Household (52 page)

No one even attempted to translate that remark. Somebody loaned him a coat, and of course they took him to the Culver City police station. Since they didn’t smell any liquor on his breath, they decided he was on dope, particularly when he said with something approaching ecstasy, “I can look at the moon and I don’t feel a thing.”

“Pain,” supplied one of the jailors. “Don’t you mean you’re feelin’ no pain, buddy?”

He received no answer. The young man just continued to stare out of the cell window at the huge round moon.

❖

His eyes were eager and hopeful as he moved across the sands. He was wearing the black and silver suit that had once been his favorite and his powdered hair was pulled away from his face. He came to where they stood, just at the edge of the water. He said in a voice that was hollow yet resonant, “My dear, dear children.”

Colin and Juliet regarded him incredulously and, at the same time, regretfully.

“Father...” Colin was the first to speak. “We didn’t think you knew.”

“I knew, and also knew that it was useless to argue with you, but now...”

“No, you mustn’t argue,” Juliet whispered. “Just stay with us until the sun rises. It can’t be very long now.”

“The stars are dimming and the moon is low,” Colin agreed. “And we’ll pretend it’s a night when Father came in to see that we were both asleep.”

“How did you know that?” the Old Lord inquired. “Because we were never asleep.” Juliet laughed tenderly. “Oh, my dear, dear children.” He stood between them.

“I love you both so much. I fear I never expressed that love enough—not for you nor for your dear, dear mother, whom I have never ceased to miss or mourn. If I had known what I know now... but enough of recriminations. Heed me. All is not at an end for you. A new knowledge has come to me tonight, and I must share it with you.”

“Oh, Father, we know you love us and we love you,” Colin said, “but it has to be an end. It must be. We are weary of what we have become.”

“I understand that.” The Old Lord stared about him. “But you needn’t be what you have been. It is all part of something that is passing.”

“What?” Juliet asked.

“Look... there!” Colin exclaimed.

Juliet had been staring at her father. She tensed. “The sun?” she whispered.

“No, there by the water’s edge,” the Old Lord said, adding obliquely, “That is what was promised me.”

“What are you saying, sir?” Colin stared at him confusedly.

“Oh...” Juliet dared to raise her eyes. “The poor Pierrot and the Columbine... lying so still. They must be drowned!”

“Come with me, my dears.” The Old Lord strode down to the wet and shining strand. “Follow me,” he added impatiently.

“We must get help!” Juliet cried.

“It is too late,” Colin said. “It’s nearly dawn.”

“Come,” the Old Lord repeated sternly, as he strode ahead. He was standing by the bodies when they joined him. “Try them on. You’ll find they fit.”

They stared at him incredulously.

“You’d not be telling us that we...” Colin began.

“I am telling you what Molly told me. She saw it all. You know she was both witch and seeress in life. But you must want it, too. Heed me. At the moment the sun appears on the horizon, you will be without form or substance. Yet you will exist and may exist and live out these interrupted lives in your own way. If you choose, stand by that woman, Juliet, and you, Colin, stand by the man. You must hurry. Let your essence merge with them. There’ll be a time of sleeping, of waking, of remembering and... of loving.”

They still stared at him questioningly.

“Hurry,” he urged. “Take your positions. There’s but one chance—at the first gleam of sunshine on the far horizon.”

“But how...?” Juliet whispered.

“You will know how,” he urged.

Juliet and Colin stared at each other. “Do you think we might?” Juliet asked tentatively.

“We can try,” he affirmed.

They moved quickly.

“Ah, the sun!” cried the Old Lord.

❖

Livia sat beside the cellar door, staring stonily at the crumpled newspaper in her hand. She was trying to summon enough courage to go down and look, but as yet she could not bear to even contemplate what she was sure she would find. Septimus! If only he had continued to practice black magic, he might have subdued the beast, but he had renounced all that upon their marriage and his entrance into the terrible Household, where black magic should have been a requirement.

“Livia!”

She started and stared into the cellar, but the familiar call wasn’t coming from there. And then Septimus came into the hall, looking grimy and smelling strongly of woodsmoke, but neither mauled nor bitten and most definitely alive. “I’ve got bad news,” he said. “Paris is destroyed.”

“Paris,” she repeated blankly.

“I had one of my premonitions and I went to the studio and...” he broke off staring at the cellar door. “Where’s Mark?”

“I don’t know,” she cried. “But you... you are safe.” She ran to him and clutched his hand.

“Where is Mark?”

“I don’t know. I came down and found the door that way. I haven’t looked into the cellar, but it was broken from the inside—the door, I mean.”

“That means he’s out. Have you called the police?”

“I fainted and afterwards...”

“You fainted?” He looked at her concernedly. “How are you now?”

“I’m all right. I guess we had better call the police.”

“God, yes, we can’t have him wandering around the neighborhood.”

“What can we say?” she cried.

“Say that our pet wolf...”

The telephone rang. “Oh, God,” Livia wailed as Septimus grabbed the phone. “Don’t talk long.”

“Hello,” he said edgily. “What... You!... You are?... You aren’t? Yes, yes, of course, immediately. Right. Goodbye, see you soon.”

“For goodness sake, why did you have to talk to him so long. We’ve got to find Mark.”

Septimus stared at her blankly. “I can’t believe it!”

“Believe what?”

“Mark!”

“Mark!” Livia grabbed his arm. “Someone called about Mark? But that’s impossible, no one knows...”

“That
was
Mark. He’s in jail,” Septimus said jubilantly.

“In jail?”

“In jail! I can’t believe it.”

“Septimus,” Livia said between her teeth, “will you please explain yourself? How could he be in jail?”

“He says he’s cured.”

“Cured!”

“There’s no hair on his palms, and he wants his pants, shirt, shorts socks and shoes.”

“I don’t understand!” Livia actually stamped her foot. “I’m sorry, my love.” Septimus opened wide his arms and catching her in them, hugged her warmly. “He’s naked. They’ve got him booked for indecent exposure. In Culver City, of all places!”

“My God, what happened? How? Oh, it doesn’t matter, does it?” She hurried toward the stairs and staring up saw Letitia Lawrence hanging on the chandelier and looking particularly blue. “Do go away,” she said tartly and hurried on up to ransack Mark’s wardrobe.

Much miffed, the specter sailed up to the roof to sit with Molly and Grimalkin. “I do not enjoy it here,” she said, “I am not appreciated.”

“It’s off to Ireland, you should go,” Molly said.

“Raggghoowlll,” commented Grimalkin.

“Listen to the love,” Molly said fondly. “He’s wantin to, go, too. And it’s my impression, we soon will.”

“I wish I might,” Letitia Lawrence sighed.

“And why shouldn’t ye?” Molly inquired. “There’s always a cryin’ need for banshees.”

Miss Lawrence gave her a long look. “Now that,” she mused, “is a thought.” She added wistfully, “do you suppose I could be assigned to a castle?”

❖

The nurses at the Santa Monica Hospital were in an uncharacteristic flutter. They had seen many celebrities in its corridors, but Helena Browning and Dane Fuller were something special. A whole country had taken the pair to their hearts. It would be terrible if they died, and they certainly had been close to death when they were brought in.

In a room with green pimpled plaster walls, Dr. William Jacobsen, Miss Bonnie Clarke, a nurse, and Mr. Luther Burns, the agent for both young performers, stared at the girl on the bed. She had been looking almost as white as the sheets, but now she was showing signs of returning consciousness.

“She’s coming round,” Dr. Jacobsen observed. “It’s a miracle. There was so much water in her lungs. If it hadn’t been for modern lifesaving methods, I don’t think...”

“Don’t say it,” Mr. Burns groaned. “Don’t even think it. This girl’s a hot property.”

“Caviar on your table, I know,” commented the doctor sarcastically.

“Father...” the girl muttered.

“Hey, she’s really out of it!” Mr. Burns exclaimed. “Her father hit the skids five years back. Drank almost as much as she does. What d’you want to bet the first thing she asks for is a whiskey and soda?”

“Colin...” the girl murmured.

“What’d she say?” Mr. Burns jumped up and bent over the bed.

“She said Colin,” the nurse told him.

“What’s a colin?” Mr. Burns demanded. “Gee, she’s really pretty far gone. I wonder how he is. Guess I’d better...” He broke off startled as a door was thrust open and a tall, pale young man entered, followed by a frantic nurse.

“Gee whiz!” Bonnie Clark exclaimed.

“Mr. Fuller,” shrilled the other nurse. “Mr. Fuller, you’re in no condition to... I never would’ve told you her room number. The doctor’ll have my...” She broke off, flushing, as she met Dr. Jacobsen’s icy blue stare. “Geez, I couldn’t keep him down,” she bleated.

The man she had called Mr. Fuller moved weakly and shakily but managed to get to the girl’s bed. Sitting down on the edge of it, he stared at her, “You?” he managed to say.

The girl opened huge brown eyes. “You?” she echoed.

“Yes.”

The looks they exchanged were so full of love and happiness that Mr. Burns, meeting the reporters from the
Hollywood Citizen-News
, the
Herald-Express
, the
Los Angeles Times
and the
Los Angeles Examiner
, who were congregated in the hall outside, got all choked up as he told them about his two clients’ miraculous escape from death. “I guess they’ll get married after all,” he concluded.

❖

A world of newspapers headlined the story of the Fuller-Browning escape from drowning. In some of the local papers was another item. Two skeletons in eighteenth century costumes had been discovered on the beach. From the labels inside the garments, the police learned that they had been made by a famous costumer, who had reported them stolen several days ago. No one could explain the skeletons.

Morna Moran read the item and wondered.

Livia, Septimus, Kathie and Richard read the item and remembered Juliet and Colin leaving for the party the night when everything happened. They wept until the Old Lord, interrupting their dirge, said to Kathie that their tears were not needed. He would not expound any further on the subject.

It was just as well that he had given them that advice, for while they still wondered, their grief was partially assuaged and they could turn their minds to what Septimus and Livia believed to be their last interview with Mr. Goldbaum. He would want them to leave his house, of course. And where would they go? They would have to arrange a tour. Kathie would probably be joining them, and Matthew would be coming with her.

They were naturally nervous as they filed into the producer’s office. Only Richard was in a really good humor. He was remaining in Hollywood and thought Kathie also should stay. He was sure he could get her acting jobs. Mail was similarly confused. He could find work as a makeup artist, but he was also becoming interested in astronomy, now that he could look at the heavens to his heart’s content. The only trouble about being an astronomer was the fact that he would have to go to college, and he had not even obtained his high school diploma. In fact, he had never even attended grammar school, something that would be difficult to explain considering the fact that he was both literate and intelligent.

It was Kathie who had suggested an alternate solution. “Have you ever considered astrology?”

He had not, but on reading several books about it, he found it fascinating. He also thought he had a real feeling for it. As he sat waiting for Mr. Goldbaum to summon them into his inner office, he wondered about the producer’s signs. A few moments later, following his family into the great man’s office, Mark needed only a glance to tell him that Mr-Gold baum was a Capricorn with Pisces rising—a strong yet mystical individual with a Venus in Scorpio that gave him the touch of dishonesty he needed for the motion picture business. Mark decided that he liked Mr. Goldbaum, and to the surprise of the whole family, the producer seemed to be in an exceptionally good humor for one whose studio had been half-gutted by fire.

“Well,” Mr. Goldbaum said, surveying the rather glum group facing him, “Paris has burned but Magnum will survive that. Also it will survive similar catastrophes and out of the cinders will rise a new picture.
The Devil, You say!
What do you think of that—a catchy title, ja?”

He looked around him, and from force of habit Ruth Fiske, seated next to Richard, said, “Yes, Mr. Goldbaum.”

He beamed at her. “
The Devil, You Say.
That should bring audiences in, especially when we have a perfect devil and his daughter, who will be redeemed by the love of a good man. We have in mind Charles DeWitt if we can pry him away from Colossal Inc. It is he who will teach the devil’s daughter how to love. That is the gist of the plot, and we’ll film it on the lot. Already the scenic designer is sketches making. And I suppose you are wondering what we will use for actors.” His benign gaze fell on Septimus. “I hope you will not be taking this personally, Mr. Grenfall, but always the devil you are bringing to my mind. And Miss Kathie, no one is better able to play the daughter. Only in publicity we will not say she is your daughter, eh? Gut! And now as to salaries...”

“You can’t talk to them about that, Mr. Goldbaum,” Richard interrupted. “I am their agent.”

Some of the producer’s cordiality vanished. “Ach, an agent you are becoming?”