Thunder Heights

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  The servants were in their quarters in the kitchen wing by now, and the house seemed lonely and empty. She opened the heavy door with its iron grillwork, and went outside. The night was soft and cool, and moonlight flooded the world, though the park expanse before the house was dark with the thickness of trees.

  Silently she drifted across the grass, not following the drive, but running straight through the park in the direction of the gate. Her urge to run in the moonlight, in the cool night air, was without conscious purpose, and she did not pause until she saw the lights of Ross’s rooms above the stable. Then she came to a breathless halt, shrinking back into the deep shadow of an oak tree, watching the patches of light.

  Memory swept back on a flood of warmth, to engulf her being. She could hold her thoughts at bay no longer. In memory she could feel Ross’s arms about her, she could raise her head and feel his kiss hard upon her mouth. He would be part of her dreams tonight, and she knew no way to rid herself of the thought of him. That he had chosen to put her so quickly aside, that his impersonal manner had told her how much he regretted his impulsive act, seared as though it had just happened.

  A shadow moved across a square of light, and Camilla came to herself abruptly. What foolish thing was she doing here—spying upon him out of the shadows! Eager as a schoolgirl for the sight of her love.

  Her love.

  She did not want it. She had not asked to love this man, but there it was—hurtful and real and not to be lightly dismissed. She turned and ran back through the trees, letting herself quietly into the house, scurrying upstairs to the retreat of her own room.

  There was once more an exultance in her, and a torment as well.

  FIFTEEN

  In the morning the exultance was gone. Camilla awakened feeling as tired as though she had not slept, but her eyes were clear, her thoughts brittle and sharp with self-judgment.

  How could she have been so trapped by gentle dreams last night? In the morning light she could look at herself and remember something she had told Booth. She had not known many men. It was true that she was easily vulnerable. Whether it was Ross or Booth, the warm longings that were part of her youth reached out toward a male counterpart in an instinctive answering. Love? How could she have been so foolish? What could she know of love? If she were honest with herself, she must admit that there were times when she had been equally attracted to Booth.

  Today there were other things to think of. Regardless of Letty’s remark about misinterpretation, she must face the possibility that someone in this house had added a poisonous potion to Letty’s tea. Since it was hardly likely to be one of the servants, nor could it be Ross, who was an outsider, the tamperer must be one of the three within this house: Hortense, Letty, or Booth. This morning, with her mood so newly cool and hard, she could even regard Letty with serious doubt, though Hortense was to be more easily suspected.

  At any rate, she must get to the bottom of what had happened and discover whether someone had tried deliberately to harm her. If one attempt had been made, there might well be others. By daylight she could be brave and strong. But she knew the shadow of fear that night could bring, and she did not want to live her life in such a shadow.

  Yet when she met Letty that day, she could find no means of taking hold of the problem. The moment she moved toward it, Letty seemed to slip mistily away from her probing, and she could not bring herself to question her directly.

  She dreaded her first meeting with Ross. If he showed amusement toward her, if he referred in any way to what had happened between them, she would not know how to meet him with her pride intact. Her fears were unfounded, however. He was courteous, though distant, and it was hard to remember that he had worked so cheerfully beside her in a kitchen yesterday. She could not help a certain anger, but she told herself that it came more from hurt pride than from any real emotion on her part.

  In the days before Hortense and Booth came home, Ross was completely matter-of-fact toward her. He placed business matters before her as usual, and did not hesitate to show his disapproval when she seemed unenthusiastic about projects that absorbed his attention.

  On the afternoon when Hortense and Booth were to return, Ross reminded her of the invitation to tea at Nora Redfern’s tomorrow. But she had a feeling that he regretted his original impulse in urging such a visit.

  If it had not been for the fact that Camilla longed to make Nora’s acquaintance, she might have pleaded some excuse to escape the invitation. But she found that she was looking forward to the occasion more than she had expected to. She would have an opportunity to wear one of her enchanting new afternoon frocks. She would look her very best, and be serenely remote and indifferent to either criticism or approval on the part of Ross Granger.

  It was with a sense of regret that she heard the sound of the carriage bringing Booth and his mother back to Thunder Heights. Now the quiet, friendly hours she had spent with Letty would come to an end, and disquieting influences would be at work in the house again.

  Nevertheless, she went to the door to greet them, and her first look at the travelers told her that as far as Aunt Hortense was concerned, the trip had been a failure. Booth appeared to have enjoyed himself thoroughly and was ready to talk about what he had seen and done in New York. Hortense was clearly angry and frustrated, impatient even with Booth, and hardly civil to Letty and Camilla.

  The next morning Booth was ready to take up his painting again, and this time all went well.

  As he worked, Letty came in to join them again and sat down nearby to watch. Once Booth paused to ask a direct question of Camilla.

  “What has happened to you, Cousin, since I’ve been away?”

  Camilla was startled. “Happened? Why, nothing much. I’ve baked bread and helped Aunty Letty with her receipts. The new draperies are up in the parlor. Nothing much else.”

  For a few moments Booth worked intently on the face of the girl in the picture. Then he flashed the smile that always seemed so unexpected in his dark, sardonic face.

  “It was none of those things I meant, Camilla. Even though you’re very quiet today, there’s something that was lacking before. I can see more than Althea in you this morning.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she told him, and had nothing more to say.

  Letty looked up from her work to glance at her in mild surprise, and Camilla was suddenly afraid that her aunt might add some comment of her own.

  “Why don’t you play for us while I’m posing, Aunt Letty?” she said hurriedly. “I’ve never really heard you play your harp.”

  Perhaps Letty sensed a plea behind her words, for she put her work aside. “Very well—if Booth doesn’t mind.”

  “I’ve always enjoyed your playing, Aunt Letty,” he said gallantly, but his eyes were still on his model, and Camilla sensed a quickened interest and curiosity in his look.

  Letty went to the harp and drew off its cover. The fingers of her left hand moved easily on the strings, but she had to bend her body forward to reach them with her crooked right arm. After a few chords she began to play, and the music was nothing Camilla had ever heard before. It had a wailing, melancholy sound, as if the contented, busy Letty Judd of everyday vanished when she sat down to her harp. In her place was a woman lost and tragic. The music seemed to sing of longing and of wasted, empty years with an intensity that was frightening.

  Booth looked up from his painting somberly. “You’re hearing the music of Thunder Heights, Cousin. It speaks for us all, doesn’t it? Trapped and damned and without hope. That’s why Mother hates to hear Aunt Letty play. The music tells too much about the things we try to hide from one another.”

  Letty’s fingers were still on the strings. She rose to cover the instrument without a word and slip quietly from the room.

  Booth worked in silence for a time, and when he spoke again, it was of another matter. “As you’ve probably guessed, my mother found no encouragement on her mission to New York. It’s possible that the will might be
broken. At least the lawyer she consulted didn’t try to discourage her as a client. But it seems that it would cost a fine penny—and where is the money to come from? She can hardly ask you to finance her effort to take a fortune away from you, can she, Cousin? It makes for a difficult situation.”

  Camilla watched him guardedly. “You don’t sound as if you minded.”

  “Why should I mind?” He shrugged graceful shoulders. “I live a more comfortable life under the new regime. While I’ll admit that the money would be easier come by in my mother’s hands than in yours, Cousin, I’ve suffered very little.”

  He worked on for a while longer and then laid aside his brush.

  “That’s enough for today. It’s going well. A change of scene has done me good. And the change in you is stimulating. I shan’t give up wondering what caused it. Camilla, I haven’t forgotten your wish to find a good saddle horse. I shopped around a bit in New York. But so far I haven’t found what I think you might like.”

  She was relieved to have him speak of horses. “I don’t know that I’m that particular. I’d love to buy a horse and go riding soon.”

  “Trust me a little longer, will you?” he said. “You deserve the best.”

  Again the faint note of mockery was back in his voice, but she ignored it. She was glad when the posing was over. On and off during the last half hour she had been thinking about the tea at Blue Beeches this afternoon, and she was eager to get away and look through the frocks she might wear.

  Somehow it grew increasingly important that she seem beautiful and remote and self-contained to Ross Granger. He must be made to forget that Camilla King had ever moved in so headlong a fashion into his arms. Today she would be out of reach and yet—delectable.

  There was still a hurt in her that wanted to pay him back.

  The dress she decided upon was of pale blue Chinese silk, trimmed with touches of ivory lace. It was a thin, delicate dress, and she found it satisfying to appear in something that was far from serviceable, and not at all suited to a governess. When she had put on her mother’s bracelet of medallions and peach stones and turned before the armoire mirror a few times, she was ready.

  Letty came in to admire her just before she went downstairs, and her aunt was warm in her praise.

  “I haven’t seen anyone looking so pretty and appealing since Althea lived in this house. You’ll do us credit, my dear.”

  Camilla gave her a quick, loving hug, wondering at the perversity of her own thoughts that could at times hold anyone as endearing and guileless as Aunt Letty under suspicion.

  As she ran down the octagon staircase, she listened pleasurably to her own silken froufrou, and sniffed the aura of light apple blossom scent with which she had surrounded herself. How lovely it was to feel young and unexplainably happy. Though there was danger in this, lest she forget how out-of-reach she meant to be with Ross.

  She was smiling as she stepped into the antehall and was faintly disconcerted to find Booth watching her from the library door.

  “Charming!” he said. “And surprising to find a lady of fashion at Thunder Heights.”

  She could not resist turning about before him, displaying her new frock at its most fetching angles. There was an eagerness in her, a hunger for approval—and masculine eyes were more satisfactory in meeting that need than feminine.

  “Your escort is waiting for you outside,” Booth said. “I’m sorry I’m not the one who’s taking you to visit Nora.”

  She smiled at him, warming toward everyone today, and went outside. Ross stood at the foot of the steps, and as she came out he turned and stared at her, his startled look gratifying. He would find in her today neither the little governess he had met on the river boat, nor the stubborn heiress who quarreled with him so often. Nor would he find the ingenuous girl of the beech tree. Today she meant to be—Althea’s daughter.

  Ross recovered from his surprise all too quickly and made no comment on her appearance. She found, however, that he could play the gentleman as smoothly as Booth when he chose. They followed the path that led to the lower level, and crossed the railroad tracks to walk along the bank just above the river. Ross held branches back from brushing her, and helped her up and down steep places in the path as if she were really as fragile as she wanted to believe herself today. Sometimes she wondered if he were laughing at her, just a little, behind his rather elaborate gestures, but she was too happy and confident to mind.

  Once they stopped to watch a fleet of little sailboats gliding past on the surface of the smooth blue Hudson, and Camilla followed them out of sight, feeling that they added to the carefree aspect of the day.

  The first glimpse of Blue Beeches was always reassuring. It sat foursquare upon its high basement, its generous veranda open toward the river. On a slope of lawn at one side of the house Nora’s two older children were playing a game of croquet, while their nurse sat with the youngest, watching. The spotted dog, Champion, saw the visitors and came bounding across the grass toward them. Ross accepted his effusive greeting with affection and held him away from Camilla.

  “He misses his master,” Ross said. “As we all do. Nora’s husband died just over a year ago. Ted Redfern was one of my good friends. I’ve been trying to help Nora with some of her business problems ever since. She has a lot of courage. I hope you’ll be friends.”

  There was a note of tender affection in his tone that made Camilla glance at him quickly. Was his feeling for Ted Redfern’s wife more than that of a friend? She did not like the pang that stabbed through her at his words. It bore too close a resemblance to an emotion that went by an uglier name. She would not be jealous of Nora Redfern!

  A maid showed them into a huge parlor with moss green wallpaper and softly cushioned furniture. Everything looked a little frayed and worn, as if the room had never been closed to the children. Over the mantel, seemingly cut through the huge chimney above the fireplace, was a circular window. Blue sky and fleering clouds could be seen through its high double glass, while the interior flues separated to circle round it.

  Nora joined them after a brief interval, flushed and a little breathless. Her brown hair had been swept back from her forehead without any vestige of a pompadour, and tied with a black velvet ribbon at the nape of her neck. The marks of a hasty brush were still upon it. She wore a frock of dark silk that suited her in its simplicity.

  “Do forgive me for keeping you waiting,” she said, holding out a hand first to Camilla and then to Ross. “I had Diamond out for a ride and I lost track of time. Not that forgetting about time is anything new for me. Ted used to say it was never any use buying me watches because I’d always forget to look at them.”

  She noted Camilla’s interest in the unusual window and smiled.

  “My grandfather designed that window when he built the house. In his day there was always a stuffed bird kept between those double panes of glass. But I like to see the sky.”

  Nora had an engagingly friendly manner, and under other circumstances Camilla would have been drawn to her warmly. But now she found herself a little watchful, a little too much aware, for her own comfort, of every glance that passed between Nora and Ross. She did not want it to be like that—it simply was.

  The maid brought tea in a handsome Sèvres service, with watercress sandwiches and frosted cakes on a three-tiered stand, and Nora settled down comfortably for conversation.

  “I remember your mother well,” she told Camilla. “When I was quite small she used to come here often to visit my mother. Mama lives upriver now. I wrote her that I was going to invite you over, and she wants me to tell her all about you. By the way, when are you going to open up the house again?”

  “Open it up?” said Camilla. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Only that when you have it fully refurbished, you must give a party and bring back the old days. How gay it used to be! I can remember coming home from across the river late one night with my parents and seeing Thunder Heights lighted from top to
bottom, with Japanese lanterns strung across the veranda and all about that high lawn above the river. We could hear the music clear from the other side. Often here at Blue Beeches there were nights when we could catch the sound of music and laughter.”

  Letty too had urged her to open up the house, Camilla remembered. “I’d like to give a party,” she said, her interest rising. “Perhaps we could invite people from up and down the river who used to know the family. Would you come, Mrs. Redfern? And perhaps your mother?”

  Nora hesitated. “Mother would come in a moment—though I’m not sure that would be a good idea. She is pretty outspoken, you know, and there’s no telling her what not to say. Besides, your aunts would be angry if you invited her.”

  “But why?” Camilla asked. “What happened to break up the friendship your mother had with my family at Thunder Heights?”

  “Let’s not spoil the afternoon with old quarrels,” Nora said. “Perhaps your coming will make the difference and we can all be friends again.”

  “If we give a party, we’ll want you both,” Camilla insisted. “I should think Aunt Hortense would love the excitement of a party. And I know Aunt Letty would like to see the house opened up for the sake of the rest of us, though I’m not sure she would really enjoy it herself.”

  “I’m afraid she gave up that sort of thing after her arm was so badly injured,” Nora said. “She wouldn’t wear an evening dress after that, and for a long while she was terribly self-conscious.”

  “No one ever mentions her injury,” Camilla puzzled. “When was she hurt? What happened?”

  “She was thrown from a horse,” Ross said. “Just as your mother was. It occurred before I came to live at Thunder Heights.”