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Authors: Margaret Echard

The dark fantastic (25 page)

BOOK: The dark fantastic
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But Richard did not need any woman, thought his mother, to make people feel at ease beneath his roof. Her eyes followed him as he moved about the room. He was easily the handsomest man present and he wore his broadcloth suit and linen collar with a careless grace which even Lucius Goff might envy. Alec Mitchell and Hugh Turner, good men both, always managed to look uncomfortable in their Sunday clothes. But no one would ever take Richard for a farmer. When he smiled at her from time to time her heart swelled with pride and ultimate fulfillment.

Another pair of eyes watched Richard as he moved among his guests. Thorne had slipped in so unobtrusively that only one person had seen her. She sat on a hassock, quietly, saying not a word, because she did not want to be sent out to help in the kitchen or mind the younger children. Only her large eyes moved as they followed Richard about the room, and only Otis Huse took note of her.

Lucius, a time-honored visitor on this occasion, had brought Miss Ann a box of sweets from a Terre Haute confectioner's. The ribbons and lace paper, the delicate hues of bonbons and candied fruit delighted and somewhat awed the recipient. "My, my, it looks too pretty to eat," she murmured, candidly adding, "We won't pass it around till after supper or it'll spoil people's appetites." So the ornate box was set with other gifts on the shiny new sewing machine which was the gift of the entire family.

It was at this moment that Otis Huse chose to make a facetious remark, "Aren't you afraid to leave that lying around? The Timberley witch might get it."

The merry chatter was instantly stilled. Richard's face flushed ominously.

''There's no witch at Timberley."

"I've heard testimony to the contrary."

Lucius Goff's black eyes flashed the lawyer a warning threat, but it was blandly ignored.

Richard said, 'If you're referring to the practical joke played at our wedding, I can assure you that has been satisfactorily explained."

"I'm referring to a letter I received," said Huse, "advising me to investigate more recent mischief in this house and clear my dead cousin's memory by putting the blame where it belongs." He had not intended saying this much; but, once started, he seemed unable to stop.

Richard's flush paled to the cold white of implacable anger. But before he could trust himself to speak his younger brother had leaped to his feet.

"You two-faced son of a b--" Remembering his mother's presence. Will choked back the word. "You wolf in sheep's clothing! Coming here like a member of the family, on Mother's birthday, pretending friendship in order to spy on us. You never did like us. Now you see a chance to make trouble for us. I've a mind to throw you out of "

"Will!" Richard found his voice, temporarily lost in astonishment at his brother's tirade. Heretofore Will had been one of Thorne's accusers. Now he was furiously attacking her enemy.

"You are forgetting. Will, that Mr. Huse is our guest."

"He's no better than a spy."

"He is a guest and a relative of my children. You will please remember your manners."

The lad subsided sulkily, and Otis Huse was left feeling uncomfortably embarrassed. He muttered something about taking his leave, but rain had set in again and at this moment it came down in torrents, so that departure was out of the question.

He said to Richard, "I'm not trying to make trouble for anyone. But as your children's sole maternal relative, I think I've a right to firsthand information about the queer things happening around here." He glanced significantly at Thorne sitting tense and watchful on the hassock.

Involuntarily Richard's hand went out to her protectingly, though he did not touch her.

"I assure you nothing has happened worth investigating."

"You call bricks hurtling through a window, disappearing almost as soon as they fall, nothing. The memory of your children's dead mother insulted, blasphemous talk of her unquiet spirit—all this is nothing, I suppose. To me it indicates a mischief-maker who will not rest in the attempt to dishonor the dead."

In the uneasy silence which followed the door opened and Judith came into the room.

That she had been listening outside, Huse was certain. Her glance went first to him, as though in warning, before it turned upon Richard. And suddenly, intuitively, he knew who had sent him the anonymous letter. He watched with interest as she greeted her husband.

"I didn't know you had come in, dear." She lifted her face for an expected kiss, and as Richard bent to her lips other members of the family averted their eyes. Tomlinson husbands did not kiss their wives before a roomful of people.

Judith murmured audibly, "You still kiss like a bridegroom, darling," and brought a rush of color to his face.

There was a slight movement near the fireplace, the swish of a door closing, and the hassock was vacant. No one noted Thorne's departure except Otis Huse—and Judith.

"What's that on your arm?" Richard was asking, to cover the general embarrassment. A crocheted afghan, Judith explained, which she had made for Miss Ann. She spread it across her mother-in-law's knees, and while Ann Tomlinson examined the gift with genuine pleasure Judith went gaily to the piano.

"We must have music when Miss Ann goes out to supper. Will some gentleman be kind enough to give me a little assistance?"

There was an immediate rush of volunteers to raise the heavy lid of the piano. Miss Ann, looking on with amusement, wondered why it was that Hugh and Alec could watch their own wives struggle with a piano top and never lift a finger, yet they fairly stumbled over each other to wait on Richard's wife. Men were funny. They were this way or that, according to the woman who had hold of them. Her eyes searched for Richard, to share this joke with him, but he had left the room.

Judith took her place at the piano, surrounded by attentive males, and turned a sparkling face to her mother-in-law.

"What shall it be? Tonight is your night. Miss Ann. You must choose the song," and then before the older woman could reply, ''Why—where is Richard?"

"He went out," Miss Ann explained, "to look for Thorne, probably." And then she added, "Let's sing Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.' "

Judith's hand struck a chord, not harshly, which was well. For it was a discordant clash of notes, like teeth grinding against each other.

Richard's first remark, as he raised his head from saying grace, was addressed to his own small sons.

"This is your cousin Otis, boys. You've grown so tall since he saw you last that perhaps you'd better be introduced. Otis, the young man with the freckles is Richard; the one with the snub nose is Roger." He performed the introductions with a seriocomic twinkle that removed the last trace of embarrassment from the lawyer's presence among them.

Thorne had changed her dress. Instead of the drab gray homespun in which she had appeared before supper, she was decked out in a soft bright cherry-colored merino, with cherry-colored ribbons in her hair.

Judith noted the change with disapproval. "Thorne, who gave you permission to put on that dress? Go upstairs and take it off."

Richard said, "I told her to change, Judith, All the other young folks are dressed for a party."

This was true. From sixteen-year-old Nancy Turner to Jane's baby, the young people were "dressed up" for Miss Ann's birthday.

"She needn't have put on that dress, Richard."

"Why not? You say it's too frivolous for church and it's much too nice for school. So it should be just about right for a party, don't you think?"

Across the long table husband smiled at wife and invisible rapiers clashed between them.

"By all means, dear. If you insist upon her wearing the dress, let it be in the bosom of the family." Smiling, Judith appealed to her sisters-in-law. "No man knows how to select clothes for girls, does he?"

"Did Richard buy that dress?" Kate's eyes rested on Thorne dubiously, as though questioning her brother's taste.

Thorne said quickly, "He brought it to me from Terre Haute, and I like it better than any dress I ever had." She flung a loyal look toward the man at the head of the table and he smiled back at her.

"Thorne shares my fondness for colors. The others think we have bad taste."



Otis Huse watched Judith writhe behind her fixed, determined smile.

There was a birthday cake so huge that Miss Ann had to stand to cut it. There was floating island, which the children loved because it was so pretty. There were nuts and ladyfingers and fortunes told in coffee grounds and then, crowning excitement, there were charades in the front room.

This latest amusement had just reached the Timberley neighborhood and was extremely popular with old and young. Judith and Lucius Goff were elected captains, sides were chosen, and the fun began. Judith chose Otis Huse, Hugh Turner, Jane, Cousin Lutie, Nancy, and Ricky. On Lucius's side were Richard, Kate, Alec Mitchell, Jesse Moffat, Thorne, Will, and Jimmie Turner. The younger children and Miss Ann were audience.

Judith's side led, with a simple noun so obviously enacted that it was guessed immediately. Cousin Lutie, in a rocking chair, held Ricky on her lap, while he indulged in an extremely artificial paroxysm of coughing, which ceased when Jane appeared with bottle and spoon and liberally dosed him—presumably with cough syrup. In the second scene Otis Huse sat behind a table, looking bored but professional, and advised Hugh Turner about the legality of a business transaction. When Hugh had agreed to follow his attorney's advice he inquired how much he owed him. Mr. Huse replied that his fee was two dollars. A chorus of voices shouted, "Cof-fee!"

When Lucius's troupe took the stage it appeared that something more ambitious was to be offered. Furniture was rearranged, more candles were lighted, and a fair semblance of a hotel lobby was achieved. All the company were on stage, sitting, standing, talking together, while Jesse Moffat wandered among them droning in his best hogcaller's voice, "Call for Mr. Jones! Call for Mr. Jones!" in comical imitation of a bellboy.

In the midst of this activity Thorne came in and asked if some lady would lend her a handkerchief. Kate produced a lace-trimmed bit of linen with the admonition to take care of it. Thorne assured her that the borrowed article would not be damaged.

Lucius then entered, very dapper with walking stick and hat, and struck a match to hght his cigar. He was about to throw the match away when Thorne stopped him. "Don't throw it on the floor. You'll burn the carpet."

Frowning dramatically, he looked about for a place to toss the burning match. Thorne said, "Let me have it," and taking the match from Lucius, she dropped it, blazing, into Kate's dainty handkerchief and squeezed it up in her hand. Kate cried that her handkerchief was ruined, but Thorne only laughed and shook it out prettily by one comer. The match had disappeared. There was no burn or smudge on the handkerchief.

Lucius and Kate cried, "It's magic!" Jesse Moffat shouted, "Call for Mr. Jones!" The word was "magical," but no one bothered to guess. No one was interested in charades any more. They were interested only in Thorne's magic tricks.

She went through her entire little repertoire because no one disapproved and Richard smiled encouragement. Perhaps he had a purpose in it, for Otis Huse could not fail to see how innocent her little sleight-of-hand performance really was. She plucked cards from the lapels of men's coats and made paper flowers bloom in women's hair. She caused Alec's and Will's wallets to change places in each other's pockets and pulled a tiny red ball out of Jane's snood. Each trick brought heartier applause and increased astonishment, until she glowed like a rose with her pretty triumphs. Never before had she been allowed to display her talents; never had she looked so captivating as while mystifying her audience with the old act of Thomdyke the Magician.

Otis Huse, standing near Judith, admitted without prejudice that the child was exceedingly clever. "She ought to be on the stage," he said.

Judith agreed. "She belongs in a theater, not in a private home."

The acid in the words was not lost upon the lawyer. He shrewdly guessed that this second wife of Richard Tomlinson hated the pretty child as violently as had his cousin, and the knowledge gave him curious satisfaction. It also, oddly, lessened his suspicions of Thorne. Jealousy, he decided, had prompted the writing of that anonymous letter.

"It was you who sent me the letter, wasn't it?" His cold light eyes bored deep into Judith's.

"Yes," she admitted, and felt a chill creep down her back as she realized what she had revealed. Now this man knew her weakness. This kinsman of Abigail's knew that she was no stronger, no happier, than the woman she had supplanted.

You'll know what I mean someday. You don't believe me now. You think I'm crazy. But you'll find out.

She turned her head as though someone had spoken, and when she saw no one behind her she shivered uncontrollably. Someone put a shawl about her shoulders. It was Otis Huse. He was still beside her. The magic act was over. The men were besieging Thorne, begging for an explanation of her tricks, but she escaped them all and fled to Richard, who laughingly barricaded her with his arms and announced that the show was over.

Judith said to the man at her side, "You have seen how clever she is. Do you need any further explanation of our witch?"

CHAPTER 20

Prayers were over. The fire was low, the backlog covered with ashes for the night. Candles brought from the kitchen waited in a row upon the table to light the way to bedrooms. In the corner near the alcove a feminine caucus was being held.

"You and the children can come into my room, Kate," Miss Ann was saying, "and Hugh can double up with Will. We'll put Alec with Jesse Moffat, and Jane and the baby can share Thorne's bed with Nancy Turner. That leaves the big bed down here for Cousin Lutie."

"There's still Lucius Goff and Otis Huse," said Kate.

"We'll put them in the downstairs bedroom."

A look passed between the Tomlinson daughters.

"Do you think they'll mind?" wondered Jane.

"If they do they'll have to sleep on a pallet in the kitchen," said her mother.

BOOK: The dark fantastic
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