Sacrificial Ground

21

Even in his dreams, Frank could not have imagined the splendor that greeted him as he passed through the large gate and entered the grounds of the Castle plantation. It had taken him almost two hours to get to La Grange, but the beauty of the estate suddenly relieved much of the long drive’s accumulated weariness and tension. Huge magnolias spread their great leaves in a rising tower of gently swaying green. To the left, weeping willows hung motionlessly over a blue lake, and beyond the water, almost like a phantom, he could see the great white portico that looked out over everything.

A small woman in a black dress and white apron greeted Frank at the door.

Frank took out his badge. “I called earlier. Miss Castle agreed to see me this afternoon.”

“You must be Mr. Clemons.”

“That’s right.”

“Please come in, Miss Castle will be with you in a moment.”

The luxuriance of Karen’s house was muted when compared to the sweeping foyer he entered now. An enormous staircase unfolded from the second floor and down along walls covered with paintings and brightly colored tapestries.

“May I take your hat, sir?” the woman asked.

“No, thanks,” Frank said. “I’ll hold on to it.”

“Miss Castle has asked that you wait here,” the woman said. “She’ll be down in a minute.”

“That’ll be fine,” Frank said.

A few minutes later, Miriam Castle arrived. She walked down the long, winding staircase, and even from a distance, Frank could see that she was an elegant, graceful woman with silver hair and a remarkably unlined face.

She offered her hand gently as she stepped over to Frank.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said. She smiled politely. “I was just going out for my evening walk. I was hoping that you might join me.”

“Yes, fine.”

“Good,” Miss Castle said. “Come.”

A few minutes later, the two of them were strolling slowly amid the rich foliage of the grounds. Wisps of Spanish moss hung from the branches overhead, and in the distance a small clear stream meandered right and left through the oak and elm.

“We gained all this through slavery,” Miss Castle said. “One of my distant relatives was in the slave trade almost from its beginnings. Family legend has it that he was a kind man. But then, what family legend ever contained a cruel one?” She laughed. “A fact which Derek never tires of pointing out.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Forever,” Miss Castle said. “Or at least it seems that long. Actually, it’s been about forty years. I still bring him flowers, you know.”

“Yes, I saw them.”

She turned toward him. “I don’t know, Mr. Clemons, perhaps it’s just the light or the way the lake looks right now, but I feel quite full of things.”

“Things?”

“Truths,” Miss Castle said. “Even difficult ones sometimes seem quite beautiful.” She walked to the edge of the lake and stopped. “What did Derek tell you about me?”

“Nothing.”

She smiled. “Of course. He’s always been like that.”

“What should he have told me?”

“Well, for one thing, that I’ve been in love with him for all these many years.”

Frank said nothing.

“Does that strike you as tragic?” she asked him.

“No.”

She looked back at him. “Why not?”

“Because it lasted.”

“But others have a quite different opinion,” Miss Castle said. “They see me as a woman who’s spent her life loving a man who … well … who cannot love women.” She laughed. “It’s really more a comedy, don’t you think?”

“Neither one,” Frank said.

Miss Castle looked at Frank sweetly. “Women of my class are attracted to two things, Mr. Clemons, money and character. Derek had character.”

“He still does,” Frank said.

“Yes, and he will maintain himself intact,” Miss Castle said. She allowed her eyes to follow the flitting movement of a starling in the tall white oak. “How is he?”

“He’s dying.”

“Yes, I thought so,” Miss Castle said, “of that awful disease.” The bird took flight and she looked back at Frank. “I shall think of myself as a widow, even though he would not approve of that.”

“Perhaps, he would.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she said determinedly. “I won’t lie to myself about that. I have desired a man who does not and cannot desire me. Tragedy or comedy, in either case, it is the truth.”

Frank took out his notebook. “Mr. Linton said that you met Angelica Devereaux at his house.”

“Yes.”

“And that you said, when you saw her, ‘Oh, it’s you.’”

“Possibly.”

“So you recognized her?”

“Not as Angelica Devereaux,” Miss Castle said, “but only as a young girl I’d seen in various out-of-the-way galleries in the city.”

“Then you didn’t know who she was?”

“No, I only knew that I had seen her before at such places. She was always dressed differently, but when you are that beautiful, dress cannot hide it.”

“You said the galleries were ‘out of the way’?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that they’re not among those on the Northside, the more prestigious galleries,” Miss Castle said. “They are smaller places, with cheaper rents, that sort of thing.”

“Places like the Knife Point Gallery?” Frank asked.

“Yes, that’s the sort of gallery I mean.”

“And you saw Angelica at places like the Knife Point from time to time?”

“Yes,” Miss Castle said. “I had no idea who she was. And she was always dressed somewhat differently. But she was very beautiful. Quite striking. If you saw her once, you weren’t likely to forget it.”

“Did you see her often?”

“Not often, but on occasion.”

“How many times?”

“I didn’t make a note of it.”

“Give me your best guess, then.”

“Five, maybe six.”

“Over how long a period?”

“I started running into her about four months ago,” Miss Castle said.

“Was she always alone?”

“Yes, and that struck me as very strange. After all, she is, as I’ve said, very beautiful, and that sort of girl is rarely alone. It would have been natural for her to have had some sort of escort.”

“But she never had one?”

“Not as I recall.”

Frank wrote it down. When he looked back up, he saw that Miss Castle had been eyeing him cautiously.

“I have a confession to make, Mr. Clemons,” she said.

“Confession?”

“Yes. I’m afraid that I had an ulterior motive for asking you up here this evening.”

“Which was?”

“To find out about Derek,” Miss Castle said. “Beyond that, I must tell you that I know practically nothing about your young girl. I never spoke to her or had anything at all to do with her.”

“I understand,” Frank said, “but you did at least see her from time to time, and that’s important.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Frank said. “Now, about these places where you met Angelica, these galleries, where are they?”

“Actually, I never saw her at the Knife Point,” Miss Castle said. “No, she was always somewhere else.” She thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I remember now. She was always at one of those galleries on the Southside. There’s a street of them. Not too far from Grant Park.”

“Grant Park?”

“Yes, there’s a street of them. Three or four in a row. It’s all pretty run-down for the most part, but once in a while I’ve been able to find some interesting work.”

“These galleries,” Frank said. “What are their names?”

Miss Castle ticked them off one by one, as Frank wrote them down in his notebook.

“And you said they’re all on one street?” he asked.

“Yes. Hugo Street,” Miss Castle said.

Frank wrote the street name under the names of the galleries and underlined it.

“This girl,” Miss Castle said after a moment. “Was she in love with Derek?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Where did they meet?”

“The Knife Point,” Frank said, “then she dropped by his house.”

“And that’s all?”

“As far as I know.”

Miss Castle smiled. “Old as I am, still jealous.” She laughed sadly. “And of a woman, of all things.”

Frank walked over to her, and for a moment the two of them watched a small flotilla of ducks as it skirted effortlessly across the placid surface of the lake.

“I still find life quite mysterious, Mr. Clemons,” Miss Castle said at last. She looked at him. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, and drew a long thin strand of Spanish moss from one of the limbs that hung low above her. “This particular species always looks dead,” she said. “It’s always gray and dusty.” She laughed faintly. “My father used to take me to the window at night. He’d point to this moss and he’d say, ‘Look, Miriam, there in the moonlight, the ghosts are hanging in the trees tonight.’” She coiled the strand delicately around her finger. “How long does Derek have?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he look … frail?”

“You haven’t seen him?”

“No, not for a few weeks.”

“But the flowers.”

“He finally gave me a time when I could bring them and he wouldn’t be there,” Miss Castle said. “He doesn’t want me to see him.”

She began to walk slowly along the edge of the lake. “I’ve seen others, of course. They look dead before they die.” She turned abruptly to Frank. “Does he?”

“He looks thin, that’s all,” Frank said. “He doesn’t really look like he’s dying.”

“He had so much energy,” Miss Castle said.

“He still does.”

She looked surprised. “Does he?”

“Yes,” Frank told her.

She shook her head. “Such a stubborn man. I’ve offered him all sorts of help. I’ve done that for forty years. It wouldn’t only have been him. I’m a patron, as they say, of the arts. I buy their works, and sometimes I get them jobs that won’t destroy them. Restorations, touch-ups, museum work, that sort of thing. I could have done that for Derek.” She laughed. “God knows I’ve done it for artists far less gifted than he is.” She shook her head despairingly. “But he would never take anything. He would never even sell me one of his paintings. He would give me one from time to time, but money never passed between us.” She stopped again, her eyes drifting over to the lake. The water was turning red in the twilight. “So, you see, I wouldn’t have found it unusual if that girl had loved Derek.”

“When you saw her in those galleries, did you have an impression at all?” Frank asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“What was it?”

“That she was a seductress,” Miss Castle said. “It was the way she might slink from one room to another, or stand in a corner somewhere, sucking a fingernail.”

“Did you ever see her talk to anyone?”

“No. Never. I saw people approach her from time to time, but she would always turn them away. That’s why I found it so odd that she was at Derek’s house that day.”

“Why odd?”

“Because she was obviously using her beauty as blatantly as she could,” Miss Castle said. “And, as you must have guessed, for Derek, a woman’s beauty remains pretty much a matter of abstraction. I don’t think he’s capable of feeling anything beyond that.”

“Are you saying that Angelica was a tease, Miss Castle?” Frank asked.

“That would be the vulgar term, yes,” she replied. She turned toward him and touched the large, purplish circle beneath his eye. “Does that still hurt?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She drew her hand away. “Beauty is not always a soothing thing, Mr. Clemons.”

“And what about Angelica’s beauty?”

“Not soothing. Not soothing at all. At least, she didn’t seem to use it in that way. Just the opposite, in fact.”

“Which would be?”

“Well, to inflame people, if you’re looking for the most dramatic term.”

“And you think she liked to do that on purpose?”

“Yes,” Miss Castle said firmly. “That was my impression. And the fact that she is dead does not surprise me.” She stared at Frank pointedly. “There’s a danger to inspiring too much flame. You may become engulfed by it.”

Frank had seen that happen before, but in every case, the rage had been obvious in what it left behind, bodies mauled beyond recognition, flayed open or beaten flat, sprawled across rumpled beds, or still dangling from the ropes that had been used to restrain them while the rage swept over them again and again until they couldn’t feel it anymore.

“Did you notice anyone who might have felt that way about Angelica?” he asked.

“No,” Miss Castle admitted. “But then it wouldn’t always be obvious, would it?”

“No.”

“It might build slowly, day by day. And while it built, it might be invisible.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what Derek says? He says that we are ‘junglehearts.’ Do you know what he means by that?”

“No.”

“That we react to things, rather than create them,” Miss Castle explained. “Do you think that’s true?”

“Sometimes,” Frank said.

“It would work like this,” Miss Castle added. “A group of cells arrange themselves into a body that is beautiful. That would be Angelica Devereaux. This creature would then create certain reactions in the other creatures it encountered. One reaction might be to adore her, one might be to love her, one might be to hate her, and one might be …”

“To kill her,” Frank said.

“Yes,” Miss Castle said. A single white eyebrow arched upward suddenly. “And now you, Mr. Clemons, are called upon to react to that.” She drew her collar more tightly around her neck, as if to ward off a sudden chill. “We are all hopeless. You, me, Angelica. All of us. We don’t know what we are. We don’t know what we do. And we can’t even begin to calculate the effects of what we do.” She smiled very briefly, then offered him her hand.

“And so good-bye, Mr. Clemons,” she said. “Let us part gracefully, one stranger to another.”

She turned briskly and headed back toward the great house. Its immense white facade seemed to stare down at her with a sightless eye.