by Irene Brand
FIVE
Rissa paced the living-room floor after Portia went upstairs. She didn’t want to be alone, but she knew she couldn’t sleep and she didn’t want to keep Portia from resting. Her mind was still plagued by the events of the evening, unwilling to believe that any member of her family was a killer. She didn’t suspect the servants, either, because most of them had been loyal employees for several years.
Because of the security system, it seemed unlikely that anyone could have reached Blanchard Manor tonight by car unless someone in the house had opened the gate for them. But it was possible for a boat to dock at a few places where the ocean bordered the estate. The fury of the storm would have prevented anyone from hearing a boat’s motor, and a stranger could have walked up the steep hill to commit the murder. But a stranger couldn’t have gained access to the house without setting off the alarm system. The more she considered the crime, the more confused she was. She had to admit that the Blanchard family had more than its share of idiosyncrasies, but she didn’t believe they were capable of murder.
Worn out from pacing, Rissa dropped into a chair. Since she was the only witness to this murder, she couldn’t return to New York anytime soon. And it might put the kibosh on her shopping trip with Portia. Rissa could see her play career going down the drain while she was stuck in Stoneley. It would be impossible for her to concentrate on writing in this tense atmosphere.
Because the night had been so distressing, it had taken Rissa quite a while for it to sink in—her mother had been murdered. After believing most of her life that her mother was dead, she had only known a few weeks that her mother was still alive. Stunned by her own seeming lack of remorse, she wondered if it was normal that she didn’t feel any sorrow over the loss of a mother she couldn’t remember. The woman who had been killed in the library tonight was a stranger to her. It took more than biological ties to make that woman her mother. On the other hand, if it had been Aunt Winnie, she would have been grief stricken. Instead all she could think about was how her mother’s death would affect her personal life.
In all of the stress of the storm and the murder, Rissa had forgotten to take her medication. If she went upstairs now, she would disturb Portia, but she had to control her tension. Reading usually settled her nerves. The library was off-limits, so she couldn’t read Richard III as she had wanted to do. She checked the small bookcase in the family room, but it didn’t offer much that interested her. She finally chose a commentary on fifteenth-century England. That should be dull enough to put her to sleep without any pills.
She carried it to one of the settees and stuffed a few pillows behind her back to lounge comfortably. She turned on the floor lamp for enough light to read. But the book was more interesting than she had anticipated, and as she read of the castles and manor houses, she could see possibilities of including these facts in a play. She admired the architecture of the buildings that were illustrated, but she shuddered when she read about the dungeons and means of torture during that era.
A scream sounded through the room and Rissa sat up in alarm. The book she’d been reading was lying on the floor, and Rissa rubbed her eyes, realizing that she’d been asleep. Had she heard a scream or had she been dreaming? She sat up and listened. She knew she hadn’t been dreaming when she heard a woman’s faint yet plaintive wail. Was Aunt Winnie or one of her sisters in trouble? She stood up quickly to go help the woman, but her pulse was racing and cold sweat covered her trembling body.
The symptoms were similar to the kind she had repeatedly experienced before she’d gone to Dr. Pearson. Had she heard a woman scream or was it a dream? She dropped back on the couch, her head in her hands. Was she losing her mind? She remembered what Dr. Pearson had mentioned about leaning on her faith when these attacks came. She tried hard to remember a verse of Scripture that would ease her mental turmoil, but her mind was blank.
Drew had just returned to the library after he’d checked all the doors in the house and settled into a chair when Rissa’s scream brought him to his feet. He’d noticed that she hadn’t gone upstairs when Portia had, but he thought she might have headed up while he was busy checking the rest of the house. A light was still on in the living room and he headed in that direction.
He looked in the half-open door before Rissa knew he was there. His heart went out her when he saw her trembling body and how she was rocking back and forth in agony. Feeling as though he was spying on her, he knocked softly.
Rissa lifted her head like a startled fawn.
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head.
“Can I come in?”
She closed her eyes and nodded. He knelt on the floor beside her.
In a piteous voice, she whispered, “Did you hear a woman crying?”
“I heard someone scream here in the library. I thought it was you.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t me,” she protested. “It sounded like it came from far away. Please say it wasn’t me.”
Alarmed by her distress and the wild look in her eyes, he said quickly, “I heard a scream, but I’m not sure where it came from. Maybe you cried out in your sleep. You’ve had enough stress tonight to cause nightmares.” Somehow Drew sensed that he wasn’t getting through to her, but he continued, “I’m sorry about your mother’s death. It must have been a terrible shock to find her body.”
“Yes, it was,” she said piteously.
Shaking her head back and forth, tears slid over her pale cheeks. Without considering the propriety of his actions, Drew sat beside her on the settee and pulled her into a soft, impersonal embrace. He half expected her to pull away, but after a few minutes, Rissa became quiet, and he thought she might have fallen asleep.
Rissa had never felt so secure. Still, she wondered if it was wise for her to let Drew comfort her. But after the emotional stress she’d been under all evening, Rissa allowed herself the luxury of feeling protected. Forgetting the woman’s cry for a moment, Rissa now had a better understanding of why Portia was so eager to marry Mick. She had never doubted before that her career was all she needed in life, but now she wondered if she was missing something vitally important.
Rissa hadn’t envied her twin’s happiness because she wanted what marriage would bring. Portia loved children and was eagerly looking forward to becoming Kaitlyn’s stepmother. But Portia would make a good wife and mother. Rissa wouldn’t. Her twin had apparently gotten all of the maternal instincts that should have been divided between them. She couldn’t imagine herself as a mother, and she thought most men wanted children, especially a son. Would anyone want to marry her unless she was willing to start a family?
Hoping to calm her, Drew tried to think of something to talk about that would take her mind off the nightmare.
“Nerissa,” he said contemplatively. “I don’t believe I’ve known anyone else who had the name.”
The uneasiness left her eyes to be replaced by a nostalgic expression. “Unless you’re a student of Shakespeare, I don’t suppose you would have heard the name.”
“You’ve lost me there, ma’am. I’ve heard of Shakespeare, but I’ve never read any of his stuff.”
Rissa sighed. “My sisters and I learned about Shakespeare before we studied our ABC’s, I think. All of us were named for characters in his works. We have most of his works on our library shelves.”
Drew’s reading was pretty much limited to National Geographic and the local newspaper. All he knew about Shakespeare was that he had lived in England hundreds of years ago. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would be so wrapped up in ancient literature that they would name their children after the characters.
“I don’t know why, but my mother was a Shakespeare enthusiast. I won’t bore you with all the details. Miranda’s name came from The Tempest. Bianca was named after a character in The Taming of the Shrew. Cordelia’s name was taken from King Lear, although we’ve always called her Delia. Portia and Nerissa were characters in The Merchant of Venice. And of course you’ve heard o
f Romeo and Juliet—that’s where our baby sister, Juliet, got her name.”
Drew shook his head in disbelief and stared at her intently. “I remember being introduced to Shakespeare in English literature during my high school years, but I haven’t given him a thought since.” He shrugged dismissively. “It’s unbelievable to me that anybody in today’s world would still be interested.”
“If you ever come to the city, I’d like to take you to see a production of one of Shakespeare’s plays. There’s always a great production in Central Park every summer. You’d really enjoy it.”
Noting his skeptical expression, Rissa knew she hadn’t convinced him.
“Are you ready to go upstairs to bed?” Drew asked softly. “It’s still a few hours until daylight.”
Sighing, she moved away from the comfort of his arms. “I’ll stay here the rest of the night,” she said. “If I go to our room, I’d wake Portia. I’ll try to sleep, but the nightmare is still vivid in my mind. I swear I heard a woman crying. I haven’t been sleeping well the past few months, but I’ve never had this happen before. Thanks for helping, Drew.”
He stood awkwardly, knowing that he had been excused, but from the tension on her face, he wasn’t sure she should stay alone.
“I’ll be across the hall if you need me, but try to get some sleep. Nothing’s going to happen with me on guard. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He stopped in the hallway and picked up a small bell from a collection of odds and ends in the massive walnut secretary beneath the stairway. He closed the library door and hung the bell over one of the knobs so he would know if anyone tried to enter the room. He walked throughout the first floor, checking all of the rooms, even the hallway where the staff members were housed. He heard nothing, but the tour had provided him with more evidence of the wealth of the Blanchards.
He returned to the library, removed the bell and sat in the chair to watch. He remembered the feel of Rissa’s slender body in his arms. How happy he’d been to know that she had trusted him that much. When he had first met Rissa several weeks ago, he had thought she was snobbish and pretentious, but in the past few hours, he’d seen another side to her.
He was conscious that she seemed to harbor an insecurity similar to his own, but he was puzzled why any woman who had everything going for her, as Rissa Blanchard seemed to have, would be insecure. He considered her a very special person. At their first meeting, he’d sensed an emotional current between them, which he hadn’t forgotten even after Rissa had returned to her life in Manhattan.
During the past few hours, he’d been even more aware of the budding physical attraction between them, and he believed that Rissa was also conscious of it. But it would take more than chemistry for a relationship to develop between them. Recalling their discussion about Shakespeare, he was vividly aware of the great differences. Drew scoffed at himself for entertaining any romantic ideas about her. He had nothing to offer a woman and the sooner he accepted that fact, the better off he would be.
At daylight, Mick sent another patrolman to stand watch, and Drew headed home. Accepting his role of watchdog for the Blanchard family, he would need to pack a bag before he returned. He would also need to see that his parrot, Rudolph, had enough food and water to last for a couple of days.
After a shower, Drew tumbled into bed. He wasn’t thrilled about staying in the house round-the-clock. On his first meeting with Rissa, he’d decided that she was stuck-up and considered him below her touch. But the way she had run to him asking for his help as he’d entered the house…He wondered if he hadn’t misjudged her. When he had grasped her hands, he had experienced a sense of awareness of her that had nothing to do with his need to comfort her. He would see Rissa often if he stayed in the house, and he feared he might become more interested in her than he should. All of his life he’d heard that, like water and oil, rich and poor didn’t mix. He was poor. Rissa was rich. He would have to be on his guard constantly to be sure that, when he parted from the Blanchards at the end of this investigation, he didn’t leave his heart with Rissa.
Rissa heard Drew when he left the house, and while his relief guard was inside the library, she slipped upstairs. She wanted to shower and dress before the rest of the household woke.
She smelled food, which indicated that Andre was preparing breakfast as if nothing had happened in the house the night before. Surely someone had notified the chef about the murder, but during the stress of finding Trudy’s body, no one may have remembered to tell the servants. Their quarters were not close to the library, and they probably slept through the whole episode. If so, someone else would have to notify them.
By the time she had showered and dressed in a pair of black palazzo pants and a silk blouse, Rissa heard sounds of the household awakening. Overhead, Peg’s deliberate steps crisscrossed the small kitchen where she prepared breakfast for Howard.
Listening at her aunt’s door for a moment, she heard Winnie’s footsteps and she knocked. Winnie opened the door cautiously, and Rissa guessed that she was alert for more trouble.
Rissa stepped inside the room, where the bed was already made. In spite of the maid service, Winnie usually made her own bed, but perhaps, like herself, her aunt had not gone to bed at all.
“Did you get any rest?” she asked, wondering if Winnie had heard the woman’s wailing call. She wouldn’t ask, because she didn’t want her family to know about her emotional distress.
“Very little. And you?”
“I spent the night on one of the settees in the living room. Now that I’ve showered and dressed, I feel much better. I smelled food when I came upstairs. Did anyone tell the servants what happened?”
“It didn’t enter my mind, and I don’t think anyone else thought of it, either. I’ll go to the kitchen immediately. But regardless, we have to eat and carry on some semblance of order. If you’ll check on your sisters, I’ll tell the staff and meet you in the dining room at the usual time.”
Miranda was already up when Rissa knocked, but Portia was still sleeping. Rissa touched her twin on the shoulder and shook her lightly. Usually Portia was not easily wakened, but she stirred right away.
“Sorry to bother you, sis, but Aunt Winnie said to tell you that it was time for breakfast.”
“How can anyone eat?” Portia said as she sat up, yawning and swiping sleep from her eyes.
“Strange as it might seem, I do feel a little hungry. If you don’t want to come down, Aunt Winnie will understand.”
Portia threw back the covers. “No, I’ve been awake most of the night. I’ll be downstairs as soon as I can, but don’t wait for me.”
Apparently the kitchen staff had been stunned by the news of the tragedy, because Portia arrived several minutes before the maid brought in the tray of juice and fresh fruit. The girl’s hands trembled so much that Rissa jumped up and took the tray from her. Acting as if she expected a gunman to enter the room at any moment, the girl hurried out of the dining room like a scared rabbit.
“Many more episodes like we’ve had the past two nights and all of our servants will quit,” Miranda muttered, as Rissa set a glass of apple juice by each plate.
Ronald’s place at the head of the table was conspicuously empty. “Shall I leave a glass for him?” she asked Winnie, whose place as hostess was opposite her brother’s seat.
“I suppose so. It’s better to have it there if he does show up, rather than listen to him complain if he doesn’t have everything the rest of us do.”
Winnie said grace and Rissa lifted her glass and drained it. She hadn’t had anything to drink since dinner the night before and she was parched. And she was glad she was somewhat hungry, for she knew she needed strength for the ordeal ahead.
When the serving door opened between the kitchen and the dining room, Rissa was surprised to see the housekeeper, Sonya Garcia, rolling in the trolley. The short, heavyset woman was a fixture in the household, having served the Blanchard family as long as Rissa could remember, but there was
a pecking order among the servants, and Sonya seldom lowered herself to waiting on tables.
The perpetual scowl on her face seemed even more pronounced this morning and her dark brown eyes snapped in anger. She pushed the trolley to the end of the table, leaned over Winnie and whispered.
“That’s quite all right, Sonya, we can serve ourselves this morning.” When Sonya returned to the kitchen, Winnie said, “The maid is so upset by last night’s tragic event that she had to go back to bed.”
Winnie stood and set the covered plates of food onto the sideboard.
“We have a choice of boiled or scrambled eggs,” she said. She placed the tray of butter, jelly and a plate of toast in the middle of the table. “You can make up your own plates.”
“I appreciate a little informality,” Rissa said as they filled their plates. “I’m used to taking care of myself. My breakfast is usually an egg sandwich and half a grapefruit. I eat it in the living room, in my office and sometimes in the bedroom.”
Miranda sniffed. “You shouldn’t get sloppy in your personal habits.”
Rissa started to angrily snap that there was a world outside of Blanchard Manor, but remembering her sister’s agoraphobia, she held her tongue. How frustrating it must be to fear going outside the walls of your own home!
“But Rissa is living alone now,” Portia said, taking her twin’s side as she always did. “It would be silly to go through all of this fuss for one person.”
Ronald stalked into the room and sat in his accustomed place. “Excuse us for starting without you,” Winnie said before Ronald could say anything, “but we were fifteen minutes late being served, and I thought you would have been here if you intended to eat.”
Taking the plate of eggs and bacon that Winnie dished up for him, he said, “Meals are supposed to be served at the appointed time in this house, regardless of who is late. Winnie, I expect you to run this household as I run my business. Punctuality is vital.”