Zelda led Lucy to a room in another wing of the house. She kept her arm around the shaking girl for comfort. Lucy took the room in at a glance; her mouth opened in amazement.
“My cello! My cello!” she cried as she spotted the instrument by the window recess. She almost ran to it but was halted by a soft, almost inaudible voice coming from an enormous bed.
“Not yet, child, be patient. Come here.”
Lucy had been unaware of anyone in the bed, so enthralled was she to be reunited with her cello.
“Come over here, my dear. Oh my beloved Francesca!”
“No, you’re mistaken, my name is Lucy Mears. I’m not your Francesca and I demand to go home. I don’t know you or your Francesca.”
Lucy had never seen anyone so thin, so skeletal, and so close to death. The woman in the bed appeared dwarfed by pillows and fine bedcovers, which encased her small, pathetic frame.
“I know who you are, my dear. Please excuse a confused old lady. Come, sit by my bed while I explain everything to you. I am your great-aunt. I am Anna. Your grandmother whom you never knew was my darling baby sister, my Francesca, my dear, only sister, cruelly taken from me by your hateful mother.”
“But my mother is not hateful, well, she’s—”
“Ssh, child, I’ve not much time left, humour an old lady and listen to my ramblings. I reared Francesca when our parents died together in a selfish manner; I won’t go into that, and you are too young. We were devoted to each other. She was beautiful; you are so like her, my dear, so similar you almost took my breath away when you came into the room, so like my darling Francesca.”
The old woman coughed, spluttered and gasped for breath. A nurse, whom Lucy hadn’t noticed, came across from the opposite side of the room to administer medication to her patient.
“You must rest, Anna,” implored the nurse.
“Later, Rita, later. I’ll have plenty of time to rest when I’m gone.” The withered old lady attempted a laugh.
“Yes, my dear, my Francesca was beautiful. She fell in love with your grandfather Simon. What a handsome couple they made! What fun we had planning the wedding; no expense was spared. We were wealthy, Francesca and I, your grandfather too. Only the best was good enough for their wedding; ‘the society wedding of the year,’ reported the papers.”
Rita came forward to see to her patient who halted her with a wave of her bony hand.
“My heart burst with pride to see them so happy together, so made for each other, so in love.”
She fumbled in a drawer, but too weak to open it she asked Lucy to retrieve a picture for her.
“These are your grandparents, my dear. I want you to have it.”
Lucy looked at the picture and inhaled deeply.
“That could be me!” she gasped.
“Yes, my dear, so alike, so beautiful! She was musical too, like you, she loved her piano. I keep it here with me where I can imagine her sitting playing to me.”
Lucy looked in the direction Anna pointed. There at the other end of the room was a beautiful Steinway baby grand.
“You may touch it, dear.”
Lucy looked at Zelda for confirmation. Zelda nodded, saying, “Go ahead, Lucy, play for us.”
Lucy fingered the baby grand, caressing it lovingly, opened the lid and tapped the keys.
“Perfectly tuned,” she said. “It’s a beautiful instrument. I have one at home, but this is awesome.”
“Why don’t you play for me? There’s music on the table.”
While Lucy looked through the music, Anna tried to raise herself up in bed to allow a better view. Zelda helped Nurse Rita lift the frail lady as tenderly as they could, pain etched on the patient’s face.
Lucy chose to play Music of the Night from one of her favourite modern composers.
Soon she was lost in the music, the past weeks temporarily forgotten as her nimble fingers moved skilfully and expertly over the keys. A calmness, not experienced for some time, filled the room. Her little audience was enthralled. Not a sound was heard save that of the shallow breathing of the sick lady. Zelda, never having heard Lucy play, wiped tears from her eyes as she listened to the child who had shared her life for the past months and whom she had grown fond of bring the instrument to life. Lucy came to the end of the piece, closed the lid and sat quietly for a few minutes, before turning round to her relative whose eyes were filled with tears. The child approached her aunt, took hold of her hand, looked into her sad eyes and, in spite of misgivings, bent forward and kissed her forehead. Rita gave her patient a few sips of water, dried the tears from the sunken cheeks and suggested Anna rest a while.
“I have so much more to explain to the dear child,” she said, “and so little time to do it, but I do feel tired. Lucy, my little one, go with Zelda, have dinner and a restful night. We will talk tomorrow.”
With that, the old lady nodded off.
Zelda, quiet and more composed than she had been for some time, led Lucy from the sickroom, downstairs to a comfortable dining room where they were serving an evening meal. They ate in silence.
After the meal, Lucy spoke out. “When can I call Mama?”
“As soon as your aunt gives permission. There is so much she has to tell you. You know she is dying, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen anyone so ill before, it doesn’t frighten me. Where is George? I haven’t seen him since I arrived; he can take me home. I need to talk with him.”
“He and Kristof have an errand to do for your aunt; he will return soon.”
Back in her room, Zelda assured Lucy she would sleep nearby.
“I have been instructed to lock you in, my dragi dijete; no harm will come to you.”
They could not allow Lucy freedom to roam, partly because she could find herself totally lost in the vast building, but more importantly, she could come across one of the many phones. Lucy spent a restless night, going over everything that she had learned since coming to this house and eventually fell asleep, emotionally drained. Zelda, carrying a breakfast tray, wakened her.
“It is such a pleasant day to walk in the garden. We shall take a stroll when you are ready. Wrap up well.”
Lucy marvelled at the peaceful setting of the stunning gardens, the lily pond, the summerhouse covered in snow and the spectacular views beyond.
“My aunt must be very rich, richer than my mother. I’ve only seen places like this in the movies.”
“She is extremely wealthy, but you know, dragi, money does not always bring happiness.”
Bud, the old dog, meandered after them, stopping often to sniff the air, have his ears rubbed and amble on with his companions. Zelda showed her young charge around the vast estate, until summoned indoors. Returning to the warmth of the house, Lucy was once more called to her great-aunt’s suite to learn more of the reason behind her captivity.
Chapter 34
“Good morning, Lucy. I trust you slept well.”
Lucy approached her relative, gave her a peck on the cheek and waited to hear more from the elderly lady who appeared marginally brighter than the previous evening.
“I shall continue. You deserve an explanation. After the wedding the newlyweds headed off for a tour of European cities. Francesca sent copious letters from various places she visited: Rome, London, Paris, Venice, Florence, her favourite being Paris. She adored strolling along the South Bank, cruising on the Seine; the view from the Eiffel tower amazed her. She adored everything French and vowed to return there someday. They settled down to married life. Francesca and I visited each other when we could. Such happy times! Then she announced her news. She was pregnant; such joy for them! They decorated the nursery wing, refused all idea of employing a nanny, preferring instead to take on the care of their little one themselves. What plans they had! Your grandfather began advertising for a new housekeeper. Sally, who had been with him for as long as he could remember, wished to retire to go live with her niece in Florida.”
Anna struggled for breath,
had some more medication from the attentive Rita and insisted on continuing with her story.
“I owe it to the child,” she told her nurse. “It is a fact of life, Lucy, that when one is so happy, something always comes along to destroy it.”
The old lady closed her eyes as if the memory of what she was about to say pained her.
“And so it happened. Our idyllic life was shattered when Francesca died giving birth to her longed-for baby girl. Sadness cast a deep, dark shadow over your grandfather; nothing, not even his little daughter, could lift his spirits. He struggled to cope. Sally did her best, but she was too old to care for a young baby with all the attention it needed day and night. The strain was too much for her and I was sent for. It was a hard visit, to enter the home that had once been full of laughter and carefree frivolity, to a place that no longer held any pleasure for me. I was filled with such disquiet; for me, the house had become a mausoleum. My poor, dear Francesca, how I missed her. I wandered from room to room, stopping to remember how happy she had been. I could almost hear her laughter as she attempted to learn from Sally how to cook a special meal for her adoring husband and her sweet singing as she helped with chores, making her home into a little palace. When she sat at her piano, she enthralled Simon and me with the beauty of her playing; she was totally transformed from a frivolous, love-struck young lady to a serene, talented musician.”
At that, the sick old lady convulsed in tears and Zelda removed Lucy to allow the patient some privacy.
“She will send for you later,” intimated Rita.
Lucy sat by the window of her bedroom with Bud perched on her lap. She chatted quietly to the placid dog as she waited for someone to send for her. It was several hours before a pensive and subdued Lucy was recalled.
“I stayed with your grandfather and the baby Brenda for about four months,” continued her aunt. “A strange feeling came over me, one that I cannot to this day explain.”
Struggling for breath, Anna insisted on continuing with her account.
“I looked at that tiny helpless infant and felt nothing but resentment. I stood at the foot of her crib, sobbing for my dear Francesca and spoke to the child, as if it could understand.
“‘You are only alive because my sister gave her life for you. Why didn’t the doctors save her and let you die? She could have tried later for another child.’
“I was bereft. The longer I stayed in that house the more solemn I became, to the point of hatred for the baby and determined to have justice for Francesca. I had to leave. I intimated my intentions to your grandfather and only agreed to stay until suitable help could be found to replace Sally. And so I continued for a short time to care for Brenda, not with any love, but with hatred in my heart. It was a great relief to me when your grandfather introduced his new help, an Irish-American lady, Molly, who had a young daughter of her own.”
Anna struggled to speak; Nurse Rita insisted she must rest, so yet again Lucy was escorted from the sickroom. With so much to digest, Lucy sat once more at the window seat in her room, looking out over the garden and pondering what had been revealed to her. Zelda, sensing she wanted to be alone, left her there while never straying far from her charge’s room. Old Bud wandered in, ready for a walk with his new friend.
“Ok, Bud. Let’s walk!”
Wrapped up well, the trio took a walk in the garden. Lucy spoke to Zelda.
“It is so unfair to blame my mother for Francesca’s death. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Revenge.”
“Grief takes many forms, my dear; everyone copes differently, some people accept loss better than others and move on with their lives, while others take longer. Some, like your great-aunt, cannot let go of hurt. It eats into the core of their being, distorting and projecting the blame on to someone or something else. In blaming your innocent mother, she channelled her grief into extracting revenge, as if in doing so she would be free from emotional pain. Her whole life was poisoned by hatred that she sought revenge. That was how she saw it. Such a sad way to live. I don’t expect she had one happy day throughout her life after Francesca’s death.”
“Francesca looked beautiful. To think I’ve never seen a picture of her until now. My mother has never once mentioned her to me, my own grandmother, but she’s not that kind of mother who would talk of such things. I want to leave this hateful place, Zelda! Please let me call Mama; she will send someone for me immediately. Please, call Mama.”
Zelda simply shook her head, wishing she could help the distraught child, but her hands were tied. She did not explain to Lucy why this had to be. They were summoned once more to Anna’s room.
“I don’t want to go there. I hate her and I don’t care how sick she is.”
Comforting the girl, Zelda implored her to hear her aunt out and then the ordeal would finally be over for her. Zelda knew Anna could be ruthless, even in these last days of her life. Anna, weakening by the minute, was becoming more difficult to hear and called Lucy to sit closer. Despite her apprehension, Lucy did as bidden, anxious to draw this chapter of her life to a close.
“I sense your animosity towards me, my dear child, and I do not blame you. I have unashamedly used you to make someone pay for my loss. I immersed myself in my work in antiques but never found peace. I filled this house with some exquisite pieces as if to compensate for other losses. And so, I decided I had to avenge Francesca’s death the only way I knew: by making Brenda experience loss of someone beloved to her.
“I kept track of her movements, followed her career and heard of your birth. I felt my sister’s loss even more as she was deprived of seeing her granddaughter and you, of course, from having what would have been the most wonderful grandmother to guide you in life. I followed your life too, heard of your musical talent and was determined to hear you play. When in Chicago, I heard your school orchestra was putting on a performance. I stayed on a few days more. I took my place at the back of the hall and was entranced when you stepped out to play a piece from Taube. I slipped away before the intermission, my heart beating fast as I saw the re-incarnation of my darling Francesca. I decided then to make Brenda Mears suffer a similar, albeit temporary loss of her only child.”
Lucy could no longer contain her emotions.
“How cruel! My mother did you no wrong; she was only a helpless baby and she will be ill with worry about me. You are a sad old woman. I won’t sit here any longer listening to your spiteful words.”
With that, Lucy ran from the room, wishing to put as much distance between herself and her relative. She lay on her bed sobbing until she could cry no more. Her body was racked by pain from all the emotion. She fell asleep fully clothed. Zelda found her there, covered her with a comforter and left the child to escape from her misery through sleep.
Zelda was summoned to Anna’s room. The patient was noticeably weakened by the strain of her confession and the reaction of her niece, her voice barely audible now. Zelda came close to her employer, straining to hear what she had to say.
“Zelda, give this letter to the girl. I wrote it to be left for her should I not live long enough to meet her. What I have already told her is written here, and much more. Give this to her. She need not see me again if she so wishes. I have wronged the girl. I see that now. I was too focused on her mother to truly think of what I was putting such a young child through. She must hate me.”
***
Next morning, having picked at her breakfast, Lucy’s mood had not lifted.
“Let me out of here, let me call Mama. Send for George. I want to go home right now.”
Zelda shook her head despondently, handed Lucy the buff envelope, explained what it contained and left her to read it at leisure. Bud wandered in beside her as if sensing her pain, lay at her feet and looked at her with his sad eyes pleading with his new friend to emerge from her gloom.
“I don’t want to read this, Bud. I just want to go home.”
She sat quietly, patted the dog, fed him titbits from her breakfast tray and sp
oke to him as if he were human. Lucy sat with Bud as the snow turned to relentless rain, which pounded the window like the beating of her confused mind.
“No walk today, Bud,” she said, patting the dog. “We will sit here and care for each other.”
Bud wagged his tail as if in total agreement.
Lucy fingered the large envelope, pondering what to do. Eventually she opened it and read.
“This was written by me should I be too ill to speak to you or had already gone to my maker.”
The girl skimmed over the pages she had heard her aunt speak of, reached where she had left off and began to read. Her hands trembled as she held the paper and Bud, through his doleful eyes, pleaded with her to be assured of his presence.
“After hearing you play, my determination to take you from your home became even more urgent. I had indeed been to Chicago, to see a cancer specialist. My prognosis was not good. I had an urgent plan in place to take you from that vile woman, with people ready to carry out my bidding, and so I made a call. George North was assigned to set things in motion when he knew the situation was right. He hated this assignment, but had no choice given the hold I had over him. You need not worry about that; just know that the people involved in your plight were reluctant players, all beholden to me. You were to be mildly sedated; George protested about this, to no avail.
“He was to deliver you to the care of a man called Dale Greer whose task was to escort you by bus from Halsted to Westwood and hand you over to a woman called Clara Blake in New York. After your overnight bus ride, you were to remain there with her for a few days.
“My little cabin in Montana is a special place. My dear sister and I visited each year and marvelled at the scenery. No matter how often we visited, the scenery enthralled us. We were there each May for the Bigfork Whitewater festival and gasped in awe as the competitors rode the rapids. We visited Wild Horse Island where we boated and swam. Winter, too, was a magical time there. We would sledge and ski, Francesca being the better skier by far. I so wanted you to share the scenery, the views over Flathead Lake, its magical atmosphere, so loved by your grandmother. I instructed your companions to remain there for some time, to rest up and for you to enjoy, if that was possible in your situation, the splendour of the region. By now I hoped your mother would be frantic with worry and, given her obscene wealth, expect a ransom demand. I do apologize for the long, tedious journey. My instructions were that no harm was to come to you. You were to have mild sedation so that you would relax and be unaware of the length of the journey. I would never harm you, dear granddaughter of my Francesca.
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