by Anne Stuart
Peering nervously over my shoulder, I pulled my heavy flannel nightgown over my head and climbed up into the bed, pulling up the patchwork quilts. I stared in terror at the solid oak door. It had no lock. Karlew used to say we should have no secrets from God or His Representative. I lay there with the lights on, hearing footsteps in every creak of the old house. The church bell rang over the snow-shrouded hillsides, sounding lost and desolate in the early winter night. It matched my mood.
I was trying to go to sleep, with the light still on, when I heard some faint scratching sounds at the door. To my absolute horror I saw the knob turn. I was about to scream wildly when the door opened and Cousin Elinor’s ghostlike figure wafted into the room.
“Cousin,” I jumped out of bed, “how are you feeling? Should you be up? I could have come to see you if I’d known you wanted me.” My compassion for once was very real.
“Sssh,” she croaked, peering near-sightedly about my sparsely furnished room. “You know, you ought to redecorate up here. Some new wallpaper. Better yet, you should move downstairs into the green bedroom. I don’t know what you want with this servant’s room.”
“Now, Cousin Elinor, I’m very happy where I am,” I soothed her, hoping to find out her real reason for coming up here. It certainly wasn’t to talk about interior decoration. “You know I love the view.”
That was the wrong thing to say. She looked out at Barrett’s Hill with such an expression of horror and loathing that I was shocked. After a moment she turned back to me. “I have to warn you.”
“Warn me?” She was very drunk. Carefully I led her over to the small cushioned rocking chair by the bed and sat her down.
“You must get away.” Her clawlike hands clutched at me. Her eyes were glazed and yet strangely lucid.
I was patience itself. “Why, Elinor? You’ll have to explain what’s upset you so.” She often had these attacks of fright, convinced that some ancient enemy was gaining on her.
“You can’t trust any of them,” she said obscurely. “You’ve got to be careful—they’re going to try and give you to Adam in hopes that he’ll leave us alone.”
I didn’t even pretend to understand this. “Elinor, you must tell me. Who killed that girl?”
She looked at me with surprise in her faded blue eyes. “Don’t you know? You said you did. I heard you there in the drawing room. You said you knew!” Her shrill voice was accusing.
“No, I didn’t, Elinor,” I tried to soothe her. “I merely said my father told me certain things about the murder.”
She moaned and turned her head away from me. “Don’t trust any of them,” she muttered. “Don’t trust Karlew or Fathimore. And most of all don’t trust Adam. He wants to destroy us all.”
I didn’t know what to say to her. I was saved that problem by a loud banging on my door. It was flung open, and Karlew strode in, looking nothing more than mildly harassed.
“There you are, Elinor. I thought I left you asleep.” He helped her to her feet and led her to the door. He turned to me for a moment, his florid face troubled. “I trust she hasn’t been filling you full of ideas. You know how ridiculous her fears and torments are.”
“Do I?” I said. For the first time, since coming to this house, I couldn’t dismiss whatever was haunting her as wine-induced nightmares.
“Of course you do!” Karlew said sternly. “Now I suggest you try and get a little rest yourself. We don’t want you to get all washed out.”
“Why not?” I said. Karlew had never before shown any interest in my health or looks without an audience to applaud his concern.
Elinor flashed me a warning glance.
“I am always concerned for my dearest cousin and ward,” Karlew answered suavely.
I laughed inwardly and said good night. Was he really imagining that he could somehow trade me to Adam Traywick? To cover whose guilt, anyway? Karlew’s? That seemed a possibility, and yet I was sure his ego kept him from caring enough about someone to kill them. Nor could I imagine him buying that girl’s body for a night, yet Cook and Nanny said he had admitted doing just that.
And it couldn’t have been Fathimore. He wasn’t even present tonight, and why should Elinor faint over his guilt—she disliked him as much as I did. I couldn’t imagine him capable of enough passion, nerve, or strength to kill a gopher, much less a woman.
Could it have been my own father? And perhaps Karlew and Elinor had covered up for him, and now Adam was bent on exposing the old crime. I pictured that ascetic, bad-tempered old man and laughed at the idea. The only woman, besides my mother, ever capable of driving my father into a murderous rage had been myself, for he had heartily disapproved of liberated women.
So that left Adam. When I looked into his cool eyes I could imagine him capable of doing almost anything. If I had to be raped and murdered by any of those four I’d rather have Adam, but of course, that was hardly much of a recommendation. But why would he return to bring up the crime if he were indeed the guilty person? Of course, they say that the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime. And perhaps Karlew and Elinor were actually physically afraid of him—afraid he might kill again. Maybe they thought he might kill Maxine and so were flinging me at his head.
As a matter of fact, why were they seeming to push us together? Karlew was not one to give up the control of my respectable fortune without a struggle unless it was in trade for something more important to him. And the only thing more important to him than money, as far as I could tell, was life itself. But could Adam be threatening his life? It was all definitely too confusing. More than my twenty-year-old brain could untangle. I turned over and went to sleep.
Chapter 5
I WAS ON MY way into the kitchen, fairly late the next morning, when I heard an imperious summons at the front door. Emma, as usual, was nowhere around, so I answered it myself. I jumped back when I saw Adam’s tanned, unreadable face above me.
“Oh” I stammered. “Mr.—Mr. Traywick.”
“Miranda,” he nodded politely. The morning sun shone behind him, giving the odd effect of a halo around his head. Highly inappropriate, I thought. I opened the door wider and let him into the hall, all too aware of the strange effect he had on me, making me nervous and irritable for no discernible reason. Then again, it didn’t take much to irritate me in the best of times, which these certainly weren’t.
“I’m so glad you’ve taken advantage of your position as an old friend of my father’s and called me by my given name. I do like all his contemporaries to do so.” My voice was very sweet, knowing full well that my father had been at least ten years older than Adam.
“Miranda, my love, some other morning I will cross swords with you.” He smiled, a dazzling one that failed to reach his eyes. “But I really have no time now. Would you be so good as to tell your cousin Elinor that I’m here to see her?”
My raging blue eyes blazed into his mocking green ones for a moment. “Well?” he said, obviously waiting for me to comply like a willing servant or perhaps one of the many women anxiously hoping for his favors.
“My very dear Mr. Traywick,” I said in clipped tones, determined not to let him know how he affected me. “You seem to think my innate good manners will win out over your very irritating behavior. However, if you had only happened to hear what is said of me in the village, you would know that I would not carry your messages nor do one damned thing for you no matter how many wretched fathers of mine you knew nor how many axe murderers you’re about to expose. And you can stop looking so damned amused!”
“Miranda!” Karlew’s shocked voice cut through Adam’s laughter. “What is the meaning of this sort of language coming from your unsullied mouth?”
“It seems to have been sullied,” said Adam. “Never mind, Karlew. I must have provoked her, though I’m sure I don’t know how.”
“I need no one’s e
xcuses,” I snapped. “My conduct is my own responsibility.” I turned and flounced off, hoping he’d stop me.
He didn’t . . . without another word they disappeared into Karlew’s study, and I found myself hesitating at the stairs, tempted to go and tell Cousin Elinor that wretched man wanted to see her. Resolutely I turned back to the kitchen.
Maxine was there, dressed in a hideous puce-colored satin dress, much too elaborate for morning wear. She must have known he was coming, I thought, thoroughly disgruntled. Had I known I would have put on my prettiest dress, and it was much nicer than Maxine›s far more elaborate toilette.
“Maxine, dear,” I said evilly, taking the revenge offered. “There’s someone who’d like to see you. Someone tall and—” my recent pique thought ‘old,’ but I knew that would just set her back up—“and worldly, with blonde hair and green—” She was out of the room before I had even finished, strewing crumbs in her wake.
“It’s nice she’s so retiring,” I remarked to Nanny, taking Maxine’s recently vacated seat and helping myself to her half-finished glass of milk.
“Well, I certainly don’t know why you encourage her,” Nanny grumbled. “I’ve warned her often enough about him.» She sighed gustily. «The man’s irresistible and that’s the truth of it.” She dimpled.
“Better her than me,” I lied evenly.
“And what makes you think Adam Traywick has any interest in either of you?” demanded Cook, getting straight to the heart of the matter.
She startled me. I wanted Adam Traywick to rise to the occasion, to choose me over the detestable Maxine. That would never happen, of course, but he could at least resist her advances. “Adam Traywick probably has no interest in either of us.” I could be proud of how disinterested I sounded. I could almost convince myself.
Maxine bustled back into the room. “Miranda! There’s going to be a skating party up at Daniel’s Pond next Thursday. It’s frozen over early because of all the snow,” she announced with a fine disregard for the laws of nature. “It was all Adam’s idea.”
“Really?” My voice was cool. “How very gratifying for you.”
“Miranda,” came Adam’s voice from directly behind her. “Don’t have such a low opinion of your charms. This is as much to give you a bit of pleasure as it is for anyone else.”
Having a low opinion of myself was not my particular problem. While I was realistic to know that I was no femme fatale I had no doubt I was the smartest member of our little household. I gave the interloper a cool smile and said, “How very thoughtful of you, Mr. Traywick.”
“I try to think of other people’s pleasures,” he said with exaggerated meekness that didn›t fool me for a second. He really was the most irritating man. To make matters worse, Nanny and Cook were in the doorway, beaming at him with undisguised affection, making me feel totally betrayed. If they were under his spell, whom could I possibly trust?
“If you’ll excuse me . . .” I tried edging towards the door.
“Miranda!” I hadn’t noticed Karlew’s stocky body behind Adam in the doorway until he spoke. “Would you come into my study immediately!”
It was an order, not a request. He turned on his heel, and there was nothing I could do but follow him meekly, leaving Maxine alone with her quarry once more. Did he watch me as I disappeared? If he did, what was he thinking?
“Sit down, Miranda,” Karlew said sternly from behind his artfully cluttered desk. “There are things I have been wanting to say to you for a long time. No, stay there, Fathimore, you might as well hear this too.”
I hadn’t noticed the wretched little creature oozing into the leather chair in the corner. I bit my lip and waited.
“I said sit down!” thundered Karlew suddenly. I sat.
“Miranda,” he continued in a calmer voice. “I have been quite disturbed by your behavior since you’ve been with our little family. Let’s see—it’s been about four months, hasn’t it? I was hoping that natural good breeding on your part would assert itself without my having to say anything, but I see that has not been the case. Your profanities and rudeness have reached epidemic proportions. I don’t know where you learned such blasphemies, but I can hardly condone such things in a house devoted to God.
“And I fail to see any reason for your outrageous behavior towards Adam. Let me venture to give you a small hint, my girl: you’ll frighten everyone off with your prickly attitude. You don’t want to end an old maid, do you?”
“Why not? I have money enough to support myself. Why should I become a slave to some man just because it’s expected of me?” I knew this was likely to goad Karlew almost beyond bearing.
“Did you hear that?” he demanded of Fathimore, his face mottled with rage. “A feminist! In my house! I don’t know where you got such outrageous ideas, young lady. It certainly wasn’t from your father.”
Fathimore didn’t answer. He was too busy composing his features, camouflaging the obvious distaste he’d shown at the mention of marriage.
“It certainly wasn’t,” I agreed calmly. “Perhaps it was my strumpet of a mother? I’m supposed to take after her.”
I had found that I usually fared best in these confrontations if I drove my opponent into a mindless fury. That way he would forget his original complaint, wasting his energy on trivial points of behavior. This strategy was not entirely successful.
“The main difference between your mother and yourself, Miranda, was that she liked men!” Karlew took a deep breath and brought himself under control. “Miranda. You must be more . . . more conciliating. You don’t seem to realize Adam Traywick is a very dangerous man.”
“I wish I knew what you were talking about, Cousin,” I said coldly. “What difference does my behavior make?”
“It makes a difference, Miranda. That’s all I can say right now. But it does.” He gave me his humbly sincere expression.
I assumed this was my dismissal, and I left, not quite closing the door behind me. I stood silent outside, listening intently.
“Well, what do you think, Fathimore?”
“I think it might serve very well. The moment he saw her he seemed to take to her.” Fathimore’s wispy voice sounded sad at the thought.
“Yes,” Karlew’s voice was relieved. “I should have known he’d be contrary enough to want her. Such an evil-tempered witch.”
Were they talking about me? It seemed strange to hear myself thought of in those terms. I suppose to them they were apt enough.
“I think,” said Karlew, “that we just might come out of all this safely if Miranda is tractable, though I place no reliance on that. At least she has taken more interest in him than in any other man she’s been around.”
“Have you found out anything interesting yet?” A low voice in my ear startled me. I looked up and felt that strange sort of melting fury.
“Oh, very interesting things, Mr. Traywick. My cousin and his nasty little vicar seem to be discussing some sort of plan: they intend to trade me to you in exchange for safety of some sort.”
“That does sound very interesting. Am I supposed to have agreed to all this?”
“Not yet. They seem to feel you will, though.” I couldn’t keep a questioning look from my face.
“Well, perhaps I will.” He smiled then, and I could feel my heart pounding irregularly. “May I offer you a bit of advice, my dear Miranda?”
“No.”
“Well, I shall anyway. I would suggest, for your own safety, that you don’t drop hints of knowing secret information about an old murder when you are in a roomful of suspects. I don’t think for one minute that you know anything at all about it, but the others aren’t quite as perceptive.”
“Well, thank you very much for the warning,” I said affably. “And may I suggest to you that you transfer whatever dishonorable intentions you have to someone like Max
ine who will certainly appreciate it more!” I flounced away from him, trying to ignore the little laugh that followed me.
Chapter 6
OUR LITTLE SKATING party was scheduled for the following Thursday, November 21st. Twenty years to the day since the murder. No one mentioned the coincidence of the dates, and for once I was charitable enough not to mention the macabre anniversary.
Cousin Elinor was very excited and seemed to be neglecting her Madeira in favor of healthier pastimes. She had Emma drag an old trunk down from the attic, and we spent a long afternoon going through the ancient clothing for skating costumes. Nothing seemed terribly serviceable. Maxine immediately grabbed a moth-eaten red velvet dress, trimmed lavishly with spangles and odd sorts of tassels. Elinor informed me proudly that it had belonged to her eccentric Aunt Harriet. I could tell just by looking at it how eccentric her aunt had been.
“You know, it’s peculiar, but I don’t remember ever seeing this one before,” Elinor said, pulling out a lovely aqua-colored carriage dress of a style fashionable about fifteen or twenty years ago. It had velvet braided trim on the soft blue wool, and the lines were graceful when I held it up against me. I pulled the waist close to my own and felt a curious tear. A horrid suspicion entered my mind, but I said nothing to Elinor and Maxine, who were still exclaiming over the other absurdities in the trunk and had seemingly forgotten the mystery of the unknown dress.
“Could I wear this, Cousin Elinor?” She looked at me in surprise for a moment, then nodded absently. Scooping up my treasure in my arms, I hurried off to my room to inspect it more closely.
It was as I had thought. There were large, jagged rips in the heavy wool, rips that looked as if they could have been made with a knife or some similar weapon. I shuddered. Yet there were no bloodstains on it. How could it be the dress of the murdered girl and have no bloodstains? Of course, it could have been washed. But what in the world was it doing among Cousin Elinor’s old clothes?