Free The Withdrawing Room by Charlotte MacLeod Page A

half joking.
    Sarah laid down her fork. “You certainly know how to brighten one’s day, don’t you? It can’t possibly have been Mr. Hartler. He wouldn’t have been able to climb down the stairs, for one thing, and he’s much too old.”
    “How old?”
    “Older than Mr. Quiffen, anyway, from the look of him, and a good deal frailer. He walks with a cane. Mr. Quiffen was stout and strutting and had this Horatius-at-the-bridge way of planting his feet. It must have taken a fairly hefty push to knock him flat. Still, I suppose one shouldn’t take anything for granted.”
    “Well, don’t worry till you know you have something to worry about. I know somebody who’s been involved in the palace restoration. He’s out of town just now, but I’ll have a talk with him as soon as we can connect, and see what he knows about Hartler. In the meantime, you might as well go ahead with whatever plans you want to make. No doubt Hartler will be panting on your doorstep pretty soon anyway. He reads the papers, too, I expect. You don’t happen to own any of those royal treasures yourself, by chance?”
    “Which Mr. Hartler wants to steal as soon as he moves in? I wish I did. I’d sell them like a shot. We did have a gorgeous peacock feather fan with the Hawaiian coat of arms on a silver plaque in the center, but when the Iolani Palace people started canvassing Boston families for donations, Alexander thought we ought to give it to them, so we did. I don’t suppose the fan was worth much compared to most of the other things. King Kalakaua is supposed to have spent a hundred thousand dollars on furnishings alone, and of course that was an enormous sum in those days. Then there was all that royal family jewelry that had been handed down from one generation to another, and a staggering amount of other stuff.”
    “I know, and much of it auctioned off for peanuts after the revolution,” said Bittersohn.
    “Yes, and all us Yankee horse traders right in there bidding our heads off,” Sarah added. “I shouldn’t be surprised if some of the Kelling jewels came from there, but we’ll never know now. At least I have Granny Kay’s bluebird, thanks to you.”
    She touched the exquisite enameled brooch with the ruby eye and the one magnificent baroque pearl dangling from its beak that was all Bittersohn had managed to salvage for her out of the once-fabulous collection.
    “And I do have a photograph of the fan. Alexander took it before we sent the fan off, because he thought we should keep some sort of record in the family. I can show you that if you like. Or are you like my Uncle Jem? He says he only likes pictures of fans if they have fan dancers behind them. Mr. Bittersohn, what am I going to do about Miss Mary Smith?”
    “The best thing you can do for that woman is to stay as far away from her as possible and concentrate on running your boardinghouse. Officially, you know nothing about Mr. Quiffen’s death except what everybody else knows. He was just somebody who rented a room from you and met with an unfortunate accident. You take it for granted you’re entitled to rent the room again as soon as his things have been removed. How far in advance did he pay his rent?”
    “Only through the end of this week.”
    “Then there’s your answer, right? Tell this Mr. Hartler he can move in Monday, or whatever day is convenient for you. The longer the room stands empty, the more likely he is to have found another place and the Hartler time you may have filling it. By the way, you still haven’t told me who’s living in the basement. You’ve got those two rooms down there as I recall, plus the little one with the furnace and laundry business. Does the maid have one and the butler the other, or what?”
    “At the moment, it’s a case of ‘or what,’” Sarah told him. “Mariposa and Charles share the old kitchen, which is the larger and looks out on the little back yard where they plan to make a garden next spring if we’re