Genteel Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) (18 page)

Billy only shrugged, so I was left to make what I could of his mood, which seemed quite mellow this morning when compared to his moods most mornings.

Because I couldn’t help myself, I decided the change in mood on Billy’s part meant something. The only problem was I couldn’t figure out what.

And then I decided there was no use worrying about Billy’s moods. I had to get ready to go to work.

After I dried and put away the last dish, I slumped off to our bedroom, which was directly off the kitchen. There I took a careful squint at my
collection of clothes
, which was,
as I may have already mentioned
, extensive, due to my sewing skills and my enjoyment of sewing. I justified what might have seemed an extravagant wardrobe by telling myself I had to look good for my job. People didn’t expect their spiritualists to show up to work in pretty little gingham house dresses
or plain old skirts and shirtwaists
. No. I had to
look
like a spiritualist.

However, the merry month of May was still upon us, and the day would
indubitably
be warm. Therefore, I removed from the
closet
a
becoming
cotton day dress that came to about my mid-calf—not an especially flattering length
for anyone
, but all the mode—with blue-and-white checked cap sleeves and bodice and a
blue
flared skirt. The dress was extremely comfortable and wouldn’t look out of place with my short-heeled
,
black, p
ointy-toed shoes. I could wear my
straw hat and plop a ribbon of the same blue-and-white checked fabric around the brim to take the place of the tan ribbon the same hat had sported the day before. See how easy it is to look modish when you sew your own clothes? Well, it is.

After I’d selected my
costume
for the day
and laid it out on the bed
, I went to the bathroom, pe
r
formed my ablutions, fixed my hair, which, in a daring mood I’d had bobbed and shingled the year before, dabbed a mere trace of light face powder over my freckles—freckles are
not
fashionable on spiritualists—and returned to our room to dress, fetch my handbag and put on my hat.

And there was Billy, swigging morphine syrup from
the
bottle
he kept in the top drawer of our birdseye-maple bureau
. Before he spotted me, I stepped aside, hoping he hadn’t seen me. As soon as I heard the drawer close, I made a noise in the hall and entered the room. Billy smiled at me, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me see him.

Lord, Lord, Lord, sometimes I wondered why our lives had to be like this. Then I remembered I was a Methodist, and Methodists believe all humans have been provided with a set of rules and free will, and that it was up to us what we made of our lives. I guess that doctrine included evil Kaisers and young soldiers with romantic notions of going off to war to fight against evil
to save the world
.
And their brides.
It’s that free-will thing that gets so many of us into trouble, although I wasn’t sure what free will had to do with my current life situation, except that I had selected to marry Billy and he had chosen to go off to war. I hadn’t done anything to stop him, either, because I’d been imbued with the same romantic notions he’d had. Boy, were we stupid. But we weren’t alone in our stupidity.

Knowing there wasn’t a single, solitary thing I could do
in aid of
Billy’s problems, I smiled as I tossed the dress over my head. “I’m really glad I can sew,” I said as I tugged it down over my hips. “This entire ensemble cost twenty-five cents.
Well, plus
two
cents for the thread.
I got the material from two bolt ends at Maxime’s, and the hat at Nelson’s Five and Dime.”

“You’re very thrifty, Daisy,” said Billy.

I thought I detected a note of admiration in his voice, and glanced up quickly.
By golly, I was right. His face expressed admiration, too. I grinned. “Thanks. I do try, you know.”

“You try very hard,” said he. “I’m sorry you have to try so damned hard.”

I went over to him. Since I hadn’t yet put on my shoes
and he hadn’t yet regained his wheelchair
, I had to reach up
and stand on tiptoes
, but I put my arms around him and kissed him soundly. “I love you, Billy. I don’t have to try so very hard, you know. I love to sew, and
I love making
my own clothes.
And bei
ng a spiritualist is really fun
most
of the time.
”

“I know.”

He returned my embrace and even my kiss, which surprised me, Billy not being given to shows of open affection very often. I guess he felt so diminished as a man, he didn’t want to start anything he wouldn’t be able to finish. Not that I cared about that. Our first few fumblings after we wed and before he went off to war had been perfectly satisfactory for him, but they hadn’t done much for me. I imagine we were just too young at the time to know what we were doing. And now it was too late. But I’ve said more than enough about that.

“Well, I’d better
put
my shoes on and get going. Lola awaits. Darn it.”

“I hope she treats you better today than she did yesterday.”

“You and me both.”

Shortly thereafter, I sailed out to the Chevrolet with a heaviness in my heart for which I couldn’t account. I guess I felt guilty because Billy had been so nice
to me
that morning.
Now
I ask you: how much sense does that make? None. That’s how much.

Nevertheless, by
the time I got to the
Winkworth
estate, told the guard who I was, and drove the Chevrolet to the area provided for parking, I hadn’t been able to put Billy’s strange morning
mood completely out of my mind.
I
t was shoved out, hard, as soon as I stepped out of the automobile.

“
Daisy
!”

Harold. It looked as if he’d been waiting for me.
Impatiently.
Rushing up to me, he grabbed my arm and started tugging. “Harold!” I cried, “wait a minute! I have to get my handbag.”

“To hell with your handbag. You forgot to exorcise the demons from the monster’s dressing room yesterday, and she refuses to set foot in it today until you do so. You can come back for your handbag
after you get her moving
.”

Already annoyed at being hauled along behind Harold
like
a
sack
of
potatoes
, I snapped, “I’m not late. Why are you in such a tizzy? I’m supposed to arrive
at
the set at nine o’clock, and it’s got to be earlier than
nine
.”

“You’re not late, and i
t’s not you,” Harold said grimly. “It’s
her
. We were supposed to be rehearsing by the time you got here.” He snorted
.
I’ve heard
that
bulls will do
the
same thing
before they charge at one. Being a city girl and not acquainted with the habits of bulls
,
I don’t know that for a fact. “She
didn’t
even need to go to her dressing room this morning, but she refuses to begin rehearsal until she can get in there and powder her damned nose, or whatever it is she wants to do with it. Personally, I’d like to flatten it for her.”

Golly, Lola must really have got Harold’s goat this morning. I’d never heard him express violent wishes before. “I’m sorry she’s such a pill, but slow down, will you? My hat’s falling off.”

Harold stopped walking as abruptly as he’d started, let go of my arm and ran both hands through his hair. I don’t know if I’ve described Harold, but he was of about average height,
slightly overweight,
had a face that
might be described as cherubic
and thinning brown hair, which probably didn’t take kindly to having hands run through it. His gentleman friend, Del Farrington, was tall and handsome. Yet the two of them seemed to go together like ham and eggs. Or something more romantic. Actually, the first time I ever saw Del, he was in his army uniform,
had his back to me,
and he looked so much like my Billy that I nearly fainted
dead away
on the spot.

Gazing at my friend with honest concern as I straightened my hat
and caught my breath
, I said, “Good heavens, Harold, she must be having a
truly terrible
fit if she’s got you in this state.”

“She’s driving everyone
nuts
,” he said bluntly. “I have a feeling this is her last picture. I’m only sorry her last picture wasn’t
her
last picture.” He squinted at me. “If you know what I mean.”

I nodded. “I understand. Um . . . where are we going? To
that big marble
building with the dressing rooms?”

“Yes.” Harold sucked in a lungful of air. The morning was fine, with none of the smog that sometimes settles in t
he beautiful San Gabriel Valley
where Pasadena is located. “Can you put a spell on her room or something, so she won’t do this to us again?”

We started walking
once more
, albeit more slowly, thank God, and I thought about Harold’s question. “
As
to that, I can do
it
, but it’s going to take more than
a spell
to make sure no more notes appear there. I mean, I’m a fake, remember?”

“I remember. Too bad.”

When I glanced at him, I saw that his eyebrows were lowered, and he looked to be in deep contemplation. Probably of breaking Lola de la Monica’s neck. He said, “I guess I can get the carpenters to put a special lock
on her door
.”

“That might help, as long as it’s not one of the carpenters sending the letters.”

“Oh, God, don’t say that!”

“Sorry, Harold
. I suspect it’s someone closer to the action than a carpenter who’s the poisoned penner. Still, we don’t really know who the letter-writer is
.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve taken any particular note of Professor Fellowes this morning, have you?”

Harold let out a breath. “Yeah. He’s hovering over Lola as if he’s afraid she’s going to expire from her fear of dressing-room ghosts.”

“Really? Gee, I don’t understand how anyone can find behavior like hers attractive.”

“I don’t, either, but he seems to.”

“What’s going on with Gladys Pennywhistle?” I asked then, thinking that, while I could imagine her detesting Lola, I couldn’t quite feature her sending nasty notes to Monty Montgomery. Now if she’d sent a threatening letter to
me
in
the
misguided assumption that Monty favored me, Gladys would seem a more probable letter-writer.

“Gladys?” Harold shrugged. “She’s doing her best. She’s the old lady’s secretary and, as such, doesn’t have a lot to do with the set
as a rule
, but even she tried to talk Lola this morning. So far nothing’s worked.”

“Oh, dear.” Sounded as if it was going to be another
spectacular
day for yours truly.

As
long as we were walking on these
glorious
grounds, I decided to look around
and appreciate the beauty of my surroundings
. Wh
at lay ahead for Harold and me—that is to say Lola de la Monica and her hysterics—
was
most assuredly
going to be ugly, so I figured I’d take in as much beauty as I could along the way.

The Winkworth place was h
o
nestly exquisite. It was, as I’ve mentioned earlier, immense, fully capable of supporting three large, mansion-like houses, and each of those houses had its own grounds. I don’t know how many square acres of prime Pasadena
real estate
the Winkworth estate took up, but it was probably as much as
was
used by
the California Institute of Technology nearby.

Paths led here and there on the grounds, each leading to different places
—you know, special gardens and so forth
. In the distance to the right, I noticed a pretty pergola, which would be a delightful place to sit and read a book
with one’s dog at one’s feet, or on
one’s
lap if
one’s
dog was Spike
. The path Harold and I
trod upon
led past one of the rose gardens, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many rosebushes in my life as had been planted on the Winkworth estate.