Lost Island

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  I was glad that it looked different on me. I went down one step and sat beside him, my long white skirt spread across the carpeted runners. From between the balusters we could look down upon the heads of the glittering crowd below. The music had paused, and a rush of sound came up to us—the chatter of voices, the laughter of women, the more resonant tones of the men. A blending of perfumes rose on the air, and the eye was caught by the bright movement of color and rich cloth. The ball was as lavish, as splendid, as always.

  Richard tapped the book on his knees knowingly. “The real King Arthur—if there ever was a real King Arthur—lived back in 500 A.D. People wouldn’t have dressed like that then. But Mother says medieval costumes are more fun, and I guess everyone comes pretty much as he likes. Look—there’s King Arthur!”

  There was a ring of pride in his voice, and I looked beneath the banister to see Giles in the golden-brown robes of the king, with a scarlet cape about his shoulders. He wore the costume with the graceful dignity that befitted a king, and on his head was the jeweled crown of his rank. He stood out nobly in the crowd, as though royalty came naturally to him.

  “He looks like a king,” said Richard softly.

  I nodded. “He’s been practicing that role ever since we were children. He plays it well.”

  “On Hampton Island he is king,” Richard assured me, dismissing the thought that any play-acting was involved. “Just as my mother is queen. Have you seen her, Cousin Lacey? She’s the most beautiful of all of them down there. Look—do you see her coming toward us?”

  My eyes found her quickly. She wore a round-cut bodice that met the blue velvet band at the high waist, and then flowed into a parti-colored skirt. Half of her gown was azure blue, with gold fleurs-de-lis appliquéd upon it, the other half gold, with azure decorations. As Guinevere, she wore the feminine version of Arthur’s crown, and her page-boy hair had been braided into two false golden plaits that fell over her shoulders.

  She had seen us, and she was indeed coming toward us. But before she reached the foot of the stairs, Giles too looked up and saw me sitting beside his son in the upper hall. He had not noticed Elise, and he ran up the stairs ahead of her. I saw her hesitate below, her hand on the newel post.

  Giles smiled at me and there was warm admiration in his eyes. “You look like the Lily Maid tonight,” he said. “The dancing is going to start again soon. Will you give me the next dance, Elaine?”

  I shook my head at him unhappily—not because Elise stood at the foot of the stairs listening, but because I did not want to go into his arms and be aware of the eyes watching us, the whispers starting.

  “I’d rather not dance,” I said. “Please don’t ask me.”

  “If King Arthur commands you, you have to dance,” Richard said.

  “My son is right.” Giles held out his hand to me. “Come on, Lacey.”

  I looked past Giles and saw the challenge in Elise’s eyes as they met mine, saw the tightening of her hand on the banister. Suddenly my mood changed. I felt that this moment at least could be mine, and I would not let Elise stop me from dancing with Giles. Charles was right—I wanted so much, and I had so little. I gave Giles my hand and let him pull me to my feet.

  At once Elise came up the stairs. She gave us hardly a look, but bent toward Richard, her eyes dancing with a wicked light.

  “I have a secret to tell you tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow afternoon, when we are all rested up from the ball, you and I will go off together and I will tell you something that will surprise you very much.”

  Richard smiled at her lovingly. “You won’t forget? You promise?” He knew her changeability so well.

  “I promise,” Elise said, and ran past him and along the hall toward her room.

  The band had been placed at the far end of the wide downstairs hallway that opened from the front door. As it began to play the charming, sentimental tunes of two or three decades ago, brightly dressed lords and ladies, knights and maidens, separated into couples.

  Giles would have led me downstairs at once, but I hesitated beside Richard. What could I say to counteract his mother’s words? What could I do to stop them from being spoken? My defiance had died and I was truly frightened now. A dance with Giles was not worth this revengeful action on Elise’s part. Yet my hand lay in his and there was no turning back. What Elise planned could not be stopped by my not dancing. I gave Richard a wavering smile and went downstairs with his father.

  We were caught up quickly by the music, and we danced well together. Strange that we had never danced with each other before. I moved smoothly in his arms and held my head high. Around us I was aware of the looks and the smiles—ostensibly greetings to Giles, greetings to me—but with the chance of hidden meaning beneath every look, as I knew very well. I could take no pleasure in my nearness to Giles, though I was intolerably conscious of his touch, of the closeness of his body to mine.

  Before the dance was half over, I saw that Elise had come downstairs again. She moved around the outskirts of the hall, shaking her head prettily at men who asked her to dance, moving as though she looked for someone. Hadley Rikers? I wondered. Had she invited him over from Palmetto Island? It would seem likely enough.

  We were near the library door and the room looked empty. I had seen Charles earlier, moving about with Amalie on his arm, and apparently no one else had gone into the library. Giles and I were unobserved for the moment.

  “Come in here with me,” I whispered. “I must talk to you.”

  We slipped from among the dancers and stepped into the stillness of books and the quiet of inviting reading lamps. Across the room a breeze stirred the long draperies at open French doors, but we were alone in the shadowy library.

  Giles’s look was concerned. “What is it, Lacey? Something has frightened you? What has Elise done now?”

  “It’s what she means to do,” I said. “I must talk to you, Giles.”

  From beyond the door came the lilting music of an old song from a Fred Astaire picture. Dancers circled past, and once the light of a chandelier flung a long shadow into the room—the shadow of someone who had stopped for a moment to look into the library. Before I could turn, the shadow was gone, but this was no place for a talk of such gravity as I must have with Giles.

  “Not here,” I said, as he would have motioned me toward a chair. “Let’s part when we go out of this room, and meet again in an hour down on the beach. It will be empty tonight, and I can talk to you there. This can’t wait until tomorrow, Giles—it must be tonight.”

  He responded to the urgency in me. “Of course, Lacey. But don’t look so terrified, darling. Whatever it is, you can count on me.”

  Could I? I wondered. Could I, when he knew the truth?

  Outside one of the French doors there was the sound of a board creaking—the sound of a footfall, as though someone moved away. Giles heard it too. In a moment he was across the room and through the door, and I was beside him. The night was still except for the sound of music and voices drifting through open windows. Moonlight filtered through the great, raised arms of the live oaks, but no one moved beneath them. The side stretch of veranda ran toward the columns at the front of the house, empty and shadow-embossed in the moonlight. A little way along, the door of the trophy room stood open upon darkness within. If there had been anyone on the veranda, it would have been possible to step quickly through the empty room and rejoin the throng of dancers in the downstairs hall.

  “Never mind,” I said. “On the beach we can see for miles if anyone is approaching.”

  “I’ll meet you in an hour,” Giles said. He walked along the veranda toward the front of the house, and I slipped back through the library and out among the dancers.

  Now I moved like Elise around the outskirts of the hall, smiling briefly at acquaintances, not wanting to be caught by anyone and forced to speech. When I reached the nearest door to the parlor, I looked inside. Aunt Amalie and Charles were moving among those who were not dancing. Charles wore a
long, dark blue tunic, with red sleeves and red hose—the same costume he had worn to most of these Camelot balls, while Aunt Amalie was a grand lady in a flowing purple gown, with a white hennin on her head, its purple veil cascading down her back. The style became her and gave her the regal look fitting to the queen mother she was.

  She saw me in the doorway and came toward me among her guests. “You look lovely, Lacey. Why aren’t you dancing? Let me find you a partner.”

  I put my hand on her arm. “No—please. I’d rather sit on the stairs with Richard.”

  She did not argue with me. “Have you seen Elise?” There was the light of worry in her eyes.

  “A moment ago she was there among the dancers,” I said.

  Aunt Amalie bent toward me. “Hadley Rikers has come. I warned her not to invite him, but of course she has paid no attention. There’ll be talk now. More talk than ever.”

  A figure in black cape and tall conical hat appeared in the doorway beside me.

  “There’s already talk,” Floria told her mother. “Lacey, I’d expect you to have better sense than to make yourself conspicuous by dancing with Giles.”

  “I won’t again,” I promised her. “It was only part of a dance.”

  She fumbled at the beard on her chin and pulled it off crossly. “I’ve had enough of Merlin.” She took off her hat and cape and flung them down on a chair. Beneath her black costume she wore a gown of saffron yellow that flowed into a short train, and her red hair was piled high upon her head.

  “Where is Paul?” Aunt Amalie asked.

  Floria gestured and we looked out to see him among the dancers. He held Elise in his arms and his head was bent toward her as if he was engrossed in talking to her. His costume of silver and blue became him, and he looked every bit the courtier.

  “Of course he must dance with her,” Aunt Amalie said. “Just as you had to dance with Giles, Lacey. Don’t behave like a child, Floria. You’ll never hold him with jealousy.”

  “She doesn’t want him,” said Floria bitterly. “She never has. She only wants to torment me and hurt Paul. How could I dance with him in that awful beard and cape? That’s why she wants me as Merlin. But I’ve had enough of it now. I’ll be myself, and she can whistle as she pleases for Merlin.”

  Aunt Amalie went back to Charles, and Floria looked after her unhappily.

  “Now I’ve upset Mother. And she has enough to worry about. But I’m always doing the wrong thing as far as she’s concerned. You think you have all the trouble there is, Lacey. But you haven’t—not by any means. Elise is capable of tricks you’d never dream of.”

  I let that go. I knew what tricks Elise was capable of.

  “Your yellow gown becomes you,” I said. “I could never see why you wanted to play Merlin anyway.”

  “I don’t any more,” Floria admitted, and went out of the room, leaving her cape and tall hat on the chair.

  When she had gone, I made my way toward the stairs. There was so much I had to think about, so much I needed to plan. At the newel post I caught up the long draped skirt of my gown and went slowly up to where Richard still sat watching the dancers, his forehead resting against a baluster, his slightly sleepy gaze following the color and movement on the floor below. He did not look around as I came to sit beside him.

  “I danced a little while with your father,” I said.

  He nodded. “I know. I saw you. You looked nice together. You danced better than some of the people down there.”

  The music stopped and there was a rustle of movement as the dancers stepped apart. I could see Elise in her gold and azure fleurs-de-lis moving out of Paul’s arms. He led her across the room, where she stopped to speak to someone, while he vanished into the crowd. I heard the rustle of Floria’s skirts on the step behind me, saw the saffron hem of her gown as she started past me from the upper hall. Her face looked white and strained, and her eyes were fixed intently upon some spot across the room below.

  But before she could run down the stairs in search of Paul, Elise slipped from among the throng and came toward us.

  “Come down to me, Richard,” she called, paying no attention to either Floria or me.

  Richard sprang up, his sleepiness gone, and ran barefoot down the carpeted stairs.

  “Will you look for Mr. Rikers for me, darling?” she said. “Find him and tell him to meet me in the trophy room. Tell him right away, please.”

  “I’ll find him,” Richard promised, clearly delighted to be asked to go on an errand for her.

  Only then did Elise glance slyly up at her sister and me. She gave us a slightly mocking smile and turned away from the stairs.

  Floria muttered angrily under her breath. “Sending Richard on an errand like that!” Then she saw Paul across the hallway and ran down to meet him.

  I left my place at the head of the stairs and returned to my room, where I sat in a chair and leaned my head in my hands. I had less than an hour to wait before I must go out on the beach. And I was not ready. I was afraid. For all that I had known Giles most of my life, I was uncertain about him. I did not know whether he would ever forgive me for what I had done, whether he could accept this long deception and still care about me, ever trust me again. Though these things did not come first any more. What mattered was the vicious harm Elise meant to do Richard. I could see only too clearly how she would embroider her story, and how she would make Richard believe that she suffered with him. That she loved him as a true mother, just as he loved her as a son —yet they could no longer belong to each other because of what other, wicked people had done to them. Oh, she would do it well, playing upon Richard’s sensitivities, lacerating his feelings as if she wielded a surgeon’s knife. When she was through with him, he would be hers forever, and he would hate the rest of us fervently.

  What could be done to stop her? Could Giles counteract what she intended? Perhaps if he told the boy himself it would make a difference. Perhaps if he cemented the closeness of the relationship he had with his son, he could prevent the damage Elise intended to do.

  So my thoughts wove and interwove the fabric of this desperate drama. And the minutes ticked away to the accompaniment of distant music and laughter, and all the gay sounds of a ball.

  At last I felt I could wait no longer. I would go down to the beach and walk the sands alone until Giles came to meet me. It was unlikely that anyone would see us there. From the downstairs windows palm trees and shrubbery hid the beach from view. From upstairs it might be seen, but who would have time to look tonight?

  I let myself out of my room. Richard had not returned to his post on the stairs. Perhaps sleepiness had overcome him and he was in bed by this time. I looked into his room, but the bed lay empty in the moonlight and I felt an uneasiness. Where had he gone when he had finished his errand for Elise?

  Double doors across his room stood open and I went to them and stepped out upon a small balcony. At once the sense of island was upon me again. Ocean and river lay all around, holding the tiny ship of land in its liquid clasp, severing it from all else. Those who danced to the music downstairs were alien visitors who did not belong. This empty vista was truly Hampton Island, alone and aloof from all intruders. Yet tonight it did not spell safety for me. Tonight the island held in its compass not solace, but evil. The evil that grew from the mind of one woman.

  From my high balcony the entire sweep of the beach was visible. The palm trees were so placed that I could look between them and see the lighthouse tower rising tall and white into the moonlit blue of the sky. I could see the stretch of silver sand edging a dazzle where moonbeams shivered upon the water. The white froth of waves curled inward endlessly, and far down along the sands a dark figure walked with its back to the moon.

  Giles was there already. I need not wait any longer. I could go to him at once. But I stood for a moment more at the balcony rail because another movement caught my eye. Near the sea wall something stirred. Someone in a long gown, washed of color by the moon, but plainly the dress of a
woman. As I watched, she ran toward the stones where I always crossed the wall, and started over them.

  I waited to see no more. That was surely Elise! Elise hurrying to intercept my rendezvous with Giles. I must go after her. I did not know why, but something told me urgently that Giles and Elise must not be left alone there upon the sands. There was danger loose upon the night.

  I ran out of Richard’s room and fled down the stairs. No one noticed me as I let myself out the door, and I ran toward the path that led to the beach, my light slippers sliding on the sandy earth, slowing me down. Overhead the moon went under a cloud, and palmetto fronds snatched at the skirt of my long gown. The rushing sound of the surf was a roaring in my ears—a sound louder than the music that drifted after me from the house.

  I burst from the path and ran headlong toward the sea wall.

  11

  Elise was no longer in sight, and that seemed strange. On toward the lighthouse, Giles walked, his back still to the moon and the house.

  I could not cross the sand easily in my slippers, and I opened the buckled straps to kick the shoes aside, ran on in my stocking feet. The first stones of the wall were cold and rough as I stepped upon them, but I hardly felt the harshness in my urgency. I climbed swiftly among the rocks and clambered over.

  The moon came out brightly overhead and showed what lay before me. I flung out my arms to balance myself, to stop my headlong flight—because there in my path, golden braids streaming over the rocks, lay a figure in a medieval gown. Directly at my feet Elise lay face down and very still, her arms flung out as wildly as my own, as if in an effort to save herself from a terrible fall. A little way off in the sand lay the small jeweled crown she had worn as Guinevere.

  I let my arms drop to my sides and went to my knees on jagged rock. I crawled toward her and felt the movement of rock beneath my hand. One of the stepping-stones was dangerously loose—it must have thrown her when she put her weight upon it. I reached out my hand and touched the still figure before me.