A bit of lifting and shaking revealed that they were bed curtains and not window drapes. The cloth was remarkably well preserved, the colors strong, and the only fading was in part of one lining. The patch of lighter cloth looked a little like a handprint. I searched for initials, hoping the embroiderer had left some token, but could see none.
I wondered why they had been so hastily packed away. Carrying them into the light where the colors exploded at the touch of the sun, I began to picture them hanging around my bed.
Kelvin sneezed and then mewed. He retreated to the door, feathers forgotten, as he glared at me, correctly placing blame for his sinus distress.
“Bless you,” I said and then froze in place. The brain had made one of those intuitive leaps. Sneezing—disease—death. The curtains had probably been put away when someone died and the surviving family had not been able to endure the reminder that their owner was lost.
I hadn’t a shred of proof that this was true, but my gut said I was right.
Part of me hesitated, instinctively recoiling from the deeply ingrained notion of the contagion of death, that bad luck—or germs—might cling to a dead person’s possessions and kill me too. A part of me wanted to shove them back in their crate and go scrub my body. The rest of me realized that had there been any question of contagion from a “catching disease” that the drapes would have been burned and not just stored in the attic.
Gathering up the fabric so it didn’t drag on the dusty floor, I carried them and the painting downstairs. Though the curtains did not appear especially dusty, I decided to fetch up the carpet beater I had found in the basement and give them a good beating before hanging them around my bed. I wasn’t afraid of ancient germs, but I saw no point in making myself miserable with the ancient dust that had the cat sneezing.
Kelvin and I went out into the garden. I found what I assumed was a line used for drying stored inside a washtub with a wringer. Looking in the logical place, I found two eye-hooks and hung the line.
There was a bad moment when I tripped over something and found a rotting head half-buried in compost, but Kelvin pounced on the staring eye. Digging with his paws, he soon revealed part of a marble statue, a broken casualty, beheaded fairly recently. Somehow it had ended up disintegrating under the remains of the dead garden killed by the erupting solar panels. The cat dug some more and I was able to see the marble body. It was chipped in several places and I began to wonder if my great-grandfather might not have been using it for target practice.
“Thanks, Kelvin,” I said, wiping off my hands, which were suddenly sweaty. “But don’t you think you are dirty enough?”
The cat swished away, sneering at my concerns over cleanliness.
I tossed the drapes over the thick cord and then made myself head for the basement for the carpet beater I’d seen there. I’d never used one before but the principle seemed obvious.
Kelvin, not ready for his midmorning nap, came with me. I turned on my kitchen flashlight, feeling cheered by the manmade light and the cat’s calm presence. Having watched Kelvin with Harris, I was pretty sure that he would be showing hackle if we were not alone. Cats were also supposed to be sensitive to spirits and otherworldly things.
Though feeling much braver for having manmade light, I did not dawdle on the narrow stairs. I recalled where the carpet beater was and hurried directly to the cupboard. It was only as I turned back to the staircase that I again noticed the muddy footprints that had dried on the floor. Were there more of them than the day before?
“No. I can just see them better now that I have a stronger flashlight.”
Kelvin mewed an agreement and after a bit of rubbing and sniffing on the bottom step, he led the way back up the stairs and into the sunlight. I wasted no time getting back to the yard, but made sure that the basement door was bolted shut behind me.
I beat the curtains for a while, encouraged by the clouds of dust I was getting off of them. Kelvin kept his distance, sneezing and hissing at them when the breeze made them flap his way. After a time I decided that I too had had enough dust and exercise and took a break. The wind could do the rest of the work for me.
I collapsed on the porch steps, turning my face up to the sun and enjoying the breeze as it dried the probably gray sweat on my face. As I rested, my breath calming, again I heard the distant booming that might mean a sea cave. It was a lonely and even scary sound. I didn’t like the idea of the sea eating away at the island. And Harris had said that sometimes the cliff would give way after a storm. Given enough time, the house itself would fall into the ocean.
Deciding that I had had about enough alone time for the morning, I thought that I would clean up and then go and ask Ben Livingston if he knew anything about caves on the island and perhaps invite him to lunch. There had to be something decent I could make for a company meal.
Back in the kitchen I washed my hands and face and had the rest of my tinned juice to drink. Beating curtains is hard work. My respect for my ancestors grew with every primitive labor I performed.
I didn’t lock my door. The key was a monster to cart around and I felt no need for security during the day. The garden was empty of everything but flowers and carpenter bees. The rain water hadn’t puddled so everything was fresh rather than soggy.
The way to Greyhome was made clear by a fork in the path which was lined with columbine and butterfly weed. There was also some kind of rambling rose growing over the door, pouring out its honey scent into the air, but before I got close enough to steal a blossom I was summoned away by a horn down by the docks.
“I wonder who.…”
I climbed onto a convenient boulder and looked toward the wharf. It was Friday, I realized, and the ferry had arrived. Kelvin would be happy to see more crunchies and I would have a fresh supply of eggs. Feeling a little bit excited, I hopped down and hurried for the dock.
Ben and a dark-haired woman I assumed was Mary Cory were already down at the wharf and receiving boxes from the crew of two. I wondered if the ferry always came at this time and then realized that it depended on the tide. The water would need to be fairly deep to accommodate the boat. Everyone probably kept tidal charts right by their calendars. I likely had one on the desk in the library and just hadn’t noticed.
“Good morning, Tess,” Ben said as I joined them. His tone was neutral but I felt the only vaguely remembered pull of something that was close to attraction. The sensation surprised me and I wondered if it were mutual. It very rarely was, at least in my experience. “Let me introduce you to our other neighbor, Mary Cory.”
The woman nodded. Her bleak eyes, puddles of gray in bloodshot whites that looked slightly jaundiced, studied me for a second and then dropped. I didn’t think it was modesty. I wondered if it was a hangover.
“Hello,” I said but didn’t offer my hand. Women did not seem to shake hands here and she had a small box of groceries in her arms which she seemed to be paying a lot of attention to.
“Hello,” she finally muttered back. I looked at Ben and raised a brow.
He shrugged. Maybe Mary just didn’t like away people.
“As it happens, I was just on my way to see you, Ben.”
“Yes?”
“I wondered if you knew anything about a sea cave on the far side of the island. I keep hearing this kind of echoing booming when I’m out back and I wondered if there might be a cave there. I asked Harris but he says he’s never heard of one.”
“I don’t know either,” he said slowly. “No one has ever mentioned one to me, but I suppose there might be. Lots of islands around here have them.”
“I’ve heard tell of there being one,” Mary volunteered, still not meeting my eye. Her voice was flat. “It’s supposed to go in apiece. I never looked for it though. Kelvin wasn’t big on people exploring his property. And those sea caves flood at high tide. Plenty of away folks have drowned in them. It’s best to just stay away.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I’ve never seen one.” I couldn’t he
lp but feel that her words were overly discouraging. I wasn’t sure why I was so excited about the idea of a sea cave, unless it was from reading about the local smugglers and pirates.
The man I assumed was Captain Sibley dropped a large sack of cat food at my feet and thrust a small box of groceries into my arms.
“Ma’am,” he said, jerking his head in the slightest of nods. His cap was pulled down almost over his eyes. He didn’t smile and spent his time gazing past me. I began to wonder if I shouldn’t have checked a mirror before coming out. Maybe I was a lot dirtier than I realized and my filth was embarrassing people.
“Tess, this is Cap’n Thomas Sibley.”
“How do you do?” I asked politely. “Thank you for bringing out the cat food.”
“Ayuh,” he said, nodding again and then hurrying away. It occurred to me that he was afraid of something. Was it me? Or just the island? Or, I thought as I turned at the sound of a strident meow, was it the cat? Some people had strange phobias, but Kelvin was just sitting on a rock, looking as unthreatening as a flower. Surely it couldn’t be that.
“You weren’t planning on looking for that cave alone, were you?” Ben asked, handing me a small box with dried cereal and a bottle of milk and picking up the enormous sack of cat food and hoisting it over a broad shoulder. He might be a bit pale from being indoors but he wasn’t weak.
“No. I would need a boat anyway. The cliff face is too sheer to climb down.” I put a box under either arm so I was more balanced. Cardboard boxes didn’t seem ideal carriers to me, especially if it was raining, though I supposed the market probably had tons to spare and they would stack better on the ferry.
We started up the trail. Mary went in front since we couldn’t walk three abreast. Kelvin followed behind Ben, perhaps keeping an eye on his dinner.
“That’s true. Can you recall when you’ve heard the booming? Was it high or low tide?”
“Near high tide,” I said, thinking back. “I could hear it just before the ferry came today but it was getting fainter by the minute.”
“Would you mind if I came back with you and had a listen?” he asked. “You’ve made me a bit curious. I’ve been doing some research about local smugglers and pirates and I would love to see a cave, if one exists.”
“Since you have the cat’s food, definitely not,” I said with a smile. Mary was outdistancing us and she didn’t look back. I had the feeling that we weren’t going to become the best of friends.
“Is she cold to everyone?” I asked Ben. “Or just newcomers?”
“She keeps company with Everett Sands sometimes, but mostly she is a loner. Don’t take it to heart.”
“I won’t.” But I did kind of. “So could I interest you in a slice of Mrs. Crumpert’s blueberry pie first? I am suddenly starving.”
“You got one yesterday? I missed out this week. She only bakes pies on Thursdays and people snap them up right away.”
“Well, I have one. Half of one. But I’ll share.”
“Then I don’t mind being the beast of burden for your cat.”
“Thank you for doing this. I am relieved it’s not raining. This path would be a pain.”
“Me too, though the ferry usually delays if there is a gale.”
“Speaking of gales, did you hear about my ancestor who adopted the Wendover name because he was wanted for piracy and smuggling in New Hampshire?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve read about it. Didn’t talk to Kelvin about it since he was usually so touchy about his ancestors. Kelvin maintained that the reprobate reformed, but I don’t think your fly-by-night relative gave up his evil ways after he married. The locals certainly suspected him of smuggling.”
“Really? That’s kind of … fun. But stupid, I guess, if everyone knows what you’re doing.”
“There was a lot of money in liquor in a dry state. A lot of men ran rum to make ends meet. It happened in the best families. And anyway, there would not have been that much disapproval from the locals. The Wendovers were important people in the community. I have a feeling that their little eccentricities were tolerated.”
“Hm. I guess everyone has colorful relatives. I found a creepy painting up in the attic. You know the story of how Abercrombie Wendover drowned? It’s a painting of that. I’m thinking of hanging it in the library.”
“You can actually tell it’s the Terminer?” he asked excitedly.
“Yes, you can read it on the sinking ship. I am kind of hoping this doesn’t mean I have ghosts at the house.” I tried to sound like this was a humorous idea, but really I wasn’t amused. “I also hope that I can find some portraits up in the attic. It seems very odd to have nothing but pictures of animals hanging on the walls.”
Ben cleared his throat.
“I don’t want to shove my oar in, but have you considered having electricity run up to the house? I don’t know how you could stand it there when the storms are at their worst. It would have anyone thinking about ghosts.”
I stopped in my tracks and Kelvin began twining around my ankles, urging me to keep up with the kibble.
“What?”
“I said why not run electricity up to the house?”
Never mind that I might not be staying on the island, I heard myself say, “I can do that? I mean, the lines have already been brought to the island?”
“Of course. You don’t think the rest of us would live here without power, do you? Kelvin was just too damn stubborn to have the house wired.” Realizing I had halted, Ben stopped too and turned back impatiently. “I thought I had him convinced, but the electrician said the minute he told Kelvin he needed to install a fuse box in the basement the old bastard—er, pardon my language—the old man threw him out. He wouldn’t hear of it, though the electrician explained that the wires have to go underground in a pipe and that means the easiest place to enter the house is through the basement.”
Goosebumps covered my arms. I’d have paid them more heed but anger was flushing my cheeks.
“Why the hell didn’t Harris mention this? I mean I’ve been managing with the weird solar panels and oil lamps, but this has not been a convenient stay.”
Ben shrugged. He didn’t smile but I could tell he was amused by my wrath. I tried to recall if Harris had told me there was no electricity on the island, or just none at the house. Surely he wouldn’t have lied—not when I could and probably would find out about there being power on the island.
“I guess he’s honoring Kelvin’s wishes. Ladd is a traditionalist and very loyal to your great-grandfather.”
“Kelvin is dead. It’s my wishes that count now.” I started walking again. “Okay, maybe he didn’t say anything because I haven’t committed to staying. He did say some repairs were needed before the house could be sold but we didn’t go into details.”
“Maybe so. I know historical preservationists would prefer to leave the place as is, but I can’t help but think that the cottage would sell better with a few modern conveniences. Not everyone is as intrepid as you and Kelvin. Ladd should know this.”
I snorted. Harris did know this and probably just didn’t want me to sell the house. Well, he would be hearing from me shortly. Though mentally planning the conversation, I was also thinking about something else Ben had said. I thought I had him convinced, but the electrician said the minute he told Kelvin he needed to install a fuse box in the basement the old bastard—er, pardon my language—the old man threw him out.
Why? What the hell was in that basement that Kelvin didn’t want disturbed? And why wouldn’t Harris want me to have electricity at the house?
Because it might make it easy to sell it and then I could leave? Did he really believe that I had to stay or the island would be pulled down into the sea?
Chapter 8
We went out to the yard to have a listen for the cave, but the booming was gone. Ben admired the drapes I’d been beating and helped me carry them in and hang the bed curtains in my room. I was glad he was there because it would have ta
ken me a while to figure out how to remove the rods which were cleverly fitted into the finials.
We had some pie and then Ben gave me the name of the electrician who had worked on his house. We were, as my grandmother would have said, getting on like a house afire. Ben asked if he might go through my library one day and I said he was welcome.
I called Harris as soon as Ben left. Remembering Grandma’s other adage about honey catching more flies than vinegar, I buried my annoyance and kept everything upbeat, expressing my enthusiasm for modern light bulbs over quaint oil lamps. Harris didn’t try to dissuade me, but I sensed a lack of zeal and I could hear him pacing up and down his narrow office as we talked. He did point out the expense. I countered with the argument of convenience. I didn’t mention how much a buyer would like having electricity, just kept it to a discussion of how much easier it would be for me to live on the island if I had a computer and coffee maker. Though I hated playing games, I did it, and soon Harris was agreeing to my ideas and even offered to call the electrician for me.
I wandered around the house after I hung up, feeling almost dreamy and making some tentative plans. Electricity could make the difference between staying and leaving, I thought, touching the furniture and even playing a few bars of Silent Night on the spinet. I was trying to picture the room with a Christmas tree and red candles, but before I could get them lit or the mistletoe hung, I heard the distinctive crash of a bag of kibble being knocked over in the pantry. A moment later Kelvin came running by the door and then thundered up the stairs as if chased by devils. I laughed once he was out of earshot.
The house felt very alive to me that afternoon, very welcoming. I couldn’t believe that it was all mine and that it came without strings—at least no emotional ones since I hadn’t known Kelvin and didn’t mourn him. And Harris hadn’t mentioned any legal strings either. Even probate would be through in a few more days. There was only the half-baked legend about there needing to be a Wendover in the house to appease the storm gods and I wasn’t buying into that obligation.
The Secret Staircase (A Wendover House Mystery Book 1) Page 7