At the Water's Edge (9 page)

Mr. Ross had been studying Ellis since Donnie's initial proclamation, but now he came around the bar and helped the old man into his coat. Donnie picked up his stick and stomped dramatically to the door before turning and declaring, “I'll not be darkening your door again, Angus. Not while this one's in residence.”

Several seconds after the door closed behind him, someone said, “Well, I suppose Rhona won't mind not having to come collect him at the end of an evening.” A swell of laughter rose, and the men returned to their conversations.

Meg came around the bar and put the radio on, fiddling with the lit dial until she first found Radio Luxembourg, with “Lord Haw-Haw” announcing in a perfect English accent,
“Germany calling! Germany calling!”

She switched to static immediately, then moved the dial around until she finally found Bing Crosby, crooning about moonbeams and stars.

Ellis, whose face had finally settled on a terrible shade of gray, came and sat next to me.

“And that, my dear, is precisely why I used your maiden name,” he said through gritted teeth.

Our landlord was once again studying him.

E
llis maintained a cool, silent façade through dinner, and excused himself immediately after. When I rose to go with him, he told me firmly to stay and enjoy my sherry.

I didn't want to stay, and there was certainly no enjoying to be done—all I could think about was what we'd do if we were given the boot for lying—but I knew he wanted me to remain behind and try to save face. I lasted only a quarter of an hour. When I left, Hank was grinding his teeth and white-knuckling his whiskey.

I knocked on Ellis's door.

“Go away!”

“It's me,” I said, speaking into the crack. “Please let me in.”

He barked something about not being fit for human company.

I went to my own room, hoping he'd change his mind and come to me. When the rest of the house had shut down and my candle had burned to a nub, I gave up and went to bed.

I lay on my back in the dark under a mountain of blankets listening to the rain pound the roof. I was wearing my two heaviest nightgowns but was still so cold I was dabbing my nose nonstop.

I had never heard the words
strìopaichean
or
houghmagandy
before but deduced from the context that the former was what my mother-in-law believed my mother to be, and the latter was the activity that defined her as such.

I'd long thought of the Colonel as an irritating blowhard, but it had never occurred to me that he might also be a lecher. The mere thought of the Colonel making overtures to hapless young girls was horrifying. The pasty skin, the jiggling belly, the mustache yellowed by tobacco—

I hadn't noticed it before, but if Ellis were bald, forty years older, sixty pounds heavier, and had an alcoholic nose, he would look very much like the Colonel.

No wonder Ellis hadn't felt fit for human company. Learning that he was going to age like the Colonel must have been a terrible blow, yet there was no denying it, since Old Donnie had identified him as the Colonel's son the first time he laid eyes on him. But there were ways of delaying the transformation with diet and exercise—even hairpieces, if necessary—and there was time to worry about that later. We had a more immediate problem to address.

I flipped back the covers and fumbled in the dark for the matches, lighting my last inch of candle.

A moment later, I was in the hallway, standing outside his door. As I raised my hand to knock, the door to Meg's room clicked open and a heavy-shouldered figure slipped out.

I jumped backward, muffling a gasp.

The man was tall and had prominent ears, but by candlelight I couldn't see much else. He glanced at me, turned up his coat collar, and slipped into the inky black of the stairwell. I rapped quickly on Ellis's door.

“Ellis! Ellis!”
I said urgently, looking down the hallway. “Let me in!”

A moment later the door opened and his face appeared in the crack. “What's the matter? Is it your heart? Do you need a pill?”

“No, I'm fine,” I said, irritated that he'd automatically jumped to that conclusion.

“You didn't sound fine.”

I glanced one last time down the hall and decided not to say anything about the man leaving Meg's room.

“I am. I'm fine,” I said, “but we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“You
know
what. Can I please come in? I'd rather not do this in the hallway.”

After a flicker of hesitation, he held the door open. By the light of my candle, I saw that his room was in roughly the same condition as mine, with his belongings strewn all over the floor.

“Watch your step,” he said, sweeping his hand toward the mess.

I made my way to the bed and set the candle on the table. When I climbed under the covers, Ellis said, “What are you doing?”

I felt like he'd kicked me in the stomach. “I'm just getting warm. Don't worry. I won't stay.”

He exhaled through puffed cheeks and ran a hand through his hair. Finally, he closed the door and walked to the far side of the bed. He lay on top of the covers with his arms over his chest, stiff as a slab of marble.

“You could at least have brought me a pill,” he said.

“I can go get one.”

“Never mind,” he said.

A few minutes later, when it became apparent he wasn't going to address the issue at hand, or any other, I asked, “What are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where are we going to go? We can't stay here.”

“Of course we can. Why wouldn't we?”

“Because we checked in under a fake name.”

Ellis exploded, sitting bolt upright and slamming his fists on the quilt so hard I recoiled. “It's
not
a fake name. It's your
maiden
name, as I explained to you earlier, so what, exactly, is your point?”

“My point is that I'm terrified we're going to be tossed out onto the street!” I said in a harsh whisper. “And I'm sorry you're upset, but you have no right to take it out on me. None of this is my fault.”

“So it's my fault, is it?”

“Well,
I
certainly didn't do anything.”

The wind howled down the chimney. The window rattled in its pane.

“I'm sorry about the old man tonight,” I said. “The whole thing was dreadful.”

Ellis was suddenly yelling again: “I've half a mind to have him arrested! It's slander and libel and God only knows what else, making ridiculous, groundless accusations against someone who's not even here to defend himself. My father would
never, ever
—”

“I know!” I said, interrupting him in a whisper, hoping that it would encourage him to lower his tone. I laid a hand on his arm. “I know.”

In fact I did not know. Was he incensed about the accusations of womanizing, or the accusations of fakery? Or because he, himself, had been caught in a lie?

The rain picked up and changed direction, battering the glass like someone was flinging buckets of nails against it. Water dripped sporadically down the chimney and onto the grate, an occasional heavy
plonk
.

Ellis lay back down.

I was infinitely sorry I'd come and was about to climb from the bed when he suddenly rolled to face me, catching me off guard.

“Well,” he said, “to answer your question, I certainly hope we can stay. There isn't anywhere else to go.”

“Maybe we can move to the estate? I'm a little surprised we didn't go there in the first place.”

“I rather suspect they got their fill of Hydes back in 'thirty-four, don't you?”

“Oh, I don't know. Your father is hardly the first man to try it on with a servant. Anyway, you're family.”

He laughed wryly. “I'm a second cousin once removed. And no, even if they would have had us, which is highly unlikely, the point is moot. Apparently the house and grounds are crawling with soldiers.”

“It was requisitioned? Where's the family?”

“No idea,” he said. “It's not as though we've exchanged Christmas cards over the years.”

He laid an arm across me, and I realized we were making up.

“So what did you do today?” he asked.

“Mostly I rested, but I've got exciting news—three of Anna's relatives have seen the monster, and at least two are willing to talk to us.”

“Who?”

“Anna. The girl who served us breakfast.”

“Hmm,” he said. “How interesting.”

“I thought you'd be pleased,” I said. “Maybe even excited.”

“Oh, I am. I'll definitely follow up,” he said. “How's the dizziness? Do you think you'll be able to come with us tomorrow?”

“It's much better, and I'd love to,” I said.

“Good. We could use your sharp eyes.” He wriggled his way under the covers. “Aren't you going to put out the candle?”

I realized he was inviting me to stay.

I blew out the flame and rolled toward him.

A few minutes later, a soft rumbling began in the back of his throat, and before long he fell onto his back. The snoring grew louder. I lay awake for what seemed like forever, blinking into the dark.

I tried to remember the last time we made love, and could not.

I thought about the man leaving Meg's room, and hoped she was being careful. If Hank got her into trouble, her reputation might be ruined, but she'd end up well off, at least by the time I was finished with Hank. If a regular workingman got her into a predicament—well, I just hoped he'd marry her, and that they really were in love.

In the morning, Ellis was gone. He had removed the Blackout frame, so I woke to daylight. It was almost ten o'clock, early by my standards.

Downstairs, Anna was scrubbing the windows with a wad of newspaper. An earthenware jug labeled
DISTILLED VINEGAR
sat on a nearby table. She had a plain cotton kerchief tied around her hair,
knotted on top, in stark contrast to the bright Hermès scarf that was tied similarly around mine.

She glanced at me and turned away immediately.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hyde,” she said pointedly.

“Good morning,” I said, slithering into the nearest chair. It was only then that I registered the absence of Hank and Ellis.

Anna was watching from the corner of her eye.

“They've gone out,” she said, attacking the window with renewed vigor. “They said to tell you they'll be back tomorrow.”

I sat up, panicked. “What? Where did they go?”

“Inverness, apparently,” she said.

“Where's that? And why?”

“It's fourteen miles up the road. And for what reason, I would not know,” she said, setting the wad of newspaper on the sill and wiping her hands on her apron.

“They didn't leave a note or anything?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Do you know if they cleared up the…confusion?” I asked, wincing at the final word.

She turned and glared at me, planting her hands on her hips. “Do you mean about using a fake name? You'll have to ask Angus about that.”

I was struck through with terror. If the landlord made me leave, what was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to go?

“Any chance you've brought your ration book down?” Anna continued. “Only I can't help but notice that not one of you has handed one in, even though I mentioned it yesterday, and you were
supposed
to do it the moment you checked in. Although I suppose if you'll be going elsewhere, it doesn't much matter.”

“I'm not sure where Ellis put them,” I said weakly. “I'll have a look in a bit.”

Anna kept her hands on her hips, staring at me with grave suspicion. I dropped my gaze into my lap.

“I'll get your breakfast then, shall I?” she said, before stomping past.

I put my elbows on the table and dropped my head into my hands. I couldn't believe Ellis would do this to me. There had to be some mistake.

Breakfast was a slab of drawer porridge and decidedly weak tea, with no milk or sugar. Anna dropped them in front of me with a clatter and went back to the window.

“Bacon, butter, sugar, milk—it doesn't grow on trees, you know,” she said, as though continuing a conversation.

My hands were back in my lap. I started picking at the chips in my nail polish.

“Or eggs. Or margarine. Or tea,” Anna continued. She surveyed the wad of newspaper in her hand and dropped it on the table. She crumpled up a fresh sheet, tipped the mouth of the jug against it, and slammed the jug back down.

“I suppose tea does grow on trees, but not around here.” She nodded toward my cup. “I've reused leaves for that,” she said.

For about fifteen seconds I thought maybe she was finished.

“I suppose I could make you a beetroot sandwich in the meantime, although I don't suppose National Loaf is up to your usual standards. Neeps, tatties, onions. Porridge, certainly—but no milk, mind you. I might be able to find a tablet or two of saccharine. And I don't suppose you've got a gas mask, have you?” She glanced quickly at me, intuited the answer, and sighed grievously. “I thought not. You're supposed to carry one at all times. You can get a fine for that. And I don't suppose the mustard gas will know the difference between you and a normal person.” She curled her lips on the last two words.

I finally looked up from my lap. “Anna, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say.”

“Oh, aye. I'm not sure I'd believe it anyway.”

She might as well have slapped me.

Mr. Ross came through from the back, wearing the same sweater as the day before, pants of the same dark olive, and heavy black boots. It looked like a military outfit, although there were no badges or any other identifying information on it. He stopped momentarily at the sight of me, then continued as though I didn't exist, going to the till
and removing cash. He flipped through a large ledger book, making occasional notes with a pencil. With a start, I noticed that the first two joints of his right index finger were missing.

Anna turned her attention back to the window.

“Shall I correct the spelling in the register?” he said without looking up.

My relief was so great I clapped a hand to my mouth.

“I'll take that as a yes?”

“Yes,” I said, barely managing to speak. “Thank you.”

It was more than enough that he wasn't turning me out. He had no reason whatever to preserve my dignity, and this simple act of kindness caused my throat to constrict.

“Right then.” He slapped his thigh. “Conall,
trobhad
!” The tall dog trotted around the corner of the bar, and the two of them left.

“You're very lucky is all I have to say,” said Anna.

My innards twisted into a knot, and my hands and heart fluttered so badly I couldn't even consider lifting a fork, never mind a teacup. I pushed my chair back so hard it screeched against the floor and bolted upstairs, abandoning my breakfast.