[MaC] JOINT POST: Everyone has secrets

[Dorothea Salo]

	[ with the able participation of MC... ]

	Arabella got off the lift with James and went right to the Beamans' 
flat. A weary-looking, rather dishevelled Pamela looked up from taking 
Marty Fitzroy's pulse for the severalth time. "Mum! Where were you? We 
were worried."

	"I was with Mrs. Fitzroy, and some others, in Mrs. Evans' flat, and 
then I went to check on Flash... only I never quite got there.... What 
on earth is going on?"

	"Oh." Pamela pitched her voice for all the new arrivals. "Someone put 
arsenic in Mr. Fitzroy's tea. We're just hoping we can keep him alive 
until... Mrs. Skeffington-Nottle and a few others went to get an 
ambulance." It was a measure of how terrible and strange this Christmas 
Eve had been that Pamela could deliver such news in an entirely level, 
uninflected voice.

	Arabella shook her head. "First Miss Diamond, now this. I suppose this 
means Mr. Fitzroy probably didn't kill Miss Diamond... although it could 
have been a revenge killing... or we might even have two independent 
murderers... that seems a bit excessive, though, doesn't it?" Pamela 
shrugged, her eyes going back to her work, too tired and distressed to 
speculate. "Darling, you should sit down, have a cup... well, a spot of 
brandy."

	"No, Mum, no liquor... not tonight. Thanks, though."

	"You've been quite splendid, darling, throughout this entire dreadful 
evening. I'm so proud of you..."

	"Mum!" Pamela protested, embarrassed. But she did not resist Arabella's 
hands on her shoulders guiding her to a chair near the kitchen.

	"Now... I imagine you have no taste whatsoever for tea... and you said 
no to brandy..." She opened the refrigerator and took out the milk 
bottle, sniffing its contents discreetly before pouring a little in a 
pan and adding a few spoonsful of malt. "This should serve..."

	"Well... I'll try, but... not too much at first, I think." Pamela's 
face twisted involuntarily; she had only caught a glimpse of the loo, 
but she'd seen quite enough of Marty Fitzroy to turn her stomach.

	"And here we thought we were going to have a relatively quiet 
Christmas, compared to those at the front..." She stirred the pan. "Have 
you seen the Group Captain?"

	"He was looking for you. He asked me where you were, scared me half to 
death... why?"

	"Oh, I wanted to ask him about something... why would it scare you to 
have someone ask where I was?"

	"Look what happened when Miss Diamond disappeared for a few minutes," 
Pamela answered. "Mum, someone here is *killing people*!"

	"Well no one is going to kill me. I mean... why should they? I'm really 
rather a dull woman. Happily, your father never cared about that."

	Pamela blinked. "Dull? *You*, Mum? Well, I --" A thought surfaced, in 
the weirdly slow way her mind had been working ever since they heard 
about Miss Diamond. "Mum? Does the Group Captain think you're dull?"

	Arabella looked up from the pan. "Now why would you ask that, 
particularly?"

	"No reason," Pamela answered, straightening in her chair. "Except that 
he's around a lot, he just happened to be there to escort us up this 
evening, and he *did* ask about you. Mum, is there something you're not 
telling me?"

	"Well," she said, "everyone has secrets, Pamela." Then, in a less brisk 
tone -- almost demure -- she said, "We are 'keeping company'. He's a 
lovely man, so well-travelled and interesting. He tells wonderful 
stories and... he's just, quite simply, a very kind and gracious person."

	"Oh." Then, quite unexpectedly, Pamela smiled a smile that lit up her 
sallow, tired face until it was almost beautiful. "Mum, that's the first 
nice thing I've heard all evening. Really."

	"I didn't want to tell you -- or Edmund for that matter -- because I 
didn't know where it would go, or how you would feel about it..." She 
smiled as she poured the warm milk into a mug. "I should have trusted 
your heart better than I did."

	"Well, you needn't trouble Eddie if you don't want to; I certainly 
won't tell him unless you say it's all right. But *I* think it's lovely."

	"Thank you, dear... Now, drink that up." She smiled again. "I really 
didn't think I would be lucky twice. Your father was a remarkable man 
and... I wasn't looking to press my luck."

	Pamela did as she was told, surprised to find that the milk stayed 
down. "Mum?" she said timidly, wiping her mouth on a napkin. "Can I talk 
to you... tomorrow, maybe?"

	"Darling, you can talk to me anytime. Right now, if you like." She sat 
down with her.

	"Well..." Pamela looked over the full lounge, but no one was paying 
them especial attention. "All right, then; might as well get everything 
unpleasant over with. Do you remember Eddie's friend, Chad Allenby? Came 
to visit us on leave last summer?"

	"Yes, of course. Very pleasant and charming."

	"He... before he left he asked me to marry him."

	"Pamela... darling..."

	"I know, Mum, I know! But I..."

	"Go on," she said softly, reaching for her daughter's hand. Whatever 
this was, it wasn't as simple as a proposal.

	"Well, I was so surprised -- I didn't lead him on, Mum, I *swear* I 
didn't. He was so serious, and I *didn't* want to disappoint, so I -- I 
said yes, Mum. I shouldn't have, but I did, and..." Her voice trailed 
off to a whisper. "I wish I hadn't, but it's too late now."

	"I know you didn't 'lead him on;' you're incapable of that sort of 
behavior. As for saying yes..." It occurred to her that if his 
intentions had been completely honourable, he would have spoken to 
Edmund, who would most certainly have told her. "What happened, Pamela?"

	"I -- I was a little desperate, I think, Mum. I made him promise he 
wouldn't tell anyone until after the war. Because, really, I thought it 
was just a silly fancy, and he'd write to me directly saying he'd 
changed his mind."

	That was Pamela's insecurity speaking, and many the night had Arabella 
fretted over it. One needn't be a great beauty to succeed in life, she 
was herself proof of that. "But he didn't...?"

	"No. I mean to say -- he's written, but not to say that." Even in the 
dim light, Arabella could see her daughter's cheeks reddening.

	"Darling, what is it?" she asked, her heart aching for her daughter.

	"Oh, nothing, Mum. Just -- I thought this was only a scrape, and I'd 
get out of it and you'd never have to be the wiser, but..." Pamela 
sighed. "It doesn't look that way, I must say. If he comes back -- I'm 
ready to keep my word. That's all."

	"Pamela, if your word was given under the wrong circumstances... if you 
didn't have all the information you needed to make a proper decision... 
if there has been some sort of terrible change... darling, tell me. 
Perhaps... I can help."

	"No, nothing like that. That would... get me out of it, you see. As it 
is... I'm stuck, I suppose -- but really, Mum, no worse than that. And 
he's not a bad chap. You said so yourself."

	"Pamela... there's something you're not telling me. And I really wish 
you would."

	Pamela drew back, shocked. "That's all, Mum! That's everything. I -- 
Mum! You didn't think I -- got myself into Miss Diamond's difficulty -- 
Mum, *really*!"

	"No, no, of course not." She sighed. "Poor Miss Diamond. I know she 
wasn't always kind, but... she didn't deserve to be used and destroyed 
like that..."

	"No. No, she didn't. Horrible." Pamela drank the rest of her milk and 
leaned over to put the cup in the sink. "Well, I'm glad you know, Mum. 
It isn't exactly how I'd envisioned telling you I'd got engaged, though."

	"You never know, dear. If there isn't something... objectionable, if 
what he wrote to you didn't render him beyond consideration... people 
grow to love each other, if they're well-suited."

	"Thanks, Mum. I hope so. And thanks for taking it so well; I daresay 
it's not what you'd hoped. I'd hug you, but I'm such a mess from all 
this work..."

	"I don't mind," she said with a smile and hugged her daughter. "When he 
comes home... I shall want to speak with him. And then... whatever I can 
do to help you, you know that I shall."

	"Thanks, Mum," Pamela said again, kissing her mother's cheek. "We'll 
muddle through somehow. I'll write him to say I told you, then. I really 
ought to go spell Tabitha; do you mind?"

	"Not at all, dear."

	Pamela hugged her mother tightly, ran her hands over her unruly hair, 
and walked back toward the prone patient. Arabella continued to sit at 
the little kitchen table, musing on the strange turns this Christmas had 
taken...