King Devil Page 10

  “I’ll tell her.”

  Lavinia turned to her typewriter, pressing the keys slowly to make the work last longer, the way she’d eaten her sugar mice as a child. When she’d finished the letters, she put on her new apron and had another satisfying go at the files. Then, because it really was a glorious day, she lugged one of the tall office stools outdoors, found rags and a bucket, and started washing the dust-filmed windows. Balancing the stool on uneven ground while juggling a sloppy bucket took concentration. When somebody spoke to her, she almost took a tumble.

  “What in Sam Hill are you doing?”

  “Oh, Hayward,” she gasped. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “The wheel broke down and I had to walk. What’s the big idea?”

  “The idea is to scrape off a few layers of grime so we can see what we’re doing inside. I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong again.”

  “No, you haven’t done anything wrong. Just get down before you break your neck.”

  “I just want to finish this one pane.”

  “Then hold on a second till I put the lunch somewhere. I’ll hold the stool for you.”

  “You needn’t—” she wobbled perilously. He had to drop the lard pail and grab her.

  “Ornery as a she-mule, aren’t you? Darn good thing that was chicken sandwiches and not beef stew.”

  Clinton took a firmer grip on her waist. “Hurry up. You can slap my face when you’re finished.”

  “I may be clumsy, but I’m not ungrateful.”

  Lavinia gave a last scrub to the glass. “There, does that look any cleaner than it did before I started?”

  “It would have to, wouldn’t it?”

  He lifted her down from the stool. “Have you ever washed a window before?”

  “Never.”

  “Not bad for a beginner. What made you think of doing it?”

  “I’d finished the letters and worked on the files till I got a crick in my back, and it’s such a beautiful day.”

  “So it is. I hadn’t noticed.” Clinton looked up, as though surprised.

  “Why don’t we eat out here?” Lavinia ventured. “We could spread my apron on the grass for a tablecloth. Oh, a Mr. Stithy wants you to telephone as soon as you get in.”

  “I’m not in yet, am I?” The ginger cat hunkered down on the doorsill, squinting up his topaz eyes in the sun. “All right, where’s your picnic? I’m starved.”

  “Just give me one second to dump my bucket and wash my hands.”

  Lavinia hurried to tidy herself and get back outside before he changed his mind. It was amusing that while Clinton didn’t mind toting food from the village, he expected her to open the lard pails. That was woman’s work. The brave dragged home the slain buffalo, the squaw dished up the pemmican. Picturing Hayward in breechclout and feathers, she laughed aloud.

  “What’s so funny?” he grunted.

  “Nothing,” she fibbed. “I’m just enjoying myself.”

  How many times had she been scolded, “Lavinia, you must learn to cultivate a more amiable facial expression when in company.”? Was it the company that made the difference? She unwrapped a sandwich and set it in front of the man.

  “Doesn’t take much to amuse you, does it, Lavinia?”

  “Apparently not. Tetsy would say it’s the Slocum in me coming out. My mother’s father was a gold miner. He made a strike and became very rich, so he sent his daughter back East to finishing school. That was—” She choked on a crumb and had to swallow hard. “That was how she met my father. After they got married and had me, the gold ran out and my grandfather became poor again. You see, I’m telling you my life’s history.”

  “Go on,” he prodded.

  “Well, some time after that, a man came to dinner at Zilpha’s who’d just come back from the Colorado minefields. I wasn’t at the table, of course, but I used to sneak downstairs sometimes and hide where I could hear the grown-ups talking. This man was telling about having bumped into Old Man Slocum, who’d come into some little town for supplies. He was wearing raggedy old clothes and had everything he owned in the world packed on one bowlegged burro. The man knew, of course, that he’d once been a millionaire, and asked him how it felt to be poor again. My grandfather answered, “Don’t bother me none. Huntin’s better than havin’.” Everybody at the party thought that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.”

  “Slocum probably had more sense than the lot of them put together,” said Clinton. “Is he still living?”

  “I wish I knew, Hayward. Nobody has ever told me anything about that side of my family.”

  “Didn’t your mother—”

  “I never knew my mother. She ran off and took up with another man when I was three months old.”

  Lavinia stopped short, her face burning. “Hayward, please forgive me. I shouldn’t be saying such things.”

  “What is there to forgive? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  “Would I make up a story like that? I’ve never told anybody before, not once in my whole life. Of course everyone knew, anyway.”

  “Everybody who is anybody, you mean?”

  “I suppose so. But I’m nobody, so it doesn’t matter, does it?” She began folding butcher’s paper, very carefully.

  “You’re somebody around here,” he growled.

  “Yes, the window washer.”

  She laughed a bit shakily, and he grinned back.

  “Darn right! Any more grub in the bucket?”

  “One doughnut.”

  “I’ll split it with you.”

  He divided it with scrupulous care. “I don’t suppose you enjoyed telling me this, Lavinia, but I’m glad you did. It make you—I don’t know—more as if you belonged on my side of the fence.”

  “It’s funny you should say that. I was thinking along a similar line while I was coming up here this morning. Then—then you don’t mind if I go on working?”

  “Mind? Cripes, I’d been planning to nail your skirt to the floor so you couldn’t leave. Come on, we can’t loaf around in the dooryard all day. Ring Central and see if she knows where to get hold of Stithy while I start making up the payroll. They all want to quit on Friday around here instead of working a regular six-day week so they can tend their farms and drive the Missus to market. Can’t blame ’em, I suppose. I would, too, if I had one.”

  “Will you be here?”

  “No, I guess I’d better go up home and help the old man get his garden sass planted. You can take the day off to rub gravestones.”

  He pulled a wad of greenbacks out of his pocket and began sorting money into little brown envelopes, one for each member of the crew. Lavinia was amazed to see how many men the architects employed. She was even more astonished when Clinton pushed one of the envelopes over to her.

  “This is what Adenoid Annie was getting for wages. You’re worth more, but I can’t afford to give it to you.”

  Lavinia picked up the small packet gingerly in the tips of her fingers. “It feels funny to have money of my own. I suppose by right I ought to give it to Zilpha.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” growled the ginger cat. “Pay her a dollar a week board if it makes you feel better, but keep the rest for yourself. You never can tell when a little ready cash will come in handy.”

  “No, you can’t, can you?” It might happen sooner than anybody could have thought, herself included. “Besides,” she was foolish enough to add, “Zilpha would swoon dead away if she ever found out I’m working for wages.”

  Clinton gaped. “Why the heck else would you be coming here?”

  She couldn’t help blushing. That was all the explanation he needed.

  “Have a nice evening.”

  He snatched up the pile of pay envelopes, shoved them into a scruffy old satchel, and headed out the door.

  “But aren’t you going to wait for Mr. Stithy’s call?” she pleaded.

  “He’ll find me if he wants me bad enough.”

  What was she to do, rush after him scr
eaming, “Wait! You don’t understand?” Unfortunately, he’d understood altogether too well. Lavinia went back to her filing with a heart as heavy as that boardinghouse doughnut.

  Hard work and the agreeable weight of that tiny bulge in her apron pocket were tonic to the spirits. In a little while, she got up courage enough to open the envelope and count the money. Six dollars and forty-five cents, just for having a glorious time eight or nine hours a day? Had he really meant to give her so much? Could he honestly think she was worth more?

  She’d show him! With renewed vigor, Lavinia attacked the filing cabinets. By quitting time she was begrimed from head to toe, but Jonah Josiah Jenks wouldn’t have known the place. She shook out her apron, hung it on a nail in the back entry as a token that she was coming back, and hurried down into the Hollow. This dinner of Zilpha’s was a foolish waste of time, but at least she’d made good use of her day.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Culinary marvels were being wrought in the kitchen. The dining room table, already laid for four, was a work of art. Lavinia didn’t bother to make a token offer of help. Her part was to make herself presentable before the fly walked into the spiderweb, and that was going to take all the time she had available.

  She chose an evening frock of baby-blue silk adorned with tiny pink rosebuds and fluttering ribbons. It would have looked exquisite on some petite, fluffy-haired china doll. On her it was total disaster, which was precisely what she had in mind. Zilpha couldn’t find fault with the gown because she herself had picked it out, yet the effect would have to discourage Roland.

  If Athelney noticed, however, he must have been looking through remarkably thick rose-colored glasses. He agreed, with every appearance of sincerity, when Miss Tabard cooed, “How charming you look in that sweet frock, Lavvy dear.”

  Making so personal a comment in mixed company must have strained Zilpha’s rules of propriety, but there was no time for niceties if she expected to have dear Lavvy off her hands by the time she was ready to leave Dalby. Lavinia began to wonder if Tetsy’s nasty tricks were entirely her own idea. Could Zilpha have dropped a hint that it might be wise to make Lavvy just a teensy bit uncomfortable, so that she wouldn’t balk at being unloaded on a dull young man with uncertain prospects?

  A month ago, even last week, such a thought would never have entered Lavinia’s head. Now she didn’t know what to think, but what difference did it make? She didn’t need to marry anybody’s tame rabbit. She was earning her own keep.

  The thought was so exhilarating that, without meaning to, she began to sparkle. By the time they had left the table for the fireside, Zilpha was looking quietly complacent and Tetsy almost stunned.

  “You mustn’t mind our informality, Roland,” said his hostess gaily. “We couldn’t bear to leave you alone to take your port at the table. We may even be very daring and join you in a glass. Tetsy, will you start the decanter?”

  “Certainly, Zilpha. Port for you, Lav?” growled the companion.

  “No, thank you. Roland, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how long has it been since that picturesque old sawmill was in operation?”

  “Gosh, Lavinia, I couldn’t say. Not since my time, anyway. From what I’ve heard, it must be quite a while since any lumber was cut here. I believe it was Mr. Jenks’s great-grandfather who built the mill. Then his son became a builder, and that’s how they got into being architects.”

  “How did it work? Where did the water power come from? Surely that little trickle that runs through the backyard now couldn’t drive a mill wheel. Did the stream dry up, or what?”

  “Oh, no, there’s plenty of water to drive it still, if anybody took the notion. You’ve probably noticed that the stream runs down over the top of the hill, through that little gully? Well, over beyond, in the woods, not more than a quarter of a mile away, there’s a big spring-fed pond. That’s the mill-pond. There are big wooden gates at this end of it to keep the water dammed up so that just this little stream spills over. If you wanted to operate the mill, all you’d have to do would be to raise the gates and let out as much water as you needed.”

  “How fascinating! Did you know that, Zilpha?”

  “Of course, dear, and you may be sure that I have had the dam thoroughly inspected.”

  “What would happen if it burst?”

  Athelney laughed nervously. “I guess Miss Tabard would get a little more water in her backyard than she wanted. That pond’s pretty high this time of year.”

  “I must walk up there tomorrow,” said Lavinia.

  “Why don’t you go right now?” barked Tetsy.

  Miss Mull was well into the port already and may only have meant to be rude, but Zilpha pounced on her suggestion.

  “Why not, indeed? There’s a beautiful full moon and the night is deliciously mild. You two young things run along and enjoy yourselves while we old ladies nod by the fireside.”

  Roland’s face fell. “Oh, but won’t you come, too?”

  “Another time.”

  Miss Tabard smiled enchantingly and gave him her hand. “We have the whole summer before us, you know, and we hope to see a great deal of our new-found kinsman.”

  With that, Roland had to be content. Lavinia was glad to escape from the stuffy parlor. It was too bad the girls back at the Academy couldn’t see Skinny Vinnie strolling beneath a June moon with a handsome young man. It was also too bad the young man just might be a murderer, but she was finding that harder and harder to believe. In any event, she had nothing to fear from him. Athelney had at least two good reasons for keeping her alive and in good condition. The hint of danger only added spice to the occasion. Because they were still within earshot of the house, and because she was in a reckless mood she’d never experienced before, Lavinia began to sing.

  “Down by the old mill stream, where I first met you.”

  Dutifully, Roland picked up the tune. “With your eyes so blue, dressed in gingham, too.”

  They began to harmonize. The ladies back at the house would be amazed that dear Lavvy was carrying off her part of the evening’s business so competently. Let them wonder. She was having a better time than she’d expected. Soon the grade pitched more steeply, and she had to stop singing.

  “I need my breath to pant with,” she gasped.

  “Is it too hard for you? We could turn around and go back to the house,” Athelney offered hopefully.

  Lavinia was having none of that. “Oh, no, I’m determined to see the pond. Shall we be able to make out the gates, do you think?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s quite bright out. Just a little farther to the top. Shall I take your hand?”

  “I can manage, thank you.” If he’d really wanted to hold hands, he’d have done so without asking.

  “You’re a very determined young lady.”

  She caught a note of apprehension behind his light teasing and thought she might as well give him a real scare, if she could. “Yes, I suppose I am. Once I’ve started something, I absolutely hate to give up. If I’d been around here when old Mr. Jenks disappeared, I’d have turned over every stone between here and Boston looking for him. Even now, I’ll bet we could find a clue if we tried hard enough. People don’t simply vanish into thin air.”

  Roland’s only reply was, “Look down there. Now you can see Miss Tabard’s house.”

  “Yes, and the drafting room almost on a level with our eyes. Is that moonlight glinting on my clean windowpanes, or could there possibly be a light inside?”

  “It’s a lamp, most likely. Hay often comes back after supper. He say it’s the only time he can get any work done.”

  “But he told me he was going home to help his father.”

  “He’ll flag the milk train in the morning. It goes through here about half-past four.”

  “That won’t give him much time for sleep, will it? How long do you think he’ll work tonight?”

  Athelney shrugged. “Till he feels like quitting, I suppose. We’ve got all those plans for the Colwell job to get read
y by next Thursday.”

  “I suppose if Miss Tabard hadn’t invited you this evening, you’d be working, too,” said Lavinia.

  “Not I. All work and no play would make this particular Jack a very dull boy.”

  How much duller could he get? Lavinia wished she were over there in the drafting room, sharpening pencils if she couldn’t make herself useful in any other way. Why hadn’t Roland stayed and done his fair share? How could he give up a chance to build something real, just for the sake of swapping platitudes with Zilpha and Tetsy? No wonder Hayward was bitter about the dinner party.

  Obviously, however, there was no use suggesting that they go and help. She might as well get on with what they’d come to do.

  “Where are those sluice gates?”

  “Right through here. If we take this little path—careful, it might be slippery.”

  He held out a tentative hand again, but Lavinia was using both of hers to keep her skirts up out of the mud. This dainty blue silk might not survive such an excursion. She was pleased at the thought of never having to wear it again, then appalled. The price Zilpha had paid would probably represent half a year’s wages for some working girls. Her values were going to have to undergo some major revisions.

  “We must be coming to the gates. I hear a noise like a waterfall.”

  “Yes, right over here. You see, it’s just a few heavy oak planks bolted together and set between some upright piles.”

  “I hope those piles are in good and solid. This pond is far bigger than I expected it to be.”

  “Yes, there’s a lot of water here,” Athelney agreed. “Some say it was a meteorite that fell and hollowed out a crater here. A thunderbolt, the old folks called it. That’s why you find the pond up here on the hill instead of down in the Hollow where you’d normally expect it. That’s also why Miss Tabard has indoor plumbing. It was an experiment of Mr. Jenks’s. He had pipes run down to the house and clear across to the drafting room, along the stream bed. The running water keeps them from freezing, you see, even in winter. Some say that was why Mrs. Jenks married him, so she wouldn’t have to pump water.”

  “There would have to be some reason, wouldn’t there?”