Dark Garden

by Jennifer Fulton

  “I can take care of this myself.” Vienna reached for the alcohol wipes.

  “Indulge me.” Mason gently lifted her hair aside and cleaned her cheek. “I always wanted to play doctor and nurse with you.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” Vienna tried to keep her breathing even by concentrating on her surroundings. She indicated a portrait of two soldiers, almost identical in looks. Each wore the khaki uniform and overcoat of World War One doughboys. “Who are they?”

  “Harland and Hope. They were twins.” Mason applied a Band-Aid. “It’s only a minor cut, but you should put ice on your cheek for the bruising.” She pulled an icepack from her bag. “You can borrow this.”

  “Thank you.” Vienna held the compress to the side of her face, knowing she should be thankful that she could finally take her leave. But she delayed the moment. “Hope? That’s an unusual name for a guy.”

  “She passed as a man so she could go to war with Harland.”

  “Your family allowed that?” Vienna was astonished. No Blake would ever have allowed one of their offspring to be served up as cannon fodder for warmongering politicians. A couple of scions had glittering military careers, retiring as generals. The family held them up as examples of Blake patriotism if the necessity arose. And of course, there was Patience Blake’s daughter, Colette, who’d made the ultimate sacrifice. But Vienna’s father was at Harvard during Vietnam, and the family made sure that he received the necessary deferments to avoid the draft.

  “The family only found out later. As the story goes, Harland was socializing in London while Hope was at art school in Paris. When the first U.S. troops arrived to join the Allies, they enlisted.”

  The decision sounded typically Cavender, two young people throwing caution to the wind, imagining an adventure.

  “What happened to them?” Vienna asked.

  “Harland was killed in action on the Western Front. Hope was wounded at the same time. That’s when they discovered she was a woman.”

  “I don’t think she was the only one. A predecessor of mine also died in Europe during the First World War. I have some letters of hers. She was a nurse and talks about a soldier who I think was a woman. They were in love.”

  Mason discarded the wipes and wrappers and fastened her medical bag. “She was a lesbian?”

  “I’m only guessing, but yes.” Vienna allowed herself a wry smile. “Statistically, we’re probably not the only gay people on our family trees.”

  “What became of the soldier?” Mason asked.

  “I don’t know. All I have is a photograph. No name.”

  “Maybe it was Hope.”

  “That would be quite a coincidence.”

  “Maybe not. You and I aren’t the only Blakes and Cavenders who’ve been hot for each other,” Mason reminded her softly. “Fanny married Nathaniel, and your grandfather had an affair with my grandmother. I guess that love/hate thing has been going on awhile.”

  Vienna didn’t want to continue down that track. She needed more information before she could discuss Estelle and Benedict. She set the ice pack on the table and got to her feet. “You must be tired.”

  Ignoring the cue, and their temporary truce, Mason said, “You should have stayed in New York.”

  “You didn’t.” Vienna tried to sound offhand, but her voice wasn’t cooperating. The Doberman sprawled in front of the fire stared up at her with a looked of pained sympathy. “Apparently you didn’t think I was worth waiting for.”

  “And you didn’t think I was worth leaving the party for,” Mason retorted. “Are we even?”

  “So this is all about ego? Don’t tell me you rejected the offer because you have hurt feelings.”

  “I thought we weren’t having this discussion now.”

  “You started it.” Perfect. Now they were bickering like six-year-olds. Calming herself with thoughts of a bath and soft pillows, Vienna said, “I’m going home.”

  “Good idea.”

  “For the record, I came by your apartment after the party and you’d already gone.” Vienna marched toward the door.

  “Aren’t you’re forgetting something?” Mason dangled a set of car keys. She stayed where she was, leaning against the back of a chair.

  “I’ll walk,” Vienna threw at her. “I’ll send someone over for the car later.”

  Mason’s eyes glittered. “You’re not walking home by yourself.”

  “Just watch me.” Vienna slammed the door behind her as she exited the room.

  With a quick glance at Nancy’s portrait, she hurried along the gallery to the broad staircase. Below her the grand hall looked sinister, its shadows only deepened by the weak pool of light from the chandelier on the level above. Suppressing her nerves, Vienna descended. The house could be beautiful, she thought, as she clung to the banister. If she owned it, the first thing she would do was improve the lighting. Then she would bring in a demolition crew to get rid of that eyesore south wing. Who let half their home fall into ruin after a fire and not rebuild, or at least cart away the rubble?

  She turned the front door handle. The door didn’t budge. Cursing beneath her breath, she inspected various bolts and chains. No one had secured them. She dragged at the handle again.

  “It’s deadlocked,” Mason said.

  Vienna spun around. Her nemesis was standing at the bottom of the staircase, her hands loosely at her sides. There was a stillness to her, a watchful expectancy. She was imposing her will, making Vienna come to her.

  Indignantly, Vienna said, “What happened to good manners?”

  “If you insist on walking, I said I’d escort you,” Mason replied with an edge of sarcasm. “What happened to gracious consent?”

  Vienna stole a quick, frantic glance to one side. Her body twitched with the urge to make a run for it. Apparently she didn’t hide her intentions very well.

  Mason surveyed her with amusement. “There’s nowhere you can go. The house is locked up.”

  “Just open the door,” Vienna snapped.

  “Tell me something,” Mason said. “Were you planning to accept my proposal?”

  Vienna bit back the first reply that jumped to mind, and considered the question carefully. “What if I were?”

  Mason reached past her and slid a key into the lock. “Yes or no?”

  “Whatever the answer, it’s no longer relevant.”

  “You don’t know the answer,” Mason taunted softly.

  Her proximity was disabling. Fast losing ground to the weakening of her limbs and resolve, Vienna sought refuge in counterattack. “Oh, please. Like the math is that complicated. Of course I was going to say yes.”

  She paused to let her glib declaration sink in. She could tell Mason was upset. In the ghostly half-light, a tiny pulse stirred the hairline at her temple. Its throb transfixed Vienna. She pushed away a desperate yearning to stroke the translucent skin stretched over it.

  “Bullshit,” Mason said.

  “Believe what you like. It’s academic now. That ship has sailed.”

  “And yet, here you are.”

  “Not anymore.” Vienna stepped back, pointedly waiting for the door to be opened. She put her hand out for her car keys. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll tell Darryl that you’ve made your final decision and it’s time for us to walk away and give our gracious consent for you to self-destruct.” She smiled sweetly. “Good luck with the liquidation, Mason. You’ll need it.”

  She was halfway down the front steps before she heard Mason.

  “Vienna!”

  Vienna turned around and caught her breath, disconcerted by the sight of Mason, standing tall and dark just behind the pale shape of Estelle. The statue almost seemed alive in that instant and Vienna had a flash of the beautiful woman she’d dreamed about, those hypnotic blue eyes pleading with her, the outstretched hand held open. Vienna glimpsed a flash of light, then realized an upstairs window had just lit up.

  “Come back inside,” Mason asked.

  “Why, so yo
u can play with me some more?”

  “No.” Mason’s voice was a shredded undertone. “Vienna, I have to talk to you.”

  “I’m too tired for this,” Vienna said dispiritedly. “You win, okay? I’m going back to Boston tomorrow and getting on with my life.”

  “What about Le Fantôme?”

  “What about it?”

  “That’s why you’re here isn’t it?” Mason descended the steps to stand just above her. “I know you can’t find the real stone.”

  “You think that’s what dragged me out here in the middle of the night? A goddamned piece of overpriced carbon with a jinx on it? You think that matters to me?” Vienna’s eyes stung with tears. “Go fuck yourself.”

  Even as the words tumbled out she realized how little she cared about the necklace. She would have driven here whether she’d found the diamond or not, and whether Mason accepted the latest offer or threw it back at her. The knowledge filled her with misery. Mason thought she was so shallow she would trade her body for a business deal and make a crazy trip out here for the sake of an expensive rock. It didn’t matter what she said, Mason would never trust her, and Vienna only had herself to blame for that.

  “What else would I think?” Mason demanded. “You sent the police out here.”

  Vienna yelled a curse and stomped down the rest of the steps. Pausing at the bottom she turned and faced Mason angrily. “I went to the police because no one will tell me what happened that night. It’s not my fault if they noticed the case was fishy. I’m not the one who’s been covering up the truth for ten years.”

  “No, that was your parents’ idea.”

  “They were protecting me.”

  “They were protecting themselves. God forbid the Blake family name gets dragged through the mud.” Mason stopped short, her chest heaving. “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m not the enemy?”

  There was a savagery in her stare that drove Vienna back. Wrapping her arms around herself, she demanded, “What are you talking about?”

  “Ask your mother to tell you about the deal. The one your father did with mine that night.”

  “What deal?”

  Mason was silent at first, then gave an ironic laugh. “You know something funny? The first time I saw you with those people, I wanted to rescue you. I knew you didn’t belong there. You were so…perfect.” Her steady regard slid away and she seemed to retreat into her thoughts. Almost absently, she said, “I’m as guilty the rest of them. I fed you to the wolves.”

  Vienna couldn’t lower her arms. She was afraid if she did, she would humiliate herself by keeling over. “What are you talking about?”

  Mason jerked her head around as bright light spilled down the steps. A thin, straight figure stood in the doorway.

  “I heard voices,” Mrs. Danville said. Her hair was tucked inside a white scarf but for a row of small spiral curls that lay across her forehead, each flattened between two pins. “Is there a problem?”

  Vienna started to speak but Mason cut her off. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just walking Miss Blake to her car.”

  Vienna held her ground, determined not to leave without some answers. “I can find my car,” she muttered, trying to form a question for Mrs. Danville that would not sound accusatory.

  Mason touched her on the shoulder, gently warning her off. “This is between you and me.”

  Infuriated, Vienna said, “Then tell me what’s going on. Don’t you get it? This secrecy isn’t protecting me, it’s making me crazy.”

  “Go home and get some sleep.” With a polite hand gesture, Mason guided her toward the archway that led to the back of the house. “We can talk tomorrow.”

  “I’ll want the truth,” Vienna said, opening the car door.

  “So will I,” Mason replied softly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “She was here when I came down,” Mrs. Danville whispered as Mason locked the door. “I saw her.”

  “Who, the Unhappy Bride?”

  Mrs. Danville nodded. “She was standing outside your father’s study.”

  Mason glanced along the hallway. She’d never liked passing that room and Ralph always growled when they approached the study door. Over the past week Mrs. Danville claimed to have seen the resident ghost more than once, the first time she’d had such encounters. Mason wasn’t sure whether to attribute the sightings to stress or the supernatural. Mrs. Danville said the presence must be a sign.

  “Did she say anything to you?” Mason asked.

  Mrs. Danville flicked a cagey glance at her, as though suspecting she was being laughed at. “Ghosts don’t generally converse, so I’m told.”

  “What do you think she wants?”

  “She can’t rest peacefully in her grave,” Mrs. Danville said dolefully. “There can only be one reason for that. Mortal sin.”

  “Murder?”

  “Or suicide, God save her soul.”

  They stood in silence, waiting and staring. When the ghost failed to appear, Mason said, “Maybe we should try the Ouija board sometime.”

  Lynden had insisted on performing this parlor trick whenever he brought an impressionable guest to the house. Sometimes he dragged Mason in to make up numbers. The Unhappy Bride had never appeared on any of those occasions, although there were episodes with flickering lights, and predictably the name “Estelle” had been spelled out a few times.

  “Then there’s the dog,” Mrs. Danville said.

  Mason looked around automatically, wondering where Ralph had got to. She’d left the door open when she followed Vienna downstairs. Normally he came after her. She gave a low whistle and a dark head poked out from between the banisters directly above. Mason signaled for him to come down, but he whined and retreated back into the gallery.

  Mrs. Danville glanced up. “I was talking about the pale dog. You’ve seen it and so has Mr. Pettibone. It’s her dog.”

  “You think the stray Saluki is also a ghost?” Mason suppressed a grin. “The Hound of Laudes Absalom…very catchy.”

  Mrs. Danville didn’t seem to appreciate the humor. “Your mother saw the two of them, you know. She had a clairvoyant come out here once.”

  “Really?” Mason turned out the lights and started up the stairs. “To do an exorcism?”

  “I don’t think so. He was a peculiar individual. Fond of my roast goose with Armagnac. He walked around your father’s study for a while, touching things and communing with the…other side.”

  “Did he discover anything?”

  “Only the wine cellar.”

  Ralph greeted them at the landing with panting relief. Stroking him around his chin, Mason said, “I suppose we could try a psychic, since the Bride seems to be hanging around at the moment. Maybe a medium like the one on TV.”

  “She’s just an actress.” Mrs. Danville smoothed the white chiffon scarf firmly over her hair. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of finding a suitable person. I believe she’ll be here later in the morning.”

  “You have a ghost hunter coming to the house today?”

  “She won’t bother you at all. I’ll give her clear instructions.” Mrs. Danville’s tone was one of martyred distaste, as if they were discussing a cockroach exterminator she would be obliged to serve with refreshments. “She comes highly recommended.”

  Mason wondered how performance evaluation worked in the psychic business. “Where did you find her?”

  “That private investigator of yours was very helpful,” Mrs. Danville said. “When he was here going through Lynden’s papers, I asked him if he knew of anyone. He used to be a police officer in New Hampshire and he said there was a psychic who had something to do with a serial killer case.”

  “I thought the police didn’t use psychics.”

  “This one appears to be an exception. Your PI got in touch with his colleagues and I received a phone call from her on Friday. The odd thing is, she said she was expecting to hear from us.”

  Mason rolled her eyes. “I bet that’s wh
at they all say.”

  “Perhaps, but Miss Temple asked if the name Benedict meant anything to me.”

  “She probably did some homework on the Internet. There’s been a lot written about the Cavender Curse and the shooting.”

  “Perhaps,” Mrs. Danville agreed diplomatically. “Although I don’t know what would make her believe Benedict was Estelle’s father. I asked her, naturally.”

  “What?” Mason’s head felt fuzzy. “Did you say Benedict was—”

  “Yes. Estelle told her.”

  Mason felt like she had just stepped into quicksand. There had to be a logical explanation. Mrs. Danville stepped in to provide it.

  “Miss Temple sees dead people.”

  Something rattled a windowpane below them and they both stood very still, their eyes trained on the shadowed recess near Henry’s study. Beyond the tall windows, the sky was no longer black. It would be dawn soon.

  “Well, thank you for handling this.” As she moved toward the north stairs, Mason asked, “Do you think it’s possible, Mrs. Danville?”

  The housekeeper took her time answering. “My mother thought so.” She paused. “That was servants’ gossip, mind you.”

  “Which probably makes it reliable.”

  Mason didn’t ask why she’d never heard the story before. None of the staff at Laudes Absalom or Penwraithe would openly contradict the official history of the two families. They had their jobs to think about. Mason went up to her room, stripped, and fell into bed. Sleep rushed up to her almost immediately and with it the half-formed thought that the truth could solve everything, if only she and Vienna could uncover it.

  *

  Mason was aware of Vienna before she spoke. She charged the afternoon air somehow, lifting the hair on Mason’s neck and stirring the dark garden of her desires. Turning slowly, she hid the painful thrill that surged through her.

  “What can I do for you, Vienna?”

  Mason wasn’t used to hesitance in her adversary, but Vienna seemed to be fighting emotions she did not want witnessed. An uncertain smile fled her face and she stood with her hands clasped before her. A sunbeam burnished the fine, loose hairs that floated out around her head. She looked frail and easily bruised, hemmed in by the tortured trees and shrubs, their long predatory fingers plucking at her thin skirt.