Stolen Away

“As they…they reached my door, these footsteps, they stopped. I thought that any moment, whoever it was would enter my room. I thought, perhaps, it was you…after last night, perhaps a midnight rendezvous….”

“I haven’t been out of my room, Evalyn.”

She nodded, as if she knew that already. “Across from my room is a doorway to the stairs to the third floor—which is shut off. I don’t even know where the key is. I heard footsteps going up those stairs. Then I heard the footsteps above me. Above the ceiling of my room.”

“Maybe it’s Inga.”

“I don’t think so. I got up, went into the hallway. The third-floor door was locked.”

“It wasn’t me up, wandering. You don’t think Means doubled back, for some reason?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. The caretaker doesn’t live on the grounds; he has a little place in Bradley Hills. Why would he be stalking around?”

“If you’re concerned…”

“It could be one of the kidnappers, checking us out, couldn’t it?”

“It’s possible.”

She turned to me; her eyes were as frightened as they were lovely. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“You talked me into it. What about Inga? Are you concerned about what she might think…?”

“I have no secrets from Inga. Could we block the door?”

I told her we could; I got out of bed, moved the dresser in front of the door, and got my nine millimeter out of my travel bag and put it on the nightstand.

“Slide over,” I told her. I wanted to be next to the gun.

She slid over. “I’m a damned fool.”

“This house would give Frankenstein the willies.” I climbed in bed next to her. “Look, it could’ve been your imagination. You might’ve been dreaming, or hearing night sounds…”

“It is a noisy night.”

“Sure. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“Hold me, would you, Nate? Hold me.”

I held her.

“Don’t blow out the candle,” she said.

“I won’t.”

“Why do you put up with me?”

“I like women with big money and big breasts.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You really think so?”

“No.”

The wind shook the windows, boards and glass alike; she grabbed me. She was terrified. So I kissed her, just to settle her down. It led to more.

“You must think I’m terrible,” she said, later.

“Not at all.”

“You think I’m shallow. You think I’m silly.”

“Sure. But not terrible.”

She laughed; it was a husky laugh. “I’m getting old, Nate. These breasts of mine are starting to droop.”

“Not that I can see. Anyway, I’ll be glad to lift ’em for you—anytime.”

“You. You.”

I kissed her again. She seemed to have forgotten about her kidnapper or ghost or whatever-it-was making footsteps in the hall and above the ceiling. Or had she invented that to find a way into my room, without looking “terrible”?

“That’s an ominous-looking thing.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.

“I mean the gun.”

“Oh. Well, ominous is a good way for a gun to look.”

“Have…have you ever killed anyone with it?”

“Yes. I killed a kidnapper not so long ago. That’s why Lindy thinks I’m a prince.”

“You talk about it so…casually.”

“I’m not really casual about it, Evalyn. I don’t ever mean to use a gun casually. That gun of all guns….”

“What about that gun?”

I didn’t say anything.

“What is it, Nate?”

“Evalyn, I…nothing.”

“What?”

“Well. Look, I’ll be frank with you. I might’ve dismissed you as a silly, shallow woman, if it weren’t for some of what you’ve been through. If you don’t mind my saying.”

“Such as?”

I swallowed. “Losing your son.”

She touched my face.

I touched her face.

She said, “You lost somebody, too, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“Nate…are you…?”

I wiped my face with my hand; the hand came away wet. “No. Sweating. These blankets.”

“Who, Nate? Who did you lose?”

And I told her. I told her slowly, and in detail, about my father. About what I’d done to make him use my gun on himself. About how I carried that gun so I wouldn’t forget.

“But I do forget sometimes,” I admitted. “Life and death are cheap in this lousy goddamn world. Particularly in this lousy goddamn depression.”

“I’m not by nature contemplative,” she said, hugging my arm, staring into the near-darkness. “But the thing I wonder about most is why the universe is geared so to cruelty.”

I kissed her forehead.

The wind was settling down, now; it was making a whistling, almost soothing sound.

“Why don’t you tell me about your son? Tell me about your little boy.”

She did. For perhaps an hour, she told me of her “sweet and preternaturally wise” little boy. Little Vinson was the only ghost in the house, as the candle burned down and night turned to morning, and he was not a sinister presence.

A few hours later, the footsteps in the hall and the thought of ghosts seemed foolish to us as we went down for breakfast. Evalyn was wearing a casual black-and-white frock; I’d been allowed to abandon the chauffeur’s uniform for one of my two suits. Inga was fixing bacon and eggs—Gus the caretaker had dropped off some fresh supplies, it seemed—and the smells of the food and the morning were refreshing.

But Inga seemed even gloomier than usual.

We sat at an unpretentious square table in the kitchen as Inga served us our eggs and bacon and toast with a side order of bloodshot, black-circled eyes.