Margaret Millar - The Devil Loves Me

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

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

No, that was a war ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Think what over?”

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

“The yellow curtains,” he said.

“I’m not coming back. It’s too late.”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone had turned off the hall light.

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

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

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

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

Revel shut the door.

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

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

(“What soft skin you got, Hedy!”)

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

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

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

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

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

“George.”

The door opened. “Yes?”

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

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

“I’m going down now to get it.”

“Be careful.”

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

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

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

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

She snapped the light on, breathing hard.

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

Dennis had built a fire here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dinah!”

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