The Gladstone Bag (19 page)

“So that’s why I’ve been feeling drowsy ever since I got here?” said Theonia. “I thought it was from having had to get up so early this morning. Then you don’t think Mrs. Kelling should ask the doctor to look at Mrs. Fath when he comes to see Sandy?”

His reaction was almost violent. “That would thcare her thilly! Mithith Fath ith my patient; I know what’th betht for her. Believe me, all she needth ith retht.”

“Then the best we can do is leave her to it.” In fact, as far as Emma could see, this was the only thing they could do without having a fight on their hands. “Come along, then, Theonia, let’s pop over to Shag Rock Point and see what the treasure hunters are up to. We’ll be back for luncheon at half-past twelve then, Bubbles. If you should happen to catch Mrs. Fath awake anytime soon, tell her we stopped by to say hello.”

Radunov was holed up with his muse; they could see him through his open screen door, writing at a small table. He didn’t look up as they passed. Nobody else appeared to be around; they must all have gone together. There was another path from here that led along the cliffs, high, bare, and private. Emma elected to take it. As soon as they were well away from the cottages, she took advantage of the privacy it afforded to murmur, “Theonia, what do you make of that? Did Mrs. Fath actually send Count Radunov for orange juice or was he lying to us? And why?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, my dear, and I expect we’re both guessing along the same lines. Anyway, we should know by this time tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you planning to run some kind of test on the sample you took? How can you?”

“I can’t, but Tweeters can. Perhaps I forgot to mention that he’ll be stopping back here later on. I told him drinks about five, is that all right?”

“Yes, of course. That will give us time to talk before the cottagers arrive. Will he be staying to dinner? And the night? Not to seem inhospitable, Theonia, but we really have no place to put him.”

“Don’t worry, Emma, I’m not about to drop another cuckoo in your nest. Tweeters will have one double martini and a piece of cheese or whatever because he’ll have forgotten to eat his lunch, and then he’ll buzz along back to Boston with the juice and the films.”

“What films?”

“The ones I’ve been taking with my little Dick Tracy camera, as Max calls it. Haven’t you noticed my bracelet?”

Emma smiled. “How could I not?”

The trinket Theonia wore on her left arm was fully two inches wide and fairly bulgy, one of those arty clunkers Little Em would go mad for. Emma had assumed the bracelet must have come from India; it was fashioned of narrow, dark red silk ribbon wound around some kind of core and starred with tiny rounds of mirrorlike polished metal, such as one often saw on articles of East Indian manufacture. Emma herself would have felt a bit overloaded wearing such a bauble, but Theonia could get away with anything and so often did that Emma hadn’t paid any attention until now.

“Do you mean one of those mirrors is a lens?”

“Precisely, my dear. This was one of Brooks’s clever ideas. You may recall that he built his first midget camera into a belt buckle so that he could take pictures of ospreys’ nests and still have both hands free to beat off the mother birds with if they attacked. He made this one for me. I wore it once before hidden inside a pair of fancy plastic sunglasses, but they were really too hideous and made it hard to focus, so he came up with the bracelet. It’s rather attractive in its way, don’t you think?”

“Charming,” Emma agreed, “but how does it work?”

Theonia explained. “There’s a tiny squeeze bulb inside. I just squeeze it with my fingers or press my arm against whatever comes handy. I still cut off a good many heads and feet, but I take multiple exposures and one’s bound to be on target. Tweeters knows how to develop the films; Brooks made him one, too. For the puffins, you know. Tweeters’s is built into that old-fashioned aviator’s helmet he wears; he activates the shutter by pulling on the chinstrap. With his teeth, often as not. I noticed the strap’s getting a bit chewed up around the edges.”

“Aren’t we all?” said Emma. “Brooks never ceases to amaze me. And now what about that man in the pony shed? You spoke as if you knew him.”

“I did, to my sorrow, though fortunately I never had to spend much time with him. His name was Jimmy Sorpende.”

“Sorpende? But wasn’t that your—” Emma wasn’t quite sure how to go on.

Theonia shrugged. “Sorpende was the name of my late and decidedly unlamented first husband, yes. Jimmy was allegedly Francis’s nephew; I always thought he was more likely a son by some casual encounter. Women were one of Francis’s hobbies, though swindling fat cats was his first and only real love. Jimmy resembled Francis in every respect, unfortunately, except that he wasn’t so good-looking. Hence the beard, perhaps. I can’t tell you what he was doing here on Pocapuk other than stealing your jewelry, but you may rest assured it was nothing good. Goodness, what a view from here! And there are your treasure seekers down on the beach. I assume that’s a beach, though there’s not much of it. They appear to be building a raft.”

“Or trying to.”

Emma couldn’t see any real progress, though a good many logs and boards were strewn around much too close to the high-water mark. She and Theonia had reached the spot where the path began to drop off down to Shag Rock Point; they stood a moment watching the scene below them.

Everard Wont appeared to be acting as foreman, with no visible result. Joris Groot was arguing with him about something, waving a large hammer around in a totally irresponsible manner. Emma was surprised to see the usually phlegmatic illustrator so excited; Wont must be making himself even more obnoxious than usual. Black John Sendick was tugging at a log much too big for one person to handle, yowling for help and not getting any. Lisbet Quainley was clearly out of sorts with the lot of them but wasn’t raising a hand to put things right.

“A clear case of much ado about nothing,” Theonia observed. “Shall we go down there and add to the confusion?”

“By all means,” said Emma. “Watch your step here. These little rocks have a nasty habit of rolling under one’s feet.”

The going was ticklish; Emma rather wished she had Count Radunov to lean on. However, they weren’t halfway down before all three men were rushing to assist them. Emma got Sendick. Theonia got Wont and Groot, as might have been expected.

It was clear that the advent of Mrs. Kelling and her guest came as a welcome interruption. Wont tried hard to twist his lips into an ingratiating smile, with fairly hideous results. He should stick to his usual supercilious sneer, Emma thought; he looked more natural that way. Joris Groot, once he’d made sure Theonia was safe on level ground, snatched his pad and began making a sketch of her. His model affected not to notice, nevertheless Emma observed that Theonia happened to have struck a particularly graceful attitude.

Not to be outdone in diligence, Lisbet Quainley also began sketching. Since Everard Wont was treating Theonia to a lecture on the pirate Pocapuk and the treasure he was confident of recovering, Emma had the choice of helping Black John Sendick move his log or fading gently into the background. She chose to fade, which gave her a chance to watch the two artists at work.

Groot’s drawing, she saw, was crisp and professional but not particularly interesting except around the feet. He really did have a knack for shoes, no doubt about that. As for Lisbet Quainley’s, the only adjective Emma could think of was nasty. Had the woman any talent or just a dirty mind?

Emma Kelling was no philistine. She’d had a solid grounding in art history at her excellent private school. She’d been looking at pictures all her life; she possessed some good ones herself. She was usually willing to give even the more inscrutable moderns the benefit of the doubt, but finding merit where none existed was not something she’d ever been good at. She was relieved when young Sendick started casting sheep’s eyes at his luncheon basket and she could remind Theonia that it was time they started back to the house.

Theonia must have heard enough verbiage from Wont to last her a while. She seemed indisposed for conversation on the walk back and Emma didn’t try to push her. When they got to the house, they found the glass-topped table on the sun porch set with yellow place mats and napkins as well as yellow-bordered dishes Emma hadn’t seen before. No doubt this particular set of china had always been reserved for luncheon on the porch.

Bubbles had done them proud. There were lidded yellow pottery cups of hot consommé. There were avocado halves stuffed with fresh crabmeat salad. There were hot rolls that tasted fresh from the oven even though they’d more probably come out in the lobster boat with Ches and Wal. There were tiny wild strawberries for dessert, with cream so heavy it practically had to be dug out of the pitcher with a spoon. There was, of course, perfect coffee.

Bubbles waited on them himself; he said Bernice was keeping Sandy company. Other than that, he didn’t say much of anything. Emma didn’t try to coax any more out of him, especially on the subject of Mrs. Fath. She did mention that Mr. Arbuthnot would be stopping by in his seaplane for a drink about five o’clock but would not be staying for dinner. Bubbles replied, “Yeth’m,” and went away with the empty dessert plates.

“What’s bothering that man, I wonder?” Emma fretted. “I hope Sandy isn’t worse. Perhaps he’s more concerned about Mrs. Fath than he’s letting on. And perhaps he has reason to be. I gather you think so.”

“I try not to think too much, my dear. It makes wrinkles.” Theonia held out her cup for Emma to refill. “Ah, I believe we’re about to have company.”

A fast motorboat was zooming up to the dock. Vincent was running to meet it. After a flurry of docking, two men who could only be Vincent’s brothers jumped ashore. The sunburned one in the yachting cap with the big folded plastic sheet over his arm must be Lowell; the paler one with the old-fashioned black doctor’s satchel in his hand would of course be Franklin. Emma was debating whether she should walk out to meet them when Vincent solved her dilemma by herding them straight toward the pony shed.

The two women were still in the yellow-painted wicker chairs sipping coffee when Vincent and Lowell came around the house and headed toward the dock again. They were both aboard the electric cart, Vincent driving, Lowell keeping a weather eye on a long plastic-wrapped bundle stretched out on the long luggage carrier that trundled behind. Emma grimaced and set down her cup.

“What a way to end a meal!”

She didn’t want to watch. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the clematis vine that was growing up the side of the porch on an old-fashioned wrought-iron trellis. A sturdy trellis and a sturdy vine, loaded with long, tapering buds ready to burst into bloom. Emma coaxed herself to wonder what shade the flowers would be: white, pink, delicate lavender, that heavy deep purple that always made her think of funerals? Oh, what was the use? Her eyes kept straying to the dock. She felt astonishingly relieved once they’d got the bundle safely aboard the harbor master’s boat and stowed somewhere out of her sight.

Lowell stayed with the boat; Vincent drove the cart back alone. Not more than a couple of minutes after the women had seen him pass the porch a second time, he came in to make his report.

“Franklin’s takin’ a look at Sandy,” he told Emma without preamble. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

“You must be greatly relieved to have him here,” Emma replied, “and we’re anxious to hear what he has to say. Would your brothers care for some refreshment?”

“They et before they come.” Vincent was clearly in no mood for the amenities. “Been too damn much time wasted today already. You want more coffee or anything?”

“Not I, thank you. You, Theonia?”

“Gracious, no, I couldn’t possibly. That was a scrumptious luncheon and I’ve eaten far too much. I do hope your brother finds your daughter to be recovering satisfactorily, Vincent.”

“I better go see.”

Without further ado, he went. Theonia stood up and set her empty cup on the yellow tray beside the yellow coffeepot. “I’ll carry these out to the kitchen.”

“Don’t you dare!” cried Emma. “That’s not the way it’s always been done. One keeps to one’s own side of the fence here; I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed. I’ve already committed a few infractions and been firmly put back in my place.”

“Then I shall try not to embarrass you further.” Theonia left the tray alone and came back to her chair. “This is an extremely interesting situation, Emma.”

“I’m glad you find it so.”
Interesting
was not the adjective Emma herself would have chosen, but perhaps Theonia knew best. She most fervently hoped so.

T
HE WORD
INTERESTING
COULD
also apply to the local fauna when it came from the lips of an ornithologist’s wife. In case somebody might be listening, Emma decided it better had. She was asking Theonia what the chances were of spotting any pied grebes on Pocapuk when Vincent came back to the porch with his brother in tow.

Franklin looked a great deal like Vincent except for one detail. Whereas Vincent wasn’t a bad looking man, Franklin was out-and-out handsome. Why this should be so when there was so little difference in their features, Emma couldn’t quite decide. Not that it mattered, of course. She gave the doctor a courteous but impersonal greeting, in keeping with her position as temporary doyenne, and asked what he thought about his niece’s condition.

“I think I’d like to see that closet door you claim she struck her head on,” was his brusque and not altogether courteous reply.

“I don’t recall having made such a claim.” One could carry courtesy just so far, Emma decided. “I mentioned the door as a possibility because when my cousin and I found her sitting on the floor in front of the closet, the door was standing open. By all means come and see for yourself. This way, please. Theonia, perhaps you’d better come too, and make sure I don’t get the facts twisted.”

The four of them went upstairs, the two women in front, the two men behind, nobody saying a word. Emma led them into the big, cluttered bedroom, around behind the bed Theonia would sleep in tonight, and pointed out the spot where they’d discovered the missing Sandy.