"You study too hard and too long, sir. That's what makes you weary," Velma said, setting everything on the table to Mr. Lockhart's usual liking.
Mr. Lockhart sniffed the air, taking in a deep breath. "How is Mr. Barnes?" he asked in a knowing way.
"Fine, sir." What was he getting at, she wondered. "Do you need something from him?"
Mr. Lockhart's eyes were on Velma, but she would not look. She felt... ashamed. "No," Lockhart said. "I was just wondering how he was doing."
"He's doing well, sir," she said, not wanting to volunteer any further details.
"That will be all, Mrs. Barnes. Thank you," Lockhart said as he turned his attention to the meal. Velma nodded and left the room, closing it behind her and taking a deep breath.
When she went downstairs again, she found that a number of matters had been settled in her absence, namely that Carter would take Delia to Columbia to her aunt. He owned a car and was off for the rest of the day, having worked the last several nights.
Delia had actually offered to travel alone, but even Velma had to admit to herself that Delia was a lovely looking girl and not the sort who should be allowed to travel alone any more than necessary. Certainly not with the Hangman looming about, still at large.
Chapter 13
Lamont and Velma stood at the front door as they watched Delia and Carter climb into his car. The two young people waved and the two older people returned the wave as they drove off.
"That's an awfully long drive. I hope they... never mind," Velma said.
"Carter's a good fella. He's a gentleman," Lamont said.
"Hope this fog doesn't delay them any more than necessary."
A grey pall of fog had fallen upon Charleston, which prompted Carter to arrive sooner than planned to pick up Delia. He explained that he wanted to put as much distance between Delia, he and the fog.
"If we waited any longer, it would have been hard to get to Columbia any time soon," Carter said. Lamont and Velma agreed, noticing that the thick tendrils of fog were already overtaking the streets.
"I hope it's safe with them going off like they are," Lamont said, almost contradicting his earlier comment.
Now it was Velma's turned to reverse herself. "She's safe in the hands of a police detective. He'll keep her safe. I wouldn't be surprised if he's carrying his revolver."
"You think?" Lamont wondered. Velma thought to tell him that was behaving like an old hen with her last chick, but she dismissed the thought quickly.
"I hope that fog clears once they get out of town," Lamont said. "It's always worse here. They should have taken the train. That would have been best."
"They'll be fine. This will give them a chance to talk."
"I hope talk is all there is," Lamont said. Velma swatted his arm.
They returned to their cozy sitting room and it wasn't long afterwards that an unpleasant feeling came over Velma. While she was relieved Delia was out of their hair for a while, for she at times had taken a rather nosey interest in the tenant. She constantly offered to take Mr. Lockhart his meals, including this very morning. Velma had grown tired of shaking her head and saying what she always said: "No, he's a quiet gentleman and he knows exactly what he likes and wants. He doesn't want anyone but me waiting on him. Not even your father has seen him that much."
Of course, that repetition only served to increase Delia's interest in meeting Mr. Lockhart.
Another reason Velma was glad for Delia's absence over the next few days: fewer instances of Carter stopping by the house.
When Delia wasn't on hand to occupy Carter's attention, Velma felt a sense of dread and fear around Carter. She dismissed the sexual urge she had in his presence that evening as just a random matter.
The fact was, Carter is a detective. It was his job to nose around, trying to find out things, figure out things. And while he hadn't done much of that in their home, she worried he might at any minute. And then where would she -- and Mr. Lockhart -- be?
Suddenly, the image of the red ink bottle in the leather bag came to mind. Her heart flip-flopped at the memory. It was those kinds of things that usually led to the discovery and detective of infamous criminals, according to those dreadful stories Lamont enjoyed reading.
Mr. Lockhart's bell rang that afternoon, much, much earlier than
normal. Velma suspected the fog had probably thrown him off his routine, making him think it was much later than it was.
When Velma arrived at the door, Mr. Lockhart said, "I would like a cup of tea and just piece of toast with butter, Mrs. Barnes." He looked extremely weary. "Nothing else seems to be of interest to my stomach this afternoon, it seems."
"It's such a gloomy day," Velma said, trying to sound cheery but overdoing it. "I'm not surprised you don't feel hungry, sir. It hasn't been all that long since your dinner."
"No," Lockhart said with a far-off look. "No, I'm afraid it isn't, Mrs. Barnes."
Velma went back downstairs, made the tea and buttered toast, and brought it up to Mr. Lockhart's room. As she entered the room with Mr. Lockhart's requested drink and food, she let out a gasp.
Mr. Lockhart was dressing to go out. He already wore his long
coat. His dusty old top hat lay on the table, waiting for him to don it.
"You're not going out this afternoon, sir?" she asked, a nervous tremor overtaking her voice. "The fog's terrible. You wouldn't see more than a yard in front of you!"
Before she realized it, Velma's voice had reached an excessive level. She took a step back, still holding onto the tray. She stood between the door and her tenant, almost as if she aimed to prevent his exit, to keep Mr. Lockhart from entering the fog-riddled world outside.
"I don't mind the weather," he said glumly. He looked at her with a look in his eyes that was both animalistic and desperate. Velma found herself slowly stepping aside, as if commanded silently.
As she moved, she noticed that Mr. Lockhart had something in his right
hand. It was the key to the chiffonier. He was about to use it before Velma entered and disturbed his plan.
"I do appreciate your concern for me, Mrs. Barnes," he stuttered, "B-but, you must excuse me if I say that I am in the need for some air. And I prefer to be left alone. I cannot stand the thought of someone spying on my comings and goings in this house."
Velma stood up straight. "No one spies on you, Mr. Lockhart," she
said "I've done my best to meet your needs and respect your privacy--"
"And you have, my dear Mrs. Barnes. You have!" He sounded distressed, as if he felt the weight of offending someone who had been kind to him. "But your tone and manner... I would suspect you're trying to keep me from doing what I wish to do. What I must do. I have been misunderstood most of my life. Please do not tell me you also misunderstand me, Mrs. Barnes... Velma."
She looked at him, helpless. "Don't you ever think that of me, sir. I only spoke because... I thought it wasn't safe for a gentleman to go out in this kind of fog. There's hardly anyone about, seeing as we're so near to Christmas, except for the unsavory types who have nowhere to go."
Mr. Lockhart walked over to the window and looked out. "It looks as if the fog is clearing." There was little relief in his voice; instead, only dread and disappointment. He sounded... afraid.
Velma steeled herself and followed him over to the window. The fog was rolling away, as if an unseen hand were pushing it away from the streets and houses.
Mr. Lockhart turned quickly, as if he suddenly remembered a thought long forgotten. "If you would, set out a glass of milk and some bread with butter for me this evening. I won't take supper. After my walk, I plan to go upstairs straight away and begin working on my experiments."
"Yes, sir. As you wish," Velma said, leaving Mr. Lockhart's room.
When Velma came downstairs, the hallway was filling up with fog. It had drifted in when she and Lamont stood at the door to see Delia and Carter off, giving the hallway an ethereal feel. Velma suddenly felt as if she would pass out. S
he placed her head against the pane of glass beside the front door, feeling the coolness wash over her. "What do I do?" she whispered to herself. "What do I do?"
She could no longer deny it. Velma Barnes was attached to Mr. Lockhart. His elusive smile that would light his eyes when she would enter the room with a meal. His touch when he penetrated her innermost, even her soul. The feel of his velvety skin in her mouth. The salty yet sweet come that lingered in her mouth. She was drawn to this man and somewhere in her, she wanted to protect him. At all costs, if need be. But how?
Despite all of the fear, dread and trepidation she felt for what was happening in the outside world, she never felt afraid of Mr. Lockhart. She only felt sadness and a desire to protect him and help satiate whatever it was that dared to consume him.
While lying awake at night, all Velma could do was think about the strangeness that both eluded and captivated her. She thought of Mr. Lockhart and she thought of what they had shared and how compartmentalized it all felt. She had given herself to him, repeatedly. She hated herself for not feeling guilt, for not confessing to Lamont, for not having Mr. Lockhart leave.
Was it the money that kept her at bay? She might have thought so. But there was something more. Something that nagged at her, something deep and dark that lie somewhere in the recesses of her heart, that would not let go of what she had in her tenant.
Where did Mr. Lockhart live before she entered his life? What did he do? What was his family like? She wondered if he had siblings or friends in other towns. She knew he had none here. His initial story, that he was considering school in the area, seemed farcical now. There had been no further talk of it since that initial meeting. Instead, he slept during the day, went out at night and conducted experiments on the upper floor. Experiments? That would make him a scientist or possibly a doctor, although he carried no title of professor or doctor.
However odd or eccentric he might be, he appeared to have live a most quiet, uneventful life. Until now, it seemed.
What brought him here, truly? What led him to live such a life, hidden during the day and lurking at night? Velma turned the thought over and over in her mind so many times, without any kind of clear answer shaking loose. What led him to such gloomy, depressed depths? If only she knew!
Velma stood at the door, cooling off her warm forehead, as all these jangled thoughts, fears and hopes whipped about her brain in a frenzy. She had to will herself not to faint from them all.
She thought back to what young Carter had said only days before, that there had never been a serial killer as strange as the Hangman had demonstrated. He had explained how other serial killers were vastly different from the Hangman. Lamont and Delia hung on his every word as he detailed cases from all over the world, a subject he had acquainted himself with in light of the Hangman's work.
One account Carter gave concerned a woman whom everyone around her believed her to be a kind, gentle soul. The truth was she had poisoned over a dozen people to steal the money on their insurance policies. Another story involved an innkeeper and his wife who killed their guests, stole their possessions and sold them for ill-gotten gain. In all these cases, the murderers had a clear motive: money.
In the case of two of the Hangman's victims, both had kept their wallets and the money contained in them. No valuables had been taken.
Velma took her forehead from the cool glass and went into the front room where Lamont was smoking his pipe as he looked out the window.
"Looks like the fog is lifting," she said. "I hope Delia and Carter are clear of it now."
"Hmm, maybe," Lamont said. "Unless it's rolling away in their direction. Looks like it's going to the northwest. Might be going with them, from the looks of it."
Velma walked to the window beside Lamont and pulled back the curtain. "There are more people out and about now," she said.
Lamont looked over at her. "It's the Christmas parade, over by King Street. I thought about asking you if you wanted to go for a walk and see some of it."
Velma shook her head. "I'd rather stay home tonight." She was listening for sound behind her. The sound of Mr. Lockhart coming down the stairs.
Soon enough, the sound of his rubber soles shuffling down the hall came. Bunting looked up from his pipe when the front door opened and closed.
"Was that Mr. Lockhart?" Lamont asked Velma. "I hope he'll keep his wits about him. I hope he hasn't taken any money out with him! Surely the pickpockets will be in full force tonight."
"It's not the first time Mr. Lockhart's gone out in the fog," Velma said. She realized what she had said and looked at Lamont, who was looking at the contents of his pipe as smoke spiraled around his head.
"The fog reminds me of old Mrs. Crawley. You remember her?" Lamont asked. Velma nodded. It was one of Lamont's former employers. Mrs. Crawley had been a favorite of Lamont's and she of him. She would often lavish gifts on her employees, even though they might not always been what her servants preferred. Still, she did it with great kindness and thought.
"Mrs. Crawley used to say she never minded how cold or hot it got here in Charleston, so long as it was Charleston and not the boonies. Mr. Crawley, he loved the country, but Mrs. Crawley. It was dull as dishwater to her. The fog never kept her from going out. She wasn't the least bit afraid of it. But, Mr. Lockhart --" Lamont turned and looked at Velma. "I'm surprised he would go out in this kind of fog. He seems rather timid."
"I wouldn't say he's timid," Velma said. "He's just quiet. He usually prefers going out when there's not a lot of folks on the streets. I suspect he'll be back soon, what with the Christmas crowd."
And that was something she hoped with all her heart, that her tenant would return very, very soon. Velma moved to the window on the opposite side of the room and looked out. The fog was lifting for sure. She could see the streetlights more clearly and less like strange orbs of light dotting the fog blanket. She could see wispy figures moving along the sidewalks, just the barest of shadows in the diminishing light of day.
Lamont went over to the bookshelf and selected one of his favorites. "Think I'll do a little reading," he said. "Actually getting tired of reading the same thing over in the papers these days."
Velma didn't respond. She knew what Lamont meant. No latest news on the Hangman. No new victims.
She left the room and returned with some sewing she had meant to finish up before Delia arrived. Sewing brought her a sense of familiar comfort and she was eager to embrace it.
The house grew very, very quiet. It was apparent, what with Delia and Carter not on hand to chatter. She sat and began working with the needle and thread, but she found that she kept waiting for the front door to open and Mr. Lockhart to return. Soon, she hoped.
A thought struck her. What if he never came back? What if he disappeared into the fog? What if he were apprehended and his picture was published in the papers? What would Lamont think then?
Velma gripped the needle, making up her mind to never say anything about Lockhart to her husband. She would pretend to be as shocked, amazed and horrified as anyone else at any kind of news involved her tenant.
Chapter 14
"Well, there he is. At long last. That's a relief, Velma. This night ain't fit for man nor beast," Lamont said with a sigh. He continued to read the evening paper by the fire. He looked well. Velma stared at him with a look of envy and realized just how much she loved this dear man. Here she had been, a horrible, adulterous wife, with a man who had loved her, cared for her and tried his very best to give her everything a woman could want in this day and age.
"Don't be so nervous, Lamont. Mr. Lockhart can fend for himself," she said.
Lamont set the paper in his lap. "I have no idea why he would want to go out in such a state of weather," he said.
"Well, you said it yourself. There was a Christmas parade. Maybe he wanted to see some festivity for a change. Or maybe he had some Christmas shopping to do."
"He couldn't have enlisted you for that?"
"So you'
d want me to go out in this weather then?"
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