Violent Laughter Echoed Around My Grave

CHAPTER II

"DID either of you hear anything?"

We nibbled on toast and sipped our tea. However, no one was settled enough to truly enjoy a freshly-cooked breakfast. 

Joseph and Erica exchanged a glance. 

"My window doesn't face that direction," he said.

"I was asleep throughout the entire night," she said.

Mine had been restless. Sedated by the brandy, I half-remembered the waves of nausea. The winds had been fierce, the snow thick.

Chilled and drowsy, eventually comforted by the same blanket I had awoken underneath. 

Looking up at Joseph with weary amusement, I couldn't help but smile. "Say, did you put a blanket over me last night?"

"Good gracious." He speared a sausage. "I know I was a bit heavy on the drink, but not that much."

"You just don't want to admit you're fond of me." 

"Why, I admit it every day."

My plans to venture around campus had been postponed. It was too gruesome after what happened. The last thing I desired was to be caught skulking around where a poor fellow had just been crushed to death. 

Besides, Penfield wasn't going anywhere. We withdrew indoors, not wanting to see the dissipating crowd which came to gawp. 

Erica Rothschild watched me closely. 

"Not a very cheery welcome, I'm afraid," she sighed, hands fiddling with the lace of the tablecloth. 

"Not your fault," I said.

Erica's wrists were so thin, I thought, my entire hand would be able to close around her arm. 

"You need to tour the Abbey, once things clear up. It's a wonderful old structure and below are the catacombs," she brightened considerably at the subject change. "You can still go down there."

"Yes, I've read about them, actually. Underground passageways that lead to the stone tombs. Have you ever been?"

"Never! The idea of being trapped under there with moldering old dead bodies... it's disgusting. There's no sunlight down there. Just darkness."

"Does anyone dare? To go?"

"Not that I know of. Professors and students explore there occasionally, to study things. Most of the time, there's got to be a good reason for somebody to go down there. That's why you must see the catacombs - so you can come back and tell me all about it."

"Very funny," Joseph interrupted, mock-angry. "Don't tease the poor man."

Erica was deeply interested to hear me speak. Arrogantly, I enjoyed the genuine attention - when women often asked about my life, it was normally out of mandatory politeness. 

But Erica listened dreamily, elbows on the table, propping her angular chin. 

Underneath her snow-flecked coat, she wore a dress of emerald green. 

I wondered if she put the blanket over me during the night. 

"Arthur Phillips used to have your room. He was an artist, but it was hard to pretend he was a natural. Thank God he wanted to leave. The mess," she said.

Both of the Rothschilds had the same way of stressing certain words, ending it with a little laugh to show they weren't being one hundred percent serious. Laughter came out of me too, out of habit.

A realization dawned on me. 

"I've been terribly rude," I said. "Erica, you've asked me just about every question. Yet I've hardly asked about you."