Rhythm and Rhyme

by Dixie Carlton

  Marija was a little startled by the question. It was not like Mrs Cook to make small talk with the help. “Certainly ma’am, they are lovely children.” Sometimes it was easier to hide behind misunderstanding the language. “Would you like a cup of tea now, Ma’am?”

  “Yes, thank you, and two cups please.”

  “Yes Ma’am”. Marija also nodded her understanding.

  She was nearly at the door when Mrs Cook called after her. “And ask Leonora to come and see me.”

  A few minutes later, Leonora was seated in front of her employer, wondering why she was being offered a cup of tea, in the dining room. On her guard, she wondered if it might possibly have anything to do with her conversation with Mr Cook the week before? It did not escape her notice that he’d only just left that morning.

  “Nanny Leonora, I wanted to ask how you’re settling in here?”

  “Very well thank you, Ma’am.”

  “And the children are not too much trouble?”

  “No Ma’am, they’re very nice children.” Leonora sipped her tea. She too knew how to hide behind language misunderstandings and was hoping to avoid any direct questions she might find too hard to answer. But she’d met women like this one before. Wiley like a fox, just like the mother of the children she’d worked for once before, who was sure that those children’s father was far too friendly towards her. That had not ended well, but it was a few years ago now and Leonora knew how to be careful.

  Sybil decided to try a different tack. “I’m thinking of taking the children to the Christmas Parade on Sunday.” She let that hang there for a moment. Leonora simply sipped her tea and looked at her, as though waiting for her to continue. “But curiously, when I suggested it to them, they were more concerned about missing out on going to the park with you?” She waited. Again, Leonora returned the silence and sipped her tea. “So, I think perhaps I shall take them to the parade and then to the park myself. You may therefore have this weekend off!”

  “Yes Ma’am.” Leonora waited to see if there was anything further?

  “That is all, you may go now. Thank you.” Sybil was irate that the girl was clearly playing her at her own game, and might in fact be a worthy opponent. The sooner the boy was sent to school and the girl packed off somewhere the better, she resolved. And realizing that she’d now painted herself into a corner whereby she had to take the children to the parade and then to the park, she was even more frustrated. She still also believed something was going on, but unable to imagine what that might be. Perhaps the nanny was in on it, but maybe not. She’d have to start watching out for anything interesting.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Solange was asleep, and yet, just as she’d always done, was instantly alert to the slightest presence of something being wrong. Waiting for a further sound, hair bristling on the back of her neck, she arose from her bed when she heard it and quickly shucked clear the lace gown she’d been wearing and instead pulled on a pair of black pants over satin knickers. That was enough for Solange to be temporarily moved out of the way and Gregory to emerge, and he waited, ears alert to anything coming from the direction of downstairs.

  He reached for a dark shirt hanging behind the door, in order to cover up some of the whiteness of his upper body and then moved on bare feet through the tiny upstairs apartment, pausing at the top of the stairs. He estimated the time to be somewhere around midnight to two based on how dark it was and how rested he felt. After four or five hours, he was good, better than good maybe. He was alert, refreshed, and he knew the layout of this place better than the back of his own hand. And so he waited, in the shadows of the top of the stairwell, for whatever had awoken him to reveal itself.

  He didn’t have to wait long. As dark as it was downstairs, and messy, the intruder kicked what sounded like a pair of scissors which slid across the floor. Soon, the intruder was testing the bottom stair, and perhaps testing his own night vision in the lower stairwell area. The third step would have given him away anyway, and quickly did. The man paused again, and by this time Gregory was able to make out his shape. He was sure it was the man from the night before, again.

  Finally, the man was on the almost top step and, from out of the shadows, Gregory stepped quickly forward and aimed a strong kick at the direction of the man’s chest, sending him hurtling backwards down the stairs. Crashing to the floor, he was wounded, with blood running out of a gash in his head, and his breathing severely labored. Unconscious, but alive. Good, thought Gregory. He turned a light on, and went to investigate carefully, unsure who this person was, but determined to find out. Thomas stirred slightly and then slumped again. The wound on his head was not bleeding too badly, but he had landed hard, and this made it easy for Gregory to move the man into a chair, tie him up with a few twists of fabric, and wait for him to come around to consciousness. When the waiting proved to take too long, he grabbed he man’s head and poured scotch over his face, not caring that the alcohol burned the man’s eyes.

  Shaking as he came around, Thomas was startled to see the man/woman he was seeking to learn more about peering into his eyes. He tried to head-butt him, but his own head felt like it would literally explode as he tried to move it, and then felt the man’s hand slap him hard for having contemplated such a move.

  “Ah, so you’re awake!” Gregory walked a few feet away, sat on the second step, and looked at the man he’d strapped to his large wooden chair. He took out a file and started to shape his nails… casually, waiting for his captive to come further into consciousness.

  Thomas’s eyes rolled back in his head and he tried to focus on the man sitting on the step. He could taste blood in his mouth, and he wondered if in fact he’d cracked his skull. His back also felt numb and tingly, in a very odd way, almost as though his body was somehow disconnected from his neck down. Well tied, he realized quickly that it was unlikely he’d be able to escape from whatever was coming, so tried instead to think through the options that lay before him. God, it was so damned hard to form any solid thoughts though.

  Gregory, casually watching from the second step, waited just a little longer, then put the metal file down, and instead picked up a rather large boning knife. Making a show of testing it by shaving some of the hairs off his arm, satisfied, he finally looked hard at the pathetic creature lolling in the chair and spoke slowly.

  “What is your name?”

  Thomas moaned, trying to speak but slurred badly instead. His mouth was very dry which didn’t help.

  “I’m not going to waste a great deal of time on you, I was enjoying my sleep, and frankly I don’t really give a damn about you after this, but I do intend to find out who you are and why you are suddenly a problem in my life. So, let’s try that again shall we?”

  Thomas looked at him but stayed silent.

  Gregory lunged at him, with the knife and held it firmly up to Thomas’s throat, cutting through the skin just enough to force a small show of blood to appear on the knife. He kept hold of Thomas’s head by his hair and tilted his head back enough to ensure the light glinting off the knife showing the man his own blood. Thomas’s eyes widened further in fear and his bladder let go its contents. Gregory smelled the man’s urine and bringing his own face even closer to Thomas’s, he repeated his question, quietly measuring out each syllable.

  “What is your name?”

  Thomas tried to answer, and his words came out as a croak, but were generally able to be understood. “Thomas Morris… water?”

  Gregory wasn’t quite sure he’d heard right, and took a moment to digest what he’d heard. He pulled back from holding Thomas’s head and backed away from him, glancing down at the wet crotch and small puddle on the floor in disgust. He turned to the sink nearby and put some water into a cup, then threw it at the man. Thomas licked his lips desperately, seeking solace to his dry mouth and tongue, and finding it barely made a difference. He looked longingly at the cup in the man’s hands.

  Gregory understood very clearly what Thomas needed, and
spoke clearly.

  “Thomas Morris - Margaret’s missing husband. Now what might you possibly be wanting with me I wonder?” He poured a little more water into the cup and sat it down beside him as he resumed his place on the second step. “I tell you what I’m going to do, Thomas Morris. Every time you tell me something of value and interest, I’ll let you have a tiny sip. If you don’t, then I’m going to slowly carve the skin off your neck. And perhaps eventually I’ll make it so damn bloody and slippery, my knife might just… slip!”

  He raised his eyebrows at Thomas, indicating he expected some kind of positive response and was pleased to see a nod of understanding.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  After nearly an hour, which afforded Thomas a few lapses in consciousness, Gregory had finally gleaned the entire story from Thomas, before he let the man fell fully into the coma he would never awake from. To his credit, Thomas had every reason to believe it was likely to be his final confession and did his best to answer Gregory’s questions, despite some early resistance. Gregory was spared the ugly torture he was somewhat prepared to invest in to extract the information he required, and for that he was in fact quite grateful. Thomas, being dead by morning, still sitting in the chair where Gregory had left him was a very unpleasant start to his day when after another two hours of sleep, he returned to the downstairs area and stood looking at the man’s body.

  It was a long time since he’d had to deal with anything like this, but based on a couple of past experiences, he knew that he would only have a few hours to deal with it properly. Fetching a large bolt of black gaberdine, he untied Thomas from the chair, rolled him up in the fabric, then secured the bundle with some rope. He kept the head area reasonably accessible - feeling that the least he could do might be to confirm to Margaret that her widowhood was definite. He mulled over how to get her to visit as he worked on cleaning up the mess of blood and urine, finally managing to roll the body into a cupboard for keeping until that night. He would later wish he’d asked about the missing bag of loot, but was not to know just yet that it was no longer in the metal lidded box in the alley.

  Once he’d finished cleaning up, around 7.30, he went back upstairs to wash, shave and dress once again in silks and a brightly colored caftan, finished off with short curly black wig and a bold red lipstick. His favorite color. He went back downstairs and thought some more about Margaret and her possible reaction to his news, and decided it was best to call her and invite her to come by for a special gift he’d just acquired.

  Margaret was totally surprised by a knock on her door from the landlady soon after 9 am, saying that she was wanted on the telephone. Wondering who on earth might be calling her, she was thinking maybe it was Grant the lawyer, as she walked towards the phone and picked up the mouthpiece. “Hello?”

  “Margaret, my dear girl, this is Solange.”

  “Oh, Solange, why, how lovely to hear from you?” Immediately concerned, Margaret frowned and looked down at the floor before spotting her landlady hovering in the doorway, listening in as much as possible. She briefly said, “Thank you Mrs Harris, I have it now”, in dismissal. Mrs Harris quickly disappeared behind the door, but Margaret would have bet the farm that she was still listening intently. “What can I do for you Solange?”

  “Oh, well my dear, I have a very special gift I’ve just received in for you that will suit you so well. I wonder if you’d come by and pick it up today?”

  “Oh, how lovely, well I’d like to do that, but I am expected to rehearse with the boys for the best part of today.”

  “Mmmmnn, I must stress my dear girl that you will definitely need to collect it today. I’m sorry it just can’t wait until tomorrow. Perhaps you could come straight away?”

  “I suppose if it is so important, I certainly can do that.” Margaret thought for a moment. “Yes, I can be there in about one hour. I’ll see you then.” As she hung up the phone, she felt a chill run down her back and her hair prickle a little. She knew that as Gregory, Solange had possible access to information about her family. By the time she reached Solange’s store nearly one hour later, she had convinced herself that one of them must have died or something and fairly flew down the congested fabric aisle.

  “What’s happened?” her voice was raised to a frantic pitch and she was breathing hard, having practically run from the tram.

  “My dear Margaret, please, rest, relax, this is not about your children. It’s OK.”

  Margaret looked relieved and very confused all at once and Solange realized she’d put her friend through some considerable distress. “I’m sorry, I should have been clearer. This is simply a gift I was delivered overnight, and I believe you’ll be delighted by it. But first, my dear, please take a seat and enjoy a cup of tea. Let’s get you a little more relaxed first, shall we? There, there, dear, it’s going to be fine.”

  Solange put a hot cup of tea down in front of Margaret and waited for her to sit down, before then adding a small glass of scotch to the offered tea cup. Margaret looked at the glass, sure that maybe she was seeing things. A glass of scotch with their tea was not anything usual, but it was after all barely 10 o’clock in the morning. That prickly feeling in her scalp escalated once again. “What’s that?” she asked stupidly.

  “Scotch, dear.” Solange smiled.

  “Why?” Margaret suddenly felt very small, sitting at the large white table she’d become so familiar with, across from her strange friend, who was offering her scotch for morning tea and smiling with a tightly fixed mouth, as though the smile was not quite real but an afterthought on a portrait.

  “Because you might want it, even need it.” Solange was still smiling, and had not really met Margaret’s eyes yet, and somehow seemed to be very aware of something big that she was calmly waiting to share. “Your gift might shock you a little.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Margaret didn’t quite believe it. At first, she had had to force herself to look, and when she finally did, taking in the matted bloodied head, unseeing eyes, and bruised cheek, she had to stop herself from vomiting all over the body of her very dead husband. Instead she managed to turn and run for the sink in the kitchen, and stood for a long time gagging and retching after her stomach had emptied the contents of her meager breakfast. Feeling chilled all over she allowed Solange to help her back to her chair at the white table and accepted another shot of scotch. Knocking that back, then wondering if she’d be able to keep it down, but breathing through it, she finally dragged her eyes up from the comfort of the wooden floor, to look at Solange.

  “You have every right to want to know how he ended up here my dear, but first, let me tell you that I did not kill him. I may have contributed greatly towards his current state, but I’m not a hardened killer, in case that’s what you’re thinking.” Solange sat down and crossed her legs, folded her arms in front of her body and half glared at Margaret, challenging any resistance to her insistences. None were forthcoming, so she relaxed a bit. “First things first, is he your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, then that at least resolves that issue for you. See, I told you you’d be pleased with your present!” Solange had the indecency to look a little pleased with herself. OK, so I suppose you want the details?”

  Waving her hand about as though telling someone else’s story of a modern-day romance or something equally as trivial, Solange started to explain how she’d woken up, heard an intruder, and then Gregory had taken care of the man walking up the stairs. She left out the parts about having seen him before and any mention of the warehouse or stolen jewelry, and also declined to say anything about what Thomas had said about their possibly being siblings. That could wait. It was quite a story and Solange wanted to sit on that for a while and check out some details before sharing that particular can of worms.

  “But how is it that he came to be here, here of all places? Why was he an intruder into your home? How is it possible that you are somehow caught up in all this craziness? It just doe
sn’t make any sense!” Margaret’s mind was racing overtime on the bizarre coincidences and his untimely death. She was in fact rather annoyed about his being dead, meaning she’d never have a chance to clear some things up about his ongoing presence in her life. Then a terrible thought struck her.

  “Oh no!” She gasped, then poured herself a top up to her drink. Shaking her head, she considered this new issue, and wondered how ever that might resolve itself.

  “What?” Solange looked at her friend with concern. Margaret just sat staring and tapping her fingers on her glass. “What!?” She said again.

  “I assume from the way he’s hidden wrapped up in your spare room cupboard that you’re not planning to call the police?”

  “No, of course-bloody-not! The man died in my house, after I kicked the bastard down the stairs. Besides that, there are some interesting co-incidences in terms of who he is, who you are, and how we may possibly all be connected. Add to that the fact we don’t know if the New Zealand police still have him listed as a person of interest in your lover’s wife’s death a few months ago, and let’s not overlook the fact that I don’t want the attention of the local constabulary buzzing around here like dirty black flies circling rotting meat either! Na-a!”

  Margaret sat silently and watched as Solange came close to breaking the tea set as she started to clear away the debris from their cups of tea. Clearly rattled, she waited until she pulled herself together. Margaret was unsure just how to bring up this next part, but was sure that she was unable to leave it hanging. “It won’t matter if he’s dead or alive if we are the only two people to ever know it.” She let that hang in the air for a moment. Solange stopped rattling the dishes and looked at her. “You’re right - of course. Divorce would not be possible if the husband was never found.” She thought about that for the time it took to dry the cups and saucers and wipe down the bench top. “Oh, my dear, I am sorry. I hadn’t thought of that particular complication.”