Read Online The Interpretation Of Murder by Jed Rubenfeld - Free Book Online Page B

made sure my mother was comfortable and did not have to vacate the
Back Bay house where she had lived throughout her marriage. As a result, I
could never say no when Aunt Mamie asked me to one of her galas. On top of this
obligation, there was also cousin Belva, whom I had agreed to escort down the
alley.
        'What is that again?' Belva asked me,
referring to the music, as we made our way down the endless hallway with
throngs of onlookers on either side of us.
        'It is Mr Verdi's Aida,' I
answered, 'and we are the marching animals.'
        She pointed to a rotund woman
escorted by her husband not far ahead of us. 'Oh, look, the Arthur Scott
Burdens. I have never seen Mrs Burden in a huge crimson turban before. Perhaps
we are meant to think of elephants.'
        'Belva.'
        'And there are the Cond é Nasts. Her Directoire hat is much more
suitable, don't you think? Her gardenias I approve as well, but I'm less sure
about the ostrich feathers. It may incline people to bury their heads in the
sand when she passes.'
        'Heel, Belva.'
        'Do you realize there must be a
thousand people watching us right now?' Belva was manifestly relishing the
attention. 'I'll bet you have nothing like this in Boston.'
        'We are sadly behind in Boston,' I
said.
        'The one with the perfect mass of jewels
in her hair is the Baroness von Haefton, who excluded me from her party last
winter for the Marquis de Charette. Those are the John Jacob Astors - they say
he's been seen everywhere with Maddie Forge, who is not a day older than
sixteen - and our hosts, the Stuyvesant Fishes.'
        'Fish.'
        'I beg your pardon?'
        'The plural of Stuyvesant Fish,' I
explained, 'is Stuyvesant Fish. One says "the Fish," not "the
Fishes." It was rare that I could even pretend to correct Belva on a point
of New York etiquette.
        'I don't believe that for a moment,'
she replied. 'However, Mrs Fish is looking almost plural herself this evening.'
        'Not a word against my aunt, Belva.'
Cousin Belva was my age almost exactly, and I had known her since infancy. But
the poor, scrawny, ungainly thing had come out almost ten years ago, and no one
had taken the bait. At twenty- seven, she was, I'm afraid, quite desperate, the
world already consigning her to spinsterhood. 'At least,' I added, 'Aunt Mamie
hasn't brought her dog tonight.'
        Aunt Mamie had once thrown a ball in
Newport for a new French poodle, which made its entrance prancing down a red
carpet in a diamond-encrusted collar.
        'But look, she has brought her
dog,' replied Belva pleasantly, 'and still wearing the diamond collar.' Belva
was pointing to Marion Fish, Aunt Mamie's youngest daughter, to whose stunning
debut Belva had not been invited.
        'That's it, cousin. You're on your
own.' Having come to the end of the corridor, I discharged Belva, or rather
Aunt Mamie prised me from her, pairing me off instead with a Miss Hyde, who was
plainly rich but had few other charms. I danced with several other misses as
well, including the tall and balletic Eleanor Sears, who was quite amiable,
although I was obliged constantly to duck her hat, which was shaped like a
sombrero. And of course I took a turn with poor Belva.
        After the requisite oyster cocktail,
we were fed - according to the gilt-edged menu - a buffet russe, roast
mountain sheep with chestnut puree and asparagus, champagne sherbet,
diamondback Maryland terrapin, and ruddy duck with an orange salad. This was
only the first of two suppers, the second to be served after midnight. After
the second supper, the cotillion would get under way, with the formal dances -
probably a Mirror, if I knew Aunt Mamie - starting around one-thirty in the
morning.
        I really didn't mind the occasional
party in New York. I had stopped attending social functions in Boston, where I
could not escape the whispers and sidelong glances owing to the circumstances
of my father's