Family Vault

by Charlotte MacLeod

  Sarah murmured something to that effect to her husband, but he didn’t seem to take it in. He was so remarkably silent the whole way that at last even Leila noticed.

  “What’s eating you, Alex? I’ve never seen you so mopey.”

  “He has a bug,” said Sarah. “I tried to make him stay in bed, but he came along to infect everybody, thus proving that he’s the noblest Roman of them all. Aren’t you, darling?”

  “No, my dear. Where did you say Harry went, Leila?”

  “Alex, you’re getting deafer than your mother. I’ve been telling you for the past fifteen minutes that I haven’t the foggiest idea. Harry goes where he pleases. At least I assume he pleases, because he keeps going. Which reminded me, Caroline. I’ve decided I’d better ride along with the delegation to Washington next week. Somebody’s got to be around to light a fire under those halfwits or we’ll never get anywhere.”

  “Better tie a note to Harry’s toothbrush this time,” Sarah put in slyly. “Speaking of not knowing who’s where, it seems to me we’ve heard a good deal from him on that score. Remember the time you forgot to tell him you’d be in California for three weeks, and he took it into his head you’d been kidnapped?”

  “Oh, that.” Leila shrugged and kept on talking. Sarah couldn’t get another word in, and Alexander didn’t even try. Once they got to Anora’s, he made a beeline for the inglenook.

  Sarah could hardly believe what she was seeing. Nobody ever went to the inglenook of his own free will. For one thing, it was blistering hot next to the open fire. For another, that was where old George Protheroe sat like a bloated spider, never moving from his place but always alert to net any victim who ventured too near, and tell him the story about the bear.

  Nobody had ever heard the end of George’s bear story. He never got that far. He rambled, lost track, went back and repeated, lapsed into boozy mumblings but would magically revive and bellow, “Wait, I’m not done yet,” if his exasperated prey tried to tiptoe away. Those who felt duty-bound to pay their respects to their host were wont to go in groups so that George couldn’t fasten on a particular target. Even Alexander, long-suffering slave to duty that he was, never went to the inglenook as a rule without arranging with Sarah to call him away on urgent business after a decent interval.

  From force of habit, Sarah went once or twice to see if her husband wanted rescuing, but he appeared content to sit baking by the red-hot logs, letting the old man’s ramblings wash over him unheard. She brought him a large whiskey and a plate of sandwiches, and left him to the bear.

  Caroline was having a gorgeous time with Edgar at the backgammon table. Leila was holding forth about the perfidy of some elected official, always a popular topic with this group. Sarah ducked out of the party and went to visit the cook, who’d been her special friend since milk-and-cookie days and had once owned an obese tortoiseshell cat named Percival. She’d much rather reminisce about Percival than have to describe Ruby Redd’s teeth one more time.

  She stayed with Cook as long as she dared. When she went back to the drawing room, Alexander and George were both asleep in the inglenook, Leila still pontificating, and Aunt Caroline beating the pants off Edgar Merton, who seemed content to have it so. He showed signs of wanting Sarah’s attention, so she walked over to the game table.

  “I was wondering,” he said, “if I might ask Caroline to dine with me at the Harvard Club after we leave here. You and Alex, too, of course.”

  “Edgar, how sweet,” she replied. “I’m sure Aunt Caroline would adore to. I’m afraid Alexander and I couldn’t. He’s not feeling well, and I was just thinking I must chase him home to bed. Why don’t you take Leila Lackridge if you’re nervous about managing by yourself? She’s at loose ends tonight because Harry had to go off on business, and you know how good she is with Aunt Caroline.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Edgar eyed the chattering Leila with no particular favor, but must have decided he wasn’t up to coping with the blind woman’s needs alone. “I’ll do that, then. Too bad about Alex. I’d been thinking he wasn’t quite himself today. Perhaps you and he might come another time?”

  “That would be lovely. Shall I tell Leila while you finish your game?”

  “Would you?”

  Sarah got the dinner party organized, then went to the inglenook and unobtrusively shook her husband awake. “Alexander, we’ve got to go.”

  He looked up at her, still in a daze. “Is Mother ready?”

  “She’s not going home with us. Edgar Merton’s inviting her and Leila to the Harvard Club for dinner.”

  “Oh.”

  He didn’t look surprised or pleased, or anything but exhausted. Sarah steered him across the room to take leave of his mother and his hostess, got him his coat, and led him out to the car. On the way home he spoke not one word.

  She drove up to the house, had to double-park in the narrow street, drawing outraged yells and horn blasts, long enough to get him into the front hall. When she came back from taking the car to the garage, he was still slumped in one of the carved rosewood chairs that flanked the doorway. He hadn’t even unbuttoned his overcoat.

  11

  “I’M GOING TO CALL the doctor,” said Sarah.

  “No, don’t”

  Alexander struggled to his feet. “I’m feeling much better. Truly.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she sighed, “but I don’t suppose he’d come anyway. Give me that coat, and go into the library. You look totally worn out.”

  “Perhaps I wasn’t quite up to George’s bear story,” he admitted with a ghastly attempt at a smile. “Where’s Mother?”

  “I told you she’d gone to dinner with Edgar and Leila. Don’t you remember?”

  She wasn’t sure he understood even now. He stumbled into the next room and collapsed into his father’s armchair as he’d done the night before. Sarah went after him and made up the fire. It occurred to her that he’d left the sandwiches untouched at Anora’s, which meant he’d had nothing in his stomach all day but an eggnog and two stiff whiskies. Perhaps he was simply a little bit drunk. It would be a comfort to think so. She poked a few more bits of kindling into the fire and went to fix him a snack.

  She found Edith in the kitchen, doing nothing in particular.

  “I was wondering what you expect me to do about dinner,” the old retainer said with an air of being greatly put-upon.

  “Nothing,” Sarah replied. “Mrs. Kelling has gone out with friends. Mr. Alexander and I will have something on a tray. You fix what you want for yourself.”

  “What, for instance?”

  “I don’t care. If you can’t find anything in the fridge that suits you, go out to a restaurant.”

  “Costs a fortune.”

  Sarah didn’t bother to reply. Edith went on grumbling.

  “Seems to me there’s been mighty few decent meals cooked in this house lately.”

  “If the cooking were left to you, I daresay there would be even fewer,” Sarah replied. “Would you mind standing away from the stove so I can get at it?”

  “I’m not putting up with insults! I’m going straight in there and talk to Mr. Alex.”

  “You’re doing nothing of the kind. He’s not well, and I won’t have him bothered with your nonsense. I mean it, Edith.”

  Edith looked into Sarah’s face and must have decided she did mean it. She flounced off down the basement stairs. Sarah filled the teapot, heated soup, made toast with melted cheese on it, and carried the tray into the library.

  “I want you to eat every bit of this.”

  Her husband didn’t move, so she filled the soup spoon and held it to his lips. Automatically he swallowed a mouthful or two, then began to feed himself. By the time he’d emptied the cup, he did look a trifle more alive.

  “Feeling better?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, my dear. You’re being very patient with the old man.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? You’ve always been an angel to me.”

  �
�I wish that were true. Though God knows I’ve tried!”

  The sudden agony in his voice was like a blow in her face. Sarah sat on the arm of his chair and took his head in her arms.

  “Has it been that desperate a struggle?”

  Alexander set down his teacup with fumbling care, and closed his eyes. “Sarah, I’m afraid I can’t keep it up any longer.”

  “What do you mean? Do you want a divorce?”

  “A divorce?” Her question jerked him out of his lethargy. “Good God, no! Whatever put that into your head?”

  “What you just said.”

  “I don’t know what I said. I only know that I’ve reached the end of my tether. One does, sooner or later, I suppose.”

  “But why now? It’s something to do with—what we found in the vault, isn’t it?”

  His hands came up to close over her arms in a spasmodic grip but he made no answer. She had to keep on talking.

  “Alexander, I know about the wall. I made a sketch of it while they were off getting tools to tear it down. I thought you’d be interested to see what it looked like.”

  He began to shudder and so did she, but she couldn’t stop now.

  “When they carted away the bricks, one got left behind. Dolph started waving it around and fussing, so I said I’d get rid of it. I stuck it into that big shoulder bag of mine, meaning to dump it somewhere on the way, but forgot. I was in a rush because I was so late getting home. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes. I was annoyed. It seems so foolish now.”

  “You may also recall that after we got home from the Lackridges’, I went to make you some milk toast because you hadn’t eaten and looked so ill. I know now that I gave you a dreadful shock by not telling you about the vault before we went. I truly didn’t mean—”

  “I know, Sarah. How did you—find out?”

  “Well, as I started to say, I went out to the kitchen and that photograph you took of the Secret Garden happened to catch my eye. Your mother’s often told how she and you worked out the pattern yourselves, and the bricks are an unusual size and color. It seemed too much of a coincidence. Last night, after you went to bed, I drove out to Ireson’s Landing with my sketch and the brick, and compared them. I know it was a dreadful thing to do, but I had to know. You can understand that, surely?”

  “Yes, my dear, I understand. Is there any more tea?”

  She filled his cup, and he drank.

  “In a way, I’m relieved that you found out for yourself. I’ve been wondering how I could ever tell you. I thought it would be the end of everything, but you’re still here. Why, Sarah?”

  “Because I love you, silly! I won’t say I’m exactly happy about—”

  “Sarah, you can’t think I had anything to do with Ruby’s being killed? I was crazy about her!”

  The corners of Alexander Kelling’s exquisite mouth curved in a sweet, tragic half smile. “Does it disgust you to learn that your stuffy old crock of a husband once made a fool of himself over a striptease dancer?”

  “No, I think it’s rather—touching. You must have been awfully young.”

  “Young and brainless. If I’d had sense enough to keep away from things I didn’t know how to handle, Ruby might still be alive. Do you suppose I could have a little whiskey?”

  “Of course, darling.”

  Sarah took her time getting the drink, aware of his need to be alone for a few minutes with whatever he was seeing in the firelight. She went out to the kitchen to fetch ice and made sure Edith wasn’t within listening distance. The maid had evidently fixed herself a strange supper of leftovers, baked beans, and poached eggs, leaving the tin, the shells, and several dirty pans in the sink as a gesture of defiance. They needn’t worry about her coming up again before Aunt Caroline was due home. It was an oddly peaceful moment.

  Alexander would tell her when he was ready. She was in no special hurry to hear the story, she thought she could almost tell it herself. Another lover, jealous of Alexander’s incredible beauty as all men must be, threatening the dancer. “If you don’t stay away from that college boy, I’ll kill you.” The kind of woman who’d get her teeth set with rubies wouldn’t care much for being bossed around.

  Tim O’Ghee had called Ruby Redd the meanest woman he ever knew. Mean enough to play off one lover against another, no doubt, not believing the jealous one had nerve enough to carry out his threat until it happened. Alexander would have helped to hide the body not out of fear but because he’d feel responsible for having been the cause of the fatal quarrel.

  Poor Alexander! No wonder he’d shied away from women for so many years before marrying his eighteen-year-old cousin. No wonder he was still not able to function as a normal husband. Coming, as this must have done, so soon after his father’s death and his mother’s tragedy, it was a wonder Ruby’s murder hadn’t sent him straight over the edge. Then to keep it bottled up inside him all these years—she added an extra dollop to the drink and carried it back to the library.

  “I made sure Edith hasn’t got her ear glued to the keyhole,” she explained. “She’s downstairs listening to some idiotic program, so we’re safe for a while. Now would you like to tell me? You’ll feel better once it’s out of your system.”

  “Are you sure you want to know, my dear?”

  “Yes, I’m perfectly sure. You have to remember, Alexander, that this is a lot easier for me than it is for you because it happened years before I was born. I’m not personally involved, you see.”

  “I wish that were true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I—I’m finding this extremely hard, Sarah.”

  “I know you are, darling. Why don’t you simply begin talking? Start with something easy. How did you happen to meet Ruby Redd?”

  “Oh, a bunch of us from Lowell House got into the habit of catching the show at the Old Howard on Saturday nights, then doing the Scollay Square bars. We thought we were seeing life. God!”

  “Go on,” Sarah prodded.

  “Well, needless to say, those teeth of Ruby’s captured our puerile fancies, and we started a sort of fan club. Rubies—crimson for Harvard—that sort of nonsense. There was a certain—carnivorous fascination about them. And, of course, Ruby was a striking creature altogether; vibrant, flamboyant, totally different from anyone I’d ever known. I grew up in a somewhat bloodless atmosphere, as I daresay you realize. Father was an austere sort of man. I suppose he’d learned to keep his emotions under control because of his heart trouble. Mother was never demonstrative, either.”

  “That’s true enough.”

  In all the years she’d known Aunt Caroline, Sarah could not recall her making one spontaneous gesture of affection toward the son who’d sacrificed his life to her needs. It wasn’t hard to see why a naturally loving youngster like Alexander would be drawn toward any woman who promised even a spurious warmth.

  “We were all climbing the walls one night with excitement when Ruby came into Danny Rate’s Pub after the show. We found that was her regular hangout, so it became ours, too. As I recall, it was Harry who first got up nerve enough to approach her, but she soon took a fancy to me, for some reason. Needless to say, I was pretty cocky at that. I haunted Danny Rate’s until Ruby invited me to her dressing room. After that, one thing led to another. I shan’t bore you with the details. It didn’t last long, in any event.”

  He shook his head and gulped down about a third of his drink. “I came home one night and found her dead in the front hall.”

  “Home? You don’t mean here?”

  “Yes, my dear. On the floor in front of that marble-topped console, with her red satin skirt spread out around her like a great pool of blood, and the back of her head—”

  He got his voice under control after a while, and struggled on. “I don’t know how long she’d been there. She was cold when I touched her. I don’t know why I touched her. I suppose I thought there might be something I could do.”

  “But how did she get here?”

/>   “I have no idea. I wouldn’t have thought she’d even know where I lived. I stayed in the dorms, you know, my freshman and sophomore years. Mother still had her vision then, and we were trying to live normal lives. I did come home a good deal more than I might have if Father was still alive, but I wasn’t quite besotted enough to think Ruby was the sort of girl one brings home to Mother. All I can tell you is that she was lying there, and it was clear that she’d been murdered.”

  “Are you sure? Couldn’t she have slipped and cracked her head against the edge of the console?”

  “I don’t see how. She was lying on her face, and it was obvious she’d been struck from behind.”

  “By whom?”

  He shrugged. “Mother, of course.”

  “Alexander, you can’t be serious! Aunt Caroline wouldn’t kill anybody.”

  “She killed Father.”

  “But that’s crazy! Uncle Gilbert died of heart failure because he forgot his medicine. Your mother almost lost her own life trying to save him.”

  “Father didn’t forget his medicine. Mother emptied the bottle overboard.”

  “How can you know?”

  “I saw her. She thought she was alone on deck. We were becalmed in a fog, as you’ve heard. That part of the story is true enough. Father was resting in the saloon, and I was supposed to be in the galley fixing lunch. I couldn’t find something or other, so I poked my head up through the hatch to ask Mother where she’d stowed it. When I saw what she was doing, I pulled back fast.”

  “You actually saw her do that?”

  “Oh, yes. She was only a couple of feet away from me. I couldn’t believe it at first. I tried to tell myself it was some trick of the fog. But then she came below and a bit later she started fussing at Father for having been so careless as to bring an almost empty bottle instead of a full one. He said it was full, so then she said he mustn’t have got the cap on tight. They had quite a row over it, which of course wasn’t supposed to happen. Father started getting short of breath and having chest pains. It was obvious we’d have to put in to shore, which we couldn’t do because there was no wind.