by Toombs, Jane
They passed through fields of flowers, gold and bronze, and then an expanse of pure scarlet that made Martha catch her breath.
“Salvia,” Jules said. “Flower growing is one of Victoria's industries. Do you know anything about Butchart Gardens?”
“It used to be a quarry,” Sarah offered. “They took all this rock out and left a big hole, and Mrs. Butchart couldn't stand seeing it so ugly and so she planted lots of trees and flowers and things to make it beautiful, and it is.”
“Couldn't have told the story better myself,” Jules said wryly. “September isn't the ideal month to see the gardens, but they are fabulous at any season.”
Hanging baskets of geraniums lined the drive in the parking lot. They left the car and wandered down paths that threaded between flowers of every color, shrubs and exotic trees.
Martha didn't recognize half of the plantings she saw, and though Jules murmured St. John's wort or Japanese hydrangea vine as they passed, she couldn't take everything in. She felt drunk with color. “How many years did this all take?” she asked.
“Well, of course the family did live here at the time this was begun. I think the Ross Fountain—he's the grandson— was put in 1964,” Jules said, “and that was the sixtieth anniversary. So they're past the diamond jubilee.”
“Black Tor's older than that,” Sarah said loyally. “Only they didn't spend so much time planting flowers.”
“There's a night tour with illumination,” Jules said. “I'd like to bring you back again sometime.”
“Oh, here's the Japanese Garden!” Sarah cried. “My very favorite of all.” She ran ahead to cross the stepping-stones over a small stream and climb onto the bridge.
“She's alone too much,” Martha said to Jules. “In the house with no other children around.”
“I suppose she is,” Jules said slowly. “But for now…”
She waited, but he didn't continue. “Isn't there a school she could attend?” she asked.
“Norman wants her at Black Tor,” he said. “My father is still head of the household. Actually, Louella is an excellent teacher. She—”
“Sarah needs companionship,” Martha said. “She doesn't even have Jimmy Smithson to play with anymore.”
“Who?”
“Bill Wong's grandson.”
“I didn't even know he had a grandson Sarah's age, much less that she knew him.”
“You don't care about Sarah, that's why,” Martha said, keeping her voice down with an effort. “No one seems to. She's well fed and clothed and even educated, but no one really cares about her.”
“You do, evidently.”
“Yes. She needs—she needs love.”
“Don't we all?” Jules said softly.
She turned her head and saw how he was looking at her, and felt the pulse in her neck throb.
“Let’s see if the kittens are in the arbor,” Sarah said, appearing beside them, and the moment was over.
They stopped at a refreshment stand because Sarah wanted a hamburger to feed the kittens. Martha and Jules had a cup of tea as they sat on a bench in an ivy-covered arbor. A gray kitten with a white vest poked his head out from the shrubbery and ventured toward the bits of meat Sarah was crumbling on the ground.
“There're always kittens around here,” Jules said.
“But none at Black Tor,” Martha reminded him. “You don't have any animals there.”
“No,” said Jules. “No pets.”
“That's a shame. Sarah would enjoy—”
“The only animals at Black Tor are stuffed,” Jules said. “And that's how it has to stay.”
Chapter Fourteen
When they returned to the house, Martha went to her room to freshen up. She found Josephine searching through her dresser drawers. “What are you looking for?” she asked, startled and annoyed.
“The coral necklace, of course,” Josephine said impatiently. “You'll have to wear it tonight. You haven't lost the coral, have you? Because then you'll be completely unprotected. I—”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Martha pulled open the drawer of her nightstand and removed the coral necklace. “I keep it here,” she said.
Josephine hurried over, snatched the coral from Martha's hands and tried to fasten it around Martha's neck. But she was unable to work the clasp, and Martha reached up to hook the necklace herself.
“There, I have it on,” she said. “Now what's this all about?”
“I didn't really forget about the cliff,” Josephine said. “Only with Diego coming back and all, I didn't pay enough attention. You couldn't have pulled the blanket over. I know. I was drugged, too, that other time, and you just collapse. If you try to move, it takes minutes to make your arm obey. You didn't drag the blanket to the edge, but there you were. So I know you're in danger now like I am. Only I'm not sure if there's one person or more, and I can't help you much because I don't know who—”
“Why would I be in danger?” Martha asked. “Because of me. If you're gone, I'll be alone. They won't get another nurse if something happens to you. Aunt Natalie didn't want another nurse after Miss Eccles fell on the stairs, but she was sick for a while and Jules hired you, anyway. They don't know about Diego, though. They don't know I can get away now.”
“Who are 'they'?”
“I told you, I don't know for sure,” Josephine said. “I'm not afraid of Uncle Matthew's Indian monsters like Sarah is sometimes, but people are evil, too.”
“Where did you learn all this about amulets and unlucky colors?”
Josephine bit her lip. “It's from the two years.”
“Did someone tell you stories like Matthew tells Sarah?”
Josephine shook her head. “I don't remember. But these aren't—superstitions. I came back to Black Tor knowing about evil and the ways to turn it aside. I learned in the—lost years. But I don't remember who taught me.”
Josephine took a deep breath and sighed. “That's all over now.” She smiled at Martha. “Diego is here. He isn't dead. And the party's tonight.” Suddenly she twirled away from Martha's side and danced about the room.
Did she really equate the party and Diego's return from the dead? Were they of equal importance to Josephine? Martha wondered. In many ways her emotional maturity seemed to be fixed at sixteen.
“Shall we rest awhile before we dress for the party?” Martha asked.
“Oh, I couldn't. But I'll try to read.”
“Sylvia Plath?”
“Oh, no, no—I'll read some more about Emily Carr. She came out on top in spite of everything. She fought. I can, too, now that I have something to fight for.”
The party began slowly, but the punch was potent, and soon everyone was talking and laughing. Bran arrived and headed for Martha, but he was quickly intercepted by Cathleen.
“She wants all the men,” Josephine said, scowling. She wore a silver pants ensemble with brilliant yellow beads and sandals to match. “I'll have to wait to meet him, I suppose Cathleen looks like she intends to keep him all night. ”
Charn came up from behind and put an arm around each of them. “The two most beautiful girls at the party,” he said. “Like day and night. Marty's the sunny morning in her yellow shirt, and Josie's the silvery twilight.”
Martha froze.
“I hate that nickname,” Josephine said. “I'm not Josie and never will be.”
Martha tried to relax. Charn means nothing, she assured herself. He doesn't know about Marty Collier.
But he might. He could have been the man in her room that night. She didn't know for sure it had been Simon.
“Ready or not!” Cathleen shouted above the hubbub. “Game time.”
There were mixed groans and cheers.
“It's my party and I make the rules,” Cathleen said. “We're going to have an old-fashioned treasure hunt. With a twist. You'll find out later what that will be. Right now Ruth is passing a tray with beribboned packets to all the men, while Francis is doing the same for the women. Match
ribbon colors for your partners. Then open your packets and follow the clues. Flashlights for all on the terrace. Good hunting!”
Martha found herself matched with Charn.
“I bribed Ruth and Francis to give us the same color,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Otherwise, when do I see you?”
“I spent a day fishing with you, as I recall.”
“You've spent as much time since with Jules and with that museum fellow, Bran Lowrey. Where did you meet him?”
“On the ferry coming over.”
Charn smiled. “Then he's not an old friend?”
“Certainly not.” Martha opened her packet and read it aloud:
“Dimple in chin Devil within.”
“I think I know...” Charn began, then opened his own and read:
“The arrow flies The orca dies.”
“Yes, I'm right,” he said. “The first clue is easy—come on, let's hurry.”
He took Martha's hand and led her around the side of the house to a small formal garden, where a fountain sprayed water from a stone statue of Eros.
“See, he's Cupid—a dimple in his chin, and the arrow is roughly pointed at the whale on top of the tower,” Charn said.
“But where's the next clue?” Martha asked.
“Somewhere close.” He played the flashlight over the pool of water and they both saw the cork floater at the same moment. A piece of paper wrapped in waterproofing was attached to it with a nylon line and lead sinker.
“A rose is a rose Right under your nose.”
Charn read the clue aloud and they stared at each other.
“The rose garden?” Martha asked.
“Too obvious.”
“I—I suppose Josephine is all right,” she said. “I didn't see who her partner was.”
“Jules saw to that,” Charn said. “He's her partner—he made Cathleen set it up that way.”
“Oh, well, then....”
“I've an idea,” Charn said, leading her to the music room, where he pointed out a painting of a plump, red-cheeked child with a basket of flowers, roses among them. The girl had the basket lifted, and her head was bent over the blossoms. Behind the frame Charn found a riddle that he was also able to decipher.
The next clue was harder, and they made two false stops before they found a paper. It read:
‘Chestnuts enfold the ruins old.’ Chestnuts, Martha thought. Since chestnuts grew on trees, that meant the woods. The evening dimness had deepened into true darkness and she didn ’ t relish being in the woods in the dark. She would have hung back, but Charn had her hand and was hurrying her along toward the grove.
“Old Cath can really think up the damnedest stunts,” he said. “I wonder what she’s got rigged. She wouldn‘t tell me anything.”
“In the woods?” Martha asked .
“There's an ancient summerhouse there. Falling apart.”
Their flashlights made round holes of light in the darkness under the trees. Martha pulled against Charn 's urging.
“What's the matter? Scared?”
“No, not really.”
“I can cure that,” he said, stopping and putting his arms around her.
His mouth came down on hers, warm; his hands pulled her body against his. She tried to push him away.
“You know I want you, Marty,” he said, his voice husky. “Why pretend? You want me, too, I know you do because I know who you are. Cath told me.”
Martha managed to free herself and ran from him, stumbling on roots and dropping her flashlight. She heard him curse and then call her name. She groped for the flashlight, but the fall had put it out and she couldn't find it. She went on more slowly, unable to see where she was going. At last she stopped and looked around at the darkness. There were other voices, faint. Something rustled nearby, and a bird screeched. She clutched at the tree trunk next to her and swallowed against rising panic.
She wasn’t lost, she told herself, over and over. But the woods felt menacing in the blackness, and she had no idea which way to go. Her hand went up to touch the coral necklace hidden under her yellow shirt. I can’t be in any danger, she thought. If I call out, they’ll find me. But who would find her? Charn, who knows I’m Marty Collier? I don‘t want him near me!
What had he said--Cathleen told him? If she knew, possibly everyone did.
Martha rested her forehead against the tree. Jules would know, too. He would probably ask her to leave.
Something scuttled under her feet, and she cried out and jumped away. Her momentary fright started her moving, but she had no direction and blundered into trees and stumbled repeatedly. Tears filled her eyes. The darkness seemed to be actively against her, and her heart beat rapidly as fear prickled along her spine.
At last there was a glow ahead, and she hurried toward the light as fast as she could, coming out finally into a small clearing. But she wasn't back at the house. Flame flickered in dozens of hurricane lamps, some strung on tree branches and some on the veranda of a small building she'd never seen before. As Martha moved closer, she heard someone laugh. Then she saw people gathered by a table on the porch. Was this the summerhouse?
“Ah, another straggler,” someone said.
A figure came toward her.
Martha shrank back but was afraid to plunge into the darkness, and there was nowhere else to go.
“Martha.”
Jules's voice. She swayed toward him, then caught herself.
“What's the matter?” Jules asked.
She put a hand up to her disheveled hair, her scratched face. “I—I got lost.”
As she spoke, Charn burst into the light, calling her. She clutched at Jules’ sleeve and he put his arm around her.
“There you are.” Charn’s tone was harsh. “That was a dumb thing to do. Scared me to death after I saw you drop the flashlight. You could have hurt yourself.”
Martha couldn’t answer. People began to gather, curious.
“Are you sure she wasn’t running away from you?” Jules asked.
Someone laughed.
“I guess she has your number, old buddy,” a man’s voice said.
Cathleen called, “If everyone is here now, it‘s time to gather round. Refreshments are available for flagging spirits. And speaking of spirits… She paused and turned toward the door leading into the unlighted interior of the summerhouse.
There was a short silence. Then the door slowly opened and a figure wearing a long dark robe emerged. A hood covered the head and the face was shadowed. Martha drew in her breath . No, this couldn’t be happening…
The robed figure drifted onto the porch and down the few steps to the ground, then moved to the far edge of the clearing where a bonfire had been lit. Blue flames flared and crackled.
In a deep voice the figure intoned, “The devil rides the blue flame and he is among us. Form the circle.”
“Around the fire everyone,” Cathleen intoned. “Quickly, form a circle around the fire! Hold hands--find your partner and hold hands--man, woman around the circle.”
Jules started toward the fire, bringing Martha with him. Horrified, she gasped, “No, I can’t.” The scene filled her with horror.
“Don’t be upset--this is just Cathleen’s fakery.”
Martha swallowed the bile in her throat. The cowled figure and the blue-flamed fire were a repetition of a scene from Johann's The Unmasking of Hell. The circle of sycophants—everything. Cathleen had planned this. For her. For Marty Collier.
Chapter Fifteen
Martha had caught a glimpse or two of Bran during the evening. Now she saw him watching her from the partially formed circle, Cathleen's hand in his. Did he know, too? Did everyone know she had been Marty Collier?
There was no place to run. Jules, holding her right hand, pulled her into the circle. Then someone else took her left hand. She glanced to the left and saw it was Charn, and her muscles tensed, but his grasp was firm. Now the circle was complete. Josephine stood to the other side o
f Jules.
The hooded figure in the center began chanting in a ghastly travesty of the warlock scene from The Unmasking of Hell:
Lord Asmodeus
Demon of dark lore,
We, your worshippers
Bring blood to your altar—
The circle moved widdershins, slowly at first, picking up speed as the chant grew faster.
Martha clenched her teeth, soon now the warlock would throw back his hood and point his finger to bring Nida forth from the others…
The cowl fell from the head of the robed figure, and she stared at the white-haired man inside the circle. It was Matthew, Natalie's husband.
Martha felt a drag on her right hand. The circle slowed. “All right, everyone—refreshments and prizes.” Jules's voice, not Cathleen's. The circle broke up. Martha pulled her hand from Charn's and went to Josephine's side. Cathleen strode past her toward Jules.
“I wasn't finished—we didn't get to the best part. You promised me—”
“I did no such thing,” Jules said. “I told you anything in good taste, and this was rapidly passing that point. I certainly hope you hadn't intended to go on with the rest of that ugly scene. And you, Matthew--”
Matthew, who had come up behind Martha, spread his hands. “Actually, the original work—the novel—was quite authentic,” he said. “Collier perverted it for the movie, to appeal to prurient tastes, but the book—”
“I found the movie offensive,” Jules said. “I've never read the book. Cathleen told me she wanted folk dancing tonight.” He raised his voice. “Back to the house!” he called to the crowd.
“Honestly, Jules, you're such a stick sometimes,” Cathleen said.
“But not a liar,” he told her.
Most of the people had drifted past them and into the woods, heading for the house. Flashlights bobbed among the trees.
“No more liar than she is—your precious nurse who calls herself Martha Jamison.'' Cathleen jerked her head at Martha. “Ask her about the movie, about Johann Collier. She ought to know—she was his wife! She's Marty Collier!”
The few remaining people looked at Martha. She saw the yellow glint of reflected fire in Jules's eyes and spoke only to him.