The Marlowe Murders

by Laura Giebfried

  “I just thought,” she said quietly, “since James' care has been so expensive …”

  As she trailed off, I looked over at her husband. He seemed older than the rest of them, with a few strands of hair that had been combed over his balding head and skin hanging down from his expressionless face. By the look of him, he had never been a handsome man: he had a narrow face and pronounced nose, with small, pale eyes that turned down in the outer corners. Or maybe spending years in a wheelchair had done it to him, I considered briefly, before realizing that I didn't want to dwell on what had happened to him.

  “I told you years ago that it would be much cheaper to put him in an institution,” John said, unmoved by Rachel's reddening eyes. “You were the one who insisted on keeping him in your home.”

  “If anything, you should be paying for James' care, John!” Bill said angrily, but John only raised his eyebrows.

  “Why?” he asked. “I don't believe in charity: it makes people weak. Though if you do, you're welcome to give Rachel some money. Though with all the bad investments you've made, I doubt it would do much good …”

  It was Bill's turn to flush, but before he could respond, Bernadette gave a hefty sigh and turned back to me.

  “Alexa, go entertain Lennox,” she said. “Keep him occupied while we sort this out –”

  “And keep his hands where you can see them,” Marjorie added.

  Lennox was staring up at the chandelier with his hands in his pockets when I stepped back into the Foyer. I wasn't sure what they were expecting me to do with him. It wasn't as though I could pull out a deck of cards and invite him to play Blackjack for the next hour: he wouldn't want to play with someone who always won.

  “If you'd like to come to the Dining Room, Mr. Lennox, I can bring you some coffee.”

  He glanced over at me.

  “No, that's alright. I'll wait here.”

  “It's not very comfortable,” I said. “And it might be a while. They're … discussing you.”

  He didn't look surprised. If anything, he seemed rather amused, though his eyes were so dark that it was hard to tell for certain what laid behind them. He scanned me thoughtfully.

  “I'll be fine.”

  “It could be hours,” I tried again, not intent on standing in the Foyer with him for an undisclosed amount of time. I had more important things to do: namely searching for the money Mrs. Tilly had stolen from me and deciding how to confront John about the false pretenses under which he had hired me.

  “Have they asked you to watch me?”

  I glanced up at Lennox's voice. He was surveying me carefully.

  “Technically,” I said. Given that the Marlowes' voices were still booming from inside the Parlor, I saw no reason to lie to him: he had undoubtedly gotten the gist of their conversation.“Are you going to steal anything if I go out for a smoke?”

  “Nothing that doesn't belong to me,” he said, “though I'll join you if it makes things easier.”

  He didn't seem to realize that I wanted to be alone. Rather than outright telling him, I gave him the would-be polite smile that had become strained in the past three days and handed him his coat before donning mine.

  The air outside was as frigid as ever, but it was a welcome contrast to the stuffiness inside. The storm was picking up, and snow pelted us as we stood there. It took me several moments to light my cigarette with the wind whipping the flame from my lighter. Lennox lit his own in one flick.

  “I'm not sure that I got your name,” he said, leaning against the pillar of the wooden mermaid who was now covered in a shroud of white snow.

  “Alexandra Durant,” I said, stressing each syllable to ensure that he, too, wouldn't mispronounce it. “Not Alexandria – Alexandra. And Durant is with a 't.'”

  Lennox appeared mildly amused by how emphatic I was, but made no mention of it. He flicked his cigarette toward the porch railing to rid it of ash.

  “You're not from around here,” I commented.

  “What makes you say that?”

  I took another drag of my cigarette. Though I wasn't about to tell him as much, he simply had the distinct air of being from away, as my mother used to say.

  “Your shoes,” I said.

  He glanced down at his feet.

  “Mainers don't wear oxfords?” he asked.

  “Not in this weather, so you obviously didn't realize how much snow would be on the ground. You are wearing cashmere-lined gloves and a wool scarf, though, so you know how to handle the cold. So … you're probably from New York. Maybe Philadelphia. But not originally, since you don't have the accent.”

  Lennox raised his eyebrows, his amusement mixing with a look that suggested he was more than a bit impressed.

  “New York,” he confirmed. “And you're from Maine?”

  “Originally. But I go to school in Massachusetts.”

  “Then what brought you out here?”

  “I … just needed the money. I'll be going back to university after the holidays are over.”

  He gave me a look as though he knew I wasn't being entirely truthful. But I would be back in school in a few weeks: that's what John had promised me.

  “What do you study?”

  “Psychology,” I said. “I'm getting my doctorate.”

  “Really?”

  He looked a bit startled, but the reaction was hardly unexpected. Since I had started graduate school, six of my professors had asked me if I had mistakenly shown up in their classroom, and even after telling them that I was in the right place, more than one had commented that I would be better off seeking my M.R.S. degree. I waited impatiently for Lennox to say something similar.

  “What's your dissertation about?” he asked instead.

  “I won't bore you with the details,” I said in a breath of gray smoke that swirled up to the porch ceiling.

  “I hardly think you could: I'm a psychiatrist.”

  “Well, a psychiatrist and psychologist are two different things.”

  “Yes,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as though he was fighting the urge to laugh, “I'm aware.”

  He was looking at me in a odd way, almost as though he was trying to read a text that was typed in too small a print. There was something about him that I liked, though I couldn't quite place it. Perhaps it was the genuineness in his voice that I so seldom heard, for I refused to believe that it was because he was handsome. His hair had been blown out of place by the wind, and I had the urge to reach up and fix it. Instead, I crossed one arm over my chest, holding the other one up so that I could stick the cigarette back to my mouth.

  “Understanding and preserving the way information is encoded, stored, and retrieved in the adult brain,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That's my dissertation. Understanding and preserving the way information is encoded, stored, and retrieved in the adult brain.”

  “Ah. Studying the memory must be interesting.”

  “It's important.”

  “Yes, I imagine it is,” he said with the same smile. “What made you choose –?”

  His question was cut off by the faint sound of a bell jingling from inside. I dropped my cigarette and stamped it out, then hurried inside with Lennox in tow, though not quickly enough: Bernadette had come out to the Foyer to find me, summoning bell in hand. She threw us a disapproving look as we entered.

  “Bring him in now, Alexa,” she said, then retreated back into the Parlor.

  The Parlor was only twenty feet away, but I made a show of leading Lennox over to it and letting him inside even so. As we entered, John waved his empty scotch glass at me. I took it from him and went to refill it. Lennox stood by the door. No one invited him to sit down.

  “Isidore,” John said, turning halfway in his seat to look at the younger man. “How nice of you to join us.”

  “I was told I missed the wake,” Lennox replied. His voice was even, but the words were brusque and the friendliness in it from moments ago was gone. He gave Joh
n an odd stare. “I must have gotten the time wrong.”

  I dropped two ice cubes into the glass and sloshed the scotch over them, then brought it back to John.

  “Not to worry,” John said. “If you'd like to see Mother, she certainly hasn't moved. But perhaps it should wait for the morning.”

  He tilted his chin down at Lennox, and whatever meaning he was trying to convey must have worked, because the doctor responded with a stiff nod of his own.

  “We assume you've come for the money,” Marjorie called. “We'll save you the time: you're not getting any.”

  “I've only come for the night,” Lennox replied. “I'll leave first thing in the morning.”

  “You'll leave tonight,” Amalia said.

  “I don't think I can do that. The ferryman could barely see the dock on the way over, and the storm has worsened since then.”

  “Kneller will do as he's told,” Marjorie said.

  “We can't ask him to operate the ferry in this,” Rachel interjected. “It would be dangerous –”

  “Even better: two birds with one stone.”

  “He can stay the night, surely –”

  “He's not sleeping in the house!”

  “It's not like he can go to a hotel,” Bill commented, but Amalia gave him such a withering look that he fumbled his glass and sat back in his seat in silence.

  “Maybe we could put him with Kneller,” Edie suggested.

  “There's no room in the guesthouse,” Rachel said.

  “You would know, wouldn't you?” Marjorie shot, but Rachel ignored her.

  “Then we'll put him in the cellar,” Amalia said. “Or better yet – outside.”

  “I'm sure we can find a place for him to sleep,” Rachel said, throwing a glance at Lennox and giving him an apologetic smile. “He's welcome to have the Prudence Room since James and I are downstairs –”

  “I'm not sleeping next door to him!” Edie exclaimed.

  “Well, then I'm sure we can find a place,” Rachel said. “It's not like there isn't room.”

  “It isn't a matter of space, though, is it?” Marjorie replied crisply.

  “Well, it's my house now,” Amalia started, “and I say –”

  “It's not your house: it's John's house, as loathe as I am to say it,” Marjorie said, “so no one cares what you have to say.”

  Amalia straightened in her seat, raising herself as high as possible without actually standing.

  “My husband cares what I have to say,” she said, looking pointedly at John, though he, in turn, was paying her no mind. His ears had perked up and he raised a hand to silence his siblings, then a small smile came over his face. He nodded toward the radio.

  “Ah, listen to that,” he said as a new song began. Nat King Cole's voice had been replaced by that of a female singer's, and she crooned out a sad tune. You made me love you: I didn't want to do it, I didn't want to do it … You made me want you, and all the time you knew it, I guess you always knew it …

  Marjorie raised her eyebrows.

  “Judy Garland. Very nice,” she said briskly. “Now can we get back to –”

  “You Made Me Love You,” John said as though she hadn't spoken. He turned his gaze to Lennox, his smile stretching wider. You made me happy sometimes, you made me glad. But there were times, Dear, you made me feel so bad … “Mary loved singing this."

  Lennox offered no reaction other than to shift in his spot, and though his face was the stoic expression of a man who didn't appreciate having a discussion about whether or not he was doomed to sleep outdoors interrupted for a song, his eyes didn't match. For a moment I got the feeling that he was terribly sad, but then the look in his eyes vanished and I was sure I had imagined it. I filed the name Mary away in my head; it was the second time it had been mentioned that night.

  Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie, gimmie what I cry for. You know you've got the brand of kisses that I'd die for – the voice from the box continued, and Edie flinched. You know you made me love you –

  “Turn that off,” Rachel said suddenly, addressing no one in particular, though Bernadette was too busy swaying to the music, and Bill was humming along to the melody. Marjorie only rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink.

  You made me cry for, I didn't wanna tell you, I didn't wanna tell you. I want some love that's true –

  "Turn it off!” Rachel said again, and this time her insistence got my attention: she had leaned over to put her hand on Edie's shoulder, who appeared to be crying behind her white, shaky hands. I moved across the room and spun the little black power dial until it switched off, ignoring John's protest to keep it on. Judy Garland's voice softened and cut away.

  “Thank goodness,” Marjorie said. “Though at least her version is tolerable. Mary's interpretation of Al Jolson was so off-key it made my head spin –”

  “Can we get back to the fact that there's an intruder in my house?” Amalia snapped. She turned to her husband. “John – fix this!”

  John was staring at the radio, a dissatisfied look on his face as though he was a child who had just had a favorite toy taken away and was plotting how best to get it back. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, then shook the remaining ice around in the glass. It clinked back and forth for a moment before he responded.

  “Well, I think if Lennox wants to stay … then he should stay.”

  The contorted faces of his wife and sisters met him in disbelief.

  “What?” Amalia said.

  “Are you suffering from something, John?” Marjorie asked. “Other than narcissism?”

  John ignored them. He was smiling at Lennox, a funny little smile that sat over his red bow tie, and he put his glass down and folded his hands neatly in his lap. Something about the expression made my skin crawl, and I had to rub my forearms with my hands to get the feeling to go away.

  “I'm a hospitable man,” he said. He nodded at the doctor. “And since I want you to feel right at home … you can sleep in the nursery.”

  Lennox's arm twitched. The movement was so slight that I almost missed it, especially since his face was still void of emotion, but on second glance I could see that his eyes had darkened.

  “Oh, John,” Rachel said. “You can't possibly –”

  “It's just a room,” John said coldly. “I don't see what the problem is. I'll have the maid set up a bed for him.”

  “He can't sleep in there. Not after –”

  “The nursery will be fine,” Lennox cut in, his tone as dull as his expression.

  He was looking at the other man steadily. For a moment I wondered what it was all about, but then a separate realization struck me: the nursery was the room directly connected to mine, and the only way for Lennox to go in and out of it would be to walk straight past my bed. My neck cracked as I hurried to look at John.

  “Alexa, show Dr. Lennox up, will you?” he asked.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Well, I –”

  “I told you to show Dr. Lennox upstairs, Alexa,” John repeated, waving his hand at me as though he was chasing a fly from the room.

  “I know you did, but –”

  “Then I don't understand why you're arguing,” John replied. “Show him upstairs.”

  “It's just that I'm not sure you remembered –”

  “Show Lennox to his room.”

  “But –”

  “Jesus, John – where did you find this girl?” Marjorie said. “It's like having an untrained dog around. Next she'll be pissing all over the carpet …”

  I bit my tongue to keep myself from retorting. John had turned his back on me. I stood rigidly in place as I stared at the back of his balding head. The complete disregard with which he had been treating me since his arrival was squeezing painfully at my chest, and it felt as though my ribs would crack from the pressure. I turned on my heel and led Lennox from the room. A sinking dread was filling me: the type that warned me I had made a terrible mistake by accepting the job he had offered me, and try as
I did to shake it off, it settled itself in my stomach and burned at my insides.

  All I knew was that if John wouldn't talk to me now, then I would make sure he spoke to me later.

  Chapter 2

  I left Lennox in the Foyer while I went to the Pantry to retrieve the nursery key. The little tag that hung from it was so worn that it was difficult to read, and the metal had corroded and rubbed off on my fingers. I pocketed it and returned to the Foyer. I had told him that I was simply going to check that the servants' door was locked for the night; I saw no reason to add that, since I had been made to sleep in such close approximation with him, I was planning to lock him into his room.

  “It's this way,” I told him, ushering him up the stairs to the third floor. I unlocked the door to the nanny's room and showed him across to the nursery. My eyes went to the empty crib that was just an outline in the darkness from the boarded up window. It looked even more barren now than it had when I had first seen it, and as I compared the scene with the one in my memory, I noticed the white Christening gown had disappeared.

  “There are cots in the storage room,” I told him. “I'll bring one in for you.”

  “I can get it myself.”

  “It's no trouble,” I said.

  “I really don't mind,” he repeated, and there was a note of firmness in his voice. Perhaps he heard it, too, because he added in a more gracious tone, “I don't want to make more trouble for you.”

  He glanced backwards into the nanny's room. I could see his eyes running over my unmade bed and the clothes I had left on the radiator. I wondered if he saw the prescription bottle on the nightstand.

  “Who's staying in there?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Is there someone in the maid's room?”

  “No.” I didn't have time to wonder how he knew the layout of the house. I had to get back downstairs before John went to bed. “But the previous maid who left still has her belongings in there, so they put me in here.”

  Lennox made an odd face. It was almost as though he thought I was lying.

  “Well,” he said, setting his leather case on the floor. “I'll knock if I have to come through.”