by Toombs, Jane
Jules had held her, kissed her. Martha's face burned at the memory. Had he made the gesture of love to bind her to him, keep her unsuspecting?
“There was talk that Jules's cousin was the father of Cynthia's baby,” Clara had said.
Charn? Why did Jules then let Charn go on staying at Black Tor? Wait. Charn described himself as an errand boy. Was this deliberate on Jules's part—a continual humiliation of his cousin by reminding him that he, Jules, controlled the money and Charn was therefore dependent on him for everything?
Josephine wasn’t seriously hurt. Was the doctor afraid of an attempt on her life while she was in the hospital?
I can trust Dr. Hansen, Martha decided. But will there be any use in telling him what Clara Eccles believes?
Martha clenched her hands in her lap. I'm afraid, she thought. Afraid Clara is right, afraid of what will happen.
“I'm going to the woods again when we get back,” Henry said suddenly. His voice startled her.
“To the woods?”
“ Maybe Sarah's hurt in there somewhere. She always did like those woods. Not afraid of anything, she isn't.”
“But the woods were searched last night and today, too, Henry,” Martha said.
“I'm going to look, anyway,” he said stubbornly. “When I called the hospital to ask about Bill Wong this morning, I wanted to know if I could see him, but they said I couldn't. He might know something.”
“I inquired about him at the hospital,” Martha said. “He's still on the critical list.”
She didn't see any way of telling Henry that the man he suspected of shooting Bill Wong and kidnapping Sarah wasn't guilty. She didn't believe that Bran Lowrey had had any part in either crime. Or in Josephine's “accidents.” Diego/Bran might at the worst be a fortune hunter. Martha wasn't sure she quite believed his story of why he'd waited so many years to find Josephine, but he certainly would want her alive and well.
He'd been outside the house the night before, though, and he claimed he'd seen someone in the tower who could have been Sarah. Why would he lie? Martha sighed and decided to believe Bran. She'd go up to the tower and see if there was any sign of the girl. The tower had been checked, but she'd look again.
Once back at the house, Martha lost no time in climbing to the tower and examining the room. She opened the window seats to check in all the storage spaces even though Cathleen had said she’d done that the previous night. There was nothing but old books inside.
Was there anything that showed Sarah had been in the tower? Josephine’s book still lay on the floor. Martha picked it up to see the title. Growing Pains by Emily Carr. She remembered how Josephine had identified with this Victorian author, who struggled for acceptance. The paintings Martha had seen by this artist had been strange, almost pagan landscapes in greens and blacks, but they’d impressed her.
Martha laid the book on a window seat and glanced around the tower room. Nothing else here except the stuffed parrot in its bamboo cage and a deck of cards, which she picked up. Josephine wouldn’t have brought the cards because they were Sarah’s. The last time Martha had seen them was in Sarah’s room. And they hadn’t been here earlier.
Sarah must have been up here when Martha and Josephine were changing for dinner. But where had she gone after that? Could she have come downstairs in time to see the whale fall on us? Would that have frightened her into running off?
Martha shook her head. Not Sarah. She’d have been scrambled down the steps to be first on the scene.
No more to be seen up here. Turning toward the stairs she held, listening. Was someone coming up? She took a step backward, holding her breath. Who?
Had someone watched her climb to the tower? Martha tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. Jules hadn’t come back to the house yet, so it couldn’t be him.
After a moment she gained enough courage to peer into the stair opening. She saw no one. She hurried down as fast as she could with her bandaged arm.
Martha locked herself in her bedroom and found that she was still clutching Sarah's deck of cards. She placed them beside her on the bed. Before he'd left that morning, Jules had said that Josephine was taken care of. What had he meant?
Josephine was certainly safe in the hospital with Dr. Hansen watching over her. Jules would be paying Mrs. Freyler because Josephine had no money yet. So Jules could get in the hospital room. Did Dr. Hansen’s order include Jules at all? Where was Jules, what was he doing?
Someone knocked on her door.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Cathleen. May I come it?”
Martha’s impulse was to say no, but she rose and opened the door.
Cathleen entered, cool and watchful, dressed in a pale blue pantsuit. Martha wondered what she wanted.
“Did you expect black?” Cathleen asked “I’m not Natalie, thank God. Norman’s dead and nothing can change that. So why should I drape myself in mourning? I’m not that much of a hypocrite . ”
Martha had not asked her to sit down, nor did she intend to. They both stood, facing each other.
“How’s Josephine?” she asked.
“ She’s doing quite well.”
“Why did Jules leave orders that we weren’t to visit her at St. Joe’s?”
“Actually, I think the order came from the doctor.”
“The hell it was. I heard Jules tell him on the phone to keep her room off limits to all visitors. How did you get to see her? ”
“I was asked to leave by her nurse,” Martha said. “But I did have a chance to see that she was all right.”
“ Do you know what's going on?” Cathleen asked.
“ I—don't understand.”
Cathleen waved an impatient hand. “The whale tipping over, Bill getting shot, Sarah gone. Why?”
“ The money,” Martha said. She didn't like Cathleen, but, oddly enough, she felt a need to talk to her. “Someone doesn't want Josephine to have the Garrard money.”
Cathleen nodded. “But why Sarah? What's the connection?”
“I wonder if she saw something she shouldn't have,” Martha said.
An emotion shone for a moment in Cathleen's eyes— fear? She turned away.
“Well—thanks,” she said, and moved toward the door.
“Wait,” Martha told her. “Where's Jules?”
“I don't know.” Cathleen's words were sharp. “He hasn't come back.”
“Jules would have the entire Garrard fortune if—if anything happened to Josephine, wouldn't he?” Martha asked.
“Yes, I think so,” Cathleen said, her voice so low that Martha scarcely heard her. Then she raised her head and surveyed Martha in her old imperious manner. “What's the matter—getting cold feet?”
Martha didn’t answer. Cathleen smiled crookedly and left the room.
Left alone, Martha became aware of a growing hunger. She'd missed lunch and hadn't thought to eat while in town. She unlocked her door and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she awkwardly fixed herself a sandwich with her one useful hand and poured herself a glass of milk. Carrying these on a small tray, she started across the foyer toward the stairs.
The foyer seemed larger than ever, empty and intimidating. All traces of the whale were gone. The house was quiet—a house of death.
The voice from behind her made Martha turn so fast she almost fell, and the milk slopped over onto the tray. Louella stood in the foyer. Martha had no idea where she'd come from.
“I—I was hungry,” Martha said. Louella paid no attention.
“Jules should not break with tradition,” Louella went on. “His father ought to be on the catafalque just there where the stairs curve. Abel lay in state there, as did Josie, Margaret and Cynthia. Norman should be there, too. I don't know what Jules is thinking, but then I never have. He was secretive even as a boy.”
Louella moved closer to Martha. “Have they found Sarah yet?” she asked.
“I don't believe so,” Martha said. “There's been no news.”
“Natalie has poor judgment,” Louella told her. “She was too severe with Josephine as a child, and now with Sarah—not enough discipline. Extremes. Always extra sensitive, she was furious because Abel left her share of the money in trust with Norman in control. But her father knew, Natalie only too well. No judgment at all. I blame her for Sarah's disappearance. Leaving the child alone at a time like that, after the shock she's suffered!”
“Natalie isn't at fault,” Martha said. “She seems to be fond of Sarah in her way.”
Louella gave an unladylike snort. “The only person Natalie has ever been fond of is herself. Of course, she's besotted over Matthew Drew—always has been since she first laid eyes on him, old as she was at the time. Anything Matthew does is wonderful.”
She smiled. “He expected more than that trust fund of hers. I’m certain he did. Still, he's stayed on with Natalie and taken care of her. But I've heard him fuss at Jules about needing more money. As if Jules could do anything with Norman holding the purse strings. The Garrards are generous only to a point. I never forget that. Look at poor Sarah.”
“What do you think happened to Sarah yesterday?” Martha asked.
“Why, she ran off in a fright and now she can't get back here. She's lost somewhere.”
“Wouldn't someone have found her by now?”
“You'd think so, unless she's been hurt and can't tell them who she is. Or like Josephine when she was younger. Maybe Sarah has amnesia.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Martha ate her sandwich in her bedroom, then lay on top of her bed, trying to rest. Images flooded her mind. Sarah's worried face peering into hers at the edge of the cliff on the day of the picnic, Bran's guileless grin as he introduced himself to her on the ferry from Seattle. Guileless! Josephine standing in this bedroom when they'd first met, Martha's coral necklace in her hand. And Jules. His face flashed before her—smiling, harsh with anger, cold, withdrawn, warm with affection—
Martha sat up. She wanted no part of any of the family. If Jules were here, she'd tell him he had no need of her services any longer, and then she'd leave. Go back to Seattle, to safety with Ginetha.
When he returned, that's just what she'd do. Josephine had her Diego now, and whatever Bran Lowrey's motives might be, he'd look after Josephine. And Sarah… Martha sighed. Her gaze shifted to the deck of cards beside her on the bed.
Someone knocked.
“Yes?” she called.
“I must speak with you immediately.” Natalie's voice.
Martha opened her door. Natalie stood on the threshold with Matthew behind her.
“Now, Natalie...” he was saying.
“I expect you to pack and be gone by tomorrow,” Natalie told her. “There's no reason for you to remain at Black Tor.”
Martha stiffened. “I'll leave when Jules returns,” she said. “He's my employer.”
Natalie's face grew mottled with rage. The resemblance to Norman was very strong. “You'll do as I say!” she exclaimed, her voice harsh.
“Now, Natalie,” Matthew repeated, “don't upset yourself. No doubt Miss Jamison has her own reasons for staying on.”
“Slut!” Natalie cried, taking a step toward Martha. “You won't snare Jules with your wiles! He wants you gone, too—he told me so! Can't you understand no one wants you here? No thanks to you that Josephine isn't dead like her father. You're a poor excuse for a nurse.” Natalie thrust her face near Martha's. “Get out!” she cried. “Get out or I'll have you put out!”
Martha fought down her anger. She looked at Matthew. “When will Jules be back?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “If you'll tell me where he went, I might have an idea when he'll return.”
“I haven't seen him since early this morning,” Martha said. “He didn't say he planned to be away overnight.”
“The funeral is scheduled for tomorrow,” Matthew said. “Certainly Jules will be here then.” He took Natalie's arm and urged her away.
“Remember—you're to be out of this house by tomorrow,” Natalie said. The color had drained from her face, and Martha realized that Natalie was really an old woman.
Martha watched Natalie carefully, alerted by the difficult rapid respirations, the slight cyanosis of the lips. Was Natalie suffering from the same illness as her brother? Matthew had said his wife had a heart condition.
“You'd better have her rest,” Martha told Matthew, her ire muted by the realization that Natalie wasn't well.
He nodded, leading Natalie along the corridor. Martha watched from her doorway. Natalie moved slowly, leaning on him for support. Did Matthew have his wife under a doctor’s care? She should be.
I’ll tell Jules, she thought, then shook her head. No. There’d be no conversations with Jules. She’d pack her bags and be ready to go as soon as he returned.
It occurred to her she needn’t remain at Black Tor waiting for Jules. No reason she couldn’t rent a room in Victoria. She glanced though the window and saw long shadows falling across the lawn and realized she had no heart for trying to find a place to stay at night. Tomorrow, then. She could pack tonight and ask Henry to drive her into town in the morning. She sighed and sat on the bed, causing Sarah’s cards to fall off and scatter on the floor. She knelt to gather them up. One was jammed into a tear on another and, as she pulled them apart a piece of one came off and fluttered against her. She picked it up and looked at the torn half of the king of diamonds. The deck seemed quite new, someone must have torn this card almost in two to have it come apart so easily.
“I pretend they’re people I know,” she remembered Sarah saying. “All the face cards, the kings and queens and jacks. Aunt Louella calls the jacks, ‘knaves’, like in ‘the knave of hearts he stole some tarts.’”
Sarah’d gone on to say, “Jo is the queen of spades because she’s so dark and pretty and sort of sad. And you can be the queen of hearts because she smiles nice, like you do.”
Who was the king of diamonds? If Sarah had torn that card, she’d done it in either fright or anger. Or perhaps accidently? There was no way to know.
Since speculation was futile, Martha gave it up. Glancing at her watch she saw it was time for dinner. Should she go? The other choice was to stay in her room with the door locked.
Everyone was seated when Martha came into the dining room. A place had been set for her and she eased into her chair without so much as glancing at Natalie. The chair at the head of the table was empty. Jules wasn’t back yet. Grilled salmon was the main course. Martha tried to enjoy the meal, despite the chilling silence at the table. Charn caught her eye once and smiled, but no one else acknowledged her.
In the silence the phone sounded with astonishing clarity. After a few moments Francis appeared. “A woman asking to speak to Miss Jamison,” he said.
Ginetha, she told herself as she followed Francis from the dining room toward the phone off the foyer.
She hadn’t written or called her friend since she’d been here.
“Are you Martha?” the voice asked. She didn’t recognize it.
“Yes, I’m Martha Jamison.”
“She asked me to call you. “I can’t keep her here. The police will come, I know they will. I heard on the TV about her being missing. You have to help.”
Martha clutched the phone with sudden hope. “Sarah?” she demanded. “Do you know where Sarah is?”
“She’s here. She came last night and Jimmy hid her in his closet. I didn’t even know she was here until this morning. I thought she had permission. But then I heard on TV. The woman paused, then added, “I don't know how she found the place, a little girl like her—she was only here the one time. She said a nice lady gave her a ride—she told the lady she lived here, can you imagine? Anyway I can't let her stay. My father's in the hospital, he might die and I just don't know what to do. Sarah said to ask for you.”
“You're Bill Wong's daughter?” Martha asked incredulously.
“Yes. And my husband isn't home and I'm so upset and�
�”
“Is Sarah there? Can I talk to her?”
“She and Jimmy are outside—something about kittens. I want you to come and get her. Jimmy's too young to—”
“Where do you live?”
“Out on West Saanich Road. Do you know the Butchart Gardens turnoff?”
“I think so—at least Henry, the chauffeur, would,” Martha said.
“Oh, no, you can't bring anyone else. Promise me.”
“But—”
“Look for the sign that says Tod Inlet and turn there. Smithson is the name on the mailbox. Please hurry. I think Sarah knows something that frightens her. But I can't keep her—what if the police find her here?”
“But I don't have a car. I need—”
“I can't talk any longer,” Mrs. Smithson said. Then the line went dead.
Martha stood for a moment undecided. Finally she went into the kitchen. Henry sat at the pine table in the center of the kitchen. Ruth had just taken up a platter of food and she stood staring at Martha. Elsa, the cook, glanced at her, then away.
Martha hurried to Henry and bent to speak close to his ear. “I have to have a car,” she said, hoping her voice didn't carry to the women. “It's about Sarah.” Henry eyed her for a moment without speaking. Then he rose and beckoned her to follow him. He led her out a back door that Martha had never used before, and as soon as it was shut behind them, he turned to her. “What's this about Sarah?” he asked.
“I need a car. The woman I talked to said I had to come alone.”
Henry tapped his finger against his chin. She could barely see him in the gathering dusk. “I don't suppose Mr. Jules would mind, seeing as how it's you,” Henry said at last. “Come along to the garage. Do you know how to drive an Austin?”
“I won't have any trouble,” Martha said. “I know stick shifting.”
“Nothing's going to be easy with one hand— ”
“I'll be fine,” Martha said, relieved that she wouldn't be responsible for a big car like the Rolls.