The Widow's Club (50 page)

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Jenny stepped away from the angel. “And to think I thought you so guileless. I
liked
you. I really did. You gave me your wedding roses and I sent you some. But you figured out the way to trap me. Only it isn’t going to work.” She lifted up her arms and spread her fingers, as though pushing back the clouds. “It can’t work because my dear Daddy wouldn’t shoot me. He doesn’t have the courage.”

She stepped toward us. “I have nothing to lose, you see, because I have nothing to love. Mumma was gone a long time ago.”

She kept coming. She was right. Edwin Digby couldn’t pull the trigger. Closer, closer. Mother must have felt threatened, for suddenly her wings fanned out. Neck extended, she rushed toward Jenny, who turned her back and with an eerie, childish laugh, darted and zigzagged between the tombstones, arms outstretched. Maybe she didn’t look ahead, maybe she did. It doesn’t alter anything. She tripped and tumbled headlong into an open grave—the grave waiting for Ann Delacorte. And we were left standing in the wind-ruffled churchyard, listening to the gulls and the distant moan of the sea.

Primrose expressed my sentiments exactly. “I can have no sympathy for The Founder; but I am saddened that Jenny got lost somewhere in childhood, a place many of us like to revisit but do not want to relive, and that she is dead. Let us thank God her end was quick and trust that Mr. Digby is successful in persuading that friend of his at Scotland Yard that The Widows Club does exist. Although my strong feeling is that with its guiding force gone, the organisation may degenerate into a social group.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Hyacinth’s earrings swung. “And now, my dear Prim, I think we should leave the charm of Merlin’s Court for the charms of home and writing our report to our insurance company employer. Not, Ellie, that things haven’t been entirely delightful here this afternoon with the constabulary buzzing in and out.”

Actually I felt rather sorry for the police. They must have wondered whether they were coming or going. Mr. Digby and Ben had remained to keep vigil over Jenny’s body while I raced home to report the accident, only to find uniformed lawmen spilling all over the ground floor of Merlin’s Court.

Poppa and Magdalene occupied chairs of honour as they gave statements concerning the Raincoat Man (yes, our other villain had staged another kidnapping attempt). Hyacinth, Primrose, and Butler hovered in the background, supplying the occasional salient point. And lounging
against a wall with a self-deprecating smile on his lips, was the hero of the hour, my cousin Freddy.

To return to the disappearance of Magdalene, Hyacinth, and Butler, it will be remembered that they had gone in pursuit of Sweetie and each other. And there they were, milling around the grounds near the gates, when Reggie, the Raincoat Man, slithered out of nowhere, yelling “Hands up!” He was in the midst of complaining that he kept kidnapping more people than he really wanted when Freddy stepped, unnoticed, out of the cottage.

My cousin had been harboring nasty suspicions about the Tramwells and Butler. He was certain they had Ben tied up and gagged and were keeping me and Magdalene hostage while they holed up at Merlin’s Court until their boat arrived to take them to France … or something along those lines. He had been rattling his brain trying to think of some way to conduct a rescue without getting hurt himself when there he went walking smack into the bunch of them. Reggie’s remarks suggested to him, as did the gun, that here was the leader of the gang. Feeling chuffed that his theory was right on, our hero stood for a minute, unseen, at the back of the group and was on the brink of fleeing the scene—to fetch help, as he tells it—when he remembered the chains he wore. Slipping one off, he tossed it around Reggie’s neck, yanked until he could hear the villain’s veins pop, then suggested that the gun be dropped.

Everyone (except Reggie) was ecstatic. But Freddy, unwilling to have the excitement peter out, voiced doubts that the Tramwells and Butler were innocent. Figuring Magdalene might be vouching for them under duress, he marched all of them, along with Reggie, into the cottage to telephone the police, which is why I couldn’t find them when I went looking for my missing persons. Magdalene had just persuaded Freddy that Reggie was the only counterfeit in the group when she saw, through the window, Ben and Poppa running down Cliff Road, almost mowing down Primrose, who was searching for Sweetie near the gates.

Magdalene came out the cottage door. Explanations followed. The police arrived, Reggie was removed in handcuffs, and the decision was made to adjourn to the main house. Freddy didn’t have any tea and the ladies expressed
a dire need for its reviving qualities. Shortly thereafter I arrived with my news that Mr. Digby’s daughter had fallen in an open grave, Ben had climbed in after her, and we were sure she was dead.

“An afternoon to remember, Ellie, old girl.” Freddy crossed his legs at the ankle and inserted his hands in his pockets, studying his sockless feet.

“Yes,” I said, “and you were marvellous. I’m sure I looked very ingenuous and wide-eyed. If my lids as much as flickered—I saw Jenny.” A chorus of agreement arose from everyone. Ben was showing the last policeman off the premises.

“Don’t say it,” Freddy rejoined. “Don’t say that line about everything I have is yours because, despite the vulgar tattle, I
really
don’t want Ben. Sorry, darling”—he tossed back his hair—“I just don’t think he is that cute. And this being the eighteenth of May—namely, my birthday—the date Jill and I assigned for renewed communication, I am off to see if she has come to her senses. It’s begun to dawn on me, after watching your marriage close up, Ellie, that life doesn’t have to turn into an old potato after tying the knot.” He spread his hands. “There can still be the thrill of living on the edge.”

“No one can guarantee you the perpetual enlivenment of murder,” I felt compelled to warn, but he was gone. Minutes later we heard the roar of his motorbike.

Primrose sighed sentimentally. “Off to find his true love. And now, my dear Ellie, Hyacinth and I must also bid you adieu. It has been a pleasure and a privilege working with you and I do hope the opportunity may present itself again.” She drew her shawl around her shoulders and glanced at her Mickey Mouse watch.

Hyacinth gathered up her carpetbag and rose from her chair. “Yes, Ellie, do keep in touch. And please spread the word to any of your friends who might be in need that Flowers Detection specialises in Crimes with a Difference.” She shook hands warmly with my parents-in-law. “Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Elijah Haskell. I am glad that you may now return to your little shop in peace.” As she came up to me, she whispered, “I do trust they will take the hint.”

To my dismay, it looked like they had. As I closed the front door on the Tramwells, Magdalene began filling her
arms with statues of saints. “Well, Giselle, it looks as though you and Ben are about to be alone in your own home.”

“Don’t be silly,” I protested. “You
can’t
rush off this minute. We have to celebrate that we are all alive and that Ben and Poppa are talking again.”

“Elijah and I are going to celebrate.” I was close enough to see her face flush a dusty rose. “Unlike people of your generation, we want to do it in utmost privacy.”

I grabbed St. Francis as he took a dive. “Are we talking about a second honeymoon?”

She looked at me, then began piling on more statues. “Eli and I never went on a honeymoon. We couldn’t afford it, not that I minded. There are more important things in life, and I’m not the one to hanker for the little extras in life that
others
take for granted.”

“Are you sure you won’t stay here tonight?”

“Giselle.” Sigh. “I don’t expect
you
to understand. Eli can be very difficult, but any woman can love a man who is easy. It takes a great love … a rare and radiant passion … as I read in that book of yours—
Marriage Made Easy
, to love the man who is often unlovable.”

I didn’t listen to any more. I went up to my bedroom and came back down with a tissue paper package. Magdalene reluctantly put the statues down on the trestle table and opened it up.

“A pink nightdress,” she said.

“A pearl-pink nightdress,” I corrected, “made from the gossamer wings of one thousand and one fireflies. Guaranteed to make you irresistible as long as you don’t wear curlers with it or bedsocks.”

She held it against her with one hand and touched her wispy hair with the other. “I must be truthful, Giselle. You weren’t what I wanted in a daughter-in-law. It wasn’t just the religion or your thinking I was a charwoman, it was you being so … tall and thin … and independent. I always hoped my Ben would marry someone … plump and grateful. But first impressions aren’t everything. And I think we’ve grown closer these last trying days.”

“You mean you began to like me a little better when you no longer saw me as a pampered child of fortune?”

“Something like that, but not in those words.” She stroked the nightdress. “I never thought Eli and I would have complicated my boy’s life, or yours …”

“But you have,” I said. “I’ve grown fond of you. Why don’t you go upstairs and pack, and I’ll make you a cup of tea. Oh, one thing … Because I was so nice and gave you the nightdress, how about leaving me St. Francis?”

“If you insist—Ellie.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

The house seemed nude without the statues and without the doilies and the crocheted covers on the cannisters and the patchwork rugs. Perhaps feeling their absence as well, Ben soon suggested we have an early night. On our way through the hall, the telephone rang. I was afraid to pick it up in case it was an outraged widow, but wonderfully, it was Dorcas.

“Ellie? Everything shipshape on the home front?”

When I could stop my joyous squealing, I said, “As of now, yes. Why?”

“Had the spookiest feeling all day that something was wrong. Got a letter this morning from one of the teachers at the Miriam Academy where I used to work. I’d written and told her about that girl you mentioned, Jenny Spender, who said she was a pupil at the school. But Evelyn, my chum, says there’s no such kid. Never has been. Has to be a logical explanation, but haven’t been able to shake this peculiar feeling of menace.”

“Dorcas, it’s all right. There was a problem with Jenny, which I will tell you all about when you get home. Which I hope will be soon. Because I miss you terribly. If you went away to be noble and give Ben and me time alone, forget it.”

I could hear whisperings and then Jonas came on the line. “We’ll be home on Saturday. Have the Ovaltine hot.”

The air was filled with the lovely tranquility of twilight and apple blossom. I was lying on the bed wearing a rather fetching green nightshirt when Ben came in with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. His hand brushed my shoulder and then snapped on the radio. I started to tell him about the return of the wanderers when I became distracted.

“Ben, what is that music? It sounds like a knife on a sink.”

Foam sidled down the bottle and a comma of dark hair fell over his brow as he listened. “It’s a violin solo, darling. Don’t you like violins?”

“Yes,” I said, “when they are lost in a crowd of trombones and flutes and other less screechy instruments.” I took the glass he handed me.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Just happy.” My fingers wove into his and I felt my soul being set alight by the emerald fire of his eyes. I looked down at my wedding ring and remembered, with regret, the diamond shine of my engagement ring.

“Now what are you thinking?” His lips touched the side of my neck and the horrible violins faded away.

“About Edwin Digby and Teddy. I hope they find happiness at last. I hope that Sylvania and the old nanny are well cared for after the investigations at The Peerless. I hope your parents are doing justice to my pearl-pink nightdress. We’ll make Abigail’s a success, not an overnight one, but the other kind is better.”

“Here’s to Happy Ever After, darling.” Ben touched his glass to mine, and we crossed hands and sipped like lovers on the big silver screen. As I watched the golden bubbles dance, I thought with wry amusement of the girl I had been, the one who thought marriage was like a diet. If you followed the rules to the letter, it would be painless and you would be a winner. I reached out for Ben, wondering if I should warn him that the fat woman was alive and well inside me, that I knew enough now not to make any glib promises even to myself. Should I tell him what else these months of marriage had taught me? That there is no such thing as Happy Ever After, and that is the sadness, the splendour, the magic of real love.

From the Files of
The Widows Club

MEMO: To Mrs. Millicent Parsnip, Recording Secretary.

In view of the exodus from the community of the entire membership of our noble organisation, I request you burn all files lest they fall into unworthy hands.

Yours, in the hope that we shall rise again,

Amelia Bottomly,
President

To my husband Julian, 
who need have no fear
.