by Toombs, Jane
The thought, whatever it had been, was gone. Martha climbed into the VW. She didn't want to go back, either.
They drove through town and were approaching the turnoff to Black Tor, when suddenly Bran jammed on the brakes and they were all thrown forward as a panel truck whooshed by.
“Stupid bastard!” Bran exclaimed.
“He almost ran into us!” Sarah cried.
Martha turned to make sure Josephine was all right and her eyes met Josephine's.
“Another try,” Josephine said.
“What?” Bran had pulled the VW onto the shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“That truck tried to run you off the road, didn't he?” Josephine asked.
“He came damn close.” Bran turned in his seat. “You aren't hurt, are you?” he asked Josephine. “You or Sarah?”
“We're fine. But who was in the truck?”
“A man,” Sarah said. “I couldn't see him very well.”
“Are you all right, Martha?” Bran asked.
“Yes. Do you think the truck deliberately tried to... ?”
“Could have been deliberate.” Bran frowned. “What's going on?”
“Please just drive us home, Bran,” Josephine said. “I don't want to—to talk about it now. I want to go home.”
He started the car, and they reached Black Tor with no further incident.
After they were all out of the car, Josephine swayed against Bran. “I—feel a little faint,” she said.
“I'll carry you.” He swept her up, and Martha went ahead to open the door.
Josephine insisted that Bran put her down in the foyer, saying she was fine now and Martha could help her up to her room. She leaned on Martha's arm, and they climbed slowly up the stairs. When Josephine was on her bed, Martha checked her pulse and found it regular and strong. She pulled the coverlet over Josephine.
“I’m all right now, I really am. Let me rest until dinner.” Josephine closed her eyes.
“I'll sit in here and read,” Martha offered.
“Please don't. I feel like you're watching me. I'll call you if I want anything.”
“Well....”
“Don't hover over me!” Josephine said irritably, eyes open again. “I can't bear that. Just let me rest. Alone.”
“I'll stay in my room, then,” Martha said. “I can hear if you—”
“I know you can!” Josephine interrupted. Then she turned her head away.
After a moment Martha went out. She walked to the head of the stairs to see if Bran was still waiting to find out about Josephine, but no one was in the foyer except the killer whale with its enigmatic smile.
In her room Martha took off her shoes and lay on the bed. But she couldn't rest. The horror of the scene in the woods the night before came flooding over her. What would have happened if Jules hadn't stopped the parody? Would she, as Nida, have been dragged before the warlock? Would he have stripped her and—and....
Bile rushed into Martha's mouth and she sat up, afraid she would vomit. She went into the bathroom and washed her face with cold water.
When she went in to check on Josephine, she found her room empty. A piece of paper on the dresser caught Martha's eye. “I'm in the tower,” was written in black ink.
Josephine's favorite spot. But should she have tried to climb all those steps if she didn't feel up to par?
Martha hurried across the hall to the tower door and started up the curving staircase. “Josephine!” she called.
No one answered
She climbed one flight. Another.
“Josephine!”
Silence.
When she came out into the tower room, she found Sarah crouched on a window seat with playing cards spread out in front of her. Josephine wasn't there.
“Do you want to play crazy eights?” Sarah asked.
“Why didn't you answer when I called?” Martha demanded.
“I'm not Josephine,” Sarah said.
“You could have called down and told me she wasn't up here.”
“I didn't think about that,” Sarah said.
Martha scanned the grounds from the tower windows.
“You remember I told you about the kings and queens and jacks?” Sarah said. “Well, I've decided you're the queen of hearts because—”
Martha heard Sarah's words without comprehension. Where was Josephine? No sign of her outside. But wait—wasn't that Bran's car driving back toward the house?
Martha descended the steps as rapidly as she dared, came out into the upstairs hall and reached the top of the staircase just as Bran brought Josephine into the foyer.
Martha hurried down to them.
“You'd better see what's the matter,” Bran said. “I found her running down the driveway—saw her in my rearview mirror. She tried to talk me into taking her into Victoria.”
Chapter Seventeen
Martha looked about the foyer. Had anyone heard? There was no one in sight. She took Josephine's hand in hers, expecting resistance, argument, but Josephine hung her head and followed her docilely toward the stairs.
“Is there anything I can do?” Bran asked.
Martha looked at him over her shoulder. “No. Just-don't talk about this.”
“I won't,” he said, and with that he left.
Martha brought Josephine into her bedroom. Josephine sat on the bed, staring at the floor.
“Where were you going?” Martha asked.
“I wanted to see Diego,” Josephine said.
“You shouldn't have tried to involve Bran. I'll have to tell Jules, you know that. It'll mean more restrictions for you.”
Josephine's head came up and she fixed her eyes on Martha. “Why must you tell Jules? I didn't leave the grounds. Bran saw to that.”
“Because my job is to look after you.”
“You do look after me. Will you believe me if I tell you I won't leave the house again without telling you?” The sherry-colored eyes were wide and pleading. “Please, Martha. I can't stand it if Jules makes me see Dr. Marston right now. I don't like to talk to the doctor—he wants to hypnotize me, and I'm afraid.”
“You might remember the past under hypnosis. People have, you know.” Josephine shook her head violently. “I won't let him. Never! I have to keep what I have. You understand, don't you? I know I'm Josephine Garrard and I live at Black Tor and I'm almost twenty-three. I have to hold that knowledge. I'm afraid to have anyone tamper with my mind. What if—if I lost myself again?” She clutched at Martha's hand. “And now I've found Diego again, too. I'd lose him. I couldn't bear that.”
“Will you let me meet Diego?”
“If I say yes, will you promise not to tell Jules about today?”
After all, nothing happened, Martha argued to herself. Bran brought Josephine back quickly. I must meet Diego and find out about him—I'm the only one besides Josephine -who knows he exists.
“All right,” Martha said. “The next time you see Diego, I want to go along.”
“Don't look so worried,” Josephine said. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at Martha. “I won't run away. Not with daddy so sick. Today was—just an impulse. I'd have come back. And besides, I've promised you.”
The next day the weather changed. Martha woke to gray mist outside her window, and although it lifted as the morning passed, the overcast remained. Following lunch, Sarah trailed after Josephine and Martha, wanting them to play cards with her. Josephine fled to the tower with her books, and Sarah departed disconsolately. After a bit Martha climbed to the tower and asked Josephine if she'd like to take a walk.
Josephine eyed her over the top of the book. “Why don’t you go for a walk, Martha.” she asked. “I can feel your restlessness filling up the tower and it’s making me edgy. I’ll be right here when you come back. ” She grinned at Martha. “Take a chance and believe me.”
Martha looked at Josephine, trying to assess her. Was this the same Josephine she'd met that first day? It seemed to her there'd been a change in the short ti
me she'd known the girl. For the better? Or was the change really in herself?
Martha turned away to look out the window. Somehow she'd slipped out of the habit of thinking of Josephine as her patient. Josephine was immature and childlike in many ways, but mentally ill... ? She shook her head. Suicide attempts? Even if they had been, that didn't mean insanity. And Jules's prediction of depression following the party hadn't been fulfilled. And what if the suicide attempts had actually been murder attempts as Josephine insisted?
Martha stared out into the gray day. Who? Only Jules would benefit by Josephine’s death.
Martha turned and started for the stairs. “I think I will take a short walk,” she said. “I—I feel stifled.” Once in her room, she grabbed a jacket and went down to the main floor where Cathleen was passing through the foyer, apparently on her way to the library.
“I see you're still around,” Cathleen said, stopping. “I hope you've enough sense to know you're not wanted.”
“Jules wants a nurse here,” Martha said, keeping her voice flat.
Cathleen raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we know what he really wants.”
I won't give her the satisfaction of saying he intends to replace me, Martha thought. Let him tell her. “Excuse me, I'm going for a walk,” she said.
“Leaving the patient?”
“Josephine prefers to read.” Despite her efforts to the contrary, annoyance crept into Martha's voice. She started to walk past, but Cathleen caught her arm.
“You won't get Jules or the money,” she hissed, her face close to Martha's, her fingers digging into her arm. “I can make it so unpleasant for you you'll be sorry you ever saw Black Tor.”
A door closed softly, and they both jumped. Cathleen dropped Martha's arm and stepped back. No one appeared. So Martha walked out the front door.
The wind was chilly, and she huddled into her jacket as she rounded the house toward the rose garden. A wry smile twisted her lips as she thought of Cathleen's threat. What could the woman do that would be any worse than letting everyone know that Martha was Marty Collier?
The roses at Black Tor were fragrant, and Martha walked between the beds, marveling at the shades of color, each rose lovelier than the last.
Johann had loved roses, hothouse flowers, and had filled the rooms with vases of them, refusing to throw them out until the petals had fallen and they drooped in death. Reds had been his favorite, the deep, almost-black reds. There'd been flowers across his body when she'd found him, rose petals as red as his blood.
What will happen here when I leave? she wondered. Will Josephine be found like Johann? Will everyone say, “Poor girl, she tried to kill herself before, you know.”
Why? The money, Josephine said. Her father knew she needed protection and was afraid for her now that he neared death.
There must be someone I can talk to about this, Martha thought. Someone I can trust. But she trusted no one at Black Tor except Norman Garrard, and he was dying.
Dr. Marston? No. He himself had told her of generations of family ties with the Garrards. Anything she said to him would find its way back to Jules.
Bran? After all, it was his car that had been forced off the road. Had that been an accident? Or was it another attempt to get rid of Josephine? We all might have died, Martha thought. She shivered at the notion.
But she hesitated about Bran. I'll try to see Miss Eccles at the hospital first, she decided. Miss Eccles might know more about Josephine’s last so-called suicide attempt. Meanwhile, Martha knew she needed to be careful. Very careful.
She heard voices and looked around for the source. Two men stood several yards away by the rhododendron bushes. Gardeners? Yes, one was Bill Wong. The other man raised his arm and Martha gasped, believing he was about to strike the gardener. But he didn't, turning instead and striding toward her. Then she realized it was Matthew.
For a second he seemed taken aback, but then walked up to her. “Insolent chap,” he said, jerking his head toward the bushes where Bill now knelt in the dirt. “I've never been fond of Chinese servants.”
Martha recalled the gardener's abrupt dismissal of her the one time she'd spoken to him.
“He isn't very friendly,” she said.
“I shouldn't allow myself to get so worked up,” Matthew said. He smiled at Martha. “Where are you off to?”
“Nowhere. Just a walk.”
“May I join you?”
She smiled at him, hoping her reluctance didn't show. Her last encounter with Matthew hadn't made her like his company.
“Have you noticed the topiary work at the end of the gardens?” he asked as they moved off together.
“Topiary? You mean those bushes pruned into different shapes? I remember seeing a swan and an elephant.”
“You haven't noticed the totem?” He waved his hand toward where hedges marked the edge of the grass.
“A real totem pole?” she asked.
“No—it's actually an evergreen shrub, but very cleverly trained and pruned. Norman used to have a topiary specialist come in to do the clipping, and I believe Jules now does the same.”
As he spoke he walked toward the hedge, and Martha followed. They came to the shrubs clipped into the shapes of animals, and she saw the inevitable killer whale, as well as a leaping salmon.
“Here's the totem,” Matthew said. “Note the four animals surrounding it—bear, raven, eagle, wolf. The four Indian tribes of British Columbia. The Indians are fascinating people, and it's a shame they weren't left alone to develop without our interference. I've no doubt they would have achieved a civilization superior to ours.” Matthew's eyes glittered as he spoke—eyes as gray as the sky. “In my small way, I try to collect the evidence of the past. I keep the legends alive. Of course, with enough money I could...”
“Do you…” Martha hesitated, then began again. “Do you think it wise to tell Sarah those tales of monsters and woods demons? She's only six and doesn't understand the difference between fancy and fact. I have the feeling she believes in your Shishchuikul.”
“Do you know he doesn't exist?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, please.”
“What's your evidence for disbelief?” Matthew persisted.
“I don't think a little girl should be told those stories,” Martha went on, ignoring his question. “Not as fact. She obviously likes and trusts you, so quite naturally she believes what you say.”
“Didn't your husband believe in the existence of demons and warlocks? Didn't he believe in hell?” Matthew asked.
Martha recoiled as though he'd struck her.
Matthew smiled, his eyes metallic. “Hell exists—oh, yes, there's a hell. Don't you question my beliefs, young woman.”
She stood staring at him for another few seconds, then turned and ran back to the house. She was breathless as she came into the sitting room.
Charn stood in her path. She glared at him, unable to endure another encounter she sensed would be unpleasant. “I must see about Josephine,” she said
“Josephine will wait a few moments more,” he said. “I saw you running away from Uncle Matthew. Did he make a pass at you?”
“No,” she said coldly.
“Now I've made you angry again. We had such fun fishing that day. I thought you liked me.”
“Please, Charn, I don't have time.”
“Martha, I'm sorry. Don't keep looking at me with that cold Scot scorn. I—misjudged you. But I truly am attracted to you. Can't we be friends?” He smiled. “I'll behave. I'll be so platonic you won't believe it.”
She hesitated, anxious to get away. “I'll think about it,” she told him at last, then started around him again.
At the same time he threw out his arm to stop her, and it caught her in the side, throwing her off balance. He grabbed her, holding her steady, and she leaned against him for a second.
“I didn't hurt you, did I?” he asked. Still holding her, he peered into her face.
“I'm all right,” she assured him, trying to
pull away.
“I hope you don't think I did that on purpose,” he said, keeping his hand firmly on her shoulder.
A flicker of movement caught Martha's eyes, and she turned her head to see Jules standing in the doorway. She shrugged away Charn's hand.
“I didn't mean to interrupt,” Jules said.
“I...” Martha began, then stopped. She wouldn't explain. What was the difference? Jules thought she was a Nida, anyway. He wouldn't believe her.
Chapter Eighteen
Martha skirted both men and hurried up to the tower. Josephine still sat on the floor, her back against a window seat, reading. She put the book down when Martha appeared.
“You weren't gone long,” she said. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“I met Matthew,” Martha told her. “I hadn't realized he was such a fanatic on Indian legends. We—upset each other.”
“Oh, you can't argue with Uncle Matthew,” Josephine said. “In his own way he's a match for Natalie. He's always fussing at Jules because there isn't more money for his great Indian projects.” She stood up and stretched. “Why don't you find Sarah, and the three of us can play one of her card games? She was pouting because I wouldn't play crazy eights earlier.”
“Up here?”
“No—let's go down to my bedroom. Sarah's either in her room or Louella's, maybe. Or else the classroom. You know where that is. Louella has a bedroom in daddy's wing. The first room to your right after you pass the stuffed raven.”
Sarah wasn't in her room, although her deck of cards lay scattered on her bed. The classroom was empty.
Martha walked into the other wing and knocked on Louella's door. There was no response. After a moment she knocked again, and was about to turn away, when the door eased open and Louella peered out at her.
“Is Sarah with you?” Martha asked.
“Oh, no. No.”
“Do you know where she might be?”
“I don't.”
“Well, thank you.” Martha had begun to turn away, when Louella fastened thin fingers on her arm.
“Come in. I have something to say to you.” Louella's voice was so low that Martha had to lean close to hear her. She went into the room and Louella closed the door behind her.