“And why not, forsooth? He still could,” Arethusa said notwithstanding the fact that she’d just polished off an ample though somewhat eclectic meal here in the Monks’ kitchen and it was already getting on toward teatime because they’d been so late coming back from Scottsbeck.
“I suppose we ought to stir our stumps and clear the table,” Dittany observed with no great enthusiasm.
“And I should get back to work,” said Osbert.
“Moi aussi,” said Arethusa.
But none of them did anything. They were still sitting around the table rehashing the events of the day when the missing men drove up in Andy McNaster’s baby-blue Lincoln. Daniel was triumphant, Archie bemused. Andy gave the impression of having recently swallowed a bolt of lightning.
“What’s up?” was Archie’s greeting.
“Jenson Thorbisher-Freep,” Osbert told him. “He’s up on a charge of attempted murder.”
He, Dittany, and Arethusa all began explaining together the startling events of the morning. The others listened politely enough, but not even Andy appeared to be taking in much of their narrative. Especially not even Andy. Dittany noticed first.
“What’s the matter with you three? Did you all eat something bad for lunch?”
“It’s me,” Andy blurted.
“What about you?”
“He signed me.”
“That’s right,” crowed Daniel. “I signed him.”
“It’s true,” Archie confirmed. “We signed him.”
“To what, forsooth?” demanded Arethusa.
“Are you kidding?” Daniel’s little black eyes were gleaming like fireflies on a July night. “Doesn’t it hit you like a ton of bricks? Doesn’t it stick out like a sore thumb? I’m telling you, that man’s a born villain.”
“Huh,” sniffed Dittany. “Everybody in Lobelia Falls has been saying that for years. Before he reformed, I mean. No offense, Andy.”
“That’s okay,” he assured her. “I don’t mind any more having my crummy past thrown up to me. It was a necessary phase in my development as an actor, Daniel says.”
“And the result is worth every bit of skulduggery he ever pulled,” cried the famous producer. “He’s going to be the classiest rotter since George Sanders.”
Andy turned pleading eyes toward Arethusa. “It’s for you I’m doing it, eh. You do understand?”
“In a word,” she replied, “no. Unless perchance by George Sanders you mean the late star of stage and screen signalized by his sneering and cynical portrayals of sophisticated scoundrels?”
“That’s the guy. And I’m going to be another him, Daniel says. How’s this for a sophisticated and cynical sneer?”
“Disgusting! Repellent! Unspeakably revolting! Andrew, you’ll be magnificent. With a sneer hike that, you’ll have the world at your feet.”
“And you, Arethusa? What to me the footlights, the spotlights, the plaudits of the crowd, the smear of the greasepaint, the adoration of the millions? When I sneer, my sneer shall be only for you.”
“Why, thank you, Andrew. And I shall think of you sneering your way to stardom midst the plaudits of the crowd and the smearing of the greasepaint whilst I sit alone in my cozy office with my cat Rudolph snoring peacefully by my side. I’m already six weeks behind on The Duchess and the Dastard and can’t wait to get back to it.”
“You won’t be over at the inn playing footsies with Carolus Bledsoe?”
“La, sir, perish the thought. Carolus Bledsoe will be elsewhere.”
“Where elsewhere?”
“Somewhere east of Suez where the best is like the worst appears to be what he has on the agenda. He was making a good deal of noise about it shortly before he finished his toddy and dropped off to sleep. That was after he found out it was Jenson who’d been assassinating him off and on for the past month or so and that Wilhedra had bestowed her heart and hand upon another. Carolus mentioned Mandalay as his ultimate port of call, if memory serves me.”
“That’s just about how far I’d have picked to send him myself,” Andy grunted. Then a noble thought struck him and he soared above such petty jealousy, as a rising rotter should.
“Say, Dittany, how’s about I drive Charlie over to the inn and let them take care of him till he’s back on his feet, eh? He can have the room I use, being as how it looks as if I won’t be wanting it for a while. I’ll let him borrow Thusie for company and that waitress they call Petsy can bring him his meals and stuff. You know, the one with all the so forth.”
The lascivious leer that accompanied these last words sent Daniel into convulsions of ecstasy. “Look at that! Isn’t he incredible? All my years in showbiz, I’ve never run across anybody with more different kinds of nasty looks in his repertoire. I’ve been watching him ever since I got here and so far I haven’t seen him leer the same way twice.”
“So that’s why you’ve been tagging after Andy like Ethel stalking a woodchuck?” said Dittany.
“Why else? He makes me feel like a prospector who went out to buy a hamburger and stumbled into a gold mine. By the way,” he murmured into Dittany’s ear alone, “I hope your aunt isn’t too—er—what I mean is, Andy’s going to see a lot of new faces, if you catch my drift.”
“Not to worry. Arethusa will adjust.”
She turned to the natural-born villain. “Andy, you’re an absolute angel, if you’ll forgive the expression, for taking Carolus off our hands. But do you really think you can trust him with Thusie? I personally wouldn’t want to see any cobra of mine at the mercy of a sidewinder like him.”
“What Dittany means,” said Osbert firmly, “is that Thusie ought to be in the snake house at the zoo, where she’ll have a chance to socialize with congenial reptiles and enjoy the admiration of all beholders.”
“Gee, yeah,” Andy had to agree. “If I’m going to be a star, why should I begrudge Thusie her share of glory? But I’m going to miss her.”
“Ah, you’ll meet lots of reptiles in showbiz,” Daniel consoled him. “Not to rush you, Andy, but shouldn’t you get on with selling your construction company, subletting your apartment, and all that? We have to be at Stratford first thing tomorrow morning, and Archie ought to get back to his office so he can draw up your official contract.”
“And we still haven’t settled the contract for Dangerous Dan,” Archie reminded the producer. “Osbert, you and I have to talk.”
What with holding conferences and unloading a drunken convalescent who’d have preferred to stay and recite “Danny Deever” to Arethusa while drinking a few more of Osbert’s toddies, they had a busy time of it for quite a while. At last, however, the Monks were alone. Dittany had left all her groceries at Wilhedra’s, as it would have seemed chintzy not to under the circumstances, so there was very little left to eat in the house. Still, the thought of going out to dinner didn’t appeal to any of them.
“It’ll have to be beans on toast, then, with bread and jam for dessert.”
“Wonderful, darling,” said Osbert. “I can’t think of anything I’d like better.”
Dittany warmed up the beans, Arethusa reset the table. Osbert picked up the whiskey bottle and found just three fingers’ worth in the bottom, as Carolus had refused to budge without a last toddy for the road. He shared out what was left into three tot glasses and passed it around as they sat down to their simple repast.
“Here’s to us, and to heck with showbiz.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Arethusa, and did.
“Just think, Auntie dear,” he said. “This is the first time since you got back from being crowned reigning queen of regency romance that you haven’t got some goggle-eyed loon sprawled at your feet offering to stand you a pizza.”
Arethusa’s fathomless orbs grew lustrous with tears of joy. “My dearest nephew,” she replied in a tone like that lost chord which linked all perplexed meanings into one perfect peace, “that is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said to me. Now would you kindly quit hogging those mustard pic
kles, i’ faith, and pass them along to the queen?”
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copyright © 1988 by Charlotte MacLeod
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The Grub-and-Stakers Pinch a Poke Page 21