Marriage Bed

by Dixon, H. Vernor

I closed my eyes for a split second and clenched my hands into fists. I heard him say coldly, “Well, Carol, is there something you want?” and then I opened my eyes. The moment was right.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Jeff, maybe you can help me out.”

  “If you don’t mind, Carol, I was just telling a story.”

  “It will take only a moment.”

  “Of course.” He shrugged, smiling at the others in an apologetic manner. “We can forget the story. But how I could ever help you out — What is it?”

  I wanted to scream and run, but I stayed. I could feel my fingernails biting into my palms as I said, “Well, it’s about a poem I was reading recently.”

  He was puzzled for a minute, then decided to take advantage of my words. “Poetry,” he sneered. “I never knew you were interested in the less material pleasures.”

  Vivien sensed that something was going wrong and turned to him with a bright smile. “Why, Jeff, you used to write a lot of poetry. I guess I’ve read every word of it.”

  He smiled at her. “I suppose you have, at that. You had a very nice appreciation of what I was doing.”

  “Well, I didn’t know too much about it …”

  I interrupted, before they should get off on a detour. “That’s why I think you can help me out, Jeff. You understand poetry.”

  His eyes came back to mine and the irritated frown returned. “Look, Carol; this is a party and everyone is having fun — ”

  “But this will take only a minute, Jeff. This particular poem has been with me ever since I read it — you know, like a tune you keep humming over and over and can’t get out of your mind. I can’t even remember where I read it, but I know it was either Shelley or Byron. Maybe you know. Listen.”

  His voice was loaded with exasperation. “Oh, for God’s sake, Carol, let’s forget this childish harping on poetry.

  First it was my drinking, and then Viv — Well, now it’s poetry.”

  I cried, “No, Jeff. Wait. Now, you listen. You can tell me who it is.”

  Before he could again protest, I saw the printed page swimming before my eyes and recited the eight lines of the poem, Jeffrey’s poem, without missing a word. If I had paused to take a breath I would never have been able to finish it. Probably I sounded like a schoolgirl reciting for the teacher, but all of the importance of that poem lay in its words. I finished the words and then I took a deep breath.

  “Well,” I asked, “who wrote it, Byron or Shelley?”

  Sam very nearly ruined everything by touching my shoulder and saying, “I don’t think it was either one, Carol. That was a very beautiful little poem, but for Shelley or Byron — ”

  I said quickly, “Please, Sam, Jeff knows more about it than you. Now, Jeff, which one was it?”

  Vivien was watching me closely, but with a thoughtful, inward-searching look in her eyes. The poem had struck a responsive chord in her mind. But she had had enough of poetry and was afraid that “Jeffrey” was going to quarrel with me. She took his arm in an attempt to pull him away. “Come on, Jeff. Let’s get another drink.”

  He seemed just as anxious to leave. There was some thing about my expression that must have warned him, “Sure,” he said, patting her arm. “Sure, Vivien, anything you say.”

  I bit back a scream and spoke again, loudly. “Now, please, Jeff, I’ll simply go mad if I don’t know who wrote that poem.”

  He turned to look at me over his shoulder and then he was grinning. “Shelley,” he said, “Mystic stuff. Too much for Byron. Definitely know Shelley wrote it, but,” he laughed, “don’t quote me.”

  He and Vivien walked away from us and through the plants of the solarium. But just before they disappeared, “Jeffrey” came to a halt and looked back at me and he was not smiling and a sudden thought had pulled his face into a queer shape. He turned to look at Vivien and her smile also disappeared. She was searching his face, frowning, thoughtful, a strange twist to her mouth, bewilderment and a touch of fear in her eyes. That responsive chord was beginning to vibrate. He placed his fingers about her bare arm and shoved her roughly before him out of the room.

  I moved away from the group of guests and leaned back against a wall, weak with relief. It could have been the other way around. He could have told me that the poem was his and I would have been lost in a horrible abyss and an ugly shame would have stained every tissue of my mind. Even though reaction to the truth was sickening and frightening, it was nevertheless a relief to know, with not the slightest doubt remaining.

  Sam stood before me, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed hard on mine. “That little scene,” he said, “was not without deliberate intent. You were trying to learn something, and I would say, from the looks of you, that you succeeded.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it’s fantastic and I don’t know how it was managed, but now I know the truth.”

  “Well, Carol, I’m not the most patient man in the world.”

  “Very well. Meet me in the library as quickly as possible. That’s where Jeff was heading with Vivien. And bring in Brannen, the butler, and Scott, too, if you see him. Hurry.”

  “Now, look Carol—”

  “Please Sam. He must know, now, that I know. I haven’t time to explain. I have to stop him before he pulls the last act. It’s conceivable that he could still get away with it. Hurry!”

  I left him and, though my knees felt as if they had turned to jelly, I hurried toward the library. A number of people were gathered in the room, but there was no sign of John or Vivien. I stopped one of the servants and he said yes, he had seen Mr. Jeffrey going out the north exit of the solarium. That door led into the gardens, but there was also a path that led around to the ledge.

  I was about to step outside when I remembered the last expression I had seen on Vivien’s face. Perhaps she had been taken around to the ledge. That expression had been revealing, and another life, more or less, would mean nothing to a cold-blooded maniac.

  I didn’t have the courage to go out alone and turned away from the door. It was then that I saw Scott standing almost where I had left him. He was in a corner, alone, puffing nervously at a cigarette.

  I placed both hands on his arms and clung to him like a drowning person. I asked him if he had seen Jeff or Vivien. He replied listlessly, “Quite a while ago. Jeff’s avoiding me. He has no intention of talking anything over.”

  I cried, “Of course not. Scott, I think he may kill Vivien. Even now — ”

  He blinked down at me from his great height and chuckled amiably. “Take it easy, Carol. You’ve had a few too many.”

  “Please, Scott. I haven’t had one whole drink the entire evening. Believe me.”

  “But to make a statement like that — ”

  “Please listen, Scott. I emptied the gun and he can’t kill her that way, but there’s always the cliff. Maybe he thinks now he has to get rid of her. He has to get rid of me, too, but I can wait. He knows he has to get rid of me now, if he carries this through. Scott, I’m frightened.”

  A dark flush stole into Scott’s cheeks. He was embarrassed. He had his own problems and did not wish to add the care and feeding of a drunken woman as another. He looked away from me, seeking escape, and mumbled, “Now, now — ”

  I was frantic and tried to shake him, but he was too big. I succeeded only in shaking myself. Then I handed him the letter and said, “Read that. But hurry. For God’s sake, hurry.”

  He twisted about to hold the note toward the light and read it through. He handed it back to me and there was anger in his eyes. “Listen, Carol; I’ve always liked you, but a cheap stunt like this — ”

  “Oh, Lord, Scott, this isn’t a stunt. This is a deadly business. It may be all over with even now.”

  Scott placed his thick hands on my wrists and gently pushed my hands away. Anger and disgust were burning brightly in his eyes. He said, “I don’t understand what you’re after, Carol. Any self-respecting suicide would at least put his signature on his final words. That’s the formal wa
y of doing it, or so I’ve heard. But this is typed.”

  “But, Scott, he couldn’t sign it because it isn’t Jeff and it would be John’s handwriting and this is one instance where power of attorney means nothing. Can’t you see? It isn’t Jeff, it’s John, and it always has been, and I haven’t enough courage to go out on that ledge alone and stop him. Please come with me.”

  I reached for his arm, but he pushed my hand aside and stepped back, the expression of disgust deepening in every line of his face. “Run along, Carol. I thought you were different, but you’re as much a dipsomaniac as the rest of the women around here. Of all the wild, idiotic nonsense I’ve ever had to listen to — Cripes, don’t bother me.”

  My hands stopped trembling and an icy calm stole over me. I said, “All right, Scott. But you know the ledge below these solarium windows?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s where I’m going. I haven’t time to get anyone else. I think Vivien is there. I would advise you to get there as quickly as you can. If you don’t believe me, you’ll never know another restful moment the rest of your life.”

  I spun away from him and walked through the door before I could again be too frightened to go. I ran into the fog and felt its dampness on my face and the tiny wet particles settling on my bare shoulders. But I was beyond physical sensitivity. I went through the gardens and reached the north corner of the house and came to a halt.

  I could see nothing in the fog, not even the ledge. I placed a hand against the cold stone foundation of the house and walked slowly forward, placing one foot in front of the other with great caution. I had never before entered the ledge from that end and was not too sure of its width. But the distance to the central portion from either end would be about the same, so I counted my steps and soon knew that I must be somewhere near the benches. The black fog lightened and became yellow from the light streaming through the solarium windows and then there were the benches and I came to a halt and John Hamlyne was standing there facing me.

  The collar of his evening coat was turned up against the cold and the lapels were rolled over and fog swirled about his head and shoulders, so that he seemed to lack substance in the thick mist, but it was John. I did not need the identifying red carnation to know that. It was John. His shoulders were hunched over and his head was tilted down. His right hand was in his trousers pocket and I could see the bulge of the revolver. His eyes were watching me intently from under sandy brows. He looked a little like an animal, a dog that has brought another animal to bay and is trying to decide on the next move.

  He looked up at the windows above our heads and then turned his attention back to me. His voice was soft in the liquid night, but as the low and dangerous growl of a beast that has been pressed too far. “Screaming,” he said, “will do you no good whatever. No one could possibly hear you. Not that I really expect you to scream. You’re too rational.”

  I whispered hoarsely, “You’ve been expecting me.”

  “I wasn’t sure. I thought you would follow me, but I couldn’t be sure about it. I was going to wait a few minutes longer. If you didn’t come, I was going to go in after you.” He closed his eyes for a second, as if in pain, then opened them to say, “God, Carol, I had to see you before — before my announcement. I had to talk with you.” He took a step toward me, his eyes fixed on mine. “You understand that, don’t you? I’ve been gambling on the certainty that you’d understand.”

  I looked about the ledge, searching, but the fog was too thick and I could see only a few feet in any direction. I listened and there was nothing to hear but the surf. There seemed to be no one else on the ledge.

  My heart increased its beat as I asked, “Where is Vivien?”

  He blinked at me for a moment and was puzzled. Then he understood and a wry smile tugged at his thin lips. “Oh,” he said, “I see. She knew the poem, yes, but it was a simple matter for me to convince her that I was pretending ignorance.”

  “You mean you didn’t bring her out here with you?”

  “Of course not. Vivien isn’t dangerous.”

  I insisted, “But where is she?”

  “As far as I know, she’s in the garage waiting for Jeff. Her luggage is in his station wagon.” His eyes gleamed with a mad light as he chuckled and said, “Someone is going to have to break a window to get it out. That was a neat touch. Convincing evidence, if any is needed.”

  There was no doubt in my mind that he was telling the truth and I felt some slight measure of relief. At least, Vivien was safe. But as I looked into his eyes I shuddered. A cold wave of horror swept through me. The gun in his pocket was not necessary to stage a phony suicide. That was a precautionary measure. The gun was intended for me. The fact that I had emptied it of bullets did not lessen my fear of the weapon.

  Again John moved toward me and paused with his face close to mine. “Carol,” he asked, “when did you know for sure?”

  I clenched my hands tightly into balled fists and replied, “I’ve never known definitely. Even now it’s too much to believe. When you missed the poem I knew. I guess I’ve always known, ever since I got here, yet I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t bring it out from the back of my mind and examine it.”

  He cried triumphantly, “But you knew! That’s the important thing. You knew!”

  The victorious smile curving his lips was more horrifying to me than any malevolent expression would have been. It was as if we two shared a common secret that was also a common bond. I doubted that that could be true and lost my doubts the next second.

  He placed his hands on my shoulders and the fingers bit into my flesh like talons. The mad light of triumph was still in his eyes as he said, “I have nothing to hide from you, Carol. I will never have anything to hide from you. I regret what has taken place, it’s an open wound in my heart, but it will heal; with you it will heal. I have always known that. Now we have to put everything behind us.”

  I blinked at him stupidly. “Behind us?”

  He said huskily, “You know I’m in love with you. I believe I’ve been in love since the second day you spent in Lynecrest. But, even more than that, you belong here. I’ve watched you in the rooms and the halls and talking with the servants. Lynecrest seems to have been tailored for you. With you here, I can make it the social and political hub of the coast.”

  He paused a moment to shake me, to make me understand. Then he continued, his voice rising with the terrible pressure of the emotions bubbling within him. “Time will take care of everything. Go away for a while, travel, rest, just take it easy. There will be gossip when you return, but time dulls that, too. The fortune will again be intact and there’s no limit to how far we can travel — together. I’m going to be a big man, my darling, bigger and greater and more powerful than any Hamlyne ever dared dream of becoming. You will be at my side. We will build together. We’ll scale the heights.”

  I tried to pull away from him. “John,” I pleaded.

  He crushed me to his chest and whispered, “You know how it can be. You have the capacity for great love. You knew it was I all along and you gave yourself to me completely. Even knowing about Jeff — ”

  I summoned all the strength I possessed and wrenched myself free of his embrace. My reaction was not calculated, as I was too frightened for that, but I could no longer restrain myself. I slapped his face with a blow that stung my hand and cried, “You filthy beast! You’re a monster, a murderer! You’re insane. You belong in an electric chair, or an institution, or a cage for wild animals. Love you? My God, I’d rather die.”

  He stared at me and the words sank into his fevered brain and the blood drained from his face to reveal a hollow mask and then it surged back in a red wave of wild fury. The red was in his eyes and his wet lips and the flesh of his right hand dug into his pocket to close about the gun. He mumbled crazily, “I wasn’t sure…. You knew and you gave yourself. I felt that you had to be in love.”

  I screamed, “I didn’t know!”

  “Oh, but you must ha
ve. So I tried to rationalize. Cold logic told me that I would have to destroy you, yet I kept telling myself that you were lovely and intelligent and perceptive — ”

  “You’re mad, utterly mad.”

  He shook his head sadly, ignoring my outburst, and his hand came out of his pocket and paused at his hip with the revolver pointing at me. “Now,” he said, “I do have to destroy you. It isn’t easy to destroy someone you love.”

  I said bitterly, “You did it before. But you can’t get away with any of this. All of your plans are ruined, even your plans for this night.”

  He regarded me as one would a child and explained patiently, “But I can get away with it. I have already tossed Jeff’s coat over the cliff. That will be found. I have left the white carnation at the edge of the cliff. In a moment you go. After you, the gun.”

  I was not afraid of the gun as a firearm but as a blunt weapon. I had sufficient presence of mind, though, not to let him know that. I said, “If I’m found, the bullet — ”

  He shrugged. “It isn’t important. Jeff has left a note. You’re not mentioned in that note, so it will appear that, in a fit of anger, he took you with him.”

  I swallowed with difficulty and shook my head. “It won’t work. Jeff’s body will be missing.”

  “That,” said John, “is a risk I’m willing to take. It’s a very minor one. Bodies are not always found in these waters. Just up the coast a mile or so is the meeting point of two ocean currents. A fishing boat capsized there not long ago and the bodies of the three men aboard were never found.” The strain was beginning to tell on him as he cried, “You see, this has been planned too well. I’m no fool. Understand? I have planned and planned and everything is working perfectly.”

  “There are a thousand flaws in your plans.”

  “Oh, now. Hundreds of people have seen me everywhere, as Jeff. I have managed to keep all his contacts alive; I saw his friends, I made love to Vivien — ”

  “Monster!”

  His right hand tightened on the gun, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and I thought he was about to pull the trigger, but he restrained that impulse for a moment. Some mad desire was compelling him to convince me that I was wrong.