David shook his head. “She’d say so. She’s too mechanical to conspire. Gust wasn’t near the place, or the Chinaman, either.”
“So it leaves Fox? Her own grandfather!”
“Any of them could have used a long fuse. And of course, it also leaves Sarah.”
“Sarah herself? Surely that’s ridiculous!”
“I think so. But the arson expert was wondering. Her lighter was all the evidence they found. Edgar pretends to think she may have groggily dropped an open lighter and won’t remember. But listen, Consuelo. I feel there is going to appear, sooner or later, a slight current of suspicion that Sarah might have done it on purpose.”
“Why?” gasped Consuelo. “Why ever would she?”
“Edgar will give out with some of his psychological hints,” said David gloomily. “Sarah did it to keep the series going. To burn my stuff. She didn’t intend to hurt herself. Well, it’s true. You’d think, with her head cool, she could easily have gotten out of there.”
“What was she doing when you got in?”
“Try to save my stuff,” said David, “or so it seemed to me.”
“It won’t work, Davey. She wouldn’t have wanted to burn your stuff.” David seemed to groan. “Why would she want to keep this series going?” Consuelo demanded.
“Why?” he said. “If she’s been fixing or lying about all these accidents. All by herself.”
“That would mean,” said Consuelo in a moment, “that she is what we used to call crazy.”
“So it would.” David turned up the toes of his shoes and stared at them. “Mind you, Edgar doesn’t say that. Malvina doesn’t say that. But it’s in the air. They pretend to be bravely ignoring the possibility. Malvina’s very good at ignoring something so bravely that you can’t help seeing what she means.”
“I’m worried,” said Consuelo.
“So am I. Especially since Sarah says she was asleep when the fire started”
“Don’t you believe her?”
“I don’t understand it. Fox says she was asleep. Mrs. Monteeth says she was asleep.”
“Maybe she was asleep,” said Consuelo brightly.
David said, “When I left her she was in a panic. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, she was sound asleep. Edgar says she took a headache pill but …”
“Where did she get it, Davey?”
“Huh? I wonder!” David struck his thigh. “Now, by gum, I wonder!”
“Didn’t you ask her? Isn’t there any thought she may have been drugged? Wouldn’t the doctor know?”
“Maybe he wouldn’t tell. Yeah,” David drawled. “Ye—ah. Listen, I didn’t ask her much … because I couldn’t get her to the point of hearing me until it was too late. Tried to tell her my new book is safe but I don’t think she even got that. She was in such a …”
“Oh, Davey,” said Consuelo sadly and reproachfully.
“I know. I know. Got to talk to her some more. Couldn’t make a fuss and have the old man collapse. They … he ran me out of there.”
Consuelo gnawed a knuckle. “Would you know if she wasn’t quite right, Davey? I don’t know the girl, God help her.”
“She sure was unreasonable this morning. I felt like socking her for a minute.”
“Oh come, now,” said Consuelo, cheering up. “After all, being in love with you doesn’t necessarily mean she’s off her rocker.”
His eyes fled away from hers. “I tried … I wish now …”
“Yes, you should have,” said Consuelo calmly.
He looked up, startled.
“Smacked her a good one,” Consuelo said.
“A good what, Consuelo darlin’?”
“Ah, Davey, you know I mean a good sound kiss.”
“I near as almost did,” he confessed sheepishly. He had a sharp image of Sarah’s beautiful mouth. “You’re right. I wish I had.” He was up, pacing again. “I wish she didn’t trust the old Fox the way she does. She does, you know. Of course, it may be he’s not in it. I wish she hadn’t been in such a state.”
“Didn’t help her much,” said Consuelo severely, “that stuff about proposing marriage.”
“Edgar assumed it. I let it go. I had to get rid of him.”
“Davey, you’ve got to get straightened around with that girl.”
“Don’t I know it!”
“Wait. Say. It did get rid of Edgar?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why? Why did he let you send him away?”
“Well, possibly Edgar wouldn’t mind if I took up with Sarah. He may fear Malvina might take a shine to me.”
“Now wait a minute, Davey. You say they made it difficult for you to talk to Sarah alone?”
“They sure did. Even this morning, Fox comes a-trotting, heart condition and all. You can’t tell me he didn’t deliberately interrupt.”
“But Edgar would just as soon you married Sarah?”
“Well …”
“Well, they aren’t seeing eye to eye then,” cried Consuelo. “So, roil ’em up!” She made a rotary motion of her wrist that set her diamonds flashing. “Put them against each other.”
“That’s a female-type idea!”
“Davey, you haven’t the least idea why all this is happening to Sarah?”
“No.”
“And you are afraid they may all be in it?”
“Yes. I think it’s possible.”
“Then roil ’em up,” said Consuelo firmly. “And don’t hang around here talking to me. I kinda wish you hadn’t left her up there.”
“What could I do?” demanded David. “If I raise an open row, they tell me the old man will drop dead. I can’t be responsible for that. What can I prove, anyhow? How could I get her out of there when she won’t have anything to do with me?” He paced.
“Davey, do you want to marry Sarah Shepherd?”
“I don’t think so,” he said evenly. “I hadn’t thought about marriage, you know. I was looking for a secretary.”
Consuelo shook her dyed locks. “Maybe it’s none of your business.”
“None of my business!” He stopped still.
“You could give up.”
“Give up!” he yelped. “Listen, whatever I think about Sarah, how can I let her go mad or get killed? And she could get killed. They used my car to kill one woman already. And they’ve burned up my work or so they think, and they don’t care. None of my business!”
Consuelo said, “I’m thinking of your mama, Davey. I don’t know how safe it is for you to go tangling any more with those people.”
“If I thought it was safe,” said David furiously, “I wouldn’t have to do it. And it sure as hell isn’t safe up there for Sarah, poor little owl.”
“Owl?” said Consuelo.
“She … well, she wears glasses. She’s got this cute little nose. She’s blonde. I’m damned sorry for her. She’s not to blame for being in a state. Most people couldn’t take half as much. She’s intelligent, Consuelo.”
“She is, eh?” Consuelo folded her mouth and looked wise. “Well, then,” she said in a moment, looking as grim and fierce as she could, “my advice is this. Go back. Watch out. Roil them up. Kiss that intelligent Sarah as soon as possible and bring her to me.”
“My sainted aunt,” said David, cocking a startled eye at her. “You may be right. I think I will do as you advise.”
Chapter 10
By the time David put Consuelo’s car beside the other two that nudged the hill like suckling pigs, the afternoon was waning. He went up the blackened steps into the garden.
The ruined end of the building, the bent and broken fence, the odor of ugliness and destruction, hung over the garden and spoiled its peace, unless you faced the west and held your breath. Malvina was there, facing east and all the ugliness. Waiting for him.
When he saw her his heart stopped and he thought, No, Lord, not my little owl. Nothing bad to her! He knew that guilt and blame and self-reproach were hanging, ready to fall upon him for having left her
even a few hours. So he understood Sarah better, even while he walked warily toward whatever it would be about her.
Malvina was dressed for dinner already in a frock of red linen, cut square and low, with wide straps crossing the tan of her plump shoulders. She had a stole of white wool on her arm and now she swung it around her. “David …” Her face was grave.
“What is it?” he demanded sharply.
“I don’t like telling you this …”
“Go on.” He didn’t believe she didn’t like it.
“You can’t come in,” she said. “Sarah thinks you have gone away.”
“Who told her I had gone away?” he said. His blood seemed to start through his veins again.
“We did. We had to. There was nothing else to do to make her calm. Since we told her, she is better. So you can’t come in. I’m sorry.”
He said, “I don’t believe you.”
“David. David.” She ran after him. “Grandfather is in the big room. It’s cocktail time. Don’t, don’t … You know what we fear. Any excitement at all might …”
“I don’t want any excitement. I want to be sure.”
“Sure of what, David? Sarah does think you have gone. I told her so myself.”
“Whose idea was this?”
“We had to. She doesn’t want you here. You made her cry this morning. She told you to go. She begged you to go.”
But David remembered Sarah’s mouth nerving itself to say “So long.”
“I don’t understand,” he said coolly. “You’ll have to excuse me for wanting to understand it. Did your grandfather think of this idea?”
“No, no. We can’t upset Grandfather either.”
“Isn’t this his house?”
David walked toward the glass door. Malvina caught at him. He could see she was angry because he would not move in the pattern she had designed. “Are you so wild about Sarah that you can’t take no for an answer?” she cried. “Don’t you care for an old man’s life?”
“I care for most lives,” said David quietly. “I even care for the lives of innocent people walking in public places.”
Malvina was breathing deeply. She was close. He could smell her perfume as if it were rising from her skin in a sudden cloud. She said nothing.
“However,” said David calmly, “I think it only courteous to keep a promise.”
“What promise?”
“I promised Sarah not to leave her. If I must leave her I should at least say goodbye.”
“You are not a courteous man,” she said angrily. “You are stubborn. You are intrusive.”
“I was well brought up, just the same,” said David imperturbably. And he opened the door and stood aside gallantly for a lady to enter. Malvina gave him one helpless angry roll of her eyes and stepped in.
It seemed to David that the old man was furious. Although he did not raise his voice beyond the slight whine that David had heard in it before, and the duckings and tiltings of his head were only a little more rapid, still there was strain in the neck chords and a bursting look about the eyeballs.
“Discourtesy,” Grandfather was saying mournfully. “That a guest of mine should be told to leave. No, no, dear boy. You will stay on, if only to show me that you appreciate it was not discourtesy. It was only Malvina’s mistaken attempt to confort our Sarah. Mistaken, of course. And I shall be mortified if you do not stay. Mortified. Now please do not go on talking of leaving.”
David hadn’t been talking. Fox was doing the talking. David had simply walked in and laid the whole situation quietly on the line. “Malvina tells me I must leave. Because Sarah has been told I’ve gone.” He’d made a bald quiet statement and sent the old man into this concealed rage.
Now David made one more statement, as quietly as before. “Since I promised Sarah I would not leave, may I make sure she knows?”
“Of course Sarah must know,” said Grandfather irritably. “Malvina has been stupid. Oh, these well-meant lies! It’s not as if you had to bother Sarah. You must stay as my guest, and Sarah must know it. My dear David.”
“Grandfather,” said Malvina in a voice curiously flat, “I acted for the best. Believe me, you mustn’t …”
The old man put his hand on his chest, but his glance was lightning. “Now, Malvina, I am calm. I am very calm. But I cannot speak of this much longer. Edgar, take David along. Look in on poor Sarah. Quickly. Come back, then, and let us have our quiet chat before the fire. Since David is kind enough and courteous enough himself not to leave my house and mortify me.”
“I will do nothing at all to upset you, sir,” said David.
Edgar got up. “I’m not sure, sir …”
“You must all do as I say,” snapped Grandfather.
They walked down the corridor, David last. “I can’t leave now,” said David softly. “We must think of his health.”
Edgar stopped at Sarah’s door and turned his head. His face was grim. His little eyes reddened around the rims. “You’re not as smart as you think you are,” he growled.
“Then tell me …”
But Edgar jerked his shoulders and tapped on the door, opened it, and they stepped within.
She was alone, lying against the pillows, looking completely lax and spent as if there was no starch in her at all. David felt his anger rising. There she lay, paralyzed by all this nonsense. A pretty, intelligent young woman who ought to be living and working and looking around her, imprisoned in this room instead by a superstitious idea and the apathy of despair.
He said briskly, “Hello, Sarah.” Her eyelids scarcely moved. “For the love of Mike, where are your glasses!” he said. “You look terrible without them.”
Her eyes flew open in astonishment. Her hand went fumbling for her glasses on the table.
“I came to announce that the rumor of my leaving was a false one. Seems Malvina thought it was a good idea to lie to you.”
Sarah didn’t speak.
“Malvina was acting for the best,” said Edgar stiffly. “You’ve misunderstood her.”
Sarah’s lips parted but she didn’t speak.
“Malvina says it was the only way to get you calm,” David prodded.
“That’s not so,” said Sarah feebly. But a little life came into her face.
“Well? Don’t you care?” David challenged, fanning that spark. “Don’t you mind that people tell you lies and lie about you? Are you going to shake and shudder in that bed and let people tell you whatever they please, true or false? Didn’t you hear me say I wouldn’t leave you? Did you think I had broken my word so soon? Didn’t it cross your mind that one of us had deceived you?”
Her mouth was tightening. He thought he must … must … at whatever cost, keep on breaking that terrible apathy. “I’ve deceived you plenty,” he said boldly. “Look at that piece of paper you rescued, why don’t you?”
“What? Wait a minute.” Edgar snatched the scorched fragment from where it lay. “I can’t read it,” he complained.
“Sarah can.” David grabbed it and gave it to her. She looked at it. David met her widening eyes. “Now do you see how you suffer for nothing?”
“What do you mean?” Edgar was nervous.
“She knows.”
Color was coming into Sarah’s cheeks. The woeful, the wan, the forlorn look was vanishing. “I see how you deceived me,” she said primly. She raised up. David saw with pleasure that she was getting angry. “Mr. Wakeley, did your car roll down a hill?”
Now he staggered. “Yes,” he admitted.
“You didn’t tell me so?”
“No.”
“That was a kind of lie, I think,” said Sarah.
“I beg your pardon,” David said gently, “for all these things. But you suffer—therefore people spare you. You are asking for lies when you act as if you are not tough enough for the truth.”
“Did you intend to ask me to marry you this morning?” she inquired. She was supported on one elbow; her head was tipped over. She looked at him steadily.
She was good and mad.
“No,” he said. “Not really.”
“Then you lied to Edgar. Did anyone ask you to lie in that way?”
“No.” David stood foursquare, intent upon her. “But I have lied Don’t you wonder why?”
He felt Edgar’s hand trying to turn him and he snapped, “Doctor, is she so ill she must lie there? Why can’t she get up and fight like a human being?”
“You don’t understand,” said Dr. Perrott intensely. “Believe me, you don’t know what it’s all about. Now, come out of here. Now please, come away.”
David was perceptive enough to feel the man’s sincerity. He was willing to concede that there were things he did not understand. The man’s urgency now made him doubtful. “All right. As long as Sarah knows I did not leave. I hope you are better, Sarah.” He felt sure she was. She was good and mad, and he was glad of it.
She sat bolt upright and the soft fabric of her gown fell low on her bare shoulders. “You were very kind to come and tell me,” said Sarah.
He could have sworn that proudly, toughly, she meant it. He couldn’t answer. He let Edgar draw him away.
In the corridor Edgar said, “You do her no favor to teach her to think people lie, you know.”
“No?”
“Symptom,” snapped Edgar.
“Paranoia …” David’s step faltered.
“You think of that a little late. Let her alone.”
Sarah lay back and stared at the wall. Then she rolled and retrieved the charred sheet of David’s notes from the floor. Clinton, she read. Then a line lower, Howe. Both British generals in the War of the American Revolution. They had nothing to do with the history of the State of California. These notes were old, made for David Wakeley’s earlier book, already published. These notes had no value. It didn’t matter if they burned. He hadn’t even brought his real work here. He had not lost it. Nothing evil had happened to him.
Because he had deceived her. He had not meant to work with her at all. But why? She thought, So, I’ve been spared, have I? Of all the ridiculous …! What is going on? she cried to herself. And something loosened and her heart swelled and she was good and mad and head-over-heels in love.
“Listen to me, Grandfather,” Malvina said, as soon as they were left before the fire. She leaned across the cushions. “There is something you don’t know. If you had let me in, this afternoon … but you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t listen. That car David is driving doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to Consuelo McGhee.”
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