Маргарет Миллар - Do Evil In Return

“Gwen,” Lewis said.

She tinned and frowned at him. “You mustn’t interrupt me all the time. It’s not polite. One of the things Daddy taught me at home was never to interrupt. Oh, we used to have some sessions on manners, I can tell you! We’d go over and over things until I’d learned everything perfectly. Daddy would pretend that he was somebody like the Duke of Gloucester, say, and then he’d knock on the parlor door, rap, rap, rap, and say: ‘The Duke of Gloucester presents his compliments to Miss Gwendolyn Ann Marshall!’... Lewis dear, isn’t that someone knocking at the front door?”

“It’s only the wind,” Lewis said.

“You’re quite mistaken. You’re always mistaken, Lewis. You don’t realize it but you’re always making...” She went to the front door and opened it, and came back smiling, shaking her head. “Just as I said, it’s the wind. Lewis, you owe me an apology.” Lewis turned his face away. It was ghastly in the firelight, distorted, bloodless, like a wax mask found by a child and pinched and mauled beyond recognition.

“Lewis, dear.”

“Yes.”

“You really should apologize. You’ve made another of your mistakes.”

“I apologize.”

“Well, you aren’t very gracious about it.”

“I... for God’s sake, Gwen.”

“And swearing at me in front of guests, that’s very vulgar.” She looked appealingly at Easter. “That man swore at me too, that awful little man.”

“Voss,” Easter said.

“Voss, that’s it, that’s his name. I told him how vulgar it was to swear in front of a lady but he only laughed at me.”

“Gwen,” Lewis said again. “Be quiet.”

“I won’t be quiet.”

“He’s a policeman.”

“Well, I know he’s a policeman. I’m not stupid. I’m not afraid of him, anyway. I haven’t done anything wrong, except drive without my license.”

“When did you drive without your license, Mrs. Ballard?” Easter asked, quietly.

“Now, that’s childish, trying to trap me like that. I won’t tell you, so there.”

The dog Laddie, suddenly rose on his haunches. Without warning he pointed his nose in the air and began to howl, a terrifying, mournful sound that seemed to come, not from the dog’s throat but from the very origins of time. Twice he stopped to draw a new breath, and begin again; and when he had finished he slunk back into the hall as if in shame, his tail between his legs.

The smile had vanished from Gwen’s face. “Someone has just died.” She sipped the cold, bitter syrup left in the bottom of her cup. “I’m glad it’s not me.”

Charlotte glanced uneasily at Easter. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even shifted his weight from one foot to another. He seemed satisfied to let Gwen continue talking while he picked out a fact here, a fact there, from her uneven flow of words.

Charlotte went over to Easter and said in a hurried whisper, “She’s confused, irrational. Anything she says is...”

“Let me handle this.”

“I heard that, Charlotte,” Gwen cried. “I heard what you said.”

“I was only...”

“You said something about me. Well, I’ve got something to say about you, too.” She crossed the room towards Charlotte, with a slow graceful glide, as if she had suddenly remembered the times at home when she had walked with a book balanced on her head to improve her carriage.

“You want to hear it?”

“Yes.”

“Trollop,” she said. “Trollop.”

Lewis called her back. “Gwen. Please, Gwen.”

“ Please, Gwen. You keep out of this, lecher. A trollop and a lecher. A fine pair, aren’t they, Mr. Easter? And so clever at fooling poor old Gwen, so terribly clever that I’ve known all about the two of them for months and months. But I’ve had my revenges, little ones and big ones. Oh, when I think of the times Charlotte came here to attend me and I’d tell her how honest she was, how trustworthy, then I’d tell her all about Lewis. Her face — oh dear, it was really quite funny!”

Charlotte had backed away quietly, leaving the two of them facing each other, Gwen, like a doll suddenly endowed with a voice and blurting out anything and everything that had been stored up in its stuffed head during the years of silence; and Easter, a giant by contrast, cunning, dispassionate.

“And the big revenge?” he said.

“Gwen,” Lewis said. “I warn you, anything you say now will be used...”

“I...” She tossed her head contemptuously: “I don’t take advice from a lecher. The big revenge, well, don’t you think it was a big revenge, Mr. Easter?”

“I’m not sure yet what it was, or how you managed it.”

“You can’t be very clever.”

“I’m not.”

“You could at least try to guess. You’ll never get ahead in your work if you don’t try.”

“I’ll try.”

“Well, I should think so. Go on.”

“My guess is that Violet came here last Monday afternoon to see your husband. She saw you instead.”

“That’s right. You remember Violet, don’t you, Lewis?”

Lewis didn’t look at her. “I... yes.”

“Well, you should. She was carrying your baby, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it funny, you gave her a baby but not me, not me, and I’m the one who wanted it!”

“I’m sorry.”

“There isn’t any baby now, is there, Lewis?”

“No — no!”

“And no Violet either. You and Charlotte killed her.”

“No!”

“Well, morally you did. I was only the instrument. You and Charlotte are the real murderers.”

“Leave Charlotte out of it.”

“Why should I? I put her in. I sent the girl to her. You hear that, Lewis? I sent her! I thought what a wonderful thing it would be to bring your two trollops together.”

The room was cooling as the fire died.

“Such a good idea, I thought. But it didn’t work out as I planned. I wanted Charlotte to find out what kind of man Lewis really was. And I wanted, too, for her to get rid of Violet’s baby, to spare me the disgrace and scandal of her bringing suit against Lewis, dragging my good name through the courts and the newspapers. But Charlotte refused. And that night after dinner Violet came back to me again. I was in the garden... Have you seen my garden, Mr. Easter?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Very beautiful.” Flowers beaten to the ground, wind-stripped trees, broken cypress. “Was she alone when she came the second time?”

“Two men drove her here in a car. The little one brought her across the lawn to where I was sitting on the swing. He said he was Violet’s uncle and he thought Violet and I should talk about terms while we were waiting for Lewis. That was the word he used — terms. He left her there with me. She began to cry. Tears don’t affect me any more — I’ve cried too much myself — but I was kind to her. I was brought up to be kind to everyone, especially my inferiors.”

“Did she mention money?”

“No, I did. I asked her how much she’d take to leave town and never come back. She got hysterical then. She kept saying over and over again that Voss was trying to force her to take money but she didn’t want any money. All she wanted was to get rid of the baby, to be ‘ordinary’ again, she called it. She talked as if the baby was a terrible disease.”

Charlotte remembered the scene Violet had made in her office, the way she’d struck her thighs with her fists and cried: “I’ll kill myself!.. I don’t even want money. I only want to be the way I was before, with nothing growing inside me.”

Gwen’s hands were fidgeting with the lace around her throat. “She asked to see Lewis, and when I said he wasn’t here she accused me of lying, of trying to protect him. I told her I wasn’t lying, that Lewis had gone on a fishing trip. She misunderstood what kind of fishing trip it was, and she threatened to go down to the wharf and wait for him. I said, ‘All right, I’ll go with you.’”