Someone in the House (19 page)

“One of my friends used to do brass rubbing. I always wanted to try it. This is a beauty. Look at the locks of hair, and the hook-shapes that indicate folds of drapery. I’ve never seen one like this; usually the figure alone is of brass, set into stone.”

“The brass tablets are less common than the isolated figures, but they do occur.” I might have expected that Roger would know all there was to know about the subject. He lowered himself to the ground, grunting with effort. “What’s this around the edge of the tablet?”

“Her name,” Kevin said. “I couldn’t make out the rest of the inscription. I suppose it’s the usual thing.”

His nose only inches from the monument, Roger crawled along, following the inscription that bordered the sides of the brass. “Damned Gothic script,” he muttered. “I guess you’re right, Kevin. It’s Ethelfleda, no question about it. The rest is part Latin, part English. ‘Queen of Heaven be thou propitious unto me.’ I don’t see any dates, of birth or death, or any biographical details.”

“Maybe this one was originally set in a larger stone, which carried that information,” Bea suggested.

Roger went on crawling and mumbling. “‘Dormio sed resurgam.’ I sleep but I will arise. Nice pious sentiment.”

“I guess that knocks out our ghost, Aunt Bea,” Kevin said. “Ethelfleda can’t be walking; she died in the odor of sanctity.”

His frivolous tone was jarring. Bea frowned at him, and Father Stephen said coolly, “She was laid to rest with the prayers of her faith. That is a crucifix she holds in her hands.”

Roger looked up, like a dog begging for a bone.

“I wonder,” he said, echoing a remark I had once made, “how far down your millionaire dug when he moved the house.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, you ghoul,” Kevin said, grinning. “You aren’t going to disturb Ethelfleda’s ashes.”

“God forbid,” Father Stephen murmured.

When Kevin suggested we adjourn to the courtyard for a drink, Father Stephen said he had better be getting home. We accompanied him to the door, where he took Bea’s hand and looked at her intently.

“Come and see me tomorrow,” he said. “We can continue the discussion.”

Kevin smiled patronizingly. “You don’t have to stop talking religion on my account,” he assured them.

“No, no, I—er—must be getting back.”

“It was good to see you,” said the young lord of the manor. “Come again anytime. Roger, I can talk you into a drink, can’t I?”

They went off together. I lingered to hear Father Stephen say softly, “It is imperative that we talk about this, Bea. I’m very concerned. Promise you won’t do anything rash until we have had a chance to discuss the matter further.”

“Very well,” Bea said.

When he had gone she turned to me. “That was a surprise, wasn’t it? I knew I was doing the right thing, but I had no idea it would be so successful.”

“I don’t know, Bea,” I said uneasily. “Do you think—”

“I know I am on the right track.” Her face was aglow. “Now that we know her name, we can find out more about her, and then…”

“Lay the troubled spirit,” I said.

“You have doubts. Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said again. “It doesn’t seem…”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Bea laid a friendly hand on my arm. “I couldn’t be more pleased, Anne; not only have we a definite clue to follow, but we can be certain that this spirit has no evil intentions. I’ve never been afraid of it; now I feel only the liveliest pity. If only you could share my faith.”

“I wish I could,” I said honestly. But I wondered: was Bea’s faith a light in darkness, or a veil that dulled her senses to reality?

III

Roger offered to take us out to dinner. To my surprise Kevin accepted with alacrity. He seemed to enjoy himself. Among other matters, and with equal casualness, he talked about Ethelfleda. He had not yet succeeded in locating any material that mentioned her name.

“We ought to get a professional librarian in to catalog the books,” he said. “I don’t think it has ever been done.”

“You won’t find printed books from Ethelfleda’s time,” Roger said.

Kevin gave him a look of weary tolerance. “I know, Roger, I know. But there may be manuscripts—deeds, wills, and the like. If they exist, I haven’t found them.”

“Maybe I could give you a hand,” Roger offered.

Kevin’s reaction was exactly what it ought to have been—a becoming blend of surprise and appreciation. “If you have time, that would be great.”

“I have an ulterior motive,” Roger said.

“You told us before you have designs on my house,” Kevin said with a smile.

“It’s not that exactly. I’m having problems with my—er—plumbing. Wondered if I could ask you to put me up for a few days till it’s fixed.”

“Sure, no problem. That is, if Aunt Bea doesn’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Bea said.

“It’ll be nice for you to have someone to keep you company,” Kevin said.

After dinner Roger dropped us at the house and drove off “to get my things.” I assumed the “things” would include additional apparatus for ghost-hunting, and wondered if he planned to spend his nights in the alcove taking pictures. I would not have cared for the job myself, even if Kevin was now aware of his residence in the house. The more I thought about his attack on the presumed burglar, the more it bothered me. Kevin was no coward; it was perfectly in character for him to tackle an intruder single-handed. What was out of character was the ferocity that had made him go on throttling a man who was already subdued. That sort of hand-to-hand violence didn’t suit an ex-pacifist, a man who consistently eschewed contact sports. He had told me once that he hadn’t even played basketball, though his high school coach had tried to persuade him to try out for the team. Kevin’s personality had changed in other, subtler ways; might the change include a new propensity for violence?

He didn’t come to the library with us. After a few minutes he popped in long enough to announce that he was going out for a while—not to wait up. So I cleverly deduced he had called Debbie.

Bea fussed around, straightening books and papers, shifting vases of flowers, and otherwise killing time. Tabitha tried to get on my lap but was challenged by Pettibone, and after an exchange of growls and swipes Tabitha gave up the contest and stalked off, her tail waving indignantly. I scratched the kitten under the chin.

“Can I get you anything?” Bea asked.

“You could hand me that book from my desk—the one on the blotter. Sorry to be so lazy; in my house we say, ‘I can’t get up, there’s a cat on my lap’ when we don’t want to move.”

“A reasonable excuse,” Bea said, giving me the book. “Are you getting any work done? I feel bad about the way your summer has been wasted.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this situation,” I said. “And I surely couldn’t have anticipated it.”

Bea sat down next to me. Her hands were twisting nervously.

“I must say this, at the risk of being misunderstood,” she said. “I’ve grown very fond of you, Anne. I would like to think we will always be friends.”

“But you wish I’d get the hell out.”

“No, I don’t want you to leave! That’s just the trouble. Not only do I enjoy your company, I depend on you. I would be lost without your stability, your sense of humor. But I have no right to ask you to stay. At best, this is a waste of time for you. At worst…”

“Do you think there is danger?”

“No, I honestly don’t. But I have no right to ask you to risk a nervous breakdown or a terrible fright on the basis of my hunch. Unless you feel something for Kevin that gives you a personal interest in his welfare.”

“I’ve always had a great affection for Kevin,” I said. “Lately my feelings have swung back and forth like a pendulum. The only thing that makes me wonder whether I may not care more for him than I had realized is the way I’m reacting to Debbie.”

“I noticed that.”

“You did?” I laughed wryly. “You would think I could make up my mind about something as basic as whether I’m in love with Kevin or scared to death of him.”

“He may be using the girl to make you jealous,” Bea said.

“Not likely. Bea, let’s leave it this way. If I decide to cop out, I’ll give you fair warning. I’m so confused I don’t know what to do.”

“Whatever you decide,” she said.

I was trying to concentrate onCurrents in Modern American Poetry and Bea was furrowing her brow over a massive tome on medieval architecture when Roger came in, draped with cameras and wires.

“I passed Kevin on the way back,” he said, unloading his equipment. “Where’s he off to?”

“Late date, I presume,” I said.

“Well, thank God for that girl, whoever she is. She may keep Kevin out of our hair for a while.” Roger dropped into a chair. Tabitha climbed onto his lap, giving me a snooty look. Absently Roger stroked her.

“It is the oddest sensation,” he muttered. “Seeing that kid, so open and healthy-looking, and remembering how he looked last night, his eyes out of focus and his hands moving over something I couldn’t see. Like Jekyll and Hyde, or—”

“Or Elizabeth-Betty-Beth,” I said. The others looked at me inquiringly. “Have you ever readThe Bird’s Nest by Shirley Jackson?” I asked, “orThe Three Faces of Eve? ”

“Oh.” Roger nodded. “Multiple personality. I can see why you keep returning to that, Anne, but it won’t work. That particular illness isn’t infectious.”

He began examining his cameras. There were a dozen or more of them. “What did you do, go out and buy those?” I asked.

“No, I borrowed them. That’s why I was so late getting here this afternoon; my friend lives in Haverford.”

Bea dropped her book. “You didn’t tell him why you wanted them, I hope. If word of this gets out, Roger, I’ll never speak to you again. I won’t have this house besieged by your odd friends and by reporters.”

“You ought to know me better than that. I told himmy house was haunted.” Roger grinned. “I had to promise him he could come for a visit later. I’ll have to think of an excuse. Tell him I exorcised it, or something.”

“What are you going to do with so many cameras?” I asked.

“Set them up, of course. I think I’ll start with the Great Hall. Wish I had a hundred of the little critters; it’s going to take a long time to cover the entire house.”

“Why the Hall? The only place we’ve seen anything—”

“Was where we happened to be. For all we know, there may be a nightly jamboree elsewhere, especially in the areas you don’t normally enter—which happen to be, in most cases, the oldest parts of the house.” Roger was squinting into the camera lens; I don’t know what he was looking for, or at. Now he put it down. “We have to go at this methodically,” he said seriously. “In cases such as this there is usually a focus, or center of derivation. I am not convinced that Kevin’s room is that center. The thing we saw was moving away, remember? I’d like to know where it was going.”

“How about the cellar?” I said in a low voice.

Roger was on the verge of laughing. He took a closer look at me and thought better of it.

“Hey, Annie,” he said affectionately. “Stop that. You’re giving yourself an unnecessary case of the horrors. Didn’t Steve say your medieval maiden was at rest?”

“They may haveput her there,” I muttered. “That doesn’t guarantee shestays there.”

“I’ll set up the cameras in the cellar tonight, instead of the Hall,” Roger promised. “I doubt that I’ll get anything, but maybe it will set your mind at ease.”

“Fine with me,” I said. “But don’t expect me to help you set things up. I wouldn’t go down into that place at night for the Nobel Prize in literature.”

“He’s teasing you, Anne,” Bea said. “He doesn’t believe in Ethelfleda.”

“I’m not teasing her, I’m trying to reassure her,” Roger said indignantly.

“You aren’t succeeding,” I told him.

Roger patted me—the same friendly, casual touch he had bestowed on the cat. “What are you reading, love?” he asked Bea.

“One of the books Kevin found,” Bea replied. “English Manor Houses. It has a chapter about this house.”

“Really?” Roger sat up straight. Tabitha, who had been writhing lithesomely under his caressing hand, was caught off balance and rolled ignominiously onto the floor. Roger apologized and picked her up. “Give us a synopsis, Bea. Any new information?”