Devil May Care (13 page)

"I know you offered, and I really appreciate it. But of course I'm not frightened. The whole thing is just a silly hoax. It can't be aimed at me, since I've done nothing to annoy anyone; so why should I worry?"

Ted shook his head. "You're right, Ellie, there is nothing to worry about. But I would feel better if you'd accept my company."

"No; thanks again. Let's drop it."

"Okay. Tell you what. I'll give you a little present."

Ted fumbled with both hands at the back of his neck, under his collar, while the others watched curiously.

Eventually he unfastened a delicate chain that had been concealed by his shirt, and held it out to Ellie. Hanging from it was a golden cross. It was

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about three quarters of an inch long and intricately carved.

"Lovely thing, isn't it?" Ted said, eyeing the cross admiringly as it dangled from his fingers. "One of Omo's pieces; I picked it up in New York. He is an absolute master at this technique. At most angles the carving appears completely abstract; you have to see it from just the right distance to realize what it is."

The workmanship of the small jewel was as amazing as he claimed. When Ellie moved it to the proper distance the tiny, limp Figure on the cross sprang into view, as if it had been hidden in the metal.

"Good Lord, Ted, I can't take anything as valuable as this," she exclaimed. "It must be worth a fortune."

Donald was more acute than she, perhaps because he was less bemused by the sheer loveliness of the jewel.

"What the hell are you trying to suggest, Ted?" he demanded angrily. "Next thing you'll be wanting to sprinkle the place with holy water--or do you favor garlic around the doors and windows? I have no particular religious prejudices, but--" "Oh," Ellie said blankly. "Oh, I didn't realize ... Honest, Ted, I don't think--"

But Ted had taken the ornament from her hand; rising, he leaned forward and hung it around her neck. The entire clientele of the restaurant watched with avid interest as he fastened the clasp. Ted turned.

"We're engaged," he announced, in a piercing voice. "I'm so glad you were all here to share this lovely moment with us."

The watchers hastily returned to their meals and their luncheon partners. Ted sat down.

"Nosy ghouls," he said loudly.

Ellie had both hands over her mouth trying to stifle her laughter, and even Donald was grinning.

102 Elizabeth Peters

"You are too much, Ted," he said. "I don't know why the hell we put up with you." "I add a little spice to your dull lives," Ted said complacently. "Ellie, darling, I want you to have the crucifix because I love you, and because you appreciate it. You may not believe in its efficacy; I don't know that I believe, either; but I'm sure that while you are wearing it you will be safe from harm. Wear it to please me, if for no other reason."

It was impossible to refuse the gift after that, and Ellie knew she would cherish it as an expression of affection as much as for its beauty.

The coming of darkness only lowered the temperature a few degrees. The weather reporter on television announced cheerfully that the entire East Coast was in the beginning of what would probably be the worst heat wave of the summer, accompanied by humidity and smog. This information made Ellie feel even hotter. She was tempted to set the thermostat down a few degrees, but decided to leave it at 78. Kate's bills must be astronomical as it was.

The heat and the varied annoyances of the day had worn her out; at least that was her excuse for going to bed early. It had nothing to do with the fact that the lower regions of the house felt too quiet and too empty at night.

It was even warmer upstairs. Ellie decided to dispense with a nightgown. It was not until she had gotten into bed that the tug at her throat reminded her of Ted's crucifix. With a faint smile she unfastened the chain and put the ornament carefully on her bedside table. Even if she had believed in the efficacy of the crucifix she wouldn't have chosen to DEVIL-MAYCARE 1O3

wear it to bed; it might get twisted and broken during the night. Besides, the town would really get a thrill if she appeared next day with a thin red line around her throat. Someone would be sure to come up with a story about an earlier inhabitant who had been hanged or decapitated.

Roger the rat paid his usual courtesy call and then departed for whatever activities filled his nightly hours. The cats, sprawled languidly across the bed, gave off heat like little individual stoves. Franklin, who had trouble with his adenoids, snored on the sea chest.

Before she turned out the light, Ellie went to the window. Nothing stirred on the wide, moon-washed lawn. Then there was a flicker of movement on the grass. Involuntarily Ellie stepped back, pulling the curtain around her body. Moving with a queer hopping movement, the creature came out onto the lawn; and Ellie's pent breath came out In a soft laugh. It was the big buck rabbit, the patriarch of the tribe that lived somewhere in the woods. In spite of Kate's best efforts, the cats and dogs occasionally caught a young rabbit, though most of them had learned not to bring their catch home for approval. But the patriarch was immune; for all his age--and he had been around longer than any rabbit might be expected to survive--he was the quickest, wiliest, and biggest of his tribe. Now he sat up, wriggled his ears, and looked around, with a comical air of nonchalance.

He knew that the house animals were locked up for the night.

Reassured by the bucolic normalcy of the scene, Ellie went to bed and fell asleep at once.

She never knew what awakened her several hours later. It might have been a sound, or it might have been the cold. She was shivering when she came up out of the depths of slumber. The room felt like a refrigerator. It was pitch-black except for the faint starlight from the windows. The hall light was out--

1O4 Elizabeth Peters and from the darkness there came the sound of slow, ponderous footsteps.

Wide awake and covered with goose bumps, Ellie tried to do two things at once--pull the sheet over her cold body and turn on the light. As the footsteps came closer she forgot about the first need and concentrated on the second; light was more necessary than warmth. But when her stiffened fingers finally found the switch of her bedside lamp, it clicked and clicked again without result. Squinting into the darkness, Ellie realized that she could now make out the outline of the doorway. It was beginning to fill with light--not normal electric light, but a faint, greenish-white luminescence like the rotten glow of fungi that grow in lightless cellars.

The episode could not have taken more than a minute at the outside, but it seemed to stretch on forever.

Ellie's senses, quickened by fear, took in a jumbled variety of impressions. She could hear the animals stirring uneasily. The sheet, twisted around their bodies and her own, resisted her frantic efforts to pull it up. It was not modesty that motivated her, but the primitive equation of nakedness with helplessness.

Franklin began to growl. It was a quiet, uncertain growl, barely audible; but it made those few hairs that were not already quivering rise up along Ellie's neck. The light strengthened. The footsteps stopped.

A figure stood in the doorway.

The light seemed to come from its own breast. It shone upward, illumining the white bearded face, the snowy hair of the man she had seen that afternoon in the portrait at the library. But this face was not at all saintly. Ellie was too far gone to grope through her vocabulary for a suitable description; later, she produced "leer" and "lascivious," which were in themselves symptomatic, because they were words she had never used except jokingly. If she had been able to think rationally she would have known that

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the creature could not see her, except as an indistinct shape against the white sheets; but she could have sworn that the glowing eyes inspected her naked body feature by feature, that the dreadful smile broadened, that the hands lifted in an incipient and unspeakable embrace.

Up to that point she had not thought of screaming.

Now she did; and that was the worst moment of all, when her straining vocal cords produced only a voiceless gasp. Her hands flew to her throat.

The figure in the doorway recoiled. The face changed from lechery to furious rage. The snarling noise might have come from its throat--or it might have come from Franklin; Ellie was never certain.

Suddenly the intruder was gone--blown out like a candle flame. At first Eliie thought she heard the sound of rapid footsteps; then she realized it was the sound of the pulse hammering in her ears.

She didn't faint, but she was quite incapable of movement for some time. Her first move was to fall out of bed, on the side away from the door. Kneeling, she snatched at the sheet and gave it a tug that sent cats flying like rubber balls. Their angry exclamations, couched in all ranges of feline complaint, restored Ellie's composure slightly; they didn't sound as if they were frightened, only annoyed.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness as much as they were going to. As she stood by the bed, trying to drape the sheet around herself, she could see the shapes of the furniture and the darker, gaping oblong of the doorway. There seemed to be nothing there; but it took more courage than Ellie had known she possessed to go to the door and slam it.

She thrust the bolt home, even though she knew that was illogical; wooden panels and iron bars were no hindrance to spirits, if the literature on the subject was to be believed. Even so, she felt safer--calm enough to remember that Kate kept candles in all the rooms in case of a power failure. After some

1O6 Elizabeth Peters fumbling, for her fingers still felt numb with cold, she located candles and matches.

In the feeble yellow light the room appeared normal enough. Two of the cats had returned to their places on the bed. The Siamese was sitting by the door staring fixedly at the panels. Franklin was gone.

Ellie sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for the telephone. She had to call the operator to get the number, but there was no delay. Donald answered on the second ring.

"I'll be right over," he said, cutting short an incoherent explanation. "Come down and let me in, will you?"

"I wouldn't go down those stairs alone for a million dollars," said Ellie. Her teeth started chattering at the very idea.

"Then how do you propose that I get in?" Donald inquired patiently.

"You can come in my window."

"Oh, for-- All right. There's a long ladder in the shed. I suppose I can manage. Of all the damn-fool ideas--"

On her way to the window Ellie tripped over the sheet. This reminded her that she might be more conventionally attired; it also reminded her that she was freezing. She put on her robe, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and opened the window.

The warm, sticky air felt wonderful. Throwing the screened pane! wide, she leaned out and let the heat soak into her bones. She was still in that position when Donald appeared.

He came straight across the lawn to the house and stood looking up. He had dressed in a hurry; the tails of his shirt were half in and half out of his jeans, and his sneakered feet were stockingless.

"Are you all right?" he called.

"Yes."

"Feel like coming downstairs?"

"No."

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"All right, hang on," Donald said resignedly. "I'll get the ladder. And I'll let the dogs out. They might pick up someone's scent."

He was back in a few minutes, wavering under the awkward weight of the ladder, and accompanied by two delighted dogs, whose gambols were an added hazard to his balance. Despite their enthusiastic interference he managed to get the ladder in position.

The German shepherd immediately started up it.

Donald grabbed him by the collar.

"Damn furry clown," he shouted. "What do you think this is, a circus? Go guard the grounds or something."

A short wrestling match ensued, the dog evidently assuming that this was a new and delightful game.

The ladder fell over. Donald finally got the dogs away and the ladder back up. Breathing hard, he stared at Ellie.

"If you are through horsing around," she remarked, "why don't you come up?"

Donald's reply was unintelligible. He started up the ladder. Ellie moved back from the window and he climbed in.

They contemplated one another in silence for a second or two. Ellie still clutched her blanket; Donald was sweating and disheveled after his romp with the dogs. Still in silence, Donald crossed the room and flicked the light switch.

The overhead light, a charming miniature chandelier, immediately went on. Ellie blinked.

"Do you prefer candlelight for these encounters?"

Donald inquired. "More romantic, I admit, but--" "The lights were out," Ellie said indignantly. "I always leave the one in the hall on when I go to bed, but it was out when I woke up. I tried my bedside lamp half a dozen times, and nothing hap----"

The rest of the word was lost in a gulp as Donald switched on the bedside lamp. He unbolted the door

1O8 Elizabeth Peters and after an almost imperceptible moment of hesitation threw it open.

The hall light burned steadily. Franklin, who had been sitting outside the door, got up off his haunches and trotted in. His plumy tail waving, he leaped up onto the chest and lay down.

"There's nobody in the hall," Donald reported, peering out.

"If you're so brave, why don't you go out and make sure?" Ellie snarled.

Donald appeared to be in no hurry to leave the room.

"Why have you got that blanket wrapped around you? Your thinly clad charms may be devastating, but I think I've got enough willpower not to ravish you on the spot--"

"Oh, Lord." Ellie sat down on the bed and stared palely at him. "Don't talk about ravishing, will you please? I have seen a leer or two in my time, but I have never seen a look like that on any man's face.

And to see it on that face--"

"You're sure that's who it was? Old Man Lockwood?"

"Oh, yes. I couldn't see his clothing too clearly, but it looked like the same outfit he was wearing in the portrait--one of those old-fashioned dark suits, with a vest and high collar. And the beard was the same."