by Mary Daheim
“Watch it,” Judith said out of the side of her mouth. “You’ve already uprooted a hitching post and stomped on the flowers. Maybe it’s a good thing Mr. Magoo can’t see.”
Guiding Renie by the elbow, Judith ascended the stone steps to the wide porch. Empty planters awaited their spring finery, and an ancient swing with a striped awning was covered with clear plastic.
“I’m Kenyon, at your service,” the butler said, making a very stiff bow. “Welcome to Creepers. Mrs. Burgess is waiting for you in the library.”
“Okay,” Renie said as they entered the house, then whispered to Judith: “Do you suppose she looks like a gargoyle? As I recall, she used to be nice-looking.”
“Shh,” Judith urged. “Kenyon may be blind, but it doesn’t mean he’s deaf.”
But Kenyon was either too deaf or too polite to react. He offered to take the luggage to the visitors’ quarters as soon as he led the way into the library.
Judith was still goggling at the huge entry hall, complete with fireplace. The hearth was flanked by what looked like choir stalls, and a refectory table was cluttered with knick-knacks, empty vases, and what appeared to be antique music boxes.
The library was down a side hall and off to the left, behind another room where the double doors were tightly closed. Kenyon rapped softly on the heavy oak. A woman’s voice called out rather loudly; the cousins guessed that Kenyon was indeed both deaf and polite.
With effort, he opened the heavy door. “Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Flynn,” Kenyon said deferentially. “Or is it Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Jones?”
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Burgess, not unkindly. “You may go, Kenyon.”
The door closed slowly behind the cousins, who were left alone with their hostess. Judith and Renie couldn’t help but stare: Wearing a chic navy pantsuit, Leota Burgess was seated at an oval table. She had a trim figure, and her white hair was swept back in a smart, expensive cut. Her skin was remarkably unlined, her makeup discreet. The bone structure was delicate, the eyes a riveting blue. She looked closer to sixty than eighty, and retained a timeless beauty. It was only her hands, with the swollen joints and liver spots, that betrayed her.
“Poor Kenyon.” Mrs. Burgess sighed. “He’s getting very feeble. Do sit down, girls. You must be Serena Grover,” she said, nodding at Renie. “You really haven’t changed that much.”
Flattered, Renie put a hand to her breast. “That’s awfully kind of you to say. I’m Serena Jones now, and this is Judith Grover Flynn.”
Mrs. Burgess gave Judith a royal nod. “Please sit. I’m delighted to have both of you here. I understand your need for a companion, Serena. What happened to your eye?”
“It’s a long story,” Renie replied, sinking into one of two leather wingback chairs. “I don’t want to bore you.”
“You won’t,” their hostess replied. “I’ll send for tea, and we can get better acquainted.”
To Judith’s surprise, Mrs. Burgess turned to an old-fashioned speaking tube. “Tea for three, Edna. And some of Ada’s delightful finger sandwiches.”
As they waited for their tea, the cousins allowed themselves to be subjected to Mrs. Burgess’s well-bred probing. “My, my,” the older woman said to Judith after a small gray-haired maid had delivered a trolley to the library. “Your first husband must have been quite stout. Did he find exercise difficult?”
“Dan found moving difficult,” Judith blurted. “He…ah…wasn’t terribly ambitious.”
“What a shame,” Mrs. Burgess said, though the comment was merely polite. Gesturing at the three tall windows behind them, she turned to Renie. “I was going to have Edna open the drapes, but thought perhaps the light might strain your good eye. Shall I keep them closed?”
“Either way is fine,” Renie said. “You have quite a book collection in here.”
Mrs. Burgess glanced with indifference at the glassed-in floor-to-ceiling bookcases. “Collectors’ items, mostly. The kind of books no one ever actually reads, except perhaps my grandson Kenneth. My father-in-law, Maxwell Burgess, was very keen on rare first editions. Personally, I prefer romance novels. They always have a happy ending.” The blue eyes suddenly lost focus. “Life isn’t like that, is it?”
Judith, who had just finished a delicious salmon finger sandwich, smiled sadly. “No, it’s not. I gather that lately you’ve had cause to be unhappy.”
Leota Burgess sat up very straight, as if she were calling on some inner reserve of strength. “Yes. People—even people we know and love—have cancerous emotions buried inside that make them commit the unthinkable.”
“Like attempted murder?” Judith asked softly.
Mrs. Burgess’s face paled. “Yes. Like that.”
“Do you want to tell us about it?” Renie asked, sounding genuinely sympathetic.
Leota Burgess hesitated as various emotions flitted across her face. “Not just yet,” she finally said. “You’ll want to get settled into your quarters. We’ll lunch in my room, at one.” She smiled as she gave the cousins a single nod. Apparently, they were dismissed.
Kenyon was outside, propped up against a large sepiatoned photograph that might have been Sunset Cliffs before it was clear-cut. The trunks on the evergreens were huge, indicating that some of the trees had been four or five hundred years old.
“This way,” the butler said, leading Judith and Renie back down the side hall, into the entryway, and through an open arch that led to a massive central staircase. Judith could see the second floor through the mahogany railing. Wheezing a bit, Kenyon stopped halfway up. Then, with a unanimous deep breath, they reached the final step before Kenyon passed out.
Photographs and oil portraits lined the walls. One was identifiable, Leota Burgess some fifty years earlier in a Balenciaga ball gown. On their left, the butler pointed to a closed door.
“The mistress’s suite,” he said, and continued down the dimly lighted hallway. The room reserved for the visitors was two doors down. “I hope this will be satisfactory,” Kenyon murmured as he slowly opened the door. “Please let me know of any inadequacy.”
The first inadequacy that struck Judith was the lack of a bed. She turned to say something, but the butler had already slipped away. Renie, however, was opening another door.
“Wow,” she breathed, bumping into a velvet-covered settee, “this isn’t a room, it’s another suite. Look, two beds, chairs, tables, gophers.”
“Gophers?” Judith stared at the large, overly decorated bedroom. “Those are ceramic cats. Very Victorian.”
“With only one eye, they look like gophers to me,” Renie replied. “Which bed do you want, coz?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Judith said, gazing at the two brass single beds and dull ruby velvet coverings that matched the settee and the draperies. “They’re both the same. I’ll take the one by the window.”
Further exploration revealed a large bathroom with old-fashioned hexagon tiles on the floor and a deep tub with a mahogany surround. Renie guessed that the toilet seat was also mahogany.
Unpacking their limited wardrobe and toilet articles, Judith hung most of the clothes in an antique armoire that featured a full-length mirror. “Who’s Kenneth?” she inquired.
“A grandson,” Renie responded, placing a couple of cashmere sweaters in the drawer of a massive bureau. “Isn’t that what Mrs. Burgess said? If Bop is Wayne and Dorothy’s kid, and Matt and Mark belong to Bev and her husband, then Kenneth must be Peggy’s boy. I think there’s a daughter, too.”
“Do they all live around here?” Judith asked as she closed the empty suitcases and stored them inside the armoire.
Kicking off her shoes, Renie sat down on the bed nearer to the bathroom. “Mark and Matt are on their road trip, but I gathered from Bev that when they weren’t away at school, they sometimes stayed here. Of course they were raised abroad, in the vicinity of whichever dig their parents were working at the time. I’m not sure about Bop, though I think Bev mentioned that he’d opened a pizza place over on the high
way.”
Judith snapped her fingers. “I saw it, on the left, just before we turned off to head for Sunset Cliffs. Bop’s Pizza Palace. He probably lives around here somewhere.”
Renie shrugged. “Maybe he still lives with Wayne and Dorothy. As for Kenneth and his sister, I don’t know much about them, including the girl’s name.” Renie paused, then went on. “I seem to recall that the last time I saw Bev, she and Tom had come home to attend their niece’s wedding. That would have been about four years ago.”
Returning to the sitting room, Judith studied the collection of silver dishes, cloissonné vases, and what looked like a mustache cup made of real gold. “I wonder why Mrs. Burgess is putting off talking to us? Could it be that she isn’t used to confiding in people, especially virtual strangers?”
“That’d be my guess,” Renie said, fingering one of the ceramic cats that she’d mistaken for a gopher. “I suppose the motive is money. What else could it be?”
Judith turned away from the antique objects and looked at Renie. “You sound as if you think her fears are well-founded.”
Renie shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Maybe she’s lonely, maybe she’s bored. Frankly, if I stayed holed up in this place for very long, I’d get some funny ideas, too.”
“You’re right, it’s very oppressive,” Judith agreed, then glanced at her watch. “It’s not quite noon. Want to explore? I’ll lead you by the hand.”
“Sure,” Renie replied, slipping back into her shoes. “Inside or outside?”
“Outside first, since it’s such a nice day,” Judith said, throwing her tan corduroy jacket over her wide shoulders. “Do you suppose they dress for dinner?”
“You mean, as opposed to eating in the nude?” Renie grinned at her cousin. “I hope not. I left all my formal wear in the glove compartment of our car.”
In the entry hall, the cousins saw the maid who had brought their tea into the library. She was now rolling the trolley back toward what Judith assumed was the kitchen.
“Edna?” Judith called in a warm voice.
The little gray-haired maid gave a start, then turned around. “Yes? May I help you?”
Judith and Renie approached the servant. “I’m Mrs. Flynn,” Judith said, introducing herself, “and this is Mrs. Jones. You must tell the cook that those sandwiches were delicious.”
Edna’s cheeks grew pink. She was at least seventy, and the black uniform and white apron hung on her as if she had lost weight or it had been handed down by a larger woman.
“I’ll tell Ada,” she said in a breathy voice. “Ada is our cook. Ada Dietz. She’s a fine cook.”
“She certainly is,” Judith agreed, exuding amiability. “Tell me, how many servants are employed at Creepers?”
Briefly, Edna looked stumped by the question. Then, with clawlike fingers, she began to count. “There’s Ada, the cook. Kenyon, the butler and chauffeur. Ms. Kenyon, the housekeeper. And myself. That makes…four.” The maid looked rather pleased with herself.
“Have you all been in service here a long time?” Judith inquired.
“Oh, my yes,” Edna replied with a quivery little smile. “Most of us have been with the family for over fifty years.”
“Wow,” Renie said. “That’s quite a record for one household, isn’t it?”
Edna nodded, the white lace cap slipping a bit. “Indeed. But the master and mistress have always been excellent employers. You couldn’t ask for better.”
“Amazing,” Judith remarked. “You all must have joined the family while their children were young.”
“Yes,” Edna replied. “They were. Teenagers. Indeed, Miss Beverly was only eight when I came here.”
A heavyset woman dressed all in white appeared from around a corner at the end of the hall. “Edna,” she began in a sharp voice, then stopped as she saw the cousins. “Excuse me. I was looking for that trolley. We’ll need it to serve lunch.”
“Mrs. Dietz?” Judith said, again wearing her friendliest smile. “I’m Mrs. Flynn and this is Mrs. Jones. We already know you’re a wonderful cook.”
Ada Dietz came forward, walking as if her feet hurt. “Ah. Our guests. Welcome to Creepers.” The smile she gave Judith and Renie seemed forced.
Thinking she might be committing a breach of etiquette, Judith put out a hand anyway. “How do you do? We were just visiting with Edna about your length of service and devotion to the Burgess family.”
Ada shook both the cousins’ hands with a firm grip, but shot Edna a dark look. “You have, have you? Now, Edna, you’re not telling tales out of school, are you?”
Edna shook her head; the lace cap slipped further back on her head. “Oh, no. I’d never do that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Ada said, and while she was smiling, her brown eyes were hard. “Now let’s move along, Edna.”
Huddled over the trolley, Edna started down the hall. “She’s not used to guests,” Ada said, following the maid’s progress. “We live very quietly here at Creepers. Except for family, of course. Excuse me, ladies, I must get back to work.”
Judith and Renie were left staring at each other. “What was that all about?” Judith remarked.
“Maybe,” Renie ventured as they headed back down the hall, “nothing more than the servants protecting their masters. The rich, especially the kind who live in Sunset Cliffs, don’t like gossip.”
“Possibly,” Judith responded, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. “I’m curious about the servants in general. It’s hard enough to get somebody to prune a tree these days, let alone keep regular hired help. What does Mrs. Burgess do, pay them each a six-figure salary?”
“Where’s an application?” Renie grinned as they went outside. “I’m really good at running a dishwasher.”
To Judith’s dismay, the Subaru was no longer parked in the drive. “Oh, dear,” she fretted, “do you suppose Kenyon drove it into a tree?”
“I hope not,” Renie said. “Maybe they’ve got a gardener or somebody who can drive.”
“But Edna told us that Kenyon was also the chauffeur,” Judith said with a shudder. “Can you imagine him on the freeway?”
“Yes,” Renie replied, “and it’s a fearsome thought. I hate it when drivers signal with their white canes.”
“Let’s find the garage,” Judith said, still worried. “It must be at the rear of the house.”
Renie stumbled on the last porch step, and had to snatch at Judith’s arm to steady herself. “It’s the lack of depth perception that bothers me most.”
Judith was about to say something sympathetic when a black Lincoln Town Car entered the circular drive. “Let’s see if Kenyon’s driving this one,” Judith said, still hanging on to Renie.
“He can’t be,” Renie replied. “He hasn’t run over us yet.”
It wasn’t Kenyon who emerged from behind the wheel, but a dapper old gentleman wearing a long black cape and a hat that looked as if it should belong to Zorro.
“I’ll trade the eye patch for the hat,” Renie murmured as the new arrival came toward them with a sprightly step.
“Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Flynn, I presume,” the man said, putting out a hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m Dr. Moss.”
“Oh,” Judith said, not entirely sure how Dr. Moss fit into the scheme of things. She was, however, impressed by his friendly manner and the fluffy white mutton chops that matched his fluffy white hair.
“I’m the family physician,” Dr. Moss said as he shook hands. “I’m just dropping by to see Mrs. Burgess.”
Assuming that since Dr. Moss knew of the cousins’ arrival, he also knew why they’d been summoned, Judith posed a candid question: “Do you think Mrs. Burgess has any cause for alarm?”
Dr. Moss sighed and looked beyond the cousins to the tall tower with the even taller chimney. “Well, now. You certainly come to the point.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Renie put in. “Mrs. Burgess hasn’t confided any details yet.”
“Then I shall leave
it up to her,” Dr. Moss responded. “Leota Burgess is a very intelligent woman. And yes, she has all her faculties intact.”
“Even smart people operating with a full deck can be paranoid,” Renie noted.
The doctor shot Renie a sharp glance. “My patient is not a fanciful woman, Mrs. Jones. May I ask how your Bell’s palsy is coming along?”
Surprised, Renie put a hand to the patch. “You can tell?”
The doctor gave Renie a kindly smile. “I’ve been in practice for many years, my dear. It’s not a serious disease, but it is a nuisance.”
Looking off toward the front entrance, Judith noticed that Kenyon was hovering behind the lace curtains. “How long have you been with the family, Doctor?”
“Since I started my practice. A very long time.” The smile grew grim. “Too long.” With a sigh, he excused himself and headed for the front porch.
“Jeez,” Renie said as they turned the corner on the north side of the house, “is everybody around here older than dirt?”
“Our mothers are older than dirt,” Judith responded, gazing up at the second, shorter and stouter tower. The whole house seemed to glower down on the cousins, and Judith suddenly felt as if they were being watched. To prove she wasn’t being fanciful, a drapery moved at a first-floor window. “Creepers is giving me the creeps,” she said.
“It’s pretty weird,” Renie agreed. “What did Dr. Moss mean by ‘too long’?”
Judith shook her head. “Who knows? Maybe he wants to retire and the family won’t let him. Maybe he knows all the family secrets, and they don’t rest easy on his aging shoulders.” She paused in mid-step. “Good grief, there’s a whole bunch of buildings this way. It looks like a small village.”
From the southwest end of Creepers, Judith and Renie could see a four-car garage, somewhat newer than the house, or perhaps it had originally been a stable. Another one-story building sat further away, and to their right were some smaller outbuildings. Yet they all seemed isolated in the vast garden that stretched as far as the eye could see.
“This must be gorgeous in the spring and summer,” Judith said, proceeding toward the garage. “Did you see the terrace at the rear of the house?”