by L C Kincaide
Emma bit her lip. She didn’t want anyone to witness her leaving with him and report to mum. Where to meet… she remembered a lovely fountain in the square of the village they had passed through on the way back from the church and suggested they meet there.
“Brilliant. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”
Brilliant. They sure loved that expression, Emma chuckled, surprised that she still can. Feeling energized now that she had something to do, she grabbed her bag and purse and stepped into the deserted hall. Turning to leave, movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. The old man from earlier materialized and waited in front of a door, still in his nightshirt and cap. She glanced around to make certain no one was coming before approaching the apparition.
“There is someone in my bedchamber.” He said with a baleful expression.
“They will be leaving soon.” She replied in a reassuring tone. In the guest wing, the rooms shouldn’t be occupied after today.
He seemed satisfied with her response, if that is what his nodding head represented, and was gone. She hurried along the corridor, down the stairs and kept up the pace until she was on the other side of the main door. Every step up the gravel drive marked the growing distance between herself and disappointment, and by the time she reached the iron gate, her spirits had improved if not quite soared.
Holed up in the hotel or brooding anywhere was not going to elevate her mood nor change the situation. The timing of her discoveries was unfortunate, but that didn’t mean she had to suffer until returning home. If she was going to spend the next few days in jolly old-England, she may as well enjoy it, starting with a walk on a sun-filled day made more pleasant with birdsong and scents from blooming hawthorns on either side. Luck seemed to be with her too as no one drove in nor out to question an unknown woman’s departure on foot. Bye-Bye Hyde-Smythe Estate!
She turned down the lane and continued toward the village glad for her impulsive decision. Everything else would still be there waiting back home. Cars passed by on the narrow roadway and houses hid behind stone walls draped with climbing vines as she strode down the sidewalk. Several minutes later, she stopped and squinted around her where the road widened and split. If only she had been paying more attention yesterday, she would not be lost. It was only a village. How far can the square be? She took a right turn. After a while and asking directions, it became clear she should have turned left. Damn! There was no point in checking the time to know she was late. The strap of her bag bit into her shoulder and she grasped it by the handles now that her fingers had recovered. Why did she bring her laptop from the hotel?
Adam Kinsley was already waiting when she entered the sun-bathed village square. Dressed in a casual white shirt and dark trousers, he sat at the edge of the fountain, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head was turned away from her and she studied his profile, the bridge of his nose with just a trace of a bump, and firm jawline and nicely shaped lips that even at this distance curved with a hint of a smile as if the world amused him.
Grace said he had invited the family, no doubt eager to show them all the improvements to their ancestral home thinking they’d be interested, and they had brushed him off. He couldn’t have known how much they hated anything connected with it or the Everdon’s history. It hadn’t occurred to her to link him to the manor though he looked more like someone who belonged there than any of the Langstones did, except for Robert, the only dark-haired man in that branch. Adam Kinsley would have been a welcome addition to a Weekend.
She crossed the road and approached the fountain. The breeze ruffled his hair, and he adjusted his aviators, reminding Emma that her own sunglasses were at the bottom of the purse, possibly mangled. He spotted her and smiled rising to his feet.
“Mr. Kinsley.” She stopped in front of him. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I took a wrong turn.”
“Hello! I just arrived, myself.” He said taking her extended hand and pocketed his shades. “Let me help you with that.” He reached for her bag. “And please, call me Adam.”
“Thanks. In that case, I’m Emma.”
He smiled. “Wonderful weather to be out.”
“It is.”
“Would you like anything before we go?”
“No thanks.”
“We’ll be there in time for tea. It will be an interesting experience for you, I suspect.”
“I’m sure it will be.” She said looking forward to seeing the manor.
“Shall we?” He pointed to a hunter green vintage sports car parked a short distance away.
“It’s a MG TF Gentry Classic, with a good deal of restoration. Today gave me the perfect excuse to take her out.”
“I’ve never seen a car quite like it.” Her eyes roved over the curved sweep of the front fender to the back, interrupted by the single door. The chrome grill and bumper gleamed in the sun-dappled shade of an elm and the folded collapsible roof revealed tan leather seats. A suave international spy’s ride. This looked like fun.
The first to reach it, she opened the door surprised to find a steering wheel there.
“Right.” She tried to hide her embarrassment. “You’re driving.”
He grinned and drew the door open for her on the other side. “It would take a bit of getting used to for me as well.” He said before stowing her bag in the backseat.
“I can drive a Stanhope Runabout.” She said recovering.
“Really? I’ve never seen one up close.”
“It’s an adventure, especially on a country road.”
“I can imagine. It doesn’t have a steering, wheel if I recall.”
“Levers only. It’s a fun ride.”
The engine revved to life, and they moved forward, circled the square and turned onto the main road.
“If it’s too windy, I’ll put up the roof.” He glanced at her, his shades in place.
“No. This is great!” Emma dug into the bottom of her purse and was rejoiced to find her sunglasses still in one piece.
“Is it far?” She raised her voice over the rushing wind.
“Only twenty minutes.”
Right. She forgot.
“In about ten, we’ll drive through Everdon Village.”
She turned to him surprised. Nobody had ever mentioned a village bearing the family name.
He laughed at her expression. “I’d say you’re in for a good number of surprises.” He shifted gears, and the car sped forward.
Her worries in the dust behind them, Emma was glad she had decided on this. Adam seemed like a nice guy. She settled into her seat, the wind whipping her hair and enjoyed the drive.
“This is it.” He announced slowing down as they turned off the main road and passed the Everdon Village sign.
It vaguely reminded her of Fairmont, its old stone buildings with shops on the ground floor and window boxes overflowing with plants. Tourists meandered among the villagers peering into display windows and sipped tea beyond low stone walls enclosing charming patios. No, this was nothing like Fairmont when she was there last stocking up on food items in the waning light, her nerves a knotted mess.
The sports car rumbled over the cobbles, and cottages with actual thatched roofs replaced the shops, and a view opened to rolling hills.
“Almost there.” He turned again onto a road cutting through the woods in the dappled sunlight.
Emma sat straighter eager for her first sighting of the original Everdon Manor, and her pulse quickened. Her recollections of the black and white pictures in the old albums were few. She remembered a forest on one side, a river on the other with a bridge spanning the riverbanks, a spread of lawn in front. Who knows what changes had taken place over the past century?
Clearing the woods, Emma blinked in the sudden brightness. They were heading up a long approach cutting th
rough a grassy expanse. Stands of trees grouped together, and the forest they had driven through continued at her right. The river, as she recalled, still flowed on the opposite side, and in between, there it stood — Everdon Manor clad in pink granite, its three stories broken up with tall black-shuttered windows gleaming in the sun.
Unlike the pictures, a low brick wall stretched before the building and they drove through an open iron gate. Adam slowed the car so she could appreciate her first glimpse of the family home and circled along the drive to stop before the entrance. Coming around, he opened the door and held out his hand to her.
“So, what do you think?”
Emma pushed her shades onto her head. For one thing, the mortar wasn’t crumbling away, windows were clean and not grimy, the paint fresh, and a padlock and chain weren’t keeping people out. This door was new and potted urns greeted visitors in a cheerful display of daffodils.
“It’s incredible.” Was all she could say.
He retrieved her bag. “Shall we go inside?”
For a moment, a cold hand gripped her in a sudden dread as a memory rose from the depths, but it would not surface and Emma breathed a sigh of relief.
“Is everything all right?” He asked concerned.
“Yes.” Nothing horrible happened here, she reminded herself.
He opened the door, and she stepped inside a central hall awash with sunlight. A round table displaying an elaborate flower arrangement broke the space halfway to the staircase. The pillars rising from the veined marble floor were the same as were the wainscoted walls. She jumped when the grandfather clock in the alcove chimed.
“This must be a rather unnerving experience for you.” He said noting her reaction.
You have no idea. She giggled feeling self-conscious and gripped her purse. She took a few more steps inside and faced the stairway. A couple emerged from offside and were making their way along the open gallery and toward the stairs, chatting happily. That was not a sight she had ever seen back home — happiness had ceased to exist within those walls when Amelia died, though her mother had faked it most of her life during the Weekends. They descended and said hello before turning down the hall. Her gaze returned to the staircase. The runner was red, but not worn, and the greatest difference of all, no carpet hid a bloodstained reminder of a senseless crime.
“I can’t put into words…” She mumbled.
“I can only imagine this must be rather astonishing to see. You are, after all, the only Everdon descendant to set foot into the manor since Michael Everdon emigrated to America in 1947. He would have been your grandfather.”
Emma turned to him. “You seem very knowledgeable about the Everdons.” She said surprised again.
“I hope you don’t mind. This,” He waved a hand, “has been my best work and I’m a historian at heart.”
“My family isn’t interested in history. To be honest, until recently, neither was I. Not everything that went on there was... um... positive with a happy ending.”
“But that is true of any old family, not just the Everdons. And there are many good things that happened which I’d be delighted to share with you, if you’ll allow me.”
“Okay, I’ll take you up on that.” Emma said shaking off the creepiness that had tried to grab hold of her.
“Forgive me. I’ve been negligent in my duties as a host. If you’d like to freshen up before we have tea, I’ll show you to your room.”
Her room? “Oh, no! I don’t want to impose!”
“It’s no imposition at all.” He reassured her. “In fact, you have done me a great favor being here, really. And we don’t have a full house yet. Besides, I’m in charge.” He grinned.
“In that case, lead the way.”
“Is there any one you’d prefer?” He asked taking the stairs.
Should she? Why not? Now that she was here, the need to see everything was near overwhelming.
“If my old room is available, I’d like that.”
“Then I will follow you.”
Emma turned left in the open gallery and glanced down. The square of light shone brightly on the marble below with no traces of fog anywhere. Animated voices sounded from the dining room and the clock ticked in the alcove. More to the point, nothing was out to get her. She continued ahead and rounded the corner in the hall and stopped at the door.
“You’re in luck. No one is here. In fact, the entire wing is vacant.” He unlocked it with a master key and she entered the twin of her old room. The layout was the same, but a brass bed replaced the heavy four poster, and the color scheme was in powder blue and yellow.
“It’s more cheerful.” She said crossing to the window and glanced outside. The river sparkled nearby and she could just make out a section of a corbel bridge. In the distance, a town nestled among sprawling fields.
“This is the family wing back home. The other side is for the guests.” She turned to him.
He set her bag on the bench and watched her with interest. “I don’t know what I’m looking forward to more. Giving you the tour or you telling me about your Everdon Manor.”
“I can’t decide either. This is so surreal!”
“Right, then.” He smiled. “Take your time. I will be in my office and we can go from there. It’s in the library.”
“I know exactly where that is.” She said happily.
He inclined his head and left closing the door behind him.
Emma dropped to the bed. Same, but not the same. It felt different — easy with none of the oppressiveness of their manor. Whatever memories this place held were not those of home. She’d have to call Rachel tonight. She’d never believe it — she could hardly believe it herself. Maybe being here would help her reconcile with what happened seven months ago. Victoria Ruskin had never set foot inside this house. If anything, this is where Mason and Amelia began their life together, and long before them, Margaret and Reese. The family had spent happy times here — the faded photos were proof.
She dumped the contents from the bag. Her poor dress was hopelessly crumpled, but the jacket was fine. She shook out the wrinkles and lay it out on the coverlet. All she had with her were the pink chiffon, heels and airline jammies, makeup case and her laptop. If she had any idea her day would lead her here, she would have packed differently. Wearing only jeans, T-shirt and sneakers to an elegant tea — and she was sure it will be — seemed wrong. Oh well, that’s what spontaneity got you.
After she tamed her windblown hair and fixed her makeup, glad to have that with her, she reached in her purse to check the time. The phone message icon showed missed calls and messages. Her stomach clenched, and she chewed her lip. John — she’d have to talk to him at some point, but not now. This was her escape, and she dropped it on the bed and stepped into the silent corridor then continued toward the stairs.
The skin on the back of her neck prickled as she neared the connecting corridor that led to what was their portrait gallery. Was it the same here? She risked a peek inside and unable to stop herself, she crept the short distance to the end. No one was there. The sconces between the paintings were dimly lit, but not flickering indicating they were wired for electricity. Landscapes, hunting scenes and still life studies graced the walls the length of the hallway. As curious as she was, there was no way she was going in there, not alone, although she had never been here and only suppressed memories whispered to her.
Retracing her steps, she hurried down and glanced around the central hall. A quick glimpse through an open door confirmed the dining room occupied the same location as back home. She paused at the parlor door and remembered her setting up camp inside — well, not there exactly. Her heart ached with memories. Damn! Enough already! Sometimes she envied John and his inability to remember any of what happened to them. Before the pain took root, she hastened down the hall toward the library.
Her last foray there proved how much everyone loathed it, not that she could blame them. She had no love for it either. This manor was cherished as was obvious in the details. Every surface was spotless, fresh-cut flowers bloomed in vases and potted plants flourished in ceramic pots on the polished floors. Sunlight streamed through clean glass and the carpets, though not new, were in good condition. Had the place not been cursed, perhaps their own manor could have been preserved instead of letting it fall to ruin. But then, no psycho had run around here with hatred in her heart and vengeance on her mind, and set a wing on fire before killing an innocent woman, and leaving another condemned for both.
She knocked softly on the partly open door. He was on the phone and smiled when he saw her and motioned her inside. While waiting, she glanced around. The bookcases and the paneling looked just like back home. A tufted leather sofa and two armchairs grouped near the marble-faced fireplace. Even the desk occupied the same spot, but it was not as massive, nor were family albums lying everywhere. Above the mantel, a face she recognized gazed down at her.
“It’s Reese Everdon.” Adam spoke from behind her having concluded his call.
“I’ve seen one like it.”
“He had several painted. I believe your family has a portrait. I don’t know what happened to the others.”
Emma noticed a painting of the manor someone made soon after it was built — the surrounding trees seemed farther away and there was no gate.
“Yes, I’m familiar with all their portraits. They’re not exactly the most flattering though.”
“I suppose not. They didn’t seem fond of posing, but there are some good ones. I will show you later.”