Mum's the Word (33 page)

He had forgotten I was pregnant. He had forgotten I was his wife, his friend. I started to stand but thought better of the idea, “I know you feel I shouldn't have mentioned the missing knives, because that led to Ernestine mentioning that the comte used minor explosions as part of his act, which led to the sheriff asking if we thought any of the departed candidates might have blown up the boat as an act of vengeance against the Mangés. But Ben, that's what we are looking for—a motive that has nothing to do with Theola.”

“Ellie, you raised suspicions that are outrageous.”

“You seemed concerned about the missing Browns and the missing knives this morning.”

He picked up a pillow and tossed it down. “Naturally I worry about any irregularities in any situation involving you, my pregnant wife. I overreacted. But remember Henderson Brown was unhappy here. Is it so unlikely his dutiful wife would agree to go home?”

“Without a word of good-bye?”

“She'd be embarrassed. As for the knives, someone
simply played a joke and is afraid to own up. Especially after
your
hatchet job.”

The man had gone too far. I would never darken his bed again. I would never speak to him again … after I'd had my say. Crossing to the bed, I grabbed the pillow and dragged off the bedspread before backing toward the window. “Don't come near me! You've made your choice! The Mangé Society comes before all else, your wife, your child—before honour itself!”

“What!” he shouted. “You think my attitude is one of anything goes so long as I don't blow my chances of becoming a Mangé! Well, you're wrong!” Thump on the bedpost. “I object to my wife sticking her nose into the bloody middle of a murder investigation!”

“You landed me full square in the middle of one! I never wanted to come to America. Remember!” I smacked into a chair and kicked it sideways. “What chance does Theola Faith have if everyone wants to add an epilogue to
Monster Mommy
in order that it may end with a bang? I wish I could make you understand, but how can I when possibly I wouldn't feel this way if I weren't carrying our child.”

The rain had changed, grown softer … “Ellie!” His hand touched my arm, but I couldn't see him for my tears.

“I have to fight for her. Theola Faith may be a drunk, she may have done all sorts of monstrous things, but she didn't do this. Last night, just before she left she said, ‘Tell me, how is Mary?' And I heard something that sounded like love in her voice.”

He didn't answer because we heard a scream. And this one sounded different from Jeffries' primal kind. At such a time, what did it matter that our marriage was breaking to bits like Mary's boat? I spurned Ben's suggestion that I cower in the room while he sashayed forth to investigate. The days when I thought pregnancy entitled me a nine-month free membership to a leisure club were long gone.

We came out into the hall to see Ernestine rushing in our direction, one hand gripping the skirt of her maize-coloured jersey gown, the other clutching a long, ugly knife which
looked chillingly like one of those missing from the wall downstairs.

“Bingo, Mommy's coming! Oh, God! You sure know how to drive a mother crazy with worry!” Her face was grey with fright. She slammed open the bathroom door, swept along by her maternal dread. Ben and I were about to follow her … when we saw Valicia X, Pepys and Jeffries crowding into one of the rooms across from the bathroom.

It was Marjorie Rumpson's room. Over Jeffries' shoulder, I could see the open window, the drenched curtains blowing inward, a damp spot on the floor where the rain had driven in. Lightning cracked overhead; thunder drowned my cry of horror.

“Marjorie!” I cried again. So great was my terror that in taking up Theola Faith's cause I had driven this loveable woman to the edge of the window sill, that I elbowed Valicia X aside without a thought for Ben's feelings. Perhaps Marjorie had truly believed herself suspected and was afraid of the effect of her arrest on her ancient mother? Never, I vowed, would I cause my child a moment's unease. As I raced ahead of Ben, I could see Marjorie lying on the ground, a stray leaf blowing across her face. Would she have suffered, would there be a lot of blood? Would I ever forgive myself?

I almost fainted when Pepys stepped aside and I saw her—ashen faced and all of a tremble in her blue-and-white striped pajamas. But alive! Valicia X, a vision in nylon and lace, and Jeffries, her head knobby with curlers, was holding onto her, as Marjorie pointed a trembling finger and croaked, “Someone's under my bed!”

Outside, the wind was still hamming it up, shrieking louder than a soul in torment, while the rain chattered like teeth. Inside, it was as though someone were moving a torch about, but one which shed beams of darkness rather than light. Shivering under my eiderdown, my leg touched something that felt like … a man's leg and … strangely, my heart slowed. In that half world between waking and sleeping I knew that Mr. Nightmare, determined not to let me slip from his clutches, had come dogging after me, swirling his black cloak about him. But I knew he couldn't stay long. Daylight would come and burn him to dust and anyway it didn't matter. I was safe because my mother had come in. The loveliest, warmest feeling swept over me. But the next moment I was angry. Why wouldn't she move away from the door? Why keep standing there so dark and still? Why couldn't I see her face?

“I do hope I'm not keeping you from something important.”
My voice sounded fed up and used up and dreadfully old—at least thirty.
“Be my guest, Mum! Do some leg lifts while you're here! I don't want you to get flabby and out of shape because of me. I love it when people say, ‘Isn't your mother skinny? How did you get to be such a chub?' But never mind my petty grumbles, I have to tell you about my awful dream. I was grown up and married to this horribly handsome man, the sort
forever raising a dark sardonic eyebrow. We were staying with the queerest group of people at a place called Mendenhall. Then came a murder, which wasn't nearly as much fun as it might have been because some people wanted me to mind my own business. At dead of night, there came this blood-curdling scream. Out on the landing was a woman with a knife—grabbed up for protection. So she said! We all raced into this lady's room. She was large and shaggy. Exactly what I always wanted in a grandma. And she was absolutely terrified, because she thought there was a man under her bed; and almost as frightened that perhaps there wasn't—after she had raised the alarm. Then, who should crawl out from under, but a fat child genius named Bongo … No, Bingo! With some gussied-up story about having gone downstairs and almost walked into—or through—a ghost whom he claimed to have seen once before. Seeing Miss Rumpson's door open, he claimed to have dodged inside for safety. But, Mother, there was something shifty about the way he looked everyone straight in the eye. Oh, I don't mean he was lying about seeing the ghost! The fatty was as white as … one. But he was holding something back. I don't believe he had left his room to get a drink—any more than his mother believed Miss Rumpson had left hers to go to the bathroom. Mother!”
I tried to keep the frown out of my voice,
“The courtesy of a reply would be appreciated. What must I do to pique your interest? Tell me what you think of the inflatable boat being missing, that's what I noticed—without realizing—was different about the boat house. And what of Pepys' and Jeffries' contradictory behaviour? I thought Pepys was starry-eyed about Theola Faith and Jeffries displayed signs of a surly affection last night, but they threw her to the Sheriff …”

She didn't answer … because she wasn't there. The person I had been addressing was a black silk dressing gown hanging on the door. Morning had broken into the room and driven the shadows under the wardrobe and up the chimney, where they would hide until night came again. I knew who I was and where I was and that this was the first day of the rest of my marriage!

“Good morning, Ellie.” Ben sat up.

“Good morning, Mr. Haskell.” If I were to be addressed as the chambermaid who had warmed the master's bed in person, rather than with the customary hot brick, I would respond in kind.

“Sweetheart,” he stumbled out of bed, shaking his head. “What's that old saying—never let the sun rise on your wrath?”

“Some such twaddle.”

He was yanking at his pajama top, forgetting this one didn't fasten with snaps. Buttons flew, one nearly getting me in the eye.

“Nice try,” I said.

“Ellie!” Thumping his bare chest. Probably expecting me to crawl the length of the bed, grab his hand and smother it with remorseful kisses. “I still believe you were wrong last night, but I am prepared to believe that you acted more out of a misguided sense of … chivalry, than …”

“Downright viciousness?”

“I was going to say folly.”

“Thank you kindly.” With what pleasure I watched, as he threw back the lid of the white suitcase and began tossing through everything. Wifely intuition told me he was looking for his silver-grey shirt. But why should I tell him it was in the blue case? “Ben,” I said, “I did a lot of thinking while I was asleep, the result being I am exhausted; so with your kind permission I will stay in bed this morning.”

Had I pushed a panic button! His eyes turned neon green and the creases in his face rivaled the ones in the shirt he was clutching. “What's the matter?” He grabbed my hand and for a moment I thought he was going to dot it with kisses, but—curses, he was taking my pulse. “You said that wasn't morning sickness yesterday. Is it something new? Are you in pain?”

“The baby is fine,” I informed the wail. “But I relish a lie in with a good book.” My eyes avoided the copy of
Monster Mommy
on the bedside table.

“Ellie”—he stood over me like Dr. Haskell making rounds—“you can't hole up here forever.”

“One morning—well, make that two—does not a lifetime make. I have not forgotten tonight's grand finale. Ms. X
mentioned a formal dinner; I imagine that afterward—while we all sit around sipping our brandy and smoking our cigars—an announcement will be made as to who is to be the Chosen One.”

“My dear, I am not at liberty to discuss …”

“Perish the thought!” I sank back against the pillows, all the life gone out of me. Neither of us would ever know for sure if I were to blame, should his name not be proclaimed to a fanfare of trumpets. Upon entering this house, I had been aware I must comport myself as a consort fit for a Mangé. And I had done nothing but blunder and bloop.

Last night had been easier on the ego. Last night, I had known right from wrong. I had been right.
Ben
had been wrong. Now all I knew was that I didn't want anyone bringing me breakfast in bed.

“You run along to your meeting!” I turned my cheek so that his kiss slid off my face. “Don't worry about me. I'll putter downstairs when the coast is cl—” Memory of the Coast Guard bubbled to the surface of my mind. Was that gruesome business of dragging the river finished? How soon before the sheriff brought us word of Mary's awful fate? Would we be permitted to leave here tonight or tomorrow morning? Mary Faith … everything came back to her.

One last, lingering glance and Ben was gone. I was alone in a room in which I did not feel alone. I didn't like the way the furniture was looking at me. What I wouldn't give for the warm comfort of Tobias! Even a pigeon would do. Too restless to sleep, too depressed to get up, I fluffed my pillow—with the result that the handful of feathers sank into one corner. And there went my hand—reaching out for
Monster Mommy
. Was I punishing myself or trying to get Mary to talk to me—one more time? Turning to the last page, I read:

Crumbs! All the pitfalls of motherhood. But I will bake my fingers to a crisp. I will serve fresh squeezed milk at every meal, I will never let my child see me without makeup, with my hair a mess, with my toenails unvarnished. I will never enter the nursery without knocking.… And will die of exhaustion if I try to keep this pace.

Tossing
Monster Mommy
down, I reached for
Parenting for Pleasure
. Chapter Seven, if I remembered rightly, focused on perils of Trying to be Mighty Mum. As I must stop fixating on Mary. My being churned up was not good for the baby. Poor sweet must think it was living in a whirlpool. Oh, crumbs! There I went again. Hoping to distract myself from the fearsome image of a Child Raised Wrong, I began singing a lullaby. I have a terrrible voice, but so did my mother—and I always loved that one about the daddy longlegs who got drunk on dandelion wine. If only I could remember the words … but Mother had made them up as she went along; she dancing the part of the hero, while my father penguined back and forth as the outraged waiter, wielding an invisible ladle …