre burst of humor, to kill himself in a fashion which would humiliate and involve Jane.
She went over their last scene in her mind. Taking it apart. Analyzing each detail. She slipped back into the mental confusion she had experienced in the house. Deliberately then, she divorced her mind from the puzzle and attended to the evening around her. The light was fading. The birds grew quiet until a mocking bird started a throaty medley to the twilight. Jane lit another cigarette and got up and started slowly toward the house.
She was startled by the movement of a curtain in the front window in the parlor. She caught a glimpse of white uniform. The nurse stood there, watching her.
Jane felt a swift fierce anger as she turned along the drive. Watched. She tossed aside her cigarette indignantly. She remembered then that it was against Sarah Mallory’s rules to leave a cigarette end about the yard. She wheeled around and picked it up and destroyed it, loosening the tobacco until it scattered and became an invisible part of the terrain, rolling the fragile paper into a tiny white ball which disappeared among the white stones of the lane.
She walked on and entered by way of the lilac walk and sat down again in the living room. Almost at once the nurse came to the door and stood there, as if expecting to be asked to join her. Jane resolutely ignored her. She picked up a magazine and bent her eyes on a page until Miss James, with a small cough, and a malicious twist of her skirt, went on in the direction of the kitchen.
Mrs. Rollo came from the back of the house and turned on several lamps in the living room. She moved about, drawing the curtains. She poked the fire.
“Miss Jane, can I fetch you something on a tray?”
“No, thank you, Ada. I don’t want a thing.”
“You must eat and keep up your strength, honey.” The dark lean woman turned her head, frowned, and walked over and shut the hall door. “It’ll be a blessing to be rid of that nurse. She makes trouble. She gossips. Be careful with her, Miss Jane. She says anything that comes into her head. She snoops, and she’s always stuffing herself between meals in my kitchen.”
“Isn’t she looking after Mrs. Mallory?”
“Miss Sarah sent her out. Miss Denise is with Miss Sarah. I guess Miss Sarah don’t like the nurse much either.” Mrs. Rollo continued without a break in her tone, “Mr. Bart was in the kitchen just now. He said to send his supper on a tray here with you because Miss Denise will have hers in Miss Sarah’s room.”
Jane’s heart lifted. That was kind and thoughtful of Bart.
“What about Amelia and Uncle Victor?” she asked.
“They’re eating now. In the breakfast room. If that nurse can take time out from minding everybody’s business, she can eat with them.”
“We’re making you a lot of work, Ada.”
“Work is not a bad thing at a time like this.” Mrs. Rollo lowered her voice. “Mr. Bart is a fine man, Miss Jane. A very fine man. Well, I’ll go now and fix your trays.”
She opened the door swiftly and wide. Miss James was standing in the hall just outside.
“I thought you were eating,” Mrs. Rollo snapped.
“I’m just on my way,” the nurse replied, haughtily. Her starch rustled as she marched away.
“Some people!” Mrs. Rollo muttered.
Jane liked the living room. It was a clutter, compared to the studied tidiness of the rest of the house. Sofas and stuffed chairs, tables, books, magazines, stood or lay carelessly about. The conglomeration managed somehow to be comfortably harmonious. There was always a fire in the fireplace with nobody worrying if the ashes spilled about the hearth.
Jane sat back in the sofa and fell asleep at once, because of her prolonged tension and tiredness.
She woke hearing Bart’s voice outside in the hall.
“Amelia?”
A door opened upstairs and a timid voice said, “I’m up here.”
“Come down, dear. Your mother wants you. She’s in her own room now, Amelia.”
“All right,” Amelia said, obediently. Jane heard her wraithlike descent before Bart Wayne came on into the living room. He sat down near her and gave her his friendly smile.
“I’ve been trying to find time to talk with you, Jane.”
Her heart gave a little stir. Her chest tightened and she felt breathless. I’m falling in love, she thought. She felt shocked. It’s crazy. Won’t do. It certainly won’t. And it’s not love. It’s gratitude for his kindness. It’s because he reminds me of what Dick used to be.
She wondered why she had thought there was a resemblance between Bart Wayne and Dick Mallory. There was actually none at all. Perhaps there was something in the shape of the eyes. In their voices. But everything in Bart had kindness. In Dick, cruelty.
“I came through New York a month ago. I wish I had known you then, Jane.”
“I wish you had, too.”
“Dick told me he didn’t know your address.”
“He didn’t, Bart.”
“How did Cousin Sarah find you?”
“Through my lawyer.”
“Were you afraid Dick would follow you?”
“I thought there was no need to communicate, except through the lawyer. I wanted a divorce.”
Bart spoke in swift anger.
“Dick Mallory was all kinds of a jerk. All his life. His mother was probably his worst victim, though so far as I know he never hurt her physically the way he did you. Yet he had an ability to inspire love and devotion far more than most. His mother adored him. Amelia worshipped him. Uncle Victor was genuinely fond of him. Denise would have married him like a shot. That idiotic horse-faced Miss James spoiled and pampered him. All three nurses did. The James woman has no sense. She doted on him and he made the most of it and joked about it. She was too dim-witted to know it.”
Bart got up and kicked a log in the fireplace.
“I want you to know that I’ll speak my piece about Dick Mallory. I almost welcome a police investigation because it gives me a chance to tell the truth.”
“Don’t do it, Bart. It’s finished.”
“Jane, dear, it’s not finished. It’s murder.”
“I can’t believe that, Bart. Who would want to kill him?”
“Who, indeed? But he was poisoned with cyanide. That’s definite.”
Jane was quiet for a moment.
“I saw a police car parked outside the gate. I knew then that it was true.”
“A police car? Already? The highway police or the sheriff?”
“I don’t know. I only saw the roof. Does it matter?”
“I should think so. The highway patrolmen are better trained in modern police methods. The sheriff here—oh, I don’t know. Whichever, it’s going to be a mess. A bungling miserable mess.” Bart came in two strides and sat down beside Jane. “Take care,” he said earnestly. “Please take care.”
Jane sat up, her back straight and angry.
“Why should I take care? I didn’t kill Dick. What possible reason should I have to do such a horrible thing?”
Bart took her hand.
“Listen to me, Jane. I’ve been away a good while. I never knew you, or Dick when you were with him. But when I came back your portrait was in Dick’s room. It’s a beautiful picture, but it isn’t half as lovely as you are. I think I fell in love with you as a picture, but …”
“Please.”
“I’m sorry. Anyway, Dick had an obsession for you. He threatened all sorts of things if his mother didn’t have you back. He threatened to kill himself. He made promises. Cousin Sarah had him tied hand and foot, as you know, because he had no money. Sometime or other he had given her power of attorney over all his estate, and it seems to have been a pretty big hunk of real estate and whatnot. But let’s not go into that now, Jane. Somebody will come barging in. I want to tell you before we’re interrupted that Cousin Sarah is out for what she calls justice.”
“Justice?”
“She claims that you deliberately murdered Dick. She won’t rest till she has her pound of flesh.”
Jane’s eyes were burning with rage.
“Do you agree with her, Bart?”
“Of course not. I … I love you, Jane. I didn’t think these sudden things happened.”
“That has nothing to do with it!”
“No. No. I guess I’m pretty upset. But I have to warn you. Cousin Sarah declares that you murdered Dick for his money and also because he refused to divorce you. You must get a lawyer. Lawyers.”
Jane sat back and said, with perfect calm, “I shall do nothing of the kind. It would make me look guilty.”
“Cousin Sarah is a very determined woman. I wouldn’t care to tangle with her myself. And she’ll have lawyers. The best.”
“Let her.” Jane stood up and took a stand by the fireplace. She felt very strong and composed. “I don’t want Dick’s money. If he was free to leave any, which I doubt. I never wanted it. There is something very terrible about money in this house. It makes everybody miserable. Dick. Amelia. Uncle Victor. All are miserable because of too much or too little money. I want none of it. I had no reason at all for killing Dick. You don’t kill because you want a divorce. Somehow or other, if you want it enough, you get it.” Jane tossed her cigarette into the fire and came back to the sofa. “Don’t worry about me, Bart. If it is a case of woman against woman I think maybe I can stand up to Mrs. Mallory. Don’t worry.”
“I do worry, Jane.”
“Then you must think me guilty.”
“Oh, no,” he cried out. “Don’t say that.” He reached out suddenly and took her in his arms. He kissed her passionately. “Darling! I love you so. I love you. Why did that swine have to have everything? Why didn’t I meet you first?”
Jane drew away. The kiss startled and puzzled her. But she spoke evenly.
“Dick had nothing, Bart.” Tears were in her eyes. “He was the most unhappy creature alive. He had nothing.”
“He had you.”
“No, Bart.”
He put his arms around her. It was madness, but somehow part of the whole mad pattern of an utterly mad day.
Skirts swishing, and gasps, drew Jane’s attention to the open door. The nurse stood there, her sallow face agleam with excitement. She ran her tongue over her thin lips.
“Oh my goodness!” she chirped. “Oh my!”
6
Patrick had put the top down. We rolled along slowly in the fragrant velvety night. Seth Godwin had gone ahead of us. We were to watch for white gates, which stood open, in a white plank fence which followed the lay of the land and at that point dipped to a creek which half-encircled the house on Lilac Hill.
Seth was to put on the outdoor lights so that we could easily spot the house, a big one, Victorian, painted white, tall chimneys.
I had objected to taking any part in this thing. I said that Sarah Mallory would never allow outsiders like us to listen in on the police inquiry. Seth Godwin said we could try, and Patrick was silent as he poked along in order to give Seth time to arrange for our presence. I was sure that it wouldn’t work. I hoped it wouldn’t.
The scent of lilacs filled the air. There were the white gates. Just ahead was the bridge over the creek. There were the white fences that sloped down on each side of the creek.
Patrick turned in between the open gates and drove up the white crushed-rock drive. The hill on which the house stood was hardly more than a knoll. The creek had cut a steep ravine around one side of the five or six acres fenced as the “yard.” Porch lights defined the side entrance. Seth Godwin waved us down at a spot where an avenue of massive white lilacs joined the lane.
Seth motioned us toward the back yard and followed in his lanky stride. The lane passed through a lilac hedge and turned toward a row of garages. Behind these was a log cabin. Its lights were on. The cabin had a crude front porch which was almost entirely draped in wisteria.
“Pretty,” I said, to Seth Godwin, when we parked and got out.
“Uncle Victor’s hangout,” he said. “The family have assembled in the parlor. I didn’t get a chance to speak to the lieutenant, Rex King, of the highway police, or the deputy sheriff, who are in charge. King doesn’t like having been dragged in on the job. Neither does Sarah Mallory. She keeps insisting that we wait for the sheriff to return—he’s away somewhere. And the State’s Attorney’s gone fishing. I suppose Mrs. Mallory thinks it’s easier to manage the local police. The deputy isn’t too sure of himself. Lieutenant King’s a good man but comes from another part of this district. I guess the best thing for you two is to sit in the hall outside the parlor. If anybody sees you and objects, I’ll take it up with King.”
“I don’t like that,” I said.
Patrick said, “Sounds practical enough. What’s King going to do? Question them in a group and then singly?”
“Yes. But he hopes he won’t have to carry it further than tonight. King wants the sheriff back, too. The deputy can take the talk down in shorthand but that’s all he wants to do. We’ll go in by the side door. It opens into the dining room which is at the back end of the main hall. The parlor’s in front.”
He paused for a moment to tell us again that those in the parlor were Sarah Mallory, Denise Clarke, Bart Wayne, Jane Mallory, Uncle Victor, Amelia Mallory, the nurse Miss James, Mrs. Rollo, who was the cook and housekeeper, and the two maids. The name of the deputy was Earl Hollister. King would probably question the servants first, then the nurse.
We entered the dining room. It was large and handsome, papered in red with high dark wainscoting and furnished with massive mahogany pieces that looked older than the house. In the hall, before you came to the parlor door, were two charming Duncan Phyfe chairs. Seth went on into the parlor. I sat down on one of these chairs. Patrick stood behind me because the other chair was too close to the parlor door.
Never had I felt more uncomfortable. Listening in is a part of the detective business, I guess, but I certainly don’t like it. Inside the parlor occasional coughs sounded, and there were small rustlings as paper was leafed through, or squeaks when any of those present moved in his chair.
Lieutenant Rex King spoke in a firm restrained voice.
“First, I must tell you that you are not obliged to answer any of the questions I ask. But it will be to your advantage and ours if you will co-operate as much as you can. Mr. Hollister here will take notes on anything and everything said. I must warn you that anything you say will go on record and can be used against you if necessary. Dr. Godwin, will you give your report first.”
Seth spoke. His quiet easy voice sounded the way he looked. Easy, but sure of himself.
“I was called here shortly after five o’clock. I happened to be on my way and arrived within about ten minutes of the patient’s death. There was a faint odor of cyanide about the deceased’s mouth. He had the look of still being alive that one finds in the faces of people poisoned with cyanide. It acts so fast that the victim looks asleep, not dead.”
“Had you any suspicion that the patient might meet with such a death?”
“Never. I couldn’t understand why it happened. I requested an autopsy. It was performed in the hospital morgue by the pathologist there and our county coroner. The report confirmed my diagnosis. You have it there, Lieutenant.”
