Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

The murmur of conversation came from the large living room, and I hesitated, but didn't go in.I wandered down the aisle, and on some impulse pushed open a baize door.The passage inside the cloth door was dark, but suddenly a door opened, revealing a large bright kitchen.There was an old woman standing in the doorway—a sort of bulky old woman with a very clean white bib around her huge waist, and I knew everything was all right when I saw her, it was an elephant orchid An old woman like Ninny always gives you the feeling, and I'm thirty-five, but I feel like a four-year-old boy who has settled down.

"Mr. Charlie? Come into the kitchen and I'll make you a cup of tea." This is a large kitchen with a pleasant feel.I sat down at the central table and Lanny brought me a cup of tea and two sweet biscuits on a plate.I feel more like I'm back in the nursery again.All was well—that dark room and unknowable terror no longer followed me. "Miss Sophia will be glad to know you're here," Lanney said. "She's a little too nervous." She added disapprovingly, "They're all too nervous." I look back and look behind me. "Where's Josephine? She came in with me."

Lanny gasped in disapproval. "Overhearing people talking and jotting things down in a little notebook that she carried around," she said. "She ought to go to school and play with the little ones her own age. I told Miss Edith so, and she felt the same--but the master thinks she'd better stay at home." "I think he's probably very fond of her," I said. "Yes, sir, he used to be very fond of them." I was a little taken aback, not knowing why she should describe Philip's feelings for his children with such certainty as past.Seeing my expression, Lanny said with a little blushing:

"When I say master, I mean old Mr. Leonides." I was about to speak when the kitchen door opened and Sofia hurried in. "Oh, Charlie," she said, and then quickly: "Oh, Lanny, I'm so glad he's here." "I know, darling." Lanny gathered up a large pile of pots and pans and carried them into the pantry, closing the door behind her. I stood up and walked over to Sophia, and I put my arms around her, hugging me. "My dearest," I said. "You're shaking, what's the matter?" Sophia says: "I'm afraid, Charlie, I'm afraid."

"I love you," I said. "If I could take you away—" She backed away, shaking her head. "No, that's impossible. We've got to figure it out. But you know, Charlie, I don't like it, I don't like the feeling that there's somebody—someone in this room—that I talk to every day Someone he met and talked to turned out to be a cold-blooded, well-planned poisoner..." I do not know what to say.With someone like Sophia, you can't give her meaningless, off-the-cuff words of comfort. She said, "If only I knew who—" "That's where the worst happens." I agree.

"You know what it is that really scares me?" she whispered. "It's that we may never know..." I can imagine what a nightmare this would be... and it seems to me that it's likely never to be known who killed old Leonides. But it reminded me of a question I was going to ask Sophia that interested me at one point. "Tell me, Sophia," I said. "How many people in this room know about Iserin's eye drops--I mean, first, that your grandfather had them. Second, that they are poisonous and kill you if you swallow them? " "I know what you want to know, Charlie, but it's not going to work. You know, we all know that."

"Oh, yes, I suppose you all know a little bit about it, but especially—" "We all know very well. We all had coffee with my grandfather after lunch one day. He likes the whole family together, you know, and his eyes give him a lot of trouble. Brenda takes eye drops Josephine put a drop in each eye and asked all kinds of questions: "Why is it written on the bottle: Eye drops are not edible? What will happen if you drink the whole bottle?" Grandfather said with a smile : 'If Brenda got it wrong that day and injected me with eye drops as insulin—I think I'd take a big breath and turn a little blue and die because, you know, my heart isn't working Good.’ And Josephine said, ‘Woo.’ Grandpa went on, ‘So we have to be careful not to let Brenda inject me with Eserin as insulin, can’t we?’” Sofia paused Just a moment, then say, "We're all listening. You get it? We're all listening!"

I do understand.I've always kind of thought that that required a little bit of special knowledge.But it now appears that it was actually old Leonides himself who provided the blueprint for his murder.The murderer does not have to conceive any plan, or devise any means, the dead man himself has provided a simple method of death. I take a deep breath.Sophia knew what I was thinking and said, "Yeah, it's kind of scary, isn't it?" "You know, Sophia," I said slowly. "One thing really surprised me." "What's up?" "That's, you're right, it couldn't be Brenda. She couldn't have actually done that—after you've all heard—and remembered that."

"I don't know. She's kind of dumb in some ways, you know." "Not so stupid," I said. "No, it can't be Brenda." Sophia walked away from me. "You don't want it to be Brenda, do you?" she asked. And what can I say?I couldn't—no, I couldn't—say flatly, "Yes, I hope it's Brenda." Why can't I?Just because Brenda was on one side by herself, and the entire Leonides family, rich and powerful, united on the other side to deal with her?Chivalry?Sympathy for the weak?Protection of the defenseless?I thought of her sitting on the sofa in her expensive mourning dress, her lonely and helpless voice--the look of fear in her eyes.

Lannie came back from the pantry a little in time.I don't know if she sensed some tension between me and Sofia. She said disapprovingly: "About murder and not murder, forget it, I said so. Let the police deal with it, it's their job, not yours." "Oh, Lanny—don't you realize there's a murderer in this house?" "Nonsense, Miss Sophia, I'm running out of patience with you. Aren't the front doors always open—all doors open and unlocked—to attract thieves." "But it can't be a thief. Nothing has been stolen. Besides, why would a thief come in and poison people to death?"

"I didn't say it was a thief, Miss Sophia. I just said all the doors were unlocked and anyone could get in. If you asked me, I'd say the Communists did it." Lanny nodded in satisfaction at her own perception. "Why does the Communist Party often murder poor grandfather?" "Oh, everybody says they're behind everything. But if it's not the Communists, you mark me, it's the Roman Catholics. They're all criminals." As if she had given an ultimatum, Lanny haughtily disappeared into the pantry again. Sophia and I laughed. "What a hard old Protestant," I said. "Isn't it? Come on, Charlie, into the drawing room. There's a family meeting going on there. It was supposed to be tonight—but it started early." "I'd better not break in, Sophia." "If you want to marry someone from this family, you'd better see what this family looks like before you put on your wedding gloves." "What are you talking about?" "Roger's business. You seem to be involved in it, but you are crazy to think that Roger killed grandfather. Roger has a lot of respect for him." "I don't really think it's Roger, I think it might be Clemency." "That's only because I made you think that, but again you're wrong, and I don't think Clemency would care one iota if Roger lost all his money. In fact, I think she would." Feel happy, she's got this weird mindset of not wanting to own things. Let's go." When Sofia and I walked into the living room, the conversation broke off abruptly, and everyone looked at us. They are all there.Philip was seated in a crimson satin arm-chair placed between two windows, his handsome face cast a stern look, and he looked like a judge about to read a sentence.Roger was sitting astride a thick pouf chair by the fire, and he was running his fingers through his hair, which had been tossed all over his head, to stand on end.His left trouser leg was rumpled, his tie was askew, and he looked arguably flushed.Clemency sat beside him; her slender figure was made even more emaciated by the big spring chair, her eyes were not looking at the others, and she seemed to be calmly studying the wall panels.Edith sat upright in one of the grandfather chairs, her lips pursed, hard at her needlework.The prettiest looking ones in the room are Magda and Eustace.They looked like a portrait of Kingsborough.They sat on the sofa together—the handsome, dark-brown boy had a gloomy expression on his face. Beside him, Magda was sitting with one hand on the back of the sofa. Wearing a picture-like crepe pan, a small foot in a satin slipper stretched out in front of her. Philip frowned. "Sophia," he said, "I'm sorry, but we are discussing domestic matters, and outsiders should not join in." Miss Haviland's needle clicked.I was about to apologize and back out when Sophia spoke up before me, her voice clear and firm. "Charlie and I," she said, "want to get married. I want Charlie here." "What's wrong with that?" cried Roger, jumping up from his chair with vigor. "I've been telling you, Philip. It's nothing personal! Tomorrow or day after tomorrow the whole world will know. Anyway, my dear boy," he came and put a friendly hand on my shoulder. , "You know it all. You were there this morning." "Tell me," Magda said loudly, leaning forward. "What does Scotland Yard look like? One always wonders. A table? A desk? A few chairs? What kind of curtains? No flowers, I suppose? A dictation recorder?" "Stop making jokes, Ma," said Sophia. "Anyway, you've told Van Wassul Jones to cut out the Scotland Yard scene. You said it was a climax-sudden gimmick." "That would make the whole show look too much like a detective story," Magda said. "Edith Thompson is definitely a psychological drama - or a creepy psychological drama - which do you think sounds the best?" "Where were you this morning?" Philip asked me suddenly. "Why? Oh, of course—your father—" He frowned.I understood more clearly than before that my presence was unwelcome, but Sofia's hand was firmly on my arm. Clemency moved a chair over. "Sit down," she said. I gave her a grateful look, accepting her kindness. "You can say whatever you like," Miss de Haviland obviously continued their original topic, "but I really think we should respect Artestet's wish. After the matter of the will is clarified, I personally All my inheritance is for you, Roger." Roger pulled his hair frantically. "No, Aunt Edith, no!" he cried. "I wish I could say the same," said Philip, "but one has to take every factor into account—" "Dear old Phoebe, don't you understand? I wouldn't take a penny from anybody." "Of course he can't!" cried Clemency suddenly. "Anyway, Edith," Magda said. "If the will thing is cleared up, he'll have his own share of the estate." "But maybe it's too late to clarify, can you?" asked Eustace. "You know nothing at all, Eustace," said Philip. "The boy was quite right," said Roger aloud. "He hit the nail on the head, nothing saves bankruptcy, nothing." He said it with a certain humor. "There's really nothing to discuss," said Clemency. "Anyway," said Roger, "what does it matter?" "I think it has a lot to do with it." Philip pursed his lips tightly after speaking. "No," said Roger. "No! Is there anything more important than the fact that my father is dead? My father is dead! And we're just sitting here talking about money!" There was a trace of blood red on Philip's pale face. "We just want to help," he said stiffly. "I know, old Phoebe, I know, but there's nothing anybody can do about it, so let's call it a day." "I think," said Philip, "that I might raise some money. Stocks are down a lot, and my money is so tight that I can't move; Magda's play, etc.--but-- " Magda immediately said: "Of course you can't raise the money, dear. It's ridiculous, if you want to—and it's not fair to the kids." "I tell you I don't want anyone or anything!" Roger yelled. "I've been telling you this all the time, it's hoarse. I'm quite content with things being left to their own devices." "It's a question of prestige," Philippe said. "Father's, ours." "It's not about the family, it's all about me." "Yes," said Philip, looking at him. "It's entirely your business." Edith Haviland stood up and said, "I think we've talked enough." Her words carried a sense of real authority that never fails. Philip and Magda stood up.Eustace lolled out, and I noticed the stiffness in his step.He wasn't really lame, but he walked with a limp. Roger took Philip's arm and said: "How generous of you, Fee, to even think of such a thing!" The brothers walked out together. Magda murmured, "Noisy!" and walked out with them, and Sofia said she had to go and get me a room. Edith Haviland stood winding her knitting needle.She looked at me, and I thought she was going to talk to me.There was something almost pleading in her eyes.However, she changed her mind, sighed, and walked out after the others. Clemency had already moved to the window and stood looking out at the garden.I walked over and stood beside her, and she turned slightly towards me. "Thank God, it's over," she said—and added, disgustedly, "What a ridiculous room it is!" "You don't like it?" "I can't even breathe. There's always this undying smell of flowers and dust." I don't think she's being fair to the room by saying that, but I know what she means, it's a very private room indeed. It was a woman's room, subdued and exotic, insulated from the storms of the outside world.It wasn't a room where a man would be happy after a long stay.This is not a room where you can relax, read the paper, smoke your pipe, and put your feet up.However, I still prefer this room to the room of abstract self-expression upstairs at Clemency.On the whole, I prefer a lady's drawing-room to a theater. She looked around and said: "It's like a stage, a scene for Magda to perform." She looked at me. "You understand, don't you, what were we doing just now? The second—the family meeting, arranged by Magda, it's meaningless, there's nothing to talk about, there's nothing to discuss. Everything is It's decided—it's over." There was no sadness or meaning in her voice, but a sense of satisfaction.She caught my eye. "Oh, don't you understand?" she said impatiently. "We're free--at last! Don't you see that Roger's been miserable--very miserable--for years? He's never had any talent for business. He likes horses and oxen and things like that, and walks in the country But he adores his father--they all do. That's the family's fault--too much affection. I don't mean the old man to be a tyrant, or bully them or anything. He's not, He gave them money and freedom, he sacrificed for them. And they have always done that to him." "Is there anything wrong with that?" "I think so. I think, when your children grow up. You should let them be independent, not show yourself, go away quietly, and force them to forget you." "Forcing them? That's a little too drastic, isn't it? Isn't it bad to force them to be different?" "If he hadn't made himself that personal—" "You can't make yourself a person," I said. "He was just like that." "He was too much of a personality for Roger. Roger adored him. He wanted to do whatever his father asked him to do, he wanted to be the son his father wanted him to be, and his father put the United The banquet company was handed over to him──this company is a business that the elderly are particularly gratified and proud of. Roger tried hard to inherit his father's mantle, but he didn't have the ability. As far as business is concerned, Roger is──I Frankly - a fool. And it almost breaks his heart. He's been miserable for years, he's been struggling, he's seen his whole career go down the drain, he's got some really good 'ideas' and 'plans' that are always Going wrong and making the business worse. It's a horrible thing to feel like you're failing year after year. You don't know how unhappy he is, I do." She turned her head to face me again. "You thought, and you actually hinted to the police, that Roger killed his father—for money! You don't know how—how absurd it is!" "I know now." I said humbly. "When Roger knew he couldn't take it anymore—knowing that bankruptcy was inevitable, he actually felt relieved, yes, he was relieved. He was only worried about his father knowing—not about others. Yes. He's looking forward to the kind of new life we're planning to lead." The muscles in her face trembled a little, and her voice softened. "Where are you going?" I asked. "To Barbados. I had a distant cousin there who died not long ago and left me a small inheritance--oh, not much. But it's a good place. We'll be poor, but we'll get by -- the cost of living isn't high over there. We'll be together -- carefree, away from them all." She sighed. "Roger is a ridiculous man. He would be worried about me-worrying about me being poor. I think he probably has the Leonides' concept of money too ingrained in his head. When my ex-husband was alive, we were so poor. Terrible--Roger thought I was really brave and strong! He didn't know that I was happy--really happy! I was never that happy. And yet--I never loved Richard the way I loved Roger. " Her eyes were half-closed, and I knew how strongly she felt that. She opened her eyes, looked at me and said: "So you know, I would never kill anyone for money. I don't like money." I'm pretty sure she's telling the truth.Clemency Leonides was one of those very few people for whom money had no effect.They do not like luxury, but frugality, and doubt the real value of possessions. However, there are many people, although money does not work for them, but the power that money can bring can be a temptation to them. I said, "You probably don't want money yourself—but money can do a lot of interesting things if you put it to good use, like funding research." I suspected that Clemency might be crazy about her work, but all she said was: "I doubt that donations can do much good. Usually the money donated is always misused. Some valuable work is usually done by people with enthusiasm, drive--and a natural vision. Expensive equipment Education, training, and experimentation never do what you think they can, and often the donated money ends up in the wrong hands." "Would you care about giving up your job and going to Barbados?" I asked. "I think you're still planning to go?" "Oh yes, we'll go as soon as the police say yes. No, I don't care a bit about giving up my job, why should I care? I don't like loafing, but I won't be loafing in Barbados." She added impatiently: "Oh, I hope this is cleared up quickly and we can go." "Clemency," I said, "do you know who did it? Assuming you and Roger hadn't done it (I have no reason to think you should, really), of course. In your wits, you must There is more or less a concept of who did it?" She glanced at me in a somewhat odd way, with a sudden sideways glance.when she spoke.Her voice lost its spontaneity, was awkward, a little embarrassed. "You can't guess, it's not scientific," she said. "It can only be said that Brenda and Lawrence are the obvious suspects." "So you think it's them?" Clemency shrugged. She stood there for a moment as if listening, then went out, passing Edith Haviland in the doorway. Edith walked straight up to me. "I want to talk to you," she said. My father's words came to my mind.Could this be- Edith Haviland went on: "I hope you don't misunderstand," she said. "I mean, about Philip. Philip is a bit difficult to understand. He may make you look reserved and cold, but in fact it is not at all. It is just an outward attitude, and he can't help it." "I really don't think—" I was halfway through. She went on. "Just now—about Roger, it's not that he's really that mean. He's never been stingy with money. He's actually a nice guy—he's always been a nice guy—but he needs to be understood." I looked at her in the way I wanted her to look like someone who wanted to know.She continued: "Part of it, I think, is that he's the second child in the family. Second children often have something—they're blocked in the first place. He adores his father, you know. Of course, all the children adore Arrest And he adored them just as much. Roger, though, was his son, the eldest, the oldest, whom he was especially happy and proud of. I think Philip felt that too. He retreated into his inner world. He started to like reading, and things from the past that were out of touch with everyday life. I think he suffers—kids really do suffer..." She pauses, then continues: "I think, I mean, he's been jealous of Roger all along. I don't think he knows it. But I think the thing about Roger being so badly--oh, it's ugly to say, and I really don't know. I'm sure he didn't know it himself--but I think perhaps Philip wasn't as sorry about it as he should be." "What you really mean is that he's kind of glad to see Roger ugly." "Yes," said Miss de Haviland. "That's exactly what I mean." She frowned slightly, and added: "You know, it breaks my heart that he didn't offer to help his brother right away." "Why should he do that?" I said. "After all, it was Roger who screwed things up. He's an adult and has no child concerns. Of course his family will help if he's sick or really in need--though I don't doubt that Roger would really rather be completely Start all over again on your own.” "Oh! He's going that way. All he's worried about is Clemency. And Clemency is a special woman, and she really likes being uncomfortable. Just having a teacup to drink from is enough for her." .A modern woman, I guess. She has no sense of the past, no sense of beauty.” I felt her shrewd eyes looking me up and down. "It was a horrible nightmare for Sophia," she said. "I'm sorry it will cloud her young heart. I love them all, you know. Roger and Philip, and now Sophia and Eustace and Josephine. All lovely children, Marcia's children, and yes, I love them." She paused, and then, abruptly, added, "But, you know, it's the idolatrous side." She turned away abruptly.I had a feeling that there was something in that last sentence of hers that I didn't quite understand.