She had a glimpse of Aunt Pittypat’s plump upturned face, her eyes owlish with surprise and disapproval. Now it’ll be all over town that I conducted myself most improperly on the day of my husband’s funeral, thought Scarlett, as she hurried back to her room and began smoothing her hair. She buttoned her black basque up to the chin and pinned down the collar with Pittypat’s mourning brooch. I don’t look very pretty she thought, leaning toward the mirror, too white and scared. For a moment her hand went toward the lock box where she kept her rouge hidden but she decided against it. Poor Pittypat would be upset in earnest if she came downstairs pink and blooming. She picked up the cologne bottle and took a large mouthful, carefully rinsed her mouth and then spit into the slop jar.
She rustled down the stairs toward the two who still stood in the hall, for Pittypat had been too upset by Scarlett’s action to ask Rhett to sit down. He was decorously clad in black, his linen frilly and starched, and his manner was all that custom demanded from an old friend paying a call of sympathy on one bereaved. In fact, it was so perfect that it verged on the burlesque, though Pittypat did not see it. He was properly apologetic for disturbing Scarlett and regretted that in his rush of closing up business before leaving town he had been unable to be present at the funeral.
“Whatever possessed him to come?” wondered Scarlett. “He doesn’t mean a word he’s saying.”
“I hate to intrude on you at this time but I have a matter of business to discuss that will not wait. Something that Mr. Kennedy and I were planning—”
“I didn’t know you and Mr. Kennedy had business dealings,” said Aunt Pittypat, almost indignant that some of Frank’s activities were unknown to her.
“Mr. Kennedy was a man of wide interests,” said Rhett respectfully. “Shall we go into the parlor?”
“No!” cried Scarlett, glancing at the closed folding doors. She could still see the coffin in that room. She hoped she never had to enter it again. Pitty, for once, took a hint, although with none too good grace.
“Do use the library. I must—I must go upstairs and get out the mending. Dear me, I’ve neglected it so this last week. I declare—”
She went up the stairs with a backward look of reproach which was noticed by neither Scarlett nor Rhett. He stood aside to let her pass before him into the library.
“What business did you and Frank have?” she questioned abruptly.
He came closer and whispered. “None at all. I just wanted to get Miss Pitty out of the way.” He paused as he leaned over her. “It’s no good, Scarlett.”
“What?”
“The cologne.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m sure you do. You’ve been drinking pretty heavily.”
“Well, what if I have? Is it any of your business?”
“The soul of courtesy, even in the depths of sorrow. Don’t drink alone, Scarlett. People always find it out and it ruins the reputation. And besides, it’s a bad business, this drinking alone. What’s the matter, honey?”
He led her to the rosewood sofa and she sat down in silence.
“May I close the doors?”
She knew if Mammy saw the closed doors she would be scandalized and would lecture and grumble about it for days, but it would be still worse if Mammy should overhear this discussion of drinking, especially in light of the missing brandy bottle. She nodded and Rhett drew the sliding doors together. When he came back and sat down beside her, his dark eyes alertly searching her face, the pall of death receded before the vitality he radiated and the room seemed pleasant and home-like again, the lamps rosy and warm.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
No one in the world could say that foolish word of endearment as caressingly as Rhett, even when he was joking, but he did not look as if he were joking now. She raised tormented eyes to his face and somehow found comfort in the blank inscrutability she saw there. She did not know why this should be, for he was such an unpredictable, callous person. Perhaps it was because, as he often said, they were so much alike. Sometimes she thought that all the people she had ever known were strangers except Rhett.
“Can’t you tell me?” he took her hand, oddly gentle. “It’s more than old Frank leaving you? Do you need money?”
“Money? God, no! Oh, Rhett, I’m so afraid.”
“Don’t be a goose, Scarlett, you’ve never been afraid in your life.”
“Oh, Rhett, I am afraid!”
The words bubbled up faster than she could speak them. She could tell him. She could tell Rhett anything. He’d been so bad himself that he wouldn’t sit in judgment on her. How wonderful to know someone who was bad and dishonorable and a cheat and a liar, when all the world was filled with people who would not lie to save their souls and who would rather starve than do a dishonorable deed!
“I’m afraid I’ll die and go to hell.”
If he laughed at her she would die, right then. But he did not laugh.
“You are pretty healthy—and maybe there isn’t any hell after all.”
“Oh, but there is, Rhett! You know there is!”
“I know there is but it’s right here on earth. Not after we die. There’s nothing after we die, Scarlett. You are having your hell now.”
“Oh, Rhett, that’s blasphemous!”
“But singularly comforting. Tell me, why are you going to hell?”
He was teasing now, she could see the glint in his eyes but she did not mind. His hands felt so warm and strong, so comforting to cling to.
“Rhett, I oughtn’t to have married Frank. It was wrong. He was Suellen’s beau and he loved her, not me. But I lied to him and told him she was going to marry Tony Fontaine. Oh, how could I have done it?”
“Ah, so that was how it came about! I always wondered.”
“And then I made him so miserable. I made him do all sorts of things he didn’t want to do, like ****** people pay their bills when they really couldn’t afford to pay them. And it hurt him so when I ran the mills and built the saloon and leased convicts. He could hardly hold up his head for shame. And Rhett, I killed him. Yes, I did! I didn’t know he was in the Klan. I never dreamed he had that much gumption. But I ought to have known. And I killed him.”