‘You realize, Mr. Canfield, that there’s another way to look at this arrangement.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Your office is getting the benefit of my not inconsiderable talents for absolutely nothing. Extremely beneficial to the taxpayers.’
‘I’ll put that in my next report.’
The basic problem of the arrangement had not been resolved, however. For the field accountant to fulfill his obligations to both employers, a reason had to be found explaining his association with the old woman. It would become obvious as the weeks went by and it would be foolish to try to pass it off as either companionship or business. Both explanations would be suspect.
With a degree of self-interest, Matthew Canfield asked, ‘Can you get along with your daughter-in-law?’
‘I assume you mean Ulster’s wife. No one could stand Chancellor’s.’
‘Yes.’
‘I like her. However, if you’re thinking about her as a third party, I must tell you that she despises me. There are many reasons, most of them quite valid. In order to get what I want I’ve had to treat her quite badly. My only defense, if I felt I needed one—which I don’t—is that what I wanted was for her benefit.’
‘I’m deeply moved, but do you think we could get her cooperation? I’ve met her on several occasions.’
‘She’s not very responsible. But I suppose you know that.’
‘Yes. I also know that she suspects you of going to Europe on your son’s account.’
‘I realize that. It would help to enlist her, I imagine. But I don’t think I could manage it by cable, and I certainly wouldn’t want to spell it out in a letter.’
‘I’ve a better way. I’ll go back for her and I’ll take a written… explanation from you. Not too involved, not too specific. I’ll handle the rest.’
‘You must know her very well.’
‘Not so. I just think that if I can convince her that you—and I—are on her side… if someone’s on her side, she’ll help.’
‘She might be able to. She could show us places…’
‘She might recognize people…’
‘But what will I do while you’re in America? I’ll no doubt be dead when you come back.’
Canfield had thought of that. ‘When we reach England, you should go into retreat.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘For your immortal soul. And your son’s as well, of course.’
‘I don’t understand you.’
‘A convent. The whole world knows of your bereavement. It’s a logical thing to do. We’ll issue a statement to the press to the effect that you’ve gone to an undisclosed retreat in the north of England. Then send you somewhere down south. My office will help.’
‘It sounds positively ridiculous!’
‘You’ll be fetching in your black robes!’
The veiled, grieving Mrs. Boothroyd was led off with the first contingent of passengers. She was met by a man at customs who hurried her through the procedures and took her to a Rolls-Royce waiting on the street. Canfield followed the couple to the car.
Forty-five minutes later Canfield checked into the hotel. He had called his London contact from a public phone and they had agreed to meet as soon as the Londoner could drive down. The field accountant then spent a half hour enjoying the stability of a dry-land bed. He was depressed at the thought of going right back on board ship but he knew there was no other solution. Janet would supply the most reasonable explanation for his accompanying the old lady and it was logical that the wife and mother of the missing Ulster Scarlett should travel together. And certainly Canfield was not unhappy at the prospect of a continued association with Janet Scarlett. She was a tramp, no question; but he had begun to doubt his opinion that she was a bitch.
He was about to doze off when he looked at his watch and realized that he was late for his meeting. He picked up the phone and was delighted by the crisp British accent answering him.
‘Madame Scarlatti is in suite five. Our instructions are to ring through prior to callers, sir.’
‘If you’ll do that, please, I’ll just go right up. Thank you.’
Canfield said his name quite loudly before Elizabeth Scarlatti would open the door. The old woman motioned the young man inside to a chair while she sat on a huge Victorian sofa by the window.
‘Well, what do we do now?’
‘I phoned our London man nearly an hour ago. He should be here shortly.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He said his name is Barnes Derek.’
‘Don’t you know him?’
‘No. We’re given an exchange to call and a man is assigned to us. It’s a reciprocal arrangement.’
‘Isn’t that convenient.’ A statement.
‘We’re billed for it.’
‘What will he want to know?’
‘Only what we want to tell him. He won’t ask any questions unless we request something inimical to the British government or so expensive he’d have to justify it; that’s the point he’ll be most concerned with.’
‘That strikes me as very amusing.’
‘Taxpayers’ money.’ Canfield looked at his watch. ‘I asked him to bring along a list of religious retreats.’
‘You’re really serious about that, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Unless he has a better idea. I’ll be gone for about two and a half weeks. Did you write the letter for your daughter-in-law?’
‘Yes.’ She handed him an envelope.
Across the room on a table near the door, the telephone rang. Elizabeth walked rapidly to the table and answered it.
‘Is that Derek?’ asked Canfield, when she had hung up.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now, please, Madame Scarlatti, let me do most of the talking. But if I ask you a question, you’ll know I want an honest answer.’
‘Oh? We don’t have signals?’
‘No. He doesn’t want to know anything. Believe that. Actually, we’re a source of embarrassment to each other.’
‘Should I offer him a drink, or tea, or isn’t that allowed?’
‘I think a drink would be very much appreciated.’
‘I’ll call room service and have a bar sent up.’
‘That’s fine.’
Elizabeth Scarlatti picked up the phone and ordered a complete selection of wines and liquors. Canfield smiled at the ways of the rich and lit one of his thin cigars.
James Derek was a pleasant-looking man in his early fifties, somewhat rotund, with the air of a prosperous merchant. He was terribly polite but essentially cool. His perpetual smile had a tendency to curve slowly into a strained straight line as he spoke.
‘We traced the license of the Rolls at the pier. It belongs to a Marquis Jacques Louis Bertholde. French resident alien. We’ll get information on him.’
‘Good. What about the retreats?’
The Britisher took out a paper from his inside coat pocket. ‘There’re several we might suggest depending upon Madame Scarlatti’s wishes to be in touch with the outside.’
‘Do you have any where contact is completely impossible? On both sides?’ asked the field accountant.
‘That would be Catholic, of course. There’re two or three.’
‘Now, see here!’ interrupted the imposing old lady.
‘What are they?’ asked Canfield.
‘There’s a Benedictine order and a Carmelite. They’re in the southwest, incidentally. One, the Carmelite, is near Cardiff.’
‘There are limits, Mr. Canfield, and I propose to establish them. I will not associate with such people!’
‘What is the most fashionable, most sought after retreat in England, Mr. Derek?’ asked the field accountant.
‘Well, the duchess of Gloucester makes a yearly trek to the Abbey of York. Church of England, of course.’
‘Fine. We’ll send out a story to all the wire services that Madame Scarlatti has entered for a month.’
‘That’s far more acceptable,
’ said the old woman.
‘I haven’t finished.’ He turned to the amused Londoner. Then book us into the Carmelites. You’ll escort Madame Scarlatti there tomorrow.’
‘As you say.’
‘Just one minute, gentlemen. I do not consent! I’m sure Mr. Derek will adhere to my wishes.’
Terribly sorry, madame. My instructions are to take orders from Mr. Canfield.’
‘And we have an agreement, Madame Scarlatti, or do you want to tear it up?’
‘What can I possibly say to such people? I simply cannot stand that voodoo mumbo jumbo coming from Rome!’
‘You’ll be spared that discomfort, madame,’ said Mr. Derek. ‘There’s a vow of silence. You’ll not hear from anyone.’
‘Contemplate,’ added the field accountant. ‘Good for the immortal soul.’
The Scarletti Inheritance
Chapter Twenty-three
YORK, ENGLAND, August 12, 1926—The famed Abbey of York sustained a damaging explosion and fire at dawn this morning in its west wing, the residential quarters of the religious order. An undisclosed number of sisters and novices were killed in the tragic occurrence. It was believed that the explosion was due to a malfunction in the heating system recently installed by the order.
Canfield read the story in the ship’s newspaper one day before arriving in New York.
They do their homework well, he thought. And although the price was painfully high, it proved two points conclusively; the press releases were read and Madame Scarlatti was marked.
The field accountant reached into his pocket and took out the old woman’s letter to Janet Scarlett. He’d read it many times and thought it effective. He read it once more.
My dear Child:
I am aware that you are not particularly fond of me and accept the fact as my loss. You have every right to feel as you do—the Scarlattis have not been pleasant people with whom to be associated. However, for whatever reasons and regardless of the pain you have been caused, you are now a Scarlatti and you have borne a Scarlatti into this world. Perhaps you will be the one who will make us better than we are.
I do not make this statement lightly or out of sentiment. History has shown that the least expected among us often emerge splendidly because of the grave responsibilities placed upon them. I ask you to consider this possibility.
I further ask you to give deep consideration to what Mr. Matthew Canfield will tell you. I trust him. I do so because he has saved my life and nearly lost his own in so doing. His interests and ours are inextricably bound together. He will tell you what he can and he will ask of you a great deal.
I am a very, very old woman, my dear, and do not have much time. What months or years I do have (precious perhaps only to me) may well be cut short in a fashion I’d like to believe is not the will of God. Naturally, I accept this risk gladly as the head of the house of Scarlatti, and if I can spend what time I have left preventing a great dishonor upon our family, I will join my husband with a grateful heart.
Through Mr. Canfield, I await your answer. If it is as I suspect, we will be together shortly and you will have gladdened me far beyond that which I deserve. If it is not, you still have my affection and, believe me when I say, my understanding.
Elizabeth Wyckham Scarlatti.
Canfield replaced the letter in the envelope. It was quite good, he thought again. It explained nothing and asked for implicit trust that the unsaid explanation was vitally urgent. If he did his job, the girl would be coming back to England with him. If he failed to persuade her, an alternative would have to be found.
The Ulster Scarlett brownstone on Fifty-fourth Street was being repainted and sandblasted. There were several scaffolds lowered from the roof and a number of workmen diligently at their crafts. The heavy Checker cab pulled up in front of the entrance and Matthew Canfield walked up the steps. He rang the bell; the door was opened by the obese housekeeper.
‘Good afternoon, Hannah. I don’t know if you remember, but my name’s Canfield. Matthew Canfield to see Mrs. Scarlett.’
Hannah did not budge or offer entrance. ‘Does Mrs. Scarlett expect you?’
‘Not formally, but I’m sure she’ll see me.’ He had had no intention of phoning. It would have been too easy for her to refuse.
‘I don’t know if madame is in, sir.’
‘Then I’ll just have to wait. Shall it be here on the stairs?’
Hannah reluctantly made way for the field accountant to step into the hideously colored hallway. Canfield was struck again by the intensity of the red wallpaper and the black drapes. ‘I’ll inquire, sir,’ said the housekeeper as she started toward the stairs.
In a few minutes Janet came down the long staircase, followed by a waddling Hannah. She was very much composed. Her eyes were clear, aware, and devoid of the panic he had remembered. She was in command and without question a beautiful woman.
Canfield felt a sudden sting of inferiority. He was outclassed.
‘Why, Mr. Canfield, this is a surprise.’
He could not determine whether her greeting was meant to be pleasant or not. It was friendly, but cool and reserved. This girl had learned the lessons of the old money well.
‘I hope not an unwelcome one, Mrs. Scarlett.’
‘Not at all.’
Hannah had reached the bottom step and walked toward the dining room doors. Canfield quickly spoke again. ‘During my trip I ran across a fellow whose company makes dirigibles. I knew you’d be interested.’ Canfield watched Hannah out of the corner of his eye without moving his head. Hannah had turned abruptly and looked at the field accountant.
‘Really, Mr. Canfield? Why would that concern me?’ The girl was mystified.
‘I understand your friends on Oyster Bay were determined to buy one for their club. Here, I’ve brought all the information.
Purchase price, rentals, specifications, the works—Let me show you.’
The field accountant took Janet Scarlett’s elbow and led her swiftly toward the living room doors. Hannah hesitated ever so slightly but, with a glance from Canfield, retreated into the dining room. Canfield then closed the living room doors.
‘What are you doing? I don’t want to buy a dirigible.’
The field accountant stood by the doors, motioning the girl to stop talking.
‘What?’
‘Be quiet for a minute. Please.’ He spoke softly.
Canfield waited about ten seconds and then opened the doors in one swinging motion.
Directly across the hallway, standing by the dining room table, was Hannah and a man in white overalls, obviously one of the painters. They were talking while looking over toward the living room doors. They were now in full view of Canfield’s stare. Embarrassed, they moved away.
Canfield shut the door and turned to Janet Scarlett. ‘Interesting, isn’t it?’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Just interesting that your help should be so curious.’
‘Oh, that.’ Janet turned and picked up a cigarette from a case on the coffee table. ‘Servants will talk and I think you’ve given them cause.’
Canfield lit her cigarette. ‘Including the painters?’
‘Hannah’s friends are her own business. They’re no concern of mine. Hannah’s barely a concern of mine—’
‘You don’t find it curious that Hannah nearly tripped when I mentioned a dirigible?’
‘I simply don’t understand you.’
‘I admit I’m getting ahead of myself.’
‘Why didn’t you telephone?’
‘If I had, would you have seen me?’
Janet thought for a minute. ‘Probably—Whatever recriminations I had over your last visit wouldn’t be any reason to insult you.’
‘I didn’t want to take that gamble.’
That’s sweet of you and I’m touched. But why this very odd behavior?’
There was no point in delaying any longer. He took the envelope out of his pocket. ‘I’ve been asked to give you
this. May I sit down while you read it?’
Janet, startled, took the envelope and immediately recognized her mother-in-law’s handwriting. She opened the envelope and read the letter.
If she was astonished or shocked, she hid her emotions well.
Slowly she sat down on the sofa and put out her cigarette. She looked down at the letter and up at Canfield, and then back to the letter. Without looking up, she asked quietly, ‘Who are you?’
‘I work for the government. I’m an official… a minor official in the Department of the Interior.’
‘The government? You’re not a salesman, then?’
‘No, I’m not.’
•You wanted to meet me and talk with me for the government?’
‘Yes.’’
‘Why did you tell me you sold tennis courts?’
‘We sometimes find it necessary to conceal our employment. It’s as simple as that.’
‘I see.’
‘I assume you want to know what your mother-in-law means in the letter?’
‘Don’t assume anything.’ She was cold as she continued. ‘It was your job to meet me and ask me all those amusing questions?’
‘Frankly, yes.’
The girl rose, took the necessary two steps toward the field accountant, and slapped him across the face with all her strength. It was a sharp and painful blow. ‘You son of a bitch! Get out of this house!’ She still did not raise her voice. ‘Get out before I call the police!’
‘Oh, my God, Janet, will you stop it!’ He grabbed her shoulders as she tried to wriggle away. ‘Listen to me! I said listen or I’ll slap you right back!’
Her eyes shone with hatred and, Canfield thought, a touch of melancholy. He held her firmly as he spoke. ‘Yes, I was assigned to meet you. Meet you and get whatever information I could.’
She spat in his face. He did not bother to brush it away.
‘I got the information I needed and I used that information because that’s what I’m paid for! As far as my department is concerned, I left this house by nine o’clock after you served me two drinks. If they want to pick you up for illegal possession of alcohol, that’s what they can get you for!’
‘I don’t believe you!’
‘I don’t give a good God damn whether you do or not! And for your further information I’ve had you under surveillance for weeks! You and the rest of your playmates… It may interest you to know that I’ve omitted detailing the more… ludicrous aspects of your day-to-day activities!’
The Scarletti Inheritance Page 19