Blood upon the Snow Read online

  “Not him,” protested Florrie. “Made his own bed this morning and Mr. Stoneman’s too. Helped me with the silver. No, if they were all like him—” She turned at the sound of a scuffle in the bathroom. Fat Ivy, clad in a loose bathrobe and nothing else, came through the door in a lurching run, followed by her sister.

  “Well, what’s this, what’s this!” cried the delighted Bessy. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to say good night again!”

  “She wants to kiss you,” Anne said. “She won’t go to bed until she does. Will you let her kiss you just once, Miss Petty? It will make things easier for the rest of us.”

  Bessy glowed, Beulah tapped her foot, and Florrie stood by helplessly while vows of love were exchanged and the talcum flew.

  Perrin, with Mark at his shoulder, stood in the doorway and watched.

  “No more kids for me,” Florrie said fondly, “unless they’re my own.” She saw Perrin and Mark and flushed with embarrassment. “They take it out of one,” she said primly. “Did you wish for something, Mr. Perrin?”

  “If you’ve come to take us to the lower premises,” boomed Beulah, “we have decided not to go.” There was still a drink in the decanter. “Later, perhaps, later.”

  “There’s nothing left,” Mark told her. He gave her an edited version of Morey’s description.

  Perrin watched the love scene being played by the fire. “Do you need any help?” he asked Florrie, while the little girls eyed him warily. “Sometimes they come to heel more quickly for a man.” Florrie nodded. He disentangled Ivy and carried her off, followed by Anne. Florrie wound up the procession with a backward grimace indicating her eventual return.

  Bessy tipped the decanter sadly. “That man has rubber soles on his shoes,” she said.

  “So have I,” Mark said. “Listen, when you ladies are ready to leave I’ll be happy to escort you down the mountain.”

  “Foosh,” jeered Beulah. “We got up alone and we’ll go down the same way. That man has his eye on Florrie. I don’t like it. I see her married to a nice farmer. She’s a very superior girl and I think it would occur to her to send me a ham every Easter.”

  “Do you know what that little Ivy has?” Bessy looked boastful. “A little gold cross with diamonds all over it. Real diamonds. She wears it next to her skin.”

  “Here’s Florrie,” cried Beulah. “Now what’s the matter? You’ve been crying. Where’s that man?”

  Florrie sat down without permission. “He went out the other way. Honest, it isn’t worth the extra money. Now it’s my night’s rest they want.”

  “Take it easy, Florrie,” Mark said. “What do you mean?”

  “Mrs. Morey. She’s having another creese. She wants me to sleep on the chess lung in her room. You can’t really sleep on those chess lungs. They’re a kind of French sofa. And I was looking forward to a good bed to-night.” She managed a wan but proud smile. “You know, Mr. Morey won’t let us use the old rooms any more. He gave us the morning-glory room for ourselves, from now on. You ought to see it! Morning glories on the paper and the drapes, and blue silk covers on the beds. None of your rayons. Real silk. I was that doped last night I couldn’t take it in. Now it looks like I won’t take it in to-night either.”

  “Stand up for your rights,” advised Beulah. “You’re entitled to a bed. What’s wrong with that woman?”

  “Nerves again. She’s been terrible to-day. Mrs. Lacey’s trouble started her off. Standing at the window all afternoon, crying, and looking like she saw things. There’s nothing to see but snow, and that’s her trouble if you ask me.”

  “What’s the matter with Morey?” Mark asked. “Let him take the chaise—chess lung.”

  Florrie hitched her chair forward and lowered her voice. “Had a fight. I don’t know what about, but she was screaming at him. Other noises, too. I would have heard something good, I bet, but Perrin come along and I had to step down the hall.”

  “What kind of noises?” Mark asked.

  “Banging. Opening and shutting drawers, banging things about. But I guess they heard Perrin and it must have scared them off. They shut up.”

  “Nobody can hear Perrin,” Bessy insisted. “He wears rubber soles.”

  “Then they must have heard me. Oh, well, there’s other places.” She gathered up an assortment of dolls and put them in the toy cupboard. She didn’t look happy.

  Neither did Mark look happy. “Sure you didn’t hear anything, Florrie?” he persisted. “Or better yet, can you be absolutely sure they didn’t hear you?”

  “Of course I’m not sure,” she said crossly. “But I don’t care if they did. And all I heard in there was shouting and banging. You can’t make anything out of that.”

  “If you lose your place, you come straight to me,” Beulah said. “I can keep you busy until the hotels open.”

  Florrie cheered up and collapsed again in one breath. “But I couldn’t leave Violet. She leans on me. And she isn’t what you’d call trained. I ought to be helping with the dishes this minute.”

  “Violet too,” Beulah said recklessly. “Five hundred books to clean and two hundred bulbs to put out. I don’t approve of anything in this house. Diamond crosses. Caviare. And I know where that morning-glory room is, too. Next door to that old man. Come, Bessy.”

  “But I’m next door to the old man myself.” Mark was still frowning. “On the other side. I’ll look after the girls.”

  Beulah threw him a pitying look and rose grandly to her feet. She fell promptly back. “Well!” she said.

  Bessy rose more slowly and smiled cordially at the ceiling. “One of our dizzy spells,” she murmured.

  Mark calculated the distance to the door and charted the furniture. With Beulah on one arm and Bessy on the other he started down the stairs; Florrie, in the innocent roll of bumper, preceded. He propped them against the hall table and went for his hat and coat. Morey called him from the library and he went in, grinning.

  “What’s so funny?” Morey asked.

  “Was that a full decanter you sent up to the ladies?”

  “Full of the best. Why?”

  “A-w-w gone.”

  Morey jumped up. “Then they’re cockeyed and you’ve got to take them home! I’m going too. It’s just what I need. Reeling down the mountain with a couple of old—”

  “Jim!” Stoneman spoke sharply from the table, where he was turning over a folio of prints. “You stay here. Those poor women are sufficiently embarrassed.”

  Mark said, “As a matter of fact, they aren’t at all. They’re being so elegant they look at least two inches taller.”

  Morey gave Stoneman a sulky look, but he didn’t insist. “Take the car if you want to, East, but I don’t think it’s safe in this storm.”

  “Air is what we need. I’ll see you when I come back, Mr. Stoneman.”

  Mark tried to keep to the middle of the drive. The wind was howling, the temperature was down to zero. He had all he could do to stay on his own feet. His clinging companions tramped firmly from one side of the road to the other; sometimes they went backward. They admonished each other to breathe deep; they made frequent halts for the rebuckling of goloshes and retying of veils; they pitied the poor on nights like this. When they pulled up in front of Beulah’s house he was more dead than alive. But he was strong enough to resist their invitation to a little drop of something to warm him up.

  “And we can tell you all about the will,” cajoled Beulah. “Ella May was a witness and she told us.”

  “Save it until later,” Mark said. “Honestly I’ve got to get back and work.”

  “Amos gets the house and the chickens and the niece gets the money, about a thousand a year. Now Amos can move out of that rattrap over the station and live like a Christian. If he knows how.”

  “That’s fine. Good night.”

  “You’re coming back to the house after the funeral, aren’t you? We’re serving coffee and cake to those who care to drop in. As a mark of respect.”

  “I’
ll try. Good night.”

  “Bring Mr. Stoneman,” urged Bessy. “I think we have a lot in common. I’ve been to Pompeii and we could talk about the frescoes.”

  He had been moving steadily off and the last word reached him on a high note as he closed the gate. He waved an arm and started down the lane on a run. There was a light in the Bittners’ parlour window and he saw the curtains twitch. Three more reputations ruined. And what was that about Bessy and the frescoes? How did she work that, he wondered. Probably by giving ten dollars to the guide and the slip to Beulah.

  Stoneman’s voice was the first he heard when he entered the house. He was whining like a baby, and Morey was laughing at him.

  “Joe’s trying to make me back an expedition,” Morey said. “I tell him he’ll have to wait until after the war, but he won’t believe me. You go to work on him.”

  Stoneman broke in eagerly. “I can get into Mexico,” he said. “I know I can. I can go anywhere in South America. Aztecs. Indians. It will be quite inexpensive, too. Greece can wait. After the war, I can get to Greece.”

  Morey looked at Mark. “I promised I’d help him, but I can’t make him see that it isn’t practical now. In another year or two—”

  Mark shrugged and said nothing. Stoneman glared and went back to his folio. He was mumbling under his breath. The wind cried outside and the snow tapped softly at the windows.

  Morey got up and wandered aimlessly about. “How do they dig a grave in weather like this?” he asked. “The ground must be solid.”

  “The men around here are used to that,” Mark said. “Been doing it all their lives.”

  Morey shivered. “Are you thinking about Mrs. Lacey?” Mark went on. “I’ve been thinking about her too.”

  Stoneman looked up with a show of interest. There was no sight of his recent temper. “That burial is Wednesday, isn’t it? Too bad. Much simpler in the spring. The early spring with its first fine thaw. Still if you think these good people will not misunderstand my motive, I should be most happy to assist.”

  Morey stopped pacing. “Professional tricks, eh?”

  “In a small way,” Stoneman said mildly. “There are tricks to every trade, you know, and I have had a varied experience. Getting a body into the frozen earth is much the same as getting one out. I remember one old fellow in Mesopotamia; he was in a shocking state, literally crumbling. I understand Mrs. Lacey also—but then, she has the advantage of a stout coffin. And this is a question of entrance, not exit. Much simpler.”

  “Skip it, Joe!”

  “He has no science,” Stoneman observed to Mark. “I was about to speak of dynamite. Efficacious in some cases, but I think not here. It is apt to destroy bones. While bones do not enter into the case of Mrs. Lacey, we must show some consideration for the relatives and good neighbours who have gone before and will now share the earth with their old friend. No, no dynamite. I suggest a nice fire, if they haven’t thought of it themselves.”

  Morey tramped out of the room. Stoneman watched his exit with twinkling eyes. “That’s the only way I can tease him,” he confided. “He doesn’t like graves. When he is rude to me, as he was to-night, I always bring the talk around to graves. But I do not mean that—about the fire. . . . Now, my boy, look at this!” He held out a photograph of a pile of stones and rubble.” Beautiful?”

  Mark looked closer. It was still a pile of rubble to him and a poor likeness at that. “What is it?”

  “Troy! Literally Troy! That crumbling wall, that heap of barren stone! That’s Troy, the greatest city of romance the world has ever known. Schliemann found that, against opposition and in spite of limited funds. Everybody thought he was crazy, but he believed in himself. He believed. A German, but a sound fellow.” His eyes actually filled as he worshipped the dim little print. “I could find something too,” he murmured, “I could find something too.”

  “Sure you could,” Mark said. “Sure you will. But you’ve got to be patient for a bit. By the time you finish your book the war may be over and you can take the first boat out for Greece!”

  “Yes, yes. We’ll occupy ourselves with the book. We’ll begin tomorrow. Do you know my subject for the first chapter? Walls! Not graves or warriors’ weapons, which were necessities instead of gestures, but walls! The first man who dragged a clumsy stone from its earthy cradle and stood it in a new place may have thought he was building a wall but he was beginning an avalanche. Perhaps he wanted privacy for his people, a sheltered spot where his women could walk in safety. But. . . . ! Have you ever wanted to climb a wall, my boy, simply because it was there? Of course you have. Even when you knew what lay behind it; a field, a bit of garden, perhaps a fruit tree. If the place had been open you’d have passed it by without a thought. But walled—ah! You scramble over, wasting your energy and ruining your trousers, and help yourself to the fruit although you neither want or need it. You see what I mean, my boy? That first little stone, so rudely disturbed, has spawned our Maginot Lines.”

  Mark felt a surge of affection for the old man.

  “You’ve got something there, Professor,” he said. “From now on I’ll never put a wall around anything. I’ll even make a bet about your city of romance. I bet Helen was beautiful only because they had to climb a wall to get her back.”

  Stoneman chuckled. He dragged out more photographs and prints and kept Mark talking until mid-night. He walked the floor and pounded the table. He confessed to a belief that he could find a lost island off the French coast. He could do anything. He was perfectly happy, but when they went upstairs to bed he asked Mark to lock him in as usual.

  There was a note from Violet pinned hopefully on Mark’s pillow. If he still wanted to see her she was waiting in the small sitting room near the back stairs. He found her upright in a chair, trying to keep awake.

  “You a good girl,” he said, “and I won’t keep you long. Now tell me, did you ever see any of these pills in this house?” He held up the bottle.

  “Not the bottle, but the pills I did. Mrs. Lacey sent me down to her place once to get some for her. I put them in a little box she gave me and brought them back. She kept them on her bed table.”

  “Anybody else know she had them here?”

  “Well, I guess everybody. I mean it wasn’t any secret. She used to talk about not sleeping right and taking stuff to help her.”

  “Fine. Now try to remember something else for me. What was Mrs. Lacey doing when you girls left for the movies?”

  “Packing. That’s all she was doing. Packing.”

  “Did she plan to pack all evening or not? I mean, was there anything in her plans that would cause her to leave the kitchen or her room, even for a few minutes?”

  “Well—lemme—yes! There was a big wooden box that had her photographs and pictures in it. It was too heavy to lift easy and no way to get a grip on it without knocking it around and maybe breaking the glass on the pictures. Is that what you mean?”

  “How in the world do I know! Go on, Violet, before I choke it out of you!”

  “Well, she looked for a piece of rope to bind it with, but there wasn’t any down cellar. So she said she’d have to go out to the garage and get some from Perrin if he had any.”

  “And did she go?”

  “I wouldn’t really know. Florrie and me left before then.” She’d been watching him nervously, and now when his face cleared she began to smile. “I know it’s a terrible secret, but if I’ve helped you any I wish you’d tell me.”

  He was tall enough to pat her on the head, which he did. “You’ve helped a lot. Now keep your nice little mouth shut tight and say nothing. Not to anybody. Not even to Florrie. Someday I may ask you to tell it all over again, but until then, play dumb. Do you think you can play dumb?”

  “You!” she giggled happily.

  He waited while she tiptoed down the hall, and when she was out of sight he followed; but on the way he stopped at the linen closet and verified the contents of the chest. His big case was still there, undisturbe
d.

  The snow was banked high against the windows when he woke the next morning. In the bathroom, where he’d left one window open for ventilation, there was a fine drift on the floor and an even finer puddle. Stoneman minced about in velvet slippers, full of benovelent complaints and clucking like a happy hen. They went down to breakfast together.

  A change had come over the whole house. It felt alive and warmly human. The children could be heard stamping around in the nursery and Violet’s high heels clicked cheerfully as she flounced from table to sideboard.

  “What makes everybody so gay?” Mark asked Morey.

  “Everybody isn’t,” Morey answered. “Florrie’s getting the children ready for a drive and to look at her you’d think they were going in a tumbrel. Perrin’s down in the kitchen, fighting with a stonemason.” He snatched a boiled egg from the bowl Violet was handing to Mark. “Violet would like to be in the kitchen too, but I dragged her away. The stonemason is young and I am cruel.” Violet tossed her head.

  “The kids are going Christmas shopping,” he went on. “In an old sleigh we found in the stables. They’ve been singing ‘Jingle Bells.’ Want to go along?”

  “No thanks. I’m working.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Morey grinned. “But though absent you’ll not be forgotten. I examined the lists and you’re down for a tube of shaving cream, ten-cent size. You’ll be here for Christmas, won’t you?”

  Mark looked at Stoneman.

  “He’ll be here as long as I am,” Stoneman said. “He believes in me.”

  Morey looked impish. “I’ve been thinking about last night, Joe. I’m going to give you some money. Not as much as you want, because that’s bad for you, but enough to keep you happy. Say half the cost of an expedition now, and the other half when the war’s over?”

  “Thank you,” Stoneman said quietly. He signalled to Violet, who dragged back his heavy chair. “I’ll be upstairs when you’re ready, my boy. Don’t hurry.”

  “The old fellow gets a bang out of having you around. I get a bang out of it myself.”