All Bedlam Courses Past (part two hundred thirty-six)

All Bedlam Courses Past

Chapter Eight

Things Relative

(part two hundred thirty-six)

“None of that,” Élucide said, “means anything.”

“Only, that the younger members of the household were of one generation, and Mrs. Demrose of another. The early bedtimes meant hours, evenings, the two might spend secluded. Demrose did not employ any sort of valet, but kept to his four rooms solitary. Miss Buckley was assisted in dressing by Miss Gardener, who brought the morning post and breakfast tray, and collected spent linens. But houses are houses, and voices will carry. On these travels, they might put heads together with fair freedom. Shipboard.” Monaghan nodded to Élucide’s father, allowing him custody of this touchstone, shipboard. “I submit that they talked of it, of the day Mrs. Demrose would be no longer with them, what they might do. How long, perhaps, before in decency they could declare themselves. The talk might well…” He appointed this area of concern to Élucide. “Have idly dwelt on accidents, rough seas and falls, the declining state of Mrs. Demrose’s health. Phelan, the Cox interview.”

Phelan slid across the papers.

Monaghan perused, and looked up. “Young society couple, Barney Cox, wife Dorcas. Her father runs a cargo line in Milwaukee, but on her marriage bought his daughter a Chicago place, same Hyde Park neighborhood as Cornish House.”

“To put them in the thick of a better class, far from the coal barges.”

This unexpected editorial of Phelan’s lingered a moment; then Monaghan quoted Mrs. Cox:

After we opened the place, we did our rounds in the carriage, calling. I’d put a note on mine, my card, at Cornish’s, because my mother had seen the garden as a girl. We were asked to lunch.

Before the meal, the Coxes were given a stroll. Mrs. Demrose on her feet. Arm of Demrose supporting her, not a cane. Demrose seating his wife on a bench, Coxes ahead with Miss Buckley, who knew the answers to none of their questions, but allowed Cox, with his penknife, to cut a bouquet, sending the pair off with a vase. Vase returned. Coxes on a drive, Cox taking the article to the door himself, seeking a word with Demrose, who knew horseflesh. A hand of bridge mooted, Coxes stopping again after five, Mrs. Demrose upstairs, Miss Buckley and Demrose playing.

The Coxes were a pair of twenty-year-olds. On the shoulders of Dorcas sat poised all her father’s ambitions. For no reason that could matter to the Demrose investigation, the family were somewhat out, with only an aunt to chaperone niece and spouse into the opera and theatre crowds. The Coxes were jewel-boxed, in their new-furnished townhouse, in a world belonging to a circle decades older.

They were bored, they could not be preoccupied with church and good works. They could not quite dare Vaudeville and the racecourse, but their youthful tastes inclined them that way. Manfred and Myra were fun. No one else was.

248

Bedlam

All Bedlam Courses Past (part two hundred thirty-seven)

(2025, Stephanie Foster)