Hall of Secrets (A Benedict Hall Novel)

by Cate Campbell

  She smiled suddenly, and her dark eyes shone. “Oh, Frank!” she exclaimed. She found his right hand, his good hand, with her left. “What a wonderful surprise you gave me! I have a hundred questions, about your flying, about your being here—and there’s been no chance to ask them! Are you staying? Does Mr. Boeing know you’re here, and does he know—”

  Frank, laughing, put his left arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her lips. He felt them curve beneath his, and in a moment they were both chuckling. “Come on, Doctor,” he said. “Let’s get everyone back. I believe Blake is waiting.”

  She leaned forward, pressing her cheek to his chest for a long moment. She murmured, “It’s so good to have you home.”

  Huskily, he said, “It’s damned good to be here,” and dropped a kiss on her fragrant hair.

  CHAPTER 16

  Blake drove Frank to his boardinghouse on Cherry, with a promise to be back to pick him up for dinner. Frank tried to protest that it wasn’t necessary, that he could take the streetcar, but Margot laughed. “You’ll never persuade Blake into that, Frank,” she said. “He’s so pleased to be driving again. Let’s indulge him.”

  “All right.” Frank nodded to Blake, who had insisted on getting out of the Essex to unload Frank’s flying clothes and helmet. “I appreciate it, Blake,” he said. “I’ll be ready.” Blake touched his fingers to his cap and held the door for Margot to get back in.

  Ruby and Allison were in the car, and the back was loaded with the percolator and cups and trays. Over her shoulder, Margot watched Frank as the Essex pulled away. He saluted her, and she waved. She sighed with satisfaction as the car turned onto Broadway. Blake caught her eye in the mirror. “Very nice to see Major Parrish again.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said and saw his lips curve with amusement at her understatement. She leaned forward. “Frank, a pilot! I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

  “It’s an impressive accomplishment,” Blake said.

  “Did you know?”

  He coughed slightly. “Well, Dr. Margot. I suppose I can admit it now. Major Parrish wrote to me, a personal note, to explain what he was planning. He was afraid you might not think the ‘delivery’ at Sand Point was important enough for you to be present.”

  “Such drama! It’s not like Frank, really, but it was marvelous to see.” She felt Allison’s eyes on her, and she leaned back again and smiled at her young cousin. “I had no idea he was flying airplanes himself. He was supposed to be studying them—but flying!”

  “It’s so exciting,” Allison said. “I’ve never heard anything so romantic!”

  Margot laughed. “In the usual run of things, I’m not much of a romantic, but in this case, Allison—I have to agree with you. It was a very romantic thing to do!”

  In a cheerful mood, she and Allison went into Benedict Hall together. Ruby went with Blake to unpack the automobile by the back door. Margot started toward the stairs to change for dinner, while Allison said she was going to the kitchen to thank Hattie for her help. “That’s a very good idea,” Margot said. “Please tell her for me how much I appreciated it.”

  “I will,” Allison said. She moved across the hall to the kitchen with a light step. Margot paused on the staircase, watching her. Allison had gained a little bit of weight, and it looked good on her, rounding her thin cheeks, swelling her bosom just a bit. Her color and her skin tone were vastly improved, but it was more than that. The tension that had gripped the girl when she first arrived, that quenched her appetite and depressed her mood, seemed to have lessened, perhaps even released completely.

  Surely, whatever had happened on board Berengaria could not have been so serious as to cause it. Margot had no doubt Uncle Henry and Aunt Adelaide had greatly exaggerated its importance. Indeed, Margot thought, as she reached the landing, it was more likely to be a symptom. But a symptom of what?

  “Oh, Margot, good!” Ramona emerged from the end of the corridor where she and Dick had their bedroom and bath. “Dick’s just telephoned from the office.” She hurried forward in a flutter of blue wool crepe. Margot thought it might be a new dress, though she didn’t always notice such things. It was loose, falling just to Ramona’s ankles, not her usual style.

  Ramona reached her, cheeks pink with hurrying. “It’s your Uncle Henry and Aunt Adelaide,” she said. “I know this isn’t the best day, because you were so busy at the tea, but—they’re coming here. Tomorrow! Mother Benedict doesn’t—that is, I’m not sure what I should—”

  Margot put up her hand to stem the flow of words. “Ramona. You’ve been wonderful while Mother hasn’t been herself. Whatever you think is best will be perfect, I’m sure.”

  “Well, thank you, Margot. We do what’s necessary, don’t we? Now, do you think perhaps the bedroom over the big parlor? It hasn’t been opened for years, Dick says, and it’s probably a bit musty.”

  “Tell Blake. But he’s to have the twins take care of it! He’s not to go cleaning the room himself, but he’ll know what needs to be done. On second thought, let me speak to him, and he can confer with you.”

  “So odd, that they would decide, all at once—”

  “It is odd, and you’re right, the timing is not the best. But perhaps they wanted to be with Allison for Christmas?”

  “No doubt.” Ramona paused, first putting her hand to her throat, then passing her fingers over her forehead. She drew a little breath and blinked. “Goodness, I suppose I shouldn’t rush like that.”

  “Ramona—are you feeling well?” Margot moved her hand to encircle Ramona’s slender wrist with her fingers. Her pulse was quick, but steady and strong.

  “Oh, I feel marvelous!” Her sister-in-law blushed an even deeper pink, and though she drew her wrist away, she smiled up at Margot. “I just needed to catch my breath.”

  “Are you sure you—”

  Ramona laughed. “Oh, Margot!” She leaned closer and said softly, “We haven’t told anyone yet, and we thought we should wait until we were sure. I wanted to tell you first, really, but we . . . Well. Dick and I are expecting!”

  “Oh! Oh, Ramona—how nice for you both! For all of us! I don’t need to ask if you’re happy—it’s painted all over you!”

  Ramona giggled and breathed a contented sigh. Margot overcame her usual reserve to embrace her sister-in-law and send her on her way, a bit more slowly this time. Thoughtful, she went on to her bedroom to change.

  She hoped the presence of the San Francisco Benedicts wouldn’t be one burden too much for Blake. He had been back such a short time, and the leg still dragged, though he tried to disguise it. She would admonish him, of course, but she wasn’t sure that would help. Perhaps she could persuade Father to take on more staff, at the very least another housemaid, and perhaps someone to assist in the kitchen. The twins and Hattie were busy all the time. She would speak to Father tonight, before Frank arrived.

  And, she decided, as she ran a comb through her hair and smoothed the skirt of her black wool dinner dress, she would speak to Blake now. She took a critical glance in the mirror and decided she would do. Her cheeks, from the excitement of the day, were almost as rosy as Ramona’s. She could never be bothered with cosmetics, although when she was younger her mother had tried to persuade her. She could see, though, that a little natural color was rather nice. Perhaps, before Frank arrived, she would smooth on the smallest touch of lipstick. There was a push-up tube somewhere in her dressing table. Her mother had presented it to her years ago, and she had never, before now, had the urge to use it. She didn’t know if it was still good, but she could try.

  She found Blake in the dining room, supervising the twins as they laid the table. She beckoned him out into the hallway. “Dick telephoned from the office just now,” she said. “It seems Uncle Henry and Aunt Adelaide are arriving tomorrow from San Francisco.”

  “Are they? I don’t think anyone expected them.”

  “No, it’s quite a surprise. Ramona thought we should open the bedroom over the big parlor, but i
t will need airing.”

  “Yes, that’s the best choice. I’ll go up to open the windows, but keep the door into the hallway closed. No need to chill the whole house.”

  “Blake, please. Send the twins up to do it. And I’m going to ask Father to add some staff. This is going to mean a lot of extra work, I’m afraid.”

  “How long are they staying?”

  Margot shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe Father does—Henry might have telephoned him.”

  “So odd that they’re arriving with no notice.”

  Margot knew what Blake really meant. It was rude. To say nothing of presumptuous, though he wouldn’t think of saying that himself. He would say it wasn’t his place to criticize any Benedict, even ones whose manners didn’t meet his standards. She said, beginning to be amused by the whole thing, “It’s really odd, Blake, you’re absolutely right. To be charitable, I suppose it’s possible they simply wanted to see Cousin Allison at Christmas.”

  “Who wants to see me at Christmas?” Blake and Margot turned together on hearing Allison’s voice. She had emerged from the kitchen and stood now at the foot of the staircase. Her cheeks had gone pale, and her eyes stretched too wide in her small face. “Who is it, Cousin Margot?”

  It seemed such a straightforward thing, to tell the girl that her parents would arrive the next day, but Margot could see in Allison’s expression that there was nothing simple about it. She had guessed, of course, though she couldn’t have heard their whole conversation. Her face had closed down, and her body stiffened. Even her voice showed strain. “Who’s coming?”

  Margot wished she could put her arms around Allison and ease her tight shoulders, but the girl’s very tension created a sort of chasm she didn’t know how to bridge. She said, aware that her own voice sounded artificial, “Why, Cousin Allison, it seems your parents are coming to Benedict Hall. Tomorrow, in fact.” Allison didn’t move, but she seemed to shrink, to draw into herself, like a balloon with a puncture. Margot did her best to pretend reassurance. “Won’t that be nice?”

  Allison’s voice carried no conviction at all. “Oh, yes, Cousin Margot. Certainly.” She moved up the staircase on feet that dragged, all the lightness of her earlier step drained away in a heartbeat.

  Margot watched her go. When Allison had disappeared she said, “Blake, whatever could be the matter with her?”

  He was on his way back to the dining room, but he paused, leaning on the marble lion head of his cane. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “But this news didn’t make her happy.”

  Margot blew out a slow breath. “There’s something going on in that family,” she said. “And for that girl’s sake, I’d better find out what it is.”

  Frank felt a wave of sadness at how much the elder Mrs. Benedict had faded over the past months. Gray had crept into her fair hair, dulling it to a metallic color. Her face bore shallow, dry lines that weren’t there before. She didn’t smile at Frank, though she greeted him with her usual stylized courtesy, calling him Major and asking briefly after his work.

  Margot said, “Mother, Frank is a pilot now. I saw him fly an airplane into Seattle today.”

  Edith Benedict said in a pale voice, “A pilot. My, my. Isn’t that interesting.” She turned away from them and went to sit on the small divan, facing her husband in his armchair.

  Margot showed no reaction, and Frank guessed she was used to her mother’s inattention by now. Margot looked vibrant, her dark eyes shining, her smooth skin set off nicely by her black dress. She wore a long strand of pearls he had never seen before, and she had a pair of matching earrings clipped to her ears. He flattered himself that she had made a special effort because he was here. It both gratified and stirred him.

  They were in the small parlor. Dick was doing the honors with a whisky bottle and a tray of cut-glass tumblers. The young cousin, Allison, sat at one end of the sofa, staring into the fire. Frank wondered if something was bothering her. She had been animated all afternoon, moving here and there to welcome guests, inviting them to take refreshment, managing coats and hats. Now she was so still that if her eyes hadn’t been open, he might have thought she was asleep.

  Dick handed him a glass of whisky. Frank saluted his host, and Dickson raised his glass in return. “Major, it’s a treat to have you here again.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s certainly a pleasure for me.”

  “Blake tells me you’re one of our flying men now. Well done.”

  “I was lucky to have the opportunity,” Frank said. He had taken a straight chair and set one next to him for Margot. He felt her shift beside him, her arm brushing his. “No feeling like it, sir.” He sipped Dickson’s excellent whisky, thinking how good it was to enjoy it without really needing it.

  “I envy you. If I were a younger man, I’d want to try it myself.” Dickson drank, then glanced across at his wife, who gazed into space, as silent as Allison.

  The younger Mrs. Benedict, Frank thought, was prettier than ever, her color high, her cheeks plump and smooth. Her radiance made her mother-in-law seem even paler by comparison. Ramona said, “It’s so exciting, Major Parrish! But aren’t you frightened sometimes?”

  He inclined his head to her. “Any pilot who isn’t sometimes frightened is a fool, Mrs. Benedict,” he said. “But being in the air is the greatest excitement I’ve ever had.” He glanced at Margot. “Worth the risk,” he added.

  “Blake and I watched Frank land this morning,” Margot said. “It was beautiful to see.”

  Ramona asked, “What do you wear? Those leather helmets and long white scarves?”

  “Ramona!” Dick said, but he cast his wife an indulgent look.

  “Helmet, yes,” Frank said, amused. “The scarves are just in films, I think.”

  “I saw The Skywayman down at the Guild Theater,” Ramona enthused. “What those pilots could do! It was terrifying.”

  Frank judged it best not to mention that two pilots had crashed and died making that film. He said, “Well, those are stunt pilots. I just fly Jennys. Nothing fancy.”

  “Could you take me up?” Margot asked, surprising him into a laugh.

  “Is it safe?” Dickson demanded.

  “Yes, sir, I believe it’s safe, but the Jennys belong to the army. I don’t have one of my own.”

  “One day,” Margot said.

  “Maybe. One day.”

  Blake, attired now in his serving coat and a pair of pristine white gloves, came to the door to announce dinner. Everyone rose, and Frank stood back to allow the senior Benedicts to precede him, then the younger ladies. Allison didn’t look up as she passed him, and she didn’t speak.

  In the dining room, Frank felt a quiver of unease when he saw that Preston’s empty place was still being set. No one else remarked upon it, and the maids, when they began to serve, simply ignored it. Frank caught Margot’s eyes and raised his eyebrows. Beneath the cover of the tablecloth, she touched his hand with her long cool fingers, a promise to explain later.

  The Benedicts’ cook had not, it seemed, improved her skills. The sweets she had made for the reception had been well received, but the cuisine at dinner was much as Frank remembered. The soup was a fish chowder, heavy with flour. The roast chicken was overdone, and the potatoes with it were the opposite. No one commented. Margot and her father, as well as the younger Benedicts, did their best with the indifferent food. Edith, Frank noticed, ate very little.

  Allison Benedict ate nothing at all.

  Margot was watching Allison, too, her heart constricting with pity. Allison had been at her best today, surely the bright, happy girl she was meant to be. That girl had disappeared again, taken refuge behind some private barricade, like a soldier under fire. Margot had no doubt it was not a happy place to be.

  When dinner was over, Margot borrowed one of Dick’s overcoats for Frank and wrapped herself in an old rabbit fur coat of her mother’s. She told Blake they were going for a walk, and he nodded approval, holding the front door for them to pass through.<
br />
  It was lovely to be alone together. Margot tucked her gloved hand under Frank’s arm, and he pressed it tight against his side as they walked. The night was bitterly cold, every breath a little cloud of mist dissolving into the darkness. The December sky was clear and black and spangled with stars.

  They crossed the road, skirting the foot of the water tower to walk on into the park. Idly, Margot told Frank about the flaw in the foundation of the clinic. He suggested remedies and promised to look at it next time he was home. They passed the Conservatory, its glass-paned walls gleaming with starlight, and they paused to admire the lunette window above the entrance. They stopped at the crest of the hill beyond it and gazed down at the city laid out beneath their feet. Here and there Margot saw houses with electric lights strung around their Christmas trees. Their little blooms of color were just visible through the shrubbery. “I like those,” she said, pointing. “I suppose it’s frivolous, but we should be frivolous at Christmas, don’t you think?”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his warmth. “My mother has a collection of German ornaments,” he said. She let her head touch his shoulder, enjoying the smile in his voice. “Her family has had them for years. Brought them over on the boat, I suspect.”

  “You haven’t seen your mother in a long time, Frank.”

  “Yes. Almost a year.”

  “Do they have a telephone?”

  “No. At least none of the ranches around there did when I was there last.”

  She let the subject drop, though there were questions she wanted to ask. There had been a girl. Elizabeth. Frank wouldn’t talk about her in any detail, but there had been some ugly scene when he was first released from the hospital in Virginia, when his amputation was still agonizingly painful, and—at least in his mind—hideous to look at. Elizabeth, evidently, had fled in horror when she saw it.

  Margot slipped her arm around Frank’s waist and wondered if Elizabeth was sorry now. She wondered if Frank had seen her when he went home to visit, but she didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to give the impression she was insecure, or worried, or—whatever the impression might be. It was, naturally, none of her business.