Lost Island

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Mother?” Floria said to the woman on the bed.

  Aunt Amalie smiled at her half-heartedly. “No, dear. If you’ll leave us alone, I’d like to talk with Lacey for a few moments.”

  Floria gave me a look that was faintly suspicious and went out of the room. I pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down in it. Aunt Amalie’s eyes were open now, and when Floria had gone, she spoke to me.

  “What has happened to Richard?”

  I told her the full story. I began with the scene Floria had made when he was cutting up Elise’s pictures. I told her how Richard and I had gone outside together and had our talk. She listened quietly, and only gasped softly when I related how Richard had attacked Hadley Rikers when Elise went into his arms.

  “Elise lost her temper and told him he was not her son,” I finished. “She pulled everything down in an emotional crash, so that he ran away and hid. The next thing he knew she was dead, and he blamed himself because he had been wishing that something terrible would happen to her.”

  Aunt Amalie sat up on the bed. “How dreadful! I must go and have a talk with him at once. He’ll need to be comforted, and—”

  “No!” I said. “Not right away. Let him be, for now. I’ve already talked to him as well as I could.”

  “I suppose you told him that you—”

  “Of course I didn’t tell him. He needs to recover Elise right now, not have someone else thrust upon him.”

  She lay back on the bed. “Thank you, Lacey. You’ve done the right thing.”

  “Eventually he may ask about his real mother,” I said. “But perhaps not for a long time. He may not want to know. He may be afraid to know. It’s better to let him remember his happier times with Elise for the present. He needs time to grow strong by himself. Perhaps if you could lean on him a little, let him comfort you—?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, Lacey. I’ll try. You’re being wiser than I ever thought you could be. Now tell me about your plans.”

  “I’m going home tomorrow. I’ve stayed long enough.”

  “I suppose you must do that. What about Giles?”

  “He seems a long way off,” I confessed. “We can’t run to each other with Elise only just—gone.”

  “Yes, it will be best if you leave as soon as you can. It isn’t safe for you here any more.”

  I already knew that, but I was surprised that she would admit it.

  “Can you accept my word now?” I asked. “Accept my word against Floria’s?”

  She closed her eyes briefly, as if in pain, and then looked directly at me. “I think I always have accepted the truth, Lacey. I fought against you because Floria is my daughter. But I know her tendency toward exaggeration. And Paul was there at the time to tell what he had seen. I’ll be glad when they are married. Perhaps it will be soon now, with Elise no longer—” She broke off.

  I was still for a few moments. I think she wanted me to leave her alone. I think my presence caused her to be restless and uneasy. But in a little while I would be gone, and I would not know any of the answers. Whether that would be for the best or not, I didn’t know.

  “I don’t think anyone meant Elise’s death,” I told her. “No matter what anyone found the next day, there was a stone in the wall that was loose the night of the ball. It was loosened because I was going down to the beach that way. It was loosened because someone—”

  Aunt Amalie came out of her apathy in a flash. All her normal energy flowed back into her body and she pulled herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

  “Hush, Lacey! Don’t say anything more. I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I only want the island to be peaceful and safe—the way it used to be. When you’re gone from it, it will be quiet again. I know that now. I should never have let you come in the first place.”

  “Then you must feel sure that what happened to Elise was intended for me,” I said mercilessly.

  “I don’t feel sure of anything!” Her denial was vehement. “But you mustn’t stay any longer. You must get away before anything else happens. And you must never come back to the island.”

  I sat watching her quietly, appraising and measuring her. Of course it would be a mistake to appeal to Aunt Amalie. While Elise was alive she had been torn between the anguished love she felt for her unpredictable daughter, and her old affection for me, her sister’s child. Now Elise had died because of something that had been intended for me—and it would be more than could be humanly expected to ask her to endure the sight of me any longer. Every time she looked at me she must suffer and remember. But there was more to it than that. Aunt Amalie belonged to the island. She belonged to those who lived here. And she would protect any one of them from the outsider who might come in to destroy. I could not bear to think who had loosened that stone, and perhaps she could not either. Or perhaps she knew very well, and would live in silence with that knowledge to the day of her death. She would know only that I must not be allowed to threaten those who remained.

  I left my chair and put a light hand on her shoulder, bent to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t come back. And I’ll not ask any more questions.”

  She made an effort then. She touched my hand where it rested on her shoulder and looked up at me, her eyes tear-filled. But she could not speak. She could not find anything to say to me.

  I left her there and went out of the room. From downstairs I could hear Charles’s voice, and Richard’s answering. They were discussing the proper way to display the recovered brooch, as though everything was perfectly normal. This was the beginning of the mending that must always take place after a death, when life begins to go on in the old way, with overtones of the new.

  I did not go downstairs to join them. I went back to my room. There was still one person with whom I must talk. I would seek Giles out right after dinner tonight.

  14

  I did not go downstairs to dine with the others that night. I told Vinnie that I wasn’t feeling very well—which was true enough—and she brought me a light supper on a tray in my room. An hour later I went down to the library to meet Giles. Vinnie had carried a message to him from me, and brought back word that he would see me there after dinner.

  The others were gathered in the parlor and I could hear voices as I went past. Aunt Amalie had come downstairs, and Charles and Floria were with her. They did not see me as I went past the doors, and I was glad to step into the quiet of the library without being stopped.

  A single lamp burned beside Charles’s empty armchair. The rest of the room crowded dimly around that one focus of light, with springtime darkness pressing blue-gray beyond the open French doors to the veranda.

  The library was empty—or so I thought—and I went directly to Giles’s desk and pulled the knob of the upper right-hand drawer. To my relief, it was locked. If I had found it open, I would have called it to Giles’s attention myself. The sight of that gun lying where Richard could so easily reach it, had left me unnerved.

  “Are you looking for something, Lacey?” Paul’s voice said from down the room.

  I looked around, to see that he had emerged from shadows near the front windows, and I wondered why he was in here, and not with the others. Even by shaded lamplight he did not look well, and I knew that he must still be having a difficult time accepting Elise’s death.

  “I wanted to make sure that drawer was locked,” I said. “It was open earlier in the day.”

  He seemed to make nothing of that. “I hear that you and Richard have recovered the missing brooch,” Paul said. “The boy is full of the story. It seems to have brought him out of his state of apathy.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Apparently Elise had it all along.”

  But my thoughts were no longer solely on the matter of the brooch. I was trying to formulate in my mind the things I must say to Giles, and I d
id not want to talk to Paul now. Like me, he was an outsider, and I was concerned tonight only with those who belonged to the island. I wished he would join the others and leave me to meet Giles alone.

  “Floria doesn’t know I’m here,” he said unexpectedly.

  “Weren’t you with them for dinner?” I asked in surprise.

  He shook his head. “I’m waiting for Charles to go for the evening walk he often takes. I can see him from the windows if he goes down the drive. I’ll join him then.”

  My attention was still upon my own affairs and I was not particularly curious as to what Paul might want with Charles in a meeting that avoided Floria.

  Paul moved back to his post at a front window and a moment later he said, “There’s Charles now,” and went quickly onto the veranda.

  I found a place in a chair where the light would not fall upon me too brightly, and waited for Giles. I did not want to sit on the sofa, with him beside me tonight. I must have him well beyond arm’s length when I talked to him.

  But we were not at arm’s length for long when he came into the room. He drew me out of my chair and into his arms at once, and I went to him gladly. For a few moments I could cling to him.

  “Darling,” he said, “We’ve been too far apart for the last few days. This is where you belong.”

  “I’m going back to New York tomorrow,” I told him. He made a sound of protest, but I went on quickly. “You know I must. There’s nothing to do but wait now—though not here on the island. Giles, when I go this time, I can never return.”

  He held me away where he could look into my face. “That’s nonsense, of course. You’ll come here to live, eventually. I’m afraid we must wait for a while. But in the long run Sea Oaks will be your home, as it is mine. You’ve always loved the island. Now you will live here for good.”

  I turned away from him and went to my chair. “I had to talk to you tonight. I need to make you understand a number of things. Sit down and listen to me, Giles.”

  My tone arrested his attention. He went to the sofa and sat looking at me, suddenly grave.

  Quickly I recalled to his mind the things that had happened to me since I had come to the island. For the first time I told him that I thought someone had tried to injure me deliberately that afternoon at Bellevue, when a great chunk of tabby had fallen upon me. I spoke of the loose stone in the sea wall, and of how I had gone to the beach the next morning, only to find it wedged firmly in place. Undoubtedly by someone who did not want it known that it had ever been loose. I told him of Hadley Rikers finding me there, and of the accusation he had made.

  “I don’t think he will try to do anything,” I said. “But he’s suspicious and it’s best to quiet that suspicion by having me go away. In time perhaps all the talk will die down. Anyway, I must get away from the island and I must stay away. Someone here has a deep hatred for me, and I think it will be worse since Elise’s death. I don’t know why—or who it is. Perhaps it’s best if I never know.”

  “Do you think I could live in peace with someone who wanted to harm you?” he said. “If this is really fact, and not just anxious fancy, then it should be uncovered. Whoever is behind such actions should be exposed, no matter what the consequences are. You must be able to come back here to live, Lacey. There’s no other way.”

  I knew I could never come back. But there was more I had to tell him. There was the most difficult part of all. There was no immediate chance, however, because Floria burst into the room, looking thoroughly distraught.

  “Vinnie said Paul was here,” she announced, glancing quickly about. “Have you seen him?”

  “He was in the room a few moments ago,” I said. “He was waiting to see Charles, and I think he’s gone for a walk with him.”

  “I’ll go after them,” Floria said. She started toward the door, and then swung about abruptly. “Are you leaving soon, Lacey?”

  “Tomorrow,” I said.

  She gave me a look that was somehow spiteful. “And high time too!”

  “But she’ll be back,” Giles put in. “She’ll be back as soon as I’m able to bring her here.”

  Floria turned her look of spite on him for an instant, and then spoke to me again. “Have you told Giles your big secret yet?”

  A chill touched me. I knew what she meant and I could not answer.

  “Lacey has been telling me a number of things,” Giles said.

  “I mean about Richard,” Floria went on deliberately. “Because it’s time you knew, Giles, and if she hasn’t told you, I will. Richard was not Elise’s son. He belongs to Lacey. And you. She bore him, but they all took part in fooling you from the start. I didn’t know the truth until recently, but Elise and Mother and Lacey conspired to deceive you very cleverly and cruelly. There isn’t any doubt about it. You’ve only to ask my mother. She was the one who planned the whole thing in the beginning. But your worthy, honorable Lacey went along with her plan every step of the way.”

  Floria stood there looking at him, taunting and malicious, her hair upon her shoulders, fluffed and fiery. There was nothing I could say. It had all been done for me, crudely, and with none of the extenuation I believed had existed, and which I’d hoped to make Giles understand. If Floria wanted to drive me away from the island for good, she had chosen the best possible way to do it.

  Out of his first shock, a deep anger was beginning to stir in Giles. I could see it in his eyes, in the tightness of his mouth, hear it in the coldness of his voice.

  “Is this true, Lacey?”

  “Yes,” I said miserably, “it’s true.”

  Floria understood fully what he was feeling, but she could not leave well enough alone. She flung me a quick, triumphant look.

  “All those wasted years, Lacey! All those years with your son—thrown away! All those years when Giles felt he must hold an empty marriage together because of the son he shared with Elise. A boy who wasn’t Elise’s son at all!”

  Giles made a sound of mingled pain and anger, and I could not bear any more. As I knew all too well, he hated dishonesty more than anything else. He could not bear anyone who cheated and deceived him. Near my chair a veranda door stood open. I jumped up and ran outside.

  The night was cool, the stars bright in patches of sky above the live oaks. I could not fling myself into the branches of an oak tree to hide, as Richard had done, but the night waited for me, offered me concealment. I ran down the steps and along the path that led away from the white shell drive toward the burying ground. I could not bear the house for a moment longer. I could not bear the sound of Floria’s spiteful voice. Above all, I could not endure the look on Giles’s face. Only darkness and crowding trees could shelter me until I could gather my forces, summon a few last shreds of courage, and face what had to be faced. I had always known how angry he would be. I had always been afraid to tell him. What I had done so long ago would be, in his eyes, unforgivable.

  In a few moments I had found my way into that dark place of sweet gums and pines and live oaks. The few tombs that stood among the trees were black solids, where starlight could not reach. The lights of the house were well behind me, and even the rhythmic beat of the Atlantic was hushed in this ancient place. But I was not to be allowed my dark solace for long. Through the night came the sound of footsteps following me, running in pursuit. Someone had come after me. I could not bear to face whoever it was, and I drew myself into the shadow of the largest tomb and stood waiting in utter silence.

  “Lacey!” That was Floria’s voice, but curiously hushed and coaxing. “Lacey, where are you? You mustn’t run away from the house.”

  I pressed against the brick and tabby of the tomb’s wall until rough shell cut into the palms of my hands.

  “Are you there, Lacey?” The voice went on, false and coaxing. “I’m sorry, Lacey. I only did it for your own good. He had to know. Come with me back to the house.”

&nb
sp; Not for anything would I have stepped out of darkness into starlight. I could see her now, where she moved like a shadow among other night shadows, tall and slender and deadly.

  Again and again she called me, always in that soft, whispery voice that frightened me—as though she did not want anyone else to know that she called. But she had no way of being sure that I was here, and I did not believe she had seen me.

  Time seemed to stand still in the lonely grove. The night seemed no longer hushed. The very air hummed with the sounds of insects. The stars hung motionless in the dark blue sky, and no breeze stirred the leaves of the sweet gums. I dared not so much as shift my weight from one foot to another. I was desperately afraid. I could not outrun her, and I knew those strong hands which could conquer an unruly horse would hold me helpless if ever she found me. Why she hated me so much I didn’t know, but her malevolence was something I could almost feel there in the darkness.

  Then, quite suddenly, the tension eased. She seemed to give up. I could hear her moving away. Her tall shadow no longer stretched toward me over the ground, and I could hear a crackling under her feet as she went off in the direction of the house. I could shift my weight now, lessen the cramped pressure of my hands against the rough tabby behind me. But I still did not stir from my hiding place. I did not want to step into the open and have her come running back through the trees. For a little while I would wait where I was. I would wait until it was safe to return to the house and go upstairs to my room. The quiet of the burying ground no longer offered me the peace in which to recover a little from what Floria had done to both Giles and me.

  “Lacey?”

  The call came from not far away, and for an instant I stiffened again. Then the voice went on and I knew I was safe.

  “You can come out now, Lacey,” Aunt Amalie called. “She’s gone. Come out quickly and we’ll go back to the house together. She won’t touch you as long as you’re with me.”

  I pushed myself away from the cold solidity of the tomb and ran along its side and around the front.