The Merry Spinster: Tales of Everyday Horror(25)

“I know,” Sylvia said. “But I’ve always wanted to be able to spit in someone’s face for turning their back on me for losing my fortune, and this may be as close as we’re ever going to get.”

“If it means that much to you, I can try to lose this money, too,” their mother said.

“No,” he said, after a moment’s consideration, “although I appreciate your supporting my dreams. I’d rather you bring me back something extravagant and unnecessary and terribly expensive.”

“All right.”

“Disgustingly extravagant. Vulgar.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Filthy.”

“Sylvia,” their mother said.

“Filthy,” he said again firmly, and waggled his eyebrows until she smiled at him.

“I would be satisfied with a Packard,” Catherine said, putting down the newspaper. “Or even a Citro?n.”

“Only one?” Sylvia joked, still waggling.

“Do not store up for yourself treasure on earth, Sylvia,” Catherine said primly, “where moth and rust corrupt, and where thieves break in and steal. I’ll take one now, and save the other for my birthday.”

“What will you have, Bea?” their mother asked, having long ceased to humor her eldest child’s perverse insistence on the name Beauty. “You should be rewarded for neither waggling your eyebrows like an imp nor for creasing the newspaper before I get the chance to read it, unlike certain of my other children.”

“Where are these accursed offspring?” Sylvia said. “I’ll teach them how to behave themselves.”

“Sylvia, would you kindly decommission your eyebrows?” his mother said.

“Since you have the goodness to think of me,” Beauty said, “be so kind as to bring me a rose.” This was in fact a greater inconvenience disguised as a simple request; in trying not to think of herself, as she so often did, she burdened everybody.

*

Their mother left for the city. There was money to be set aside for taxes, and debts to be honored, and plenty of disputes with the other partners about what was to be done with the remainder, and after several discussions that she sorely wished could have come to blows, she returned home only a little richer than she had left. There were a few hours remaining in her journey when she found herself lost on a rarely trafficked road and out of gas. She had to leave the car parked on the shoulder and walk in search of a house with a telephone. It was raining madly, and the wind blew so fiercely that she could not keep her steps in a straight line. Night fell, and she heard the soft fall of footsteps behind her and felt the hot breath of something beside her.

Eventually, she saw a light through a line of trees and made for it, finding herself at the entrance to a great house. It was flooded from top to bottom with lights in every room, but the doorway was dark, with no lamp over it. The gate to the house opened easily enough, but no one came to the door at her knock. She found it unlocked and ventured inside, where she was met with a large hall, a well-established fire in the hearth, a fully dressed table, and not another living soul. She hallooed cheerfully and received no reply, then wandered a bit down the hall in case there was a phone she could use without disturbing anyone, but found nothing. She waited a considerable time, and still nobody came.

She had forgotten to be wary of hospitality with no host and drew near the fire to warm herself, planning just how she would explain herself should the owner of the house find her thus. For, she thought, I can hardly be expected to go back to the car at this hour, and decided she would be very charming when she was found, to make up for her bad manners.

Since she had already begun to be rude, she thought to herself sometime later, by entering the house and sitting by the fire uninvited, there was no great harm in eating from the dinner laid out on the table. She took a piece of chicken and ate it, and only afterward did she wonder at her own presumption. Then she thought she might like to have a glass of wine, and did not wonder at herself any longer; nothing about her situation seemed especially unusual after that. After a few more glasses, it occurred to her that she might like to explore the grounds. So, taking both the bottle and her courage with her, she went out of the hall, crossed through several grand rooms, all beautifully appointed, until she came to an enclosed courtyard and a garden within it. Passing under a cluster of hothouse roses, she was reminded of Beauty’s request and twisted off a branch that held several blossoms; immediately she heard an unwelcome noise behind her and turned.

“How particularly uncivil,” said the man—was it a man?—to her. “I have saved you from an exceedingly uncomfortable and dangerous night by the side of the road by opening my home to you, and not only have you drunk enough wine for several guests, but I find you stealing my property. I ought to shoot you for your trespass.”

She had enough of a flair for the dramatic that she could not help but drop the bottle. “There’s no excuse for it,” she said.

“Be careful that you don’t embarrass yourself.”

“Would it insult you very much if I tried to apologize?”

“I am afraid that it would.”

“Would an explanation prove equally offensive?”

“It would depend on the explanation, madam.”

Now she felt herself on slightly surer footing, since he seemed inclined to allow her to be charming at him. She opened her eyes quite wide and tilted her head in as becoming a manner as she dared, remembering that she was past forty. “It was for my daughter,” she said, hoping to sound more like an eccentric rich woman than a desperate and moderately impoverished one. “She had a particular inclination for a rose.”