Devil May Care (5 page)

In the white-painted bookcases on either side of the fireplace Kate kept a selection of childhood classics.

After she had undressed, Ellie selected Anne of Green Gables and climbed into bed. But she did not turn at once to the bucolic innocence of that vanished world; instead she sat propped up against her frilled pillows and stared at the opposite wall.

Four of the cats and one of the dogs had decided to sleep with her. The cats occupied the entire lower half of the bed; Ellie had to sit with her knees pulled up. The dog was Kate's Pekingese, Franklin; although he was the smallest of all the canines, he was probably more capable of repelling burglars than were the larger dogs. Kate insisted that Franklin was always sorry after he bit someone, but he had a quick temper and was getting too old to learn new habits.

As Ellie looked at him where he lay, on the old sea chest at the foot of the bed, he raised his head and gave her an affectionate curl of the lip. Ellie glanced from his silky russet shape to the furred piles of sleeping cats--silver tabby, blotched calico, tawny Abyssinian, orange Maine coon--and thought about the ghost.

None of the animals had seemed to notice the apparition.

That fact didn't fit the mythology of the su-

DEVIL-MAY-CARE 35

pernatural. Animals were supposed to be sensitive to such things; in all the ghost stories she had read they snarled, or fled, or bristled--or something. , ..

The only reaction she had observed was a yowl when she trod on someone's tail.

Ellie glanced involuntarily at the open doorway.

She had to leave the door open, since the animals insisted on going and coming during the night. Like most old houses, this one was never silent. The timbers moaned and whispered with changes in weather and humidity, and some members of Kate's zoological collection were nocturnal creatures. Eilie was accustomed to these sounds, including the heavy, plodding footsteps of Ambrose, the thirty-pound Maine coon cat, which sounded exactly like the tread of a large man.

A rustling, scrabbling sound might have been unnerving if Ellie hadn't known what it was; she continued to watch the open doorway, and when the shining white shape appeared, she greeted it familiarly.

"Hello, Roger. I haven't seen you all day."

The rat squeaked at her, and two of the cats stirred uneasily. They were terrified of Roger. They had been taught that he was sacrosanct, but Roger didn't feel the same way about them and they knew that he was capable of royal displeasure if they got in his way.

Roger the rat was the undisputed head of the household pecking order; his progress through the house resembled that of an emperor, as all creatures fell back before him.

After a moment Roger left; he obviously had other plans in mind, and had only stopped by to pay his respects. Kate had kept him away from Henry-- whether for Henry's sake, or Roger's, Ellie had no way of knowing. Her face twisted in a grimace that Henry would have described as "cute." She wasn't feeling cute. Kate really was a demon. She had taken an instant dislike to Henry, and her behavior ... 36 Elizabeth Peters Ellie had spoken to her about it, just before dinner; and Kate, appearing contrite, had promised to behave herself. She had then proceeded to encourage Henry to drink too much.

In all fairness Ellie had to admit that Henry probably would have made a mess of things even if he had been completely sober. He was not sensitive to atmosphere, or to other people's feelings. Though how anyone, drunk or sober, could have been unaware of Kate's outrage ... Some form of mental telepathy must have been in operation, for at that precise moment the telephone by the bed rang. It was Henry.

He had called, he explained, to see how she was getting along. Ellie started to say that she was getting along fine, except for the rain ... She had no time to say more, since Henry was more concerned with telling her how he was.

He was not well. The drive back to Washington had been frightful; the weather had been terrible, and Kate had hardly spoken, even in response to his repeated thanks and his praise of her lovely house.

It was a fairly normal series of petty complaints, to which Ellie had become accustomed, but tonight she found them unusually irritating. And there was something else ... "You sound funny," she said suddenly, interrupting a description of the imbeciles who had been driving the other cars along Route 40 that morning. "Are you sick? Have you caught a cold?"

"No."

"Then what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

This was so unlike Henry, who usually gave her detailed descriptions of each sneeze from a head cold, that Ellie began to get a horrible suspicion.

"Henry, something is wrong. What is it?"

"I have a sort of a--you might call it--well--"

"A rash?"

DEVIL-MAY-CARE 37

"Well, yes. But don't get any crazy ideas, Ellie. I'm very sensitive to certain foods, you know. Maybe the strawberries in the dessert ... " "Damn it! Henry, I warned you, you know I did.

What did you say? I knew there was something the matter, I've seen that look on Kate's face before, but I didn't understand any of that nonsense about football.

You must have said something ... " "I don't remember what I said," Henry muttered.

"You don't?"

"I mean, I wasn't paying that much attention. It was such a puerile conversation, and I was exhausted from driving and from those repulsive dogs jumping all over me--"

His voice was rising; it always did when he got panicky or offended.

"You drank too much," Ellie said coldly. "Alan Grant didn't help; he was trying to heckle Kate, he always does, and he didn't mind using you to annoy her. All that stuff about Tarkington and United--" "Tarkenton and Unitas," Henry said. His voice was quite shrill. "Oh, God, yes; we did talk about quarterbacks.

But I remembered what you said. I saw the trap; I did not claim that Francis Tarkenton was the greatest quarterback of all time. I remembered what you said about Sonny--"

"But that wasn't the name," Ellie interrupted.

"That wasn't what you said. It was some other name.

Billy something."

There was a long pause. She could hear Henry breathing heavily.

"Not Billy Kilmer?" he said after a while. "I didn't.

Don't tell me I said Billy Kilmer."

"I think that was it. Why is that so terrible?" "Oh, damn," Henry whispered. "It's all your fault, Ellie. Why didn't you stop me?"

"But what difference does it make?" Ellie asked gently. "You don't believe in Kate's black magic, do

38 Elizabeth Peters you? Even if she was mad she couldn't do anything to you."

"Naturally I don't believe in such nonsense. I wouldn't even have mentioned my illness--that sort of self-pity is totally alien to my personality--but you insisted--" "You'd better go see a doctor tomorrow," Ellie said resignedly. "I believe it takes several weeks to get over it."

"I'm quite sure it will be gone by tomorrow. I used the ointment your aunt gave me, and--"

"Henry, you didn't!"

It was inevitable that they should have a fight then, a good old-fashioned shouting match that ended with Eflie's hanging up on her fiance. It was the first time they had ever had that kind of argument. Ordinarily Henry didn't yell back; on this occasion Ellie was able to gauge the degree of his discomfort by the failure of his self-control. Shingles was, she had heard, very painful. Not that she really believed Kate could inflict disease on people by ill-wishing. But if Henry had had some kind of psychosomatic itch (it had not been wise of her to mention that other case of shingles) and if he had mentioned it to Kate (which was typical of him, he adored complaining) and if she had produced some peculiar medication from the bulging handbag she always carried ... Ellie remembered that at one time her aunt had gone in for homeopathic medicine, growing her own herbs ... She groaned aloud, but it must be admitted that the groan turned into a laugh. It was not until she had turned out the light and was half asleep, lulled by the soft breathing of the cats and their warmth on her feet, that she realized she had not told Henry about the ghost.

And that, even if she had not been distracted by their argument, she had never had any intention of doing so. The last thing she saw in her mind was the smiling young face of the boy in his old-fashioned DEVIL-MAY-CARE 39

costume. He had had a small, sickle-shaped scar on his chin, it looked almost like a deep dimple.

The rain continued all next day. The phone didn't ring. Ellie knew Henry wouldn't call, he never took the first step toward a reconciliation. She was alone in the house, except for the animals and the scarcely felt presence of various Beaseleys. She had no difficulty amusing herself with Kate's variety of hobby materials, but she was rather pleased when, late in the afternoon, the doorbell rang.

It was impossible for her to go to the door, not only because she was some distance from it, in Kate's workroom, but because William, the Saint Bernard, had her pinned in her chair. She had, with some difficulty, prevented him from trying to climb into her lap, but his heavy head, laid across her knees, weighed her down like a sandbag. But Kate had provided for such an eventuality by having the house wired with an intercom system that usually worked, except when she had been tinkering with it.

So Ellie shouted, inquiring the identity of the caller; when the familiar voice answered, she invited him in, knowing he had his own key.

When Ted reached her, he was carrying a tray with glasses, bottles, and ice.

"The sun is definitely over the yardarm," he announced cheerfully. "I won't stay long, if you are enjoying your solitude, but I hate drinking alone."

"I'm delighted to have some company," Ellie said.

"You're a darling to come out on a day like this, Ted.

And don't kid me; you came over to see how I was getting along."

"Never. It was pure selfishness. I feel the same way

40 Elizabeth Peters William does about rain. If I weren't so inhibited I'd howl and try to put my head on your lap the way he does." "Feel free," Ellie said, smiling.

Ted gave the dog a disparaging look. It rolled its eyes at him and did not move.

"I'd have to wrestle William. And I'd lose. How are things going? Everything okay, or has Kate bollixed up the plumbing or the wiring?"

"Everything in the plumbing line is fine." Ellie hesitated, but not for long; she had known Ted since childhood, and he had always been the most admirable of adopted uncles, with an intuitive understanding of a child's illogical fears. "Ted, I did have a funny experience last night."

She told him about the "ghost." Ted listened, as he always did, with complete attention. His ruffled silvery hair, slightly damp with rain, made him look like one of the meeker saints.

"Very curious," he said, when she had finished.

"Very curious indeed. You say the animals sensed nothing?"

"Not a quiver. Ted, has anything like this ever happened before?"

She had wondered, as she first spoke, if there had been some slight trace of reserve in Ted's manner, but his answer to this question was prompt and sincere.

"Never. You know how Kate likes to joke about her ghosts, Ellie. Actually she's been furiously disappointed at the absence of any such manifestations.

When she furnished that ghastly Gothic library she was hoping for a spook or two to go with the decor."

"Then why--"

"There are several possibilities," Ted said calmly.

"Perhaps your presence is the catalyst. Oh, I know, you've visited before and never brought any apparitions with you; maybe you have changed in some fashion as to produce a latent--well, what does one DEVIL-MAY-CARE 41

call it?--an image, perhaps, of someone who once lived in the house. It's old enough, at least the central portion is, to have harbored a gentleman in ruffles and knee breeches."

"That's silly."

"Of course, the most obvious hypothesis--the one an investigator would check first--is that there is a purely material cause, Did you look for wires?"

"You mean the image was a projection of a picture or slide? No, I didn't look. I never thought of such a thing."

"Let's look now, then," Ted said.

They looked, William having been persuaded to remove his head. He followed Ellie, snuffling pathetically, and got in everyone's way by trying to sit on some part of her whenever she stopped moving; but it did not take long to verify the fact that there were no visible wires on the stairs on in the upper hall.

They went back to the workroom, escorted by William, and Ted freshened their drinks.

"Let's chalk it up to hallucination and forget about it," he said comfortably. "These things happen more often than people realize. It doesn't worry you, does it?"

"No. He was a very pleasant-looking ghost." Ellie smiled. "I don't mind if he wants to hang around."

"If you'd feel more comfortable, I could move in for a few days, or nights--"

"That's not necessary. Honest, Ted, I'm not at all afraid."

"Okay." Ted looked relieved. Ellie knew how much he enjoyed the comforts of his own charming little house. He had a fetish about privacy, just as Kate did; that was one of the reasons why they got along so well.

"I enjoyed meeting your fiance," he said.

"You did not."

"Oh, yes I did." Ted grinned; there was no other word for the expression, it was too broad to be called

*2 Elizabeth Peters a smile, and it transformed his face, from the faintly aesthetic to the gently malicious. "You ought to be ashamed, Ellie; subjecting that boy to Kate was like tossing a kitten into a tiger's lair."

"Ted ... I'm sorry he was so rude to you. He was drunk, or he wouldn't have ... "

It was a subject they never discussed, not because either of them was particularly embarrassed by it, but because there had never been any reason to mention it. Ted looked slightly embarrassed now, but Ellie knew he was only concerned about her feelings.

"I've been subjected to worse," he said dryly. "And from people who were sober. Your young man has all the usual hang-ups, Ellie, but his manners aren't all that bad ... Er--have you spoken to him since he left? I hope he didn't take cold or anything?"