Dead and Breakfast

by David Crossman

  A quick, protective glance at Amber’s window made her want to scream. The girl was standing in front of the mirror with only her pajama bottoms on, languidly brushing her hair.

  The men in the shadows welcomed this bit of good fortune with lascivious groans of approval, igniting blind fury in Caitlin. Aiming her flashlight at the voices, she flicked it on. The two individuals snared in the beam looked like bugs in a birdcage. Caught completely by surprise, they started yammering – their speech so slurred by alcohol she could only make out a word or two. Perceiving that, in their surprise, she had at least a momentary advantage, she ran toward them, yelling threats and curses in fractured French, shining the light directly in their eyes.

  Like deer in the headlights, the voyeurs were too stunned to move – their inebriated eyeballs floating in their sockets, multiplying the single onrushing fury into an army of vengeful harpies. Caitlin, rending the night with expletives she’d never said aloud, ransacked her wits ends for her next course of action. The situation was laughable, almost vaudevillian, but there was no laughter in the distilled rage that seemed to possess her.

  She’d come within fifteen feet of the duo when the shorter and quicker of the two, a farm boy not much over eighteen, finally uprooted himself. He slipped once or twice in his effort to gain a foothold in the muddy earth, but managed at last to beat his way up the hill. His companion, tall, slim, slack-jawed and intellectually impotent to make sense of his predicament, seemed unable to settle on a course of action. He ran downhill in the opposite direction a few steps then, in response to his friend’s slurred entreaties from the upper darkness, reversed direction and pulled himself up the hill, much to Caitlin’s relief. For as long as she could, panting billows of steam into the night, she fixed them in the accusatory beam of her flashlight. They had begun to laugh stupidly, apparently at their inability to get out of the way of their own feet.

  “Who’s out there?”

  Amber was standing in the window, covering herself with several folds of the tall brocade curtain. Her voice was tentative, as if she was hoping no one would reply.

  “It’s me,” Caitlin said, stepping into the frame of light that Amber’s window cast on the ground, otherwise occupied by Amber’s elongated shadow.

  “Caitlin? What are you doing?”

  “I’ll be right up,” said Caitlin, not wishing to waken anyone with their conversation. “Close your drapes.”

  Amber did as she was told.

  Three minutes later, Caitlin rapped on Amber’s door.

  Amber had finished dressing and was holding the neck of her pajamas closed with a nervous hand. She admitted Caitlin warily, gesturing toward an overstuffed sofa near the fire place.

  Caitlin was still out of breath. “This is a lovely room,” she said as conversationally as possible. She suspected what Amber was thinking, ludicrous as it was, and wanted to dispel the notion without appearing defensive, or over anxious, both of which she felt.

  “What were you doing out there?” Amber asked flatly, again clutching the fabric to her throat.

  Caitlin sat down, Amber remained standing.

  “You’ve heard that last night the other girls, Heather and Delilah, got home late?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you spoken to them?”

  Was it a trick of the eye, or did Amber flush. Why? “Briefly,” she said, not attempting to mask her impatience. “What has that to do with . . . ?”

  “Did Heather mention she’d seen a light when they were coming over the hill? That she thought they were being followed?”

  “Not directly, no. But I heard someone say something to that effect.”

  “Well, I was in Mrs. Griffeth’s room a few minutes ago, and we saw a light up on the hill.” Caitlin pointed toward the window and related the rest of the story. By the time she finished, Amber was seated on the hassock, her knees drawn up under her chin and wrapped in her arms.

  “They saw me?” she said, hardly above a whisper. Caitlin thought it best to make it seem less a personal attack.

  “I’m sure they’ve seen us all the last two or three days. Just between the two of us,” she added lightly, “I don’t wear pajamas at all.”

  If Amber took comfort in the statement, it wasn’t evident. She shuddered visibly, her eyes fastened on the window.

  “The condition they’re in, I doubt either of them will remember a thing come morning,” said Caitlin. It was a stupid statement, and she knew it, but somehow couldn’t keep herself from saying it.

  “Do you think they’ll be back?” Amber whispered.

  “I’m sure not,” said Caitlin. “I don’t think they’ll soon forget the scare I gave them, no matter how drunk they are.” She kept to herself the accompanying thought – how many men from the village had availed themselves of this free peepshow over the years? Was it a general conspiracy, or a perfidious secret carefully guarded by a select few initiates?

  “Are you going to tell the others?”

  Caitlin studied the flashlight in her hands. “I don’t know. I’ll tell Jill, of course, so she can keep an eye out. Perhaps tell guests to keep their curtains drawn. Do you think they’d want to know?”

  “Who else is on this side beside mother and me?”

  “Heather and Delilah and me.”

  “Not Miss Tichyara?”

  For some reason Caitlin hadn’t even considered the blind girl. “Yes, of course. She has the room at the end of the hall.”

  Amber’s eyes, when she raised them from her knees, flashed angrily. “That’s a terrible thing to do to a blind woman.”

  Why this violation held particular horror it was impossible to discern, but Amber was right, there was something especially dehumanizing in the thought. “What about your mother?”

  Amber laughed a single, ironic laugh. “You needn’t trouble yourself on her behalf. Joanna is always cold.” Something made her shiver. “Cold as a corpse,” she added softly. “She sleeps in layers, and undresses in the dark.”

  Caitlin had tried, and failed, to strike up a conversation with Joanna Capshaw on the ride south from Paris. It seemed natural enough, given the relative propinquity of their ages. But beyond the most perfunctory replies, nothing more was forthcoming. Since then, the woman had spent most of her time in her room. If she was in danger of going mad, such self-enforced solitude could hardly be therapeutic. This reflection was interrupted by the sound of Amber softly weeping.

  “It’s all right,” Caitlin said, gently stroking Amber’s hair. “You’ll never see those men again. And, as I said, they’re too drunk to recognize you.”

  Amber wiped her eyes on her knees. “It’s not just that. It’s . . . it’s been a terrible day. Everything that dreadful Mr. Farthing said is true. Joanna was up first thing this morning, and she swore she saw my sister . . . or me . . . floating in the moat. I expect you heard the scream. I expect everyone did.” She paused thoughtfully. “She’s . . . she’s not doing well at all. I’d hoped this trip – so far from everything – would help bring her to her senses. But she’s getting worse.

  “Then . . . ” she hesitated.

  “Something else?” Caitlin prompted after a brief, tense interval.

  “I can’t believe Jill told Farthing everything I told her.”

  “She didn’t,” Caitlin said immediately. “She would never have done such a thing. Believe me. I have complete confidence in her.”

  Amber raised questioning eyes. “Then how did he know?” To save one confidence, Caitlin would have to betray another, but there was no way out. “She told me . . . ”

  “See!” Amber cried, springing to her feet. “If she told you, she might have told anybody.”

  Caitlin seized Amber’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly, but it was snatched away. “She told me because your mother is part of my group. My responsibility. She thought I should know, and hoped it might help. I think she was right to do so. My guess . . . ” she continued, seeing the girl was somewhat mollified, “
I think Mr. Farthing was probably hiding behind the curtains – or wherever it is people like him hide – and overheard, either you telling Jill, or Jill telling me.”

  Given even her brief acquaintance with Farthing, Amber was forced to concede the likelihood of such behavior. “That’s despicable,” she said, subsiding once more on the hassock.

  “Do you think your mother is . . . do you think it’s okay for her to be left alone, in her state of mind?” The question had been weighing on Caitlin all day.

  Amber considered a long time. “I don’t think she’ll harm herself, if that’s what you mean. As to anything else, I can hear if she calls. She knows that’s all she has to do.” Her voice trailed off, and the sounds of the night flowed in to fill the void.

  “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough day,” Caitlin said at last. She slipped the flashlight into the pocket of her raincoat as she stood up. “Will you be able to sleep? Would you like me to have Jill send up some warm milk and brandy?”

  Amber stood as well, her long, delicate fingers troubling one another. “No. Thank you. It’s best I stay alert in case . . . ”

  That explained the blue circles around Amber’s eyes, the lethargy. She stayed awake all hours, in case her mother called. That kind of devotion, Caitlin thought, was commendable. But perhaps not wise.

  “Everyone needs their sleep,” Caitlin said at the door. “Don’t be the exception that proves the rule.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Amber replied guilelessly.

  “It means you can’t be somebody else’s support system unless you’re strong enough to hold them up. That means getting plenty of rest yourself. Plenty to eat, too. And,” she added as an afterthought, “a life of your own.”

  “I’ve been out all day the last two days!” Amber protested feebly.

  “And she’s been with you the entire time,” said Caitlin, with a gesture at the door to the adjoining room, “in one way or the other.”

  Amber lowered her head.

  “You can’t take her problems on yourself,” Caitlin cautioned. “You need room to grieve, too. Help her out, by all means. But within reason. When she needs you, be there. But don’t spend all the rest of the time standing at attention. You’ll be no good to anyone.” She bent her head to catch Amber’s eyes. “Make sense?”

  Amber nodded.

  Caitlin opened the door and had just stepped into the hall when she felt Amber’s hand on her forearm. “Caitlin?” her fingers were curiously cold. Caitlin turned.

  The look in Amber’s eyes, which Caitlin imagined to be that of someone torn in conflicting directions by private demons, was alarming. She waited.

  A door down the hall opened suddenly, and Ella Tichyara emerged from her room. “Hello?” she said, her raspy voice made even huskier by sleep.

  Amber, flushed with emotion, withdrew to her room and shut the door.

  Chapter Eight–Walls of Glass

  “Hello,” Ella repeated, feeling her way along the wall.

  “It’s just me, Caitlin. Is there something I can do for you, Miss Tichyara?”

  “Call me Ella, please. I thought I heard voices.” Miss Tichyara was apparently ready for bed; a quilted, cream-colored robe, trimmed with lace but not enough to make the garment either delicate or feminine, effectively concealed her figure. Her voluminous black hair was meticulously brushed, and the ever-present John Lennon sunglasses hid her eyes. “It was Amber, wasn’t it?”

  Caitlin had heard that those deficient in one of the senses developed others to compensate, but Ella Tichyara’s hearing must be acute indeed to have identified the soft-spoken Amber, whom Caitlin often found herself straining to hear when they were standing face to face.

  “Just helping her with her curtains,” Caitlin replied brightly. The door behind Ella was open and, as she approached, Caitlin realized it was dark in her room. Of course, it would be. Miss Tichyara had nothing to fear from the Peeping Toms, because she didn’t use lights. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Ella rubbed her hand along the wainscoting. “No, thank you. I’m just a little restless tonight, I guess.”

  It struck Caitlin, once again, how oddly baritone and breathy the girl’s voice was. Very out of keeping with the delicacy of her features. Her accent was almost exotic, and Caitlin found herself straining to understand her words.

  “I heard voices outside my window,” said Ella, tilting her head enquiringly, like some breed of elegant canine. “And someone yelling. It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Caitlin thought it best to adopt at least some of the truth. “Yes. Some local party-goers seem to have misplaced themselves. I shooed them off. Not to worry. Seems a restless night all ‘round. Well, if there’s nothing you need . . . I’m going down for a nightcap. Sleep well.”

  Whenever possible, Jill liked to clear the dining room by 10:30, a feat that was only attainable on rainy nights when people weren’t dragging themselves in at all hours and seemed disposed to retire early. Caitlin encountered the exodus on her way down the stairs, Piper at its head.

  “Ah! There you are! We were wondering where you got to. Jill’s closed up shop, so if you’re looking for a midnight snack, you’re out of luck, I’m afraid.”

  Caitlin knew she would find Jill in the kitchen, making ready for breakfast, and that she would be welcome. “Well, everyone’s pooping the party then?”

  “Everyone except Farthing,” said Mr. Wagner.

  “He went to bed earlier, I think,” said Caitlin. “Good-evening, girls.” She nodded to Heather and Delilah as they passed. “All set to rest up for another day’s adventure?”

  “All set, thanks,” said Delilah. Heather said something too, but they were out of the tower by that time and her words were lost in the echoes of their own giggles.

  “He went out,” said Mrs. Wagner.

  “Who?” said Caitlin. Then, taking time to think, added, “Oh. Farthing? I guess I’d just assumed he’d gone to his room. Where did he go?”

  “I haven’t a clue. No place to go out here, is there, unless you’re a vampire. I just know I saw him slip outside just minutes before you did.” Mrs. Wagner cocked a speculative eyebrow.

  “If you’re think I met Farthing for an after dinner tryst by the millpond, banish the thought,” said Caitlin good-naturedly. “I’d sooner be roasted on a spit.”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Wagner, not too sheepishly, “I’m not going to say the thought didn’t cross my mind. You must admit, it looked . . . ”

  “She doesn’t have to admit anything to you, or anyone else, Evelyn,” Mr. Wagner scolded lightly. “He went out. She went out. She came back in and . . . Farthing’s still up the hill fetching water as far as we’re concerned. Let’s go to bed. Goodnight, Caitlin.”

  “Good night, Mr. Wagner.”

  “Goodnight,” Mrs. Wagner echoed. “I hope this rain lets up for the trip to the chateau tomorrow.” Without waiting for a reply, the couple disappeared up the spiral stairs and, in seconds, were a memory.

  “What about all those caves we read about in that brochure, you think there’s any chance he’s fallen down one of those?” Piper speculated without any indication that the notion held much remorse.

  Somehow Caitlin managed to keep her first thought, ‘no such luck’, to herself. “I’m sure not. Did he have a flashlight?”

  “Damned if I know,” Piper replied loudly. “You’ll have to ask Evelyn. I didn’t see him leave. I was too busy losing at cribbage to notice. Well, I pity the boar that gets Farthing by the leg. I doubt there’s an antivenon. Goodnight, Cait.” He gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Piper. Sleep well.” Piper followed the others up stairs.

  For a moment, Caitlin stood indecisively. Should she go and warn Heather and Delilah about the Peeping Toms? After a brief deliberation, during which she convinced herself the miscreants wouldn’t return that evening, she decided not to worry them.

  “I simply can’t believe that�
�s been going on, and I hadn’t a clue!” said Jill, bringing her tea mug down on the table with a thud. “Not a clue!” She laughed unexpectedly. “Frankly, I can’t imagine most of my clientele warrant a trek over risky terrain for a peek at, but . . . ”

  “Anyone who took the trouble now would hit the jackpot.”

  “And then some,” Jill concurred. “I’ve certainly never had so many beautiful women under this roof at one time. Yourself included.”

  “I blush,” said Caitlin, twisting her index finger into her dimple.

  “And Mrs. Capshaw. She’s quite stunning.”

  “Well, I’m sure it’s nice to know you think we’re worth a trip up the mountain,” said Caitlin. “Still . . . ”

  “Of course,” Jill interjected quickly. “I don’t mean to make light of the situation. It’s inexcusable, and it’s my fault.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” said Caitlin sharply. “How were you to know?”

  “Easy to say,” Jill replied. “But privacy is sacrosanct to me. I’ve always felt our guests could count on it – especially out here in the middle of nowhere. We even mention privacy in the literature – and on the website. I’ve just never thought of it as something we had to enforce. And to think it could have been going on for ages.

  “Of course I’ll have to tell the guests. The women, at least. Perhaps I can have some kind of alarm installed.”

  “Wonderful. Sirens wailing and lights flashing at every passing quadruped. I doubt your guests would find that very conducive to rest and relaxation.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Jill ran her finger around the edge of her tea cup. “There must be something I can do to keep strangers from prowling the grounds after dark.”

  “Speaking of prowling strangers, have you seen anything of Farthing?”

  “No. Haven’t you noticed how pleasant an evening we’ve had? I’d assumed he’d crawled back into his coffin, just after supper.”