Page 48 of The Midnight Carousel
‘I can’t believe dear Malcolm is gone. Such a terrible business,’ Nancy says, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘It seems so out of character for him to have ended it all.’
They are sitting in the cramped offices of Sir Malcolm’s lawyer in downtown Chicago, the odour of garlic from the restaurant downstairs sticking to their clothes.
Nancy looks every inch the sister-in-law in mourning in a black silk dress covered in black feathers, and a pillbox hat with a veil.
For a change, she seems both sober and unmedicated, her stormy mood at the reception party a fortnight ago blown away.
Probably recalling all those times that the pair of them have spent sitting together quietly on the patio bench at Fairweather House, she gives Maisie a compassionate look.
In return, Maisie attempts a small smile, struggling to keep her face from giving away the truth about Sir Malcolm.
The letters and pile of his clothes by the lake were enough evidence for a presumptive death certificate, and convinced the police to buy the suicide story– drowning after wading into the icy waters of Lake Michigan.
But it appears that Nancy isn’t as easy to convince.
‘It is indeed a terrible business,’ Mr Peabody of Peabody Eric will get a pair of cufflinks; Clara the silver sugar bowl; Peggy Mae a set of Wedgwood china for herself and ten dollars for each of her three children; and even Robert the new footman is remembered with an engraved silver tankard.
‘Moving on to Silver Kingdom,’ Mr Peabody says.
Maisie tenses. Silently, she prays that there’s a condition stating she should be kept on.
‘Of Sir Malcolm’s portion, five per cent is awarded to Hugo with the remaining ninety-five per cent going to Maisie, which gives her a seventy per cent controlling interest in the business.’
The room sits in stunned silence. No one is more surprised than Maisie.
Here she is, little Maisie Marlowe from Canvey Island, now a person of substantial means.
Sir Malcolm has given her the gift of financial security.
It feels just like the magical moment when Aunty Mabel appeared on the footpath leading to the Sixpences’ shack.
James’s grip of her hand intensifies. To her right, the undercurrent of hostility emanating from the Randolphs makes Maisie nervous.
Sir Malcolm’s death looks doubly suspicious now she’s gained so much from it.
Anyone who knows where Maisie came from– the squalor, the filth of the shack, the history of her parents– would want to examine the circumstances of this sudden inheritance.
It’s Nancy who speaks first.
‘Suicide is a mortal sin and Malcolm will burn in hell for what he’s done.’
She waits, expecting an admonishment, but when not so much as a squeak comes from Hugo, Maisie decides to step in.
‘Thank you, Mr Peabody.’ She leans across the desk to shake his hand. ‘It makes sense for me to stay at Fairweather House so I’m close to work.’
Maisie throws Nancy a smile, enjoying the look of fury on the woman’s face, any closeness they might once have shared snuffed out like a candle. She turns to James for back-up, but he is silent, his mouth drawn into a thin line.
James’s silence persists on the way home. At Fairweather House, he helps Maisie from the cab without making eye contact, pays the driver and strides inside.
‘James, don’t you think we should stay?’ she asks as soon as they’re alone.
He swings around, his eyes taking her in.
‘In actual fact, I do. Nancy shouldn’t have said what she did about Sir Malcolm and I’m glad you stuck up for him.’ He frowns. ‘But, Maisie, we’re a team now and you should have talked it through with me before announcing it to the whole world.’
Maisie can see his point. She was so upset by Nancy’s spite about Sir Malcolm that she didn’t consider her husband’s feelings, and he’s the only person she now has in the world.
His face relaxes and he holds out his arms. Leaning into him, Maisie hears the steady rhythm of his heart, smells his musky aftershave.
They stand in the hallway, the only sound the gentle patter of light raindrops falling on the driveway.
Minutes pass. In these arms, Maisie is wanted.
A funeral is held that same week. Though Sir Malcolm long ago stopped attending church, and there’s no body, the minister was amenable to a service without the burial.
‘We became used to families of soldiers lost on the battlefield asking for similar in the war,’ he’d explained, believing Hugo’s story that his brother had drowned by accident.
Maisie is riddled with guilt. The consequences of her actions on her wedding night are beginning to sink in. Thanks to her, everyone else thinks Sir Malcolm killed himself, and no one is out looking for him.
Two days later, Maisie learns that her decision to stay at Fairweather House hasn’t deterred the Randolphs from moving in. As Hugo’s car rolls up the driveway, followed by two large trucks, she has a hard-to-shake feeling of impending doom.
‘Place the personal goods in the hallway and the furniture in the garage for now,’ Nancy orders the men in an overly loud voice, as though she’s putting on a performance especially for Maisie. ‘We’ll clear each room of the old junk in due course.’
Soon the entire contents of the Randolphs’ narrow townhouse begin to emerge.
Maisie searches out Peggy Mae to talk about making extra for dinner tonight, passing Nancy’s maid, who is burdened with an armful of dresses.
There’s no cook in the kitchen, but she finds Hugo struggling to find space for a box of groceries in the pantry.
‘Let me help,’ she tells him.
Hugo moves aside and watches Maisie reorganize the shelving.
‘I would have stayed at Albany Avenue,’ he says with a defeated smile. ‘But I didn’t exactly get any say in the matter. It’s going to feel awfully crowded with all of us living under one roof.’
Fairweather House is large enough for them all, in Maisie’s eyes.
‘Not if we respect each other’s space,’ she replies.
This proves easier said than done. Hugo and James get along, reminiscing about the good old days of England, sharing bottle after bottle of Sir Malcolm’s best wine, and toasting Cuthbert and Mr Lionel and every other mutual acquaintance.
But the tension between Maisie and Nancy intensifies.
It’s as if the lawyer’s office marked a shift back to their relationship of old, although Maisie holds greater power now than she did previously.