King Devil

CHAPTER ONE

You have a lovely day for traveling.

Miss Axelrod had already made the observation seven times. The eighth would be the last. The train was pulling into the whistlestop, the conductor swinging down the iron steps, preparing to leap off and help the lone passenger aboard. Next year, old Axie would still be teaching embroidery and penmanship at Miss Plomm’s Select Academy for Young Gentlewomen, but not to Lavinia Tabard.

Suddenly Axie was no longer a petty tyrant, only a harassed middle-aged woman who wasn’t going anywhere now and probably never would, somebody Lavinia had known all her life and might never see again. Though she’d been trained not to give way to emotion in public, Lavinia flung her arms around the older woman and kissed her on the cheek.

Goodbye, Miss Axelrod. Thank you for everything.

There was no time to say more, and the lump in her throat wouldn’t have let her say it anyway. Heart hammering, Lavinia snatched up her shiny new patent leather valise and hastened to meet the conductor.

She was glad to have the valise to hang on to. Her father, whose presents were few and far between, had sent it, perhaps to make up for the fact that his daughter would be given no formal graduation. The girls she’d started with had long since received their beribboned diplomas and danced off to snare their husbands. Lavinia hadn’t been on the platform that year because she was going to stay on for extra courses. Nor was she invited to participate in any of the three succeeding commencement ceremonies, because in a sense she was already graduated. Miss Plomm had always been adroit at finding perfectly sound reasons why Jack Tabard’s offspring shouldn’t parade herself in public with those who ought to have been her peers.

Being left out used to hurt, but that was all behind her now. She was a grown-up young woman, traveling without a chaperone for the first time in her life, thrilled and scared and praying she wouldn’t make a mess of it. Of course she’d been coached in what to do every inch of the journey. She must give her ticket to be punched, go straight to the parlor car, find a seat in the ladies’ section, and comport herself with decorum until the conductor told her where to change trains. She must then convey herself and her luggage across town to the narrow gauge railway that ran past Lake Truance, over to Dalby where Zilpha and Tetsy would be waiting at the depot.

Her biggest worry was her traveling costume. Zilpha had sent a new outfit for the grand occasion. Not to keep it immaculate would show ingratitude, but how in Heaven’s name was she to protect twelve yards of pale beige gabardine from six hours of soot and cinders? Why could she never, for once in her life, go to a dressmaker or a shop or even the Sears, Roebuck catalog and pick out what she wanted for herself?

Car’s pretty full, Miss. One seat at the rear of the car.

The conductor didn’t offer to show her where it was. He was frowning at his official nickel-plated Ingersoll stem-winder, concerned only with running the railroad on time. What did he care that a frightened, embarrassed ex-student had to juggle her own valise along a lurching aisle under a battery of lorgnettes? She ought to have realized that some of her guardian’s acquaintances would be on the train, journeying to their summer estates up along the coast. Lavinia recognized one or two faces and bowed diffidently, as she tried to control her sweeping skirts without showing an indecent amount of ankle.

For her courtesy she got mainly cold stares, though one woman did turn to her companion and inquire, Who’s that?

The familiar Boston dowager’s hoot carried easily over the racket of the train. Heavens, can’t you spot the Tabard jaw when you see it? That must be What’s-her-name. Letitia? Lucinda? Lavinia, that’s it. They named the baby after Jack’s mother. Ghastly mistake as it turned out, but how was he to know at the time?

Abigail, do lower your voice. The girl will hear you.

Don’t be absurd, Maude, how could she possibly with all this infernal clanking? I can’t even hear myself.

I can hear you perfectly, Maude replied in a tone of mild reproof, though she made no special effort to modulate her own pitch. At least Zilpha seems to have taken her out of school at last. She must be getting on for twenty by now. I suppose Miss Plomm didn’t want her hanging about forever, like the last rose of summer.

Hardly a rose, Maude. It’s a pity she didn’t inherit the mother’s looks, since she’s hardly likely to come into much else. Did I ever tell you that I bumped into Minnie Tabard last winter on the Riviera? Of course she’s calling herself Mimi now, and she claims to be married to some Italian nobleman. Contessa di Something-or-other. I can’t remember, and it doesn’t matter. I presume the title is genuine.

Oh, I shouldn’t be surprised. They all have titles, don’t they? I always thought Minnie rather a captivating little thing, myself.

Captivating is precisely the word. Goodness only knows how many men she’s gotten those dainty hooks into over the years. Never did have any more moral sense than a female cuckoo. Whatever will Zilpha do with the daughter now, I wonder? Marry her off to some country parson, no doubt, if she can find one nearsighted enough to pop the question. Though I don’t suppose any self-respecting clergyman would care to tie himself to a wife like that.

Surely Zilpha would make it worth his while.

She must feel she’s done just about enough for Jack and his walking beanstalk already. I wonder who’s going to get her money in the end?

My dear Abigail, you and I will never know. Zilpha Tabard will be going strong long after we’re both dead and buried.

Very likely, though you might have shown enough tact not to say so. I shouldn’t be surprised if she had that gawky creature on her hands for the rest of her natural life.

She might put her to painting houses, said Maude lightly. It would save wear and tear on the ladders. Did you know that Zilpha has now bought a summer place out beyond Lake Truance?

Yes, and you could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard that bit of news. One would think she’d had enough of Lake Truance after what happened to poor Neill. They hushed that story up nicely, I must say.

Abigail, you do have the quaintest notions. What was there to hush? Everybody knew Neill Tabard had been drinking like a fish the whole day. When had he not?

He’d never fallen off a train before, though.

One doesn’t do that sort of thing more than once, does one? Dear me, it must have been right around here somewhere that it happened. I do wish you hadn’t reminded me. I always liked Neill.

Too bad you weren’t either a horse or a bottle, then you might have become a rich widow in the prime of your life. Those were the only things he was ever really attracted to. At any rate, as I understand it, Zilpha had been madly in love with this place for years, and when it came on the market, she wouldn’t have turned it down if the house had stood in Timbuctoo.

Why has she never fallen in love with a man, I wonder? I suppose houses are less difficult to get rid of when you tire of them. One can’t turn one’s husband over to a real estate agent, more’s the pity. Let me see, how many moves will this make? Five? No, six. That woman has a positive mania for flitting about. I expect she’ll do with this house as she’s done with all the rest, remodel till she runs out of things to change, show off the result to all her friends and relations, then get bored and start hunting for another. An expensive pastime, wouldn’t you think?

"You may rest assured that Zilpha does not lose by her transactions. One way or another, she never spends without getting a good return for her dollar. Do you know she makes all her servants stay in Boston on half wages during the summer, and goes off with only Tetsy Mull and a local hired girl. She claims she does her own cooking and washing!

Heavens, that’s nothing. My cousin Emma drags her family out to some ghastly island with no running water or gas lights and makes them sleep in tents. They don’t even have a man to chop wood for the campfires. I’ll wager Tetsy doesn’t let dear Zilpha suffer one moment’s inconvenience. Speaking of creature comforts, shall we go into the dining car?

Why not? I should be glad of some tea to wash down the cinders. My throat feels like a coal scuttle. Ought we to invite the girl, do you think?

Maude, sometimes you carry Christian charity to absurd lengths.

Looking like giant tea cozies in their tight basques and ample skirts, the two ladies sailed on ahead. Lavinia sat rooted to her plush seat, cheeks burning, eyes smarting with the tears she would rather die than shed.

Don’t let them know you care.

She’d worked out that rule for herself before she was ten years old. Once they found out they couldn’t make you cry, they’d leave you alone. Being called a human beanstalk was mild compared to some of the tags she’d had pinned on her at school.

But why did they have to be so catty about Uncle Neill? It was hearing about her dead relative that made her so wretched, Lavinia tried to tell herself. She never had been told exactly how he died, only that he’d been in a train accident. It was a shock to learn she was riding over the same route. She’d been fond of Uncle Neill. When she was small, the boozy bachelor used to hoist her up on his fat lap and let her fish in his waistcoat pocket for violet pastilles. Once, on her twelfth birthday, he’d given her a five-dollar gold piece. Her father had said, You’d better give me that for safekeeping, and that was the last she ever saw of her gold piece. Nor did she ever get another, because it was that same winter Uncle Neill was killed. Why couldn’t they let him rest in peace?

She’d better concentrate on the more interesting and less harrowing piece of information. What a pity the girls at school couldn’t know she was now the daughter of a Contessa! It was also a pity that Mrs. Simms didn’t remember her mother’s new name, even though Lavinia would never get a chance to use it. By now, Mimi had no doubt forgotten she’d ever been Mrs. Jack Tabard, much less borne a child during that brief and ill-starred union.

Back in eighteen eighty-eight, when the dashing scion of a prominent Eastern family took unto himself a Bonanza Princess, his friends and relations hadn’t exactly clasped the sprightly Minnie to their well-starched bosoms but they had understood. Some Tabards were savers, some spenders. Jack, having been born with a hole in his pocket, must find his fortune where he could. Since Minnie was not only extremely rich but also ravishingly pretty, amusing to talk with, and clever enough to pick up a Boston accent while avoiding the local dressmakers, some even went so far as to whisper that young Jack hadn’t done too badly, after all.

Hardly had the couple’s firstborn been lugged squalling to her christening, however, when the Slocum lode petered out. Minnie’s old man was said to have shrugged his shoulders, loaded his pack mule, and headed back into the hills. Profiting by her father’s example, young Mrs. Tabard lit out for New York with her newly refined accent and seventeen trunks. There, she soon struck gold in the pockets of a susceptible railway magnate. Jack was left holding the baby. He promptly handed over the infant to his richest female relative and went to ride out the scandal on somebody’s yacht.

Since he was the injured party, Jack’s divorce did not bring social ostracism. He began to lead the life of a perennial extra man, and his little daughter saw him only between houseparties. Once she was sent away to boarding school, she hardly ever saw him at all. However, Lavinia couldn’t honestly say that she had suffered much from being deserted by her parents. Thanks to Zilpha, she had always been fed, clothed, and housed in comfort.

But Lavinia didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as a poor relation. She had thought a great deal about her future, especially during these past three years when she was so ignominiously left to mark time at the Academy. What was to become of her?

For a girl of her class, marriage was the customary and virtually the only way to break free from parents or guardians. She had no illusions on that score. Poor, homely, and only half respectable, she had little chance of attracting a man, and she certainly didn’t want Zilpha to buy her a husband. She wanted to fend for herself. The eternal, burning question was, how?

Young women from other walks of life might earn their bread as teachers, housemaids, milliners, even as typewriters in business offices, or so she’d been told. But how could she bring disgrace on the family by offering herself as a common laborer? To take a job, she’d have to run away and change her name. Where would she run to? What would she live on until she found work, assuming anybody was willing to hire a girl with no experience?

Lavinia had never been given a pin-money allowance. She’d never needed cash in her pocket. Somebody always did her shopping, and Zilpha settled the bills. All she had in the world were half a dozen silver dollars bestowed on various festive occasions by aunts and uncles who couldn’t be bothered to buy Zilpha’s ward a proper present. That little hoard wasn’t going to take her far; and if she had to come crawling back, her goose would be cooked forever. Before she made her break, she must have a plan that had some chance of succeeding. But what to do?

The train wheels seemed to pick up the words that were in her mind. What to do? Chug-a-chug. What to do? Chug-a-chug. First the rhythm teased, then it maddened, then it lulled. By the time they got to where she must change, the conductor had to come and wake her up.

Better hurry, Miss. That hack over there will take you to the narrow-gauge depot. Not much time if you’re going to make your connection.

But my luggage! Where are my trunks?

I’ll have the porter get them out of the baggage car. Five pieces, wasn’t it?

No, six! Lavinia shrieked after him.

She hoped he’d heard, but she mustn’t wait to see. The hackney driver was already lifting his whip from the socket. Other passengers were running, too. Awkward because of her valise and the skirts she mustn’t smudge, Lavinia scrambled in her turn up into the open wagon.

Thank goodness, here came the porter and a helper, dragging a loaded handcart. She could see two of her trunks among the heap, so she could hope the rest were there, too. She couldn’t keep track, the men worked so fast, heaving up the heavier pieces, then burying them under portmanteaus, hat-boxes, a wicker basket with a yowling cat in it, and even a crate of chickens.

All the passengers were tossing coins. Miss Axelrod had given Lavinia half a dollar to pay her hackney fare, but nothing for the porter. Since she must have caused more trouble than anybody else, she could see no alternative to handing him one of her precious silver dollars. She hated to do it, but the man did seem pleased.

Goin’ to make it? yelled one of the passengers. Earle don’t wait for nobody once he gets steamed up and ready to roll.

We’ll make it.

The driver cracked his long whip over the heads of his horses, and they were off. Lavinia clutched her hat with one hand and the edge of the hard wooden seat with the other and prayed they wouldn’t have a runaway. It would be unforgivable to miss her connection, now that she’d been forced to upset Zilpha’s original plan.

Her guardian had instructed her to take a train that reached Dalby at six o’clock in the evening. Miss Plomm, wanting her out of the way before parents started to arrive, decreed otherwise. Lavinia had been required to write and explain that she would be arriving shortly after lunch, knowing what a flurry her letter would set off. Zilpha and Tetsy always had elaborate schedules drawn up for weeks in advance, and they did not take kindly to having them upset.

What was it going to be like, living here? Lavinia never had stayed with Zilpha for more than a few weeks at any one time. She was always being taken on some educational excursion with a teacher or governess or sent to visit those members of the clan whom nobody else wanted to bother with. Even now, Zilpha might have some interesting plan in mind for her, like going to housekeep for Great-Uncle Arthur, whose hobby was collecting epitaphs off old gravestones. Yes, she must make her move, and quickly. But what to do?

Thar she blows, folks. Hold ’er, Earle! roared the driver.

Everybody started jostling, collecting cats and chickens