The Stone Bull

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “That’s anger!” There was pained protest in Irene’s words. “And anger cools. You’ll surely make up again.”

  I could only shake my head. “I’m not wildly angry anymore, though I still feel that he cheated me, lied to me. I suppose resentment will die out eventually. But the cold, plain common sense that follows is worse. I feel less like taking him back this morning than I did last night. But if there’s any way I can help you in the little time left to me here at Laurel, tell me what I can do.”

  “I suppose there’s nothing, really. Just your friendship.”

  “Can’t you go to Brendon about whatever troubles you?”

  She turned her head to look at me, almost in fright. “Oh, no! He’s part of it. He’s fighting Loring. And sometimes Loring punishes me for that. Brendon never wanted me to marry him, but I was lonely and when Loring came along—” She broke off and dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.

  I could see how it might have happened. Loring would have come on the scene with all that dynamic charm and vitality, and he would have swept her off her feet, as Brendon had swept me off mine. We had both been damaged by forceful men.

  “Now Loring wants to run the hotel,” she went on. “He wants me to side against my son. He wants Brendon out. All my husband’s plans are the exact opposite of my son’s.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “Only to be loved, to be taken care of. To have a son I can count on, lean on.”

  “I mean what do you want for the hotel?”

  She hesitated and her gaze wandered toward the grave she had come to visit. “I suppose I want what Bruce wanted. If only he hadn’t died! I’m not strong enough to stand up to Loring, and I can’t bear to make him angry with me.”

  “I think you’re stronger than you believe,” I said. “I think if you were cornered you would fight. Women do, you know. I am going to.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “Brendon’s worth fighting for.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said impatiently. “I mean to fight for my sister’s good name. Loring told me that accusations have been made against her, that rumors about my sister, blaming her for Floris’ death, are going around.”

  Irene’s gaze avoided mine. “I haven’t heard anything of the sort.”

  “Haven’t you? Irene, who has been spreading this gossip that Loring talks about?”

  For a moment she said nothing. Then one hand moved in a gesture of helpless entreaty. “Please, Jenny. No one pays any attention to that sort of thing.”

  I put a hand on her arm as she sat beside me on the wall, forcing her to look at me. “Who was it that started this rumor?”

  “I—I don’t know—” she began, and my hand tightened in its grasp. For a moment longer she tried to resist, and then gave in with a frightened air. “It’s only Loring who has been saying these things.”

  “Loring!” I let her go. “But why? Why should this matter to him?”

  “Jenny, I don’t know. That’s why I feel so frightened. He’s planning something, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “Then I’ll have to find out. I’ll have to find out what really happened to Floris. My sister’s role in this is only coincidental. But I want to know who intended Floris’ death. That’s the only way I can stop what’s being said.”

  Irene’s fright had turned to terror, and she slipped down from the wall to stand facing me. “Please, please, Jenny, let it alone. No one is going to blame Ariel seriously. Don’t stir everything up!”

  “What do you really know, Irene?”

  “I know nothing—nothing!”

  I had upset her badly, and she didn’t linger to talk to me further. Before I could stop her, she ran away between the graves toward the gate. In a moment she was through it and had disappeared into the woods.

  I sat still on the sunny wall, wondering what her outburst and frightened departure meant. What was it Irene might tell, if only she would? The quiet cemetery around me seemed utterly lonely and deserted, now that she had gone. I tried to open my senses to its peace, aware of two chipmunks who came skittering along the wall not far away. There were still birds left to chirp in the trees—they hadn’t all gone south—and there were even newcomers who would spend the winter. A small gray and white snowbird lighted on Floris’ grave and began to peck about in new grass.

  But there was no peace for me in this quiet place. Loneliness was an aching all through me. This was what the rest of my life was going to be like. I could never again afford to sit quietly anywhere and be completely still. Only if I moved, if I acted, could I turn my thinking outward and feel myself a part of living again. For the immediate moment I would leave this place and put my feet on some active path. Whatever might offer, I would do.

  When I left the burial ground, I found my way down to the trail by which Brendon had first brought me up the mountain. As I followed it, I came upon the huge boulders of the Lair piled between trail and lake. Purpose moved my feet, and I hurried down to where another path led around the lake, below those great stones. Watching the rocks above me carefully, I walked along the water’s edge, choosing a path I had sometimes taken at night, until I came to the entrance to the Lair. Keir’s lettered sign was still in evidence, warning that the path was closed, but Brendon had said there was no danger now. In fact, there had probably never been any danger of a rock falling accidentally. Only that one boulder had fallen, because someone had loosened it to fall. So now I would have a look at the spot where it had crashed down and where Floris had died.

  The way in was hardly more than a crevice, with high walls on either side, and a narrow earthen path to follow. The sun vanished from overhead as great rocks closed above me, leaving only an occasional glimpse of sky. Almost at once there was climbing to do, of a simple sort, and I was glad of the corrugated soles on my shoes. When the rocks opened up a bit, I saw a small maple growing sideways above me out of a patch of earth, and around a turn I had a glimpse of three gray birch trunks, their heads invisible.

  Already the lake seemed far behind me, the Mountain House lost, and there were no voice sounds in this labyrinth. I kept on along the tortuous way, coming occasionally upon red arrows painted on the rock to point my direction. In one place crude log steps had been built to bridge a difficult crack in the rocks. Once I came out into full sunlight, where I could look up toward a little gazebo perched on the rocks far above, and I had an uncomfortable sense of all that mass of stone poised above me, ready to fall, as part of it had fallen on Floris. Some of those boulders were far larger than the block from which Magnus had carved his bull.

  But that was only imagination, of course. If the mass of rock wasn’t firmly set and wedged, no one would ever have been allowed to climb through the Lair. I clambered around a sharp protrusion—and came to an abrupt stop. Because this was the place.

  The workman I had seen here earlier was gone, having cut a way past the fallen boulder, so that it was now possible to go on. I had no wish to pass it, however. The very thought of it forced me to imagine more than I wanted to, and I felt a little sick. The rock that had fallen was very large, but there had been room for it to fit into this opening exactly. Floris must not have been crushed beneath it or they couldn’t have removed her body without removing the fallen rock. So she must have been caught between the wall and the great boulder. There were no stains upon either rock, perhaps only because someone had abraded them away—the rock looked scratched and newly wounded.

  I closed my eyes and leaned back against hard stone, with the fallen boulder hardly the width of my body away. Yes, she could have been trapped here in this one open place. Speed and agility would have been required to move in either direction—and it might all have happened too fast. She might have been too startled to save herself.

  Craning my neck, I looked up toward the place from which the boulder had dropped, but the sun was in my eyes, blinding me. As I blinked, a spattering of tiny pebbles struck my raised face. I ducked hurriedly in ala
rm, though I knew no big rock could fall upon me. I was well protected by the very stone that already filled the passageway. Perhaps some climber above had dislodged a few pebbles.

  I brushed the dirt from my face and felt the sting where tiny stones had scratched my skin. The second fall of rocks came hurtling about my head with considerable force, and these were larger stones, so there was a great echoing of sound in my crevice. Quickly I backed away, found the narrow place through which I’d entered the section and took shelter there. All was quiet again, and I could hear only the quickened beating of my heart.

  From where I crouched looking upward, I thought for an instant that a tiny figure stood black against the sun. Then it was gone, and I was not sure what I had seen. There were no more showers of rock, and those that had fallen hadn’t hurt me, though I’d endured a few thumps about my head and shoulders. Nevertheless, I was thoroughly frightened because now I knew a hand had cast those rocks. Someone had stood up there watching my progress below. Someone who knew I was here. Perhaps there had been no intention to injure, for the stones had been too small for serious damage. Yet I knew that I was being warned. Someone who didn’t want me to investigate Floris’ death had cast those stones.

  On legs that trembled now, I found my way back along the path I’d come, and I didn’t breathe easily again until I was on the road beside the lake and heard the clomping of horses’ hoofs as a carriage full of hotel guests rolled by.

  How am I ever to stay alone in these remote rooms after what happened today? Last night, after Brendon and I had quarreled, I went to bed without the extra bolt on the door. My sleeplessness had nothing to do with any fear of danger for myself. Now everything is different. I burn all the lights again, and the doors are bolted—even the one to the balcony. I am glad of the phone within reach of my hand on the bed table. Yet if anyone got in, the phone would never save me in time. So I sit huddled beneath extra blankets and listen to every sound. Heat in the radiators startles me, and the old building creaks.

  My worry is not only because of that shower of pebbles that fell on me in the Lair this morning, though that is part of it, and I look with doubt at everyone I meet, wondering whose malicious hand cast those stones. Somehow I must find out, because I am certain now that hand is the one that caused Floris’ death, however it was managed. I have told only one person what happened to me in the Lair.

  But other disturbing events have occurred today. One piece of information is especially revealing. I know now that Floris went into the Lair that day because she was sent. But I still don’t know by whom. And Loring, so far, isn’t talking. My attempts to question him have only brought sardonic looks and no enlightenment.

  The worst thing that happened today was that dreadful fight down on the veranda. Short as it was, the hotel is still buzzing over it, and Brendon is furious.

  It happened after lunch. I had sat reading inconspicuously in one of the little parlors near the dining-room door, and when I was sure the family had all finished eating, I went in and dined alone. As yet, I had told no one what had happened to me in the Lair, because I wasn’t sure which of them it was safe to trust.

  It had been a relief to eat alone in the emptying dining room. At resort hotels there are few late diners, as everyone on holiday seems permanently hungry, and meals are an event of the day, to be met promptly. When I had managed a salad and a bit of cheese, I went back to my library work for a while. Then when my eyes tired, I wandered onto the broad veranda built out over a portion of the lake, and fed the tame trout below that came to take my bread crumbs.

  I felt completely aimless, without any immediate goal. It wasn’t that I lacked an important purpose, but I had no idea what next specific step I could take to learn more about what had happened to Floris. Worst of all, whenever I tried to think of what I must do, I thought instead of Brendon.

  How was I to live without thinking of him every moment of every day? I couldn’t brush my hair without remembering the way he’d watched me in the mirror—as he must have watched Ariel. I couldn’t look out at the beauty of lake and mountain, or up at High Tower, without feeling for the first time in my life that beauty, witnessed alone, is without meaning or satisfaction. I knew this wasn’t true, but reason had nothing to do with the way I felt. I could reason endlessly that time would cure, that pain of loss would lessen. But in the meantime how was I to live? This morning in the burial place, Irene had said that she just wanted someone to hold her and love her and take care of her. With all of my being this was what I wanted too—from Brendon.

  The fish feeding had become automatic and the trout and I were growing bored with each other, so I went to sit in a rocker by the veranda rail. At least there was something hypnotic about rocking gently back and forth and staring at a plane of water. My turbulent mind seemed to empty itself at last and think of nothing. Perhaps that is the best possible state for inviting new thoughts, new ideas, and one such idea was just beginning to offer itself when Loring came out on the veranda and saw me sitting there.

  “Hello,” he said. “What are you doing under a roof on a fine afternoon like this?”

  His cheeriness struck a wrong note with me. “I’m not a guest, Loring. I’m not looking for entertainment.”

  I had seen him about the hotel greeting guests, charming a variety of ladies, and the smile he gave me now was a duplicate of those other smiles and I couldn’t feel impressed.

  He sobered at the solemn look I gave him. “Do you mind if I sit down, Jenny? I know how you must be feeling, but I think it’s all for the best.”

  “What is for the best?”

  “Let’s not play games. I told Irene it would never work when we first knew Brendon had married you. Then when he brought you here and we could see how different you were from your sister, I knew it would be only a matter of time before everything blew up. It’s happened even sooner than I expected, though. He was a fool not to tell you the truth right away.”

  Brendon was not a fool, and I didn’t like to hear him so labeled. There was nothing I wanted to say to Loring Grant on this subject, however, and I rocked in my chair and stared at the lake.

  “You’re wise to leave,” he went on, undisturbed by my lack of interest. “To end it before it’s really begun. You’ll recover all the sooner. Brendon’s tried to fool himself, and he fooled you until now. I haven’t any sympathy for him, but I do have for you. I thought this whole deception pretty rotten from the first, and I’ll be glad to see you out of it. You don’t deserve what has happened, Jenny.”

  His words were so kind, and yet somehow so false, and I continued to stare at the lake, wondering why he wanted me away from Laurel.

  “When are you leaving?” he asked.

  “When I find out about Floris,” I said.

  He seemed taken aback, but only for a moment. “Oh, that. How can you hope to follow so cold a trail? Besides, there’s only one possible ending to such a search, and it’s one you, of all people, should want to avoid. Of course Irene and Brendon want to avoid it too.”

  “Because you’d like everyone to think Ariel murdered Floris?”

  “How very blunt you are.” The smile I detested was in place. “But I suppose it could be true.”

  “And the publicity, if it all comes out, would be bad for Laurel Mountain House. Is that it? You’re threatening Brendon with that?”

  “Naturally it would be bad to have an unpleasant scandal in the papers. I think Brendon must move very carefully now.”

  Perhaps I was beginning to understand a little. “Carefully in a direction you want? You’re using this as leverage?”

  The smile was still there, and I found its smugness intolerable. “What if the police come back into this, Jenny?”

  “Why should they be interested again at this late date?”

  “The idea has possibilities.”

  So I was on the right track. “You’ve been making it up, haven’t you? All that about the police coming in again. What are you trying to do, L
oring?”

  “Nothing you need trouble your pretty little head about.”

  My hands clasped the rocker arms so hard the wood cut into my palms. He was maddening, and it was all I could do not to hurl angry, emotional words at him. With an effort I managed to speak quietly.

  “It all ties in with what you know about Floris’ death, doesn’t it?”

  “What a girl you are for leaping to conclusions.” His voice and manner suddenly hardened. “None of this is your business, Jenny. The one wise move left to you is to go away from Laurel Mountain and never come back. There’s nothing for you here.”

  I left my chair and leaned against the rail. “Oh, yes there is! There’s the matter of the lies you’ve been telling about my sister. You’re the one who has been whispering, as you call it. The only one!”

  He answered me blandly. “Whispers do have a habit of spreading, don’t they?”

  Just looking into his bland, handsome face made me ill, and in another moment I would have left him and gone back to my library work. But I wasn’t to touch it again that day.

  It was at that moment that Magnus Devin chose to stride across the veranda boards, coming up behind Loring. His huge grasp plucked him away from me and, with no noticeable effort, tossed him the width of the veranda, as a charging bull might toss its prey. In that sudden instant I felt a deep, primitive sense of satisfaction—because that was exactly what I would have liked to do to Loring myself, and I was ready to cheer for Magnus. Only later did I begin to feel frightened.

  9

  Loring struck the back wall of the veranda with considerable force, but managed to stay on his feet. Rage seized him as he recovered and hurled himself toward Magnus. Loring was dwarfed in size beside the other man, but had the advantage of being a thoroughly dirty fighter.

  I don’t know which of them might have fared worse, given time, but there were outcries from within the hotel, and a moment later Brendon rushed out to grab Loring and hold Magnus off.

  “You’re both crazy!” he told them. “Now what’s this all about?”