It was as though God had moved his hand over her life to ease the pain of the last twenty-four hours. A sign that He believed she deserved better than she had recently been given. That her (brief) respite also must have entailed the sickness of an elderly lady and the long-distance travel of her friend occurred to her, but she didn’t think about it too deeply.
She took out another sheet of paper and wrote to Doctor Cyrus Beard. She had no love for the man as he was extremely close to Randolph and, she suspected, had some hand in Randolph’s infidelities. (She had no proof of this, but something about the confidences the two men appeared to share made her suspicious.) He was always calling himself her “servant” and saying how he wished to be helpful. If there were anything a doctor should be helpful about it should be the acquisition of a woman with nursing skills who could help Harriet if Amelia were to go away.
Chapter 28
LUCY
May 1908
“I want to ride Julius to school, Mother. Why can’t I ride Julius?” Michael Searle’s voice was dangerously close to being a whine.
“Because you’re only eight years old and Julius is unreliable on the roads. Terrance will take you in the car.” Randolph spoke from behind his New York newspaper, which he received by mail.
Michael Searle looked down at his plate, mumbling. “It’s embarrassing driving in the car. And sometimes Terrance pinches me.”
Now Randolph closed and folded his paper. “If he pinches you, it’s because you deserve it. Don’t be such a sissy.”
Michael Searle looked to Lucy, who shook her head, warning him not to talk back. “I’ll speak to Terrance.”
“No! Please don’t tell him I said anything. Please, Mother. You’ll only make it worse.”
Seeing his anguish, Lucy was prepared to let it drop. She would take Michael Searle to school herself in the car.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Randolph stepped on the kitchen bell set into the floor beneath the dining table. It was not quite eight-thirty in the morning, and they sat in the dining room at breakfast, watched by the unblinking peacock-feather eyes on the walls. No one moved again until Terrance came in from the kitchen.
“Have you been pinching Michael Searle, Terrance?” Randolph didn’t bother to look up from his plate but speared a forkful of sausage and put it in his mouth. In the past two years, he had become clumsy about his eating, yet peculiarly shrewd about the money that was being spent on food. Too, he had become less fastidious about his clothing. The collar he had put on that morning was stained with cigar ash and Brilliantine.
Terrance cleared his throat. “I’m afraid young Michael Searle has been making up stories again. He’s quite the storyteller.” He cast a side-eye at Michael Searle, who stared down at his full plate.
Lucy worried that Michael Searle was not eating enough. He was too thin, with anxious, tapered hands and bony arms that he kept covered with shirts that stayed carefully cuffed, their sleeves never rolled up. Odette tried to tempt him with sweets and puddings and plenty of milk and cheese, but he was often too nervous to eat. At eight years old, he already had secrets, which was a horrible shame. But she could do nothing to change it.
“Terrance, you are not to touch him. I’m telling you now, in front of Randolph. Your job is to take him to school, and bring him home, and that’s all.”
“You won’t address Terrance that way, Lucy.”
Lucy never knew what Randolph might take sideways these days. He had become more secretive than anyone else in the house, disappearing for hours at a time. She had seen strange women making their way around the side of the house from the servants’ quarters and was certain he was bedding them. Sometimes she heard voices in the night and laughter. She only prayed that Michael Searle didn’t hear it in the room beside hers, near the front of the house. Randolph’s room was still on the other side of the gallery, the hall a gulf between them.
“Of course, Missus Bliss.” Terrance gave a little bow and took Randolph’s empty plate. He stopped in front of hers, and she nodded.
Her heartbeat had quickened. Terrance sometimes disappeared with Randolph. It made her uncomfortable, and she wondered what they were up to. But, on the other hand, she was just as happy not to see Terrance around the house.
She and Randolph had two different sets of friends, and she had, over the years, excused herself from Randolph’s now less frequent evenings of more ribald entertainments.
“I’ll ride with you to school today, darling.” Lucy touched her son’s hair. “Terrance can drive us both.”
Michael Searle ducked away, even more embarrassed, but he did not protest.
There was no private primary school closer than Lynchburg, and Randolph had judged the local schoolhouse, which sat at the western edge of Old Gate, good enough for Michael Searle. Lucy hadn’t been sure if the phrase good enough was meant to be sarcastic or serious. Faye’s six-year-old twin girls had started at the school this year, and between Faye and herself, the school was well outfitted with books and supplies and a decently paid teacher.
Lucy noted the jealous glances of some of the other boys—boys who arrived on foot—as Michael Searle got out of the car. They didn’t dare harass him while his mother was looking on, but she knew it was different inside the schoolroom. He seemed miserable and, giving her an I-can’t-believe-you’re-making-me-do-this-again look, took his lunch pail and turned for the school’s front door.
“The boys don’t like him. But he gets along fine with the girls, I hear.” Terrance’s voice was loud enough that the other children surely heard over the rumble of the Packard Model 30’s engine.
“That’s enough.” Lucy leaned back in the car’s rear seat. The front passenger seat was more comfortable, but she didn’t like sitting next to Terrance. “Let’s go home. I’ll drive in and pick him up myself this afternoon.” Driving the car still intimidated her, but she would do it.
There were now twenty or thirty cars regularly on the streets around Old Gate, and the Packard 30 was one of the most distinctive. Her father still refused to ride in a car, preferring horseback or the small trap her mother had used to drive.
Her father lived alone, now that Juliet had moved to France. She had been dutiful, tending him and being his hostess in the years after Selina’s death, a death for which he still blamed Lucy and Randolph. As Lucy blamed herself. Her mother’s fall had stunned everyone, including Randolph, though in the aftermath he had told her that it was probably for the best, which had upset her. Now she wasn’t so sure. From her mother’s attitude on meeting Michael Searle, she knew that she and Randolph would never have been forgiven.
Her father hadn’t wanted either of them to come to the funeral, so Lucy went alone and was ignored by him. There was to be no graveside reconciliation, but Lucy held onto Juliet and counted herself lucky that her father hadn’t driven her away or treated her cruelly in front of the other mourners.
She had loved her mother, though her mother had made it awfully difficult. For the rest of her life Lucy would feel her mother’s absence. Feel responsible. At least Juliet didn’t blame her. And Juliet had been the better daughter to their widowed father, until, five years later, she married a French count after meeting him at the Grange, the resort hotel near Charlottesville. It had made her father doubly sad to lose the last woman in his life. Though, within Lucy’s hearing, he said to a parishioner, “At least I saw one of my daughters into a decent Christian marriage.”
Lucy tried very hard not to be angry. Randolph, however, refused to even go to church, so anxious was he to avoid him.
Though Michael Searle was already eight years old, he only saw his grandfather officiating in church. Edward Michael Searle never sought out his grandson, or Lucy, in any other capacity.
Lucy tapped Terrance lightly on the shoulder. “Please stop at the butcher’s. I want to have them deliver some lamb for Easter.”
“I’ll order it on Tuesday.” His response was terse, disrespectful. She and he were about
the same age, and sometimes she thought he tried to take advantage of that fact. Also, the more dependent Randolph was on him, the less respectful he was of her.
“Stop at the butcher’s.”
He parked in front of the butcher shop and got out to help her from the car, but then returned to his seat to wait. When she glanced back at him as she went inside, she noticed he had taken out a pocketknife and was cleaning his nails.
The bells hanging on the inside of the door gave a cheerful jingle as she passed through. Despite the thorough whitewashing of the shop’s walls, sawdust on the floor behind the counter, and neat, hand-lettered signs with prices and the meat on offer, the air inside the shop bore the sickeningly sweet stench of newly let blood.
“What can I do for you, Missus Bliss? Terrance was in here for some chops and a roast on Saturday. Need something else?”
“The chops were delicious, Mister Crocker. I’ve just come in to order a lamb roast for Easter.” She had it in her mind to invite her father for Easter lunch, though she was certain he wouldn’t come or even acknowledge the invitation. Randolph had just shaken his head when she suggested it. “How is Missus Crocker? Is she recovering well from her abdominal surgery?”
“Slowly. She can’t get around very well, so I’m running the shop by myself for a while. We have some help, though. The doctor says she’ll be better in a few weeks.”
They discussed the amount and the price of the lamb, and when it would be picked up. Finished, she turned to go, but the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a familiar voice stopped her.
“Uncle Carl? Auntie wants some marrow bone soup.”
Seeing Lucy at the counter, Carrie turned away quickly and started back up the stairs. Lucy called after her.
“Carrie Crocker! You’re here.”
“Oh, yes, she’s been here these two weeks. Did you not know she was my niece? She’s been a great help. Carrie, come say hello to Missus Bliss.” Mister Crocker smiled. “Carrie used to work for your mother and father. That’s right. And maybe for you out at the big house for a while? I think that’s right. Carrie?”
Lucy was shocked at the change in Carrie. Her once lovely red hair was faded with age, even though she was, Lucy recalled, not much older than thirty. Her shoulders were slightly hunched in her loose blouse. Most shocking was the long, dark pink scar on the right side of her neck. It felt impossible to hide her shock, but Lucy quickly smiled.
“Carrie, it’s been such a long time. You didn’t leave word where you’d gone, and even Mother and Father wondered. Though I expect you know that Mother died soon after I returned. I’ve missed seeing you.”
Throughout this speech, Carrie watched her cautiously, fingering the silver cross on a chain around her neck. Her uncle upbraided her.
“Cat got your tongue? Why, anyone would think you were a twelve-year-old girl with no sense, Carrie Crocker. You could at least say hello to Missus Bliss.” He looked back at Lucy. “She talks a blue streak to my wife. Quite wears her out.”
After another moment’s hesitation, Carrie came around the meat counter to greet Lucy. One of her charms had been a friendly openness, which seemed to have disappeared.
“I’m sorry I didn’t write. I took a position with a family in Norfolk County. I’m still there, but they gave me leave to come and help my aunt and uncle.” Her voice was so quiet that Lucy had to lean forward a bit to hear her.
“I know we were gone a long time. I had so hoped that you would come back. You wrote that Terrance was difficult to work with, and I can see that now that I know him. It must have been very hard for you.”
At Terrance’s name, Carrie froze. She looked past Lucy to the Packard, and Terrance, who was still looking down at his hands.
“I have to go upstairs back to my aunt. I’m so sorry.” Carrie held out her hand to shake, but Lucy took the chill hand in both her warm, gloved hands.
“Call on me at the house before you go back, won’t you? I want to hear all that you’ve been doing, and you should meet Michael Searle. What would you think about coming back to work for me?”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that.”
Lucy could see that the butcher was eavesdropping, and she wished that she might have a moment alone with Carrie.
“Then let me take you for tea this afternoon before I pick up Michael Searle. The new little tearoom on the next block is so dear.”
Carrie took a step backward, bumping into the meat case. “I can’t. I won’t. Please just go away and leave me alone!” She turned and hurried around the counter, and past her uncle, who reached out to try to stop her.
“Carrie Ann, come back here!”
Lucy was puzzled, yet not insulted, as Carrie’s uncle obviously thought she might be.
“I’m so sorry to have upset her.” Lucy hated scenes, and she had certainly been the cause of this one. “Please offer Carrie and your wife my apologies.”
The butcher was embarrassed. “No. We are sorry, Missus Bliss. I don’t know what got into her.”
Lucy waited until she and Terrance had returned to the house to say something to him about seeing Carrie. As he took her hand to help her out of the car, she asked him if he remembered her.
“I do. She was unhappy here. She said she wanted to work somewhere else. You asked me about it when you returned.”
Lucy nodded. “I just saw her at her uncle’s butcher shop. She looked more than unhappy. I think her new situation must not be a good one.”
Terrance shrugged. “That has nothing to do with you, Missus Bliss. I’m sure that if she had stayed a little longer, or waited for your return, she would have found life very pleasant here.”
When Randolph did not appear for lunch, Lucy asked Odette to prepare her a tray so she could eat in the garden. It was a beautiful afternoon, and she had a new book of poems to read. Before she was through eating, Randolph came to stand in the doorway of the salon. He stood watching her until she asked him what it was that he wanted.
“I wanted to see what a whore does in the light of day.”
Lucy sighed. His jibes and criticisms were rarely so direct.
“Randolph, what in the world have I done to offend you?” He had become so erratic of late, sometimes gazing at her as though she were a stranger. He complained of voices trailing him through the house, chasing him to his room or the library. She had come to think of these times as his spells. Both she and Michael Searle and even Odette knew to avoid him when he was acting so strangely. Only Terrance stayed close to him. Always Terrance.
Lucy’s own experiences with the ghosts were more benign. Since her mother’s death, they only seemed to sigh mournfully. It was strange to live in a place with ghosts, but not nearly as frightening as she would have thought it would be. When Michael Searle was a boy of three or four, she would sometimes hear him in his room, talking to someone. When she asked him, he would simply say, “The girl.” But it had been a long time since he had mentioned her.
“You were out with Terrance all morning. I saw his face when you returned. He looked troubled. I asked him if you had propositioned him, and he tried to deny it, but I know the truth. I know your secret affinity for each other, and it disgusts me.”
She closed her book and looked out to the maze with its lovely nude statue of Hera. Surely Hera had some wisdom she could use right then. Zeus had been a true pain to live with as well.
“I’m afraid you mistake your perfidy for my own, Randolph. I’ve seen the women who have been coming here, into the servants’ quarters. You’re the one who should be ashamed. I’ve done nothing. And really. Terrance? Surely I would have better taste than to sleep with your valet.” She almost added, “And certainly not your son.” But she held her tongue.
He charged over and stopped just short of her chair, breathing heavily. She recoiled as he leaned close, a dozen inches from her face. He was unshaven, and his breath smelled of coffee and tobacco. “It’s an affinity, I tell you. You should be ashamed. Your good father would se
e you burned at the stake.”
At that moment Odette came out of the salon and stood by, waiting. Feeling her watching him, Randolph turned slowly around.
“Negress, you’re involved in this, too. I never should have brought you into this house.”
“Perhaps you are right, Mister Bliss. I have seen too much.”
“Insolence,” Randolph snapped. “Both of you.” He pushed past Odette and strode into the house.
Odette walked slowly over to collect the tray. “You all right, Missus Bliss?”
“I’m sorry he was so rude to you, Odette. Josiah fears it’s a kind of dementia.”
Odette shrugged. “He’s no different than he ever was at his worst. They’re plaguing him.”
“Who’s plaguing him?”
“Missus Amelia Bliss. Maybe his daughter.”
Lucy was silent.
“I know you know what I mean, Missus Bliss. You hear them, too. Michael Searle hears them, and he has since he was a little one.”
Yes, the voices. The ghosts had called Selina’s name, had caused the dreadful heat, and the shaking of the house that made her mother fall. But why had they caused it? Why did they hate her mother so when they hadn’t done anyone else real harm?
“Poor Michael Searle.” Lucy sighed. “His life is made of secrets. Did he tell you? I wondered if you knew.”
“He’s a good boy, and a better son than Mister Randolph deserves.”
A butterfly came to rest on the arm of Lucy’s chair, its yellow wings closing like hands in prayer. She put a fingertip close to it to see if it would move, but it stayed where it was.
“The voices are loudest inside Mister Bliss’s head. They will drive him mad one day. It’s already started. If you will beg my presuming on our friendship, ma’am, he has earned it.”
Chapter 29
The Abandoned Heart Page 25