Chapter Twenty-three

YORK, ENGLAND, August 12, 1926—The famed Abbey of York sustained a damaging explosion and fire at dawn this morning in its west wing, the residential quarters of the religious order. An undisclosed number of sisters and novices were killed in the tragic occurrence. It was believed that the explosion was due to a malfunction in the heating system recently installed by the order.

Canfield read the story in the ship’s newspaper one day before arriving in New York.

They do their homework well, he thought. And although the price was painfully high, it proved two points conclusively; the press releases were read and Madame Scarlatti was marked.

The field accountant reached into his pocket and took out the old woman’s letter to Janet Scarlett. He’d read it many times and thought it effective. He read it once more.

My dear Child:

I am aware that you are not particularly fond of me and accept the fact as my loss. You have every right to feel as you do—the Scarlattis have not been pleasant people with whom to be associated. However, for whatever reasons and regardless of the pain you have been caused, you are now a Scarlatti and you have borne a Scarlatti into this world. Perhaps you will be the one who will make us better than we are.

I do not make this statement lightly or out of sentiment. History has shown that the least expected among us often emerge splendidly because of the grave responsibilities placed upon them. I ask you to consider this possibility.

I further ask you to give deep consideration to what Mr. Matthew Canfield will tell you. I trust him. I do so because he has saved my life and nearly lost his own in so doing. His interests and ours are inextricably bound together. He will tell you what he can and he will ask of you a great deal.

I am a very, very old woman, my dear, and do not have much time. What months or years I do have (precious perhaps only to me) may well be cut short in a fashion I’d like to believe is not the will of God. Naturally, I accept this risk gladly as the head of the house of Scarlatti, and if I can spend what time I have left preventing a great dishonor upon our family, I will join my husband with a grateful heart.

Through Mr. Canfield, I await your answer. If it is as I suspect, we will be together shortly and you will have gladdened me far beyond that which I deserve. If it is not, you still have my affection and, believe me when I say, my understanding.

Elizabeth Wyckham Scarlatti.

Canfield replaced the letter in the envelope. It was quite good, he thought again. It explained nothing and asked for implicit trust that the unsaid explanation was vitally urgent. If he did his job, the girl would be coming back to England with him. If he failed to persuade her, an alternative would have to be found.

The Ulster Scarlett brownstone on Fifty-fourth Street was being repainted and sandblasted. There were several scaffolds lowered from the roof and a number of workmen diligently at their crafts. The heavy Checker cab pulled up in front of the entrance and Matthew Canfield walked up the steps. He rang the bell; the door was opened by the obese housekeeper.

‘Good afternoon, Hannah. I don’t know if you remember, but my name’s Canfield. Matthew Canfield to see Mrs. Scarlett.’

Hannah did not budge or offer entrance. ‘Does Mrs. Scarlett expect you?’

‘Not formally, but I’m sure she’ll see me.’ He had had no intention of phoning. It would have been too easy for her to refuse.

‘I don’t know if madame is in, sir.’

‘Then I’ll just have to wait. Shall it be here on the stairs?’

Hannah reluctantly made way for the field accountant to step into the hideously colored hallway. Canfield was struck again by the intensity of the red wallpaper and the black drapes. ‘I’ll inquire, sir,’ said the housekeeper as she started toward the stairs.

In a few minutes Janet came down the long staircase, followed by a waddling Hannah. She was very much composed. Her eyes were clear, aware, and devoid of the panic he had remembered. She was in command and without question a beautiful woman.

Canfield felt a sudden sting of inferiority. He was outclassed.

‘Why, Mr. Canfield, this is a surprise.’

He could not determine whether her greeting was meant to be pleasant or not. It was friendly, but cool and reserved. This girl had learned the lessons of the old money well.

‘I hope not an unwelcome one, Mrs. Scarlett.’

‘Not at all.’

Hannah had reached the bottom step and walked toward the dining room doors. Canfield quickly spoke again. ‘During my trip I ran across a fellow whose company makes dirigibles. I knew you’d be interested.’ Canfield watched Hannah out of the corner of his eye without moving his head. Hannah had turned abruptly and looked at the field accountant.

‘Really, Mr. Canfield? Why would that concern me?’ The girl was mystified.

‘I understand your friends on Oyster Bay were determined to buy one for their club. Here, I’ve brought all the information.

Purchase price, rentals, specifications, the works—Let me show you.’

The field accountant took Janet Scarlett’s elbow and led her swiftly toward the living room doors. Hannah hesitated ever so slightly but, with a glance from Canfield, retreated into the dining room. Canfield then closed the living room doors.

‘What are you doing? I don’t want to buy a dirigible.’

The field accountant stood by the doors, motioning the girl to stop talking.

‘What?’

‘Be quiet for a minute. Please.’ He spoke softly.

Canfield waited about ten seconds and then opened the doors in one swinging motion.

Directly across the hallway, standing by the dining room table, was Hannah and a man in white overalls, obviously one of the painters. They were talking while looking over toward the living room doors. They were now in full view of Canfield’s stare. Embarrassed, they moved away.

Canfield shut the door and turned to Janet Scarlett. ‘Interesting, isn’t it?’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just interesting that your help should be so curious.’

‘Oh, that.’ Janet turned and picked up a cigarette from a case on the coffee table. ‘Servants will talk and I think you’ve given them cause.’

Canfield lit her cigarette. ‘Including the painters?’

‘Hannah’s friends are her own business. They’re no concern of mine. Hannah’s barely a concern of mine—’

‘You don’t find it curious that Hannah nearly tripped when I mentioned a dirigible?’

‘I simply don’t understand you.’

‘I admit I’m getting ahead of myself.’

‘Why didn’t you telephone?’

‘If I had, would you have seen me?’

Janet thought for a minute. ‘Probably—Whatever recriminations I had over your last visit wouldn’t be any reason to insult you.’

‘I didn’t want to take that gamble.’

That’s sweet of you and I’m touched. But why this very odd behavior?’

There was no point in delaying any longer. He took the envelope out of his pocket. ‘I’ve been asked to give you this. May I sit down while you read it?’

Janet, startled, took the envelope and immediately recognized her mother-in-law’s handwriting. She opened the envelope and read the letter.

If she was astonished or shocked, she hid her emotions well.

Slowly she sat down on the sofa and put out her cigarette. She looked down at the letter and up at Canfield, and then back to the letter. Without looking up, she asked quietly, ‘Who are you?’

‘I work for the government. I’m an official… a minor official in the Department of the Interior.’

‘The government? You’re not a salesman, then?’

‘No, I’m not.’

•You wanted to meet me and talk with me for the government?’

‘Yes.’’

‘Why did you tell me you sold tennis courts?’

‘We sometimes find it necessary to conceal our employment. It’s as simple as that.’

‘I see.’

‘I assume you want to know what your mother-in-law means in the letter?’

‘Don’t assume anything.’ She was cold as she continued. ‘It was your job to meet me and ask me all those amusing questions?’

‘Frankly, yes.’

The girl rose, took the necessary two steps toward the field accountant, and slapped him across the face with all her strength. It was a sharp and painful blow. ‘You son of a bitch! Get out of this house!’ She still did not raise her voice. ‘Get out before I call the police!’

‘Oh, my God, Janet, will you stop it!’ He grabbed her shoulders as she tried to wriggle away. ‘Listen to me! I said listen or I’ll slap you right back!’

Her eyes shone with hatred and, Canfield thought, a touch of melancholy. He held her firmly as he spoke. ‘Yes, I was assigned to meet you. Meet you and get whatever information I could.’

She spat in his face. He did not bother to brush it away.

‘I got the information I needed and I used that information because that’s what I’m paid for! As far as my department is concerned, I left this house by nine o’clock after you served me two drinks. If they want to pick you up for illegal possession of alcohol, that’s what they can get you for!’

‘I don’t believe you!’

‘I don’t give a good God damn whether you do or not! And for your further information I’ve had you under surveillance for weeks! You and the rest of your playmates… It may interest you to know that I’ve omitted detailing the more… ludicrous aspects of your day-to-day activities!’

The girl’s eyes began to fill with tears.

‘I’m doing my job as best I can, and I’m not so sure you’re the one who should scream “violated virgin”! You may not realize it, but your husband, or former husband, or whatever the hell he is, could be very much alive. A lot of nice people who never heard of him—women like you and young girls—were burned to death because of him! Others were killed, too, but maybe they should have been.’

‘What are you saying?’ He relaxed his grip on her but still held her firmly.

‘I just know that I left your mother-in-law a week ago in England. It was a hell of a trip over! Someone tried to kill her the first night out on the ship. Oh, you can bet your life it would have been suicide! They would have said she had tearfully thrown herself overboard. No trace at all—A week ago people! An accident, of course!’

‘You want to go or do you still want me to go?’

‘I guess you’d better stay and finish.’ They sat on the sofa and Canfield talked. He talked as he had never talked before.