Houses of Stone, KATHY [classic literature books TXT] 📗

meant, and no, I can't picture Bill Meyer as a Byronic hero."

"Hero-villain, you said. That's one of the problems, isn't it? Is he for us or against us?"

"Come on, Peggy. Surely you weren't naive enough to believe those protestations of his. He put on a good show tonight, I admit. I told you he can be charming when he wants to be."

"He does have a nice smile. 'A flood of sunlight breaking through the clouds

Karen made a wordless sound of disgust. Peggy chuckled, and then sobered. "I'm not saying you're wrong about Bill, Karen, but you're too intelligent to let prejudice influence your judgment. So far he hasn't done anything wrong—except tease you a little—and he's done several helpful things. Look how he rushed chivalrously in pursuit of your shy visitor. Got his nice neat hair all messed up."

"I didn't see anyone. Did you?"

"I thought I caught a glimpse of someone ducking into the shrubbery. But I'm very suggestible," Peggy admitted calmly. "Are you accusing him of inventing the whole thing?"

"Possibly. On the other hand, it wouldn't surprise me to learn Dorothea was still on the trail. I only hope to God Joe Cropsey doesn't track me down. What did you think of Bill's offer to help excavate the stone house?"

"That's another of those wonderfully enigmatic Gothic touches," Peggy said gleefully. "Is he genuinely anxious to assist you, or does he have an ulterior motive? We may not know the truth until the denouement, when he saves you from a hideous fate or threatens you with same. In the latter case it will be Cameron who rushes to your side in the nick of time, risking his life to—"

"An even less likely scenario. Did you find anything I missed?"

With a shrug and a smile Peggy accepted the change of subject. "Can't say that I did. There's no question about the ambience—the terrain she describes, the flora and fauna, the presence of slave-servants . . . It's American, and Southern American at that. From her description of the house we can make a very strong case for Amberley being the specific locale—in fact, the carved stone you described makes the identification virtually certain."

"Virtually?"

"That's the standard academic qualifier," Peggy said ironically. "There's no doubt in my mind. The time period is post-Revolution, but I haven't found anything that would pin it down more precisely, not even references to specific articles of costume. Cloaks and mantles and hoods and trailing skirts could apply to any time in the century. You'd think a woman would describe clothes in more detail."

"I hope you're not implying Ismene was a man. That's the old male-chauvinist syllogism: Women's books have no literary merit; this book has literary merit; hence this book could not have been written by a woman. Some idiot even claimed that Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights were written by Branwell Bronte."

"The town drunk of Haworth?" Peggy grinned. "Did he ever publish anything? Surely not even an idiot would make that claim unless he had something indisputably written by Branwell with which to compare the novels."

"That would be a logical procedure, wouldn't it? Branwell's own work, such as it was, proves beyond a doubt that he couldn't have written a salable Silhouette romance, much less Wuthering Heights. But the syllogism is hard to fight. What the hell do you think feminist critics are complaining about?"

"Don't yell at me, I'm on your side." Peggy pretended to cower. "I never doubted Ismene was female. Neither does Bill Meyer."

"Who gives a damn what Bill Meyer thinks? I don't want to talk about Bill Meyer. Or Cameron."

"Fine with me. But didn't it strike you, as it struck me, that Ismene's characters are more ambiguous than conventional Gothic heroes and villains? I haven't read that many of the damned things, but usually the dark brooding villain and the fair-haired rather vapid hero are more distinct. Heathcliffe and what's-'is-name—Edgar—in Wuthering Heights, the dark browed-Baron and the insipid youth in Castle of Otranto—"

"Heathcliffe isn't a typical hero or villain, any more than Emily's novel is a typical Gothic. It's unique, unclassifiable. In Jane Eyre, Rochester is dark and brooding, but he's the hero. Jane rejects St. John, the saintly blond, because his icy detachment and denial of normal human emotion threaten her very sanity. He's not a traditional villain, though. Like Rochester, and even poor old Edgar in Wuthering Heights, he is far more complex. Like real people."

"There is certainly a degree of ambiguity about Ismene's male characters. I don't trust that angelic cousin of hers," Peggy muttered. "He's up to something."

"So you're enjoying the story?"

"I'm hooked, if that's what you mean, despite the archaic language and the interminable moralizing. How much longer is it going to take you to—"

The ringing of the telephone saved Karen from a reply, which would have been too vague to satisfy Peggy. The voice at the other end surprised her so, she forgot her manners. "Simon! What's wrong?"

His deep laugh reassured her. "That reaction is more characteristic of my generation than yours, Karen. I thought you had substituted telephone calls for letters as a means of social communication. I hope all is well?"

"Yes; things are going very well. We've found the right house, Simon! There's no doubt about it. I'm a third of the way through the manuscript; it's wonderful ..."

He waited until she had run down and then said politely, "I'm looking forward to reading it. And to hearing the story of your adventures. You said Peggy was working on the genealogical aspect. Is she there, by any chance?"

"Yes, she is." Karen began to have a deflating suspicion that she was not the object of Simon's interest. "Do you want to talk to her?"

He did. Karen handed the telephone to Peggy, who was looking particularly bland and innocent. She retreated to the kitchen and started to make tea, but it was impossible not to overhear Peggy's end of the conversation. It was not especially informative, however.

"Yes, fine, thank you . . . Really . . .