Always in My Dreams

by Jo Goodman

  Skye didn't have to turn around to know who was standing in the doorway behind her. "Won't you come in, Mr. Caide?" she asked, unruffled. "I was just learning something about your morning routine."

  "So I heard," he said drily. Walker pushed away from the door jamb and entered the kitchen. He was wearing black trousers and a crisp white shirt. His vest was black with gray pinstripes, and when he pulled a chair out and straddled it the vest rose slightly, revealing red suspenders. Walker rested his forearms on the top rail of the chair and made a show of looking around the kitchen. "I came for breakfast. Mrs. Reading usually has it prepared by now."

  "Don't I just," Corina said sweetly.

  "In the future, Mr. Caide," Skye said, "breakfast will be served for the staff at six-thirty. We hope you'll join us."

  "Miss Dennehy," he said patiently, "at the risk of having you think better of me, I have to tell you that at six-thirty this morning I was already riding into Baileyboro on some business for Mr. Parnell."

  Skye dealt Daisy a stern sideways look when the young girl giggled again. "Then you probably would have appreciated something to eat before you left," she said.

  Walker's eyes darted between the cook and the new housekeeper. He held up his hands palms outward and indicated he wasn't going to step into the middle of their dispute.

  "Mrs. Reading will see to it," she said briskly. "Rose and Daisy, I want you to work with Jenny this morning in the downstairs parlor. We may as well start there. Hank, you'll help them as called upon to move furniture." Skye wore a plain white apron to cover the front of her dove-gray skirt. She reached into the large center pocket and withdrew a piece of paper folded into quarters. She handed it to Rose. "You read, don't you, Rose?" When the girl nodded, she went on. "Good. I've made a list of things to be done in that room. I'll check on you from time to time."

  Walker decided it must be true that some people were born to lead. He managed not to show his amusement as Skye turned out the troops. He noticed that even the twins were looking lively under Miss Dennehy's command. They fairly marched out of the room with Hank nipping at their heels. Jenny gathered her mending and followed at a slower but still purposeful pace.

  "Annie, you can bring Matthew here to the kitchen and we'll find something to keep him busy. He can't like being confined to his room." As Annie left the kitchen, Skye turned to Mrs. Reading. "Do you have a menu prepared for the remainder of the week?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I'd like to see it later. Perhaps you can give me information regarding your budget this afternoon. I'll want to see the condition of your larder then. I noticed yesterday that the road from town is in rather a poor state. I can imagine there are times when it's impassable. I want to be certain we've planned for that possibility." Skye looked down at Walker, effectively dismissing Mrs. Reading. "I need to tour the house, conduct an inventory, and familiarize myself with the keys and closets. I realize that accompanying me is not part of your regular duties, but I wonder—"

  Walker was already coming to his feet, his body unfolding with little effort and much grace. "Of course I'll show you around." He glanced at Mrs. Reading. The cook's jaw was rigid. "Will thirty minutes give you enough time, Corina?"

  "That will be sufficient," she said tersely. She turned, her small back as stiff as an iron rod, and went to the sink to prime the pump.

  Walker ushered Skye out of the kitchen. "We'll do what we can in thirty minutes, then finish after breakfast."

  "That's fine with me," she said. "I'm hungry as well, and Annie's little boy hasn't had anything since last night."

  Leading Skye down the hall, Walker's first stop was the dining room. He tugged on the pocket doors, which required some strength to open. At the first creak Skye began scribbling in the small leatherbound pad she carried. Walker stood in the doorway while Skye moved about the room, eyeing the condition of the room's contents as well as the room's structure and arrangement.

  "I was impressed back there," he said, crossing his arms casually in front of him while he leaned against the door.

  "Oh?" she asked, continuing to inspect the darkly stained oak sideboard. It was cracked in places where the wood had been allowed to dry. She remembered Mrs. Cavanaugh instructing the servants to fairly bathe the furniture in lemon oil. The sideboard was in need of the same attention. "I certainly didn't set out to do that."

  He grinned. "I have no doubt. Still, you gave a good account of yourself. You're in a difficult position."

  Skye shrugged to mask her surprise. She didn't expect Mr. Caide to be sensitive to anything about her predicament with the staff.

  "You seem to have an idea of what you want to accomplish here," he noted.

  "This home must have been lovely once, Mr. Caide. I think I have an appreciation for what it might be again." She closed her pad and looked up. "I'll come back to this room later. Will you show me something else now?"

  "Of course."

  The site of the Granville mansion dated back to pre-revolutionary times. Then, the house had been two rooms with a detached kitchen. Just prior to the war the structure had burned, and it had been rebuilt in the grand colonial style. By Fifth Avenue standards the original house had still been quite small, but subsequent owners, all descendants of the Granvilles until just recently, had made additions to accommodate their expanding families or their individual tastes. Skye thought the dining room, library, and parlor were all part of the oldest structure. The length of the hall joining the kitchen to the rest of the house made Skye suspect it had probably been a separate building until relatively recently. There was also no easy way to pass food from the kitchen to the dining area, a feature that surely would have existed had the rooms been joined at the outset.

  Other recent additions were the breakfast room and the second parlor. The breakfast room had bay windows which faced east and brought in the morning sun. The second parlor was a vast room that seemed to have been used for entertaining large gatherings, perhaps a reunion of Granvilles or the village itself during the Christmas season. The condition of the room, the drafts that seeped in under poorly insulated and warped window frames, the water-marked ceiling, were evidence that it hadn't been a site for entertainment in many years.

  Looking around the room, imagining what it might have been like with gaily dressed women circling the floor and hothouse flowers decorating its borders, Skye was moved to sigh a trifle wistfully.

  "It must have been something," Walker said, following her gaze.

  Skye had forgotten she wasn't alone. "Is it ever used?" she asked.

  "Not since I've been here. But I don't think Parnell used it before that."

  "Then you didn't arrive with him."

  "No, I was hired only a few months ago. He'd lived here some time before that."

  Skye wished he'd come right out and say what he did for Mr. Parnell. His exact position seemed to be cloaked in secrecy. "Mrs. Reading was with him then?"

  "That's right. The twins came after I did, but Hank and Jenny were hired not long before." He checked his pocketwatch. "And," he drawled, snapping the watch shut and replacing it, "speaking of Mrs. Reading..."

  "It's time to go back," Skye finished for him. "I could use your help after breakfast, Mr. Caide. If you would—"

  "It's no problem. Parnell's still in his workroom. I checked on him before I came to the kitchen." He paused as she brushed past him to get to the corridor. "I'd be happier about the prospect if you'd call me Walker."

  She hesitated. "I don't know if that's—"

  "And I'll call you Mary."

  Skye shook her head. "You'd better not, not if you expect me to answer. No one calls me Mary. I've always been Skye. Mary Schyler, if I'm in trouble."

  "All right... Skye."

  Throughout breakfast Skye tried to understand how she'd been maneuvered so simply. It didn't go down nearly as well as the warm biscuits and soft-boiled eggs.

  "You make the best biscuits, Corina," Walker said, splitting his second one in half.
"And brew the second-best coffee." He leaned toward where young Matt was sitting and made a show of sharing a secret. "I brew the best coffee," he whispered loudly enough for everyone at the table to hear. "Black as oil and thick as Mississippi mud."

  Matthew giggled, slapping his hands on the table in approval. He cast one of his adorable sideways glances at his mother. Annie cautioned him to be quiet with a finger to her lips.

  "He's fine," Walker said. "Don't reprove him on my account."

  "We all know you have few manners, Walker," Mrs. Reading said without humor. "But the boy's mother may want better for her son."

  "Now, Corina," he said, attempting to engage her with a devilish grin. "You're being too harsh on me, and I've just complimented your biscuits."

  In spite of that grin, Skye noticed that butter didn't melt in Corona's mouth. She was angry with Walker Caide for some reason that Skye couldn't fathom. Skye also noticed that Walker simply shrugged off her annoyance. It made her wonder what sort of relationship might exist between the two of them.

  Skye made a point of complimenting Mrs. Reading on the meal. It didn't mollify the cook in the least.

  "I'll be right back," Walker told Skye as he pushed out his chair. It scraped harshly against the floor and caused most everyone to wince. "Sorry. I need to check on Mr. Parnell again."

  Skye wondered why that was necessary and why it fell on Walker Caide to do it.

  "Don't bother," Mrs. Reading said. "I'm taking breakfast to him. He's probably asleep at his work table."

  "Thank you," he said. He looked at Skye. "Do you have to address the troops again, commander, or can they go about their work based on this morning's instructions?"

  Skye flushed, but she didn't comment. "I'm ready to see the rest of the house." She was quiet until she and Walker were mounting the main staircase to the second floor. "That was uncalled for," she said.

  "What?"

  "You know very well what. I won't have you undermining me in front of the others. I don't care if you don't make it easy for me here, but I'm damned if I'll let you get in my way."

  Walker's tawny brows kicked up. He stopped on the step below her as she continued. When she turned around she was at eye level, facing his brown and gold-flecked eyes with brilliant fire in her green ones. Walker tapped her on the tip of her nose. "You, Mary Schyler, are a regular harridan." His hand dropped away and he tripped up the steps lightly, not stopping until he reached the top. "Are you coming?" he asked.

  Skye's full mouth flattened momentarily. "I knew he was being too nice this morning," she muttered.

  "What was that?"

  She simply shook her head, not deigning to repeat herself. Besides, she had a pretty good idea that he had heard her the first time.

  The tour of the mansion's upper two floors was accomplished relatively quickly. Skye refrained from asking many questions and settled for a cursory inspection of each of the bedchamber suites, the linen cupboards, the upstairs sitting room, and the servants' quarters on the third floor where Annie and her son had been given space.

  There were two staircases giving access to the upper stories. The grand stairs at the front of the house narrowed considerably when they curved to reach the third floor. The enclosed steps at the back were narrow to begin with, as they'd been constructed primarily for servant traffic. There were things she learned about the house on her tour that she didn't share with Walker Caide; things she thought she might investigate when she had the luxury of being alone.

  Mrs. Reading had a suite of rooms in the northern wing of the house. Walker Caide occupied a single bedchamber in the same hall. Skye had not realized it last night, but she had been given rooms that adjoined her employer's. The rooms which weren't in use had been allowed to grow dusty, and in some cases mildew had rotted the rugs and draperies. The muslin sheets shrouding the furniture were of marginal value, as they had been disturbed over time and now only partially covered the dressers and wardrobes.

  The occupied rooms had fared better. Mrs. Reading's suite was well appointed and clean. Walker's was furnished spartanly by comparison, but it was neat. Walking into Jonathan Parnell's room meant stepping over discarded clothes, leftover trays of food, a puddle of water from the washbasin, and a small mound of quilts that had been kicked off the bed. Skye merely shook her head and beat a hasty retreat.

  Annie Staplehurst had made a good beginning of righting the servants' quarters. Skye was satisfied that in the end Annie and her son would be more comfortable on the third floor than on the second.

  They were passing her room on their way back downstairs when Walker said, "You know he blew his brains out in there, don't you?"

  The image was enough to make Skye's stomach roll over. Learning that it had happened in her room kept it spinning. "What are you talking about?" she asked weakly, though of course she knew—probably better than he did.

  "Hamilton Granville, the mansion's ghost. Mr. Parnell gave you his rooms."

  Skye could only stare at Walker.

  He used his forefinger to close her mouth for her. "That's better. Gaping is not particularly attractive—even for you."

  She was still too stunned to notice there was a backhanded compliment in his words. "He gave me that room intentionally?" she demanded.

  "He told me to put you nearby. I gave you that one." He jerked his thumb to the doors on the other side of the corridor. "I suppose I could have given you one of those." There was no apology offered.

  Skye managed to school her features and asked flatly, "Have I done something to give you a dislike of me, Mr. Caide?"

  He pretended to consider the question seriously, then shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind, Skye." The genial smile he had offered faded as he studied her upturned face. A stillness settled over his features. "In fact, it's quite the contrary. I have very selfish reasons for wanting you to go," he said. "This is no place for you." He held her wide eyes for a long time. His head lowered fractionally, nearing her upturned face.

  Abruptly he pulled himself back and started to go.

  It took Skye a moment to regain her voice. "Wait a minute," she called after him. Her voice sounded strained to her own ears and she was aware of her racing heart. "Where can I get keys to the closets that were locked?" she asked.

  He wasn't surprised she was ignoring his warning. "I suppose you'll have to see Mr. Parnell about the closets. I've never known anyone to go in them."

  A lock of red hair had fallen over Skye's forehead. Exasperated, she blew upward to get it out of the way. "But where can I find Mr. Parnell? You haven't shown me his workroom."

  "It's in the cellar," he said. "But you can't go in there."

  "Into the workroom or into the cellar?"

  "Either. That part of the house is off limits to everyone but Mr. Parnell, Mrs. Reading, and me. The quickest way for you to be out of here on your ear is to venture down there."

  "I'm surprised you told me, then."

  "So am I," he said softly. "So am I."

  * * *

  Skye didn't see Jonathan Parnell until dinner, when he invited her to share his table. She considered objecting, knowing it wasn't her place as his housekeeper to join him, but it seemed the Granville house operated best with a certain lack of convention.

  That afternoon Skye moved from one task to another with a sense of purpose. She was honest enough to admit to herself that her motivation had less to do with the work ahead of her than avoidance of what lay behind her. With her chore list in hand she was able to sidestep discreetly any contact with Walker Caide.

  From time to time she lent a hand in the parlor, where the work was proceeding at a slower pace than she would have liked. She did observe that no corner was left unattended. Jenny Adams and the twins were thorough, even if they weren't quick.

  After luncheon, Skye sat with Mrs. Reading and reviewed the menus. It was obvious to Skye that the cook put thought and effort into planning Mr. Parnell's dinner. The courses were varied in taste and texture and tem
perature. They were diverse in color and presentation. Skye found it interesting that Mrs. Reading attempted a formal dinner. Mr. Parnell's erratic schedule made it almost impossible for anyone to know if he would be available for the meal. It made Skye wonder for whom the dinner was really being prepared. Walker Caide did not appear to share his employer's intensity when it came to work.

  Although Skye complimented the cook's work, she saw that Mrs. Reading didn't care a whit if she approved or not—she intended to go on as she had. While Skye made several suggestions regarding the purchasing of supplies to better stock the pantry, she had no wish to argue over the execution of them. In dealing with the cook, Skye realized, she would have to choose her battles carefully. She felt certain she had given a good account of herself as someone to be reckoned with.

  After her meeting with Mrs. Reading, Skye took time to prioritize the general house tasks. She followed this by completing her inventory of the dining room and beginning another of the library.

  She was sitting at the inventor's massive mahogany desk when Jonathan Parnell himself came in to escort her to dinner. He didn't announce himself but entered the room silently, so that when Skye looked up from her work she had to wonder how long he might have been watching her. It was a little unsettling. Although he smiled in greeting, she had the oddest sensation that something had disturbed him. She had no way of knowing if she'd been the source of his agitation or what she might have done to cause it, but she had no doubt she'd glimpsed it in the dark centers of his eyes.

  The shutter came down quickly on his expression as Skye rose from her chair and made her way around the desk. "It can't really be time for dinner, can it?" she said. She was aware that her hair had loosened from its pins and that strands of it curled unflatteringly around her temples and ears. She pushed back at it impatiently, tucking what she could under the hair that was still secured. "I haven't had a moment to change. I'm not—"