The Body in the Gazebo (11 page)

“And I thought the little houses were playhouses when I first saw them and used to beg to be taken to see them. Mother had a friend who owned one and I loved to sit on her tiny porch in a rocker that was small, too. There were always people strolling by and stopping to say hello. I’m afraid I wasn’t missing Sanpere at those times, although at others I wanted intensely to be there.

“The huge tabernacle in the middle of the campground looked like a rustic palace. I had never been inside and this was another reason why I had been counting the days until Illumination Night. As soon as we heard about it, Mother promised she would take me and I think she was excited to go, too.”

Faith remembered the Tabernacle. It was interdenominational now, and Illumination Night, as well as the other summer events held there, was run by the Camp Ground Association. They should try to take the kids this year, although August meant Maine. Even Ben, who had recently adopted a world-weary air more reminiscent of Garbo than a seventh grader, would be impressed. The lanterns were what turned a summer band concert, albeit an extremely large one, into a unique experience. The lantern collection went with the houses—if they changed hands—and some were over a hundred years old, painted by artists or an owner’s children and grandchildren. Many were still illuminated with candles. At dusk, someone who had been appointed, a terrific honor, lit the signal lantern at the Tabernacle and immediately hundreds of others festooned on the surrounding houses glowed. At eleven, they were extinguished, and church chimes filled the now quiet night, signaling the end of another Illumination Night.

Faith had even gotten into the old-time sing-along at the Tabernacle, especially when they sang “East Side, West Side, All Around the Town.” The band concert that followed the sing-along had been heavy on Sousa. It had all suggested a simpler, carefree time, although as Faith listened to Ursula she doubted such a moment had ever existed even in “The Good Old Summertime.”

“The weather that day was unseasonably warm, especially for Martha’s Vineyard,” Ursula said. “Perhaps that had something to do with it, too.”

“You’re all a bunch of slugs. Big fat oozing slugs!” Babs said. She was carrying her tennis racquet and dressed for the courts.

“Darling girl. It’s too hot for tennis. Too hot for anything, except a dip in the ocean. What about it?” Theo looked around the living room at the group that had assumed a variety of languid poses, none more drooping, or aesthetic, than Violet’s. She was stretched out on one of the cushioned wicker chaises. Her shapely legs and ankles, down to her bare feet—she’d kicked off her shoes—were nicely displayed.

“Too salty, and Babs, even your devoted Scooter isn’t going to bake on that clay court. Run along and practice that divine backhand of yours.” Violet’s slightly sarcastic tone turned the compliment truly into a backhanded one.

Babs flushed, walked over to Scooter, who’d been idly playing the piano, and grabbed his hand.

“I suppose a walk on the beach won’t kill you? You can borrow one of Violet’s sunshades if you don’t want to freckle.”

“Hey, don’t have a conniption, honeybun. Everything’s jake. If you want to play tennis, I’ll play. Violet isn’t my mouthpiece.”

“You’re a doll.” Babs planted a big kiss on the top of his head. “But it is hot. Let’s walk now and play later.”

“I thought it was ‘Let’s play now and pay later,’ ” Theo quipped.

“That’s only you, Lyman,” Charles Winthrop called out. He was looking at the ocean through a brass spyglass. “And speaking of paying, I believe you owe me several simoleons from last night. Damn, not a single sail. Nothing’s moving. I’d hoped to get out today. Dickie Cabot said to come over if the wind was right and we’d head out. Nice little boat they have.”

“If you call a yacht that sleeps eight with quarters for the crew little, then I’d agree. And Charlie, there are ladies present.” Theo sounded peeved and seized on Winthrop’s oath. He also considered it devilishly poor taste to mention the money he owed after several late nights of cards with a few fellows who’d dropped by. Charles wasn’t the only one he’d lost to and it was partly the cause of a headache that was getting worse not better as the day wore on. The other cause was too much gin.

“Stop it, both of you,” Violet said, swinging her legs to the floor and stretching like a cat. “Order some lemonade, Theo, and we can play mah-jongg in the shade on the porch. It must be cooler there.”

Theo walked to the door and pressed a button to the left of it. Mrs. Miles, the housekeeper, soon appeared and he asked her if she could please bring some cold lemonade to the porch.

“Yes, Mr. Lyman,” she said.

She was barely out the door when Violet gave a throaty laugh. “She has a beau, your Mrs. Miles.”

“Really, Violet, the servants’ affairs are of no concern to us. Leave the poor woman alone,” Babs said.

“It’s really very sweet,” Violet continued, taking no notice. “He appears every night after dinner and lurks in the shrubbery until she’s finished and then they disappear in the direction of the beach. A bit gritty for nooky, I’d say.”

“And you should know,” Babs said softly to Scooter.

“I heard that,” Violet said, not in the least bothered. “Better to be the bees’ knees than a Mrs. Grundy.”

“Meow,” Scooter said, and got up from the piano. “Are we taking that walk or not?”

“Taking it,” Babs said. “See you in the funny papers.”

Mrs. Miles returned with a tray. Ursula was at her heels. She’d been in the kitchen talking to Mary.

“Would you like the lemonade in here or on the porch, Mr. Lyman?”

“The porch will be fine. Let me get the door.”

“The Professor would like you to meet him in the library, Theo,” Ursula said. “I saw him in the hall and told him I’d tell you. And don’t forget, you promised you’d take me tonight since Mother can’t.”

“What does he want now?” Theo ignored the rest of what Ursula had said.

“Go and swallow your medicine like a good boy. I don’t want my Theo flunking out.” Violet walked over and slipped her arm through his. “We’ll be thinking of something fun for tonight’s party. Charades?”

Theo brightened immediately. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to see a man about a dog in Edgartown as soon as I can get away from Herr Professor.”

“Remember, Baby likes champagne, Daddy,” Violet said as she squeezed his arm.

Ursula thought this sounded pretty stupid. Theo wasn’t anywhere near old enough to be Violet’s father. She knew it was slang—which her mother had forbidden her to use—but shouldn’t even slang make some sense?

Violet dropped Theo’s arm, and Ursula grabbed the other one, tugging on it slightly.

“You promised! And we don’t have to stay too long. Just see the lanterns lighted and hear some of the music.”

Theo shook her off and walked toward the door.

“Later, squirt. I’ve got a date with an isosceles triangle.”

She followed him out and down the hall into the library. It was smaller than the living and dining rooms, but bigger than its counterpart at the Lymans’ Boston house. A large fireplace dominated one wall. The rest were lined with bookshelves that came halfway up the walls. Above and on top of them, the owner displayed his weaponry collection. There were elaborately etched swords, some in embossed silver scabbards that looked as if young Arthur had pulled them from the stone. In addition there were several very frightening-looking spiked maces and crossbows. Another wall was devoted to American weapons starting with the muskets the colonists used against the British, up through the Spencer carbines of the Civil War. The last wall was filled with African and South American spears. They were arranged like the spokes of a wheel with an enormous moose head as the hub. Ursula had spent hours in the library, reading and contemplating the décor. The moose looked slightly surprised to find himself surrounded by such foreign objects, she thought. There was a leopard skin spread out in front of the fireplace over the Oriental carpet that almost covered the entire floor, leaving only an edge of gleaming wood to show that the quality of what was beneath equaled what was on top. The leopard was headless. Doubtless, she imagined, if the house’s owner had killed it, he would have displayed that head with the spears. He must have killed the moose and decided it would have to do. A large library table was covered with richly illustrated books on the history of weaponry—and a number of guns ranging from a tiny pearl-handled revolver to the kind of gun Tom Mix carried in the movies. She’d learned many interesting new words from the books and it certainly was a very different kind of hobby from any of hers—the ferns and birds’ nests in Maine, postcards in Boston. Her father collected stamps, which took up considerably less room.

“Sorry to drag you away from your friends, Theo, but we don’t have a great deal of time left and there’s still so much to get through.” The Professor sounded tired, Ursula thought.

“Well, let’s get to it, then,” Theo said and then seemed to regret his tone. “You’ve been cooped up here all morning in this heat.” When he wasn’t tutoring Theo, the Professor was editing his senior thesis, which he hoped to publish. “How about some cold lemonade? Ursula, run out to the porch and get us both a glass.”

“Thanks, I am feeling warm, so a glass of something cold would be very nice. Meanwhile, shall we start on page fifty in the text?”

Ursula was only too happy to fetch the drinks. As she left she thought, Page 50? That’s all? The text was a thick one. Maybe they were reviewing. If not, Theo would never be through the book by the end of the summer.

When she returned the two men were in deep conversation, but it wasn’t about mathematics. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but could she help it if she had to slow down so she wouldn’t spill on the carpet?

“Don’t be sore, Theo. I’m your friend first and tutor second. You know that. Think of this as advice from one friend to another. It’s just that with both your parents gone and word about this party all over the island, I’m afraid things are going to get out of hand. Can’t you call it off and have dinner with the people staying in the house? Maybe ask one or two other couples? Roll up the rug afterward?” He was leaning forward, smiling persuasively, and Ursula wondered how her brother could possibly resist giving in.

Theo was on the opposite side of the desk, slouched in a leather chair. He was cleaning his nails with a sharply pointed stiletto—Ursula had asked her father what it was and he’d told her. He’d also told her not to touch it and would be appalled at the use to which Theo was putting it. The gold handle was elaborately enameled in emerald green. The house’s owner used it as a letter opener and it rested on a special little tray.

“Sorry, can’t do it. I’d look like a chump. Vi, I mean the girls, would be very cut up. They’re looking forward to putting on their glad rags. Not much chance here.”

There was a brief silence.

“Best get to work, then.”

Ursula almost burst into tears. How could Theo disappoint his friend—his wise tutor, wise counselor—this way?

She gulped and said, “Here are the drinks. I could get some cookies from the kitchen if you want. Cook baked this morning.”

“That’s very kind of you, Ursula, but I’m all set with this. Thank you.” The Professor took the glass from her hand. Theo took the other glass.

“They light the lanterns at dusk, Theo. We could be back for your party in plenty of time.”

Her brother was seldom cross with her, so Ursula was surprised at the vehemence of his next words.

“Can’t you see we’re working here? Now get going—and stop pestering me about a bunch of lanterns!”

Ursula started to answer back, but the look on his face stopped her. He was scowling. A rare sight.

“Illumination Night? It’s tonight?” asked the Professor.

“Yes,” Ursula said, her voice shaking slightly, “and with Mother gone there’s no one to take me. Mrs. Miles was supposed to be off today, but said she’d stay since Mother had to leave. Mary is only working until just before dark, and I’d ask her, except I know she’s going with . . . with someone else, and Theo said—”

“What I said was ‘get going’!”

“I’ll take you,” the Professor said. “I’ve heard about Illumination Night for years.”

“Don’t you want to go to the party?” Ursula asked.

“No, I don’t care to attend.”

D
aylight savings time had started earlier in the month, an event Faith always greeted with great joy. It might be freezing outside, and snow up to the windowsill, but there was light! Although it was close to five o’clock, sunshine was flooding Ursula’s bedroom, giving the illusion of a balmy summer day.

“You must be getting tired,” Faith said.

“No, happily I’m not.” Ursula reached for Faith’s hand. “Is there any way you could stay another hour? I hate to keep you from your family, but I really don’t feel fatigued and I’d like to tell you some more of my story.”

The tale was reaching its climax and perhaps its end, as well. Faith had sensed it all afternoon. She didn’t want to leave.

“Let me give Tom a call. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“I’ll ring the bell for Dora. Some of Millicent’s restorative calf’s foot jelly for me, and tea for you instead, I think.” Ursula smiled mischievously, knowing full well Faith’s opinion of all things Millicent. She rang the little brass hand bell shaped like a lady with a wide hoop skirt, a gift from Samantha, who had found it in an antiques shop. It was always placed nearby.