Daisy Gumm Majesty 05-Genteel Spirits

by Alice Duncan

  “You just have to be firm,” I told him.

  “And have some food handy,” added Pa.

  “Yes,” said I. “That part is very important.” I glanced down at our happy dog. “I’m afraid we’re being slightly too generous with the food, though.” From my perspective, which was far above Spike where I had a perfect view of his long body, I could tell he was developing a distinct paunch. Mrs. Hanratty had told me explicitly that dachshunds were greedy little hounds and that it was very important to keep their weight within reasonable limits, because their backs couldn’t support too much weight. The notion of losing Spike worried me so much, I decided then and there that he was going to go on a diet. How I’d convince the rest of the family to go along with my plans was a matter I’d have to tackle later.

  None of the other dogs, in my admittedly biased opinion, performed anywhere near as well as Spike had done when their turns came. Little Tommy was patently anxious, and he made Hamlet nervous. Poor Tommy burst into tears when Hamlet loped for the comfort of his owner’s Model-T Ford during the heeling-without-a-leash process. Tommy’s father fetched Hamlet, and Mrs. Hanratty told Tommy that he’d done a wonderful job with such a huge dog as a great Dane, and Tommy felt better after that.

  Fluffy led Mrs. Hinkledorn on a merry chase that ended with them both winded and none the wiser for having spent six weeks and several dollars at dog-obedience school. Mrs. Hanratty only shook her head sadly as the pair, Mrs. Hinkledorn carrying Fluffy, left the ring in disgrace.

  After the last dog and master were finished, Mrs. Hanratty prepared to hand us our certificates of completion.

  “I’m going to give these out in the order in which the dogs and their owners placed in the class. In other words, the first certificate goes to the teacher’s pet.” She laughed one of her honking laughs, and everyone else laughed with her.

  All of us Gumms and Majestys—and the one Rotondo—braced ourselves. Here it came. Glory or infamy. Which was it to be?

  Oh, very well, that’s a little dramatic. I’d been practically living with Lola de la Monica for weeks by that time. I think I deserved the benefit of the doubt under the circumstances.

  “In first place,” Mrs. Hanratty went on as my heart thundered in my chest, “I want to present this certificate to a person and a dog who have both worked very hard and who have profited greatly from their diligence. It is my pleasure to present the first certificate to Mrs. Majesty and Spike!”

  I darned near screamed, “We won!” but I didn’t. Not quite, anyway. I was grinning from ear to ear, though, when Spike and I walked up to Mrs. Hanratty to receive our certificate. We had worked darned hard for it, and it was nice to be appreciated.

  The whole family, and Sam too, were applauding like crazy people when Spike and I rejoined them.

  “That’s my girl,” said Pa with honest pride.

  “All that time and effort were worth it in the end,” said Ma.

  “Well done,” said Vi. “I don’t know why a body can train a dog the way you’ve done and not be able to follow a recipe.”

  I didn’t know, either.

  “Good job,” said Sam. I think he meant it.

  “You’re the best, Daisy,” said Billy. He patted his knee and Spike jumped into his lap. “And so are you, Spike.”

  Spike licked his chin.

  On the way home, I became a little melancholy, knowing I’d never again be able to take Spike to classes at Brookside Park again. Silly of me, but there you go.

  There was nothing, however, to prevent me from driving Billy and Spike to Brookside Park on a Saturday morning and taking a good long walk. That thought perked me up again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It had been decided among us that we would need two automobiles to transport all of us to the Hotel Castleton that evening, so Sam came to our house early. He looked quite respectable in a dark suit and tie. I’d sewn evening duds for the entire family a couple of years earlier—I loved to sew not merely for myself, but for everyone—so we were all more than presentable.

  Ma wore the ankle-length black gown I’d made for her out of the same black silk I’d used for the gown I’d worn to last week’s séance. It was plain, that being one of Ma’s specifications, had long sleeves, another of Ma’s choices, and tied just below the waist with a black sash. Ma thought the sash too dashing, but I told her it wasn’t. She didn’t argue, since I was the acknowledged fashion leader in our household.

  I’d made Aunt Vi’s gown out of a pretty lavender satin I’d found on sale at Maxime’s. Her dress was a trifle fuller than Ma’s, Vi being a little plump. Plumpness was a hazard of cooking so well, I guess, and she definitely wasn’t fat. Only a little plump. Anyhow, her gown was also straight, but I’d managed to disguise her slightly pudgy form by sewing it in layers. The result was beautiful, especially with the embroidery and the beading around the neck and three-quarter sleeves, if I do say so myself.

  As for me, I wore a sleeveless blue satin dress with a scooped neckline. My gown ended at mid-calf, had a tiered skirt with a matching blue corsage pinned at one side of the low waist. I’d made the corsage myself, needless to say, with bits and pieces I kept from my endless sewing sessions. What’s more, it was perfectly gorgeous. I had a light blue shawl to drape over my shoulders, although the June evening was warm.

  Billy and Pa looked elegant in their black evening jackets, trousers and discreet ties I’d made for them.

  “I feel like an undertaker,” said Billy to Sam at one point.

  “You look great,” I said to him, feeling a trifle miffy, since I’d provided the garb for the entire family, and we all looked great.

  Sam only laughed as he wheeled Billy’s foldable chair out to the Chevrolet. Ma and Aunt Vi were going to ride with Billy and Me, and Pa aimed to ride with Sam. Sam appeared neat and sober in his own black suit. My heart twanged a bit when it occurred to me he’d probably bought it to wear at his late wife’s funeral.

  The parking lot at the Hotel Castleton was crowded, but Monty had instructed Sam and me to drive right up to the entrance, under the canopy that had been draped from the marble columns of the vast hotel. I was a little nervous, but Monty had thought of everything. As soon as I’d brought the Chevrolet to a stop, a young man in the hotel’s livery stepped up to the door and said, “Majesty?”

  I blinked at him and said, “Um, yes.”

  “Very good,” said he. “Mr. Mountjoy is awaiting you on the Palm Terrace.”

  Whatever the Palm Terrace was. Nevertheless, I exited the motor while other liveried young men opened doors and escorted Ma and Aunt Vi from the auto. It soon became clear to all of us that Monty had done his homework, because before I could think to ask for help with Billy’s folding bath chair, yet another liveried gent rolled the chair right up to the passenger’s door and helped Billy into it. It occurred to me that money might not be everything, but it could sure buy a lot of help, and Monty was a sweetheart to be spending so much of his on us.

  Sam’s Hudson had arrived right behind our Chevrolet, and the same gang of liveried . . . footmen, I guess I should call them, although I don’t think we have footmen in the United States . . . assisted Sam and Pa from the Hudson. Pa, who used to be a chauffeur for rich folks, was accustomed to stuff like this, but it appeared to me as if Sam could have done without all the attention.

  And then, darned if Monty Mountjoy himself didn’t bound out of the hotel’s front doorway and hurry up to our group. “Daisy! It’s so good to see you again!”

  “Thank you, Monty. This is very special for my family and me.”

  He kissed my hand, believe it or not. Better that than my cheek or anything, or Billy might have been unhappy. “Believe me, you deserve more than this for helping out so much in the past weeks.” He glanced at Billy. “And this must be your husband.”

  Before I could answer him, Monty stepped up to Billy and held out his hand. “This is a singular pleasure for me, Mr. Majesty. I only regret that you had to s
uffer for the sins of those monsters who wanted to enslave the world. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Billy’s mouth fell open. He hadn’t expected this gracious reception from a man who made his living via his pretty face. So to speak. After hesitating for a second, with his hand being firmly shaken by Monty, he said, “Pleased to meet you, too.”

  I made the rest of the introductions, recalling my lessons in manners by introducing Ma and Aunt Vi before I introduced Pa. I thought it was swell of Monty to greet Billy the way he had, even though I suppose he should have waited for the ladies to be introduced first. But darn it, Billy deserved all the thanks and appreciation he could get. All of our soldiers did.

  After introductions had concluded, Monty led us into the hotel. Boy, what a place! Talk about elegance, the entire hotel reeked of it. Monty had a way with people, and chatted with us all as he guided us to the Palm Terrace.

  “I’ve decided to take it for the evening so that our party can be private,” he said. “Things can get . . . ticklish sometimes when people recognize me.” He grimaced. “I like the money that comes with my job, but I could do without the recognition. Can’t go anywhere anymore without people recognizing me.”

  Billy and I exchanged a glance, and I’m pretty sure we were thinking along the same lines. I wouldn’t mind a little recognition if it paid as well as Monty’s. Mind you, I’m sure it got old to be swarmed by fans all the time, but it was clear to me by that time that Monty could well afford to pay for his privacy.

  Anyhow, the evening was a grand success. No booze, since we were in a classy hotel, but that was all right with me. I knew, because I saw him, that Billy had secreted a flask on his person that I’m sure contained morphine syrup. He needed the stuff, and there wasn’t a darned thing I could do about it. Twice during the evening, he took little sips out of that cursed flask.

  I was pleased to see Mrs. Hanratty again, and reiterated how much I’d enjoyed her classes. I was less pleased to see Lola, but she’d evidently been instructed to behave herself, because she did. In fact, she went out of her way to be gracious to Billy, who was a little put off by her constant hovering. Harold was there, too, which was slightly off-putting for Billy, too. But I figured that was his problem. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and so did the rest of my family.

  We went home full, happy, and would have something to talk about for months, if not years. My siblings were going to be green with envy, which was always a pleasant prospect.

  * * * * *

  “It’s only for today, Billy,” I said as I dressed to go to the Winkworth mansion. “One last day, for the publicity shots, and then I’ll never have to deal with these people again.”

  “Is that a good thing, or will you miss them?”

  I gaped at Billy in the mirror, into which I’d been squinting in order to place my hat properly on my head. He was in his wheelchair petting Spike on his lap, and gazing at me with a gentle expression on his face. I frowned. Why did he have a gentle expression on his face? Generally when I went out to work, he picked on me for being sinful and wicked and fooling people for a living. Then there was the fact that for this job I was working with a bunch of picture folks, for whom Billy harbored no respect at all, although he’d gone a bit easier on Monty since Saturday night.

  “Miss them?” I asked, astonished. “Are you kidding me?”

  He shrugged. “Well, it must be sort of exciting to be working with the people who make the pictures we all flock to see in droves.”

  I shook my head. “Picture-making is boring as heck, Billy, and most of the people are idiots.” I felt guilty after that barb, so I backtracked some. “Well, that’s not really true. John Bohnert and Lillian Marshall are nice people, and so are Monty and Harold. I could happily do without ever seeing Lola de la Monica again.”

  He grinned, and I turned to gaze sharply at him. What was going on here?

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Why?”

  It was my turn to shrug. “Nothing, I guess. You just seem . . . I don’t know. Different lately, or something.”

  “I don’t know why you think that. I’m the same as always.”

  Turning back to the mirror, hat pin in hand, I said, “If you say so.”

  He only chuckled. “Have I told you lately that I love you very much, Daisy?”

  This time I not only whirled around, but I dropped both the hat and the hat pin and dove for Billy. Spike yipped, startled, so I put my arms around the both of them. “Oh, Billy! I love you, too. I love you so much, I’ll die if anything happens to you!”

  Spike licked my cheek. Billy returned my hug. “The worst thing that could happen to me has already happened, Daisy. If anything else happens, you won’t die. You’ll probably be a little sad, but—”

  “A little!” I shrieked. “Don’t talk like that, Billy!”

  I felt his lips on my hair, and I turned my face to his. We kissed for a long, long time that morning, but eventually I had to pull away and get ready for work. I didn’t want to go, and I was very uneasy as I drove to the Winkworth estate. I told myself I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t be convinced.

  Now that the filming was over and Dr. Fellowes’s special invention wasn’t needed, a uniformed policeman no longer guarded the gate. I might have been mistaken, but I got the impression Mrs. Winkworth’s gatekeeper was glad for his absence. He let me in, and I drove to the regular parking spot on the so-called “north forty.” Far fewer automobiles resided there, and I didn’t meet anyone at all on my way to the set.

  I was a little surprised to see that the dressing-room house had been given a change of clothes since I’d last seen it. Honest to Pete, the set directors had covered it with a fake southern plantation front and it looked as if it had stepped straight out of South Carolina. Kind of like Mrs. Winkworth, only with more brains probably. Those set guys were awfully clever.

  The mob was gone. No longer did a throng of people mill about, doing this and that. I only saw John Bohnert and Harold Kincaid, Lola and Monty and a cameraman, who was having trouble getting Lola to hold a pose long enough for him to get a decent shot. I guess some things never changed.

  As soon as he saw me, Harold came over to chat.

  “Did Billy enjoy himself Saturday night?” was his first question.

  “Actually, he did. At least I think he did. He liked Monty.”

  “Monty’s a nice guy,” said Harold. “Just don’t tell Billy about his little aberration, and Billy will probably go on liking him.”

  “Probably.” I sighed, thinking how unfair life was. The idea was far from revolutionary; I’d known about life’s unfairness for years by that time.

  Believe it or not, the publicity shooting was even more boring than the motion-picture shooting. Eventually, Harold and I got sick of watching Lola misbehave and Monty blot sweat from his brow—the day was hotter than heck by mid-morning—and we wandered off to sit in the pergola.

  We were still there, Harold telling me about the party he was planning for his mother’s return from her latest adventure, when Sam showed up.

  “Sam!” I said, startled. He’d said he was through with the Winkworth place and never wanted to see it again when I’d last spoken to him on Saturday night. Then I noticed the grim expression on his face, and I knew why he had come. With a hand at my throat, I rose unsteadily from the bench. “No.”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Sam. He held out a hand, and I took it.

  “What happened?”

  Sam glanced at Harold, decided he posed no threat and that he’d learn soon enough anyway, and he said, “Morphine syrup.”

  My heart crashed to my feet. “Is he . . . ?” But I couldn’t say the word.

  “No. The doctor is with him now.”

  “Dr. Benjamin?”

  “I guess. Your father said he’s your regular doctor. They’re at the Castleton Hospital. Your dad sent me to get you. Your mother and aunt are there, too, and I think your mother
called the Buckinghams.”

  I stood there, confused, thinking all sorts of tangled thoughts, one of which ultimately got stuck on our Chevrolet. “Our motor . . .”

  Harold materialized at my side. “Don’t worry about your car, Daisy. Give me the keys, and I’ll have someone drive it to your house.” He looked at Sam, and I guess Sam read the question in his eyes.

  “We don’t know. The doctor is doing everything he can.”

  I said, my incoherent thoughts snagging on my job, “Lola . . .”

  “To hell with Lola,” said Sam.

  “Right,” said Harold. “Don’t worry about Lola. Don’t worry about anything except Billy now. I’ll take care of everything here.”

  “Thanks, Harold.”

  And, with my insides leaden and my eyes burning, I went with Sam Rotondo to the Castleton Hospital, where Dr. Benjamin, our faithful family physician and friend was gallantly trying to save the life of my husband, Billy Majesty, who didn’t want to have his life saved.

  It was the worst day of my life.

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Alice Duncan lives with a herd of wild dachshunds (enriched from time to time with fosterees from New Mexico Dachshund Rescue) in Roswell, New Mexico. She’s not a UFO enthusiast; she’s in Roswell because her mother’s family settled there fifty years before the aliens crashed. Since her two daughters live in California, where Alice was born, she’d like to return there, but can’t afford to. Alice would love to hear from you at alice@aliceduncan.net. And be sure to visit her Web site: http://www.aliceduncan.net and her Facebook pages: https://www.facebook.com/alice.duncan.925?ref=sgm and https://www.facebook.com/AliceDuncansBooks