The Devil Loves Me

14

In her room Jane sat in front of the dressing table applying a new brand of cold cream. It was Jane’s infallible cure for her injured feelings. The sight of her own face in the mirror was a tonic.

She followed the directions religiously, crying a little at the same time. After all, people had treated her dreadfully. Even Duncan. Duncan had left her to starve.

She got up and went to the clothes closet to examine her last year’s mink coat. The thing was in tatters, really, but it might do for one more year. The silkiness of the fur on her arm was pleasant and she was almost cheerful when she went back to the dressing table to remove the cream.

It’s too bad Dennis isn’t here, she thought. I think I could have become quite fond of Dennis. But there’s Jackson—

She changed into a blue wool dress, powdered her face, applied lipstick very cautiously, and went downstairs. There was no one in the hall except a large policeman, who smiled at her. Jane smiled back and went on through the dining room into the kitchen.

Jackson was sitting at the table playing solitaire. He got to his feet hurriedly when he saw her and said, “Oh. Sorry, Miss Stevens.”

She laughed and said, “Sorry? Have you got anything to be sorry about?”

He shifted his feet and looked embarrassed.

“Mayn’t I sit down?” she asked with an arch smile. She sat down in the chair he’d been sitting in. The warmth of him was still there. It crept through her dress and she shivered and looked up at him.

“You’ve made the chair warm for me.”

Jackson blushed painfully. “Yes. I... I was just playing solitaire.”

“Were you lonesome?”

God, this is awful, she’s trying to make me, Jackson thought. He said, “Yes, madam. Hilda has gone.”

“Has she? Is that what’s making you lonesome?”

“I miss her,” he said.

Her eyes lost some of their warmth. “It’s funny the police let her go, isn’t it? I mean, she was here like the rest of us.”

“The police let Mr. Williams go. And Hilda’s just a kid, eighteen. She wouldn’t have anything to do with the murders.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Jane said.

He was surprised. He was going to say she looked older but he caught himself and laughed instead. “Are you? Well, you’re just a kid then too.”

“I feel very old,” she said. “So much death — makes you feel old.”

Her eyes were sad and her mouth drooped. Jackson thought she looked adorable and so did she.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

A lovely fat tear rolled down each cheek. “I’m going to be poor. Duncan didn’t leave me anything. I’m all alone.”

She didn’t look quite so adorable now to Jackson.

“Not a thing?” he said.

“Except some stocks.”

“Good stocks?”

“I don’t know. Duncan was awfully clever, so I guess they must be good stocks.”

“But there aren’t enough of them?”

“Not nearly,” she said sadly. “Not nearly enough.”

Her hand lay limp and soft and helpless on the table near his own. He touched it.

“How nice you are!” she whispered.

“You won’t starve,” he said. “Everything will be all right, I’m sure. What I mean is — some man — marriage, you know—”

The bell rang in the kitchen and Jackson said, “I have to go.”

“Oh, don’t go.”

“The bell—”

It rang again. He was stroking her hand. Gosh, he thought, she smells swell.

After the third ring Dinah strode in, eyed the tableau coldly, and said, “All tied up, Jackson?”

Jackson said nothing.

“Has she reached the stage where she’s borrowed your handkerchief?” Dinah said. “No? Good. She may have one of mine.”

“No, thanks,” Jane said with dignity. “Really, I don’t understand the meaning of this intrusion.”

Dinah smiled grimly. “No? Well, I’d hate to explain in front of Jackson. Come along. We need a fourth for bridge.”

“I don’t want to play bridge.”

Dinah grasped her shoulder, not gently. “You can always sneak back to the kitchen in the dark.”

Jane threw Jackson an appealing glance. He flushed and averted his eyes.

Jane said sweetly, “Thank you for a very stimulating conversation, Jackson. Perhaps we can continue it some time when there are no rude people to interrupt.”

“Do,” Dinah said. “Hire a hall.”

She followed Jane out. Jackson let out his breath and sat down violently in his chair.

Dinah put her hand on Jane’s arm and pressed it. “Now that I have saved Jackson from the well-known fate which is worse than death—”

“What do you mean?” Jane demanded haughtily.

“You are subtle like a cyclone. I shall be equally subtle — lay off Jackson. He’s just a boy.”

“He’s old enough to take care of himself.”

“Certainly, and you’re old enough to take care of him. But I repeat, lay off Jackson.” Dinah paused outside the drawing room. “Has your bridge improved any?”

“I don’t like bridge,” Jane said. “I’m only playing as a special favor, because I’m not as selfish as the rest of you are. I don’t mind putting myself out for another person.”

“Another person such as Jackson.”

“I don’t believe in the class system and besides he went to Harvard, didn’t he? And he’s just as good as I am.”

“Better,” Dinah said. “Much, much better.”

They went inside. Nora and Prye were sitting at the card table talking and dealing out bridge hands.

“Here she is,” Dinah said. “It’s too bad the Humane Society doesn’t offer a medal for rape prevention. I’ve always wanted a medal.”

“That isn’t funny,” Jane said distantly. “You have an evil mind which twists the most innocent thing.” She turned to Prye. “I’m not a very good bridge player because I think spades and clubs look so much alike. But I’ll oblige you and Nora.”

She sat down, looking every inch the martyr, and the game began.

It was three o’clock.

Sands was still in the library sitting at the big desk with his head resting on his hands.

The afternoon dragged, and the minutes moved across his mind as if they had club feet. An old man’s afternoon, Sands thought.

It’s all over but the hanging. The hangings my job and I’m not up to it. I don’t want to hang anybody.

Depression crept over him like viscous oil, making his limbs slow and heavy. Only his mind moved, in quick, futile circles like a moth.

You can’t swim in oil.

There are certain types of insanity, he thought, where you’re so depressed you can’t move at all. You sit all hunched up like a foetus, or like Sammy—

Thinking of Sammy made him think of the sheets. They were burned, of course. You could bum almost anything in a furnace that size, even the weapons perhaps, and the empty bottle of eyedrops and the contents of Sammy’s pockets. If you were smart and in a tight corner you could burn the money too, you could burn up your own motive. It would mean that you’d murdered three people for nothing, though.

That would be a hell of a feeling, Sands thought.

The telephone rang. He moved his hands through the oil, slowly, and picked up the receiver. It was the call he’d been waiting for and it might mean a hanging.

“Sands? Horton speaking.”

“Go ahead.”

“Well, it’s no go. I’ve been talking to the Crown attorney and he says you’d be a damn fool to risk a case on the evidence of a graphologist.”

“There are other things.”

“Circumstantial,” Horton said.

“All right.”

“Of course I’m positive and you’re positive. Can’t you get one single witness, say at the Royal York?”

“I can try again.”

“Try yourself. Darcy’s not too bright.”

“I’ll try,” Sands said, and hung up.

He picked up his hat from the desk, exchanged a few words with the policeman in the hall, and went out to his car.

From the windows of the drawing room Prye saw him leave. He turned to the others at the card table.

“The inspector is leaving.”

Jane looked up from her intense study of her cards. “Oh, do be quiet, Paul. I’m trying to play this wretched hand you gave me and I don’t know whether to play the king of—”

“My God,” Dinah said. “Will you stop telling me what cards you’re holding?”

“You really shouldn’t,” Nora said as mildly as possible.

“Well, you shouldn’t listen,” Jane said, “if you don’t want to know. Besides, I don’t want to play any more. It’s so dull!”

The cards were thrown in without argument. Dinah went over to the table and poured herself a drink.

“So the inspector is gone,” she said softly. “I rather like having him around, don’t you, Jane?”

“No,” Jane said.

“It reminds you of everything, I’ll bet. Jane, you have a lovely nature, a heart as soft as thistledown, and a head no harder.”

“Shut up,” Jane said. “I don’t like you and I don’t like your voice. If I ever told you what I really thought of you—”

“Go on. You tell me and I’ll tell you. Everything goes.”

Jane sniffed. “I couldn’t be bothered. I’m not malicious.”

Dinah was looking at her curiously. “No. No, I don’t believe you are malicious. But you’re something I don’t like.”

“Quite an exchange of pleasantries,” Prye said easily. “May I play too?”

Dinah said, “Keep out of this, Paul.”

“I’m in it,” Prye said. “I’ve been in it for some time. It would be a pleasant change for you and Jane to take a crack at me instead of each other. One at a time, girls.”

Jane said, “You’re too carefree.”

“Carefree like the old man of the mountain,” Prye said. “Your turn, Dinah.”

“I don’t like people who know too much about other people.”

“I don’t,” Prye said.

Jane was looking at him very seriously. “Do you know all about people?”

“No. I know a little about some, nothing at all about others.”

“About me?” She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on him.

“Nuts,” Dinah said, coming over quickly and placing her hand on Jane’s shoulder. “If you want to know about yourself, you ask me.”

Jane frowned at her and shook her hand from her shoulder. “Go away. I want to talk to Paul. I’m serious. I’m tired of you interfering in everything I do, Dinah. Even Ja—”

“Even Jackson, you were going to say? And Dennis?”

“You struck me,” Jane said. “You struck me because Dennis was paying me some perfectly normal attention!”

Dinah gave a brief laugh that sounded like a bark.

“Normal? I shudder at the company you keep. And the company that keeps you.”

Jane jumped to her feet, her face livid with rage. “Who keeps me? You take that back, you... you trollop!”

“Trollop!” Dinah sank into a chair and roared with laughter. “I haven’t heard that word since Grandma.”

Jane started to walk to the door but Dinah sprang up and stood in the doorway, her arms outspread.

“Going anywhere, Jane?”

“Up to my room. Let me past, please.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t want you to come.”

“I will though,” Dinah said.

“No! You’ll bully me.” Jane turned and looked appealingly at Nora. “Make her stay here, please.”

Nora said, “Dinah, you’d better stay with me. You’re behaving very oddly.”

“There’s nothing more interesting,” Prye said, “than a lady-fight. If I thought either of you ladies knew the rules I’d let you go to it. But I’m afraid you don’t. So I’ll escort Jane up to her room—”

“I’m not afraid of that trollop,” Jane said. “I don’t need any escort.”

Dinah laughed, rather self-consciously, and moved aside to let her go past. Jane went out and slammed the door.

By the time she reached her room her show of defiance was over and she collapsed into a small damp, trembling bundle and sobbed. Aspasia heard her and came to the door.

“My dear!” she cried, starting to cry instantly at the sight of Jane’s tears.

Jane told the whole story, her head crammed against Aspasia’s shoulder.

“That Dinah,” Aspasia said furiously. “She’s a bad woman.”

“A trollop,” Jane sobbed.

“Yes, a trollop,” Aspasia said. “And Worse.”

This was a comforting thought. They both stopped crying.

“It’s a guilty conscience that makes her act like that,” Aspasia said.

“Do you think Dinah did it? With George helping her, I mean?”

“Yes.” Aspasia’s voice was firm. “Oh dear, yes. She’s the only possible one, isn’t she? Outside of Jackson.”

“Jackson didn’t do it!”

“No, I hardly thought so. He seems a very nice boy.”

“Will they — hang Dinah?”

“Oh dear, yes,” Aspasia said. “We hang everybody in Canada, I mean everybody who does something you get hanged for. And George too, of course.”

“Oh, they couldn’t hang George,” Jane cried. “He’s just been used by her—”

“They say it doesn’t hurt much. Your neck breaks before you get a chance to strangle.”

Jane gasped and covered her face.

“You mustn’t be sentimental about these things, Jane. The law is wiser than we are. Besides, Dinah has been very — peculiar lately, so it’s all for the best. I would rather have her dead than insane. Are you feeling better now, Jane?”

“Yes, thank you.”

They were both unconscious of the irony. Jane rubbed her face with witch hazel and powdered her nose, and Aspasia went back to her room to change for dinner.

She hung up the lavender afternoon dress in the clothes closet. It was heavy silk, and when she placed it on the hanger it swung back and forth like a corpse swinging at the end of a rope. Aspasia watched it, shivering slightly, until it was still again. Then she removed from the clothes closet the black crepe dress she usually wore for dinner and pulled it over her head.

It fell loosely around her body, and when she looked in the mirror her face was squeezed together as if she were going to cry.

Old, she thought; I’m an old lady. The flesh is falling away from my hones. Old ladies have no use for flesh, so it falls away. But I can’t be old. Wasn’t it only yesterday that that nice young officer kissed me good-by at the station and went off in the troop train?

No, that was a war ago.

Her body sagged like the dress and she hung on to the mirror, feeling quite faint. Her reflection stared back at her, jeering, old lady, you’re going to die and you’ve never lived, old lady...

Jennifer Shane was untroubled by the past and confident of the future. Like many of her race, she believed she was lucky. She had got what she wanted out of life and it never occurred to her that she would have liked whatever she got.

She combed out each of her white curls separately and thought how lucky it was that women don’t often grow bald.

I’ve been too lucky, she thought. I knew something would have to happen to even things up. So I had three murders in my house. Now I’ll be lucky again for years.

She had difficulty in closing the zipper of her black faille dress. It was just as well — she’d never liked it much anyway, it was too youthful.

“I’m no girl any longer,” Jennifer Shane said complacently to her reflection...

When Dinah came out of her room dressed to go down to dinner, Revel was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. She hesitated a moment, and then walked toward him, smiling.

“Hello, George. Where have you been hiding all afternoon?”

“In my room,” Revel said. “I thought I’d stay out of your way and give you a chance to think things over.”

“Think what over?”

He took her arm, and they started to go down the steps.

“The yellow curtains,” he said.

“I’m not coming back. It’s too late.”

Revel smiled. “Funny how we both repeat that. I told Prye it was too late, and you told him, and we’ve told each other. We’re both cowards.”

“No.”

“I think so. I think we’re afraid to start over again because we failed the first time. So we keep trying to persuade ourselves that it’s too late.”

“I’m not coming back,” Dinah said. “I couldn’t re capture that starry-eyed bride effect.”

“I don’t want you to. Brides are only starry-eyed for a month or so anyway. You can get the same effect with atropine.”

She glanced at him quickly. “Can you? I’ll have to try it some time.”

At the bottom of the steps she walked ahead of him into the dining room.

At exactly seven o’clock Police Constable Clovis relieved Police Constable Barrow on hall duty. Clovis, aware of the tedium of night duty, had gathered beautiful memories during the afternoon to help him pass the time. He sat down and pondered Hedy Lamarr and T-bone steak with onions.

When the guests came out of the dining room he looked the ladies over carefully, decided that none of them could touch Hedy, and went back to his thoughts.

At eleven-thirty everyone had gone upstairs, and Police Constable Clovis tilted his chair against the wall and dozed. His dreams were troubled. Hedy had fallen for him — they were going to the Cocoanut Grove — he was in tails and white tie — they danced — they ate — Hedy had lettuce and he had T-bone with onions — Hedy said: “Either those onions go or I go—” He chased her—

He woke up suddenly. His heart was pounding from the chase.

Something was wrong. What was it? He blinked and came awake completely, and the front legs of the chair struck the floor and jolted him.

Someone had turned off the hall light.

He was wide awake now and wishing the hall light were on because there was someone in the hall with him. He opened his mouth to ask who it was but no sound came from him.

The last thing he remembered was a man’s voice whispering, “Sleep tight, baby.”

Revel crouched over him and felt for his wrist. Then he dragged him into the drawing room, slowly and quietly in the dark.

(Constable Clovis was in the navy. His uniform was too tight. He couldn’t breathe. He was seasick.)

Revel shut the door.

(“Admiral, have you any daughters?” “Certainly. I have twelve daughters, all named Hedy.”)

Revel put him on the rug. His cheek touched the rug very gently.

(“What soft skin you got, Hedy!”)

Upstairs a door opened and shut softly. Dinah stood in the hall a moment, listening, peering through the darkness.

It’s all right, she thought. George must have fixed the policeman by this time.

She crept along the wall to the stairs. There was no sound but the quiet slithering of her dress as it touched the wall. It was as if the house had begun to breathe.

I’m at home in the dark, she thought, like a cat. Little whining cats, Prye had said. He’d said something else too. “I’m not sure you didn’t kill them yourself.” He hadn’t been sure — then. And even now that he was sure, what good did it do him?

At the bottom of the stairs she paused. She could hear the heavy breathing of Constable Clovis through the door of the drawing room. She put her hand on the door and made a small scratching noise with her nails. It sounded like a mouse inside the walls.

“George.”

The door opened. “Yes?”

“Leave this open a crack. Is the policeman all right?”

“Fine.” Revel laughed softly. “He’s dreaming.”

“I’m going down now to get it.”

“Be careful.”

“It’s all right. I can hear the steps creak if someone comes.”

She didn’t want to tell him how frightened she was so she moved away fast toward the basement and opened the door.

The cold air swept past her like ghosts clammy and chill from their graves, laying damp fingers on her cheeks. The steps sighed under her weight.

She opened the door of the billiard room and went in. It was so dark she could feel Dennis’ ghost moving around in the room, looking at her with its three eyes.

She snapped the light on, breathing hard.

There was no ghost, only the chair where Dennis had sat holding his billiard cue, and the fireplace with its dead ashes. She went over to the fireplace and got down on her knees in front of it.

Dennis had built a fire here.

That was the important thing. Everything depended on that, on the fastidious and immaculate Dennis building a fire, getting coal dust on his hands. Dennis had built a fire and then he had died. The policemen left the room as it was; they told Jackson not to clean it. That was the second important thing.

She brushed aside the ashes and put her hand on one of the bricks at the back. It moved under her hand and fell out.

She sat back on her heels, staring at the cavity in the wall without moving. It was there. The money was there. She could see the tip of the brown paper.

I had to be right, she thought. It was the only possible place. And because the policemen hadn’t let Jackson clean the fireplace they hadn’t found out about the clean-out hole at the back.

She put her hand inside the cavity and brought out the package. Fifty thousand dollars. Three men had died because of it and now it was here in her hands, an ordinary package wrapped in brown paper and fastened with twine.

She took off the paper and the twine and put them in the fireplace with some wood on top of them. Then she lit a match and watched the flames grow.

I’ll burn it, every dollar of it. Then they can never prove anything against George.

“Dinah!”

The word was a whisper above the crackling of the flames. Dinah turned her head. Jane was standing in the doorway, her hands at her throat as if she were choking.

So she’s come, Dinah thought. She’s come and I didn’t hear the steps creak and she’ll kill me.

“Dinah, what are you doing?”

Dinah didn’t move. The blood was running out of her head, she was floating, falling, dying—

“Burning,” she said. “I’m burning the money.”

Her hand darted out toward the fire.

“No!” Jane cried. “No! Wait!” She flung herself across the room, stretching out her hands, reaching for the crisp, sweet, burning bills.

Her hands were in the fire, grasping, clutching, growing black as they burned. The fire leaped out at her hair.

Dinah clung to her knees, pulling her away, screaming and laughing and crying for George. They were burning together with their arms locked, lashed together by the flames, rolling and twisting on the floor like pigs on a barbecue.

The pigs squealed and grew black, and the smell of flesh crept up the stairs and Constable Clovis dreamed he was eating roast pork.

“Dead on arrival,” said Dr. Hall, senior intern on the accident ward. “I hate these burn cases. What’s her name?”

“Stevens,” Miss Tomson replied.

“Stevens? I had a Stevens on Accident last week. She was a honey.”

“I remember,” Miss Tomson said coldly. “This can’t be the same one.” She looked down at the corpse and shivered. “I’d hate to be burned, wouldn’t you?”

Dr. Hall said he certainly would.

“We’re using the sulfadiazine spray,” said Dr. Hopkins, chief of staff. “I think she’ll pull through.”

“How much skin area was burned?” Prye asked.

“About 15 per cent. Still, she’s young.”

“Any skin grafting to be done?”

“Quite a bit, naturally.”

“Her husband wants to volunteer,” Prye said. “He feels he’s responsible for the accident.”

“Dear me. What did he do?”

“And there was the two of them,” said Police Constable Clovis, “lying on the floor burned to a crisp.”

Mrs. Clovis, the Clovis brood, and Clovis neighbors listened in open-mouthed amazement.

“What burns me up,” said Clovis, “is that they didn’t take me into their confidence. I could have prevented the whole thing.”

“Harry wasn’t asleep, mind you,” Mrs. Clovis said stanchly. “He was struck, cruelly struck. Show them your head, Harry.”

Clovis obliged.

“What Mrs. Revel should of done,” he went on, “is to tell me she thought she knew where the money was hid. But she figured she’d hint to the Stevens dame that she was going down to get the money and the Stevens dame would follow her and maybe try to kill her. Naturally, I wouldn’t of stood for such a thing, so she got her husband to knock me out.”

“It was just brutal, that’s what it was,” Mrs. Clovis said loyally.

“And then the Stevens dame got down to the cellar without Revel hearing her so he wasn’t in time to help his wife.”

“Will she die?” asked a Clovis neighbor.

“Probably,” Police Constable Clovis said righteously.

“George.”

“Yes, darling.”

“The money is burned. They can’t do anything to you.”

“You mustn’t talk.”

“I guess I haven’t any hair, George. I guess I look awful.”

“You look fine.”

“Are you crying, George?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if this is worse than having a baby. I wonder what kind of babies we’d have.”

“We’ll have fine babies.”

“I’m sorry,” Miss Tomson said. “You’ll have to leave now, Mr. Revel.”