Rest You Merry

by Charlotte MacLeod

  “Neither did I,” he replied grimly. “I’m trying to find out who was responsible.”

  “Thorkjeld, don’t you know?”

  “I do not,” snapped the president. “There seem to be quite a few things around here I don’t know.”

  “How very remarkable.”

  Mrs. Svenson’s handsome face actually lost its serenity for an instant. “Well, shall be find our tables? At least we shall learn who is responsible for giving us a good dinner tonight. Smaklig måltid, Fröken Marsh.”

  “Tack, Fru Svenson,” Helen replied without batting an eye.

  Shandy was impressed. “Are you Swedish, too, Helen?”

  “No, but I worked for a while in South Dakota.”

  “What did you get fired from there for?”

  “Peter, that’s unkind.”

  Helen settled herself in the same chair Timothy Ames had occupied the day before and studied the menu for a moment. “Actually, it was on account of an irreconcilable difference between myself and the head of the English Department.”

  “On what subject did you differ?”

  “I’d prefer not to say,” she replied demurely. “Would I be safe in ordering the turkey divan?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Two turkey divans, please, miss.”

  “Yes, Professor. Will you have the cranberry mousse supreme with it?”

  “Who made the mousse?”

  “I did. We’re shorthanded on account of the Illumination.”

  “Then we must have some, by all means.”

  The girl flushed with pleasure. “I’ll bring your soup right away.”

  She was back in no time flat with an armload of salads, hot breads, and two steaming bowls of, inevitably, turkey soup. The Svensons, who still had not been served, looked somewhat taken aback. Shandy noticed, and gave Helen a wry smile.

  “As if I weren’t in enough trouble with the boss already.”

  “What are you in trouble about?”

  “Partly those idiotic Christmas trimmings, of course. Mrs. Svenson is not amused. Neither was poor Jemima.”

  “Peter, you mustn’t dwell on that. You don’t honestly hold yourself responsible for her death, do you?”

  “I think we’d better discuss that later,” Shandy murmured with an eye to the other tables. Leftovers notwithstanding, the dining room was doing a fair business.

  Helen looked surprised, but changed the subject. “You were right about the food, Peter, it’s excellent. And you say the whole operation is run by students?”

  “Under supervision, of course.”

  He went on explaining the college’s innovative curriculum. His companion began viewing President Svenson with such an approving eye that the great man motioned them over to his own table for coffee.

  “Miss Marsh thinks you’re fascinating,” Shandy told him.

  “So does Mrs. Svenson,” said the president. “Don’t you, Sieglinde?”

  “Yes, Thorkjeld. Eat your good rice pudding. Is it his looks or his mind you admire, Miss Marsh?”

  “I think it’s his common sense,” Helen replied. “I’ve worked at colleges all over the country, but this is the first I’ve struck where everybody seems to know what he’s doing, and why.”

  “Ah. Now that, Thorkjeld, is a compliment worth having. You are right, Miss Marsh, my husband is a sensible man. Some would think that makes him a dull man, but never in twenty-seven years have I found him so. No, Thorkjeld, no cream in your coffee. You had cream on your pudding. And what is it you work at, Miss Marsh?”

  “I’m a librarian.”

  “Ja? Then you will be able to take over the position that Mrs. Ames did not leave. I say did not leave because she never began.”

  Mrs. Svenson playfully slapped the president’s hand away from the sugar bowl. “She was a good worker only if she was minding somebody else’s business. What you should have done with her, Thorkjeld, was appoint somebody else assistant for the Buggins Collection. Then she would have stolen the job out from under his nose and it would be done in no time. You will remember that if you ever strike another like her. My husband is like an elephant, Miss Marsh. He never forgets. He would also look like an elephant if I let him. No, Thorkjeld, you must not have more coffee. It gives you bad dreams. Explain to Miss Marsh what she ought to do and come home.”

  “Show up tomorrow morning at the library and ask for the key to the Buggins Room. I’ll tell Porble you’re coming.”

  “But don’t you want to know about my background or training?” Helen gasped.

  President Svenson rose and pulled out the chair for his wife. “I’ll find out fast enough. Peter, you take her over. And remember, I’ve got my eye on you.”

  “They’re quite a pair,” said Helen when the Svensons were out of earshot.

  “They’re all that and then some. You watch your step, young woman. Is this coat really warm enough for you?”

  “No, but I have my South Dakota woollies on underneath. Where are we going?”

  “I think we’d better stop in and break the news to Porble that he has a new assistant before somebody else gets to him. Porble’s inclined to be touchy.”

  “But Dr. Svenson is going to let him know.”

  “The tom-toms will be beating long before the president gets around to it.”

  Shandy took Helen’s elbow and steered her toward the door. They didn’t get far before somebody said, “Who’s your friend, Peter?”

  “Oh, hello, ladies. Pam Waggoner and Shirley Wrenne, this is Helen Marsh, who’s just been made assistant librarian.”

  “So we heard,” replied Ms. Waggoner, a thin, dark assistant in Animal Husbandry. “You’re Jemmy Ames’s mother-in-law or something, aren’t you?”

  “Just a sort of courtesy aunt. Jemmy tossed me into the breach when she found out her father was going to need a housekeeper.”

  “He always did,” said Ms. Wrenne, a long-faced blonde clad in a great deal of hand-weaving; she specialized in native crafts. “Are you a real librarian or another phony like Ames?”

  “For God’s sake, Wrenne,” snapped her companion, “we all knew you hated Jemima’s guts, but you needn’t strew them around and stamp on them now that she’s gone.”

  “Now that she’s got what was coming to her for poking her nose in where it didn’t belong, you mean,” amended Ms. Wrenne, champing down hard on a radish.

  “Oh, shove it,” said Pam. “Enjoy your stay, Marsh, for however short it may be. I can’t imagine you’ll stand Balaclava long.”

  “I’m a qualified librarian,” Helen replied, “and I think Balaclava is marvelous. Do come and see me at the library. If I find any Faith Baldwins in the Buggins Collection, I’ll save them for you.”

  Before either of the women could form a reply, she moved on, a polite smile barely curving her rose-petal lips. Shandy bowed and went after her, wondering if Shirley Wrenne had in fact loathed Jemima as heartily as she claimed. If she did, it was stupid to keep saying so since Tim’s wife was murdered.

  But nobody but himself and Ames and President Svenson knew that. So her bitchiness ought to be a proof of innocence.

  On the other hand, it could be a clever defense. Later on, when the facts leaked out as they surely must, she could say, “If I’d known it wasn’t an accident, do you think I’d have been idiotic enough to talk about her the way I did?” President Svenson did not hire unintelligent instructors.

  Pam Waggoner was no dimwit either. Shandy wondered, not for the first time, what precisely was the relationship between the two women. The fact that they shared a house and went about together a lot didn’t necessarily mean they enjoyed each other’s company, let alone any other close tie. Doubling up was probably a fiscal necessity on assistants’ salaries, and unmarried females in this overwhelmingly uxorious society, denied any personal relationship with the male students, must often be hard put for companionship.

  Pondering, he almost snubbed the Dysarts. Adele was having none of that. />
  “Peter, don’t you speak to your friends any more? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Oh, sorry. Adele and Bob Dysart, this is Helen Marsh. Bob is the one with the mustache.”

  “Helen?” Mrs. Dysart laughed merrily. “I was sure you were going to say Susie.”

  “Miss Marsh is here from California,” Shandy reminded her severely. “As you may recall, Timothy Ames and I spoke of her coming this morning after the funeral.”

  “Oh, of course. Do forgive me, Miss Marsh. It’s just so difficult to keep up with Peter and his women. I hope you’re going to enjoy your stay at Balaclava.”

  “We’ll make damn sure she does,” said Bob, pumping Helen’s hand with unnecessary vigor for far too long a time. “Have to plan a little get-together as soon as we’ve recovered from the last one. Too bad you missed our Christmas party, Helen. Old Pete here did, too. You watch out for that guy. If he starts giving you a hard time, come and tell me.”

  “Thank you,” said Helen, managing at last to extricate her fingers from his grasp. “I’m sure he won’t. Good evening.”

  She was out the door before Shandy could effect any more introductions. He didn’t blame her for wanting to escape.

  “Perhaps you’d rather put off meeting Porble until tomorrow?”

  “Oh no. People do run in types, don’t they? Who’s Susie?”

  “Another of the petards by which I’ve been hoist.”

  As they threaded their way among the wandering sightseers, he confessed his latest awfulness and its appalling repercussions.

  “So of course Adele started dropping hints right and left, with the result that I’m now regarded as a—er—wolf.”

  “Oh, Peter! I shouldn’t laugh because I’m sure you’re in hot water up to the eyebrows already, but you must admit it’s funny.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Tim would, if he were here. He predicted—er—dire consequences.”

  “Have they begun to happen, and is it really that dire?”

  “Yes to the first question. As to the second, not yet but I expect it soon will be. I suppose I ought to have warned you, Helen. Being seen in public with me is probably going to—er—”

  “Blacken my honest name? I’ll just have to take that chance, won’t I? Which is the Porbles’ house?”

  “Right down there. First on the Crescent, as you see. Porble doesn’t care to walk any farther than he has to.”

  “Why? Is he handicapped or just lazy?”

  “Neither. He doesn’t believe in wasted motion. That’s why he’s let the Buggins Collection gather dust for so long. He says the books have no practical value.”

  “What are they?”

  “Nobody knows. The books aren’t even listed, much less catalogued. And because they’re not, we mustn’t go in and disturb them.”

  “You mustn’t blame the librarian too much,” said Helen. “He’s probably overworked and underpaid, like the rest of us. Most librarians have a bunch of old books stuck away somewhere that they’re afraid to dump and haven’t time to bother about. They’re always meaning to get around to cataloguing them but usually don’t unless somebody pesters them into it. Who got on Mr. Porble’s back? Mrs. Svenson?”

  “No, me,” said Shandy unhappily.

  “What made you get interested in the Buggins Collection?”

  “I just thought there might be some things I’d like to read. That’s a concept Porble doesn’t understand. Neither did Jemima. Svenson gave her the job for the sole purpose of shutting me up and she used it to keep me out.”

  “Was that easy to do?”

  “Yes, very. You’ll see. Watch your step here. He hasn’t wasted any extra motion sanding the path.”

  Shandy rang the librarian’s bell. A girl of about fourteen answered.

  “Good evening, Lizanne. Is your father in?”

  “He’s just sitting down to dinner,” said the child doubtfully.

  “This won’t take a moment. I merely want to introduce Miss Marsh, who’s going to take Mrs. Ames’s place at the library.”

  “Oh.” Lizanne gave Helen a sort of frightened bob and ran off, calling, “Daddy! Professor Shandy wants you to meet a lady.”

  “What lady?”

  Not the librarian but his wife appeared. “Well, Peter, this is a surprise. I was just putting the food on the table. I’m afraid I can’t ask you to join us at such short notice.”

  “No, no, we ate up at the college. That’s why we stopped at such an inconvenient time. The president was there and suggested Miss Marsh take over the Buggins Collection assistantship. I thought Phil ought to meet her before he heard about it on the grapevine, out of—er—respect for his position. Helen’s come to hold the fort for Timothy Ames. You remember we spoke of it at the Cadwalls’ this morning.”

  “Oh yes. I must say not many women could pick up stakes and fly across country at a moment’s notice.” She emitted a particularly nasty little laugh.

  Helen refused to be annoyed. “Actually, I was all set to come back anyway. I’ve given Buck and Jemmy my plants and furniture and they’re keeping my books and whatnot till I decide where I’m going to settle.”

  “Oh, then you won’t stay with Tim indefinitely?”

  “I have no idea. I’m only trying to be useful in an emergency. Jemmy’s such a love and she was tearing herself to pieces with the baby coming and her mother dead, wanting her father and being afraid of what would happen if he left the house empty during the Illumination, that I just said I’d come and I did.”

  Mrs. Porble began to thaw. “I always say families should stick together in time of trouble. Jemima’s death was a terrible shock to us all. I said to Phil—”

  They never did get to hear what she’d said, as Phil himself came bustling into the hallway.

  “Well, Peter. Nice of you to do my work for me. I understand I’ve hired a new assistant for the Buggins Collection. Miss Marsh, is it? Would it be rude to ask if you’ve had anything in the way of library experience? Or perhaps a library card? You have at least been inside a library?”

  “Fairly often,” Helen replied calmly. “I got my doctorate in library science from Simmons College in Boston.” She mentioned a few of the positions she’d held and Porble’s sneer changed to awe.

  “My God,” he gulped. “I feel as if I’ve swallowed an oyster and choked on a pearl. And Svenson hired you to work on the Buggins Collection. The Buggins Collection!”

  For the first time in their eighteen years’ acquaintance, Shandy saw Porble crack up. “The Buggins Collection! Grace, did you hear that? The president’s got me a DLS for the Buggins Collection.”

  His wife managed a dutiful giggle, though she was obviously more puzzled than amused. “But, Miss Marsh, since you’re so well qualified, whatever possessed you to take such a ridiculous job?”

  “I didn’t exactly take it, I was given it. You know Dr. Svenson better than I. His wife asked me what I do and I said I was a librarian, and there we were. I might as well fill in until you can get someone else, if you want me. I’m supposed to see you tomorrow morning, but Peter thought we should just stop in and say hello. Now I think we ought to run along before your dinner gets cold.”

  They were back in the Crescent before Porble could recover from his paroxysm. Shandy was chuckling, too.

  “You’ve brightened their evening.”

  “His, not hers,” Helen corrected. “Mrs. Porble’s probably feeling threatened just now. She’s a nice woman, don’t you think?”

  “I thought she went out of her way to be nasty to you.”

  “I might be, too, if somebody barged into my house just at dinnertime waving a strange woman in my husband’s face. As soon as she’s got over the shock, she’s going to arrange a little dinner for us. It will be a buffet with two different casseroles, a molded salad, and a fancy dessert she got out of Better Homes and Gardens. She’ll wear a long plaid skirt and a black nylon blouse because it’s dressy and doesn’t show the dirt. They
’ll invite three other couples. We’ll have a much pleasanter time than we expect.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “No, I won’t. You’re being snide. But you just wait and see.”

  “With pleasure.” He liked the sound of that “three other couples.”

  “Where do we go next?”

  “Groceries. There’s a sort of general store down on Main Street that keeps open all hours. You can do your shopping, then invite me over for breakfast.”

  “Peter Shandy, you fox! Don’t tell me that fish-eyed blonde was right about you, after all?”

  “Adele is never right. She only thinks she is.”

  “She’s the one with the money, I suppose?”

  “Have you ever considered getting yourself burned as a witch? How do you know these things about people you’ve barely met?”

  “I meet them everywhere. He’s the sort who marries money and she’s the sort who falls for men like him because she doesn’t really know anything about people except that one needs them for an audience. I expect nobody cares much for either one of them, but everybody pretends to because they play so hard for notice that they make you feel guilty.”

  Shandy laughed ruefully. “I’d never thought of that. I always leave their parties wondering why everybody else is having so much more fun than I. Perhaps the others wonder, too.”

  “I know. Lots of noise, loaded drinks, and Adele’s wearing a jellaba she picked up on a guided tour of Morocco. I am being bitchy. What do you eat for breakfast?”

  “Whatever you choose to give me.”

  A latter-day Antaeus, renewing his strength with every rib he elbowed, Shandy plowed a path for himself and Helen through the crowd.

  Chapter 12

  THEY THREADED THEIR WAY back up the hill carrying brown paper bags. Shandy had tried to take her groceries along with his own, but she wouldn’t let him.

  “No, really, Peter. I’d feel like an old woman.”