Page 65 of If Looks Could Kill
“I’m sorry I disturbed you,” I told her. To business: “I have a friend. A young man.” I blushed at how this must sound. “He’s just someone I’ve met a few times, but he’s been kind.” Tabitha, you have nothing to confess to this woman, for heaven’s sake. “He accompanied us here for our safety, and this is his coat. He’s outside. I’ll just take it to him quickly.”
Miss Stella’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve kept a young man waiting outside all this time?” she said. “What a gallant fellow. Invite him in, do. He must be freezing.”
I imagined him meeting my Gorgon hostess. “I couldn’t,” I began. “I’ll just give him—”
“I’ll cover my head,” she said with a small smile. “No need for concern on that account.”
Easy for her to say. Mike would avoid me like contagion if he knew about the type of monstrous company I now kept. “That’s very kind of you, but it’s late, and I—”
“Please,” she said, “I insist. I can put on some water, and we’ll offer a cup of tea to warm him, after his pains. Give him a little treat. He’s quite the Sir Galahad, your beau.”
“He’s not my beau.”
The plaintive note in her voice made me stop. Since she was so keen to have Mike come in for a moment, why refuse her? He must be chilled to the bone. Inviting him in for a cup of tea would be sociable—safer, too—than being outside on the streets by night.
“I would like to talk to him a bit,” I admitted.
“Of course you would.” Miss Stella smiled, and when she did, her austere, forbidding manner melted entirely. “Young people must have their tête-à-têtes. I’ll go put the kettle on. Here.” She handed me her candlestick. “You need this more than I.” She went downstairs.
I stood in the empty foyer, debating. It didn’t feel wise to bring him in. Too risky.
But why on earth not? If she kept her snakes covered, what was there to fear?
I looked to see where Mike and I might sit and talk. A rocking chair waited for an occupant near a front window. I went looking for another chair.
A shadow made me jump. I thought a large man had loomed up beside me, but it was only one of the carvings I’d seen before. A statue of a man, dressed in the elegant clothing of the Federal period, with breeches over his thighs instead of trousers and dance slippers upon his feet instead of shoes. One of the Founding Fathers, perhaps? Hamilton or… of course. Lafayette Place! It must be Lafayette, the Revolutionary hero. He wore a waistcoat and jacket, with frilly lace at his throat that was carved in remarkable detail, and his long hair was pulled back and knotted in a queue at the nape of his neck. He had a kind of beauty to him, and his pose was that of a dancer, with one leg gracefully extended behind the other and an arm outstretched as if to a companion.
I held my candle up closer to examine the face. He was staring straight at me, it seemed, with a look of horror etched perfectly upon his marble features. As if the sculptor had caught him just on the brink of a scream.
A chill came over me. It was only this dusty old townhome with spectral shadows. But the sculpture had rattled me. I decided I’d stick to my first plan and speak to Mike outside.
I hurried down the stairs, glad to put the main floor behind me, and found Miss Stella in the rear kitchen, carefully setting out cups while a kettle purred on the coal stove.
“Miss Stella,” I said, “I think that perhaps I ought not to invite my friend in.”
She set the sugar bowl down upon a tray. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
She seemed to shrink a bit. Disappointed. Wistful. It struck me, then, how lonely her life must be, alone in this house of ghosts, if only figurative ones.
I had hurt her feelings. Perhaps I should’ve invited Mike in, after all. But I shrank at the thought. A need that should’ve sat more heavily upon my conscience occurred to me just then, and I seized upon it.
“Actually,” I told her, “what I’d really like to do is go back to our flat, briefly, to get our things. Pearl’s and mine. And warn our friends.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Is it wise, to go out tonight?”
My heart fluttered with fear. “I know,” I said, “but I’ll just fetch our belongings and warn our flatmates. I’ll come straight back here.”
Miss Stella slowly took the kettle off the stove and placed it on a soapstone. “You must know,” she said, “that once you leave this house, I cannot protect you.”
I gulped. “I won’t be gone long.”
She opened the door to the stove and raked the coals apart so the fire would die down.
A frightening thought seized me. “When I return,” I asked, “will I be allowed back in?”
She opened a kitchen drawer and drew out a skeleton key with a bit of wool tied to one end. “Of course,” she said. “Here. Take the key.”
I took the key, thanked her, and hurried out the front door. There was Mike, still waiting in the shadows. He stepped into the light and waved.
