Mike saw her out. When he returned he looked reproachfully at the empty carafe. “She didn’t even leave us a celebration drink.”
“Just as well,” Amy said. “First help me get dressed. Then while I’m with Ma’am call up Abe and Audie and explain things. Try to get her on the phone. She’s a lot more rational about us than he is. Then you have to call the garage and arrange for a standby chauffeur to be assigned here for the next few days. Room and board provided. Then, darling—are you listening, Mike?”
“Listening, looking, and marveling. Go ahead.”
“Then get down to the staff hall and cool them off there. Clear up all rumors. I’ll be down as soon as I have the job schedules ready. But those rumors can be real morale wreckers. Tomorrow’ll be bad enough without that.”
“True,” Mike agreed. “You realize we’re both likely to be in the papers tomorrow? And for a while to come? And on television?”
“Then we will unplug the set and not read the papers.”
“Wise of you, baby,” Mike said. “Come to think of it, in your new position, do you mind my calling you pet names?”
“Never,” said Amy. “In case you don’t know it, that’s my connection to reality.”
In the second-floor corridor a gathering of solemn-looking men turned to watch her as she passed by. The uniformed policeman near the wide-open door of the apartment gave her a nod as she entered the sitting room. She stopped short there and closed her eyes tight as a qualm seized her.
No, she told herself, you will function.
She opened her eyes and saw blanket-size sheets of black plastic covering the armchair and round table and a wide area of the white carpet. Hell and damnation, she thought, you will continue to function. Very well, as soon as possible that carpet and those pieces of furniture must be replaced by something entirely different. Invite Dorothy Durie to decide how different? No. Right now Dorothy was more in a mood to have her aunt replaced than any furniture.
The bedroom door was also wide open. Ma’am, in negligee, was reclining like Pauline Bonaparte in her chaise longue. Nearby sat a pinch-faced, angular woman in nurse’s uniform reading a paperback. A stony Hegnauer in a chair across the room instantly rose when she saw Amy. She was clutching what appeared to be a rolled-up face towel. But before she could speak, keen ears had picked up the pattern of footsteps.
“Lloyd?” Ma’am said plaintively. “You’ve taken so long. Do come here. I must speak to you.”
“In a moment,” Amy said.
“I go away now,” Hegnauer whispered to her fiercely. “Better I stay in a hotel. Tomorrow I come back for my clothes.”
“Lloyd?” said Ma’am.
“In a moment, Miss Durie,” said Amy. She shook her head at Hegnauer. “I can only tell you one thing. When you walk out of this house newspaper and television people will chase you everywhere, asking you questions, taking your picture. They won’t leave you alone.”
“You mean so?”
“You think not? Just look out of that window.”
“Oh. Well. Then I wait. But not here with her. I told Mrs. Dorothy I stay with her only until you come, that’s all.” Hegnauer thrust out the towel. “For you.”
“What is it?”
Hegnauer partly unrolled the towel to display Ma’am’s letter opener and shears. “Better she don’t have them.”
“All right, then what you do is take them down to the staff hall and give them to Mr. Lloyd.” She slipped an arm across Hegnauer’s broad shoulders and gently propelled her toward the door. “Then wait there for me. I’ll be down soon.”
Privacy halfway assured, she walked over to the nurse. “Your name is—?”
“Henderson. Miss Henderson.”
“Miss Henderson, I’d like you to wait outside. Just close the door behind you when you leave.”
Miss Henderson didn’t move. “Who are you?”
“Mrs. Lloyd, the housekeeper in charge.”
Miss Henderson rose to her feet, glowering. “If the doctor tells me one thing, and people walk in and tell me something else—”
“Just close the door behind you,” Amy said.
With the click of the latch, she drew Miss Henderson’s chair over to the chaise longue and seated herself. “We’re alone now, Miss Durie.”
The sightless eyes turned toward her. “I’m aware of that, Lloyd.”
“Mrs. Lloyd, if you don’t mind.”
Ma’am nodded understanding. “Of course, now that you’ve taken Mrs. McEye’s place. You have, haven’t you?”
“Yes. What did you want to speak to me about?”
The pale lips parted, then compressed. Not for the first time, Amy realized, she was seeing this face without makeup, and it was all the more beautiful for that. But no, she warned herself, you must put aside any such distracting thoughts. You must simply function. If one could manage to function through all this horror and confusion, the horror will fade away in time and order will be restored. Not the same old order but an even better and more sensible one.
Forget that easy escape into the secure, money-tight, self-righteous little nest Abe had prepared. Aside from everything else, he was wrong about this servant thing. Hypocritical, in fact. He liked good restaurants and luxurious hotel vacations and that woman Audie had in every week for the housecleaning, that Puerto Rican whose name he was never clear about. He liked to be waited on, he liked servants. But as Mrs. Bernius of Domestique had shrewdly remarked, there was an ingrained distaste for that word servant and that’s where Abe’s hypocrisy showed. The Duries had servants. Abe and Audie had people waiting on them whom they refused to call servants.
Mrs. Bernius, yes. One must function, and meeting as soon as possible with Mrs. Bernius was an imperative in the staff reorganization. Prepare a chart tonight, and tomorrow show her what was needed. An invaluable ally, all right. The invaluable ally.
“My dear,” Ma’am said at last. The small hand groped outward and found Amy’s wounded arm. Fingertips traced the bandage, then withdrew. “I never intended to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“But how do you know you were the one to hurt me, Miss Durie?”
“I was told.”
“You don’t remember how it happened?”
“I only remember that poor creature saying she felt ill. Beyond that nothing.”
“I wonder,” said Amy.
“I only know what I was told,” Ma’am said tonelessly, and, Amy thought, it had the sound of being well rehearsed. The voice took on warmth. “Believe me, my dear, you are the last one in the world I’d want to hurt in any way.”
Lucky me, thought Amy, because if I had been that poor creature …
She said, “I’m ready to believe that part of it, Miss Durie. I only wish I could believe the rest of it.”
“You will,” Ma’am said comfortingly. “And you shall read to me—you read so well—and we’ll share music and perhaps those pleasant rides in the car. I look to you for that.”
“When it can be arranged.”
“I’m sure it will be. Oh, yes, and there’s one matter to attend to promptly. The final payment for those paintings will be due, and I don’t want to be remiss in that.”
“Miss Durie, of all matters to be attended to promptly—”
“No, this is most urgent. I want you to make that payment directly to Adela Taliaferro.”
“Directly to her?”
“Yes. You must meet with her. Express my regrets. Then I’ll want you to describe to me—”
“Oh, no,” Amy said in outrage. “No, not that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. You’ve provided that woman with an agony to live with the rest of her life, and now I’m to rub salt in the wound and report back to you how it made her writhe. That’s monstrous.”
“Monstrous?” Ma’am said in pained bewilderment. “A simple favor?”
“My simple favors, Miss Durie, will extend as far as the reading, the music, and the car r
ides. And those rides will start at this house and end here, with no stops along the way for any reason.”
“My dear, do you mean that I’m to be your prisoner?”
“No. No more than I’m to be your instrument. Understand, Miss Durie, that I now know everything that’s gone into the making of this—this—tragedy tonight. Everything. Starting with Ross Taliaferro himself. Every single fact. That’s where I want to leave it. There’s nothing you can add to it that I ever want to hear. If you take that to heart, we’ll get along much better with each other.”
“You’re angry.”
“Among other things,” said Amy. “Now I really must leave, Miss Durie. I have a difficult night’s work ahead.”
“Of course. But you will make time for me tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Amy, “I will. Good-night, Miss Durie. I’ll send the nurse right in.”
She stood up, and the hand caught hold of her skirt. “One moment more,” said Ma’am.
“Miss Durie—”
“One moment more, my dear.” The hand held tight. “You see, if you believe that you know all, you’re wrong. There is one thing that only I know. It concerns Ross Taliaferro.”
Amy found herself transfixed by curiosity and despising herself for it. “What about him?”
“Fifty-two years of darkness,” Ma’am whispered. “Fifty-two years and four months and four days from that day to this. And he was never worth it. He was a clumsy lover. Impatient and clumsy. He was never worth it at all.”
About the Author
Stanley Ellin (1916–1986) was an American mystery writer known primarily for his short stories. After working a series of odd jobs including dairy farmer, salesman, steel worker, and teacher, and serving in the US Army, Ellin began writing full time in 1946. Two years later, his story “The Specialty of the House” won the Ellery Queen Award for Best First Story. He went on to win three Edgar Awards—two for short stories and one for his novel The Eighth Circle. In 1981, Ellin was honored with the Mystery Writers of America’s Grand Master Award. He died of a heart attack in Brooklyn in 1986.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1985 by Stanley Ellin
Cover design by Drew Padrutt
ISBN: 978-1-5040-4271-0
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