The Hellfire Club (55 page)

101

MARIAN’S COAT FELT
like a ridiculous encumbrance. Nora took the revolver from the pocket, ripped open the snaps, hitched her shoulders, and lowered her arms. The coat slid off and landed heavily on the grass. Except for the parts of her legs washed by the stream, the entire front of her body was dark with mud. She settled the revolver in her hand and moved up the stairs to the terrace. Quietly, she slipped across the tiles and flattened herself against the building beside the second set of French doors. She tilted her head and looked in to see three-fourths of the bright lounge. Marian Cullinan’s back obscured half of Lily Melville. Margaret Nolan, fully visible, faced the all too visible Dick Dart. He was holding a champagne bottle in one hand, his half-erect penis in the other, and talking to Margaret, no doubt on the subject of the many delights he had given elderly women. She looked at him unblinkingly.

For the first time Nora began to doubt her assumptions about why Agnes was not with the others. Dart would not have left her in her room simply because she was too weak to get out of bed. Maybe he had tied her up and stashed her in a part of the room they could not see, saving her as a spider leaves extra meals in its web. If he had brought Agnes downstairs, he would know something was wrong the instant he heard a noise inside the house, and Jeffrey would be in even greater danger.

Dart swigged champagne and offered the bottle to Lily. When she did not respond, he moved in front of her. Nora thought he was putting the bottle to her lips. He made a sideways comment to Margaret. Of course. She was the one he hated most” he was performing for her benefit. He carried the bottle to Marian, tilted it like a waiter to display the label, and put the bottle to her mouth. Whatever Marian did or said evoked an expression of unhappy disbelief. Dart backed away, pouting, and walked across the room to pick the knife off the table. He explained what he would be forced to do if she did not join him in a drink and tried again. She must have allowed him to pour some of the liquid into her mouth, because he gave her a happy smile. He went to Margaret, who grimly opened up and let him tip in champagne.

Dart gulped from the bottle and turned to Marian. He tilted his hips, offering the cucumber. No? He put the bottle on the floor and said something which involved pointing to both the knife and the cucumber. Still talking, he tugged at himself, and the obedient cucumber plumped forward. Pleased, he displayed it to the other two women. Lily’s eyes were closed, and Margaret barely glanced at his prize. Returning to Marian, Dart again indicated the knife and the cucumber. The back of Marian’s head gave no clue to her response. Dart moved up beside her and rubbed the cucumber across her cheek. He glanced at Margaret, whose face settled into bleak immobility. Lily dared to take a peek at him and instantly squeezed her eyes shut again.

What was Jeffrey doing, admiring Georgina Weatherall’s bedroom?

Dart backed away, raised the knife, and fingered the loops of rope binding Marian to her chair. After selecting one, he slipped the knife underneath it, severed the rope, and knotted it in a new place. Marian’s right arm was freed to the elbow. It was an exchange of favors. Be nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.

Stroking himself, Dart moved in front of Margaret. He waved himself at her and went through the same grinning pantomime he had with Marian. For Margaret’s benefit, he manipulated himself into another inch of bloat. Pulling and stroking, a dreamy expression gathering in his eyes, he extended himself in front of her face, demanding admiration. He stroked her hair with his free hand. Then his head snapped sideways.

The muscles in Nora’s arms and legs went tense. Dart said something to Marian. Marian shook her head. He whirled away from Margaret, bounded to the side of the entrance, and pressed his back to the wall. Marian turned her head, and Margaret quizzed her with a look. They had all heard something, and no one in the room thought it was the sound of Agnes Brotherhood wandering down to the main floor. Nora stared at the empty opening. Dart put a finger to his lips. A few seconds ticked by. The women strained in their chairs.

Dart licked his lips and stared at the entrance, ready to leap.

Nora’s body decided for her. Before she had time to think, she moved across the window and pushed down the handle. Dart jerked his head sideways and stared at her in shock, surprise, and rage. He took a step forward, baring his teeth. Nora yanked open the French door, put a foot inside the lounge, and turned to stone as Jeffrey flew into the room. He somersaulted over, bounced to his feet behind Marian, and instantly began circling toward Dart, his body bent forward and his arms slightly extended.

Dart shifted his eyes to Nora, then back to Jeffrey. “Who are you supposed to be, Action Man?” He sidled away from the wall. “Ladies, say hello to Jeffrey, the manservant. You’d be dead already, Jeffrey, if the mudpie hadn’t distracted me.”

“Norma!”
Marian shrieked. “Shoot him, shoot him!”

“Shut up,” Nora said. She moved alongside Lily, who was gazing at her in pure terror.

“Shoot him, Norma!”
Marian yelled.

“Baby, she’s a lousy shot, and the gun’s already empty,” Dart said. Already wholly adjusted to this turn of events, he was once again in confident good humor. All he had to deal with was an unarmed man and Nora-pie, who was a lousy shot, especially when the gun was empty. He loved his odds. Jeffrey was still circling toward him. “Come on, manservant,” Dart said.

Jeffrey had not glanced at Nora since he had rocketed into the room. So focused on Dart that he seemed not to have heard Marian’s outbursts, he advanced with one slow, deliberate crab-step after another. Dart rolled his eyes in amusement. Jeffrey was not a serious threat. He threw out his arms and shrugged at Nora. “Should tell you the bitter truth, sweetie. I lied to you. The tits aren’t pretty. Too small and too flat.” He glanced at Jeffrey, and his smile widened.

Nora said, “Do you ever wear women’s clothes, Dick?”

He lost his smile, then began to move toward Jeffrey with the air of one having to conduct a necessary but tedious bit of business.

Lily looked up fearfully at Nora. “Is that you, Mrs. Desmond?”

“It’s me, Lily.” Nora touched her shoulder. The men drew closer. Nora was aiming the revolver at Dart, but she had no confidence in her ability to hit him. She said, “I can see your closet, Dick. There are two dresses inside it, and nobody’s ever seen them but you.”

Dart growled and sprang, and Jeffrey seemed to flow backwards. Dart sailed four feet through the air and thudded down onto his stomach. In a second he pulled himself upright and went into a crouch. “So we know you’re fast,” he said, and bunched himself to charge.

Jeffrey jumped right, then left, so quickly he seemed not to have done it at all. He moved directly behind Margaret, who, unlike Lily and Marian, was looking at Nora. Her eyes moved to something near the windows, then back to Nora. Nora looked behind her and understood. She ran to the table and picked up the cleaver. “Are you crazy?” Marian yelled. “You have a gun!”

Dart twitched right, Jeffrey twitched left, a mirror image.

Marian screamed at her to shoot.

Dart ripped his knife through the empty air where Jeffrey had been, then pivoted and charged forward. Instead of floating back, Jeffrey ducked sideways, gripped Dart’s arm, rolled his body over his hip, and spun him wheeling to the carpet a few feet past Marian. Nora remembered that Jeffrey had once been, among a dozen other unlikely things, a karate instructor.

Wincing, Dart picked himself up nearly as quickly as he had the first time. “Cool,” he said. “Faggy martial arts. Way you fight when you can’t really fight.” He jumped forward, jabbing, and Jeffrey faded back. Six feet from Dart, Jeffrey glanced at her over Marian’s head and spoke with his eyes. Nora switched the cleaver into her right hand and chopped at the ropes running across the back of Margaret’s chair.

“Now me!” Marian yelled.

Margaret pulled herself forward. The ropes fell away from her chest, but her hands were still tethered.
“Me!”
Marian screamed. Nora put down the gun and knelt to saw the cleaver between Margaret’s wrists. Lily cried out, and a body hit the floor. Dart was getting up on his knees, holding a bloody knife. Jeffrey dodged toward the hallway. An oozing, foot-long slash ran up the side of his chest, and his face looked as though he were listening to music. He filtered through the air, caught Dart’s arm, and slammed him back down on the carpet. Instead of waiting for Dart to twitch himself upright and charge again, Jeffrey followed him over in one smooth, continuous movement. With the electric immediacy of a bolt of lightning, Dart twisted to one side and thrust the knife into Jeffrey’s ribs.

During an endless few seconds in which Nora tried to convince herself that she was mistaken, that she had seen something else entirely, the two men hung locked into position. A red stain blossomed on Jeffrey’s wet shirt, and then he sagged down onto Dart’s body. Nora wavered to her feet.

Marian shrilled to be set free.

Dart released a sigh of triumph and pushed Jeffrey off his chest. Jeffrey pressed a hand over his wound and lay still.

Sitting up, Dart was sliding backwards to disentangle his legs from Jeffrey’s. Nora took a step toward him. Jeffrey looked up at Dart and grunted, the first sound he had made since he had come hurtling into the room. The stillness of intense concentration had not left his face. Marian sent up insistent waves of sound. Frantic, Nora cocked the cleaver over her shoulder and walked toward the men.

Dart pulled himself easily to his feet and spun to face her. “Really, Nora.”

Playful, taunting, the knife punched out at her. It was impossible, she could not do it, he was too fast for her. The knife jumped forward in another parody of a thrust, and Dart came smiling forward. Nora backed away, holding up the cleaver, knowing she could not hit him before he stabbed her. Superior, silvery amusement ran through him. “I expected a little more of you,” he said, and then his eyes enlarged and his body dropped away in front of her with amazing, surreal speed.

She looked down. His arms around Dart’s ankles, Dart’s heels pressed against his chest, Jeffrey pulled him back another inch.

In the second of grace Jeffrey had given her, Nora sprinted forward, raised the cleaver high over her shoulder, and slammed it down into one of the tufts of hair on Dart’s back. The fat blade sank two or three inches into his skin, and blood welled up around it. She tugged at the handle, intent on smashing the cleaver into his head. Dart shook himself like a horse and twitched the handle away from her grasp. “Hey, I thought we were friends,” he wheezed. He kicked himself free from Jeffrey’s grip and dragged himself forward. He wheezed again, got his elbows under him, and pulled himself toward her. She stepped back. He looked up at her, eyes alight with ironic pleasure. “I don’t understand this constant rejection.”

Nora’s heel came down on the barrel of the revolver.

Marian’s screams floated to the ceiling. Nora wrapped her hands around the grip of the revolver and took two steps forward, her mind a white emptiness. She squatted on the soles of her feet and pressed the barrel against Dart’s forehead.

“Cute,” Dart said. “Pull the trigger, show our studio audience the show must go on.”

Nora pulled the trigger. The hammer came down with a flat, metallic click. Dart gave out a breathy chuckle and clamped a hand around her wrist. “On we go.” He pulled down her hand, and she squeezed her index finger again. The revolver rode upward on the force of the explosion, and the last bullet burned a hole through Dart’s laughing eye, sped into his brain, and tore off the back of his skull. A red-gray mist flew up and out and spattered the wall far behind him.
A bullet in the brain is better than a bullet in the belly.
Even Dan Harwich was right sometimes. Dart’s fingers trembled on her wrist. Faintly, as from a distant room, Nora heard Marian Cullinan screaming.

102

HALF AN HOUR
later the larger world invaded Nora’s life, at first in the form of the many policemen who supplied her with coffee, bombarded her with questions, and wrote down everything she said, thereafter as represented by the far more numerous and invasive press and television reporters who for a brief but intensely uncomfortable period pursued her wherever she went, publishing their various inventions as fact, broadcasting simplifications, distortions, and straightforward untruths, a process which led, as always, to more of the same. If she had agreed, Nora could have appeared on a dozen television programs of the talk-show or tabloid kind, sold the rights to her story to a television production company, and seen her photograph on the covers of the many magazines devoted to trivializing what is already trivial. She did none of these things, considering them no more seriously than she considered accepting any of the sixteen marriage proposals which came to her in the mail. When the public world embraced her, its exaggerations and reductions of her tale made her so unrecognizable to herself that even the photographs in the newspapers seemed to be of someone else. Jeffrey Deodato, who endured a lesser version of Nora’s temporary celebrity, also declined to assist in the public falsification of his life.

Once Nora had satisfied her laborious obligations to the law enforcement officers of several cities, what she wanted was enough space and time to reorder her life. She also wanted to do three specific things, and these she did, each one.

But this long, instructive process did not begin until forty minutes after she put Dick Dart to death, when the world rushed in and snatched her up. In the interim, Nora freed the other two women and let Margaret Nolan comfort Lily Melville while she held Jeffrey’s hand and tried to assess his injury. Clearly in pain but bleeding less severely than she had feared, Jeffrey said, “I’ll live, unless I die of embarrassment.” Marian Cullinan retreated to her room, but sensible Margaret volunteered to drive Jeffrey to the hospital and used the imposing force of her personality to dissuade Nora from coming along. She would try to call the Lenox police from the hospital” if the telephones did not work, she would go to the police station after leaving the hospital. She ran to the lot and returned with her car. Staggering, supported by Margaret and Nora, Jeffrey was capable of getting to the door and down the walk. While easing him into the car, Nora remembered to ask Margaret what had happened to Agnes Brotherhood.

“Oh, my Lord,” Margaret said. “Agnes is locked in her room. She must be frantic.” She told Nora where in her office to find the key and suggested that she might want to clean herself up and put on some clothes before the police came.

Nora had forgotten that she’d been naked ever since she had taken off Marian’s coat beneath the terrace.

Margaret raced off toward Lenox, and Nora walked back toward Main House and Agnes, who had escaped the attentions of Dick Dart because he had been unable to get into her room.

She walked past the lounge without looking at Dart’s body. The keys, each with a label, were in the top left-hand drawer of the desk, just as Margaret had said. Nora pulled on Margaret’s big blue raincoat and went down the hall to Agnes’s room.

The thin figure in the bed was sleeping, Nora thought, but as she took two steps into the room, Agnes said, “Marian, why did you take so long? I don’t like being locked in, and I don’t like you, either.”

“It’s not Marian,” Nora said. “I’m the woman who saw you this afternoon. Do you remember? We talked about Katherine Mannheim.”

A rustle of excited movement came from the bedclothes, and Nora could make out a dim figure pushing itself upright. “They let you come back! Or did you sneak in? Was that you who tried to get in before?”

Agnes had no idea of what had gone on downstairs. “No, that was someone else.”

“Well, you’re here now, and I know you’re right. I want you to know. I want to tell you.”

“Tell me,” Nora said. She bumped into a chair and sat down.

“He raped her,” Agnes said. “That terrible, ugly man raped her, and she died of a heart attack.”

“Lincoln Chancel raped Katherine Mannheim.” Nora did not say that she already understood at least that much.

“You don’t believe me,” Agnes said.

“I believe you absolutely.” Nora closed her eyes and sagged against the back of the chair.

“He raped her and she died. He went to get the other one, the other horrible man. That was what I saw.”

“Yes,” Nora said. Her voice seemed to come from a great distance. “And then you told the mistress, and she went to Gingerbread and saw them with her body. But you didn’t know what she did after that for a long time.”

“I couldn’t have stayed here if I knew. She only told me when she was sick and taking that medicine that didn’t do anything but make her sicker.”

“Did you ask her about it? You finally wanted to know the truth, didn’t you?”

Agnes started to cry with muffled sniffs. “I did, I wanted to know. She
liked
telling me. She
still
hated Miss Mannheim.”

“The mistress got money from Mr. Chancel. A lot of money.”

“He gave her whatever she wanted. He had to. She could have sent them both to jail. She had proof.”

Nora let her head roll back on her shoulders and breathed out the question she had to ask. “What kind of proof did she have, Agnes?”

“The note, the letter, whatever you call it. The one she made Mr. Driver write.”

“Tell me about that.”

“It was in Gingerbread. The mistress made Mr. Driver write down everything they did and what they were going to do. Mr. Chancel didn’t want him to do it, but the mistress said that if he didn’t, she would go back to the house and get the police on them. She knew he wouldn’t kill her, even though he probably wanted to, because she put herself in with them. Mr. Chancel still wouldn’t do it, but Mr. Driver did. One was as good as two, she said. She told them where to bury that poor girl, and she put that in the note herself, in her own writing. That was how she put herself in with them.”

She managed to say what she knew. “And she put the note in her safe, the one under her bed, didn’t she?”

“It’s still there,” Agnes said. “I used to want to look at it sometimes, but if I did I’d know where they buried her, and I didn’t want to know that.”

“You can open her safe?”

“I opened it a thousand times when I was taking care of her. She kept her jewelry in there. I got things out for her when she wanted to wear them. Do you want to see it?”

“Yes, I do,” Nora said, opening her eyes and straightening up. “Can you walk that far, Agnes?”

“I can walk from here to the moon if you give me enough time.” Agnes reached out and closed her hand around Nora’s wrist. “Why is your skin so rough?”

“I’m pretty muddy,” Nora said.

“Ought to clean yourself up, young thing like you.”

Agnes levered herself out of the bed and shuffled toward the door, gripping Nora’s wrist. When they moved into the light, she took in Nora’s condition with shocked disapproval. “What happened to you? You look like a savage.”

“I fell down,” Nora said.

“Why are you wearing Margaret’s raincoat?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Never saw the like,” Agnes said, and shuffled out into the hallway.

In Georgina Weatherall’s bedroom, the old woman switched on the lights and asked Nora to put a chair in front of the bed. She twirled the dial. “I’ll remember this combination after I forget my own name.” She opened the safe door, reached in, extracted a long, once creamy envelope yellow with age, and held it out to Nora. “Take that with you. Get it out of this house. I have to go to the bathroom now. Will you please help me?”

Nora waited outside the bathroom until Agnes had finished, then conducted her back to her room. As she helped her get back into bed, she told her that there had been some trouble downstairs. The police were going to come, but everything was all right. Marian and Lily and Margaret were all fine, and the police would want to talk to her, but all she had to do was tell them that she had been locked in her room, and they would go away. “I’d rather you didn’t say anything about the letter you gave me,” she said, “but of course that’s up to you.”

“I don’t want to talk about that note,” Agnes said. “Especially not to any policeman. You better wash yourself off and get into some real clothes, unless you want a lot of men staring at you. Not to mention tracking mud all over the house.”

Nora showered as quickly as she could, dried herself off, and trotted, envelope in hand, to Margaret’s room. A few minutes later, wearing a loose black garment which concealed a long envelope in one of its side pockets, she went downstairs. Seated at the dining room table, Marian jumped up when Nora came in. She had changed clothes and put on fresh lipstick. “I know I have to thank you,” Marian said. “You and that man saved my life. What happened to everybody? What happened to
him
? Are the police on the way?”

“Leave me alone,” Nora said. She went to a chair at the far end of the table and sat down, not looking at Marian. A current of emotion too complicated to be identified as relief, shock, anger, grief, or sorrow surged through her, and she began to cry.

“You shouldn’t be crying,” Marian said, “you were great.”

“Marian,” Nora said, “you don’t know anything at all.”

From the front of the building came the sounds of sirens and police cars swinging into the gravel court, bringing with them the loud attentions of the world outside.