The Golden Unicorn

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “Yes, Stacia. I believe he does know. Perhaps it would be wiser if he would tell what he knows and be rid of the secret.”

  John moaned again, concerned only with the racking pain inside his own skull.

  “Someone ought to find Herndon,” Judith said. “He’s got to be told about this, so we can decide what to do.”

  Evan went to a phone on the hall table and dialed a number. We could hear it ring several times before the receiver was lifted.

  “Hello, Nan,” he said. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I believe you saw Herndon earlier this evening. Something’s happened up here and we can’t find him. Did he give you any hint as to where he might be going?”

  Apparently she answered negatively, and then began to ask questions, so that Evan had to explain, and we could all hear the sound of her voice raised in dismay at the other end of the line. When he hung up, Evan came back to the living-room door.

  “I’ll have to look around outside,” he said and went out to the terrace.

  Judith busied herself getting aspirin for John, finding a blanket to throw over him, sending Helen for a pillow and warm water to bathe the wound.

  Stacia remained where she was, kneeling on the floor, in the way and of no help, but clinging to John’s hand as though that were all that mattered to her at the moment. As though by clinging to him she could help his hurt, ward off his danger. He lay with his eyes closed, his face as white as the collar of his pajamas that showed above his dark red robe.

  I had dropped into a chair in a far corner of the room, where I could rest and try to ignore the pain in my arm. I felt a little sick and even more shaken than I’d been earlier. I was right about evil, after all. It was abroad in this house—not merely in the person of Stacia, but somewhere else as well. Hidden, invisible, yet always there. I didn’t belong with these people and I must get away.

  Before Evan came back from his search, Herndon walked into the room, like Evan, fully dressed, even to his usual bright vest, and Judith went to him, not quite so calm, I thought, as she pretended.

  “Herndon, we’ve needed you!” She told him what had happened and he listened gravely.

  The news seemed to strike him like a blow and he walked over to bend above his brother. I had never seen any affection displayed between the two, but now when the older brother opened his eyes, Herndon spoke to him gently.

  “You must have some notion about what happened, John,” he said. “We need to know who did this.”

  John looked up at Herndon. “If I knew, would I say?” he asked, and Herndon stepped back from the couch and returned to Judith.

  “Shall we call the police?”

  “No! Certainly not.” Judith was more positive than before. “He needs a doctor, not the police. You know what a scandal there would be if we called them in. It’s not something any of us wants.”

  No, of course they wouldn’t want it—because it was one of them behind what had happened, and old Lawrence Rhodes had trained them to close ranks and protect the family. And whoever had done this knew there would be just that sort of protection.

  Herndon bowed his head gravely at Judith’s words. “Perhaps the best thing that can happen to us now is to leave this house. Close it up and let Stacia do what she wants with it when she comes into her inheritance.”

  “Not my beautiful house!” Judith cried softly. “Never, never!”

  Evan came back from his search and saw Herndon in the room, but neither he nor the others asked where Herndon had been, or why he had gone walking outdoors at such an hour. After all, Evan had gone out too. Restless men walked abroad at night, I thought. Both were married, both had wives beneath this roof, yet they walked abroad lonely by moonlight.

  “I think you should all go to bed,” Herndon told us. “Perhaps John will be more comfortable if we leave him down here. I’ll start up the fire, and stay downstairs with him tonight. Come, Stacia, it’s time to go to bed.” His tone was kind, loving, and I knew these were the words he had spoken when she was a child. But she only looked up at him in angry rebellion—as she might also have done as a child.

  Once more John opened his eyes. “Play for me, Stacia. Not one of those stormy tunes. Something gentle. Perhaps it will help me fall asleep. There’s time enough to see a doctor tomorrow. I want to rest now.”

  Stacia jumped to her feet and for a moment I thought she was going to refuse, in no mood for gentle music. Then she walked to the piano and sat down to run her fingers over the keys in a rippling melodic sound. The last thing I wanted tonight was to hear Stacia’s playing, and I left my chair and went quickly through the door to the stairs, with no one paying any attention to my departure.

  Asher stood uncertainly in the hallway, and Helen had disappeared. On an impulse, I paused beside him.

  “When Mrs. Judith sent you to take Olive to the train, did she know I wanted to talk to her?”

  He looked clearly startled. “But it was Mr. Herndon who sent me, miss, and he didn’t want you to talk to her.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Good night, Asher.”

  It had been only a small trap, and he had walked into it innocently. I started thoughtfully up the stairs. Somehow I had not expected Herndon Rhodes to be behind what had happened. Yet I supposed that Judith could have commanded him easily.

  As I reached the landing, Evan came up behind me. “You’re the one who should be in bed, Courtney,” he told me. “I’ll see you up to your room. You’re looking rocky—and with good reason.”

  I gave up then. I stopped trying to be strong and invulnerable as he came with me up the stairs, and let myself lean on his arm.

  “I’ll have to stay another day,” I said. “I won’t be able to drive home tomorrow.”

  “I’ll drive you to New York when you want to go,” he said, “but do you have anyone to stay with you there?”

  I shook my head. “There’s no one now.” A few months ago I could have summoned Gwen and she would have come to me at once.

  “I don’t think you should be alone in an apartment trying to take care of yourself,” Evan said. “Not for a few days, at least. I know you want to get away from this house for a while—so why not come with me for a sail tomorrow?”

  “With this?” I touched my bandaged arm.

  “You won’t have to do a thing. I’ll fix a solid place for you to sit, and I know an empty beach we can sail to, where you can lie on the sand in the sun, and not be afraid. You have been afraid, haven’t you?”

  “Of course. I seem to have become a target.”

  His look hardened. “That will stop. You’re not to be left alone again. I shall tell Judith that. So will you come with me tomorrow?”

  He was once more as he’d been when we were together in his car, and when we reached my door I smiled my gratitude. A determination was growing in me. I needed to be alone with Evan and away from the house, where I could talk to him. I couldn’t manage all this alone any more. He was the one person I could trust and I was going to tell him everything.

  “There’s nothing I’d like better,” I said. “Thank you for thinking of it.”

  He put a hand gently against my cheek, cupping it for just an instant. It was the lightest of caresses—but it was a caress, and I didn’t move away. Then, as quickly, he stepped back and waited until I’d entered my room.

  “I’ll send Mrs. Asher upstairs,” he told me. “Though I think everything will be quiet for the rest of the night. You can sleep now.”

  When he’d gone, I turned out all the lamps but one, and got into bed. In what was left of the night, I wanted no more darkness. Moonlight through a window was not enough. Only after I had slipped beneath the bright quilt and found the right position to ease my arm, did I let myself relax and begin to feel, to think;

  I put my hand against the cheek Evan had touched, foolishly tender as a young girl in my remembe
ring. Would there be more tomorrow? What would happen when we were alone? What did I want to happen? What did this growing feeling I had toward Evan mean, and how far did I want it to go? Was I heading straight for a greater hurt than any I had ever known—and perhaps a greater danger? What still lay between Evan and Stacia I didn’t fully understand, but I didn’t think it was love—and I wasn’t even sure that he meant to leave her. All I knew was that this feeling toward Evan was something stronger and more serious than any I had ever known toward a man. If I was to have him, I wanted him for keeps—and he was not available.

  This was the way to stay awake for the remainder of the night, and I tried to empty my mind and forget about Evan. But into the emptiness I forced upon myself came a new thought to fill the vacuum. Only now did I remember something. Without giving it a single thought, I had gone downstairs in my robe, with the golden unicorn in plain evidence at my throat—for all of them to see.

  If anyone had noticed particularly, I couldn’t tell. Most of the focus had been upon John, not me—though the pendant had been clearly evident for anyone who chose to look. Whether it could make any difference or not now, there was no telling. Perhaps it would make a difference to Stacia, if others knew.

  From downstairs came the whisper of soft music. Nothing stormy, as John had requested, but a lullaby from a favorite opera. Hansel and Gretel, of all things. Gentle, but a little eerie, lulling lost children to false security.

  Nevertheless, the music soothed me as well, even though I knew it was Stacia playing, and I dozed off and slept into the morning.

  When I awakened, the sun was long up and the scent of frizzling bacon drifted through the house. I thought first, not of my arm and the dog’s attack, not of John lying white and still on the terrace, but of the fact that I was going sailing with Evan Faulkner this morning.

  My arm seemed to have quieted somewhat during the night, so I knew there was no infection, though it was sore, and I was able to bathe and dress without too much difficulty. The bruise on my leg was only that—a bruise, and could be ignored. I put on slacks, with a red sweater. Once more I wore my pendant hanging at the back of my neck, though I didn’t know whether this concealment came too late by now.

  What would happen when the others knew? I wondered. Would Judith welcome me as the means of stopping Stacia? Evan had said she meant to institute a search for the lost child—but perhaps that was only a bluff to stop Stacia from selling the house.

  And how would Herndon feel? I knew he loved his daughter, but he loved Judith more. Or was there much I still didn’t understand in these complex relationships?

  Helen Asher’s cot was empty when I went into the hall, and I had no idea whether or not she had spent the remainder of the night outside my door. It didn’t matter now. No one was in the dining room when I went downstairs, and the bacon scent came from the kitchen, where Asher and his wife were having breakfast. I went out to greet them and Asher rose quickly, his look guarded.

  “Do you wish to have breakfast now, Miss Marsh?”

  He looked old this morning, and there were smudges under his eyes—evidence of the night’s disturbances.

  I told him that coffee, toast, and orange juice would be fine, and asked about John.

  While assuring me that Mr. John was up and about and apparently none the worse for what had happened, his tone seemed to promise dire calamity for all.

  “Have you seen Mr. Faulkner this morning?” I asked.

  The lugubrious look deepened. “Yes, miss. He is working in the library. And he has already asked Mrs. Judith about taking out the Anabel.”

  So this was the source of his disapproval. William Asher, who had served the Rhodes for much of his life, did not like the idea of Evan taking me out for a sail. There was no way in which I could reassure him. I could hardly say to him that nothing lay ahead for Evan and me, and that I knew very well that Evan still belonged to Stacia, while I, who belonged to no one, wanted desperately to have one day out of all my life to remember. Just one enchanted day, when I could be with Evan.

  Back in the dining room, I sat alone at the table, waiting until Asher brought my breakfast. I was hungry when it came, and while I ate hot buttered toast, heaped with East Hampton’s specialty, beach plum jam, Judith came into the room and sat down at the table near me. If she had seen my golden unicorn last night, she gave no sign, but greeted me pleasantly, calmly.

  “How is your arm, Courtney? Would you like me to drive you to the doctor’s before you go sailing with Evan?”

  “It’s feeling better, thank you,” I said. “Perhaps I’ll wait and see him tomorrow when he’ll need to change the bandage.”

  She played idly with a silver salt shaker, her fingers not quite so relaxed as her bearing. “It’s a long time since I’ve been out in the Anabel,” she went on. “Old Lawrence taught me to sail, and years ago John used to take me out in her sometimes. Herndon never cared much for sailing. I suppose he’s the only Rhodes who doesn’t. But then, he was always a little jealous of John.”

  “Jealous of John?” I was surprised that she would admit to this.

  “Of John’s talent, let’s say.”

  “But Herndon has everything. He’s—”

  “Let’s not talk about the past, Courtney. Of course it’s Herndon who counts today. Not John. But John did build the Anabel. She’s a marvelous boat and I’m glad you’re going sailing in her. Though of course Stacia will be furious.”

  I didn’t want to talk about that.

  “Asher tells me John is feeling better this morning,” I said.

  “Nothing ever keeps John down. He won’t see a doctor, and he’s up and around as though nothing happened, apparently without even a headache.”

  “What does he say about what happened last night?”

  She regarded me brightly. “Perhaps we were all mistaken. I’m afraid Helen led us into jumping to a wrong conclusion. This morning John says he must have fallen and struck his head on the flagstones. He said he’d been drinking too much all evening.”

  Which meant she wasn’t going to tell me anything. The ranks were still firmly closed.

  “Do you believe that’s what happened?” I asked.

  She pushed back from the table and rose. “I suppose he must know what occurred. Helen gets hysterical at times, and she could easily have led us off down the wrong road.”

  “I expect it’s safer to believe that,” I said. “Even though he was lying face down. Just as it’s safer to believe that it was an accident when a car tried to run me down, and another accident when Tudor broke his chain.”

  She gave me her slight, lovely smile. “All accidents—of course, my dear. What else could they possibly be?”

  “It wasn’t an accident that someone took the trouble to get Olive Asher out of town just when I was going to have a talk with her.”

  “You meddle too much,” Judith said gently, and walked out of the room, leaving me to wonder whether I had been cautioned or threatened.

  It would be good to get away from this house, if only for today. And it would be wonderful to talk to someone who might help me, give me unprejudiced advice. I still meant to tell Evan all about Anabel Rhodes, who had somehow turned into Courtney Marsh and come back to East Hampton under the foolish conviction that she could be made whole by finding her family.

  But there was more than that—and I had better face it, accept it. Just the thought of being with Evan, of talking to him, made me feel hopeful that the day would turn out all right for me.

  I finished my breakfast and went to look for Evan so that I could make this beautiful day begin.

  13

  The drive across the South Fork in Evan’s car was pleasant, and when we reached Sag Harbor we parked and walked along the streets so he could show me the lovely old houses that had once been captains’ homes, and the architectural curiosity that was the Whaler
s’ Church, which had once boasted a spyglass-shaped spire—blown down in the ’38 hurricane and never replaced.

  Evan knew the history of the town, and he was anything but morose this morning, relishing the stories he had to tell. It was as though he too had been freed of the heavy haunting the house in East Hampton induced, so that we could be together with less strain than before.

  Now more than ever, I knew this was going to be a beautiful day. A hurricane might still be creeping up the coastline of the continent, but I put all dire thoughts away from me. Nothing was going to trouble me now—not while I was with Evan.

  He told me about the days when Ethan Rhodes had been a dominant figure in this town, and I was content to look and listen and even allow a sense of family to grow in me. Toward those who had lived before Lawrence Rhodes, I could feel a greater kinship. Eventually we walked down to the harbor, and Evan pointed out the sloop, Anabel, anchored out in the water.

  “She’s been well cared for,” he told me. “John has seen to that, since she’s his one perfect creation.”

  Evan helped me carefully into the Anabel’s dinghy. I was determined not to let any wince of pain from my arm show and I was beginning to feel so soothed and happy that I hardly noticed the twinges. As we approached the sloop, I could recognize the harmony of line, the grace of proportion as she rode the blue waters of the harbor, pristine in gleaming white, her single mast awaiting the sails that would give her life.

  Watching her as we approached, I felt an unexpected lump in my throat. It meant something to me that my father had been able to create beauty such as this. If only I could find the closeness to him that I had longed for before I even knew that he was alive. Perhaps that still lay ahead of me. I could believe almost anything this morning.

  When we were aboard, Evan helped me into the cockpit, where I was able to sit comfortably and rest my arm. I had tied my hair back from my face with a red scarf to match my sweater, and I felt free—ready to run with the wind like the boat itself.

  We used the engine to get out into the bay, and then Evan tied the tiller so he could set the sails. With the noisy vibrations of the motor stopped, and water slapping against the Anabel, I felt lulled and enchantingly relaxed. Evan let the sails take over, and we glided swiftly across the water, with a glorious feeling of flying. There were gentle waves, a little foam spinning back from the prow, and I watched the man who handled this lovely winged thing so skillfully. He had shed his prickliness, his suspicion of me because I was something artificial that had come out of New York, and he seemed more relaxed and natural than I had ever seen him. He too had needed this escape.