O’ artful death

by Sarah Stewart Taylor

  “It does,” he said, smiling. “Though I suspect the music’s better. In the old days, Gilmartin always insisted on singing. Apparently, he was not gifted with a particularly melodious voice.” They talked about the accounts of the parties in his book for a few minutes and then Britta came over and announced that it was time to eat.

  Sweeney went and filled her plate, and took it over to the couch, where Sabina and Rosemary were sitting with a big group of people.

  “Isn’t Bennett wonderful?” Sabina asked as Sweeney came over.

  “I think I have a little bit of a crush on him,” Rosemary said in a whisper, and Sweeney said that she did, too.

  They ate happily for few minutes, and listened to a story one of the guests was telling about a trip to Morocco on which she had been robbed at knifepoint. Sweeney turned to ask Sabina if she wanted anything more to eat and found her sitting straight up on the couch and staring at the big window on the wall across from them.

  “Sabina?” Rosemary asked after a moment. “Are you okay?”

  “Did you see someone outside?” Sweeney stood up and looked through the window. There was nothing but the party, reflected in the glass. When she went over and cupped her hand against the window, she saw only the empty black night.

  Sabina said nothing. She just stared. And after a moment, she put her plate down and started talking again, assuring them that she was fine.

  The moment passed, but the tension wasn’t broken until Patch came in dressed in boots and a parka. His face was ruddy from the cold. “Anyone want to go for a sleigh ride? I just brought it around.”

  Britta was standing at one end of the room, holding a plate of food. “Patch,” she called out. “You’re drunk. Be careful.”

  “I’m not so drunk,” he called back cheerfully. “And I’m always careful.”

  Toby and Rosemary had put on their parkas and boots, too, and they stood beside Sweeney arm in arm.

  “Come with us, Sweeney,” Rosemary said, grinning. Willow and Ian and Gally and Trip had gotten dressed to go, too.

  “Come on, Sweeney,” Toby said. “Let’s go. You’ll love it. It’s just like in Russian novels. You’ll feel like Anna Karenina, racing across the steppes. And I promise there aren’t any streetcars.”

  They were being kind to include her, and though she felt a thin rivulet of distilled fear snake its way down her spine, she nodded and let them lead her to the door.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The highlight of any Christmas gathering at the Gilmartins was a sleigh ride up to Maple Hill. Herrick Gilmartin loved to drive his little German-made sleigh and he made a tradition of taking his guests up to watch the stars from the summit, one side of which formed a modest cliff above the river and offered pleasing views of The Island.

  He wasn’t content merely to squire his passengers, but would ask the cook to pack a basket of snacks and flasks of hot chocolate fortified with brandy. If there happened to be a musically talented guest at the house, passengers might be serenaded atop Maple Hill as they viewed the night sky.

  —Muse of the Hills: The Byzantium Colony, 1860–1956,

  BY BENNETT DAMMERS

  THE WENTWORTHS’ SLEIGH was painted a glossy black, with red velvet upholstered seats and crimson blankets folded on the floor. It stood nearly ten feet tall, a gorgeous, strange insect that did look as though it were out of a Russian novel.

  “It can seat twelve,” Patch said as he climbed in and took the reins. “We got it from a bed and breakfast that used to take guests on sleigh rides. Isn’t it great?” Sweeney, Toby, Rosemary, Willow, Ian and the twins settled in, tucking the blankets around their legs. Sweeney had put on a pair of Patch’s high winter boots and her parka over her dress, but she shivered in the cold air.

  The two giant Clydesdales harnessed to the sleigh pranced and snorted impatiently. They were handsome animals, their chestnut coats and bell-laden harnesses gleaming under the driveway lights. Patch murmured something soothing to them and turned around, holding up a silver flask. “Anybody? There’s only one way to stay warm on a sleigh ride.”

  “I’ll have a drop,” Ian said. “I think it’ll be really good to be drunk as we careen wildly across the landscape.”

  “Oh come on, Ian. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Willow teased him. “Patch has only lost a couple of passengers.”

  “My grandfather actually did lose one,” Patch said. “Fell right out as they went around a turn. But I probably shouldn’t be telling you that.”

  “What, some artist?” Ian said. “He was probably a depressive and decide to off himself by leaping from the sleigh. You know artists, always offing themselves.” He passed the flask back around the sleigh and it struck Sweeney that he was very drunk. The twins and Toby each took a swig as the flask came around to them.

  “Ready?” Patch called. And with a great heaving the sleigh started off, two battery-powered lanterns on the front showing the way through the night.

  The horses pulled the sleigh down behind the house and across the back lawn, the runners whistling as they skated across the frozen snow. Sweeney took another gulp of the brandy and felt it shoot a warm path to her stomach.

  As they reached the open field, they gathered up speed. It was exhilarating, the cold wind whipping at her face, the other bodies pressed against her. The night was clear and the sky was filled with stars. Sweeney raised her face up to the dark, cold air.

  They sailed across the frozen fields as if borne by a great wind and she watched the cemetery and the Kimballs’ house fly by in the moonlight as the sleigh glided along the edge of the woods and then, suddenly, came out into another open field. The broad, opalescent expanse of it lay out in front of them like a huge, white sheet.

  “How’s everybody doing?” Patch called out. It was almost impossible to hear him in the wind. Trip let out a whoop and stood up halfway, his arms in the air. Sweeney knew exactly how he felt. She never could have imagined it would be so much fun.

  As they came up on the edge of the field, she could feel the horses start to speed up. Patch must have pulled on the reins then because the horses bucked and the sleigh leaned to the side. Sweeney could feel all the bodies shift toward her, as though they were on an amusement park ride.

  She loved them all, she thought, drunk with the alcohol and the cold night air. She loved Toby, and his uncle, and Rosemary, who had been so kind to her, and the twins, their lives ahead of them. She loved them all and they loved her.

  They sped on gracefully across the snow.

  At the end of the field, the sleigh slowed and she could see a dark mound looming in the distance. “That’s Maple Hill up ahead,” Patch called back to them. “There’s a great view of the river from the top.” They began to climb and by the time they reached the top of the hill and came out onto a little plateau, the horses were walking ponderously, pulling the sleigh with great effort. Sweeney felt sorry for them.

  Patch pulled them up next to the dark silhouette of a pine tree. “Now,” he said, lifting a box from the sleigh. “Hot chocolate, anyone?”

  He poured the steaming chocolate from a plastic thermos into Styrofoam cups and added a few drops from the flask to each. Then he reached into the box and brought out a portable tape player, pressing a button on the top. A waltz—Strauss—started up and they all got out.

  Above them, the stars were brilliant in a black sky. It was so dark, it was almost impossible to see anything beyond the sleigh, where Patch had placed a small flashlight on one seat. The Styrofoam cup was warm in Sweeney’s hands. She gulped the steamy liquid and felt the spirits rise against the back of her throat.

  “That’s the river down there,” Willow said, pointing to a glimmering serpent of ice and water below them. “Be careful. It’s a good drop down.” They all approached the edge and looked over. There was something magical about the sight of the water, the dark night, the stars above. The music floated out across the hill, mingling with the gentle wind. Patch grabbed Willow and waltzed a
way with her across the snow. Toby and Rosemary followed, laughing as they disappeared into the dark.

  Sweeney felt suddenly dizzy. She was tired and had had too much to drink. She breathed in the cold air and wandered a couple of hundred yards away from them, to stand under a tree where the hill fell away. She tipped her head back to look up at the sky. The Little Dipper shone brightly, and she picked out the other formations she knew, Orion’s Belt and the Big Dipper. It was so beautiful. She closed her eyes and felt peace wash over her. She heard Toby’s voice calling out, “Where’d you all go? It’s so dark,” then Patch’s laugh.

  Suddenly she heard a crunch of snow behind her and just as she opened her eyes, someone pushed her from behind. It was a surprisingly gentle push and she felt herself fall in slow motion, her upper body teetering over the edge of the hill, her arms flailing as she tried to keep her footing. For a moment, she thought she might be able to regain her balance, but then she felt the snow give way beneath her and she fell backward and started sliding. The hill was steeper than it appeared from the top, and she gathered speed as she slid. Grab something, she told herself. Just grab something. And at that moment her right shoulder hit something hard and she reached with her other hand and got hold of a small tree. It bent discouragingly, then held. She tried to catch her breath, and tried to block out the pain in her right shoulder. Then she was able to get a firm footing and could stand as long as she hung on to the tree.

  “Hey!” she called out. “Help me! Please! Someone pushed me over.” She felt her hold on the tree slip a little, her boots slide on the snow and she called out again.

  Patch’s voice came out of the darkness. “What? Sweeney?”

  “It’s Sweeney.” That was Ian’s voice, directly above her. “Sweeney, where are you?”

  “I’m right here. I grabbed hold of a tree, but I think I hurt my arm. I can’t hold on much longer.”

  “Shit!” That was Patch’s voice. “Wait, let me get the flashlight.”

  But she heard a crashing above her and then Ian’s voice saying, “Where are you? Say something so I can find you.”

  “Here,” she said weakly. “I think I can get back up. It’s just my shoulder.”

  “No, wait. You might be hurt.” Suddenly, he was right in front of her in the dark and he put an arm around her, holding her up.

  “Did you hit your head?” Patch shone a light down on them and she turned to find Ian’s eyes searching her face.

  “No, I don’t think so. Just my shoulder.”

  “I’ve got my foot braced against a tree,” Ian said. “Hang on and I think I can get us both up.”

  They made their way slowly, Sweeney holding his gloved hand and allowing herself to be towed along, her shoulder throbbing, her teeth chattering from cold and shock.

  “Are you okay, Sweeney?” Patch helped them up the last few yards.

  “I think so.” She was shivering violently and Willow brought a blanket from the sled to wrap around her shoulders.”

  “What happened?” Toby asked.

  “I . . . I think someone pushed me.”

  “What?” Toby sounded incredulous.

  “We were all right here,” Patch said. “Nobody would push you. That’s ridiculous.”

  “It was dark,” she said quietly. “You wouldn’t have known.”

  “You must have lost your balance. It’s so dark and we were standing too near the edge.”

  Sweeney’s mind raced. Was it possible she had just stepped over? She supposed it was. Yet, she thought she remembered someone standing there, the feel of a hand on her back. But now she wasn’t sure. Had she imagined it?

  “Let’s head back really slowly,” Patch called out once they were settled in the sleigh again. Toby put his arm around her and let her lean into him, her face against his chest.

  They started for the house in silence, the cold air whipping at the sleigh. Sweeney huddled against Toby for warmth and comfort, wanting to cry.

  WHEN SHE SAW the police car, its blue and red lights swirling in front of the house, her first thought was that someone had called ahead to say there had been an accident. But before she could work through the assumption and realize that there was no way the news could have reached the house so quickly, a second, much worse thought entered her head. Something had happened at the party. The house was alight and through the first floor window she could see a Christmas tree here, a couple dancing there.

  “It’s Cooper. Wonder what he wants?” Patch said as they pulled up alongside the driveway and the sleigh came to a halt.

  “Maybe he’s here to arrest you,” Willow said, then laughed a little too loudly.

  “Mr. Wentworth,” Cooper called out.

  “Is everything all right, Chief Cooper?” Patch jumped down and Sweeney could see in the low light from the house that he was scared, too.

  “Oh yes, just fine,” Cooper said. “It’s just the bridge. The ice floes are up quite high and I think we may want to close it tonight. I thought you could make an announcement to your guests.”

  The party in the sleigh listened and Willow said, “This happens nearly every winter. When there’s been a heavy rain, chunks of ice come rushing down the brook and get all jammed up underneath. You’d think they’d fix it instead of closing it every December. What a pain.”

  “Of course,” Patch told Cooper. “You want everyone off now?”

  “If they want to go at all tonight,” Cooper said. “It’s getting bad. The fire department thinks we’ll have to close it up within the hour to avoid doing any damage. I’d appreciate it if you could make the announcement.”

  “I will.” Patch helped the rest of them get down off the sleigh. When Sweeney walked past Cooper cradling her right arm, he looked at her suspiciously and nodded.

  Patch asked Cooper if he wanted to come in for a drink, but the police chief just shook his head. “Got to get back to the bridge,” he said and turned to go.

  “Sweeney, are you okay?” Britta and Sabina came over as she entered the living room, their faces full of motherly worry and she reassured them that she was just fine. Sabina studied her for a moment, as though she were trying to put together the elements of Sweeney’s face like a puzzle.

  “I’m fine,” Sweeney told her, taking her hand.

  Rosemary came back with a glass of brandy and a little plate of hors d’oeuvres for her, toast with caviar and salmon and a couple of cookies. “That should help,” she said kindly. “Caviar’s a good balm for just about anything.”

  “Thank you,” Sweeney said to her, downing the brandy. “I’m much better now.”

  Patch was standing in front of the Christmas tree, knocking a fork against a champagne glass as though he were calling for a wedding toast.

  He explained about the bridge and said, “You may think I’m just trying to get rid of you and trying to get you to stop drinking my champagne, but Chief Cooper tells me that in fact you really must shove off. So put down your glasses, come on . . .” Everyone laughed.

  His guests filed out slowly, saying their goodnights and thank you’s and exiting into the cold air. Toby came over and put an arm around her, then whispered that he was taking Rosemary and Electra home. Sweeney raised her eyebrows at him and smiled.

  “I like Rosemary,” she whispered. “I wanted to tell you that.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He smiled at her. “You know that you owe Ian a giant thank you?”

  “I know, I know.” She wasn’t as sure as Toby was, but she let it go. She hugged him goodnight and, through the front windows, watched the long row of car headlights crawling toward the bridge.

  IN HER DREAMS THAT NIGHT, Sweeney was standing on the platform of the tube station, watching the faceless commuters drift slowly from the train, seeking out Colm amongst them. She waited, watching the crowd, looking for his black hair, the red sweater he’d been wearing.

  He walked past her, striding very quickly, his re
d sweater stained with blood, his trousers in tatters. His face, its sharp lines and laughing green eyes, his twisted, crooked smile, was untouched.

  “Colm!” she called to him. But he only turned and smiled at her, then lowered one dark eyebrow in a rakish wink.

  “Colm!” she called again. “Are you okay? There was a bomb on the tube.” But still he kept walking. She followed him out of the station and suddenly they were in a summer field, tall grass and wildflowers undulating in the breeze. She recognized the landscape as Byzantium and she called out to Colm to ask him what he was doing there. But he kept walking very fast and she had to run to keep up with him. Then they were in the cemetery and when she came through the gate, she saw him sitting on Mary’s stone, holding a book of Tennyson’s poetry.

  In an instant, Charley was there, too. Sweeney was watching her swimming in a pond or a lake, everything seemed perfectly normal except that she was wearing all her clothes. All alone, she laughed and splashed in the water. It was brilliantly sunny and hot and Sweeney wanted to go swimming. Then Colm ran by again, as though he was chasing someone. Once again, she followed, yelling after him, asking him what was going on.

  But he disappeared into the woods. She kept running, and came out onto a bluff, overlooking the water. Charley wasn’t there. She called her name, but there wasn’t a sound in the silent forest. She looked around for Colm, but he was gone, too. She was all alone.

  And she woke alone, her heart racing, her head pounding, her hands clutching at the sheets. Her feet were cold, and she got out of bed to put on another pair of socks.

  Awake with adrenaline and the middle-of-the-night beginnings of a hangover, she wandered over to her window and looked out over the Wentworths’ back gardens, down toward the cemetery. At first, she mistook the figure coming over the snow toward the house for a shadow, drawn in the moonlight by the profile of a fir tree, but as it drew closer, it took on the aspect of a man, bundled up in winter clothes and walking quickly, his arms swinging at his side. The clock by her bedside table read 4 A.M.