All Bedlam Courses Past (part two hundred twenty-one)

All Bedlam Courses Past

Chapter Eight

Things Relative

(part two hundred twenty-one)

Monaghan addressed Élucide, while addressing the room at large. She heard a background of how-do-you-dos, to Ebrach and Phelan, a “Good to meet you, sir,” in the latter case; and her father say, not, “How do you do, Thacker?”, but—

“William Thacker.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You might send your card, when you’re stopping by town.”

“Ought to have. Apologies.”

“How are the cousins?” she said. “How is Honoré today?”

“Fine.” Her father sat. Across from her, to note any look she shot Weem, or fielded from him. She wanted to pat her friend’s hand under the table…but not risk Phelan’s by mistake. What a sad surprise, to find yourself confronted with the man who had run you out of town in the first place.

The stew needed its seconds to simmer, but she was furious with Monaghan. Papa apprised was as good as both parents at the table, both knowing all. The thing could be only her father’s permission. A woman of thirty, who did not need her mother and father’s roof over her head, who had been doing business, competent business, already with the detective…

Who might by that evening have burnt Manfred’s stack of letters, and the hell with…

But, while in low voices, Monaghan and Phelan related the gist of yesterday’s conference, the breath of calm stole back. You could not be the adult, when you were manifestly the child. To sit and sulk, refusing to behave, would only tell Monaghan (a boost surplus to need) that he judged rightly. He would feel sorry for her father.

No, he had conventional views; they all did. Monaghan wanted his answer ready at hand: “I’ve done nothing without her father’s approval.”

“And where,” her father said, “was the Chief docked…or was she docked? I don’t picture that clearly.”

“There are some fine houses along the lakefront, gone and going up. I doubt I need mention the conflagration. Soon twenty years past.” Monaghan looked at Phelan.

Phelan murmured, “Come next October.”

“The Demrose place lies somewhat back of Hyde Park. You can picture none of that either, but I mean only to give you the flavor. Phelan shall go a bit into the wealth and disposition of the estate, as the will obtaining to the day of Mrs. Demrose’s death had it.”

The Chief Complanter’s home pier was off Washington Street, reached by Seven Stars patrons by special train. Monaghan passed an illustrated brochure, cartoonified types pointing wide-grinned at a sketchy vista, clasping hands in delight, feasting on ice cream and playing the banjo…

The gaiety was the point. Or had been, for one whose plans were not lighthearted. The reality (reported by several) had been wilted and grumbly.

233

Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part two hundred twenty-two)

(2025, Stephanie Foster)