Hallow House - Part One

by Jane Toombs

  "I didn't mean to force Vincent to leave without any money," she said after relating most of the conversation they'd had in the music room. "He told Marie he was broke."

  "Then he didn't tell her the truth because I gave him money," John said.

  Vera sighed. "I'm no longer certain he's the guilty person."

  "I never thought he was, though I admit things were quiet when he was away. He's wild and he's done some things I can never forgive him for, but--"

  "I know."

  John's eyebrows rose.

  Vera shrugged. "Marie talks to me."

  "I might have known she'd tell you." He ran his hand through his hair. "Delores was always unsatisfied here. Maybe I was wrong to insist we live at Hallow House. She liked to travel, to be with people, while I--well, I prefer being here. I understood her, but forgiveness is another matter."

  Vera decided she had to go on. "Marie also said Delores told her Johanna was yours. You must believe that for the child's sake."

  Without looking at her, John said, "I can't. I admit she might be a Gregory and I'll see she's well cared for, that's the best I can manage."

  "You'll come to love her for herself. " Vera spoke with more confidence that she felt. Would anyone ever love Johanna as much as she did?

  John didn't speak for long moments. Finally he glanced at her, then away once more. "After you leave, you realize I can't see you again. Not in San Francisco, not anywhere. You'd have no future with me. I won't marry again and trap another wife in Hallow House. With you, I couldn't offer less than marriage."

  "I don't mind living here."

  That made him look at her, as she'd hoped it would. "Vera, be honest with me. What do you think of Hallow House and those who live here, those who died here? Aunt Adele says you've read several of Tabitha's journals and Marie has told you all the sordid secrets. How do you feel about the Gregorys?"

  "Does it matter what I think?"

  "To me it does."

  She took a deep breath and tried to put her thoughts in order before speaking. "Hallow House hasn't been a happy place since the beginning. Tabitha seems to have been a trouble woman even before she came here. Boris was so much older that he treated her fears as he would a child's. But she wasn't a child. The hallucinations and dreams and her fear warped her. Though she was never told one of her twins was dead a birth, somehow she knew there'd been two boys, not one. She spent the rest of her life searching for the 'lost one' and it may well have driven her mad."

  Giving Jon an assessing look, she decided he was accepting her analysis, so went on. "Aunt Adele said your mother began to drink after Vincent's twin was killed by the rattlesnake. It couldn't have been happy here for you or Vincent. You both, as children, had to face her tragic accident. Then Delores..." her voice trailed off.

  "Do you believe my wife killed herself?"

  Vera decided to be honest. What did she have to lose? "I've wondered about that. Though it seems no one could have killed her with the door locked and the key inside, it also seems impossible for her to have cut her own throat with such violence."

  "I've gone over and over it," John admitted. "I have trouble believing Delores would have defaced herself--she was too proud of her beauty. An overdose of pills would have been more her style. She adored that damn cat--his death makes no sense to me--and Johanna wasn't harmed. I often thought Delores was more concerned over her cat's welfare than she was the baby's. And yet Diablo was decapitated."

  With an inward wince, Vera said, "Someone kept the cat's head all this time. Who? Could it have been Vincent?"

  John shook his head. "I can't picture him doing that; he never did like the sight of blood. What troubles me is, if I abandon the belief Delores committed suicide, then I'm left with murder, If I accept it as murder, then I must acknowledge someone at Hallow House killed her."

  Vera shuddered.

  "It might be true," John's voice was sad. "That's why you must leave. I can't take the chance of anything happening to you."

  Her breath caught at the implication of what he was saying. He was sending her away because he cared about her.

  "As far as Vincent murdering Delores..." John shook his head. "I can't make myself believe that."

  Vera gripped her hands tightly together in her lap, trying to come to terms with the horror of murder. She might not trust Vincent, but she was far from ready to call him a murderer.

  "Delores could infuriate me or any man into violence," John went on. "I could understand if she'd been strangled. But cutting her throat?" He grimaced.

  "No, not Vincent, not unless he's mad. Which I doubt."

  Vera thought of a Frederic March movie she'd seen several years ago in San Francisco. It told the tragic story of the handsome Dr. Jekyll who drank a potion he'd created and changed beyond recognition into the murderous Mr. Hyde. She remembered her father commenting the movie was a dramatic illustration of two facets of one personality, each hidden from the other.

  "If Vincent has a split personality," she ventured, "he wouldn't know in his rational self he'd killed Delores or tormented Johanna and me. He told me yesterday he'd never felt complete because of his twin's death. Maybe he's mentally ill."

  "Vincent likes to pose. He's always fooled everyone except me. That's exactly what he was doing with you yesterday, playing the part of a poor, wounded soul to elicit your sympathy."

  "What if he does have a split personality and you've only seen the better side of it?"

  John shook his head. "I've known my brother since he was born. It makes no sense that he--or Marie, or my twins, for that matter--would want you gone. They all know another nurse will replace you."

  "I've reached the conclusion that I'm only incidental," she said. "Johanna is the target--though I don't know why."

  "Which makes no sense, either."

  "I agree. Which is why I suspect Vincent may be mentally deranged. Please consider the possibility." She rose, then paused before turning toward the door. "One more thing. I'm worried about Samara. I think she's too dominated by her brother. She's forced to play second fiddle to him and that's not good for wither of them,"

  John frowned. "She's always been quiet."

  "Too quiet. Samara needs to experience success on her own. I can recommend the boarding school I went to--St. Bianca--as a good place to send her. I really do think she and Sergei should be separated to give her a chance to learn she's more than his twin."

  A slight noise made her look around. Sergei stood in the doorway. He smiled and, for the first time, Vera wondered if that charming smile was real. He must have overheard some of what she'd said about Samara. She wouldn't have thought he'd necessarily be pleased.

  "Sorry, I didn't know anyone else was in here," Sergei said. "I was going to ask if you wanted to play billiards, Dad."

  "I'm just leaving," Vera said. "Time to check on Johanna."

  She found the baby still sleeping. Too restless to remain in her room, on impulse she made up her mind to visit the third floor again. When she reached the top of the stairs, she entered the south tower and stood looking out at the valley below. Dark clouds hid the snowy peaks of the Sierras. No person was visible and no

  . "I think about that poem sometimes when we go over to Morro Bay. We used to have a cottage there but Daddy sold it." She slanted Vera a sly look. "He said my mother used the cottage too much.” other of the towers.

  Remembering the swept floor in the south tower, Vera returned there. She was running her hands along the smooth panels of the wall, when she heard a scuffing noise behind her. She whirled. Samara stood watching her.

  "What are you looking for?" Samara asked.

  Feeling absurdly guilty, Vera said, "I was just wondering why this room was so clean while the north tower remains uncared for."

  "I keep it clean. I like to read up here."

  "Then this sleeping bag is yours?"

  Samara glanced at the green mound. "Maybe."

  Vera tried a different tack. "What do you l
ike to read?"

  "Oh, different things."

  "Poetry?"

  "Sometimes."

  Why was the girl so wary? Vera smiled at her. "These towers remind me of Edgar Allan Poe. Have you read 'Annabel Lee?'"

  "Annabel Lee is about the ocean," Samara said

  Deciding to ignore that, Vera said, "Poe has written many interesting poems. Do you know 'The Raven?'"

  Samara grimaced. "I don't like poems about death and darkness. 'Annabel Lee' is sad, but it's really about love, not death."

  The girl had faced her as she spoke, but now she ducked her head so her hair swung forward with its concealing curtain.

  "Are you all right?" Vera asked, longing to hug her, but knowing better than to touch her, "Can I do anything for you?"

  "No. Maybe after you go..." Her words trailed off.

  After I go? Vera pondered the words. Was Samara saying she'd feel better then? Why? Did it have anything to do with that grisly Christmas present?

  "Look at me!" Vera ordered,

  Samara's head came up.

  "Do you know who gave me the cat's skull as a gift?"

  Terror flared in the girl's dark eyes as she cried "No!" Whirling, she ran from the tower and down the stairs.

  Vera followed more slowly, wondering what that was all about? Back in the nursery she found Johanna waking so she got her ready for lunch and fed her in the kitchen.

  Knowing how much Adele and Theola enjoyed the baby and feeling Johanna was safe with them, Vera left her with them while she went down to the dining room for lunch. William Grosbeck and John were just entering.

  "If you don't mind, William was saying to John, "I came over to bring Sergei a book I'd promised him and he insisted I stay to lunch."

  "You're always welcome to eat with us." John's tone, though courteous, was not warm.

  Lunch was dismal. Samara ate nothing, pushing food around on her plate without looking up. Marie ate little more and was unusually quiet. John took food on his plate and ate, but didn't appear to be enjoying it.

  There was nothing wrong with Sergei's appetite, but Vera saw he hid a book on his lap and read while he ate, something she was sure John wouldn't approve of if he noticed.

  Finally she made up her mind to end the brooding silence. Turning to William, she asked, "Have you done any more on your book about the Yokut?"

  "Some, not much," he said. "Would you like to see my Indian collection? I'm quite proud of it."

  Marie half-smiled. "Watch out, Vera. That's like an invitation to look at etchings."

  William flushed, obviously embarrassed.

  This made Vera decide to give him a more or less positive answer. "I'd like to see your collection, but I have to take care of Johanna."

  "I have a car," William said. "I could drive you and the baby to my place and back after lunch. With this fine weather, it might make a nice outing for her."

  Vera hesitated, glancing at John. He didn't look at her. "All right," she said.

  William lived off the Porterville highway in a small adobe house set in a grove of valley oaks. The inside was cheerful, with Indian rugs and hangings making splashes of bright color.

  "These are all from the tribe you're studying?" she asked.

  "The Yokut? Indeed, no. The rugs are Navajo. I'm afraid the Yokut culture was much more primitive. They depended on acorns for much of their food and..."

  William went on in this vein for most of her visit, proudly showing her baskets and Indian stone mortars for grinding acorns.

  "The really interesting potholes are in the bedrock itself," he finished, waving her to a chair and seating himself. "I'd like to take you up to Balch Park sometime and show you."

  "Thank you, but I'm leaving the first of January."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. Although, perhaps, it's best for everyone."

  William, too? How could everyone keep saying this when it really was best for Johanna if she stayed.

  "I mentioned to John that I thought Samara would benefit by being sent away to boarding school," she said. "What do you think?"

  He frowned. "She's not particularly bright."

  This observation annoyed her. Was he comparing the girl to her brother and using that standard to evaluate her? Chances were he'd never taken the time to try to uncover Samara's interests.

  "I meant she should go to be by herself, to get out from under Sergei's shadow," she said.

  "He's the intelligent one. The one worth educating. He will, of course be sent to a prep school soon--next fall, perhaps. Samara might go somewhere then, I wouldn't know."

  Or care. How could Delores have preferred this man to John for even a minute? Poor Samara. Important to no one. Except Sergei, which wasn't necessarily good.

  Noticing how William's gaze kept returning to the baby sitting on her lap, Vera asked, "Would you like to hold Johanna?"

  "Oh, I hardly think--"

  "Here." She placed Johanna on his lap and the baby fingered the buttons on his shirt and smiled at him.

  He peered intently at Johanna. "Her eyes are a definite gray, aren't they?"

  Did his voice show a slight disappointment? Had he expected to find his own blue eyes in the baby's face?

  "Gray, yes. I understand her great-grandmother had gray eyes. Tabitha Gregory."

  "The original Mrs. Gregory?"

  Vera nodded. "I've been wondering if you might have unearthed a superstition among your Yokut about Cabbage Valley. Something about skeletons without heads. Tabitha was quite upset about it in her journals."

  "El Valle de los Esqueletos sin Cabezas. Spanish for Valley of the Headless Ones. The Yokut would have nothing to do with the spot where Hallow House stands. Or Skull Cave. They still won't today."

  "Skull Cave?" she echoed.

  "That's where they believe the heads of the skeletons were taken."

  "How do they explain the burial of the bodies in one place and the heads somewhere else?"

  He handed the baby back to Vera and assumed his scholar's voice. "This involves a taboo. They have a legend of the Sky People--meaning those who came before. Not their ancestors. It seems--"

  Vera broke in before he could get underway. "Yes, but where there really skeletons with no heads in the valley?"

  William nodded. "It's been documented."

  "What do you think about it?"

  "Unusual burial customs is the explanations. Though the Yokut have no similar burial tradition, as I pointed out earlier, there were others here before the Yokut. Are you aware certain primitive tribes in New Guinea keep their ancestors' skulls in this homes? They believe--"

  "Thanks, but I'd rather not know."

  He raised his eyebrows. "You'll find it fascinating. They--"

  Vera broke in again. "Someone wrapped up Diablo's skull as a Christmas present for me. I've had enough of skulls."

  "Diablo? You mean Delores' cat?"

  She nodded.

  "The cat was killed in the room where she died. Decapitated, as I recall. Who would save the dead cat's head and do such a thing?"

  "I don't know."

  "Most peculiar. You'll no doubt be happy to leave Hallow House."

  She didn't answer and he reverted to his favorite topic, the Yokut. By the time he ran down and they drove back in his Ford coupe, raindrops spattered on the windshield.

  "The weather was so nice earlier," she said.

  "The rain heralds the first of the winter storms," he told her.

  When she got into the house, she found the place in an uproar. "

  "Thank heaven you're here," Irma said. "Mr. Vincent is hurt--you'll know what to do till the doctor can get here. They've brought him upstairs to his room. Give me the baby, I'll see to her."

  After handing Johanna to Irma, Vera hurried up the stairs, her mind whirling. Vincent hurt? An accident? But he'd left the house, hadn't he?

  She found Vincent sprawled across the bed, his clothes wet and muddy/ Blood was caked in his hair and smeared on his face. John was rem
oving his shoes and he face showed his relief when he saw her.

  "What happened?" she asked, throwing her coat onto a chair.

  "No one knows." His voice was grim. "Jose was in the kitchen and thought he heard a car heading for the garage. When no one came into the house, he finally went out to take look. He found Vincent on the ground beside the garage. His car was in its stall."

  Vera leaned over the bed and spoke in a loud, clear voice. "Vincent, can you hear me?"

  No response.

  "He hasn't moved since Jose and I carried him up here," John told her. "I've called Dr. Whitten."

  She lifted Vincent's right eyelid, then his left, peering in. "His pupils are equal in size, a good sign. Her fingers found the pulse in his wrist was faint and thready. Bad sign. "We need to get him undressed and into dry clothes. He must be kept warm."

  "Jose can help me."

  "I'm a nurse," she reminded him.

  Once Vincent was in pajamas and under the bedcovers, she called for hot water bottles to put around him, a basin, cloths to clean the blood away and set to work. Vincent remained unconscious through all of it.

  Standing back to evaluate his condition, she was struck by how young and helpless he looked. Which made her feel guilty for all she'd blamed him for.

  "Why did he come back?" she asked.

  "He told me this morning he was off to Reno," John said. "I don't know what made him return. How is he?"

  "You can see the head injury. From what, I've no idea. I can't tell how bad it is, but the fact he hasn't responded and his pulse is weak makes me think it's serious."

  Vincent moaned and she leaned over him asking, "What is it? Can you talk to me?"

  He opened his eyes but she wasn't sure he either saw or recognized her.

  "Two," he said quite clearly.

  She leaned closer.

  "One," he muttered. "One is the devil." His eyes closed and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 19

  John stood by the bed looking down at his brother who, eyes closed, lay motionless. "What did he say? Sounded to me like 'Two,' then 'One is the devil.' That doesn't make sense."

  Vera, standing on the opposite side of the bed with her fingers on Vincent's wrist said, "That's what I heard, too."