All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred thirty-one)

All Bedlam Courses Past

Chapter Five

Collecting Debts

(part one hundred thirty-one)

“Pages 16 and 17. A panorama of the city of Christchurch.”

Old Richard learned across Élucide’s knees…rude…hugely rude, but reaching to tap his wife’s shoulder, seeking attention she refused him. That much was interesting.

When the talk ended, and while bracing to throw a rehearsed question, if the others shied—for an officer of the Spiritualist League this was duty—she shot him:

“I care to know if Richard is well. You may answer yes or no.”

He laughed. “I won’t say in mixed company what my son has done, but you know it. You know my door is not open to him. I’m sorry… Yes, I am. Sorry you’ve made me give a speech my father might. Shall we assume he’s well, being well rid of Gremots and Everards?”

“Made you!”

“I have just about never been on a boat.” Verbena, softly leaving them, had got with Libby and Carolina, and seemed rummaging in a pocket.

“Now I have to put a stop to this.”

Élucide tailed Old Richard to the buffet, pulling a steno pad from a pocket to write: Collinson’s speech, sea voyage, Brisbane, money in the nick of time, tumor vanished, Adelaide, promise of a letter, Hobart, school friend recognized, Dunedin(?), doubter converted. Christchurch, small dog with father’s personality. Wellington, dead brother, missing will discovered. Terraces. Refreshments.

The eye of vice-chairwoman Keene was on her.

Really. If Fannie and Eliza were chief and deputy, the secretary’s post was hers. She would give this to a rival unregretted—only they didn’t have the membership. Eliza wanted Fern’s daughter sitting through talks bent over her pencil.

Ranking junior and aware of it.

Carolina was saying, “Verbena, you have that, and look at the pictures all you like. Then I’ll come by and we’ll read it together.” She had fished out a dollar of her own, outfoxing the pride that killed Verbena’s poor joys.

“Familiarity,” Élucide said to Old Richard, “breeds contempt.”

To rebukes that touched faults in the playing of his hand, he would smile. Wit was his allegorical lady, and he bowed to her. But Élucide seemed to have slipped one under the armor. He was angry, stymied in company…

Here the bell rang.

Fannie leaned to tap her arm. “There’s your Yeager.”

It was not clairvoyance. Élucide knew it, too. On her toes behind Yeager’s guest, Ellen widened eyes at Fannie.

Yeager said: “Looks like we got here just when they put the eats on.”

140

Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part one hundred thirty-two

(2024, Stephanie Foster)