Lightning Strikes

by Virginia Andrews

  “My sister insists on speaking with you, dear,” Great-aunt Leonora said. “She wants to be sure we haven’t done away with you.” She held out the receiver.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Hello.”

  “Is she standing there over you?” Grandmother Hudson asked immediately. I laughed to myself.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you having an absolutely miserable time living there?” she asked.

  I knew if I told her the truth, she would get on the first plane to London or have me take the first one home. The truth was that despite the way I lived here, I was beginning to enjoy the school. I liked my teachers, even Professor Wilheim who treated smiles and compliments as if they were diamonds.

  “No,” I said.

  “You have enough money?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the school? Is it as good as Conor MacWaine bragged it was?”

  “I’m enjoying my classes and my teachers are all very talented people. There are so many talented students there, too.”

  “Just remember that you’re one of them,” she told me. She hesitated and then added, “My idiot of a doctor had me back in the hospital for a few days, otherwise I would have phoned before,” she said.

  “Hospital? Why?”

  “This contraption is not performing as well as they expected. They may actually have to replace it. I’m thinking of suing someone only I haven’t yet decided who it will be. Maybe all of them,” she said.

  “Are you all right now?”

  “I am, as Doctor Lewis puts it, under observation. Don’t worry about it. I’ll have their heads eventually,” she told me and I laughed.

  I glanced at Great-aunt Leonora who was gazing at me with her head tilted slightly, her eyes full of amazement and confusion.

  “Your mother called to see how you were doing. I told her to call you to find out for herself, but she pointed out that if she did, it might create some suspicion. Any excuse that fits,” Grandmother Hudson muttered. “Jake sends his regards,” she added.

  “Oh, thank him and tell him I miss him.”

  “I believe that feeling is mutual. Your name is on his lips so much these days, I feel like I should check to see if you’re still here.”

  I laughed again, and again my Great-aunt Leonora’s eyes widened.

  “How is my brother-in-law treating you? Like one of the lowly unwashed?”

  “Not so bad,” I said. “I’ll write you a letter,” I promised, “and give you all the details about my school and my experiences in London.”

  “Very well,” she said with her characteristic impatience. “Put her on. I’m sure she’s breathing down your neck.”

  “Thank you for calling,” I said and smiled at Great-aunt Leonora. “She would like to speak with you.”

  “I was wondering if she would ask,” Great-aunt Leonora said taking the phone. She waited until I left the room before speaking.

  Afterward, she returned to the dining room and took her seat quietly. Mary Margaret and I were standing by the door waiting for her. As soon as she appeared, Mary Margaret went into the kitchen quickly to retrieve her food.

  “How long did you say you were living with my sister, dear?” Great-aunt Leonora inquired, her eyes narrowing.

  “A little over six months,” I replied.

  “She is certainly very fond of you. You should feel terribly honored. I can’t think of too many people Frances is fond of. She was always a stern judge of others and very unforgiving, which was something she inherited from our father. Anyway,” she said turning back to her food, “I’m happy for you, my dear.” She flashed me a weak smile. For a moment I had the strange feeling that she was actually jealous of the affection Grandmother Hudson showed toward me.

  “I appreciate everything she’s done for me.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do. I’ve heard more from her about you than I have about her own grandchildren,” she continued. “You’ve met Megan’s children, I assume?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I’ve invited them all here many times,” she said sadly. “Megan and her husband actually came to England once without stopping by. They claimed they were on some whirlwind trip through Europe. I don’t know why they couldn’t stop in for a cup of tea at least. I know Victoria is so busy she hardly gets abroad. What about your family, dear?”

  “I have a brother in the army. He’s stationed in Germany now and may come to see me someday.”

  “I hope he does. It’s nice to have some family about you,” she said wistfully, her voice soft and low. She ate staring at an empty chair to her right and after a moment, it was as if she had forgotten I was there. I returned to the kitchen and didn’t come out until Mary Margaret and I had to clear the table. We ate our dinners in the kitchen as usual and then Mary Margaret and Mrs. Chester both left to go home.

  The house was unusually quiet. Randall Glenn had asked me to go sightseeing with him on Saturday afternoon. He was coming by to get me after I had completed the morning chores. I was excited about it because it would be my first opportunity to see the famous places like the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace and the like. There were so many things to see and places to go that we knew we couldn’t do much more than skim the surface during one afternoon.

  For now I thought I would read some of the plays I had been assigned and then go to sleep early. The thought of sitting in that dingy little room was not very appetizing, however, so I fetched my books and went into the drawing room. I was so involved in the first play, entitled A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen, that I didn’t hear my Great-uncle Richard come home. Suddenly, I felt someone’s eyes on me and looked up to see him standing in the drawing room doorway, staring. I had no idea how long he had been standing there.

  “Oh,” I said, nearly jumping up, “I didn’t hear you come in. I hope it’s all right for me to be in here.”

  “Of course it’s all right,” he said. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  I wanted to say that from the way Boggs ran the house, I didn’t know what was permitted and what wasn’t. I could give him a list of ridiculous restrictions an arm long and I had been here barely a week.

  “What are you reading?” he asked.

  “A Doll’s House, a play.”

  “Yes, I know it well. So then, you are enjoying your schooling?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said.

  He nodded. He looked uncomfortable, standing there speaking with me alone.

  “And you’re getting around London all right?”

  “I’m not doing much more than going to and from the school on the subway. Tube, I mean,” I said.

  He made a soft smile and nodded.

  “Yes, well, I wish I wasn’t so busy at the moment. I’d spend a little more time with you and help familiarize you with our country. However, I’m sure you’ll do fine. Mrs. Endfield seems pleased with you. I hope it continues to be a successful experience for everyone involved,” he said, “and my sister-in-law’s investment will be one that was well made. Continue,” he added, waving his hand toward me as if I was practicing on the piano.

  He pivoted and continued into the house. Later, when I decided to go to bed, I passed the billiards room where he was sitting quietly, smoking a cigar, and looking out the window into the night. He had his back to the door, so he didn’t see me pass.

  How strangely alone everyone seemed to be in this house, I thought. Great-aunt Leonora was upstairs in her bedroom and probably didn’t even know he was home. What sort of a life did Boggs lead working and living here? No one ever mentioned anyone in his family. I couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to be his wife, and if he had a child, I could easily understand the child refusing to admit Boggs was his or her father. Leo was elderly and seemed content to retreat to his small apartment above the garage. Mary Margaret behaved like a snail or a turtle, pulling herself into a shell if I asked anything too personal. I didn’t know if she had anything that even resembled a social life.

>   Was everyone who lived or worked on these grounds and in these buildings staring out their windows at the same darkness, their eyes empty, their minds turned off like lightbulbs? We had more laughter and smiles in our miserable apartment back in the projects in Washington, D.C., I thought.

  I walked along quickly but as softly as I would if I had to cross a floor of eggs, afraid to break the heavy silence that filled the house and everyone’s lives.

  After I had complained about the hot water and my great-aunt had spoken to Boggs, he did have something done about it the next day. However, it was still erratic so that I never knew when it would be hot and when it wouldn’t, but at least I had some. I tested the bath faucet and found it running hot enough for me to take a bath. No matter how I scrubbed the tub, it looked dirty to me. There were rust spots that had probably been there when Sir Godfrey Rogers’s mistress lived in this house, I thought. The tub itself looked old enough.

  Nevertheless, I filled it and took off my clothes. The water was soothing. I wanted to have my hair washed and nicely brushed out for my sightseeing date with Randall. I scrubbed in the shampoo and attacked my scalp, grinding my fingernails into it because I felt so unclean. Then I leaned back and dipped my head under the water, held it there and scrubbed my hair for a few seconds before sitting up.

  At first I didn’t notice anything and then I felt the cool breeze and turned to see that the bathroom door was wide open. My heart stopped and started. I just sat there staring at the doorway, waiting for signs of someone. It was quiet and no one appeared. I rose out of the tub and quickly wrapped a towel around my body. Then I practically tiptoed toward the doorway, my heart thumping. I paused and looked out.

  There was no one in the hallway. Had the door simply opened itself?

  Maybe it was the ghost of Sir Godfrey Rogers’s dead mistress, I told myself and laughed.

  Still, it seemed oddly quiet. Not a creak in the old house, nothing and no one moving. I watched and waited until I felt a chill run through me from the colder air in the hallway and then I shut the door, dried myself off, emptied the tub, got into my nightgown and returned to my room.

  Maybe because of the little scare, I didn’t feel tired enough to just close my eyes and go to sleep. I turned on the weak lamp and read some more of my play. After a few pages, something outside my window attracted my attention. I thought I heard footsteps. I closed the book and turned off the light. Then I went to the window and peered out.

  It was a partly cloudy evening with the moon and some clouds playing peekaboo. The yellow light illuminated the pathway around the house and for a moment, I thought I saw the silhouette of someone walking slowly. It disappeared with the moonlight and then when the cloud moved away and the illumination fell from the night sky again, I saw a deep, dark shadow take the form of a man who entered the little cottage. Moments later, a light went on. I waited and watched. Was it Boggs? Leo?

  Footsteps in the hallway spun me around. I kept myself perfectly still, listening. The steps stopped by my door for a moment and then continued on until the sound of them faded away. I heard another door slam and then it was quiet.

  I turned back to the cottage. The moon went in and out of the clouds again. When there was some light, I thought I caught a glimpse of someone else moving toward the cottage. This person looked very small. I strained to see. It looked like a little girl. That was my last thought as the moon was turned off like a light by the heavier clouds that tumbled across the sky and settled the night into deep and thick darkness that would last until the morning.

  Silhouettes appeared in the windows of the cottage, one shadowy figure so much smaller than the other. I saw them close to each other and than apart and then they disappeared deeper into the cottage. I waited and watched the window until my eyes grew tired and my lids felt heavy.

  So someone is using the supposedly off-limits cottage, I thought. So what? I’ve got enough to think about without adding any additional problems and mysteries. I retreated from the window and went back to my bed, finally feeling myself drift off, but hearing what sounded like those soft footsteps outside again. They died away as I settled myself into the arms of sleep.

  Boggs was up before my alarm went off. I heard his heavy footsteps outside my door. Didn’t the man ever sleep? I wondered. How could anyone take his kind of work so seriously and with such commitment? He acted as if this was Buckingham Palace and my great-aunt and great-uncle were really the king and the queen of England. I had noticed how he walked through the house every day, sometimes twice a day, inspecting everything. He seemed to know exactly where each piece of furniture belonged. If so much as an ashtray was out of place, he stopped to set it right. When I mentioned that to Mrs. Chester and Mary Margaret Saturday morning at breakfast, Mrs. Chester nodded and then laughed and said, “Wait until you see the white glove.”

  The white glove? I wondered. I didn’t have to wait long to learn the meaning of that.

  Right after we had our breakfast, Mary Margaret and I went to work dusting and polishing. As we started out of the drawing room after completing it, Boggs stepped in front of us at the door. I was on my way to clean the bathroom by the billiards room as he had ordered.

  “Just a moment,” he said.

  We paused and watched as he dug into his jacket pocket to produce a white glove. He slipped it on his right hand and entered the drawing room.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked Mary Margaret.

  She just shook her head as if our speaking to each other while Boggs was present was another prohibition.

  Boggs went to the tables and ran his gloved hand up and down the legs. He looked at the palm of the glove and then did the same with the chairs, the tops of tables and the sides of the furniture. He went behind a small table, wiped his hand over the rear of it and then turned to us, his white gloved hand open, a smudge of dust across the palm.

  “Well?” he said.

  Mary Margaret rushed back in and quickly dusted and polished behind the table. He stood by, his arms folded, watching her.

  “You expect us to get every spot in the room?” I asked him.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Endfield expect it. I simply make sure,” he replied. He gazed around, nodded and left the room to wait at the door of the billiards room.

  “My brother probably has it easier in the army,” I told Mary Margaret.

  I didn’t need Boggs looking over my shoulder to clean a bathroom properly. I had done it enough times in my life, but he managed to find places I didn’t get to, places I never imagined anyone would look at or care about anyway. He appeared to have a good supply of fresh white gloves. Every time he found some dirt or grime, he showed it to me or to Mary Margaret and then replaced his glove to inspect again and again.

  With him snapping a whip like a slave master, it took much longer than I had anticipated to complete the morning chores. When I was finally finished, I had barely enough time to get back to my room and change my clothes, much less fix my hair the way I had wanted it before Randall arrived.

  I rushed back to the front of the house only to confront Boggs once again.

  “There’s a young man waitin’ on you,” he said. “Anyone who comes to see a servant waits outside,” he added. “Next time be here to greet ’im yourself.”

  “I would have if I hadn’t had to locate every particle of dust in this house,” I muttered.

  “Just do your job properly and save your complaints,” he returned.

  I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. Just being in the same room with him made me choke and my lungs ache as if there was a lack of oxygen.

  Randall was standing on the driveway, trying to look at ease. Who knew what Boggs had said to him? I thought.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting out here. I just found out that’s one of the house rules, guests of servants aren’t permitted to wait inside.” I glared back at the front door. “I’m lucky he lets me breathe.”

  “That’s all ri
ght. It’s a nice enough day,” he said and stood there gazing at me so intently, I couldn’t help but be self-conscious about the way I looked.

  He was wearing a light cotton turquoise sweater, a white shirt and jeans. The turquoise made his eyes even more radiantly blue. There was a soft breeze that made some thin strands of his brown hair lift and fall over his forehead.

  “I probably look a mess,” I said running my hand over my hair. “With that ogre standing over me, it took longer than I anticipated to finish the housework. I had to rush to get dressed.”

  I had put on a pair of jeans and a button-down short-sleeve blouse. On the way out of the room, I grabbed my light-blue leather jacket. Now, it felt too heavy, but I dreaded going back into the house. Boggs would probably be standing in the hallway, waiting to quote some rule about entering and leaving more than once a day, if you were a servant.

  “You look great,” Randall said, flashing his soft smile. He nodded to reassure me he meant it.

  I did have the feeling that when he said something, he really meant it. There was a quality of freshness and innocence about him. I didn’t sense that edge, that harder, wiser and even tougher outlook on life that I had seen in most of the boys I knew. He wasn’t afraid or insecure enough to want to shade every remark, guard every look. He looked as if he was doing everything for the very first time, too.

  He dug into his back pocket and brought out a brochure that he opened and held out for me to read.

  “This lists the must-see attractions. We’re here,” he said pointing to the map. “We should go first to Buckingham Palace and then we can go up to Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery. What time do you have to be back?” he asked and suddenly a small alarm went off inside me.

  Was I supposed to be back for dinner or did I get some time off? My great-aunt hadn’t told me and I certainly didn’t feel like asking Boggs.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  His smile froze.