Sick Of Shadows

CHAPTER SEVEN

June 10

Dear Bill,

Please note the return address printed carefully on the outside of this envelope. It is an indication that I expect a reply to this. You owe me several letters. Anyway, I need to hear from someone sane so that I can keep my sense of perspective. I have developed an alarming tendency to ramble on about Clan MacPherson and the Rising of 1745. The prospect of that habit continuing after my return home should frighten you into writing. Or would you like another tartan tie for Christmas? I thought not.

I have news. You’d better sit down for this one.

Did you know that Captain Grandfather’s sister (Great-Aunt Augusta) made a will leaving two hundred thousand dollars to whichever one of us gets married first? Now they tell us-when I’ve pushed Austin into the duck pond and Eileen is inches away from the altar! I’ll bet Mother knew about this, don’t you? She probably didn’t want to tempt us into being rash, which was certainly prudent of her in your case. You would have married Lassie for two hundred thousand dollars. Well, maybe not Lassie, but at least Peggy Lynn Bateman, which is just as bad. (I never liked her.)

Actually, the contest was almost over five years ago. Alban was supposed to marry some girl who was a secretary in Uncle Walter’s company, which is another piece of family gossip we either ignored or were left out of. Aunt Amanda told me the whole story “now that I’m old enough to hear it.” There’s not much to it, though. Apparently, the girl just changed her mind a few days before the wedding and left town. Now, I know you’re expecting me to say something snide about that girl taking a good look at Alban and coming to her senses, but I’m not. More likely it was the rest of the family she couldn’t take. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past them to have paid her off to keep her out of the family tree. Anyway, Alban is not so bad after all. Around here he seems positively wholesome and normal. He wears tennis outfits instead of lederhosen, and he’s quite nice. (He says I’m his favorite cousin, which just proves how sensible he is.)

I went on a tour of his house today, and it really is beautiful. Of course I asked him why he built a castle, and he says because he likes them. “If I had a swimming pool and an 8 ft. TV screen, would that make me an acceptable person?” He has a point. Captain Grandfather was telling me pretty much the same thing-that our batty cousins are eccentric because they can afford to do as they please. If we had tons of money, do you think we’d become strange? I’d be willing to risk it.

Anyway, Alban is at least interesting, if strange. He puts up with a lot of sniping from Geoffrey about the house, but he seems to take it all good-naturedly. He does drone on about King Ludwig, though. Along with the tour, I got the full lecture of what a genius Ludwig was, and how he was the patron of Richard Wagner, the composer. He even asked me if I believed in reincarnation-which is not a joke I appreciated with so many eccentrics around.

Plans for the wedding occupy Aunt Amanda’s every waking moment. It’s like watching Eisenhower plan D-Day. I hope everything goes off all right. I am worried about Eileen. I mean, she seems normal enough to me-the typical bridal airhead, in fact-but Alban seems to think she might be dangerous. He says there were “episodes of violence”-he won’t say what-and that Uncle Robert took her to Dr. Nancy Kimble for treatment. Dr. Kimble won’t be coming to the wedding, because she’s in Vienna right now, but Eileen did invite the therapist she’s been seeing at school. Do you think that means anything?

Now, do not worry Mother and Daddy with this, but I am getting nervous. I feel like a heroine in a Gothic novel. The organ will play “Here Comes the Bride,” and Eileen will come running down the aisle with an ax. Everybody is being peculiar about this wedding. Of course, with the Chandlers it’s hard to tell. With them, peculiar may be normal.

Would you like to hear about the groom?

He seems like a rabbity sort of intellectual, if you ask me. About what you’d expect Eileen to end up with, poor girl. I haven’t talked to him very much, except to listen to him expound on English literature at the table last night. Geoffrey tossed and gored him, which was rather fun. He does seem pompous, but that may be because he’s nervous. Do you suppose he knows about the inheritance? I wonder why he’s so jumpy-probably the prospect of Aunt Amanda as a mother-in-law.

On the off-chance that he disappears at the last minute like What’s-Her Name, Alban’s fiancée, look around the apartment complex for a suitable husband for me. I might even settle for Milo for that amount of money. I promise to give you an allowance.

The wedding is now nine days away. I’ll probably write you again then and let you know how it went. I’ve decided that Michael looks too timid to run away from it. Aunt Amanda would probably track him through the swamps, baying.

I wish you would get a telephone in your apartment. Surely you and Milo could divert some of your beer money toward acquiring a telephone. Writing is tiring and takes up more of my time than you deserve. It is now nearly time for lunch, so I will close. I expect an answer to this, Bill!

Love,

Elizabeth

Someone tapped on the door of the library.

Elizabeth slid the letter to Bill into its envelope, and sealed it. “Come in!” she called.

Eileen peeped around the door. “Elizabeth? I thought you must be in here. Are you ready for lunch?”

“I guess so. Let me just put this letter out for the postman. Am I late?”

“Oh, no! Not for lunch or anything. I just came to see if you wanted any. I mean, we’re the only ones home.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Michael wanted to go to the library in town and Captain Grandfather offered to go with him, because he wanted to look up something about sailing ships.”

In the kitchen, Elizabeth sat while Eileen rummaged about in the refrigerator, occasionally singing out “Tomatoes!” or “Olives!” and setting a container on the countertop. Elizabeth tried to think of cheerful lunch-time conversation.

“How is your painting coming along?” she said.

“Oh, all right, I guess. I did a lot of work on the shadowing this morning. I wish I could paint this afternoon, but I have that appointment. What kind of dressing do you want?”

“French.” Elizabeth took the cutting board from the counter and began to chop vegetables while they talked.

“I suppose we should be having a wedding rehearsal in a day or two,” Eileen murmured.

“Fine!” said Elizabeth, much more cheerfully than she felt. “Are you nervous about the wedding?”

Eileen looked wary. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, stage fright, I guess. Most girls get the jitters a few days before the ceremony.”

“Stage fright,” Eileen repeated. “That’s a good word for it. I guess that is what I feel. I’m not afraid of marrying Michael, of course, but the idea of walking down the aisle in front of all those people, and afterwards, talking to strangers-”

“But, Eileen! They won’t be strangers! They’ll be your friends-people that you invited to the wedding!”

Eileen looked at her steadily. “Will they?”

For a minute they devoted their full attention to the salads. Elizabeth dabbed her fork at stray bits of tomato and considered the implications of Eileen’s reply. “Will they?” Of course they would not be her friends. Aunt Amanda had sent out all the invitations. Who even knew if Eileen had any friends? But, if she did, they certainly ought to be asked.

“Eileen, listen!” she began quickly. “I’ve been addressing invitations for your mother, and I know where the extra ones are-in that desk in the library. If there’s anybody you want to invite, just tell me, and I’ll send them an invitation sneaked in with the others. It’ll be no problem at all!”

“There’s only one person I want to come to my wedding,” said Eileen softly.

“Who is that?”

“Michael.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Eileen! You’re not going to elope, are you? Because if you go off to South Carolina after all this work and planning, Aunt Amanda is going to have a French fit!”

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth. Everything will be all right. If I have to wear that battleship of a white dress and shake hands with every old lady in the county, I’ll do it. It will be worth it. Giving Mother her own way is always worth it.”

Having had some experience with Aunt Amanda’s temper, Elizabeth silently agreed with Eileen’s assessment. Amanda Chandler could be a terror when not given her own way. Her family had learned not to argue with her, if only for the sake of peace and quiet. Robert Chandler had obviously been taking the path of least resistance for years, with the result that he scarcely had any opinions left. Willfulness was an interesting trait, Elizabeth thought. Usually when people insist on a thing, and no one else cares much either way, the person who insists carries the day. Elizabeth had noticed, though, that some people nearly always cared a great deal about everything-such as what to have for dinner and when-so that indifferent people were seldom able to choose. A phrase she had once seen on a tee shirt summed up Amanda Chandler perfectly: What’s your opinion against millions of mine?

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Eileen!” she blurted out. “It’s your wedding, not your mother’s! Just put your foot down.”

The cathedral chimes of the front door echoed down the hall.

Eileen stood, casting a nervous glance toward the door. “Elizabeth did you ever try to tell my mother something she didn’t want to hear?”

“Uh… no.”

She smiled bitterly. “Well, I did. Six years ago.”

“Six years-you mean, when you…”

“That was the door bell. I think we had better let Mr. Simmons in.” Eileen left the kitchen with as much dignity as she had ever mustered. After a few seconds’ paralysis, Elizabeth followed.

If she had to paint him, she would depict him as a medieval friar. That pudgy body would look like a wine cask under a brown cassock, and the blond ringlets curling around his bald spot made a natural tonsure. The wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose gave him a look of foolish benevolence. Did they have glasses back then?

“I’m sorry,” Eileen murmured. “What were you saying?”

“I just need you to sign here,” he repeated, holding out another typed page. “Would you like me to run through that explanation again? I’d be happy to.”

“No, that’s all right,” Eileen assured him. She scrawled her name hurriedly on the line he had marked.

“Do you have any questions about all this?” Simmons persisted. “About the money?”

“How will I get it?”

Tommy Simmons coughed nervously. He had just finished explaining that. “Er-well, Miss Chandler, in a manner of speaking you already have it. It’s in the bank, of course. Would you like to discuss possible investments or savings programs?”

“No. Not today, please.”

Simmons began sliding papers into his briefcase. “Well, then, I guess that’s all…”

“Mr. Simmons?”

“Yes? Is there anything else?”

“I’d like to make a will.”

He blinked at her. Whatever put that idea into her head?

“Could I?” she asked. “With the wedding coming up, I thought I ought to.”

Simmons peered into his briefcase. “Well… I suppose we could draft it now, and I could get it typed up for you to sign after-”

“It’s just a simple one,” said Eileen. “I’ve already written it. I just need you to put it in legal terms, or whatever it is you do to make it official. Excuse me, I’ll go and get it.” She hurried out of the room.

Tommy Simmons leaned back on the sofa with a weary sigh. He wondered if the family knew about this. It shouldn’t matter, of course; it was her money, and she was of age, but it made him uneasy to do anything without the family’s approval. A simple will, she’d said. That probably meant that the fiancé was going to get it. He’d better postpone the formal drafting until after the wedding, just to be on the safe side.

He came to himself with a start, remembering that he was not alone in the room. The cousin, or whatever she was, sitting on the sofa, had put down her magazine and was watching him thoughtfully. Simmons produced a weak smile.

“Are you here for the wedding?”

“Yes.”

“Nice girl, Eileen. Should make a lovely bride.” Because, Simmons finished silently, if you threw enough satin and white lace on a scarecrow, it would look presentable. He wondered about the groom, though. The brief announcement in the local paper had been very restrained on that point. He looked again at the cousin, wondering if he ought to include a gallant remark about how nice she’d look as a bridesmaid, but before he could frame this pleasantry into complimentary but unflirtatious terms, she embarked on a topic of her own.

“How do you like practicing law?”

“Uh… fine, just fine. Sure beats studying it. The hours are better.”

“It doesn’t require much math, does it?”

“I’m sorry. Math?”

“Calculus or trig or anything like that.”

“I-no.” Idly, he began to wonder if he had been mistaken about her being a cousin. Visions of Cherry Hill began to flip through his mind.

“And what did you major in as an undergrad?”

“History.”

“Oh. So did my brother. He’s in law school, too. I majored in sociology.”

“Ah.” Simmons kept trying to pick up the thread of the discussion.

“Know any lawyers who majored in sociology?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Mostly they major in history or political science. Still, it seems like an interesting sort of career. Do you get many good cases practicing in a small town?”

“Mostly we do deeds and wills, things like that.”

“I think criminal law would be more interesting. You know, cases where you could really make a difference-like murder cases!”

Simmons smiled. He heard that speech at every social function he attended. People were always pushing cups of warm punch at him and telling him how much more interesting they thought it would be to practice criminal law in Atlanta. He usually just stood there smiling and nodding, because it took too much effort to explain that rich murder defendants hired famous and experienced attorneys-he was neither-and poor ones got court-appointed lawyers who needed the work and got paid peanuts for their efforts. Deeds and wills weren’t exactly pulse-quickening, but it was a comfortable life, with plenty of time for tennis, and an occasional out-of-the-ordinary case for the social anecdote.

“Are you interested in law?” he asked politely.

Elizabeth frowned. “I don’t know. I majored in sociology, but I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. I took a course in criminology in my junior year, but it wasn’t what I expected. Mostly statistics.”

Eileen reappeared just then, with Mildred in tow. “This will only take a few minutes, I promise. Then you can put the groceries away. I just need you to sign something.”

“Sign?” echoed Simmons, struggling to his feet. He had the uneasy feeling that the interview was getting away from him.

“Here it is,” said Eileen, handing him a piece of stationery covered with round, childishly precise handwriting. “I’ve asked Mildred to witness it so that it will be legal until you can get the other one drawn up. And Elizabeth, you can be the other witness.”

Simmons frowned. “Well, really, Miss Chandler, I don’t thnk it would be proper-”

“They don’t have to read what I’ve written, do they?”

The procedural question sidetracked him. “What? No. They are only attesting to the fact that your signature on the document is genuine, but-”

“Okay then. Watch, everybody!” Eileen held her pen aloft as a magician might wave his wand before performing the next trick. When they dutifully turned to look at her, she bent and signed her name at the bottom of the pink page, carefully dotting the i in Eileen with a small circle.

Oh, God, thought Simmons, an i circler. I haven’t seen that since ninth grade. I’ll bet this will is a real beauty; she probably included her stamp collection! He consoled his professional sensitivity by reminding himself that he would be getting twenty-five dollars an hour for drafting the document.

“Okay,” he said. “Now that you’ve signed it, they need to sign it. You can cover up the text with a piece of paper if you like. Some people do that.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “That’s right, cover up everything except where you want them to sign at the bottom. But I really do recommend that you wait for an official draft. Really!”

Eileen shook her head. “No. I want to do this as-as sort of a gesture that I’m really getting married. Like a preliminary ceremony.” That ought to satisfy him, she thought. And it ought to make Michael realize about the money. How real it is; how close it is to being ours. He couldn’t change his mind after that. Not that he’d want to, of course, because he really loved her. He said so over and over.

“Oh, please don’t worry, Mr. Simmons,” she said. “It’s only for a few days-until the other one is ready. It will be all right. I mean, nothing’s going to happen to me.”

Simmons looked shocked. “Certainly not!” he said hastily. “That goes without saying. But you must understand that it is a bit irregular. The litigation possibilities in the event-”

But Eileen was carefully aligning the blank cover sheet over her piece of stationery. She motioned for Elizabeth and Mildred to witness it. After a moment’s hesitation, they bent down and scribbled their names on the bottom of the page. Eileen then handed the paper to the lawyer.

“Thank you very much for your time,” she said, walking with him toward the door.

“Just let me wish you much happiness. You just think about that lovely wedding coming up, and put all thoughts about wills and legal matters right out of your mind.”

Eileen nodded solemnly and showed him out. When the door had finally closed behind him, she leaned against it with a sigh of relief. “Now I can go and paint.”

Elizabeth had the house to herself for most of the afternoon. Amanda and Louisa had not returned from their shopping expedition; Dr. Chandler called to say that he wouldn’t be home until dinnertime; and there was still no sign of Captain Grandfather and Michael. She wondered what they found to talk about on the drive to the county library. Geoffrey had stopped in about two o’clock to announce that he was going to a rehearsal for his play, and she had politely declined his invitation to go along. Charles and Eileen were still somewhere between the house and the lake, she supposed.

She finished reading the book she had brought with her, and was in the library trying to do a sketch of Alban’s castle for Bill.

She wondered where Alban was. He had driven off an hour or so before without a tennis racket. She held up her drawing and inspected it. The lines were a little crooked and the proportions weren’t quite right, but Bill would get the general idea. Alban ought to provide postcards, she thought, smiling to herself. After all their laughter at Alban’s expense, it seemed strange to think of him as an ordinary, likable person. The castle looked less bizarre to her than it had at first-probably in the light of his explanation. She decided to leave off the dragon she had originally planned to put in the foreground. But she was still going to put the little flag on the top of the tower, with her version of a suitable motto: “A man’s home is his castle.” Elizabeth walked over to the window to count the tower windows again-maybe his car would be back in the driveway.

It wasn’t, but another car was pulling up in the Chandlers’ drive: a little green Volkswagen she hadn’t seen before. She watched as the driver stopped the car and headed for the front door. He was a stocky, dark-haired man of about thirty, wearing a yellow tee shirt that read “Jung At Heart.” He looked up at the house, then over at Alban’s and shook his head. When Elizabeth saw that he was indeed coming to the Chandlers’ front porch, she hurried to the front door and waited for the bell to ring.

I wonder who this is, she thought. Not the minister, surely! Maybe he’s somebody from Cherry Hill who has come for the wedding. Aunt Amanda would love that. He must be new around here if he hasn’t gotten used to Albania. Who else is supposed to come?

A few seconds later, when he introduced himself, she remembered.

“Come in, Dr. Shepherd. I’m Elizabeth MacPherson, Eileen’s cousin.”

“Thank you very much. I wasn’t sure I had the right house.” He glanced uncertainly over his shoulder. “What is that facility across the road?”

“Oh, that’s my Cousin Alban’s castle,” said Elizabeth sweetly. “Would you like to come into the library? I can get us some coffee. I’m afraid I’m the only one here right now, but the family should be back soon.”

He followed her into the library, pausing only to register a glance of recognition at the gray and black painting in the hall.

“Aunt Amanda just sent you a wedding invitation,” said Elizabeth, settling down in the wing chair. “Yesterday! You couldn’t have received it yet!”

“No, that’s right, I haven’t. Eileen presented me with a handwritten invitation and a map before she left school. Actually, I know I’m a few days early, but-circumstances changed.” He shifted uncomfortably.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Circumstances had changed! She thought of Alban’s description of Eileen: “extremely dangerous.” Her uneasiness about the situation had been right! “Who-who called you?” she asked faintly.

“Called me? Nobody called me. It’s so idiotic.” He looked at her carefully for a moment. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer of coffee, if you don’t mind. And then if you want, I’ll tell you about it. It’s really been a trip for me.”

He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she filled the copper kettle, and rummaged around the cabinets for cups and instant coffee.

“Did you have car trouble on the way down?”

“No,” he said, settling down on the kitchen stool. “Y’see, I’m on vacation from the clinic. I have to be back for summer session, but right now I’m off. So instead of going home to New York I figured I’d play tourist and take my time driving down here for the wedding. Eileen’s a nice kid, you know. Did you say you’re her cousin?”

“Yes. Our mothers are sisters.”

“Anyway, she didn’t seem to have many friends, and I know it’s been an adjustment for her, so I promised her I’d come to the wedding. I’ve always wanted to see this part of the country anyway-ever since I saw Gone With the Wind as a kid.”

Elizabeth nodded, suppressing an urge to giggle.

“Well, anyway, I drove up to that big national park in the mountains, and I rented a cabin. That was day before yesterday. Commune with nature, you know. I’m from the city myself, but some of my colleagues have been Sierra Clubbing me to death, and I decided what-the-hell, I’d give it a try. So, anyway, I got this cabin, and night before last I’m lying on my bed reading a book when this thing flew over my bed. I just saw it out of the corner of my eye, you know? But I threw down my book, and he made another pass. That time I saw it clearly. It was a bat! Ugly little sonuvabitch. Just cruising around my room. I let out a yell and ran for the bathroom, and he followed me. Sat right there in the doorway and peered at me so I couldn’t come out.”

“Why couldn’t you just leave the cabin?”

“I didn’t have too much on, you see. It was a hot night. So I went to the bathroom window and I yelled, ‘Help! Somebody! He’s got me trapped!’ hoping somebody would hear me.”

He was telling all this in a perfectly serious tone of voice, but Elizabeth decided that he knew how absurd it was. Her laughter nearly drowned out the rest of the story. Every time she tried to picture the pudgy Shepherd nude and trapped in the bathroom by a bat, she laughed even harder.

“Did it look like Bela Lugosi?” she managed to say.

Shepherd frowned. “Well, it might have been rabid. Anyway, a couple of minutes later-I’m still in the John in a staring contest with Beady Eyes-somebody kicks in the door to my cabin. This guy had been out tinkering with his car and heard me yell. So I look up and he’s standing in the doorway with a.30/.30, saying ‘Where is he?’ ”

“And you showed him the bat.”

“Well, yeah. I can’t say he was impressed.”

“Did he shoot the poor little-I mean, the monster?” Elizabeth asked.

“No. He put the gun down, sneered, and then shooed it away, so I could get my pants and get out. Luckily I hadn’t unpacked.”

“What happened to the bat?”

Shepherd sighed. “I left right then. I don’t know what happened to the bat. But his rent is paid up through Sunday.”

“Dr. Shepherd,” said Elizabeth, “you’re going to feel right at home here.”

Amanda Chandler’s reaction to the new arrival was impossible to determine from her behavior. When she came back from her expedition at four, laden with packages and demanding to know where everybody was, Elizabeth appeared in the hallway and whispered to her that Dr. Shepherd had arrived and was having coffee in the library.

Immediately her face froze into a chilling smile that did not reach her eyes. She strode briskly into the library with cordial noises and outstretched hands that did not waver even after she had seen the yellow Jung tee shirt.

“Such a privilege to have you!”

Dr. Shepherd apologized for his early arrival, attributing it to an “unforeseen accident in a national park,” and Amanda was all sympathy. She refused to hear of his plans to stay at the Chandler Grove Motel.

“Why, we have more room than they do!” she assured him with an arch smile. “And please don’t think I’m being kind! Why, I’m just as selfish as I can be. I want to have you right here where we can get to know you. And, anyway, some of our out-of-town wedding guests just may need those motel rooms, so there! It’s all settled. You’ll stay here.”

Shepherd, unused to the blitzkrieg form of Southern hospitality, succumbed in a puzzled voice, and shambled off to his car to collect his belongings. When he had gone, Amanda’s smile vanished.

“What can Eileen have been thinking of?” she murmured, glancing at him through the window. “He can’t possibly understand the problems of-of-”

“Of what, Aunt Amanda?” asked Elizabeth.

Remembering that her niece was present, Amanda summoned the wraith of her previous smile. “Why, Elizabeth!” she purred. “You’re going to think I have a silly old thing against Yankees after all these years, but really! -Oh, dear, could you just run out to the kitchen and tell Mildred that there’ll be another guest for dinner? I’m afraid she’ll be cross, but tell her that we are simply martyrs to the unexpected!”

“Martyrs…” murmured Elizabeth, shaking her head as she left. Bill would never believe that line!

She was on her way back from the kitchen when Shepherd appeared again at the front door with a brown suitcase and an armful of books.

“Would you like me to carry something?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I bet I have to go upstairs, right? Upstairs?”

“That’s right. Third bedroom on the left.”

He deposited his belongings in the hall chair. “It can wait. Boy, this is interesting. Seeing people in a social context that I’ve been hearing about for months!”

Elizabeth gasped. “She didn’t! I mean-I wasn’t mentioned, was I?”

Shepherd grinned. “People always ask me that. And I really can’t tell you. Honest. I’ll bet I hear that question ten more times while I’m here.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

“Where’s Eileen?”

“Down by the lake, I guess. She’s working on a painting to give to the groom. Don’t ask me what it’s like, because none of us have seen it.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think that’s normal?”

“Sure,” said Shepherd cheerfully. “It would take the drama out of the gift if everybody saw it beforehand. That’s a common reaction. Is the groom around?”

“He’s at the library. Do you know him well?”

“Oh, no. Met him once. He came to pick up Eileen after a session.”

“Well, you’ll meet everybody at dinner.”

“Including him?” he asked, gesturing toward Albania.

“Very possibly,” said Elizabeth, “but don’t be surprised if he turns out to be sane.”

“Listen,” said Shepherd, “when you’ve got that much money, you’re not crazy. Just eccentric.”

At the other end of the house a door opened.

“Eileen!” called Amanda. “Come in, dear! One of your guests has arrived! Go right out to the front hall and see for yourself!”

A few moments later, Eileen Chandler, in a paint-smeared smock, turned the corner of the hallway. Her face looked tired and strained. When she saw Shepherd smiling at her, she stiffened and stared at him open-mouthed.

“Hello, Eileen. I just-”

“No! I don’t want you here! I don’t want you! Go away!”

Sobbing wildly, she plunged up the stairs to her room.

Elizabeth and Dr. Shepherd exchanged puzzled looks. Amanda, who had been following Eileen down the hall and had witnessed the scene, hurried up to him. “Dr. Shepherd! Really, I must apologize for my daughter’s behavior! Even for a nervous bride, such manners are inexcusable! And I’m going to go right up and tell her so.”

“No, please don’t. You don’t need to apologize, Mrs. Chandler. Eileen is naturally very tense at this time. It’s much more important to understand the underlying-”

He was interrupted by a crash from the upstairs hall, followed by renewed sobbing.

“Was there by any chance a mirror in the upstairs hall?”

Amanda nodded grimly. “There was.”