by Rice, Anne
“Sometime during the first year, while we were still in Italy, I wrote to Stirling Oliver at Oak Haven and told him what I had done. I told him that Goblin’s abilities to write to me via the computer were apparently waning, and that I felt a great emptiness in spite of all the excitement of the Grand Tour.
“Stirling and I corresponded for a few months. He cautioned me not to rouse Goblin by letters that were either too short or too long, and he told me that according to his best guess, Goblin was a ghost connected in some way to the locality of Blackwood Manor, rather than to me personally, but of this Stirling wasn’t perfectly sure.
“ ‘Try to experience your freedom from him,’ he wrote. ‘That is, try to enjoy it, and tell me whether or not you succeed. You might also ask those around you if they see any change in you. Mrs. McQueen, in particular, might illuminate you in some way.’
“I took his advice, and, indeed, Aunt Queen did have some reaction for me.
“ ‘You’re really with us, my little darling,’ she said. ‘You’re not distracted, talking to him. You’re not fearful of what he might do. You’re not always looking out of the corner of your eye.’
“She went on without any coaxing. ‘You’re much better this way, my sweet little boy. You’re infinitely better. I see it so plainly because I know you as no one else does. It’s time to put aside the things of childhood, and Goblin is of childhood.’ She looked kindly on me as she spoke these words.
“And thus it was that my correspondence with Goblin trailed off into silence, and my beloved spirit, my counterpart, my doppelgänger disappeared beyond my reach. And believe me, it was beyond my reach. I tried with some desultory messages to summon him from the shadows, but they failed.
“And as Blackwood Manor prospered with every blessing under Jasmine’s reign as Queen, as the carols were sung at Christmas, as the feasts were prepared at Easter, as the flowers bloomed in Pops’ beloved flower beds, we traveled on our circuitous odyssey and Goblin drifted beyond the pale.
“Of course I didn’t settle for only letters with Mona. Many a night I spent on the phone with her, and always we ended with passionate assurances that we lived only for each other—there was no question of it now, Ophelia Immortal and Noble Abelard would someday be in a chaste marriage (lust without penetration)—and our written correspondence became our fallback when odd hours kept us apart.
“Many times I got Michael or Rowan when I called, and I never failed to exact the confirmation that Mona’s condition was stable, that she had no need of me, and many a time, much to my amazement, Michael volunteered that the relationship had been a godsend because Mona had stopped her erotic roaming and was now ‘living’ for my E-mails and phone calls and spending all the rest of her life hard at work on the Mayfair Legacy, seeking to understand and participate in the investments, and also working on the family tree.
“ ‘She’s a bit scornful of her home teacher,’ Michael said. ‘I wish she’d read more books. But I do get her to watch classic films with me. That’s one good thing, don’t you think?’
“ ‘Oh, definitely,’ I said. ‘No one can move forward creatively until they’ve seen The Red Shoes and The Tales of Hoffmann. Am I not profoundly right?’
“ ‘Yes, you are,’ he laughed. ‘And she does have them under her belt. Last night I got her to watch Black Narcissus.’
“ ‘Now that’s an eerie one,’ I said. ‘I bet she loved it.’
“ ‘Ask her,’ he said. ‘Here she is, Noble Abelard, give everyone there my love.’
“And so my life ran on for three blissful and action-packed years.
“I grew to be six feet four inches in height.
“I saw the world’s most beautiful and wondrous sights. I went with my joyous company as far south as Abu Simbel in Egypt and Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, and as far north as Ireland and Scotland. I went as far east as St. Petersburg. As far west as Morocco and Spain.
“There was no great order and no great thrift to the manner in which we traveled. Back and forth we went often. It had something to do with the seasons. It had everything to do with desire and whim.
“Tommy and Nash worked intensely on homework for the school board of Ruby River City. But in the main, Tommy received his knowledge as I did—from Aunt Queen and Nash drawing our attention to things we might otherwise have missed, from Aunt Queen and Nash giving us the cultural background of the things we saw and telling us marvelous stories that had to do with the famous persons connected to monuments, countries, culture and time.
“There was such a richness to all of it that I felt a fool for not having yielded to Aunt Queen’s requests that I travel made so many years before. It seemed the arrogance of ignorance that I had refused to join her. But as she said to comfort me, it was not a time for regretting things. It was a time for embracing the entire world.
“Let me also note that no matter how much we saw or how late in the day we toured, I still managed to read Dickens for Nash, and he greatly increased my appreciation of Great Expectations, David Copperfield, The Old Curiosity Shop and Little Dorrit. I also investigated the Brontë sisters with keen delight, swallowing Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. If only I had been a better reader I might have accomplished more. I tried hard with Milton, but I couldn’t remember what I read of Paradise Lost, no matter how hard I tried, so I put it by for Keats, reading the odes aloud until I had them memorized.
“All was bliss for us as we roamed. But not so with everyone. In the middle of our second year, Jasmine called to let us know that Patsy had gone through her income entirely for that period (staggering), and had gotten Clem to invest his entire inheritance from Pops in a rock album which had flopped, and Clem was now blaming Patsy for having tricked him and wanted to sue her.
“At Aunt Queen’s behest I got on the phone with our lawyer, Grady Breen, and ascertained that Patsy had spent all the money on a rock video, the making of which had cost a million dollars, what with a foreign director and cinematographer, and then all the big cable music networks had failed to give it airtime.
“Clem had not been wearing blinders when he sunk his hundred thousand into the deal, and he was, in Grady’s words, no fool, but I told Grady to pay him off and be done with it. As for Patsy, if she wanted money, just give it to her. She did want money and he would give it to her.
“In closing, I asked Grady if Patsy was having any success at all with her music. He replied that she was very successful of late with the good clubs, playing House of Blues all over the country. Her album was selling about three hundred thousand copies. But that’s nothing compared to the million copies she longed to sell, and which she needed to sell to attain the fame she wanted. She had simply overestimated her name-brand appeal with this video she had made. It had been a little too soon for her.
“I didn’t dare to ask directly about her health. I put it simply: ‘Have you recently seen her?’
“ ‘Yes,’ said Grady. ‘She was just on Austin City Limits. She’s as pretty as ever. Your mother has always been a pretty gal. I’m old enough to say that much, don’t you think?’
“ ‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
“And so back at home, Patsy was still being Patsy.
“Now that I have said all the above—dispatching all subjects pertaining to this period—let me return to the matter of Pompeii.
“Of course I was eager to see the ruins, but I couldn’t forget the spell which Petronia had cast over me when she had come to Blackwood Manor, and Aunt Queen had thoughts of her own about it, though they were far less alarmist than mine. We had discussed Petronia but only with some strain, Aunt Queen not quite forgiving me for my denouncing of Petronia and not quite believing that Petronia wasn’t human and that Petronia had dumped two bodies in the swamp.
“As for me, I believed everything, and I wanted to see if the ruins of Pompeii—the excavations of an entire city once buried under ash and rubble—would bring to mind the images which Petronia had planted in my mind.
“I w
asn’t finished with Petronia.
“Back at home the renovations of the Hermitage were being completed to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars, and packets of color photographs had come to me revealing the stunning little house. Its interior rafters had been boldly gilded, Oriental rugs from my catalog collection were scattered over its shining marble and I had even ordered some ornate furnishings for it by long-distance from Hurwitz Mintz, in New Orleans. The place now sported velvet sofas and torchère lamps. It had a cluster of swan-backed chairs. All the comforts were connected in its spacious bathroom. Its new glass windows were kept shining clean.
“Allen had reported more than once that ‘someone’ was using the place in the evenings, that books were found on the desk (and never disturbed) and there were candles in evidence and ashes in the fireplace. So my partner was back in action. What did I expect? Had I not capitulated to every demand? But who had first thought of these efficacious designs? Was it not me?
“I was foolishly fascinated.
“And I was outraged. And too young perhaps to know the difference.
“And so I came to Pompeii on our third trip to Italy, not too far before the very end of our odyssey, in a bold and combative and curious frame of mind, ready at last to see the legendary spot.
“Aunt Queen probably did not even remember Petronia’s spellbinding tale of that long-ago night. Nash spoke of it casually to me. Tommy and Cindy, the nurse, were merely happy to see one of the most famous ruins in the world.
“Coming by private car from our luxurious hotel in Naples, we visited the city early in the day. We had a leisurely stroll throughout the narrow rutted stone streets, knowing that we would come back tomorrow and tomorrow, and I felt everywhere the slight, thrilling frisson of Petronia’s words. The sun was shining brilliantly, and Mount Vesuvius seemed safe and silent, a pale bluish sentinel of a mountain rather than anything that could have destroyed this little city, this small grid of multitudinous lives, in the space of half a day.
“We entered many of the partially restored houses, touching the walls only lightly with great reverence or not at all. There was a hush around us, even though tourists came and went, and it was hard for me to lift the veil of death that hung over the city so that I could imagine it alive again.
“Aunt Queen was intrepid as she led our little party to the House of the Faun and the Villa of the Mysteries. At last we came to the museum, and there I saw the natural white sculptures which had been made of those who had died in the ash and left nothing but the shape of their bodies behind. Poured plaster had immortalized their final moments, and I felt so moved by these featureless figures, drawn together in sudden death, that I was about to cry.
“Finally we went back to our rooms at the hotel. The night sky over the Bay of Naples was pregnant with a thousand stars. I opened the doors to the balcony and looked out over the bay and counted myself one of the happiest people alive. For a long while I stood at the stone balustrade. I felt pure contentment, as if I’d conquered Petronia and Goblin and Rebecca, and my future belonged only to me. Mona was doing wonderfully well. Even Aunt Queen seemed immortal—never to die as long as I did not die. Always to be with me.
“Finally I was tired and happy to be so. Putting on my customary nightshirt, though it was a bit warm for the lovely fragrant night, I lay down on the fresh pillow and drifted into sleep.
“Within seconds, it seemed, I was in Pompeii. I was running, pushing before me a reluctant group of slaves who wouldn’t believe me that the mountain would soon rain down its fury on us, that it would demolish everything, including our lives. Through the gates of the city we ran and down to the seashore and into the waiting boat. Out to sea we went and then came the eruption, the dark spume rising, the sky darkening. A hideous roar came from the mountain. Everywhere boats rocked on the water. ‘Keep going!’ I shouted. People shrieked and screamed. ‘Make the crossing,’ I pleaded. Slaves jumped into the water. ‘No, the boat’s faster,’ I insisted. The oars were dropped. The boat went over. I was drowning. The sea rose and fell. I swallowed water. Again came that unspeakable thunder.
“I woke up. I wouldn’t dream this dream! I felt terror. I felt another body enveloping mine. And against the bright blue of the night sky I saw a figure on the balcony, a figure I knew to be Petronia.
“ ‘You devil!’ I declared. I shot up from the bed and I ran at the figure, only the figure wasn’t there. Shaking violently I stood at the balustrade and looked out into the darkness, as frightened as ever I’d been in my life, and as angry as well.
“I couldn’t abide this terror, yet I couldn’t put an end to it. Finally, grabbing my robe, I went out of the room and down the hall to Aunt Queen’s suite. I pounded on her door.
“Cindy, our sweetheart of a nurse, answered.
“ ‘Aunt Queen, I have to sleep with you,’ I said, charging towards her bed. ‘It’s a nightmare. It’s that evil Petronia.’
“ ‘You come get in this bed with me right now, you poor little boy,’ she said.
“And I did exactly that.
“ ‘Now, now, darling, don’t fret,’ she said. ‘You are shaking! Now go to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll go to Torre del Greco, and we’ll buy lots of beautiful cameos, and you can help me as you always do.’
“Cindy climbed back into the other bed. The curtains blew out from the open windows. I felt safe with the two of them. I went to sleep again, dreaming of Blackwood Manor, dreaming of Tommy living with us, dreaming of Mona, dreaming of so many things, but never bad things, never ghosts, never evil spirits, never darkness, never disaster, never death.
“Had Petronia really been there? Was it a spell? I’ll never know.
“But let me bring to a close the story of our happy wanderings. Because it did come time for us to go home.
“Aunt Queen could go no farther. She was simply too weak; her blood pressure was too high. She had sprained her wrist, and who knew when an ankle sprain would more severely hamper her? She was also battling some form of arthritis and her joints had begun to swell. Her exhaustion was defeating her. She could not keep up with her own pace. She was angry with her own weakness.
“Finally, Cindy, the nurse, became adamant. ‘I love these grand hotels as much as anybody,’ she said, ‘but you belong at home, Aunt Queen! You’re going to take a bad fall! You can’t go on like this.’
“I joined my voice to Cindy’s and so did little Tommy, who was by this time a pretty tall twelve years of age, and finally Nash chimed in with a solemn declaration: ‘Mrs. McQueen, you’ve been valiant, but it is now time for you to retire to Blackwood Manor and reign in state as the irrepressibly entertaining steel magnolia which we all know you to be.’
“We were in Cairo when the decision was reached, and we flew on to Rome, where our adventure had begun, for a last few nights at the Hotel Hassler. I knew by this time that I had been negligent in not proposing the return because I had not wanted to be accused of self-interest in my love and longing for Mona.
“And I was anxious about Mona. She hadn’t answered my E-mails for over two weeks.
“As soon as we were checked in—I was in a huge suite with a very long broad terrace, right below Aunt Queen, who had the penthouse with Cindy—I tried to reach Mona by phone and got a taciturn, somewhat solemn Rowan.
“ ‘She’s in Mayfair Medical for some tests, Quinn,’ she said. ‘She’s likely to be there for several months. She won’t be able to see you.’
“ ‘My God, you mean she’s taken a turn for the worse!’ I said. ‘Dr. Mayfair, tell me the truth. What’s happening to her?’
“ ‘I don’t know, Quinn,’ she said in her beguiling husky voice. ‘Those are hard words for a doctor to say, believe you me. But I don’t. That’s why we’re testing her. Her immune system’s compromised. She’s been running a fever for months. Somebody sneezes in the same room with her and she comes down with double pneumonia.’
“ ‘Good God,’ I responded. As usual Rowan’s brand of truth was
a little too harsh for me. Yet I told myself fiercely that I wanted it. ‘Why can’t I talk with her by phone?’
“ ‘I don’t want her upset by anything now, Quinn,’ said Rowan. ‘And if she knew you were on your way home, she’d be upset that she couldn’t see you. That’s why she’s in isolation. She’s in a plastic bubble as far as the world’s concerned, with a VCR and a monitor and a stack of vintage movies. She’s eating popcorn and ice cream and chocolates and drinking milk. She knows you’re having fun in Europe, and that’s the way it has to stay for now.’
“ ‘But Rowan,’ I pleaded. ‘Surely she’s getting my E-mails!’
“ ‘No, Quinn, she’s resting. I took the computer away.’
“I was maddened. Just maddened. Here we were on our way home at last and she was beyond my reach. But the worst news was that she was sick! Too sick perhaps to even handle the computer!
“ ‘Rowan, listen, has she been sick all along? Has she been protecting me from it?’
“There was a long silence, and then she said in her characteristic straightforward fashion, ‘Yes, Quinn, I’d say that’s what she’s been doing. But I think you knew that when you left. You knew she was undergoing a continuous treatment. She’s been at various plateaus. But she’s never really rallied.’
“I gasped. I didn’t know if it was audible.
“ ‘I’ve got to see her when I come home,’ I said.
“ ‘We’ll arrange it,’ she responded, ‘as soon as it’s possible. But it can’t be right away.’
“ ‘Can you give her my love?’ I asked. ‘Can you tell her I called? Can you tell her I’ve sent her letters?’
“ ‘Yes, that I will do tonight,’ she said, ‘when I see her. And tomorrow and the day after.’
“ ‘Oh, thank you, Rowan, God love you, Rowan. Please, please tell her how much I love her.’
“ ‘Quinn, there’s something else I want to say,’ she said, surprising me. ‘I know Michael’s said it to you. Let me say it too. You really helped Mona. You got Mona to stop doing things that hurt her. You made her happy.’