The Hellfire Club

'Let me get you some more of those.' In a few seconds, Jeffrey returned carrying a plate heaped with sweet rolls, croissants, and thick slices of honeydew. Nora attacked the melon with her knife and fork.

'Do you think Ev is safe?'

'He said he was going to a house he owns in Vermont.' Nora finished the melon and began on the Danish. She felt as energetic as if she'd had a full night's sleep, and she had an idea of how to fill the next few days.

'You can't be as casual as you seem about Dart being in town,' said Jeffrey.

'I'm not casual about it at all. I want to leave Northampton this morning.'

'I was thinking about a nice little inn not far from Alford. If you like, we could see my mother for a bit, and then I could run you over there. It's charming, and the people who own the place were friends of my parents. Besides, the food is great.'

For a secular monk, Jeffrey placed a sybaritic degree of importance on meals. 'I do want to see your mother, but I'd like to go somewhere else after that, if you don't mind.'

'You want to stay with Ev in Vermont?'

'That's not quite what I had in mind. Don't they rent out the old cottages at Shorelands?'

He gave a doubtful nod. 'You want to go to Shorelands?'

Nora groped for an explanation that would make sense to him. 'I've spent days listening to people talk about that place, and I'd like to see what it looks like.'

Jeffrey folded his arms over his chest and waited.

She glanced outside at the boys, one of them sluicing away the last of the soapy water, the other arranging chairs around the tables, and moved a step nearer the truth. 'I'm in a unique position. I've talked to Mark Foil and Ev Tidy, but they've never talked to each other. Foil knows what Creeley Monk wrote in his journal, and Tidy knows what his father wrote, but the only person who really knows what's in both journals is me, and I have the feeling that there's a missing piece. Nobody ever tried to put everything together. I'm not saying I can, but last night and this morning, when I was thinking about all these conversations I've been having, it seemed to me that I at least had to look at the place. Half of me has no idea what's going on or what to do, but the other half is saying, Go to Shorelands, or you'll miss everything.'

' "Miss everything,"' Jeffrey said. '"A missing piece," Is it just me, or are you talking about Katherine Mannheim?'

'She's at the center of it. I don't know why, but I almost feel responsible for her.' Jeffrey jerked up his head. 'All these people had conflicting views of her. She was rude, she was impatient, she was a saint, she was a tease, she was truthful, evasive, dedicated, frivolous, completely crazy, completely sane… She goes to Shorelands, she gets everybody worked up in a different way, and she never comes out. What comes out instead? What's the only thing that really comes out of that summer? Night Journey.'

Jeffrey regarded her with what looked like mingled interest and doubt. 'The way you put it, you make it sound like the book is a kind of substitute for her.' He thought for a second. 'Or like she's in it.'

'Not directly, nothing like that. But a phrase of hers is: the Cup Bearer.' Jeffrey opened his mouth, and Nora rushed to say, 'I know we've talked about this before, but it still seems like an enormous coincidence. Davey saw that photograph of the sisters in your mother's apartment at the Poplars, but Hugo Driver couldn't have seen it. It's part of the missing piece.'

'If you want to play detective, I'll cooperate. It is possible to stay there. Five or six years ago, a French publisher, a great Driver admirer who wanted to stay there for a night, had some trouble getting accommodations. Alden asked me to take care of it for him. Which I did. The Shorelands Trust runs the estate, and some of the old staff is put up in Main House, but Pepper Pot and Rapunzel have rooms for people who want to stay the night. I got the French guy a room in Rapunzel, and he was delighted. So was Alden.'

'Will you call them?'

'While you pack, but first I want to ask you a question,'

'Go ahead.' She braced herself, but Jeffrey's question was milder than any she had expected.

'Why did you want to tell me the family secrets? I came to the Poplars so late that I didn't even know Davey was supposed to have been adopted.'

'I didn't want to be the only other person who knew.' She stopped short of adding. In case anything happened to me.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' he said, and signaled the waitress for their check.81

When the telephone rang, she was in the bathroom, considering the question of makeup. On the fourth ring she picked it up and heard Jeffrey answer her question.

'I hope you don't mind waiting about half an hour,' he said. 'I called my mother to tell her we were coming over, and she's in a high old state. Apparently I agreed to drive some of the girls over to a market this morning, and I'm already late. It'll take forty minutes at the most, and I'll swing by to pick you up as soon as we're back.'

'Perfect,' she said. 'I was just thinking that I'd be safer if I put my disguise back on.'

'Your… ? Oh, the war paint. Good idea. You're checked out of the hotel, and I booked you into Pepper Pot as Mrs Norma Desmond. I thought you were probably tired of being Dinah Shore.'

They agreed to meet in the lobby in forty minutes. Jeffrey would call up to her room if he returned before that. 'Do me a favor,' he said. 'Wait for me in the lobby, okay? I don't want to be responsible for all the skeletons in the Chancel closets.'

Half an hour later the young woman at the desk glanced at Nora as she came out of the elevator and then returned to explaining the hotel's charges to a flustered old couple complaining about their bill. A soft pinkish light suffused the otherwise empty lobby. Nora wheeled her case to an armchair next to a table stacked with brochures and sat down to read The 100 Most Popular Tourist Sites in Our Lovely Area.' The white-haired couple were still wrangling over their room charges, but now it was the clerk who was flustered. The husband, a pipestem with a natty blazer, ascot, and shining wings of white hair, was loudly explaining that the telephone charges had to be mistaken because neither his wife nor himself ever used the telephones in hotel roams. Why pay a surcharge when you could come down to the lobby and use the pay phone?

The clerk spoke a few words.

'Nonsense!' the old man bellowed. 'I've just explained to you that my wife and I don't use telephones in hotel rooms!'

His wife backed away from him, and the young woman behind the desk spoke again.

'But this is an error!' the man shouted. The clerk disappeared, and the old man whirled on his wife. 'You've done it again, haven't you? Too lazy to take the elevator, and what happens? Two dollars wasted, and here I am, making a scene, and it's all your fault.'

His wife had begun to cry, but she was too frightened to raise her hands and wipe her eyes.

Nora saw an echo of Alden Chancel in the domineering little Davey and could not bear to be in the same room with him. She left the suitcase beside the chair and went down the hallway to the exit onto the terrace. Through the windows, she saw half a dozen cars, none of them Jeffrey's, driving down King Street. Sunlight glittered on the washed flagstones, and yellow lilies nodded beside the steps down to the pavement. She pushed through the door into fresh, brilliant morning.

When she reached the top of the steps, she looked up King Street for the MG, wishing that she could have taken a run that morning. Her muscles yearned for exercise; her breakfast seemed to have vaporized into a need for work and motion. She looked back at the hotel and through the glass wall saw the elderly husband spitting invective as he put down his suitcase to open the door for his wife. He was a gentleman of the old school, complete with all the tyrannical courtesies, and he had parked on the street because he thought he might be charged for using the hotel lot. Gripping the strap of her handbag, Nora marched down and walked five or six feet up the block, looking for Jeffrey.

The MG did not appear. Nora glanced over her shoulder and saw the couple coming down the steps onto the sidewalk. The man's face was pink with rage. She put them out of her mind and concentrated on the pleasures of walking briskly through the air of a beautiful August morning, still nicely cool and scented with lilies.

When she reached Main Street she looked left toward the row of shops extending toward the Smith campus and Helen Day's house, by now expecting to see Jeffrey tooling along in the sparse traffic. Half the shops on both sides of Main had not yet opened, and none of the few cars was Jeffrey's. With the blunt abruptness of a heart attack, a police car appeared from behind a bread truck and came rolling toward

Nora. She forced herself to stand still. For a long moment the police car seemed aimed directly at her. She swallowed. Then it straightened out and came with no great urgency toward the intersection. Nora pretended to search for something in her bag. The car drew up before her, rolled past, and turned into King Street. She watched it move, still in no apparent haste, in the direction of the hotel. She decided to forget about exercise and wait for Jeffrey in the lobby.

Down the block, the dandy was standing beside an antique touring car with sweeping curves, a running board, and a massive grille decorated with metal badges. He opened the passenger door and extended his hand to his wife. Quivering, she hoisted herself onto the running board. The police car slid past them. The old man strutted around to the driver's side, giving the hood a pat. Down the street, the police car pulled up in front of the hotel, and two officers began moving up the steps.

King Street remained empty. When Nora turned back, the policemen were striding across the terrace toward the glass doors. Telling herself that they were probably after nothing more than coffee and apple turnovers in the cafe, she stepped into the street and began walking toward the shelter of a movie theater. The old man started up his extravagant car and pulled away from the curb. Standing near the middle of the street, Nora waited for him to go past. The car came to a halt before her, and the window cranked down. The old woman sat staring at her lap, and her husband leaned forward to speak. The crosswalks are designed for use by pedestrians,' he said in a pleasant voice. 'Are you too good for them, young: lady?'

'I've been watching you, you brutal jerk,' she said, 'and I hope your wife kills you in your sleep one night.'

His wife snapped up her head and stared at Nora. The old man jolted away with a grinding of gears. Either a laugh or a scream came through the open window. Nora hurried to the other side of the street and moved beneath the theater marquee to the concealment of an angled wall next to the ticket booth. She looked at the hotel without seeing the policemen, then back at the antique car, which sat waiting for the light to change at the top of the street. A red car, not Jeffrey's but familiar all the same, swung around the antique vehicle into King Street, followed by an inconspicuous blue sedan. It isn't, it can't be, Nora said to herself, but the Audi moved steadily toward her, and it was. She saw Davey's dark hair and pale face as he hunched over the wheel to stare at the Northampton Hotel.

She stepped out of the angle in the wall, then moved back. Davey drove by. The blue sedan followed him to the hotel. Both cars pulled into the lot and disappeared.

Nora hovered in the shelter of the wall, praying for the policemen to leave the hotel. If Jeffrey came by, she'd wave him down and explain that her plans had changed, she was going to go back to Westerholm after all. Shorelands represented someone else's past, and she had to tend to her present. The policemen stayed inside the hotel, and she hugged herself, watching the glass doors at the edge of the terrace.

Children ran back and forth on the flagstones, weaving around the waiters. The glass door swung open, and a waiter with a tray balanced on his shoulder and a folding stand in his hand came outside. Before the door could swing shut, Davey rushed out and looked over the tables. When he did not see Nora, he walked across the terrace and came to the steps to the sidewalk.

Nora moved forward. Another police car turned into King Street. Davey scanned the sidewalk in front of him. The police car approached. Nora left the angle of the wall and began walking back up toward Main. The patrol car went past without stopping. She turned around on the sidewalk to see Davey making his way back through the tables. When the car reached the front of the hotel, it made a U-turn and pulled up behind the first one. Two officers got out and jogged up the steps, and a third patrol car came up from the bottom of King Street and turned into the hotel parking lot.

Her only hope was that Davey would return to the terrace alone. She moved a little farther up the street and watched him go back into the hotel. The two policemen were pushing through the tables under the curious gazes of most of the people eating breakfast. Davey disappeared, and the policemen reached the door a few seconds after it closed.

Come back out, she said to herself. Get out of there and walk up the street.

Two hefty parents and three even larger teenagers crowded toward the door. Davey came out just as they reached it, moved to one side, and held the door. Nora began walking toward the hotel. When the last of the family had waddled through, Davey held it open for two men in business suits. One of them wore black sunglasses. Davey shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. Nora's breath caught in her throat, and she took a step backwards. The men in suits were Mr Hashim and Mr Shull.

Conversing like old friends, Davey and the FBI men were walking around the street side of the tables, going toward the steps.

Too shocked to process what she had just seen, Nora began moving up the street. About twenty feet away was a parking lot for shops fronting on the lower end of Main. If she could get into the lot without being seen, she could walk through one of the shops and work her way to Helen Day's house.

She looked over her shoulder. Mr Shull was jabbing his thumb toward the hotel and talking to Mr Hashim, who glanced at Nora. Her heart struck her ribs, and her knees seemed loose. She marched past faded posters of handsome old buildings and trees in their fall colors in the windows of an empty information booth. A big black-and-white CLOSED sign, spotted brown by the sun, had been taped to the inside of its door. Nora turned into the lot and risked another glance over her shoulder.

Davey and Mr Shull were moving toward Main Street. Mr Shull was ticking off points on his fingers, and Davey was nodding.

You worm, you weasel, how could you do this to me.

An arm wrapped itself around her neck. Shock and terror locked her heart, and the arm tightening around her throat turned her scream into a croak. The man bent her backwards and dragged her into the lot.82

'Love these reunions of ours,' said Dick Dart. 'So important to keep up with old friends, don't you agree?' Nora pulled at the arm cutting off her breath, and her feet scrabbled on the dirty asphalt. 'Especially those who have reached out and touched you.' She tried to kick him, and then her balance was gone. Dart circled her waist with his free arm, lifted her off the ground, and carried her deeper into the lot.

'You'll love the car,' he said. 'As soon as I saw it, I knew that the time had come to gather in my little Nora-pie, and if you don't stop thrashing around I'll slit your throat right here, you stupid piece of shit.' He let go of her waist, and her body sagged against his chest. Beneath his forearm, a sharp point jabbed into her neck. 'Don't want that, do we?'

She shook her head the eighth of an inch his grip would allow. A dry rattle came from her throat.

'I'm a forgiving person,' Dart announced into the rush of blood filling her ears. 'Understand your distress; your confusion. Gosh golly gee, you're a human being, aren't you? I bet you'd love to take a breath right about now.'

She did her best to nod.

'Let me get us out of sight, and we'll take care of that.'

He carried her between two vans and pulled her to the wall. His arm loosened. A single breath of burning air rushed into her lungs, then he tightened his grip again. 'There, now. Like another one?'

Braced against the wall, Dart held her back over his knee. If she struggled she would drop to the ground. Her feet dangled on either side of his bent leg. She nodded, and the arm relented for the length of another gasping inhalation.

She twisted her head and looked at him out of the side of her right eye. He was grinning, his eyes alight with pleasure below the brim of a black poplin cap which revealed a strip of white bandage above his ear. She could just see the shining edge of the knife where it met the hilt.

'I've missed you, too,' he said. 'To prove it, I'm going to let you breathe again.' His arm dropped. 'We'll be nice and quiet now, won't we?' Gulping air, she nodded. 'Darling Davey turned you in, didn't he? Thrill for the boy, hanging out with the big, bad FBI. Think he's bonded with the one in sunglasses.' He yanked her farther up his leg and closed his arm around her throat a little less tightly than before. 'Over the initial shock of joy? Adjusted to the delightful reappearance of an old friend? Do we understand that any outburst will result in a little rough-and-tumble throat surgery?'

Nora came as close as she could to saying yes.

'I'm going to prove something to you.' He stood up and deposited her on the ground. She was standing with her back to Dick Dart in the three feet of space between a battered brown van and an even more battered blue one painted with the words MACMEL PLUMBING & HEATING. At the end of the tunnel formed by the vans lay an asphalt parking lot scattered with crumpled candy wrappers and cigarette butts. Amazed to be alive, she turned around.

Dart was leaning against the side of the tourist center, one leg bent under him and his arms crossed over his chest. The black cap came down to just above his glittering eyes. A faint stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and in his right hand was the stag-handled German knife he had bought in Fairfield.

'Do you see?'

'See what?' Her hands trembled, and something in her stomach trembled, too.

'You're not running away.'

'You'd kill me if I did.'

There is that. But I'm your best bet for getting out of this mess. You're afraid of me, but you're beginning to believe that I'm too interested in you to kill you out of a simpleminded motive like revenge, and you're furious with Davey. As long as I seem reasonable and calm, you'd rather take your chances with me than let that weak sister see you get arrested.'

She stared at him - this was almost right.

'The difference between Davey and me is that I respect you. Am I going to lose my mind because you acted like a woman when I let my guard down? Not at all. You hurt me, but not that much. I have a truly hard head, after all. I'll have to take more precautions with you, but don't we still have things to do together? Let's do them.'

'Okay,' Nora said, thinking fast and hard. 'Whatever you say.'

'I suppose you did your best to make yourself up, but that's ridiculous. You smeared it on with a trowel.'

'Are you going to get me out of here or not?'

Dart uncoiled from the wall, gripped her arm, and led her out between the vans. Two uniformed policemen ambled past the entrance. 'You're responsible for my acquiring this wonderful work of art.' She turned from the policemen to see the antique car owned by the tyrant in the ascot and blazer. 'We'll even be able to keep it for a while.'

He led her to the driver's door and helped lever her up onto the running board. 'Know how to drive stick shift?'

'Yes.'

The perfect woman.' Dart sighed. He trotted around the back of the car to get in on the passenger side. Nora looked at the seats and floor carpeting and was relieved not to see bloodstains.

BOOK IX

MOUNTAIN GLADE

… the heart's glade, where the great secret lay buried.

83

'Nice and easy, now. This is an actual Duesie, treat it with respect.'

'A doozy?'

Dart rolled his eyes, and Nora backed smoothly out of the parking spot, shifted into first, and drove toward the King Street exit. 'A Duesie. A Duesenberg, one of the greatest cars ever made. An aristocrat. It's really delicious, the way these plums fall into my hands when you're around.'

Davey and the two FBI agents stood at the center of a group of uniformed policemen in front of the hotel. Some of the men looked at the Duesenberg as Nora turned toward Main Street.

'People are so busy looking at the car that they don't pay any attention to who's driving it.'

Out of habit, she turned right on Main. Two college-aged young women crossing Gothic Street watched them go by with smiles on their faces. Dart was right, people stared at the car, not the people in it.

'You've had time to consider things, see what the world is like without me, so all you need is some consistent supervision and we'll be back on the right track. How'd you learn to work a gearshift, anyhow? Most women don't have a clue.'

'I learned to drive in an old pickup.' Dart was leaning against a walnut-paneled door, smirking at her and fondling the pistol he had taken from Officer LeDonne. 'How did you get this car?'

'Nora magic. If not for this evidence of your ability to smooth my passage, I might have treated your moment of rebellion a good deal more harshly. But here you are, and instantly, here's the Duesie. Kismet. Though I did have my eye on your friend's MG. Is he an ex-cop?'

'He's an ex-lots of things.' She glanced again at his twist of a smirk, unwilling to let him see her dismay. 'Including a cop. He was the housekeeper at the Poplars.'

'Devoted manservant,' Dart said. 'Deeply attached to the young lord's beloved. A romantic dalliance, perhaps?'

'No.'

He raised his eyebrows and grinned. A stream of pedestrians moved staring past the from of the car.

'Last night, I asked some questions of the local citizens. An MG fancier who had observed the two of you pointed me toward the hotel, and there I came upon the vehicle in question. I thought I'd collect your friend when he came back for you this morning, but you came out and had your encounter with the previous owners of the Duesie. The old black magic has them in its spell, I says to myself, I says. Give me a little peek into the workshop, Nora-pie, tell me what you said to them.'

'I said I hoped his wife would kill him in bed one night.'

Dart barked out his ugly laugh and patted his fingertips against the barrel of the gun in applause. 'Struck a nerve, magic one, struck a nerve. By the time they got to the corner, the old waffle was screeching at him. When you ducked into the front of the theater, I hustled across the street and followed them, acting on faith, always the proper thing to do, and before they went ten feet, Douglas Fairbanks pulled over to chastise her. The waffle got out and walked away. Doug took after her, so angry he forgot his keys. He trotted along, screaming at her, collapsed, bang -the old boy's flat out on the sidewalk. Another victim of an unwise marriage. I got in the Duesie and drove it right past the commotion, and do you know what? I think the waffle saw me. Bet she experienced one of the great moments of her life. When Douglas Fairbanks wakes up in the hospital, he'll take one look at the monitors at his bedside, the tubes coming from his every orifice, and he'll say - What happened to my car? And the waffle will say, Dear, I was too worried about you to think about the Duesie. This is the most important thing in his life, but can he criticize: her for letting it get stolen? He wants to tear her heart out and fry it over an open fire, but instead he has to be grateful to her!'

Dart smiled to himself. 'Sometimes I doubt myself. Sometimes I stop and wonder if I'm wrong and everybody else is right. And then something like this happens, and I know I can relax. Men are just dogs, but women are lions.'

He reached over what seemed a much greater distance than would have been the case in any other car and patted her knee.

'You, Nora, are still a baby lion, but you're a great baby lion, and you've grown by leaps and bounds. When we started on our odyssey, you didn't know enough to last five minutes. But after twenty-four hours at the feet of the great Dick Dart, you're able to figure out a way to see Dr Foil and Everett Tidy.'

Nora pulled up at the stop sign before the Smith campus at State Street, and the usual backpacks and blue jeans gave the car the usual appreciative stares.

'Thought we'd get out of Massachusetts for a couple of nights, find a nice motel somewhere up in Maine. Safest place in America. Half of Maine hasn't even heard of television yet. They're still waiting to see if that moon-landing thing worked out.' He opened the glove compartment. 'Must be some maps here. Assholes with medals on their cars always have a million maps. Right again, Dick, we knew we could count on you.'

Smith College rolled past the side of Dart's head. Nora glanced up Green Street and saw Jeffrey sprinting across the sidewalk to his car. 'Would you consider another possibility?'

He tilted his face toward her as he sorted through the maps. 'Maine sound a little primitive? I have a better idea. Canada. Don't need passports, they just wave you in and out. Our charming cousins to the north. Most self-effacing people on earth. You know what a Canadian says when you're about to kill him? "May I floss first?"'

'I have a reservation in one of the cottages at Shorelands.'

'Shorelands?' He fell back against the leather seal. 'Idea has a decided sparkle. Continuation of our original quest. I trust this reservation is in some suitably neutral name.'

'Mrs Norma Desmond.'

'Lovely. I can be Norman Desmond. My character takes shape about me even as we speak. Norm, husband of Norm. Lawyer by day, devotee of the written word by night. All my talks with my old dears very useful. Every now and then I could reel off some verse to impress the shit out of the guardians of culture. Wouldn't have to be Emily, I can quote lots of other idiots, too. Keats, Shelley, Gray - all the greats.'

'Can you?'

'I told you, as soon as I read something, it's in there for good. Let me win a couple of bets in bars, but after a while, I couldn't get anybody to wager that I wasn't able to recite all of "To a Sky-Lark." Want to hear it?'

'Not really.'

'Good. It's terrible. Now, were you going there by yourself?'

'Jeffrey was going to drive me there and drop me off.'

He nodded. 'Pull over to the side, so I can look at one of these maps and figure out how to get there.'

She coasted to a stop. Dart removed a folded map from the pile. 'Okay, here's Lenox and here's us. No problem. We go back into town, take 9 all the way to Pittsfield, and go south on 7. On the way, you can tell me what you got out of Mark Foil and Everett Tidy. But before that, do explain why you decided to go to this broken-down literary colony. Documents hidden under the floorboards? Katherine Mannheim's draft of Night Journey salted away in the bole of a tree?'

'I want to see where they all met each other.'

'And?'

'Get a better idea of the layout.'

'Piece together their comings and goings, that sort of thing? What else?'

She remembered the boys arranging the terrace in the lemon light of the morning; she remembered Helen Day. 'I thought I might be able to talk to some of the maids.'

'You mystify me.'

'Some of the old staff is still around. The other night I realized that servants know everything. Like those boys you told me about, the ones who work at the Yacht Club.'

'Deeply flattered, but the hag who changed Hugo Driver's sheets fifty-five years ago isn't likely to know what he wrote or didn't write, even if she's still alive.'

'Katherine Mannheim didn't write Night Journey. That isn't the issue anymore.'

He took it in. 'Then why didn't Alden Chancel tell the old ladies to cram their lawsuit up the old rectal valve? He could have told their lawyer to go to hell at the beginning, but he put Dart, Morris on the case. If he's in the clear, why fork out money to his law firm?'

Nora remembered how she had felt when she had seen Davey on the hotel terrace with his new pals, Mr Hashim and Mr Shull. Dart was going to love what she was about to tell him. 'Alden doesn't want anybody to question Driver's authorship of his books. That's a sensitive point.'

He became instantly attentive. 'Do tell. I mean, do. Tell.'

'The horror novels weren't the first books Daisy wrote for Alden under a phony name. The other name she used was Hugo Driver.'

Dart blinked, then laughed. That boozy old pillowcase wrote Night Journey?' For a second he was the nice-looking man he would have been if he were not Dick Dart, and he laughed again. 'No wonder Alden got rid of the manuscript! No, it can't be. She's too young. You're riding the wrong horse, babycakes.'

'She didn't write the good one,' Nora said. 'She wrote the other two.'

Dart opened his mouth as if to make a point. Then he regarded her in pure appreciative amazement. 'Bravo. They came out in the sixties. How'd you find out?'

'You'd never see it unless you compared the Driver books with her horror novels, but once you do it's obvious. Daisy has certain trademark expressions she uses over and over. There was never any reason for anyone to read her horror books side by side with the last two Drivers, so no one ever noticed.'

Dart grinned. 'Hate poetry, love poetic justice. Once you start questioning Hugo Driver, everything he owns is up for grabs. That's why he called my old man.' He tapped the gun barrel against his lips. 'If Driver wrote Night Journey, why did he give the copyright to Lincoln Chancel?'

'I think something went on at Shorelands that nobody but the two of them knew about. After they came back, they were partners. Chancel even had Driver stay overnight at the Poplars a couple of times. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have bothered to spit on a weasel like Hugo Driver, even one who made a lot of money for him.'

'So Driver had something on him.'

'Or he had something on Driver, and he wanted to make sure that Driver didn't forget it.'

'Could only be one thing,' Dart said. 'Tell me what it is. Get it right, I'll do you a big favor.'

'Hugo Driver killed Katherine Mannheim. Maybe he didn't mean to, but he killed her anyhow, and Lincoln Chancel knew it. Chancel helped him hide the body in the woods, and Driver was in his power ever after.'

Dart nodded. 'Desperate man, desperate act. Why? What happened?'

'One day Bill Tidy spotted Driver doing something fishy with her bag. Maybe he stole a notebook and found enough to realize that all he needed to pull himself out of his hole was a little more of the story. Driver was a thief; he did what came naturally to him, he stole her ideas. Maybe he broke into Gingerbread looking for more material, and Katherine surprised him. She said some thing cutting to him - she was good at that, you wouldn't have liked her at all. Maybe he hit her. Whatever he did, she died. Driver wasn't ruthless enough to be a killer, like Lincoln Chancel.'

Another thought came to her. 'It almost has to have been something like that. She would never have invited Driver into Gingerbread, but he was inside it because in the book he used a photograph she kept on her desk.'

Dart smiled up at the roof of the car and hummed a few bars of 'Too Marvelous for Words.' His smile broadened. Turn this buggy around and pick up 9. I've just had a particularly lovely idea.'

'Didn't you say something about a favor?'

'I believe I did. This is going to mean a lot to you.'

She glanced at his gleeful face.

'The time ever comes I have no choice but to kill you, I'll do it quickly. Goes against the grain, making a sacrifice here, but I guarantee you won't suffer.'

'You're quite a guy, aren't you, Dick?'

'Go to the wall for my friends,' he said.84

When they got to Pittsfield, Dart manacled a hand to her elbow and guided her through shops for shaving supplies, a toothbrush, a glossy silk tie, boxer shorts, and over-the-calf socks. Outside of town, he asked her to drive into a gas station and pulled her into the men's room. Nora looked away as he filled the tiled cubicle with a fine sea-spray. 'If cars could run on piss, I'd be a national resource' Dart removed his cap and leaned over the sink to inspect the bandage wound around the sides of his head. 'Cut this off me.' Nora found the scissors and worked the tip of one blade under the topmost layer of cloth. Soon she was unwinding a long white strip from around his head.

'Who did this for you?'

He gave her a glance of weary irony.

When the last of the bandage came away, Dart tilted his head and probed his hair with his fingers while scrutinizing himself in the mirror. 'What's a couple of lumps to an adventurous soul, eh? Hurt pretty good at the time, though.'

'Distinct memory of pain. Flashes of light behind my eyes. Second biggest headache of my life.'

'What was the biggest?'

Dart lowered his hand and his suddenly expressionless eyes met hers in the mirror. In the hot little box of the bathroom, Nora went cold. 'Popsie Jennings. Old whore landed a solid one with her andiron. Still hurts worse than either of yours.' He looked away and fingered a spot on the back of his head. 'I have to shave, brush my teeth, make myself pretty for Shorelands. What's my name again?'

It took her a moment to understand what he meant. 'Norm. Norm Desmond.'

He smiled at her and took the razor and shaving cream from a paper bag. 'Tonight Mrs Desmond is going to bestow upon Mr Desmond a particularly deep marital pleasure. At least twice. You have to work off your debt.' He squirted shaving cream onto his fingers and began working it into his stubble.

'I want to tell you about the fun we're going to have at Shorelands. Going to be a great pleasure for both of us.' He rinsed his fingers and began drawing the razor down the right side of his face. 'You want to talk to the old ladies, right? Win them over, pump them for information?'

'That's right.'

'Let's do it the stand-up way. Scam the shit out of some old dame, she'll spill everything she knows. You did it to Natalie Weil, so do it to one of them.'

Nora watched him shave. Unlike any other man she had known. Dart cleared an area of foam and whiskers, then ran the razor back over the same patch of skin in the opposite direction, in effect shaving himself twice. 'You want me to kidnap one of the maids.'

'Tie her up, beat the crap out of her, whatever. Get her out of the house and into the car. She says whatever she says, and then I kill her. Be interesting. Lot of entertainment in an old lady.' He threw out his arms, splattering foam on the tiles. 'I award myself the Dick Dart Prize for Superior Achievement in Twisted Thinking. I'll be your support group, give you all the help you need to do your thing.' He finished shaving his face, ran water over the head of the razor, and began on his neck. 'Afterwards, we have to trust each other. It'll be you and me, babe, the Dream Team. After the first one, cops don't care how many murders you commit. In death-penalty states they don't bring you back to execute you all over again. Shows how fucked up they are, the low value they put on life.' He ran the razor over a few patches of foam, reversed direction and shaved the same places again, then rinsed his face with cold water and reached for a handful of paper towels.

'How do you see us ending up? If you don't mind my asking.'

Dart blotted his face, threw the wadded towels on the floor, and looked meditative for a moment before taking the new toothbrush from the bag. He snapped the case in half and tossed it aside. 'Toothpaste.'

Nora rooted in her bag and brought out her toothpaste. 'Well?'

'Roadblock. A million cops and us. Hey, if we get to Canada, we might have a whole year. Essential point is, we do not under any circumstances allow ourselves to be arrested. We broke out of one jail, we're not going to wind up in another one. Live free or die.' He bent forward and attended to his teeth.85

At the bronze Shorelands Trust sign, they drove between overgrown stone pillars into a tangle of green. 'The drums, the beastly drums,' Dart intoned, 'will they nevah cease, Carruthers?'

Crowded on both sides by trees, the path angled right and disappeared. Nora reached the curve and saw the path divide at a wooden signpost standing on a grass border. One branch veered left, the other right, into a muddy field. As they approached the sign, the words grew legible. MAIN HOUSE.

GINGERBREAD. HONEY HOUSE. PEPPER POT. RAPUNZEL. CLOVER. MONTY'S GLEN & THE SONG PILLARS. MIST FIELD.

All of these lay somewhere up the left-hand path. VISITOR PARKING pointed to the field.

Nora drove out of the woods and turned right. A man in khaki work clothes pushed himself out of a lawn chair next to a trailer on a cement apron and came forward, admiring the car.

'What a beauty,' he said. 'Godalmighty.' He had furrowed cheeks and small, shining eyes. Dart snickered.

'We like it,' Nora said, giving Dart a sharp look.

The man stepped back and licked his lips. 'Don't make them like this baby anymore.'

'By gum, they shore don't. Pops,' Dart said.

The man glanced at Dart and decided to pretend he wasn't there. 'Ma'am, if you're here on a day visit, there's a ten-dollar entrance fee. If you're an overnight guest, pull right into the lot there and check in at Main House after I find your name on the list.'

'We're staying overnight. Mr and Mrs Desmond.'

'Back in a jiffy.' After another lingering look at the car, he went into the trailer.

'Did a little prison time, but not for anything interesting,' Dart said.

'You don't know that.'

'Wait.'

The man came out of his trailer holding a clipboard with a pen dangling from a string. He thrust it through the window and pointed at a blank space on a form. 'Sign right there, Mrs Desmond. Hope you enjoy your stay.'

Dart leaned forward with a wicked smile. 'What did they put you in for, old-timer?'

'Pardon?'

'Knife a guy in a bar, or was it more like stealing bricks off a construction site?'

Nora handed him the clipboard. 'I apologize for my husband. He thinks he's a comedian.'

'Not all comedians is funny.' The man's face had gone rigid, and the light had disappeared from his eyes. He grabbed the clipboard, stamped across the cement, climbed into his trailer, and slammed the door.

'This may come as a surprise to you,' Nora said, 'but you have an unpleasant streak.'

'Now you want to bet that I can't quote all of "To a Sky-Lark"?'

The field squished under the Duesenberg's oversized tires. 'No.'

'How about every third word? Slightly adjusted for effect?'

'No.' She put the car in a spot at the far right end of the field.

'Too bad. It's a lot better my way.'

Thee, bird wert -

Heaven it full profuse unpremeditated

still from thou a fire.

Deep and still and singest.

'There are a lot of ways to be a genius. I'm going to feel right at home here.'

Nora picked her way across the field, stepping over the muddy patches. 'I'm not sure it's an act of genius to hang on to that car.'

Dart moved along behind her. 'After you perform your kidnapping stunt, we'll liberate another one. In the meantime there isn't a safer place in the whole state for the Duesie than right here. This was a brilliant idea.'

Nora circled a mudhole and realized with a sinking of her heart that she had brought this madman into a private playpen. After the trust had decided to rent out cottages, they must have put in telephones. Dart could not watch her every minute; by now, he didn't even feel that he had to. They were partners. As soon as possible, she would call the local police and escape into the woods.

The path leading into the center of Shorelands held long, slender pockets of water, and the raised sections gleamed with moisture. Sometime during the night it had rained. While the sidewalks and highways had dried in the sun, open land had not. She looked up. Heavy clouds scudded across a mottled sky.

'Going to be good for both of us,' Dart said.

'Imagine how I feel,' Nora said.

Her short heels sank into the earth, and she moved onto a wet, stony ridge. The trees on either side seemed to close in. Dart began humming 'Mountain Greenery.' They came out of the trees and moved toward a gravel court surrounded by a low stone wall topped with cement slabs. The wall opened onto a white path between two narrow lawns, and the path led up four wide stone steps to the centerpiece of this landscape, a long stone building with three rows of windows in cement embrasures, some dripping water stains like beards. At every second window the facade stepped forward, so that the structure seemed to spread its wings and fold out from the entrance. Near the far end, a workman halfway up a tall ladder was scraping away a section of damaged paint, and another was repairing a cracked sill on the ground floor. Dick Dart linked his arm in hers and led her up the path to Main House.86

White-haired men and women lingered inside a gift shop across from a black door marked PRIVATE STAFF ONLY. Beyond, marble steps ascended to a wide corridor with high peach walls broken by glossy plaster half columns. In the big lounge across the corridor, a group of about twenty people, most of them women, listened to an invisible guide. French doors opened onto a terrace. Dart pulled Nora up the steps. At the left end of the hallway, a knot of tourists emerged from a room at the front of Main House and pursued a small, white-haired woman into another across the corridor. To their right, a curved staircase led past a gallery of paintings to the second floor. Nora thought of screaming for help, and words thrust up into her throat until she realized that if she released them, Dart would yank the revolver from his pocket and murder as many of these people as he could. The group in the lounge began shuffling after their guide through an interior arch on the far side of the fireplace.

Dart tilted his head to admire the plaster palmettes and arabesques spread across the barrel-vaulted ceiling. 'Hell with the roadblock and the violent demise. We lie low for a while, then I touch my old man for a couple million dollars. We go to Canada, buy a place like this. I put in a couple hidden staircases, state-of-the-art operating theater, big gas furnace in the basement. Have a ball.'

The short, white-haired guide led her party into the big room across the corridor and spread her arms. 'Here we have the famous lounge, where Miss Weatherall's guests gathered for cocktails and conversation before their evening meal. If you're wishing you could listen in, I can tell you one thing that was said in this room. T. S. Eliot turned to Miss Weatherall and whispered, "My dear, I must tell you-"

In a carrying voice, Dart announced, 'That stuffed shirt Eliot stayed here exactly two days, and all he did was complain about indigestion.'

Most of the tourists who had been listening to the guide turned to look at Dart.

' "The breeding of land and dull spring, us, earth, snow, life, tubers." Every third word of the beginning of "The Waste Land," with certain adjustments for poetic effect, "Us, the shower; we went sunlight. Hofgarten coffee." Heck of a lot punchier, don't you think? My "Prufrock" is even better.'

The guide was trying to shepherd her charges into the next room.

'Can you do that with everything?' Nora asked.

'Everything. "Go, and the spread, the patient upon; Let through muttering, restless hotels, restaurants, shells insidious. Lead an… Oh, ask it." '

A voice behind them asked, 'Are you a poet?'

A tall woman in her late twenties, her face strewn with freckles and her strawberry-blond hair hanging straight to her shoulders, stood behind them, one foot on the top of the stairs. She wore a simple off-white suit, and she looked charming.

Dart smiled at her. 'How embarrassing. Yes, I hope I may claim that honor.'

The young woman came toward them, holding out a deeply freckled hand. 'Mr and Mrs Desmond?'

Dart enfolded her hand in both of his. 'I'll tell, if you will.'

'Marian Cullinan. One of my jobs here is being in charge of Guest Services. Tony let me know you were coming, and I'm sorry to be late, but I had to take care of a few things at my desk.' Dart released her. 'You had no trouble finding us, I hope?'

'None at all,' Dart purred.

'Good. And please, don't be embarrassed that we inspired you to think about your work. We hope we have that effect on all the writers who visit us. Are you published, Mr Desmond?'

'A fair bit, I'm happy to say.'

'Wonderful,' said Marian. 'Where? I should know your name. I do my best to keep up with people like you for our reading series.'

Dart glanced at Nora and presented Marian with a shy, modest face. 'Here and there.'

'You can't get out of it that way. I'm interested in contemporary poetry. I bet your wife will tell me where you've placed your work.'

Nora struggled to remember the magazines on Mark Foil's coffee table. 'Let's see. He's published quite a bit in A vec and Conjunctions. And Lingo.'

'Well!' She looked up at Dick Dart with a quick increase of interest and respect. 'I'm impressed. I thought you must be a Language poet. I'd love to ask you about a thousand questions, but I don't want to be rude.'

'Might be enjoyable,' Dart said. 'Poets don't get a great deal of attention, all in all.'

'Around here they do. We'll have to make sure you get our VIP treatment. When good writers do us the honor of visiting, we like to extend our hospitality a little further than we can with the usual guest.'

'Isn't that sweet as all get out?' Dart looked at Nora with dancing eyes.

'This is wonderful. I can show you Miss Weatherall's photo archive, her private papers - really anything you might care to see - and tonight you must have dinner with Mrs Nolan, Margaret Nolan, the director of the trust, and me in the dining room. It would be such a treat for us. We'll have a splendid dinner, we do that for our literary guests, something off the original Shorelands menu. Margaret and I love the opportunity to re-create the old atmosphere. Does that sound like something you'd like to do?'

'Honored,' Dart said.

'Margaret will be thrilled.' Marian looked as if she wanted to give Dart a hug. 'We'd better take care of the paperwork so I can start organizing matters. Would you come into my office?'

'Putty in your freckled little hands,' Dart said.

She gave him an uncertain glance before deciding that what he had said was hilarious. 'My freckles used to make me feel self-conscious, but I don't think about them anymore. Sometimes, I confess, I'd still like to cover them up, if I could find a cosmetic that worked.'

'I could help you with that,' Dart said. 'No problem at all.'

'Do you mean that?'

Dart shrugged and nodded. The young woman looked at Nora.

'He means it,' Nora said.

'Artists are so… extraordinary. So… unexpected.'

'I'm a little more in touch with my feminine side than the average guy,' Dart said.

Marian brought them through the door marked PRIVATE, down a functional hallway to an unmarked door, and into a tiny office with a window on the entrance. A photograph of a young soldier in uniform had been pinned to the bulletin board. She moved behind the desk, took a form from the top drawer, and smiled at Dart. 'Mr Desmond, since I suppose you will be filling this out, perhaps you should take the chair? I wish I had two, but as you can see, there's no room.'

Dart examined the form. Grinning, he took a pen from her desk and began writing.

Marian looked brightly up at Nora. 'Now that I know who you are, I'm so glad we're putting you and Mr Desmond in Pepper Pot. Pepper Pot is where Robert Frost stayed when he was Miss Weatherall's guest in 1932.'

'And where Merrick Favor and Austryn Fain stayed in 1938.'

Marian tilted her chin, and her hair swung to the back of her neck. If the poetic Mr Desmond appreciated freckles, she intended to give him a good view. 'I don't think I know those names.'

'My wife has a special interest in the summer of 1938.' He smiled as if to suggest that wives must be expected to have their foibles, and Marian smiled back in indulgent understanding.

'We'll have to see what we can do to help you.' She read what Dart had written on the form. 'Oh, isn't that cute. Your names are Norma and Norman.'

'Language poetry strikes again.'

She smiled and gave her head a flirtatious shake. Norman Desmond was a hoot. 'There's a tour beginning in forty minutes, which would give you more than enough time to settle in. Afterwards, I'll take you into the parts of the house normally off-limits. We're not really a hotel, so we can't provide valet or room service, but if you have any special needs, I'll do my best.'

Dart turned a rueful smile to Nora. 'We're gonna have to tell her, Norm.'

Nora had no idea what he thought they had to tell Marian Cullinan. 'I guess so.'

'Truth is, we don't have our bags. Stolen out of our car at a rest stop this morning. All we have is in Norma's handbag and what we're wearing.'

Marian looked stricken. 'Why, that's terrible!' She ripped a sheet off a yellow pad. 'I'll have Tony pick up some toothbrushes and toothpaste in town, and whatever else you need. A razor? Shaving soap? Tell me what you need.'

'Thankfully, we have all the toiletries we need, but there are some other items I'd be grateful for.'

'Fire away,' Marian said.

'We enjoy a nightcap in the evenings. Could your lad pick up a liter of Absolut vodka? And we'd like an ice bucket to go with that.'

'Sounds sensible to me.' She wrote. 'Anything else?'

'I'd like two more items, but I don't want you to think they're strange.'

She positioned her pen.

'A twelve-foot length of clothesline and a roll of duct tape.'

She looked up to see if this was another of his little jokes.

'Doesn't have to be clothesline,' Dart said. 'Any smooth rope about a quarter inch in diameter is okay.'

'We aim to please.' She wrote down his requests. 'We do have a lot of rope coiled up in the bathroom down the hall. The workmen store it there, even though I've asked and asked…'

'Too rough,' Dart said.

'Would you mind if I asked… ?'

'Medical supplies,' Dart said. 'Repair work.'

'I don't quite…'

He tapped his right knee. 'Not the leg I was born with, alas.'

'Excuse me. It should all be in your room by the time you're finished with the tour.' She looked stricken again. 'Unless you need something right away.'

'No hurry. The old joint's had a bit of a workout, little loose, little floppy, and I want to stiffen it up later.'

'Our pleasure. And you, Mrs Desmond? Is there anything I can do for you? I hope I might call you Norma.' She gave Nora a closer look. 'Are you all right?'

'Are some of the people who were at Shorelands at the end of the thirties still here? If so, I'd like to speak to them.'

Brilliant smile. 'Lily Melville is a fixture here, and she was a maid in those days. When the trust came into being, Lily was so helpful that we put her on the staff. You might have seen her leading a group through the lounge.'

'White hair? Five two?' Dart asked. 'Pink Geoffrey Beene knockoff, cultured pearls?'

'Why, yes.' She was delighted with him. 'Norman, you are an amazing man.'

'Sweet old darling,' Dart said.

'Well, she's going to get a kick out of you, but don't let on you know it isn't a real Geoffrey Beene.'

Dart held up his hand as if taking a vow. Nora broke in on their rapport. 'Is Lily Melville the only person left from that time?'

'Another former maid, Agnes Brotherhood, is still with us. She's been under the weather lately, but it might be possible for you to talk to her.'

'I'd like that,' Nora said.

'Hugo Driver,' Marian said, pointing at Nora. 'I knew there was something about 1938. So you are a Hugo Driver person.' She smiled in a way which may not have been entirely pleasant. 'We don't see as many Driver people as you might expect. As a rule, they tend not to be much like ordinary readers.'

'I'm not only a Driver person,' Nora said. 'I'm a Bill Tidy, Creeley Monk, and Katherine Mannheim person, too.'

Marian gave her a doubtful look.

'Fascinating group,' Dart said. 'Class of '38. Tremendous interest of Norma's.'

'You're involved in a research project.'

'According to Norma,' Dart said, 'Night Journey wouldn't exist without the Shorelands experience. Essential to the book.'

'That is incredibly interesting.' Marian pushed herself back from the desk and folded her hands in front of heir chin. 'Given Driver's popularity, we ought to be doing more with him anyhow. And if we can claim that Shorelands and these people you mention are central to Night Journey, that's the way to do it.' She stroked her perfect jawline and gazed out of the window, thinking. 'I can see a piece in the Sunday Times magazine. I can certainly see a piece in the book review. If we got that, we could put on Hugo Driver weekends. How about an annual Driver conference? It could work. I'll have to run this past Margaret, but I'm sure she'll see the potential in it. To tell you the truth, attendance has been suffering lately, and this could turn things around for us.'

'I'm sure Leonard Gimmel and Teddy Brunhoven would be delighted to participate,' Nora said.

Marian swung toward her and raised her eyebrows.

'Driver scholars,' Nora said.

'With luck, we could have everything in place by next spring. Let's discuss these matters with Margaret during dinner, shall we? Now, the rate for your accommodations is ninety-six twenty with the tax, and if you give me a card, you can be on your way to Pepper Pot.'

'Always use cash,' Dart said. 'Pay as you go.'

'That's refreshing.' She watched Dart take his wallet from his trousers and marveled at the number of bills.

Marian made change from a cash box and handed him two keys attached to wooden tabs reading PEPPER POT. 'You'll meet Lily outside the lounge, and I'll be wailing for you when the tour ends. I think we'll all have a lot of fun during your stay.'

'My plans exactly,' Dart said.87

'Should have become a poet a long time ago. If the spouse hadn't been present, I could have planked our new friend right there in her office.'

'You made a big impression on her,' Nora said.

'I bet Maid Marian has freckles in her armpits. For sure she has freckles on the tops of her udders, but do you think she has them on the undersides, too?'

'She probably has freckles on the soles of her feet.'

They had left Main House by the front door and taken the path angling into the woods on the far side of the walled court. Tall oaks interspersed with birches and maples grew on either side of the path. A signpost at a break in the wall pointed to GINGERBREAD, PEPPER POT, RAPUNZEL.

'Isn't it wonderful how everything falls into place when we're together? We show up as ordinary slobs, and two minutes later we're VIPs. We have the run of the place, and on top of that, they're giving us one of the historic old-time Shorelands dinners. Do you understand why?'

'Marian thinks you're hot stuff.'

'That's not the reason. Here's this big place, four or five people in it full-time, tops. Night after night, they have soup and sandwiches in the kitchen, complaining to one another about how business is falling off. Rope in someone they can pretend is a VIP, they have a pretext for a decent meal. These people are starved for a little excitement. In the meantime, we get to see how many people are in the house, find out where their rooms are, check the place out. Couldn't be better.'

Another wooden signpost came into view on the left side of the path. A brown arrow pointed down a narrow lane toward GINGERBREAD.

She looked over her shoulder. 'I wish you hadn't asked for the rope and the duct tape. There's no need for those things.'

'On the contrary. I'll need them twice.'

They reached the sign. Nora looked to her left and saw the faint suggestion of a gray wooden building hidden in the trees. A window glinted in the gray light.

'Twice?'

His mouth twitched. 'In your case, we can probably dispense with the tape. But our old darling is another matter. Physical restraint adds a great deal to the effect. Which one do you fancy, Lily or Agnes?'

She did not reply.

'Like the sound of Agnes. Touch of invalidism, less of a fight. Thinking of your best interests, sweetie.'

'Very kind of you.'

'Let's press on to dear old Salt Shaker or Pepper Grinder or whatever the place is called.'

Wordlessly Nora turned away from Gingerbread, where Katherine Mannheim had probably died in a struggle with Hugo Driver, and began moving up the side of the path. Dart patted her shoulder, and she fought the impulse to pull away from his touch. 'You're going to do fine.' He ruffled the hair at the back of her head.

The path curved around an elephant-sized boulder with a rug of moss on its rounded hips. On the other side of the path a double signpost at the edge of the trees indicated that RAPUNZEL lay beyond a wooden bridge arching over a narrow stream, and PEPPER POT at the end of a narrow trail leading into the woods to their right.

Dart hopped neatly over four feet of glistening mud onto a flat rock, from there onto the grassy verge. He rattled the heavy keys in the air. 'Home, sweet home!'

Nora moved a few feet along her side of the path and found a series of stones and dry spots which took her across.

The trail slanted upward through Douglas firs with shining needles. A small hewn-timber cottage gradually came into view at the end of a clearing. Extending from a shingle roof, a canopy hung over a flat porch. A brick fireplace rose along the side of the cottage, and big windows divided into four panes broke the straight lines of the timbers on both sides of the front door. An addition had been built onto the back by workmen who had attempted to match the timbers with machine-milled planks. No telephone lines came into the house.

'Hear the banjo music?' Dart said. 'The Pinto put me in a shit-kicker's cabin.'

Two or three people made this place by hand,' Nora said. 'And they did a good job.'

Dart drew her up two hewn-timber steps onto the porch. 'Your simple midwestern values make me feel so decadent. In you go.'

They entered a dark room with double beds and pine desks against the walls at either end. In the center of the room a brown sofa and easy chair flanked a coffee table. Along the far wall were a counter, kitchen cabinets, a sink beneath a square window, and an electric range. Heavy clothespresses occupied the far corners of the room, and the apron of the stone fireplace jutted into the wooden floor. Dart locked the door behind them and flipped up a switch, turning on a shaded overhead light and the lamps on the bedside tables.

'Fucking Dogpatch.' He wandered into the kitchen and opened and closed cabinets. 'No minibar, of course.

'Aren't you getting a bottle?'

'If you don't have choices, you might as well live in Russia. How much time do we have? Twenty-five minutes?'

'Just about,' said Nora, grateful that it was not enough for Dick Dart's idea of an enjoyable sexual experience.

'Do you suppose this dump has an actual bathroom?'

She pointed at a door in the rear wall. 'Through there.'

'Let's go. Take your bag.'

Nora questioned him with a look.

'Want to repair your makeup. I can't stand the sight of that mess you made of my work.'

88

The short, white-haired guide trotted up the steps and bustled forward. She was energetic and cheerful, and she seemed to know several of the people in the group.

'Hello, hello!' Two men in their sixties, like Dick Dart in jackets and ties, one with a gray crew cut, the other bald, greeted her by name. Her smile congealed for a moment when she noticed Dart.

'Here we are,' she said. 'I don't usually lead groups back to back, but I was told that we have a promising young poet with us, and that he specifically asked for me, so I'm delighted to be with you.' She turned her smile to a dark-haired young man who looked like an actor in a soap opera, one of Daisy's Edmunds and Dmitris. 'Are you Mr Desmond?'

Edmund Dmitri looked startled and said, 'No!'

'I'm afraid that's me,' Dart said.

'Oh, now I understand,' she said. 'You have strong opinions, that's only natural. From time to time, Mr Desmond, please feel free to share your insights with the rest of us.'

'Be honored,' Dart said.

She smiled at the group in general. 'Mr Norman Desmond, the poet, will be giving us his special point of view as we go along. I'm sure we'll all find him very interesting, but I warn you, Mr Desmond's ideas can be controversial.'

'Little me?' Dart said, pressing a hand to his chest. Some members of the group chuckled.

'I also want to inform you that two other creative people, old friends of ours, are with us today. Frank Neary and Frank Tidball. We call them the two Franks, and it's always a pleasure when they join us.'

The two older men murmured their thanks, mildly embarrassed to have been identified. Their names sounded familiar to Nora. Frank Neary and Frank Tidball, the two creative Franks? She didn't think that she had ever seen them before.

'You might be interested in how this old lady in front of you learned so much about Shorelands. My name is Lily Melville, and I've spent most of my life in this beautiful place. Lucky me!'

One of those people capable of saying something for the thousandth time as though it were the first, Lily Melville told them that Georgina Weatherall had hired her as a maid of all work way back in 1931, when she was still really just a child. It was the Depression, her family's financial situation meant she had to leave school, but Shorelands had given her a wonderful education. For two years she had helped cook and serve meals, which gave her the opportunity to overhear the table talk of some of the most famous and distinguished writers in the world. After that, she took care of the cottages, which put her into even closer contact with the guests. Regrettably, in the late forties Miss Weatherall had suffered a decline in her powers and could no longer entertain her guests. During the years following her departure from Shorelands, Miss Melville frequently had been sought out by writers, scholars, and community groups for her memories. Soon after the trust had acquired the estate in 1980, she had been hired as a resident staff member.

'We'll begin our tour with two of my favorite places. Miss Weatherall's salon and private library, and proceed from there. Are there any questions before we begin?'

Dick Dart raised his hand.

'So soon, Mr Desmond?'

'Isn't that very attractive suit you're wearing a Geoffrey Beene?'

'Aren't you sweet! Yes, it is.'

'And am I wrong in thinking that I caught a trace of that delightful scent Mitsouko as you introduced yourself so eloquently?'

'Mr Desmond, would you join me as we take our group into the salon?'

Dart skipped around the side of the group and took her arm, and the two of them set off down the hallway ahead of Nora and the others.

They had visited the salon, library, lounge, and famous dining room, where a highly polished table stood beneath reproductions of paintings either owned by Georgina or similar to those in her collection. Like her library, her paintings had been sold off long ago. They had strolled along the terrace and descended the steps to admire the view of Main House from the west lawn. Lily spoke with the ease of long practice of her former employer's many peculiarities, representing them as the charming eccentricities of a patron of the arts; she invited the remarks, variously startling, irreverent, respectful, and comic, of the poet Norman Desmond, who now accompanied her down the long length of the west lawn toward the ruins of the famous gardens, restoration of which had been beyond the powers of the trust.

Nora fell in step with the two Franks and wondered again why their names seemed familiar. Certainly their faces were not. Without quite seeming to be academics, both Franks had the bookish reserve of old scholars and the intimate, unintentionally exclusive manner of long-standing collaborators or married couples. They had been amused by some of Dick Dart's comments, and the Frank with the gray crew cut clearly intended to say something about Mrs Desmond's interesting husband.

Here are your telephones, Nora told herself. You can get these guys to go to the police. But how to convince them?

'Your husband is an unusual man,' said Gray Crew Cut. 'You must be very proud of him.'

'Can I talk to you for a second?' she asked. 'I have to tell you something.'

'I'm Frank Neary, by the way, and this is Frank Tidball.' Both men extended their hands, and Nora shook them impatiently. 'We've taken Lily's tour many times, and she always comes up with something new.'

Tidball smiled. 'She never came up with anything like your husband before.'

Dart and Lily had paused at the edge of a series of overgrown scars, the remains of one section of the old gardens. Past them, an empty pedestal stood at the center of a pond. Lily was laughing at something Dart was saying.

'You can hardly be a poet if you don't have an independent mind,' said Neary. 'Where we live, in Rhinebeck, up on the Hudson River, we're surrounded by artists and poets.'

Nora took an agonized look across the lawn. Dart spoke to Lily and began walking quickly toward the group moving in his direction, Nora and the two Franks a little apart from the others.

'Wasn't there something you wanted to say?' Neary asked.

'I need some help.' Dart advanced across the grass, smiling dangerously. 'Would you please take my arm? I have a stone in my shoe.'

'Certainly.' Frank Neary stepped smartly up beside her and held her elbow.

Nora raised her right leg, slipped off her shoe, and upended it. There,' Nora said, and the two men politely watched the fall of a nonexistent stone. 'Thank you.' As Neary released her arm, she watched Dart striding toward her with his dangerous smile and remembered where she had heard their names. 'You must be the Neary and Tidball who write the Chancel House crossword puzzles.'

'My goodness,' Neary said. 'Frank, Mrs Desmond knows our puzzles.'

'Isn't this lovely, Frank?'

Nora turned to smile at Dart, who had noticed the tone of her conversation with the Franks and slowed his pace.

'You know our work?'

'You two guys are great,' Nora said. 'I should have recognized your names as soon as I heard them.'

Dart had come within hearing distance, and Nora said, 'I love your puzzles, they're so clever.' Something Davey had once said came back to her. 'You use themes in such a subtle way.'

'Good God, someone understands us,' Neary said. 'Here is a person who understands that a puzzle is more than a puzzle.'

Dart settled a hand on Nora's shoulder. 'Puzzles?'

'Norman,' she said, looking up with what she hoped was wifely regard, 'Mr Neary and Mr Tidball write those wonderful Chancel House crossword puzzles.'

'No,' said Dart, instantly falling into his role, 'not the ones that keep you up late at night, trying to think of an eight-letter word for smokehouse flavoring?'

'Isn't that great?'

'I'm sure you three have a lot to discuss, but we should catch up.' Dart smiled at the two Franks. 'I wondered what you were talking about. Do you have an editor over there at Chancel House?'

'Yes, but our work doesn't need any real editing. Davey makes a suggestion now and then. He's a sweet boy.'

The four of them came up beside the rest of the group, and Lily said that after viewing the pond, they would be going on to Honey House, at which point the official tour would conclude. Anyone who wished to see the Mist Field, the Song Pillars, and Rapunzel was free to do so.

'You gentlemen come here often?' Dart asked.

Together, swapping sentences, Neary and Tidball told their new friends that they tried to visit Shorelands once a year. 'Five years ago, we stayed overnight in Rapunzel, mainly so we could walk through Main when it wasn't filled with tourists. It was tremendously enjoyable. Agnes Brotherhood was full of tales.'

'What kind of tales?'

Neary looked at Tidball, and both men smiled. Neary said, 'There's a big difference between Lily and Agnes. Agnes never liked Georgina very much, and back then she was willing to gossip. Frank and I heard stories that will never be in the history books.'

Lily had begun to speak from the raised flagstone ledge surrounding the pond. Frank Neary raised a finger to his lips.

After telling two mildly prurient anecdotes about the accidental unclothed encounters of writers of opposite sexes, Lily hopped off the ledge and declared that their final stop, Honey House, the only cottage restored to its original condition, was the perfect conclusion to their tour.

An overgrown stone path curved away from the pond and led into the trees. At the rear of the group, Nora and Dart walked along just behind the puzzle makers, and the others strung out in pairs behind Lily's pink suit. The air had darkened.

'Might rain,' Dart said.

'It will,' Tidball said. 'It's getting here a little ahead of schedule, which is good for them. Rain cuts into attendance quite a bit. Shorelands gets muddy when it rains. If it's going to happen, they'd rather have it now instead of on the weekend.'

'Cuts into attendance?' Neary asked. 'I should say. Rain has the same effect on attendance that the fellow in the papers, Dart, had on his victims.'

Lily and the couple behind her stepped onto a bridge over the stream which wandered through the northern end of the estate. Their shoes rang on the bridge, trip trap, trip trap, like the three billy goats gruff in the fairy tale.

'Heard anything new about good old Dart?' Dart asked. 'What a story! We couldn't make much sense out of it. Fellow was accused of murder but never charged. What was the woman doing in the police station? More there than meets the eye. Still on the loose, this odd couple?'

'Oh, yes,' said Neary. 'According to the radio, Dart is supposed to be in Northampton, and that's not far from here.' His eyes had become large and serious. 'I agree that more is going on than meets the eye. Frank and I have a connection with the woman.' He leaned in front of Nora to look into Dart's face. 'You asked about our editor, Davey Chancel. Well, she's his wife. If you ask me, Nora Chancel had something going with this Dart.'

'I should say that's a definite possibility,' Dart said. 'What do you know about this woman, your editor's wife?'

The others had crossed over the bridge, and now the two Franks, followed closely by Nora and Dick Dart, stepped onto it. Trip trap, trip trap.

'We've heard rumors,' Tidball said.

'Go on,' said Dart. 'I'm absolutely riveted.'

'Apparently the woman is an unstable personality. We think they were in cahoots. When he got arrested, she went to the police station and staged her own "kidnapping," quote unquote, to get him out. She's probably more dangerous than he is.'

Neary laughed, and a second later Nora laughed, too.

They followed the others toward a cabin tucked away at the base of the trees. Lily stood at the front door facing them.

'Quite a saga, isn't it?' Dart asked.

'I can hardly wait for the movie,' Nora said.

Lily held up a hand as if taking an oath. 'We here at Shorelands are very proud of what you are about to see. The planning began four years ago, when our director, Margaret Nolan, said to us at dinner, "Why don't we make it possible for our guests to walk into one of our cottages and experience the world created by Georgina Weatherall? Why not recreate the past we celebrate here?" We all fell in love with Margaret Nolan's vision, and for a year we assembled records and documents in order to reassemble a picture of a typical cottage interior from approximately 1920 to approximately 1935. We vowed to cut no corners. Let me tell you, when you begin a project like this, you find out how much you don't know in a hurry!'

Polite laughter came from everyone but Nora and Dart.

'You are wondering how we chose Honey House. I'll be frank about that. Expense had to be a consideration, and this is one of the smallest cottages. Our last great general renovation was in 1939, and the task before us was enormous. With the help of Georgina Weatherall's records, we covered the walls with a special fabric obtained from the original manufacturer. It had been out of production since 1948, but several rolls had been preserved at the back of the warehouse, and we bought all of them. We learned that the original paint came from a company which had gone out of business in 1935, and nearly lost hope, but then we got word that a paint supplier in Boston had fifteen gallons of the exact brand and color in his basement. Donations poured in. About a year and a half ago, it all came together.'

'This should go without saying, but I must insist that you touch none of the objects or fabrics inside. Honey House is a living museum. Please show it the respect it deserves, and allow others to enjoy this restoration for many years to come. Am I understood?'

Dart's cry of 'Absolutely!' rang out over the mutter of assent from the group.

Lily smiled, turned to the door, took a massive key from a pocket of the pink suit, and looked over her shoulder. 'I love this moment.' She swung the door open and told the young couple directly in front of her to switch on the lights.

The boy led the first of the group through the door. Soft sounds of appreciation came to those still outside.

'They all do that,' Lily said. 'As soon as the lights go on, it's always Ooh! Aah! Go on, Norman, get in there. It'll knock your eyes out.'

Dart patted her shoulder and followed Nora through the door.89

Every possible surface had been covered with porcelain figurines, snuffboxes, antique vases, candles in ornate holders, and lots of other things Nora instinctively thought of as gewgaws. Paintings in gilt frames and mirrors engulfed in scrollwork hung helter-skelter on the aubergine-colored walls.

Lily addressed the group. 'I will leave you to feast upon this splendid recreation. Feel free to ask me about anything that strikes your eye.' The couples separated into different portions of the interior, and she came up to the Franks with a proprietary swagger. 'Isn't it wonderful?'

Nora said, 'I had no idea the guests lived in this kind of splendor.'

'Nothing was too good for the people who came here,' said Lily. 'To Miss Weatherall, they were the cultural aristocracy. Mr Yeats, for example.' She pointed across the room at a photograph of a man with a pince-nez on the bridge of his nose. 'He was a great gentleman. Miss Weatherall loved his conversation.'

'A writer named Creeley Monk stayed here, too,' Nora said.

'Creeley Monk? I don't seem to recall…'

'In 1938.'

Lily's eyes went flat with distaste. 'We like to dwell on our triumphs. And here we have one example, standing right next to you! Frank and Frank are published by Chancel House, which was born that very summer, when Mr Driver met Mr Lincoln Chancel. Now, he was a great gentleman.'

'I guess it wasn't such a bad summer after all,' Nora said.

Lily gave a ladylike shudder.

'Is this a reconstruction of what would have been here during the thirties?'

'No, not at all,' Lily said, untroubled by the contradiction of her earlier remarks. 'We wanted to represent the estate as a whole, not just a single cottage. When you put it together like this, you get a real feel of the times.' A man who apparently wanted to question her about a collection of paperweights waved to her, and she scampered away.

'Nineteen thirty-eight isn't their favorite year,' said Tidball.

'I wonder if you know anything about a poet named Katherine Mannheim?' Nora asked.

Tidball rolled his eyes upward and clasped his hands in front of him.

'It seems you do,' Nora said. Dart looked on, indulgent, pleased to sense the presence of trouble ahead.

The Franks exchanged a brief glance. 'Let's wait until the tour is over,' Neary said. 'Were you going to look at the Mist Field and the Song Pillars?'

'You haven't seen the Song Pillars, you haven't seen Shorelands,' said Dart.

Half an hour later, the four of them lagged behind the others on the path threading north through the woods. Dart was walking so close behind Nora that he seemed almost to engulf her.

'Where did these airy-fairy names come from?' he boomed out.

'Georgina,' Neary said, striding along at the head of their column of four. 'When her father owned the estate, the only cottage that had a name was Honey House, after an old butler who lived there, Mr Honey. After her father turned it over to her, all of a sudden everything had a new name.' He looked back, grinning at the others. 'Georgina's romantic conception of herself extended to her domain. These people tend to be dictatorial.'

Frank Neary was a clever man. Dart could not keep his eye on her all afternoon, and she needed only a few seconds.

'That's where your poet went wrong,' Neary said. 'We got all this from Agnes Brotherhood, so you have to take into account that she never really cared for Georgina. Lily, on the other hand, worshiped her. Lily detested Katherine Mannheim because she didn't give Georgina the proper respect. Agnes told us that Katherine Mannheim saw right through Georgina the first time she met her, and Georgina hated her for it.'

Tidball said, 'According to Agnes, Georgina was jealous. But the entire subject still seemed to make her nervous.'

The path curved around the left side of a meadow and disappeared into the trees on its far side, where several large, upright gray stones were dimly visible. 'Here it is, the famous Mist Field.'

'Mist Field,' Nora said. 'Why does that sound familiar?'

'Mr Desmond, do you write every day?' Tidball asked.

'Only way to get anything done. Get up at six, scribble an ode before going to the office. Nights, I'm back at it from nine to eleven. By the way, please call me Norman.'

They began moving up the path again.

'Are you part of a community of poets?'

'We Language poets like to get together at a nice little saloon called Gilhoolie's.'

'How would you define Language poetry?'

'Exactly what it sounds like,' Dart said. 'Language, as much of it as possible.'

'Have you ever read Katherine Mannheim's poetry?' asked Neary.

'Never touch the stuff.'

Neary gave him a puzzled look.

'Why did Agnes think Georgina was jealous of Katherine Mannheim?' Nora asked.

'Georgina was used to being the center of attention. Especially with men. Instead, they were drooling over this pretty young thing. Being the kind of person she was, it took her a couple of weeks to understand what was going on. Lily Melville set her straight.'

'Should have thrown the bitch out right then,' Dart said.

Neary seemed startled by his choice of words. 'Eventually she decided to do that, but she didn't want to act in any way that might injure her reputation. She was worried about finances, and sending away a guest could look like a distress signal. Here are the Song Pillars and Monty's Glen. Impressive, aren't they?'

A short distance from the path, six tall boulders with flat ends had been placed in a circle around a natural clearing. The other members of Lily Melville's group were already drifting back to the path, and a sixtyish woman in a turquoise exercise suit came up to them and introduced herself as Dorothea Bach, a retired high school teacher. She wanted to know all about Mr Desmond's poetry.

'My odes and elegies were originally inspired by my own high school English teacher.' He began spouting nonsense which thrilled Dorothea down to her bright blue running shoes. Fascinated, Tidball moved a step nearer.

Nora hurried up beside Neary, who was moving toward the boulder. He turned to her with a conciliatory smile, apologizing in advance for what he had to say. 'To hear your husband talk, you'd think he didn't know anything about poetry at all.'

'I need your help.'

'Another imaginary stone?' He held out his arm.

'No, I-'

Dart stroked the back of her neck 'Don't let me break up this private moment, but I couldn't bear that woman a second longer.'

Neary turned to Nora with a questioning look. She shook her head.

They passed through the Pillars and walked to the center of the clearing. 'Every single time I come here, I think about going back in time to one of the great summers and listening to the conversation here. I get goose bumps. Right here, great writers sat down and talked about what they were working on. Wouldn't you like to have heard that?'

'Must have been a stitch,' Dart said.

'You're a piece of work, Norman,' Neary said.

'Humble laborer in the vineyards,' Dart said.

'All in all, Norman, I wouldn't say that humility is your strong suit.'

'Maybe you boys should leave us alone,' Dart said. 'After a while, little old swishes start to get on my nerves.'

Frank Tidball looked as if he had been struck on the back of his head with a brick, and Frank Neary was enraged and weary in a manner to which he had clearly grown accustomed long ago. 'That's it. This man is a lunatic, and he frightens me.'

'I should frighten you,' Dart said, glimmering with pleasure.

Neary held his ground. 'Good-bye, Mrs Desmond, I wish you luck.'

Dart laughed at him - every word he said was ridiculous.

'Frank, I know my husband has offended you, but what were you saying about Georgina's money troubles? It might be very important to me.' Nora had seen the money problem like the hint of a clue to an answer, and it was too important to be allowed to escape.

'I have no problem with you, Mrs Desmond.' He gave a contemptuous glance at Dart, who briskly stepped forward and grinned down at him.

Neary refused to be intimidated. 'Georgina's trust fund wasn't large enough to pay for all the servants and upkeep or the food and drink for the guests. Her father indulged her for a long time, but in 1938 he lost patience. He cut her off, or seriously cut her back, I'm not sure which. Georgina was almost hysterical.'

'Lily Melville told us that she had the whole place renovated the next year,' Nora said.

'He must have relented. I'm sure that he was used to giving her whatever she wanted.'

'Tale of Two Bitches,' Dart said.

'I've spent enough time with this madman,' Neary said. 'Let's go.' Tidball was staring at Dick Dart. Neary touched his elbow as if to awaken him, and Tidball spun away and marched toward the edge of the clearing. Neary followed him without looking back. They passed through the Pillars and moved toward the path with a suggestion of flight.

'Let's amble back to the house and meet the dear little Pinto. Something has occurred to me. Can you guess what?'

Before Nora could tell Dart that she could not read his mind, she read his mind. 'You want Marian Cullinan.'

He patted her head and grinned. 'Probably time for me to bid farewell to older women. And Maid Marian has two great advantages.'

She began to walk over the matted grass toward the boulders. 'Which are?'

'One, you don't like her. She's fair Natalie all over again, wants to steal your man. Let's punish the cow - hey, it's what you want to do anyhow.'

'And the second advantage?'

'Marian undoubtedly owns a nice car.'

Heads down, moving a little faster than was necessary, Neary and Tidball were already most of the way across the meadow. Dart indulgently watched them wade through the long grass. 'Lots of fun in store for us tonight, sweetie-pie.'90

Marian Cullinan's eager face appeared at her window as they approached the front of Main House, and when they came inside she was waiting for them, taking in Dart with theatrical awe. 'Norman, you made Lily's day. She wants to take you on all of her tours.'

'Entirely reciprocated. Reminds me of some of my dearest friends.'

'Isn't he off the scale when it comes to charm, Mrs Desmond?'

'Completely,' said Nora. This dopey woman, so bored that she made passes at married male guests, probably represented her last hope of getting the police to Shorelands. 'But please, call me Norma.'

'Why, thank you!'

'Maybe you could join us for a nightcap up at good old Salt Shaker after dinner,' Dart said. 'So much to talk about, so many avenues to explore.'

Marian's freckles slid sideways with a knowing twitch of the mouth. 'That depends on how much paperwork I can get done. I used to have an assistant, but the Honey House restoration ate up most of our budget.' Most of her bright, spurious eagerness reappeared. 'And of course we're very proud of the result. Didn't you just love it?'

'Who wouldn't?' Dart said. 'Can we get you up there tonight, Marian, or are we going to have to abduct you?'

'You'd be doing me a favor.' She sighed and pantomimed exhaustion. 'Would you like to see the rooms upstairs?'

Nora asked if they could talk to Agnes Brotherhood.

Marian closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. 'I forgot to check on that. I'd have to look in to see how she's doing. Why don't we go upstairs?'

'Does this VIP treatment extend to a sandwich before we start laying our hands on history?'

'A sandwich? Now?'

'Circumstances deprived me of my usual healthy breakfast. Could gobble up the Girl Scouts along with their cookies.'

Marian laughed. 'In that case, we'd better take care of you. How about you, Norma?'

Nora said she could wait for dinner.

Dart grasped her wrist, killing her hopes of getting to a telephone while he gobbled up any nearby Girl Scouts. 'When it comes to appetite, Norm Desmond has never been found wanting.'

'I wouldn't think so,' Marian said. 'Let's see what damage you can do to our kitchen.' An unmarked door at the right side of the marble stairs opened onto a steep flight of iron steps. 'You'll be all right on these, with your… ?' She touched her knee.

'All is well.'

Marian started down the staircase. 'Would you mind if I asked how… ?'

'Nam. Pesky land mine. Your brother was there, wasn't he?'

She looked back up at him. 'How did you know about my brother?'

'Handsome picture on your bulletin board. I gather he was killed in action. Hope you will accept my condolences, even after all this time. As a former officer, I regret the loss of every single man in that tragic conflict.'

'Thank you. You seem so young to have been an officer in Vietnam.'

He barked out a laugh. 'I'm told I was one of the youngest officers to serve in Vietnam, if not the youngest.' He sighed. 'Truth is, we were all boys, every one of us.'

Nora felt like pushing him down the stairs.

'I'm going to make you the best sandwich you ever had in your life,' Marian said.

'I have the distinct impression that you went to a Catholic girls' school. Please don't tell me I'm mistaken.'

'How can you tell?' Marian began to descend the clanging stairs again, looking up at him with the smile of a woman who had never heard a compliment she didn't like.

'Two kinds of women hatch out of Catholic girls' schools. One is sincere, hardworking, witty, and polite. Best manners in the world. The other is unconventional, intellectual, bohemian. They're witty, too. Tend to be a bit rebellious.'

At the bottom of the stairs Marian waited for Dart and Nora to come down into a good-sized kitchen with a red-tiled floor, a long wooden chopping block, glass-fronted cabinets, and a gas range. There was a teasing half smile on her face. 'Which kind am I?'

'You fall into the best category of all. Combination of the other two.'

'No wonder Lily enjoyed your tour.' Smiling, Marian opened a cabinet, took down a plate and a glass, and opened the refrigerator. 'Dinner is going to be one of our specials, so I'd better let that remain a surprise, but here's some roast beef. I could make you a sandwich with this wholewheat bread. Sound good?'

'Yum yum. You got some mustard, mayo, maybe a couple slices of Swiss cheese to go with that?'

'I think so.' She bent down to root around on a tower shelf, giving Dart a good view of her bottom.

'Any soup?'

She laughed and looked at Nora. 'This man knows what he wants. Minestrone or gazpacho?'

'Minestrone. Gazpacho isn't soup.'

Marian began pulling things out of the refrigerator.

Dart was wandering around and inspecting the kitchen. 'Norma can give you a hand.'

'Once an officer…' Nora said.

Marian told her where to find the can opener. Nora picked up a saucepan and poured the soup into it. After she had set the pan on the stove, she looked up to find Dart staring into her eyes. He glanced at her bag, which she had dropped on the counter, back at her, and then at a spot above the counter behind Marian's back. The handles of at least a dozen knives protruded from a wooden holder fastened to the wall. Dart smiled at her.

Marian took a bag of leftover lettuce from the refrigerator and dropped it on the counter. 'Men are amazing,' she said. 'Where do they put it all?'

'Norman puts it in his hollow leg,' Nora said. Standing behind the other woman, she looked at the knife holder and shrugged. She could not steal a knife without Marian's noticing.

Nearly undressing Marian with a smile. Dart said, 'Might some beer have found its way into the refrigerator?'

That's a distinct possibility.'

'Don't like invading strange refrigerators. Let's hunker down, survey the vintages.'

Marian glanced at Nora, who was stirring the soup. She set down her knife and moved toward the refrigerator, where Dart beamed at her, rubbing his hands.

' "Open thy vault most massy, most fearsome, Madame Ware,"' Dart said, quoting something Nora did not recognize.

'I know that!' Marian cried. 'It's from Night Journey, the part near the end where Pippin meets Madame Lyno-Wyno Ware. He has to talk that way because, um…'

'Because the Cup Bearer told him he had to, or she wouldn't tell the truth.'

'Yes! And the vault disappoints him because it's only a metal box, but when she opens it up he sees that inside it's the size of his old house, and Madame Ware says… something about a book, the mind…' She snapped her fingers twice. 'They're bigger on the inside.'

'"My vault, like a woman's heart or reticule, is larger within than without. Even a little pippin was once held within a seed."'

Nora had been backing away from the stove and was now nearly within reaching distance of the knife rack.

'Right! That's it!' Marian spun around and pointed a shapely, freckled finger at Nora. 'See? I'm not completely ignorant about Hugo Driver. We can work together.'

'Marian,' Dart said, an impatient edge in his voice, 'open the massy vault, will you?'

She turned her back on Nora and made an elaborate business of opening the refrigerator.

'Hunker, Marian. Can you hunker?'

'With the best of them.' She squatted down before the crowded shelves knee to knee with Dart. 'Behold the beer.'

'I don't see any beer.'

She leaned over to point, in the process brushing a breast against Dart's arm. 'Are you a Corona kind of guy?' Marian asked.

Dart glanced at Nora over the top of the other woman's head, and she stepped back and lifted the first knife out of the holder.

'In weak moments.' Dart looked at the hefty, workmanlike carving knife in Nora's hand, nodded minutely, and glanced again at the holder.

'What are your feelings about Budweiser?' She leaned into him more firmly.

'I think I like the looks of the one beside it.'

Nora pulled a cleaver from the rack, and Dart's eyes crinkled. 'Yes that's a lovely shape. Pull it out, so I can get a good look at it.'

Marian reached into the refrigerator, bringing herself into closer contact with Dart. 'Grolsch does have a nice shape, doesn't it?'

Nora carried the knife and the cleaver to the counter. While Dart and Marian Cullinan admired different sorts of vessels, she opened her bag and slipped them inside. She moved over to stir the soup, and the other two stood up. Marian gave her an uncertain smile. Her face seemed a little flushed along the tops of her cheekbones.

Nora poured the soup into a bowl, and Marian found a soupspoon and a bottle opener in a drawer.

Dart raised the Grolsch bottle and took a long swallow.

Nora slid her bag off the counter and took it to a chair beneath a wall-mounted telephone.

'Don't hang back, darling spouse. Join the party.'

Nora considered her bag. Dart still had his back to her. 'Are you abandoning us?' Marian asked, smiling at Nora as she assembled beef, Swiss cheese, and lettuce on top of a slice of toast. Dart waved her forward, and she walked away from the fantasy of ramming a carving knife into his back.

Nora patted a spot beneath his left shoulder blade. 'Are you happy now?'

Dart sang the first phrase of 'Sometimes I'm Happy' and pushed away the empty bowl. 'Bring on the meat.'

'I didn't imagine you could actually quote Hugo Driver,' Marian said to him.

Dart said something unintelligible through a mouthful of food, apparently quoting more of Night Journey.

'Don't get him started,' Nora said.

'Could we get him to recite some of his poetry during dinner?'

Dart uttered a gleeful 'Ungk!' around the sandwich. His eyes sparkled.

Forced to deal directly with Nora, Marian fell back on cliche. 'What was your favorite part of the tour?'

'Can I ask you about the restorations?'

'That's practically an obsession with us. Lily must have told you about how hard we worked to put Honey House together. I could tell you lots of horror stories.'

'I wasn't thinking so much of Honey House.'

'Main House is a more interesting problem, I agree. As great as Georgina Weatherall was, she had been going downhill for some time before her death, and toward the end she pretty much retired into one room on the second floor. Which meant that the roof leaked in a hundred places, and there was water damage just about everywhere. As you probably saw when you came in, we're still having work done. The next big project is restoring the gardens, and that's a huge job.'

'Are any of the former gardeners still around?'

'No. Georgina had to let everyone but Monty Chandler, the head gardener, go. You saw the Song Pillars and Monty's Glen?'

'We did.'

'When you were up there, did you hear the stones singing?'

'They sing?' Nora asked.

'When there's any kind of a wind, you can hear them make this music. Eerie.'

'I suppose Monty Chandler is dead.'

'He passed away a couple of years before Georgina, which was another reason things got out of hand. Monty Chandler kept things in line by being a sort of handyman-carpenter-security force. There used to be problems with poachers and people breaking into the cottages, but Monty scared them all off. And when he wasn't overseeing the gardens, he was patching roofs and doing other repairs. That's why Georgina could get by for so long without bringing in workmen. I know she spent a lot of money fixing the place up when her father gave it to her, but she didn't have to do that again until the late thirties!'

'I understand she was having some money troubles then,' said Nora.

Footsteps sounded on the metal staircase.

'Margaret and Lily are coming down to start dinner. We'd better do the second floor.'

Heavy lace-up brown shoes topped with swollen ankles appeared on the stairs, followed by a long, capacious navy blue cotton dress buttoned up the front, then a wide arm, and finally an executive face, broad in the cheeks and forehead, and gray hair clamped into place with a tightly wound scarf, also navy blue. Margaret Nolan reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, her hand on the railing, taking them in with an alert curiosity which did not completely disguise her mild irritation. Lily Melville smiled at Dart from over her shoulder.

'Our special guests have an interest in the kitchen, Marian?'

'One of them had a special interest in a snack,' Marian said.

Margaret inspected Dart with a level glance. 'Looking at Mr Desmond, I don't suppose it will affect his performance at dinner.' She pushed herself away from the stairs and came puffing toward them.

'Margaret Nolan.' She extended a wide, firm hand to Dart. 'I run this madhouse. We are delighted to have your company, Mr Desmond, though I must confess that I've never read your work. Marian tells me that it's very exciting.'

Dart said, 'We do what we can, we can do no more.'

Margaret turned to Nora with the air of having chosen to ignore this remark. Her handshake was quick and dry. 'Mrs Desmond. Welcome to Shorelands. Are you happy with Pepper Pot?'

'It's great,' Nora said.

'I'm pleased to hear it. But now, if we are to meet our schedule, we must begin. You'll forgive us, I hope?'

'Certainly,' Nora said. Here before her, five feet, eight inches tall, weighing one hundred and eighty pounds, chronically short of breath, radiating decisiveness, common sense, and strength of character, was her answer. This woman would take in Nora's situation and figure out a way to resolve it in three seconds flat. She would need half as much explanation as Frank Neary, and a tenth as much as Marian Cullinan. But when could she get her aside? After dinner she would volunteer to carry the plates down to the kitchen - something, anything - to be alone with Margaret Nolan and whisper, He's Dick Dart. Call the police.

'All right, then.' Margaret smiled as briskly as she had shaken Nora's hand. 'Lily?'

Lily trotted to the side of the kitchen to take two white aprons from a hook on the far side of the wall telephone, and paused at the chair on the way back. 'Isn't this your bag, Mrs Desmond?'

'Oh, it is, I'm sorry.' Nora took a step toward Lily and the chair, but Margaret stopped her with a touch. 'Bring it to her, Lily.'

Lily picked up the bag. 'What do you have in here, brass knuckles?'

'I never go anywhere without my weapons collection,' Nora said.

Marian said, 'We should go upstairs and let them work their wonders.'

'Where is that carving knife?' Margaret asked. 'It couldn't have just walked away.'

'I'm so curious,' Dart said. 'What treat are you two wonderful ladies going to whip up?'

Looking at Dart as if she were a second-grade teacher faced with an impertinent student, Margaret turned from the rack and put on her apron. 'We are going to prepare one of Ezra Pound's favorite meals.'

'Georgina liked Ezra, didn't she?'

'She did.'

'Real-world politics,' Dart said. 'None of that guff about equality our leaders spout while they plunder the till. I'm on their side. Let's call a jackboot a jackboot, okay?'

Both Lily and Margaret were staring at him. Dart held up a hand. 'Hey. What was good enough for Ez is good enough for me.' Smiling at the two women frozen behind the chopping block, he pulled Nora toward the stairs.91

Marian closed the door with a bang. 'Norman, don't you understand that I could lose my job?'

'Solemn promise,' Dart said. 'By the time we finish dessert, they'll be begging me to come back.'

'But you practically called Georgina Weatherall a Nazi!'

'Wasn't the old girl a tad gone on the majesty of the Fatherland? Doesn't make her a bad person.'

Marian shook her head and checked to make sure that no one could overhear their conversation. 'Norman, you can't go around saying these things in front of Margaret.'

'Try to stop him,' Nora said.

'I understand,' Dart said. 'Divine handmaiden to the diviner arts. Natural aristocrat. My problem is, I can't stand women like that.'

Marian calmed down enough to say, 'We don't admit it very often, but I'm sure Georgina Weatherall could be hard to deal with.'

'Not her, Madame Director,' Dart said. 'Women like that might as well grow beards and smoke cigars. Nonetheless, I promise you a tremendously entertaining evening.' He touched a finger to her chin. 'I want you to have a glorious time. Still depending on you to drop in for that nightcap.'

'This man,' Marian said. 'You can't stay angry with him.'

Portraits lined the broad staircase. 'This one used to hang in Georgina's bedroom.' Marian was pointing at an oil painting of an elderly man in a business suit coiled in a leather chair. He had a tight, fanatical face dominated by a heavy nose and a protruding chin. 'George Weatherall.'

' "My Heart Belongs to Daddy."'

Marian smiled at him from the top of the stairs, then conducted them down a hallway darker and narrower than the one below. Despite the framed book jackets and photographs of Main House in various stages of restoration on the walls, the second floor was more utilitarian and domestic than the first. They had moved from the public life into the private.

Nora asked, 'Why don't you let people into her bedroom?'

'Wait'll you see it. That's not the way we want people to remember Shorelands.'

'I thought you were after historical accuracy.'

'Accurate accuracy is too raw for the public. The longer I stay in this job, the more I wonder if there is any such thing as historical accuracy. But I can't say that's very helpful when you have a painting contractor standing in front of you who wants to know right now what exact shade of purple to put on the wall.'

'I thought Lily said that you were given a lot of the original paint. How could there be a problem with the shade?' Nora asked.

'We did have the original paint, but only about half the amount we needed, and it had turned into glue. The whole thing was a nightmare. In the end, we mixed whatever we could salvage in with new paint.'

'How did you know what shade it was supposed to be?'

'From Georgina's room.'

'The paint you got for Honey House was actually the kind used in Main House?'

'Nobody really knows what kind of paint was used in the cottages.' Marian gestured at the doors lining the hallway. 'The two rooms on the left are Margaret's bedroom and office, and she'd rather not have us go in there. In the old days, Georgina Weatherall kept this entire floor for her personal use. Emma Brotherhood, Agnes's sister, her personal maid, lived in this first room. The second was a wardrobe and changing room, and it's connected to the bathroom, the third door along, directly across from Georgina's bedroom. Next to that was the morning room, where Georgina wrote her letters and planned the menus. These days, that's where we store all the donations we can't use.'

Marian smiled at Dart. 'Anyhow, behind the door on the other side of the stairs is the staircase to the third floor. I have the two rooms immediately across the hall at the top of the stairs, and Lily has the two rooms next to me. Margaret's secretary, who's on her vacation this week, has the room next to Lily's. All the other rooms up there are empty. This room on the right, which we use for meetings, was where Georgina met special guests.' She opened the door to a small, efficient chamber dominated by a boardroom table. 'This was where Miss Weatherall would complain, gossip, get recommendations about new writers. And in here, people like Lily and Agnes could pass along anything she ought to know.'

'KGB,' Dart said. 'Ears at the keyhole.'

'We had a thief here once, you know.'

'You surprise me,' Nora said.

'A young woman took off with a valuable drawing just before she was to be asked to leave. Can you imagine? It was worth a fortune. By Rembrandt, or maybe Rubens, I don't remember.'

'Neither one,' Nora said. 'It was by an artist named Redon.'

'Somebody with an R name, anyhow,' Marian said, 'Georgina's bedroom is next. During the last two years of her life, she almost never left it. It's cleaned and dusted twice a week, but we never go in there ourselves. Personally, I think it's a little creepy.'

She ushered them into a dark space where dull glints of glass and metal and a sense of hovering presences suggested a spectacular jumble of objects. 'Georgina never opened her curtains, so we keep them closed. I always have a little trouble finding the light, because the switch is in back of… Here we go.'

Layer after layer, the room emerged into view. In delirious profusion, silks, faded tapestries, worn Oriental rugs, and swags of lace dripped from the top of the canopied bed and over the backs of chairs, and hung on the crowded walls, folding behind and draping over a riot of ornate clocks, mirrors, framed drawings, and photographs of a woman whose face, a replica of her father's, had been softened by enthusiastic makeup and a surround of shapeless dark hair. An impressively ugly Victorian desk lay buried beneath a drift of papers lapping against porcelain animals and glass inkwells. A gramophone with a bell-like horn stood on an ormolu table. Other small tables draped with lace held stacks of books, silver-backed hairbrushes, and much else.

The room reminded Nora of a more chaotic Honey House. A second later, she realized that she had it backwards: Honey House was a more presentable version of this room. As her eyes adjusted to the clutter, she began to take in the real condition of Georgina's bedroom. Ancient water stains had leached the purple to blotchy pink. The fabrics strewn over the furniture were ripped and discolored, and the lace canopy hung in tatters. Stains mottled the white ceiling. Beside the bed, in front of an anachronistic metal safe with a revolving dial, brown threads showed through the pattern of the rug.

'I'd better see if Agnes is up to company,' Marian said, and disappeared.

Here was the real Shorelands, the one room in all of the estate where real history was still visible. Concealed at the center of the house, it was a shameful secret too important to erase. Georgina Weatherall, whose greatest advantages had been wealth, vanity, and illusion, had risen day after day to admire herself in her mirrors, brushed her hair without ever managing to push it into shape, painted on layers of makeup until the mirrors told her that she was as commanding as a queen in a fairy tale. If she noticed a flaw, she submerged it beneath rouge and kohl, just as she buried the stains on her walls and the rents in her lace beneath layers of fabric.

Monty Chandler had never entered this room to repair the water damage: no one but Georgina and her maid had been allowed here. The maid had loved Georgina, who had so demanded love that she had seen it in people who mocked her. This monolithic ruthlessness was what was meant by a romantic conception of oneself.

Nora could almost respect Georgina Weatherall. Georgina had been sick with self-importance, and if Nora had met her at a party, she would have fled from the airless closet such people always create around themselves. But Georgina Weatherall had worked heroically in the service of her illusions. In her, perhaps for the first time in his life, Lincoln Chancel had met his match.

Marian opened the door and said, 'Wonder of wonders, you could have a word with Agnes now, if you like.'92

'She really is sick, I know, but boredom makes her cranky, and when Agnes gets cranky she lays it on a little too thick. I can't promise you more than a couple of minutes.' Marian paused. 'A couple of minutes will probably be enough.'

An irritated voice came through the door. 'Are you talking about me?'

'Why don't you let us see her alone?' Nora said. 'I know you have work to do.'

'I shouldn't.' Marian looked up and down the hallway. 'You might need help getting away.'

'We'll manage.'

'Maybe just this once. Margaret doesn't…' She bit her lower lip.

Margaret doesn't want strangers left alone with Agnes? 'Margaret doesn't have to know.'

'All right. If I can get my work done, I'll be able to come up for that nightcap.' She knocked once and opened the door. 'Here they are, Agnes. I'll look in on you later.'

'Bring me some magazines. You know what I like.'

Marian moved back, and Nora and Dart stepped into the doorway.

The old woman lying in the bed was about as thick around as a kitchen match. The straight hair, dyed black, falling from a center part on either side of her shrunken face, looked like a doll's wig. Her eyes were bright, lively, and suspicious. She had inserted one twiglike finger into the book in her lap, as if she had to see who these people were before deciding how much time to give them.

Marian introduced them and left.

'Come in, close the door.'

They walked up to the bed.

'I'm surprised she left. You'd think I was a mad dog, the way they carry on.' She examined Dart. 'You're this fellow who's supposed to be a poet? Norman Desmond?'

'And you're the historical monument, Agnes Brotherhood.'

She gave him a close inspection. 'You don't look much like a poet.'

'What do I look like?'

'Like a lawyer who spends a lot of time in bars. Should I know your name?'

'I wouldn't go that far,' Dart said. He was enjoying himself.

'Don't pretend to be modest. You don't have a modest bone in your body.' Agnes turned her eyes on Nora. 'Does he?'

'Not a one,' Nora said.

'Marian wouldn't be wasting her time on you if you were a nobody. Have you published a lot of books?'

'Alas, no.'

'Who's your publisher?'

'Chancel House.'

Agnes Brotherhood waved a hand in front of her face as if to banish a bad smell. 'You'd leave them in a hurry if you'd ever had the misfortune of meeting the founder.'

'In a class by himself,' Dart said. 'Villainy personified.'

'You might as well stay awhile. Move those chairs up to the bed.' She nodded at two folding chairs against the wall and slipped a card into her book, the Modern Library edition of Thoreau.

Agnes noticed Nora's interest. 'I reread Walden once a year. Do you like Walden, Mr Desmond?'

Dart lifted his chin and recited,'" When I wrote the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor, in a house which I had built myself," so on and so forth. Does that answer your question?'

'Let's hear the rest of the sentence.'

'… "on the shore of Walden Pond, in Concord, Massachusetts, and made my living by the labor of my hands only."'

'Not quite the truth, I believe, but lovely all the same. Now what would you like me to talk about? The great hostess and her noble guests? What D. H. Lawrence ate for breakfast? That kind of thing?'

Dart glanced at Nora. 'You're not as reverent about the great hostess as Lily Melville, are you?'

'I knew her too well,' Agnes snapped. 'I had a job, and I did it. Lily had a cause, the adoration of Georgina Weatherall. I used to laugh at her sometimes, and she didn't like it one bit.'

'You used to laugh at Georgina?'

'At Lily. Nobody laughed at Georgina Weatherall. She had her qualities, but a sense of humor wasn't one of them. If you were going to make fun of Miss Weatherall, you had to do it behind her back, and a lot of them did, but that isn't something you're going to hear about these days. Were you on Lily's tour?'

Nora said they had been.

'Tour of the shrine, that's what you get with Lily. When the mistress got sick and she was let go, she went around being the Shorelands expert in front of all these groups.' She laughed. 'It's a lot more fun meeting people without Freckle Face listening in. She used to interrogate people from my groups to see if I'd said anything I shouldn't. Hah! As if I didn't know my job. I know more than they like, that's what bothers them. I know things they don't know.'

'Reason they keep you around,' Dart said.

Agnes frowned at him. 'I devoted my life to Shorelands. They know that much.' She nodded at a pitcher and a glass on the window ledge. 'Could you get me a glass of water? I keep asking them to get me a table on wheels, like in hospitals, but do I get one? Not yet, and it's been days.'

'Would you mind if I asked what's wrong with you?' Dart said. 'Do you have an illness?'

'My illness is called old age,' Agnes said. 'Plus a few other disorders.'

Dart peered into the pitcher. 'Empty.'

'Take it into the bathroom and fill it up, please?'

'Well——-' Dart drawled. 'Can I do that, honey? Dare I leave you alone? Hate to miss anything.'

'I'll fill you in,' Nora said.

Dart shook a warning finger at Nora and carried the pitcher from the room.

Agnes fixed Nora with bright, suspicious eyes. When Dart's footsteps had crossed the hall, Nora leaned toward her. 'Do you have a telephone?'

Agnes shook her head.

'Have you ever heard of a man named Dick Dart?'

Agnes shook her head again. Across the hall, water splashed noisily into a container.

'Can you get to a phone?'

'There's three or four in the director's office.'

'As soon as we leave, go to the office and call the police.' The water cut off. 'Say that Dick Dart is having dinner at Shorelands. Agnes, this is extremely important, it's life and death.' Footsteps left the bathroom. 'Please.'

Dart surged into the room, and water splashed out of the pitcher. 'Filled to overflowing. What have we been talking about, my dears?'

'My health,' Agnes said. 'Present and future.' She turned her puzzled, now decidedly alarmed, gaze to him.

'What are your health problems, sweetheart?' He poured several inches of water into her glass. 'Dehydration?' She reached for the glass and he pulled it back, laughed, and allowed her to take it. 'Little joke.'

'Arrhythmia. Sounds worse than it is.' She took two swallows and handed him the glass. 'Put it on the floor beside my bed. I'm going to be back on my feet in a couple of days. I can still lead a tour as well as Lily Melville.'

'Of course you can, lots better than that old fool,' Dart said. He sat down, crossed his legs, and patted Nora on the back. 'Did you miss me, my sweetie?'

'Horribly,' Nora said.

Agnes was staring at him as if she were trying to memorize his face. 'What are the names of your books, Mr Desmond?'

He looked, smiling, toward the ceiling. 'The first one was called Counting the Bodies. Surgical Notes was the name of the second.'

Her hands twitched. 'What are you especially interested in, Mrs Desmond? You don't want to waste time listening to me complain.'

'The summer of 1938.' Agnes held herself utterly still. 'I'm interested in whatever happened that summer, but especially in a poet named Katherine Mannheim.'

The old woman was staring at her with even more concentration than she had given Dart. Nora could not tell what she was thinking or feeling.

'I'm also interested in the renovation that happened the year after that.'

'Who are you? What do you want?' Her voice trembled.

'I'm just an interested party.'

'What is this about?' Agnes looked back and forth between Dart and Nora.

'History,' Dart said. 'Flashlight into the past. What Honey House is supposed to be.' He grinned. 'Fess up now, did it ever look like that antique shop we saw today?'

Agnes was silent for a time. 'I went in and out of the cottages every day of my life, and the only one that ever had what you could call a lot of stuff in it was Mr Lincoln Chancel's Rapunzel, and he put all of it in there himself. If our guesthouses had been like that, some of these noble individuals would have waltzed off with whatever they could stuff into their suitcases. The trust people, they don't care, as long as it looks pretty.'

She turned her gaze to Nora. 'By and large, this was a fine, decent place. I won't say otherwise. And the things I think, I'm not going to say to any policeman, that's for sure.'

'We mentioned policemen?' Dart asked.

'Not at all.' Nora tried to communicate silently with Agnes and saw only anxiety in her eyes.

'I don't understand what's going on,' Agnes wailed.

Nora leaned forward. 'All I want to talk to you about is that summer. That's all. Okay?' She saw a looming panic. 'Whatever you have to do afterwards is fine. You can do whatever you want.' She waited a beat, and Dart turned his entire body in her direction. 'Call down and talk to Margaret. Call anyone you like. Do you understand?'

The dark eyes seemed to lose some of their confusion. 'Yes. But I don't know what to say.'

Nora remembered her conversation with Helen Day. 'I know this is difficult for you. Let me tell you what I think. I think you don't want to be disloyal, but at the same time you've been keeping something secret. It isn't pretty, and people like Marian Cullinan and Margaret Nolan wouldn't want it to come out. But they don't even know about it, do they?'

'They're too new,' Agnes said, looking at her in mingled wonder and suspicion.

'Lily knows part of it, but not as much as you do, isn't that right?'

Agnes nodded.

'And here come two people you never saw before. I think part of you wants to get this thing off your chest, but you don't see why you should tell it to us. I'd feel the same way. But I'm interested in what happened that year, and almost no one else is. I'm not a cop or a reporter, and I'm not writing a book.'

Agnes glared at Dart.

'He doesn't care what happened to Katherine Mannheim,' Nora said.

To indicate his indifference to the disappearances of female poets, Dart faked a yawn.

'I might be the only person you'll ever meet interested enough in this to talk to people who knew Bill Tidy and Creeley Monk.'

'Those poor men,' Agnes said. 'Mr Tidy was a good, honest soul, and Mr Monk, I liked him, too, because he could make you laugh like anything. Didn't matter to me if he was a…'

'A wagtail?' Dart said. 'A prancer? A tiptoe boy?'

Agnes gave him a disdainful glance. 'There's a lot of ways to be a good person.' She returned to Nora. 'Those two didn't know anything. They were here, that's all. Even if they heard anything, they wouldn't have thought twice about it.'

Nora remembered something Everett Tidy had told her. 'On the night Katherine Mannheim disappeared, Bill Tidy thought he heard poachers.'

Agnes shook her head. 'Wasn't a poacher in a hundred miles who'd risk his hide at Shorelands, not in those days. Monty Chandler gave one a load of bird shot and caught another in a mantrap, let him starve for two days, and that was it for poachers.'

'So he heard something else.'

Agnes pulled her robe closer to her neck. 'Guess he did.'

Almost against her will, Nora pushed forward. 'I have some ideas. What if I tell you about them, and you tell me if I'm right?'

Agnes squinted at her and nodded once. 'I could do that.' She took in a great breath and pushed it out. 'After all this time…' She began again. 'That girl had a little sister. Kept her picture on her desk. The sister came here. Fine young lady. If she's still alive, she deserves to know the truth.' She gave a flickering, almost frightened glance at Nora.

Nora tried to look as if she knew what she was doing. 'I don't think Katherine Mannheim ran away from Shorelands. I think she died. Is that right?'

'Yes.' Agnes's upper lip began to tremble.

'I think Hugo Driver had something to do with her death. Am I right?'

'What do you mean?'

'Didn't she come into Gingerbread and find Driver looking through her papers? Wasn't there a struggle?'

'No! That's all wrong.' Agnes's chin began to tremble.

Nora's impersonation of confident authority began to evaporate. Her favorite theory had just been destroyed. 'She died that night. Her body had to be hidden.'

A tear slipped from Agnes's right eye.

'She's buried somewhere on the estate.'

Agnes nodded.

'And you know where.'

'No, I don't. I'm glad I don't.' She glanced at Nora. 'I have to do tours, you see. Couldn't go where they put her.'

'Hugo Driver and Lincoln Chancel.'

'Did everything together, those two.'

'That's why you still hate Lincoln Chancel.'

Agnes shook her head with surprising vehemence. 'I hated Mr Chancel from the beginning. That man thought he had a right to touch you. Thought he could do anything he wanted and then make it all right with money.'

'He offered you money?'

'I told him he was trying his dirty tricks with the wrong girl. He laughed at me, but he kept his hands to himself after that.'

As interesting as this digression was, Nora wanted to get back to the main subject. She tried another approach. 'Georgina knew that Katherine Mannheim hadn't just disappeared, didn't she? When she led everyone up to Gingerbread after dinner the next night, she already knew that the girl was dead.'

'I hate to say it, but she did.'

'She knew the door was unlocked even before she opened it.'

'I wasn't there,' Agnes said miserably. 'But Miss Weatherall knew.'

'How did you know her door was unlocked? Did you tend to Gingerbread?'

She nodded. 'When I went to do the cleaning that morning, the door was unlocked and she wasn't inside. I hoped she was probably out in the gardens. At noon I put her box lunch in front of her door, because that was what we did, and it was still there the next morning.'

'You didn't know that she was never going to come back.'

'How could I? The mistress told me she'd run away. 'Climbed the wall,' she said. Made me feel funny. Especially after… after what happened.'

A hint of understanding came to Nora. The reason that Georgina Weatherall had known her troublesome guest was gone before she opened the door to Gingerbread was directly in front of her, becoming more troubled with every second. 'Did you say something to her, Agnes? Did you see something that disturbed you and tell Georgina about it?'

'I wish I never had.' She held herself stiffly for a moment, and then another bolt of emotion went through her, and she began to cry.

Perfectly at ease. Dart twisted his mouth into a smile.

Nora tried to work out what Agnes had seen and remembered that Creeley Monk had seen Driver and Lincoln Chancel on the grounds late that night. 'Tell me if I'm right. Did you take walks at night?' Agnes glanced fearfully at her, then nodded. 'The night Katherine Mannheim died, you took one of your walks. You went up the path toward Gingerbread.' Agnes lifted her head and gave her another frightened glance. 'Were they carrying her body? Is that what you saw?'

'No! No!' She covered her eyes with her hands. 'Then I would have known right away, don't you see? I saw… you have to tell me.'

'You saw them.'

Agnes shook her head.

'You saw Hugo Driver.'

Agnes looked at her in furious disappointment. 'No!'

'Lincoln Chancel,' Nora said. A great deal of what was as yet unspoken fell into place. 'You saw Lincoln Chancel leaving Gingerbread. My God, Lincoln Chancel killed her.'

Dick Dart took his hands from behind his head and leaned forward, malicious delight alive in his face.

Nora said, 'He was going back to Rapunzel to get Driver. I'm right, aren't I, Agnes? You saw him going through the woods, but you didn't know why.'

Agnes forced herself to take a deep breath. 'He was running. I couldn't tell what the noise was. I thought it was some animal. I was by the big boulder up on the path. We used to have bears in our woods back then, and sometimes we still do. I hid behind the boulder, and the noise got closer and closer. Then I heard a man swearing. I knew it was Mr Chancel. I peeked out. Here he comes out of the path, racing like a crazy man up toward Rapunzel. He went over the bridge, bang! bang! bang! I was so afraid. I wished it was a bear! I should have…' She drew up her knees and buried her face in the covers.

Nora moved onto the bed and embraced her.

'Female bonding,' Dart said.

'You thought you should have gone to the cottage,' Nora said. Agnes sighed in her arms. 'But you were afraid. You were right to be afraid. They might have caught you.'

'I know.' Agnes leaned into Nora's; chest and took another deep breath. 'I started back to Main House, and then I decided I had to look in on Miss Mannheim after all, but I heard Mr Chancel and Mr Driver coming down from Rapunzel, so I stayed behind the boulder. They came over the bridge, clump clump clump, and went up the Gingerbread path.'

She pulled away from Nora and patted her face with the bedcovers. 'You can sit down again.'

'Are you sure?' Agnes shrank from another attempt at an embrace, and as Nora got off the bed, she collapsed onto her pillow. 'I went flying back to Main House. I got upstairs, and the mistress was standing in the hallway. What's going on, Agnes, she says, why are you running around in the middle of the night, I demand an explanation. I told her. She says, Agnes Brotherhood, you leave this to me. She slapped on her big red hat and out she went. The mistress loved that big red hat, but it was the silliest thing you ever saw.' Agnes glowered at the ceiling.

'You waited for her to come back,' Nora said.

'Waited and waited. After a long time she looks around my door and says, Agnes, Miss Mannheim is one of those women who require male companionship when their spirits are low. Mr Chancel chose to protect himself from scandal. Put the entire matter out of your mind, she says.'

'And you tried to do that.'

Agnes gave an unhappy nod. 'I asked if Miss Mannheim was all right, and she said to me. Women like that are always all right.' Dart grunted in approval. Agnes scowled at him. 'I'm not saying there aren't women like that, but Miss Mannheim was a fine person.'

'The next day you must have thought that she'd run away.'

'I thought she left. There's a big difference between running away and leaving. Miss Mannheim wouldn't have run away from anything.'

Agnes tugged her robe around her and looked at Nora with frustrated defiance. She had told her story, but at the center of the story was a vacuum.

A knock at the door cut off whatever she might have said next. Marian Cullinan peeked in. 'We must be having a wonderful time, you've been in here so long.'

'High point of the tour,' Dart said. 'Fantastic tales of the good old days.'

'Wonderful.' She approached the bed.

Nora looked at Agnes to see if she remembered what she had been asked to do, and the old woman dipped her head a fraction of an inch.

Marian stepped between them. 'Agnes, you know the rules. I bet your blood pressure is through the roof.'

'I want to say something to Mrs Desmond, Marian.'

'One little teeny-tiny thing, and then I have to take these nice people away.'

Agnes reached for Nora's hand. 'You have to hear the rest.'

Marian laughed. 'You want to tell these people your life story, Agnes? Mrs Desmond will stop in again, I'm sure.'

'Tonight,' Agnes said, clutching Nora's hand.

Marian displayed a trace of impatience. 'That won't be possible, Agnes. We have to protect your health.'

Agnes dropped Nora's hand. 'You're not my doctor.'

'Well, on that note.' Marian smiled at Nora. 'Shall we?'

She bustled them out with a complicitous glance at Dart and a pained smile for Nora. 'I hope that wasn't too awful.'

'You kidding?' Dart said. 'That was better than Psycho.'

Shaking her head, she took them toward the staircase, 'I don't know how we're going to tell her that she can't lead any more tours. I mean, look at her, would you want to follow Agnes around the estate?'

A door clicked open behind them.

'Now what?' Marian said.

Clutching her bathrobe about her, Agnes hobbled out of her bedroom.

Marian put her hands on her hips. 'I see it, but I don't believe it.'

'Last roundup,' Dart said.

Marian hurried up to the old woman and whispered to her. Agnes tottered forward another step. Roughly, Marian turned her around and marched her back to her room. Agnes shot Nora a look of bleak humiliation. A few seconds later, Marian came out and locked the door.

'Honestly. I've had my difficulties with Agnes, but I never had to lock her in her room before. She said she had to go to the office, can you imagine?'

'It can't really be necessary to lock her up,' Nora said. 'What if she has to go to the bathroom?'

'She can hold it until she gets her dinner. Margaret's already in a fine old state, thanks to Norman and his jackboots. By the time dinner is over, I'm going to need that nightcap.' Marian took them to the staircase. 'I'm not sure what to suggest. Ordinarily you'd want to go back to Pepper Pot or walk around Lenox, but it looks like we're building up to a rainstorm, and when that happens our paths turn into mudslides. Let's go down and see what it's doing outside.'

A gust of wind slammed against the building. Somewhere beneath them, windows rattled in their frames. 'As we speak,' Marian said. Rain struck the front of the house like buckshot, fell away for a second, and then came back in a stronger, continuous wave.

The lights had been turned on in the lounge. The windows showed a dark sky sheeting down rain onto a sodden lawn. 'At least the last tour ended before we had a lot of would-be lawyers demanding their money back.' In the distance, trees bent before the wind. 'It's a wild one.' She turned to Dart. 'What do you want to do? We have umbrellas, but they wouldn't last a second out there. You could make a run for Pepper Pot if it dies down, but you'd be covered with mud by the time you got there.'

'Screw that,' Dart said. 'I hate getting wet. Mud drives me up the wall.'

Beyond the splashing lawn, the trees threw up their arms. 'It looks like you're stuck here until the end of dinner. We might be able to scrounge some boots for you, Norma, but Norman, what do we do about you?' Marian rubbed her forehead. 'I'll get Tony to bring up a slicker and a pair of boots after dinner. Norma can use a raincoat of mine. And don't worry if the lights go out. We have lots of candles. Besides, our power company may be run by a bunch of hicks, but they always get the lights back on about an hour after the storms end. I promised you a special dinner, and that's what you're going to get.'

'Goody.'

'What would you like to do? I have to get some more work done in my office, and then I have to help in the kitchen, so you'll be more or less on your own.'

'I'd like to talk to Agnes some more,' Nora said.

'We'll have to save that for another day.' Three short dashes bracketed by outturned parentheses appeared in the middle of Marian's forehead, then melted away. 'Weren't you interested in Georgina's papers?'

'I'd love to see them.' The records were bound to be in the office on the second floor, and Dart had to go to the bathroom sometime.

'Can a thirsty man get a drink around here?' Dart asked.

'Absolutely,' Marian said. 'Come with me and I'll set you both up.'

Tossing back her hair, she took them into the main corridor, went down the marble steps, and looked back up at Nora. 'Don't you want to see the records?'

'Aren't they upstairs?' Nora asked.

'They were, but after a couple of writers invaded Margaret's office, we moved everything into the little room my secretary used to have, when I had a secretary.'

Marian led them to a windowless cubicle fitted with a desk, a schoolroom chair, and metal shelves half-filled with bound ledgers, files of correspondence, and boxes marked PHOTOGRAPHS. 'Norman, I'll be right back with your drink. Vodka, is that right? On the rocks?

'Drink to build a dream on.'

If there had ever been a telephone in the cubicle, it had vanished along with Marian's secretary.93

Ten minutes later. Dart repeated the first thing he had said after Marian had left them. He was leaning back in the chair with his feet up on a shelf, stirring the ice cubes in what was left of his drink with a finger. 'That story was even worse than Jane Austen's garbage.'

Nora closed one ledger and took another from the pile in front of her. Throughout the twenties and early thirties Georgina had spent a great deal of money on champagne acquired through a bootlegger named Selden, who after the repeal of the Volstead Act in 1933 had apparently opened a liquor store. Models of order in one regard, the ledgers were chaotic in most others. In a hand which degenerated over the years from a Gothic upright to a barbed-wire scribble, Georgina had recorded every dollar which had entered and left Shorelands, but she'd made no distinctions between personal expenses and those of the estate. A five-dollar outlay for a new fountain pen appeared beneath one for three hundred dollars' worth of Dutch tulip bulbs. Nor had she been rigid as to dates.

'Maybe Agnes saw Chancel running down the path. Maybe she made the whole thing up one night after nipping too much amontillado, but we'll never know. You know why? Shorelands is the Roach Motel for reality. The truth goes in, but it never comes out, and the reason for that is Georgina. Do you think Georgina Weatherall was ever capable, even way back in the days before she swapped sherry for liquid morphine, of giving you an accurate account of what took place on any given day?'

'Judging by the state of her records, not really.'

'Those novelists must have felt right at home. This whole place is fiction.' He laughed out loud, delighted by his own cleverness. 'Even the name is a lie. It's called Shorelands, but it isn't on any shore. Old George thought she was beautiful and grand and universally adored, but the truth is, she was a horse-faced joke in circus clothes who got people to show up by giving them free room and board. Having famous writers suck up to her made her feel important. She couldn't stand reality, so she went around pretending the run-down shacks her servants used to live in were "cottages". She handed out these fancy names. I dub thee Gingerbread, I dub thee Rapunzel, and while I'm at it, I think I'll dub that mangy swamp up there the Mist Field. What does that tell you? Pretty soon a little girl with an apron is going to show up trotting after a rabbit on its way to a tea party.'

'I think I'm the little girl,' Nora said.

'There you are. Why should Agnes be any different? She spent her whole life in this illusion factory. She has no idea what really happened to that girl.'

'I think she does,' Nora said, 'and something you said a little while ago gave me an idea.'

Dart looked pleased with himself again. 'I don't believe it for a second, but how did she find out?'

'Georgina told her what happened to Katherine.'

'That makes a lot of sense. The great lady tells a servant that she helped conceal a murder? If it was a murder, which I also doubt.'

'You heard Agnes.'

'Agnes is stuck in bed while her archrival, Lily Melville, is bouncing around handing out lies to tourists. She's alone up in that room with Henry David Thoreau, and she thinks he's a liar, too.'

'They do need a little more reality around here,' Nora said.

'About eleven or twelve tonight, they'll get more than they can handle. In the meantime, find anything in those books?'

'Not yet.' She took another ledger from the pile. The entries began in June of an unspecified year with the receipt of a five-hundred-dollar check from G. W., presumably Georgina's father, and the expenditure of $45.80 for gardening supplies. The next entry was 18 June, $75 -, Selden Liq., Veuve Clicquot, so the ledger had been filled sometime after 1933. The handwriting had only just begun its deterioration.

'What a diligent little person you are, Nora-pie.' He lounged over to the shelves and pulled down a box marked PHOTOGRAPHS. Nora flipped pages of the ledger, and Dart began sifting through the box. She worked her way through another three or four pages without finding mention of any sum larger than a few thousand dollars. 'Agnes wasn't bad-looking way back then,' Dart said. 'No wonder Chancel groped her.'

He handed her a small black-and-white photograph, and she looked at the pleasant face of the young Agnes Brotherhood, whose prominent breasts plumped out the front of her black uniform. Undoubtedly the maid had been forced to swat away any number of male paws. She passed the photograph back to Dart, and the instant he took it from her, she knew how Katherine Mannheim had died. She had known all along without knowing: her own life gave her the answer.

Shaken, she turned a few pages at random, scarcely taking in the cryptic entries. A case of gin and two bottles of vermouth from the liquor store owned by Georgina's former bootlegger. Meds., $23.95. Disc, $55.65. Whl.Mt., $2.00. Mann & Ware, phtgrs., $65.

'Hold on,' Nora said. 'Did professional photographers take any of those pictures?'

'Sure. The big group photos.'

Dart rooted through the box and handed her an eight-by-twelve photograph of the usual group of men in suits and neckties surrounding a regal Georgina. Stamped on the back was the legend 'Patrick Mann & Lyman Ware, Fine Portraiture, Mann-Ware Studios, 26 Main St. Lenox, Massachusetts.'

Patrick Mann, Paddy Mann, Paddi Mann.

Lyman Ware, Madame Lyno-Wyno Ware, Lena Ware.

Shorelands, Night Journey, Davey Chancel.

Two photographers who took the group portrait every year, two fictional characters, a troubled Driver fanatic who had pursued Davey.

'A little bee is buzzing around up there.'

She handed the photograph back to him. A girl named Patricia Mann, Patty Mann, had immersed herself in the Driver world and become first Lena Ware, then Paddi Mann. Part of her entry into the world of lunatic Driver fans had been the coincidence of her name resembling that of a Lenox photographer.

Then it came home to Nora that Paddi Mann had been Katherine Mannheim's niece: family rumor had pushed her even deeper into the Driver world. She had been convinced that her father's unconventional sister had written her sacred book and had twice tried to rescue her aunt from oblivion. She had even dressed like Katherine Mannheim.

Nora riffled the pages of the ledger, and a name and a number seemed to leap up toward her. Rec'vd L. Chancel: $50,000. 'Lincoln Chancel gave her fifty thousand dollars.'

Dart ambled over to look at the entry. 'Isn't even a date there. It sure as hell doesn't prove she blackmailed him. Nobody could blackmail that old bastard.'

Nora turned another few pages. 'Here are the renovations. Look, five hundred dollars to a roofer, two hundred to a painter. About a week later, the same painter gets another two hundred. Fifteen hundred to a building contractor. Six hundred to B. Smithson, electrician. The painter again. Then down here at the bottom of the page, the contractor is getting another thousand. It goes on and on.'

'The old scorpion guzzled a lot of the widow, didn't she?'

'The widow?'

'The widow Clicquot, you ignoramus. All right, he gave her a lot of money, and she used it to spruce up the place. Chancel was greedy, but he sure as hell wasn't a miser. Made a lot of money and threw half of it away. "Georgina, you old ratbag, here's fifty thou, whip those hovels into shape, and get yourself a couple cases of the widow while you're at it." That's what happened.'

'Lincoln Chancel voluntarily gave fifty thousand dollars to a woman he probably despised? At a time when fifty thousand was about three or four hundred thousand in today's money?'

'The man was hardly petty. Besides, he had two other reasons for being generous to Georgina. He wanted to enlist her in his movement, and he met Driver because of her. I bet he had some idea of how much he was going to make out of Night Journey. Fifty thousand was chump change.'

Nora smiled at him. 'You don't want to think that your hero could have been blackmailed.'

'The man was a hero,' Dart said. 'The more you learn about the guy, the better he gets. Anyone tried to blackmail him, he'd start up the chain saw. Trust me.'

Dart adored monsters because he was one himself, but about this he was right: it would not have been easy to extort money out of Lincoln Chancel. Someone knocked at the door.

'Refill,' Dart said. 'Love that woman.'

Marian Cullinan peeped inside. 'Sorry to interrupt, Norma, but you have a phone call. A Mr Deodato?' Dart looked lazily down at her. 'I'll wait in here until you're done,' Marian said.94

Dart closed Marian's door and whispered, 'Be a smart girl, now.' Smiling, he waved her to the telephone. When Nora picked up the receiver, he came up beside her and pressed his head next to hers.

Nora said, 'Jeffrey? It's nice of you to call.'

'That's one way to put it,' Jeffrey said. 'I called before, but some woman told me you were on a tour. Why didn't you phone me?'

'There are hardly any telephones in this place, and I've been pretty busy. I'm sorry you were worried, Jeffrey.'

'What did you think I'd be? Anyhow, I made it most of the way there before the rain stopped me. How did you manage to get to Shorelands?'

'It's not important. Once I saw all those policemen at the hotel, I went out by a side door and ran into a friend who gave me a ride. I'm sorry I couldn't get in touch with you. Where are you now?'

'A gas station outside Lenox. It looks like I'll have to stay here a couple of hours. Look, Nora, I have some important things to tell you.'

'You must have walked into all those cops.'

'Did I ever. I spent most of the day at the police station. I was sure I was going to be arrested, but they finally let me go.'

'I saw Davey just before I left. Did he meet your mother?'

'That's one of the things I want to tell you. He came to her house with a couple of FBI agents. It was quite a scene. Davey broke down and cried. Even my mother was touched. From what she told me, all hell broke loose in Westerholm this morning. Davey went to his father with what you told him last night, and Alden threw him out of the Poplars. Davey's falling apart. He wants you back. I didn't know how you'd feel about that, so instead of calling him after I talked to my mother, I wanted to get in touch with you. I'd prefer to be doing it in person, but from here on the road is under water.'

'Instead of calling him? Why would you call Davey?'

'To tell him you might have gone to Shorelands. Or, what I was afraid of, that Dick Dart had managed to get ahold of you again.'

'I don't understand.'

'That's because you don't know the rest of my news. After I get to Shorelands, you'll probably want to come back to Northampton with me. Or I could drive you back to Connecticut, if that's what you want to do.'

Dart pulled the knife from his belt sheath and held it in front of her face.

'Jeffrey, slow down. I have to stay here tonight, and I don't want you to come until tomorrow. I'm sorry, but that's how it is. How could I go back to Connecticut, anyhow?'

'Well, it's kind of strange, but everything's cleared up,' he said. 'You're not wanted anymore.'

Dart's eyes flicked toward her.

'What happened? How do you know, anyhow?'

'My mother. Nobody really understands this yet, but one of the FBI men said that Natalie Weil has completely recanted. She told the police that you didn't kidnap her after all.'

'I'm in the clear?'

'As far as I know. The whole thing seems very confused, but I guess Natalie did say that she was wrong or mistaken or something, and she's sorry she ever involved you.'

Dart's gaze had become flat and suspicious. Nora said, 'I don't understand that.'

'I get the impression that Natalie has everybody a bit baffled, but it's certainly good news as far as you're concerned. The only thing the police want to talk to you about now is Dick Dart. He got out of Northampton by stealing an antique Duesenberg, if you can believe that.'

'Did he really?' Nora asked.

'Why don't I pick you up as soon as I can and take you wherever you want to go?'

'I know it's a tremendous inconvenience, but I want to stay here and wrap up the work I'm doing.'

'You want me to wait at this gas station until the rain stops and then drive back to Northampton?' He seemed almost dumbfounded.

'I wish there were a way to do this that would be easier on you.'

'So do I. Can you call me tomorrow? After about eight in the morning, I'll probably be at my mother's house.' His voice was flat.

'I'll call you.'

'You want me to call Davey and tell him you're okay?'

'Please, no.'

'You must be on to something pretty interesting, to want to stay there.'

'I know you deserve better than this, Jeffrey. You're a good friend.'

'Have I earned the right to give you some advice?'

'More than that.'

'Leave him. He'll never be anything but what he is right now, and that isn't good enough for someone like you.'

'So long, Jeffrey.'

Dart set down the telephone. 'I think you broke his heart. Jeffrey wanted to spend the night with my own Nora-pie. But let's consider a more crucial matter. Little Natalie has recanted. You never kidnapped the whore after all.' He waved his hands in circles at the sides of his head. 'The curse of Shorelands strikes again; we're wading through lies.' Dart put the point of the knife under her chin and brushed it against her skin. 'Help me out here.'

'I can't explain it.' Nora raised her chin, and Dart jabbed her lightly, indenting her skin without breaking it. 'You heard him. Nobody understands what Natalie's doing.'

'Give it your best shot.'

'Natalie's been medicated for days. I don't think she can even remember what happened. And she takes drugs. Davey told me the cops found a bag of cocaine somewhere in her house.'

'Adventurous Natalie.'

'Maybe she can't remember what I did. Maybe she has some other reason for lying. I don't know, and I don't care. I was going to kill her.'

He stroked her cheek. 'These threats of unexpected visitors make me uncomfortable. Let me tell you what I want to do tonight. Everything is going to work out fine. Daddy has a new plan.'95

At a little past six, Marian returned to say that dinner would be ready in a few minutes. She had applied a pale pink lipstick and a faint eyeliner and put on a necklace of thin gold links which drooped over her clavicles like a pet snake. 'I hope you're hungry again,' she said to Dart, who was bored and grumpy because he had not been offered a second drink.

'I'm always hungry. I tend to be on the thirsty side, too.'

'Could that be a hint? Margaret opened a bottle of wine, and I think you'll enjoy her selection.'

'Only one?' Dart held out his glass. 'Why don't you do your best to guarantee high spirits by arranging at least one more bottte to go with our feast?'

Her smile slightly strained, Marian took the glass and stepped behind Nora. 'Find anything useful?'

Nora had seen two more entries of payments from Lincoln Chancel, one for thirty thousand dollars, the other for twenty thousand. Each had been followed by outlays to dressmakers, milliners, fabric shops, and the ubiquitous Selden. After spending most of the first fifty thousand on the estate, Georgina had devoted the second to herself.

'I'm getting there,' she said.

'You could come back here after dinner, if you like.'

This suggestion dovetailed with Dart's new plans for the night, and Nora forced herself to say, 'Thank you, I might want to do that.'

'I'd better tend to your thirsty husband or he won't be in a good mood.'

'Damn right,' Dart said. 'Speaking of moods, how's Lady Margaret's? Has she bounced back?'

'Margaret doesn't bounce,' Marian said. 'But I'd say there's still hope for a civilized evening.'

'Boring. Let's get down and dirty.'

'I'd better hurry up with that drink.'

The chandelier had not been turned on, and all the light in the room came from sconces on the walls and candles in tall silver holders. Five places had been set with ornate blue-and-gold china. Reflected candle flames shone in the silver covers of the chafing dishes and the dark windows. Invisible rain hissed onto the lawn. Margaret Nolan and Lily Melville turned to Dart and Nora, one with an expression of neutral welcome, the other with an expectant smile. Lily danced up with her hands folded before her.

'Isn't this storm terrible? Aren't you happy this didn't happen when we were on our tour?'

'Rain was invented by the devil's minions.'

'Big storms always scare me, especially the ones with thunder and lightning. I'm always sure something awful is going to happen.'

'Nothing awful is going to happen tonight.' Margaret came toward them. 'Except for the usual power failure, and we're well equipped to deal with that. We're going to have a lovely evening, aren't we, Mr Desmond?'

'Are we ever.'

She turned to Nora. 'Marian says that you've been roaming through our old ledgers in aid of a project related to Hugo Driver. I hope you'll share your thoughts with us.'

Margaret was willing to overlook Dart's provocations for the sake of the business to be brought in by Hugo Driver conferences. Nora wondered what she could say to her about the importance of Shorelands to Driver's novel.

'What became of Marian? We expected her to come in with you.'

'Arranging a libation,' Dart said.

Margaret raised her eyebrows. 'We have a good Chateau-neuf for the first course, and something I think is rather special, a 1970 Chateau Talbot, for the second. What did you ask Marian to bring you?'

'A double,' Dart said. 'To make up for the one she forgot.'

'You are a poet of the old school, Mr Desmond. Mrs Desmond? A glass of this nice white?'

'Mineral water, please,' said Nora.

She went to the bottles as Marian hurried in with the refilled glass. 'Margaret, I hope you won't mind,' she said, handing off the drink, 'but Norman felt that one bottle of the Talbot might not be enough, so I looked around and opened a bottle of Beaujolais. It's down on the kitchen counter.'

Margaret Nolan considered this statement, which included the unspoken information that the second bottle was perhaps a tenth the price of the first, and cast a measuring glance at Dart. He put on an expression of seraphic innocence and swallowed half his vodka. 'Very intelligent, Marian. Whatever our guest does not drink, we can save for vinegar. Please, help yourself.'

Marian poured herself a glass of white wine. 'I called Tony and asked him to bring up rain clothes for Norman and leave them inside the front door. The telephone lines might go down, and the poor man has to get back to Pepper Pot. I can loan Norma some things of my own.'

'Another intelligent decision,' said Margaret Nolan. 'Since you are on a first-name basis with our guests, all of us should be. Is that agreeable?'

'Completely, Maggie.' Dart raised his glass to his mouth and gulped the rest of the vodka.

With elaborate ceremoniousness, Margaret indicated their seats: Norman to the right of the head of the table, Nora across from him, Marian next to Norman, Lily beside Nora. 'Please go the sideboard and help yourselves to the first course. Once we are seated, I will describe our meal, as well as some aspects of this wonderful room not covered during the normal tours. Lily, will you start us off?'

Lily skipped to the sideboard, where she lifted the cover from an oval platter next to a basket of baguettes. On either side of a mound of pale cheese strips lay broiled peppers, sliced and peeled, red to the left, green to the right, flanked with black olives and topped with anchovies. Quarters of hard-boiled eggs had been arranged at either end of the platter. An odor of garlic and oil rose from the peppers. Lily took a salad plate from the stack next to the platter and held it up before Dart. 'This is Georgina's own china. Wedgwood.'

'"Florentine,"' Dart said. 'One of my personal faves.'

'Norman, you know everything!'

'Even beasts can learn,' Dart said.

Lily gave herself minute portions of both kinds of peppers, a few olives, and a single section of hard-boiled egg. Dart took half the red peppers, none of the green, most of the olives, half of the eggs and cheese, and all but three of the anchovy slices. Atop it all he placed a six-inch section ripped from the French bread. The others followed, choosing from what was left.

Dart sat down, winked at Lily, and filled his wineglass with white wine from the bucket.

Margaret took her seat and gave his plate a lengthy examination. 'This is what Miss Weatherall called her 'Mediterranean Platter.' Monty Chandler grew the peppers, along with a great many other things, in a separate garden north of Main House.'

While she spoke, Dart had been shoveling peppers into his mouth, demolishing the hard-boiled eggs, loading strips of cheese onto chunks of bread and chomping them down. As she finished, he bit into the bread and tilted in wine to moisten it all. His lips smacked. 'Weird cheese.'

'Syrian.' Margaret gravely watched him eat. 'We get it from a gourmet market, but Miss Weatherall ordered it from an importer in New York. Nothing was too good for her guests.'

Dart waggled the bottle at her. 'Yes, please.' He gave her half a glass and then filled Marian's.

A blast of wind like a giant's hand struck the house. Lily crushed her napkin in her hands. 'Lily, you've lived through thousands of our storms,' Margaret said. 'It can't be as bad as it sounds, anyhow, because the power's still on,.'

At that moment the wall sconces died. The reflections of the candle flames wavered in the black windows, and again the wind battered the windows.

'Spoke too soon,' Margaret said. 'No matter. Lily, stop quivering. You know the lights will come on soon.'

'I know.' Lily thrust her hands between her thighs and stared at her lap.

'Eat.'

Lily managed to get an olive to her mouth.

'Marian, perhaps you'd better take a candle up to Agnes. She has eaten, hasn't she?'

'If you can call it eating,' Marian said. 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it. And I'll bring back more candles, so we can see our plates.'

'And will you check the phones?' She turned to Dart. 'One of the few drawbacks of living in a place like this is that when the lights go out, fifty percent of the time the phones do, too. They're too miserly to put in underground phone lines.'

'Curse of democracy,' Dart said. 'All the wrong people are in charge.'

Margaret gave him a look of glittering indulgence. 'That's right, you share Georgina Weatherall's taste for strong leaders, don't you?'

Lily looked up, for the moment distracted from her terror. 'I've been thinking about that. It's true, the mistress did say that powerful nations should be led by powerful men. That's why she liked Mr Chancel. He was a powerful man, she said, and someone like that should be running the country.'

Dart beamed at her. 'Good girl, Lily, you've rejoined the living. I agree with the mistress completely. Lincoln Chancel would have made a splendid president. We need a man who knows how to seize the reins. I could do a pretty good job myself, I venture to say.'

'Is that right,' Margaret said.

Dart took the last of the white wine. 'Death penalty for anyone stupid enough to be caught committing a crime. Right there, give the gene pool a shot in the arm. Public executions, televised in front of a live audience. Televise trials, don't we? Let's show 'em what happens after the trial is over. Abolish income tax so that people with ability stop carrying the rabble on their backs. Put schools on a commercial basis. Instead of grades, give cash rewards funded by the corporate owners. So on and so forth. Now that the salad part of the meal has been taken care of, why don't we dig into whatever's under those lids?'

Margaret said, 'It occurs to me that a playful conversation like this, with wild flights of fancy, must be similar to those held here during Miss Weatherall's life. Would you agree, Lily?'

'Oh, yes,' Lily said. 'To hear some of those people talk, you'd think they'd gone right out of their heads.'

'One of the paintings in this room was actually here in those days. Along with the portrait of Miss Weatherall's father on the staircase, it's all that survives from her art collection. Can you tell which one it is?'

'That one.' Nora pointed to a portrait of a woman whose familiar face looked out from beneath a red hat the size and shape of a prize-winning pumpkin.

'Correct. Miss Weaiherall, of course. I believe that portrait brings out all of her strength of character.' Marian came back into the room with a candlestick in each hand and two others clamped to her sides.

'I think you might remove the hors d'oeuvres plates, Marian, and give me the others so that I can serve up the main course. How is poor Agnes?'

'Overexcited, but I couldn't say why.' Marian began collecting the plates. 'The phones are out. I suppose they'll be working again by morning.'

'I'd love to see Agnes once more,' Nora said.

Margaret lifted a silver cover off what appeared to be a large, round loaf of bread. Flecks of green dotted the crust. 'Norma, I'm sure that Lily and I can be at least as helpful as Agnes Brotherhood. What is this project of yours? A book?'

'Someday, maybe. I'm interested in a certain period of Shorelands life.'

Margaret cut into the crust. With two deft motions of the knife, she ladled a small section of the dish onto the topmost plate. Thin brown slices of meat encased in a rich gravy slid out from beneath the thick crust. To this she added glistening snow peas from the other serving dish. 'There are buttermilk biscuits in the basket. Norma, would you please pass this to Lily?'

Dart watched the mixture ooze from beneath crust. 'What is that stuff?'

'Leek and rabbit pie, and snow peas tossed in butter. The rabbit is in a beurre manie sauce, and I'm pretty sure I got all the bay leaves out.'

'We're eating a rabbit?'

'A good big one, too. We were lucky to find it.' She filled another plate. 'In the old days, Monty Chandler caught three or four rabbits a month, isn't that what you said, Lily?'

'That's right.' Lily leaned over and inhaled the aroma.

'Marian, would you bring us the Talbot?' She arranged the remaining plates, and Marian poured four glasses of wine.

As soon as she sat down. Dart dug into his pie and chewed suspiciously for a moment. 'Pretty tasty for vermin.'

Margaret turned to Nora. 'Norma, I gather that the research you speak of concentrates on Hugo Driver.'

Nora wished that she were able to enjoy one of the better meals of her life. 'Yes, but I'm also interested in the other people who were here that summer. Merrick Favor, Creeley Monk, Bill Tidy, and Katherine Mannheim.'

Lily Melville frowned at her plate.

'Rather an obscure bunch. Lily, do you remember any of them?'

'Do I ever,' Lily said. 'Mr Monk was an awful man. Mr H Favor was handsome as a movie star. Mr Tidy felt like a fish out of water and kept to himself. He didn't like the mistress, but at least he pretended he did. Unlike her. She couldn't be bothered, sashaying all around the place.' She glared at Nora. 'Fooled the mistress and fooled Agnes, but she didn't fool me. Whatever happened to that one, it was better than she deserved.'

The hatred in her voice, loyally preserved for decades, was Georgina's. This too was the real Shorelands.

Margaret had also heard it, but she had no knowledge of its background. 'Lily, I've never heard you speak that way about anyone before. What did this person do?'

'Insulted the mistress. Then she ran off, and she stole something, too.'

A partial recognition shone in Margaret's face. 'Oh, this was the guest who staged a mysterious disappearance. Didn't she steal a Rembrandt drawing?'

'Redon,' Nora said.

'Made you sick to look at. It was a woman with a bird's head, all dark and dirty. It showed her private bits. Reminded me of her, and that's the truth.'

'Norma, perhaps we should forget this unfortunate person and concentrate on our Driver business. According to Marian, you feel that Shorelands may have inspired Night Journey. Could you help me to understand how?'

Nora was grateful that she had just taken a mouthful of the rabbit pie, for it gave her a moment's grace. She would have to invent something. Lord Night was a caricature of Monty Chandler? Gingerbread was the model for the Cup Bearer's hovel?

A gust of wind howled past the windows.

Sometime earlier, following Lily on the tour, she had sensed… had half-sensed… had been reminded of…

'We should visit the Song Pillars,' Marian said. 'Can you imagine how they sound now?'

Lily shuddered.

A door opened in Nora's mind, and she understood exactly what Paddi Mann had meant. 'The Song Pillars are a good example of the way Driver used Shorelands,' she said.

Dart put down his fork and grinned.

'He borrowed certain locations on the estate for his book. The reason more people haven't noticed is that most Driver fanatics live in a very insular world. On the other side, Driver has never attracted much academic attention, and the people who know Shorelands best, like yourselves, don't spend a lot of time thinking about him.'

'I never think about him,' Margaret said, 'but I think I am about to make up for the lapse. What is it you say we haven't noticed?'

'The names,' Nora said. 'Marian just mentioned the Song Pillars. Driver put them into Night Journey and called them the Stones of Toon. Toon, song? He changed the Mist Field into the Field of Steam. Mountain Glade is-'

Margaret was staring at her. 'Mountain Glade, Monty's Glen. My Lord. It's true. Why, this is wonderful. Think of all the people devoted to that book. Norman, help yourself to more of that wine. Your wife has earned it for you. Marian, get the bottle of Beaujolais you opened before dinner, and bring it up with the champagne in the refrigerator. We were going to have a Georgina Weatherall celebration, and by God, we shall.'

Marian stood up. 'You see what I mean about the Driver conference?'

'I see more than that. I see a Driver week. I see Hugo Driver T-shirts flying out of the gift shop. What cottage did that noble man stay in when he was here?'

'Rapunzel.'

Lily mumbled something Nora could not catch.

'Give me three weeks, and I can turn Rapunzel into a shrine to Hugo Driver. We'll make Rapunzel the Driver center of the universe.'

'He wasn't noble,' Lily muttered.

'He is now. Lily, this is a great opportunity. Here you are, one of the few people living actually to have known the great Hugo Driver. Every single thing you can remember about him is worth its weight in gold. Was he untidy? We can drop some socks and balled-up typing paper around the room. Did he drink too much? We put a bottle of bourbon on the desk.' Lily took a sullen gulp of wine. 'Come on, tell me. What was wrong with him?'

'Everything.'

'That can't be true.'

'You weren't here.' She looked at Margaret with a touch of defiance. 'He was sneaky. He was nasty to the staff, and he stole things.'

Marian appeared, laden with bottles and a second ice bucket. 'Who stole things?'

'We may have to rehabilitate Mr Driver a bit more than our usual luminaries,' Margaret said.

'You knew he was a thief,' Nora said.

'Of course I knew. Stole silver from this room. Stole a marble ashtray from the lounge. Stole two pillowcases and a pair of sheets from Rapunzel. Books from the library. Stole from the other guests, too. Mr Favor lost a brand-new fountain pen. The man was a plague, that's what he was.'

The cork came out of the Veuve Clicquot with a soft, satisfying pop. 'Maybe we should rethink our position on Mr Driver,' Marian said.

'Are you serious? We're going to polish this fellow up until he shines like gold, and if you're not willing to try, Lily, we'll let Agnes do it.'

'She won't.' Lily drank the rest of her wine. 'Agnes was the one who told me half of what I just said. I want some champagne, too, Marian.'

'What else did he steal, Lily?' Nora asked.

The old woman looked at a spot on the wall above Nora's head, then pushed her champagne flute toward Marian.

'He stole that drawing, didn't he? The missing Redon. The one you never liked.'

Lily glanced unhappily at Nora. 'I didn't tell you. I wasn't supposed to, and I didn't.'

Margaret took a sip of champagne and looked back and forth from Nora to Lily in great perplexity. 'Lily, two minutes ago you said that the Mannheim girl stole the drawing.'

'That's what I was supposed to say.'

'Who told you to say that?'

Lily swallowed more champagne and closed her mouth.

'The mistress, of course,' said Nora.

Dart chuckled happily and helped himself to rabbit pie.

Lily was gazing almost fearfully at Nora.

'She knew because she saw the drawing in Rapunzel the night Miss Mannheim disappeared,' Nora said.

Lily nodded.

'When did she tell you about this? And why? You must have asked the mistress if it was really Hugo Driver and not Miss Mannheim who had stolen the drawing,' Nora said.

Lily nodded again. 'It was when she was sick.'

'When there were no more guests, and she almost never left her room. Agnes Brotherhood spent a lot of time with her.'

'It was unfair,' Lily said. 'Agnes never loved her the way I did. Agnes's sister Emma used to be her maid, and then Emma died, and the mistress wanted Agnes next to her. She didn't know the real Agnes, it was only that the sisters looked alike. I would have taken better care of her. I tried to watch out for her, but by that time it was Agnes, Agnes, Agnes.'

'So it was Agnes who told you about the drawing first.'

Margaret put her chin on her hand and followed the questions and answers like a spectator at a tennis match.

'She came out of the mistress's bedroom, and I looked at her face, and I said, "What's wrong, Agnes?" because anyone could see she was upset, and she told me to go away, but I asked was something wrong with the mistress, and Agnes said, "Nothing we can fix," and I kept after her and after her, and finally she put her hand over her eyes and she said, "I was right about Miss Mannheim. All this time, and I was right." That trampy little thing, I said, she made fun of the mistress, and besides she stole that picture. "No, she didn't," Agnes says, "it was Mr Hugo Driver who did that." She started laughing, but it wasn't like real laughing, and she said I should go upstairs and ask the mistress if I didn't believe her.'

'So you did,' Nora said.

Lily finished her glass and shuddered 'I went in and sat down beside her and touched her hair. "I suppose Agnes couldn't keep quiet," she said, and it was like before she got sick, with her eyes alive. I said, "Agnes lied to me," and I told her what she said, and she calmed right down and said, "No, Agnes told you the truth. Mr Driver took that picture," and she knew because she saw it in his room at Rapunzel. "Why would you go to his room?" I asked, and she said, "I was being my father's daughter. You could even say I was being Lincoln Chancel." So I said, "You shouldn't have let him take it," and she told me, "Mr Chancel paid for that ugly drawing a hundred times over. Send Agnes back to me." So I sent Agnes back to her room. The next day, the mistress told me that she couldn't afford my wages anymore, and she would have to let me go, but I was never to tell anyone about who stole that picture, and I never did, not even now.'

'You didn't tell,' Nora said. 'I guessed.'

'My goodness,' said Margaret. 'What a strange tale. But I don't see anything that should trouble us, do you, Marian?'

'Mr Chancel bought the drawing,' Marian said. 'Hugo Driver borrowed it before payment had been arranged, that's all.'

'Love it,' Dart said.

'If we could arrange for the loan of the drawing from the Driver estate, we could hang it in Rapunzel and weave it into the whole Night Journey story.' Margaret sent a look of steely kindness toward Lily. 'I know you didn't like the man, Lily, but we've dealt with this problem before. Together, you, Marian, and I can work up any number of sympathetic stories about Mr Driver. This is going to be a windfall for the Shorelands Trust. More champagne, Norman? And we do have, as a special treat, some petits vacherins. Delicious little meringues rilled with ice cream and topped with fruit sauces. Mr Baxter, our baker in Lenox, had some fresh meringue cases today, wonder of wonders, and Miss Weatherall loved vacherins.'

'Count me in,' Dart said.

'Marian, would you be so kind?'

Marian once again left the room, this time patting Dart on the back as she went past him. As soon as she had closed the door, Lily said, 'I don't feel well.'

'It's been a long day,' Margaret said. 'We'll save you some dessert.'

Lily got unsteadily to her feet, and Dart leaped out of his chair to open the door and kiss her cheek as she left the room. When he took his chair again, Margaret smiled at him. 'Lily had some difficulties tonight, but she'll do her usual splendid job during our Driver celebrations. I see no hindrances, do you?'

'Only acts of God,' Dart said, and refilled his wineglass.

Marian returned with a tray of petits vacherins and another bottle of champagne. 'Despite Lily's qualms, I thought we had something to celebrate, so I hope you don't mind, Margaret.'

'I won't have any, but the rest of you help yourselves,' Margaret replied. Yet, when the desserts had been given out and Marian danced around the table pouring more champagne, she allowed her glass to be filled once more. 'Mr Desmond,' she said, 'I've been wondering if you would be so kind as to recite one of your poems. It would be an honor to hear something you have written.'

Dart gulped champagne, took a forkful of ice cream and meringue, another swallow of champagne, and jumped to his feet. 'I composed this poem in the car on the way to this haven of the literary arts. I hope it will touch you all in some small way. It's called "In Of."'

'Farewell, bliss - world is, are,

lustful death them but none

his can I, sick, must

-Lord, mercy us!

'Men, not wealth, cannot

you physic, must all to are

the full goes I sick must

-Lord, mercy us!

'Beauty but flower

wrinkles devour falls the Queens

died and dust closed eye;

am I die?

Have on!

'Strength unto grave feed Hector swords,

not with earth holds her

Come!

the do, I,

sick, must -

Lord, mercy us!'

He surveyed the table. 'What do you think?'

'I've never heard anything quite like it,' Margaret said.

'The syntax is garbled, but the meaning is perfectly clear. It's a plea for mercy from a man who expects none. What I find really remarkable is that even though this is the first time I've heard the poem, it seems oddly familiar.'

'Norman's work often has that effect,' Nora said

'It's like something reduced to its essence,' Margaret said.

'Have you spoken to Norman about our poetry series, Marian?'

'Not yet, but this is the perfect time. Norman, can we talk about your coming back to do a reading?'

Once again Marian had unknowingly assisted Dart's plans for the night. He pretended to think it over. 'We should take care of that tonight. The only problem is that I'm going to need my appointment book, and it's in the room. But if you decide you want that nightcap, you could come up later.'

'And let my appointment book talk to your appointment book? Yes, why don't I do that?'

'You young people,' Margaret said. 'You're going to have hours of enjoyment talking about all sorts of things, and I'm going to fall asleep as soon as I fall into bed. But before that, Marian, you and I have to see to the kitchen.'

'Let me help,' Nora said. 'It's the least I can do.'

'Nonsense,' Margaret said. 'Marian and I can whip through everything in half an hour. Anyone else would just get in our way.'

'Margaret, dear,' Dart said. 'It's only seven-thirty. You can't mean you're really going to go to bed as soon as the dishes are done.'

'I wish I could, but I have an hour or so of work to get through in the office. Marian, let's take the dishes down and attack the kitchen.'

Dart glanced at Nora, who said, 'Marian, I'd like to spend more time with the records and photographs, but I want to rest for a little bit first. So that you won't have to jump up and down answering the door, do you think you could give me a key?'

'Why don't we just leave the door unlocked?' Margaret said. 'We're completely safe here. When were you planning on coming back?'

'Nine, maybe? The storm should be over by then. I could get some work done while Norman and Marian match their schedules.'

'Oh?' Marian glanced at Dart. 'That works for me. I'll leave the downstairs lights on and come over to Pepper Pot about nine. Does that sound all right to you?'

'Perfect,' Dart said. 'Did I hear a promise of rain gear?'

'Let's take care of that right now.' Marian left the room, and Nora helped Margaret stack the dishes. Soon Marian returned with green Wellingtons, a shiny red raincoat with snaps, and a wide-brimmed matching hat. 'My fireman outfit. Don't worry, I have lots of other stuff to get me over there dry. And Norman, Tony's gear is just inside the door.'

Nora removed her shoes and pulled on the high boots. Marian had big feet. She put on the shiny coat and snapped it up, and Dart put down his empty glass. 'Very fetching.'

The sound of the rain was stronger at the front of the building. Dart examined Tony's dirty yellow slicker with revulsion, and he wiped his handkerchief around the interior of the hat before entrusting his head to it. His shoes would not go into the boots, so he too took off his shoes and jammed them into the slicker's pockets. 'Almost rather get wet,' he muttered.

'Wait! Don't go yet!' Marian called from behind them, and appeared at the top of the marble steps with Nora's bag and four new candles. 'You'll find matches on the mantelpiece. Good luck!'96

The world past the front door was a streaming darkness. Chill water slipped through Nora's collar and dripped down her back. Water rang like gunfire on the stiff hat. Dart grasped her wrist and began running toward the gravel court. When they reached the path, she nearly went down in the mud, but Dart wrenched her upright and tugged her forward. Water licked into her sleeves. The trees on either side groaned and thrashed, and hallucinatory voices filled the air. Nothing had worked; she had been unable to speak to any of her possible saviors, and Dart was going to kill Marian Cullinan and spend a happy two hours dissecting her body while waiting for the older women to sink into sleep. Then he would pull her back through the deluge to Main House, where he looked forward to watching her murder Agnes Brotherhood. As he had said to her, genius was the capacity to adapt to change without losing sight of your goal. 'Let's face it,' he had said, 'we're stuck here for the night, so the kidnapping is out. We have to take care of them all - those three old Pop-Tarts, too. They're calling me a serial killer, I might as well have a little fun and act like one. First of all, we convince everybody that you'll be coming back here by yourself. When we're through with the Pinto, we trot back here and visit the bedrooms so kindly pointed out to us. No alarms or telephones. Safety, ease, and comfort. When we're done, we enjoy a champion's breakfast of steak and eggs in the kitchen, and depart in the Pinto's car.'

Trying to match her pace to Dart's, Nora bent over and ran, able to see no more than the rain sheeting off the brim of the red hat and the mud rising to her ankles. Dart yanked at her hand, and she lost her grip on the bag, which dropped into the mud. The cleaver, the carving knife, and much else tumbled out. Dart yelled something inaudible but unmistakable in tone, dragged her back, and bent down to scoop what had fallen out into the bag. Off to the right, a branch splintered away from a tree and crashed to the ground. Dart rammed the bag into her chest, whirled her around, and pushed her through the mud to the PEPPER POT sign and the ascending path. Her feet slipped, and she slid backwards into him. He pushed her again. Rain struck her face like a stream of needles. Nora tried to walk forward, and her right foot slipped out of the lower part of the boot. Dart circled her waist and lifted her off the ground. Her foot came out of the boot. Dart kicked it aside and carried her up the path.

He set her down on the porch and unfastened the clasps of the slicker to pull the key from his jacket pocket. Rain drummed down onto the roof. An unearthly moaning came from the woods. Hell again, Nora thought. No matter how many times you go there, it's always new. Dark puddles formed around them. A film of water covered her face, and her ribs ached from Dart's grip. He opened the door and pointed inside.

His hat and slicker landed on the floor. Nora put down the bag and fished the candles from the pockets of Marian's coat. Dart took the candles, locked the door, and made shooing motions with his hands. Nora hung Marian's things on a hook beside the door and lifted her foot out of the remaining boot. 'Hang up that garbage I had to wear and find the matches. Then put your bag in the bathtub and get back here to help me pull off these disgusting boots.'

'Put my bag in the tub?'

'You want to destroy a Gucci bag? I have to clean it off and try to dry it.'

Nora carried the dripping bag across the lightless room into the bathroom. Was there a window in the bathroom, a back door? A gleaming black rectangle hung in the far wall. She moved forward until her legs met the bathtub, stepped inside, dropped the bag, and ran her hands along the top of the window. Her fingers found a brass catch. The slide refused to move. 'What are you doing?' Dart shouted.

'Putting down the bag.' She pulled at the slide, but it was frozen into place.

'Get back in here.'

A column of darkness against a background of lighter darkness ordered her to the fireplace on the far side of the room. Holding her hands before her, Nora put one foot in front of another and made her way across the room.

Apparently able to see in the dark, Dart directed her to the fireplace and matches, then told her to walk fifteen paces forward, turn left, and keep walking until she ran into him.

Dart grabbed the matches out of her hands, lit a candle, and walked away. She could see nothing but the flame. He jammed the candle into a holder from the windowsill, lit the other two, and put them into the candlesticks on the table in the center of the room. The rope and duct tape lay beside an ice bucket and a liter of Absolut. Dart took two gulps of vodka and drew in a sharp breath. Muddy boot-prints wandered across the floor like dance instructions. 'Sounds like the inside of a bass drum.' He dropped into a chair and stuck out one leg. 'Do it.'

Nora put her hands on the slimy boot. 'Pull.' Her hands slipped off. 'Take your clothes off.'

'Take my clothes off ?'

'So you can prop my legs against your hip and push. Don't want to wreck that suit.'

While she was undressing, Dart sent her to the kitchen for a glass. He blew into it, held it up to the flame for inspection, and pulled a dripping handful of slivers from the bucket. Before drinking, he drew a circle in the air with the glass, and Nora walked back to the bed and removed the rest of her clothes. 'Hang up your things. Have to look good until we can get new clothes.' He followed her with his eyes. 'Okay, get over here, and put your back into it this time.'

She pulled his outthrust leg into her side. His trousers were sodden, and an odor of wet wool came from him. She held her breath, gripped his leg with her left hand, pushed at the heel, and the boot came away. 'Let my people be!' Dart swallowed vodka. 'One down, one to go.'

When the second boot surrendered, Nora staggered forward and felt an all too familiar surge of warmth throughout her body. Dizziness, a sudden sweatiness of the face, a hot necessity to sit down. 'Oh, no,' she said.

'Mud washes off,' Dart said. Then he bothered to look at her. 'Oh Christ, a hot flash. God, that's ugly. Wipe off the mud and lie down.'

She got to the bathroom and splashed water on her face before erasing the clumps and streaks from her body.

When she came out, Dart pointed to the bed. 'Women. Slaves to their bodies, every one.' She was vaguely aware of his giving her another disgusted look. 'Seven-hundred-dollar Gucci bag, covered with mud. Here I go, doing your work for you again.'

He poured more vodka. 'And wouldn't you know it, the ice is all gone.' Nora watched the ceiling darken as he carried a candle into the bathroom.

Her body blazed. Water ran. Dart spoke to himself in tones of complaining self-pity. Nora wiped her forehead. She could feel her temperature floating up. Bug, where are you, little bug? A hot flash is hardly complete without a touch of formication. Shall we formicate? Come on, let's try for the brass ring. Dick Dart is repulsed by female biology, let's have the whole menopausal circus. Give me an F, give me an O, give me an R. Formication, of thee I sing. The riot in her body swung the bed gently up and back. A rustle of leathery wings and a buzz of glee came from beyond the fireplace. Begone, fiends, I don't want you now. She wiped her face with a corner of the sheet, and it came away slick with moisture.

Dart poked his head through the bathroom door and announced that if she wasn't ready by the time the Pinto came, she'd be sorry. I'm plenty sorry right now, thank you very much.

Having enjoyed itself for some three or four minutes, the hot flash subsided, leaving behind the usual sense of depletion. From the bathroom came swishing sounds accompanied by Dartish grumbles. Nora remembered that he had put the gun in his desk drawer. Surprise, surprise! She wiped her body with her hands and swung her legs off the bed. The sounds of running water and exclamations of woe testified to the absorption of Mr Dart in his task. Despite her ignorance of revolvers and their operation, surely she could work out how to fire the thing once she got her hands on it. She moved silently toward the middle of the room and observed that the desk drawer appeared to have been pulled open. Another six tiptoe steps brought her to the desk. She lowered her hand into the drawer and touched bare wood. What's the matter, Dick? Don't you trust me?

She moved to the door, put on the slicker, and snapped it shut. In the bathroom. Dart was bent over the tub, his sleeves pushed up past his elbows. A candle stood at the bottom of the tub, and flickering shadows swarmed over the walls. Dye dripping from Dart's hair had stained the top of his shirt collar black. A thick line of grit ran from the middle of the tub to the drain, and limp bills had been hung over the side to dry. The cleaver and the carving knife lay encased in mud beside the bag. Various bottles and brushes and other cosmetic devices had already been washed and placed atop the toilet.

He took in the slicker with contempt. 'Grab a towel. One of the little ones.'

She gave him a hand towel, and he passed it under the running tap. 'Wipe up the mud out there before it dries.'

'Aye, aye, sir.' Nora took the towel into the room to swab muddy footprints. By the time she returned, Dart was holding the bag out before him.

'This thing might survive after all.' He handed her the wet bag. 'Get it as dry as you can. Tear the pages out of one those books, wad a towel into the center of the bag, and cram the pages between the towel and the inside of the bag. Don't forget the corners. Do it in here, so I can make sure you do it right.'

She brought the paperbacks into the bathroom and placed them on the floor beside the toilet to buff the handbag with the towel.

'Blot up as much water as you can. Ram it into the bottom corners.'

Nora pushed the towel around the inside of the bag, and Dart bent over the tub to rinse the towel she had used on the floor under hot water, rub soap into it, and begin washing the cleaver.

'You memorize everything you read, and you never forget it?'

He sighed and leaned against the tub. 'I told you. I don't memorize anything. Once I read a page, it stays in there all by itself. If I want to see it, I just look at it, like a photograph. All those books I had to read for my old ladies, I could recite backwards if I wanted to. Let me feel that.'

He swiped his fingers on her towel and ran them across the lining of the bag. 'Wad toilet paper down in there. Would you like to hear the complete backwards Pride and Prejudice? Austen Jane by? Almost as bad as the forward version.'

Nora stuffed toilet paper into the corners of the bag and began ripping pages out of Night Journey.

Dart ran the cleaver under hot water and soaped it again. 'How do you think I got through law school? Name a case, I could quote the whole damn thing. If that was all you had to do, I'd have made straight A's.'

'That's amazing.' She plastered the first pages against the sodden silk lining.

'You'll never know how relieved I was when I got assigned someone like Marjorie West. Seventy-two years old, rich as the queen of England, never read a book in her life. Four dead husbands and never happier than when talking about sex. Ideal woman.'

Nora had met Marjorie West, whose Mount Avenue house was even grander than the Poplars. She was herself a structure on the grand scale, though much reconstructed, especially about the face. Nora found that she did not wish to think about Marjorie West's relationship with Dick Dart. These days, Marjorie West probably did not want to think too much about it, either. Nora tore another twenty pages out of Night Journey. 'So you could quote from this book, too.'

'You heard me quote from that book.' He placed the cleaver on the rug and addressed the carving knife.

'Tell me about that massy vault, the one that's bigger on the inside than on the outside.'

'You have the book right in front of you.'

'I can't read in this light. What does the vault look like?'

Dart grimaced at the amount of mud still clinging to the knife. 'What does it look like on the outside? I'll have to give you the whole sentence so you get the atmosphere. "With many a fearsome and ferocious glance, many a painful jab about the ribs, many an adjustment of her enormous hat, Madame Lyno-Wyno Ware led Pippin through the corridors of her spider-haunted mansion to a portal bearing the words MOST PRIVATE, thence into a chamber of gloomy aspect and to another such door marked MOST MOST PRIVATE, into a far gloomier chamber and a door marked MOST MOST MOST PRIVATELY PRIVATE, which creaked open upon the gloomiest of all the chambers, and therein extended her gaudy arm to signify, concealed beneath a tattered sofa, a homely leaden strongbox no more than a foot high." That's all, "homely leaden strongbox no more than a foot high." From there on, it's about Pippin's disappointment, that little thing can't be the famous massy vault, but the boy bites the bullet and forges ahead, says the right words, and it all turns out all right, kind of.'

He rinsed the carving knife, brought it near his eyes for inspection, and rubbed the soapy cloth into the crevices around the hilt.

'The golden key brings him to Madame Lyno-Wyno Ware?'

'Lie? No. Why, nowhere.' Dart picked up his glass with a dripping hand and finished the vodka. 'The truth is all-important, can't lie to Mrs Lyno-Wyno Ware, nope.' Twitching with impatience, he watched her stuff paper into the bag. 'That'll do. Scamper into the: kitchen and get me a refill.'

When she returned. Dart took a mouthful, set down the glass, and meticulously dried the knives. A hard red flush darkened his cheek-bones. 'Clean the mess out of the tub. Work fast, I have a lot to do, must prepare for the arrival of sweet Marian.'

Nora knelt in front of the bathtub. A few dimes and quarters glinted in the slow-moving brown liquid. The thunder of rainfall on the roof suddenly doubled. The window over the tub bulged inward for a second, and the entire cottage quivered.

Nora came out of the bathroom. Dart was staring at the ceiling. 'Thought the whole thing was going to come down. Put the bag on the table and bring me the rope. Hardly need the tape, wouldn't you agree?'

She placed the bag on the table. 'Coat.' Dart removed his tie and draped it over a shoulder of the suit. Nora unsnapped the slicker, put it on the hook, and, her heart beating in time to the drumfire on the roof, carried the rope toward him. 'Slight possibility I may have overdone the vodka, but all is well.' He concentrated on arranging his shirt on a hanger.

Aligned with Dart's usual care, the knives had been placed beneath the pillow on the left side of the bed. 'Rope.' She came close enough to hand him the coil of clothesline. He yanked off his boxer shorts. 'Sit.'

Dart drew the carving knife from beneath the pillow, cut off two four-foot lengths of rope, and stumbled around to the side of the bed. 'Hands.' Eventually he succeeded in lashing her hands and feet. 'Little sleep. Party isn't over yet.'