Death Before Bedtime by Gore Vidal Page A

cheerful by contrast. The fire was burning brightly in the fireplace and tea had been prepared. Mrs. Rhodes, a model of serenity, poured. Everyone cheered up a good bit, glad to be out of the black December day.
    Ellen had thrown off her veil; she looked fine in her basic black dress. “I loathe tea,” she said to me in a low voice as we sat together on a Heppelwhite couch at the far end ofthe room, close to the windows. The others were buzzing about the room in a dignified manner.
    “Good for the nerves,” I said; as a matter-of-fact tea was exactly what I wanted at the moment. “What’s next on the agenda?”
    “Reading the will, I suppose.”
    “Your mother seems to be holding up awfully well.”
    “She’s pretty tough.”
    “Was she very fond of your father?”
    Ellen chuckled. “Now that’s a leading question … as far as I know she was, but you never can tell. They used to be very close but then I’ve been away such a long time that I’ve rather lost touch with what’s been going on.” Across the room the Governor was talking gravely to Mrs. Rhodes who looked pale but controlled.
    Then I told Ellen about Mrs. Pomeroy.
    She laughed out loud; she stopped when she saw Verbena Pruitt looking at us with disapproval. “I didn’t know Camilla had it in her,” she said with admiration.
    “I only hope you’re not jealous,” I teased her.
    “Jealous? Of Camilla?” Ellen was amused. “I wish the poor dear luck. I hope she has a good time … you will give her one?”
    “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” I said loftily, wondering myself what I should do about this situation. I wasn’t much attracted; on the other hand if her husband was the murderer I should, perhaps, devote a little time to her. “By the way,” I asked, “how is the
affaire
Langdon coming?”
    Ellen scowled. “It’s not coming at all. Every time something is about to happen the lights go out or someone gets murdered. At this present rate it will be weeks before anything happens.”
    “Were you with him last night?”
    She smiled slyly.
    “I don’t think it would be very easy: with that guard watching the corridor all the time.”
    “He looks the other way. Besides, our rooms are on the same side and at the other end of the landing. He can’t tell whether I’m going into my room or the one next to it.”
    “I see you’ve figured it all out.”
    “Don’t forget that where the guard sits used to be my father’s study and that once upon a time Father used to work in there with the door open, keeping an eye on the hall and me, especially when we had young men staying in the house.”
    “Jezebel!”
    “There are times when I think I may be a little abnormal,” said Ellen calmly. Then, at a signal from the Governor, she got up and followed him into the dining room: the room of all work. In a few minutes only Verbena Pruitt, Langdon and Mr. Pomeroy were left in the room. The four of us sat cozily about the fire. Pomeroy mixed drinks. From the other room came the monotonous, indistinct sound of the Governor’s voice.
    “I hope they’ll be finished with us soon,” said the great lady of American politics, scratching the point where her girdle stopped and her own firm flowing flesh began. She was in black now but her hat was trimmed with quantities of imitation cherries.
    “So do I,” said Langdon gloomily, cracking his knuckles. “I have to get back to New York. The magazine is bothering the life out of me.”
    “I should think they’d be delighted to have one of their people in this house,” I said reasonably, remembering myown newspaper days. Mr. Pomeroy handed me a Scotch and soda.
    “I guess they think they have the wrong person here,” said Langdon truthfully.
    “Nonsense, my boy. It’s all in your head. You can do anything you want to,” Miss Pruitt fired her wisdom over a jigger of straight rye.
    “But remember, Verbena, a murder story without a murderer isn’t the most interesting thing in the