The Lockwood Concern (2 page)

what's left of that angel food, you had last night with the ice cream." "All right. Bring me a piece of that instead of toast." "You want a piece of angel food instead of your buttered toast?" "Yes, May. A piece of angel food instead of my buttered toast. I'm not going to have buttered toast today. I'm going to have some of last night's angel food." "Angel food," said May, leaving. George Lockwood went upstairs, washed his face and hands, and changed to a velvet smoking jacket and cracked patent leather pumps. May brought in the tea tray and put it in front of him on his desk. "Notice there's four letters," she said. "Margaret took them out of the box while I was up doing the third story. The least she could do was tell me." "I think the very least she could do," said George Lockwood. "That angel food's a little stale. It gets stale if you leave it." "I like it that way. I don't like it gummy." "In another day it won't be any good." "In another day it won't be here. I'm going to eat it all." "How you can eat so much and don't get fat." "I'm very active. I'm busy all the time." "Yes. How's the new house?" "It's finished. That's why I'm having the cake." "It's all finished? Everything?" "All finished. From here on it's Mrs. Lockwood's job." "When are you going to take us out for a look? Margaret and L" "When I'm good and ready." "Do you know what I heard? Well, I didn't hear it, Margaret did, but she told me." "What did Margaret hear and obligingly tell you?" "I don't know if it's true or not." "Well, you wouldn't want to repeat anything unless it was true." "We heard that one side of the house settled." "Settled? Oh, sank? Settled that way?" "They're starting rumors already, before you get in. I heard another one myself. Let me think, what was it? Oh! Are you giving this house for a hospital? That's what I heard." "Can you keep a secret?" "Sure." "I don't know. I haven't finally decided what I'm going to do with this house. The doctors want to start a hospital. That's probably what you heard." "No, I heard you gave it." "Well, I didn't." "Is the new house settling?" "I won't tell you." "Then it is, huh?" "I'm never going to deny or confirm anything about the new house, May. I've told you that before." "They done nothing but talk about that house, ever since you started building that wall. It sure did give this town something to talk about." "Was there ever a time when they didn't have something to talk about?" "I guess people always find something to talk about." "Yes indeed." "That's what I was thinking. They always do find something. If it isn't one thing, then it's another." "No doubt about it. Now what else is on your mind, May?" "There was something." "Yes." "I did tell you about some things come by parcel post." "No." "All stuff from New York City, all addressed to her." "Things for the new house, I imagine." "Oh, now I remember what I wanted to ask you." "Ah, good. What, May?" "No, that wasn't it. I did ask you that. Oh! Yes! Margaret and I were talking, and the subject came up of Andrew and his wife. In the new place are they gonna have rooms over the garage?" "Why?" "Well, I wouldn't mind, but Margaret said she wouldn't want to live out there in that lonely place if there wasn't a man there at night. Me, I'm used to it. I was born - raised on a farm, so I don't mind. But Margaret, she's used to town." "You're a simple soul, May." "Why do you say that? Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not. It depends on how you mean it." "You are being used as a pawn. Andrew and his wife are the ones who really want to know about the garage. Andrew has been trying to find out for over a year. So he's got Margaret to get you to find out. Do you see that, May?" "Oh. Well, yes, in a way I guess I do. Well, then, don't tell me. I'll just go back and tell Margaret I couldn't find anything out." "I have no intention of telling you, or Margaret, or Andrew, until I'm good and ready. You and Margaret have been with me long enough to know that, but you never seem to learn." "I learned. I told Margaret we wouldn't find anything out." "But she thought it was worth a try." "Yes, she thought it was worth a try. Almost her exact words." "Yes, Margaret likes to be clever, forgetting that Andrew's even cleverer. All right, May. You may take these things away. I'm going to have my bath, and dinner at seven-thirty. What are we having for dinner?" "Veal cutlets." "Good, and while I think of it, I want to sleep tomorrow morning. Don't bring my coffee till ten o'clock." "Ten o'clock?" "Ten-o'clock. You'd better write it down on the slate, as soon as you get to the kitchen. 'His coffee at ten.'" She smiled. "How do you know that's what I'll write?" "Because I make it a point to know a lot of things, Mabel Christina Freese, born April 12, 1886." "Don't tell Margaret the year." "I won't. "Thank you, sir." she said. At the beginning and at the end of all their chats May Freese would remember to say sir, but the suspicion that he was enjoying himself with her made formality impossible during the in-between part. She was a strong, hard-working woman, who was beginning to realize that time was getting short for her, but in the not unpleasant routine of domestic service - the hours were long, but the tasks were simple - she postponed the positive action that she felt she ought to take. She was uncertain and vague as to what that action should be. George Lockwood read the Gibbsville afternoon paper through, and refolded it and left it where May would find it. He rose, stretched, and was about to go upstairs when the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver and said: "Hello - all right, May, I'll take it. Hello." May, in the kitchen, hung up. "Mr. Lockwood? It's Deegan, Matthew Deegan? Out at the place?" "Yes, Deegan." "Can you hear me all right? I'm calling from the shanty." "Yes, I can hear you. What's the trouble?" "I thought I better tell you, Mr. Lockwood. We'd an accident out here. It's a bad one." "Yes, what kind of an accident? A fire?" "No sir. It's a young lad, we don't know his name for sure, but he's dead. He was killed." "Killed? On my property? How did he get in?" "Him and another young lad, they climbed up a tree on the outside of the wall, the Richterville side." "The west wall. Yes." "This one lad, the dead one, he climbed up the tree and out on one of the limbs that extended over the top of the wall." "There's no limb extending over the top of the wall that's strong enough to support a man." "That's how he got killed. The limb broke and he fell on top of the wall. Two of them spikes went in him, Mr. Lockwood." "Oh, Christ! Jesus! You mean he was impaled?" "I didn't hear that, Mr. Lockwood." "The spikes went through his body?" "He let out a scream, and I ran in that direction, and there he was." "Jesus Christ! Alive?" "It was a terrible thing, Mr. Lockwood. Still alive, and I couldn't reach high enough to get him off the wall. I run to get a ladder, but by the time I found one in the cellar and got back to him, he was just lying there across the top of the wall. The poor little fellow, about twelve or fourteen years of age." "Where was the other boy? Ran, I suppose." "He ran before I could stop him. I yelled to him, but he kept going, and I didn't try to stop him." "No, of course not. Then I suppose you telephoned for a doctor?" "And the state police. One of the spikes went through near his heart, and the other broke his spine. He didn't have to suffer long, thanks be to God, poor lad. I guess they were after chestnuts." "I doubt it. I haven't got any chestnut trees. Where is the boy now?" "The staties had him taken to the undertaker's, in town." "Town meaning here? Swedish Haven?" "Yes sir. It shouldn't take them long to find out who he is." "No, the other boy will certainly tell what happened. They must be farm boys." "Yes sir. The lad that was killed, he was wearing a pair of overhauls, and them felt boots. Do you want me to keep you informed if I hear anything else? I guess the state police will come and see you." "Oh," said George Lockwood. "Well, I won't be here, Deegan. I have to leave right away for Philadelphia. You tell your office that I'll be in touch with them in the morning, and if there's any legal matter to attend to, have the state police call Mr. Arthur McHenry, at McHenry & Chapin's. You know where their office is." "Yes sir. If you want to give me your address in Philadelphia." "Well, I'm not sure where I'll be. I'll telephone your office in the morning. I'm sorry this had to happen, Deegan. Very harrowing experience for you." "Yes sir. I'm getting another man from the agency to stay here tonight. I couldn't last out the night thinking of that poor lad." "Go home and try to think about something else." "That's what I'm gonna try to do. Goodnight, Mr. Lockwood." "Goodnight," said George Lockwood. He hurried upstairs and put on his shoes and jacket and packed a small bag. He went downstairs and through the kitchen. "No dinner. I've been called to Philadelphia on urgent business." "You won't get a train now," said Margaret." "I'm driving." He closed the door, started the little Packard, and was on his way. At Reading he drove to the Outer Station and after mentioning the names of two local directors of the line, gave the car keys to the stationmaster and boarded the next train for New York. In a week's time the fuss would die down and he would not have been mixed up in it. "I was just about to call the operator and tell her I didn't want to be disturbed," said Geraldine Lockwood. "Who on earth would disturb you?" said George Lockwood. She raised her eyebrows. "That's a thought. Who would? I always leave word that I don't want to be disturbed, but now that I think of it, there's no one that would call me at three o'clock in the morning, or five o'clock in the morning. You think of things like that." "I can understand why you'd leave word that you didn't want to take any calls before, say, ten o'clock. But just leaving word that you didn't want to be disturbed - no." "Every night since I've been staying here, I've called the operator, just before I turned out my light, and told her I didn't want to be disturbed. They're very nice, these operators." "Yes, the whole staff are very nice. I told you you'd like this place. I've been staying at the Carstairs ever since it opened, twenty-five years ago. I like it because its big enough so they don't have to overcharge you, but at the same time small enough so that you know the people and they know you." "My family always stayed at the Waldorf or the Knickerbocker." "You and Howard always stayed at the Murray Hill." "Nearly always. Sometimes the Waldorf. It seems so strange when I come to New York not to be staying at the Waldorf. I never became quite so attached to the Murray Hill. That was Howard and his family." "It's a pretty good hotel, but lately they've been letting it ran down. I hear it's going to pieces. Well, so is Howard Buckmaster, for that matter." "Let's not talk about Howard. I'd much rather talk about what sudden impulse brought you to New York. If you're ready to tell me." "I've already told you. The sudden impulse was to tell you that the house is all finished - and not over the telephone." "Well, that's sweet, but I don't believe it. You do unexpected things, but you're not sentimental." "I'm not?" "I don't think so, George. You can be romantic, but not sentimental." "What do you consider the difference?" "Well - I can't just say offhand." "Well, give me an example of the sentimental and an example of the romantic." "I'm trying to think. A romantic man can be very romantic and still never lose his head. Thinking every minute. But a sentimental man is entirely swayed by his emotions. A man can be deliberately romantic, but I don't think he can be deliberately sentimental. You did a lot of romantic things. I guess we both did." "Do you consider yourself sentimental?" "No, perhaps not. But more so than you are. Howard was sentimental, but not a bit romantic. I think romantic people are probably more intelligent." "Oh, I think intelligent people aren't likely to be sentimental," he said. "That's better. I guess because you're so intelligent you couldn't possibly be sentimental, but you can be romantic "Well, then let's say that my coming to New York instead of telephoning was romantic, and not sentimental," he said. "All right. I agree." "Have you missed me?" "The last few days, very much. All last week and the week before I went to bed exhausted. I told you that." "Yes." "It's true. I love shopping for myself. Clothes and things like that. But furnishing a house - I've done all the bedrooms and our dressing rooms, and the halls. And on the ground floor, the dining room. and the little sitting-room. And the hall. But the big room on the ground floor, you're going to have to help me." "No, I want you to do everything but my study," he said. "I don't feel right about it. That's where we'll entertain and that room should have more of you." "You'll be the hostess." "But you'll be the host, and for instance I saw a large Chinese vase. It's five feet high and comes on a teakwood base. Perfectly beautiful, and horribly expensive." "How horribly expensive!" "Five thousand." "That's not too expensive for some Chinese pieces." "But for a country house, and you're going to see it every day. It's blue, a deep blue but not somber. Bright. And the design is carried out in a very yellowy gold and some black. It's an exquisite thing." "Get it. You obviously love it. And the southeast comer of that room needs something like that." "Oh, I wouldn't have it there. I'd have it on the right, just as you come in from the hall." "Then you'd want something on the left." "Oh, dear. That's just the trouble." "What?" "I have a confession to make." "Confess." "This vase is one of a pair." "Ten thousand?" "Eight thousand for the pair. I got them to come down." "Then you have another confession to make?" "Yes. I've bought them. Oh, this isn't the way I planned to break the news to you. George, you make me tell you things. You do somehow, you know. You look at me with those clear blue eyes and I hear myself saying things I had no intention of saying. But you will let me have them, won't you? I know just how I can save four thousand, on some guest-room rugs. "The pair of vases will be a present." "All right, Christmas, I'll have them for my Christmas present." "No, that's not fair. I'll still give you a Christmas present. Well consider it a reward for all those miles you walked shopping." "Honestly, I'd love them for a Christmas present." "As it happens, I've already ordered your Christmas present." "You've ordered it? It's something you had to order two months ahead?" "Yes, but don't start guessing." He rose. "I am now going to take my bath." "Do you want me in your bed when you come back?" "Yes," he said. He did not look at her again, and as he closed the bathroom door she snapped the bedside light.