“Tell me what you mean.”
“Never mind,” Daphne turned from the window. “The less you know, the better. I need to find Garrett and tell him about Honoria’s plans.”
“He already knows.”
“Not all of it—he doesn’t.”
“What more is there?”
She regarded me in sober speculation. “I can’t talk about this yet. Maybe I’ll never be ready to. There are too many lives that could be affected. Sometimes I think it’s better to let everything alone.”
“So that a murderer will never be exposed? Isn’t that what Honoria is after?”
Daphne looked genuinely surprised. “I wasn’t thinking about murder. I’m thinking about whatever it was that Nathanial Amory discovered before his death. Molly, you know who Garrett is, don’t you?”
“Yes. He told me a little while ago. But if Honoria manages to evoke Nathanial’s spirit, as she thinks she can, he will only tell us the truth. So what are you afraid of?”
“Don’t be too sure about second-guessing a source we can’t possibly understand. I expect spirits have their own agendas—just like human beings. Honoria is meddling and maybe she’ll let the genie out of the bottle. I don’t know what I think about all that. What really scares me are the lives that could be carelessly ruined.”
“I don’t think Honoria can be stopped at this point.”
“Dad can stop her. If he chooses to. I’m going to look for Garrett now. So why not go over to Evaline’s cottage and make your peace with your mother? There’s a tour coming through here in a little while, so we might as well find someplace else to be. I’ll see you later.”
She hurried away down the long room and disappeared around a corner.
I decided that I might as well do what she’d suggested, and I turned off the fan and went outside.
Visitors were already coming from the parking area across the grounds, and scattering in different directions. One group wandered toward a little gift shop across wide lawns where sheep grazed. Others separated to visit the long low building where indigo dye was being prepared in the old way, and weavers worked at their looms. Charles had pointed out these places to me, and I had been fascinated. As I went past, I looked through a window to see a young potter at his wheel. The voice of a guide drifted out to me. At another time I would stay and listen, but Daphne’s fears were contagious and I wanted to find my sister. Perhaps Amelia was my anchor to reality. Her happiness mattered to me, and when I thought about my twin, I could even dredge up the courage to face Valerie Mountfort.
14
The Landry cottage—once a slave cabin—carried few reminders of its past. Its bricks had faded to a softly focused pink, and rosebushes grew beneath the front windows. Shallow steps led to a narrow door, left over from the original cabin.
When I knocked, voices inside hushed, and Evaline Landry came to greet me.
“Good afternoon, Miss Hunt.” She opened the screen to invite me in, and though her greeting was formal, she didn’t seem unwelcoming. I stepped into what had once been the single main room. Charles’s father had expanded it by building several rooms at the back.
Rustic furnishings made it quietly inviting. Mountfort Hall’s elegance would be out of place here. Plaid chair cushions were secured with perky ties, and most of the furniture had been handcrafted of local woods. For me, however, Evaline Landry seemed more in character as the chatelaine of the big house.
From a kneehole desk a framed photograph of her son looked out at the room. I knew that expression of cheerful confidence—not far from the arrogance I had first suspected—and I turned quickly away.
In the center of the room Amelia was being fitted for her wedding dress, and an elderly seamstress knelt to pin up the hemline. My sister smiled at me warmly, her head rising like a blossom from tiny ruffles. For all that she was my twin, I would never look as tenderly beautiful. Inner happiness had given Amelia a glow that I could never achieve. I hadn’t looked like that even when Doug was alive, contented though I’d believed myself to be.
“Will I do, Molly?” she called to me, knowing very well that there was only one answer.
Thinking of Charles made it difficult to respond as warmly as I wanted to, but I managed to tell her how perfect she looked. Had I ever been as young as my sister? Her lovely innocence became her, even though that could be a treacherous quality as a woman moved beyond the age of innocence.
Movement in a shadowy corner of the room caught my eye, and I saw Valerie Mountfort rising to come toward me. She spoke quickly, without any greeting.
“Please come outside with me, Molly. I have to talk with you. It’s very important to me.”
Evaline Landry, hovering about Amelia and the seamstress, glanced at me briefly. Almost imperceptibly she nodded at me, and I knew I had no choice but to follow my mother out of the cottage.
“I’ll be back soon,” I told Amelia as my mother and I walked out into the warm afternoon.
Valerie led the way again, just as she had last night—but this time she kept up a stream of polite conversation, often looking over her shoulder to see if I were keeping up. I wanted to dig in my heels and refuse to go anywhere with her after last night. Where was she taking me this time and why was I going? I slowed my pace, forcing her to wait. As we neared the main house, she stopped and faced me.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I don’t blame you for feeling nervous. I behaved outrageously last night. Sometimes I can’t help myself and your return has upset me so.”
Apparently she thought this excuse seemed quite plausible and reasonable, in spite of her carelessly spoken “outrageously.”
“I’m not sure there’s any way to explain or excuse what you put me through,” I told her.
She smiled without warmth. “I wish I could like you better. Perhaps that will come in time. It’s not your fault. I always built you up in my mind in quite a different way. You could never match what I expected my Cecelia to be like. You must understand that I have suffered even more than you have.”
We’d begun to walk again, and I picked up this strange conversation. “I haven’t suffered at all. My adoptive parents loved me, and I grew up in a happy home. So I’ve never missed the life I might have had in Charleston.”
We’d reached the steps on the land side, and she ran up them to the doorway. I followed as she went into the wide central hall. She moved directly to the music room, though she never glanced at the piano as she hurried past. A door opened off the far corner into a small room. This must be the office Orva had mentioned. A room my father had used.
One wall was lined with books and there were several pieces of good furniture, solid and large enough for masculine use. Valerie stood looking around for a moment. “I haven’t set foot in this room for years, but it has been kept just as it used to be when Simon was alive. This was where he took care of plantation affairs. Of course, even then, Porter managed the more important money matters. Cousin Porter cared about Mountfort Hall more than Simon ever did. I think my husband spent a lot of his time in this room reading—to escape from things he couldn’t cope with. Perhaps couldn’t face. Do sit down, Molly.”
I chose the straight desk chair. My sympathies were with my father. I’d begun to gather an impression of the man he must have been, and I liked him far more than I would ever like my mother or her cousin Porter.
“I want to tell you something,” she said, curling up in one corner of the couch. “In this room no one can hear us and we can speak freely.”
“About what?” My continuing resistance sounded in my voice.
Valerie seemed not to notice, intent on her own single purpose. “About your sister. You are the only one who can help Amelia avoid making a terrible mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?” I asked.
“Oh, she doesn’t know she’s making one, and she would deny ev
ery word I say. Perhaps it’s your fault that I’ve neglected her—because for so many years I could only think of the baby I’d lost.”
This was so unfair that I didn’t attempt an answer.
She uncurled herself and went to Simon’s desk, where she picked up something from its surface before she sat down again. Her small, strong fingers held a long paper knife in the form of a silver saber.
“I gave your father this years ago, before you and Amelia were born. He was very fond of it. Though once he cut himself with it.”
She drew the slender weapon from its six-inch scabbard, and held it out to me. “You can see how sharp it is.”
I didn’t touch the paper knife. “Why did you bring me here?”
Carefully she replaced the saber in its sheath. “I know I’m delaying—because it’s all so hard to say. Molly, your sister must not marry Charles Landry.”
There was nothing I could say. My surprise was too great. Even though I might agree, I also felt certain Amelia would do as she pleased when it came to Charles.
“He’s not in love with her,” Valerie went on, “and that lack of love, once she recognizes it, will destroy her. Amelia’s too much like her father—she’s not as strong as I am. Of course Charles grew up with her, and he has a brother’s affection for her. I think he even fooled himself for a while, convincing himself that he loved her. It’s Porter who wants this, and Porter’s influence with Charles is greater than anyone else’s, even though Evaline is a strong woman who can usually manage her son. Porter will never listen to me. I’m just his feckless young cousin, and he thinks me unbalanced anyway.”
I could certainly understand why Porter would think she was unbalanced, but I had no idea where this was going, or where I came in, and I waited.
“Amelia has stars in her eyes,” Valerie went on, “and she has never loved anyone but Charles. Even when he was running after other girls, she waited for him. So it’s hopeless to talk to her.”
“If the marriage was stopped now, it would break her heart,” I said.
“Broken hearts mend. It’s a lot harder to mend broken lives.”
Everything she was saying sounded perfectly rational and sensible. I had the same feeling about Amelia marrying Charles, but I had no idea how to stop her.
“How can you possibly change her mind?” I asked.
“I can’t, Molly. But you can.”
“That’s foolish. She would never listen to me.” If Amelia knew what had happened at Cypress Gardens this morning, she might blame me instead of Charles.
“It’s not a matter of listening, Molly, I have a faultless plan. You are going to marry Charles. That will take care of the whole matter irrevocably.”
Once more she had shocked me into silence, and she smiled at me, slyly triumphant. “You see how simple it is? You’re attracted to him—women always are. And, obviously, he is already attracted to you. No, don’t protest, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. So you’ll be doing something that will be good for both you and Charles—and you’ll save your sister at the same time.”
She was a little mad, I thought—building her own fantasy world that no one could argue her out of.
“It’s impossible, of course,” I said.
That was the wrong word to use with Valerie Mountfort, and she merely shrugged it aside.
“You won’t be able to help yourself, Molly. You will do this because you love your sister, and because the sooner it is done, the safer she will be.”
“What do you mean—safe?”
This time she waved her own word aside. “Charles is being pushed into a marriage he doesn’t want. You are the solution. And it’s far better if Amelia hates you than if she does something that may very well push her over the edge and ruin her emotional stability for the rest of her life. You and Charles can run off together without any delay, and then neither Porter nor anyone else can do a thing about it. Your own inheritance from Simon will make Charles independent of Porter—and he’ll have Mountfort Hall, which will make him very happy.”
I stood up and started toward the door. “Perhaps there is someone else who would oppose this idea.”
“Evaline? She and I are old friends. Once she gets over her first shock and realizes what Charles wants, it won’t matter to her which twin he marries. Frankly, I think all she cares about is seeing the Hall come to Charles, so you see this is a perfect plan. And you will still be entitled to half of the inheritance you and Amelia were meant to share all along.”
I didn’t know Evaline Landry well enough to know how she would react about anything. I doubted, however, that she could be manipulated as easily as Valerie thought and I knew I couldn’t be.
“Never mind, dear.” Valerie changed her course, suddenly as sweet as magnolia blossoms—a change I distrusted entirely. “Let’s not discuss this any more right now. You need to think about what I’ve said. I’ve brought you something—a little gift to make up for last night.”
She took a small box from her purse and held it out to me.
I stiffened. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it.
“I know you’ll accept this because it’s from Simon—your father. You can’t refuse a gift from him.” She picked up my limp hand and forced the box into my fingers. “Open it, Molly.”
The jeweler’s box was of blue velvet, embossed in gold, and I knew what the contents would be before I raised the hinged lid to see a pair of lotus earrings, made of coral set in gold.
“Put them on, Molly,” Valerie urged.
It was easier to do as she wished and get away from her as quickly as I could. I realized again that she was incapable of listening to anything I might say. I clipped the earrings to my earlobes and hurried away from her through the music room, and toward the stairs. Behind me, I heard her laughing—that same eerie sound I’d heard last night in the darkness of that appalling dungeon.
I had promised Amelia to come back to the cottage, but I couldn’t face her now. I ran upstairs to the second floor and found Miss Kitty watching from the top step. She began to stalk back and forth, mewing plaintively, obstructing my way.
“Look out, kitty,” I said. “I don’t want to step on you.”
She promptly twined herself around one ankle and began to yowl. I was relieved when Honoria came out of Garrett’s office and down the hall to see what was happening.
“I don’t know what she wants,” I said, “but I wish you’d make her stop.”
Honoria, looking quizzically at Miss Kitty, came to unwind her from around my feet, and gathered her up soothingly. The cat would have none of this. She dug in her claws and sprang away. Back at the head of the stairs she sat down to resume her yowling.
“I don’t understand your behavior, Miss Kitty,” Honoria told her. “Molly, what do you think she’s trying to tell me? I’m trying to get everything ready for tonight and I don’t have time for this. The afternoon is practically gone, and I must see that the atmosphere will be proper for what we need to accomplish. Will you help me?”
At the moment I wanted neither Honoria’s nor the cat’s company.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what’s wrong with Miss Kitty and I’m going up to my room for a while to rest. Can’t you get Garrett or Orva to help you?”
“They’ve evaporated, since they don’t approve of what I want to do. This isn’t a séance, Molly. What we do these days is very different. We call it a sitting, and there’s no ectoplasm, or table rapping, or ghostly voices. None of that phony stuff. Whatever happens is channeled through me. But go up and get your rest. I’ll manage somehow.”
Miss Kitty, now silent, watched me reproachfully as I climbed the upper flight to my room. Later I would wonder how matters might have gone if we had paid attention to the warning Miss Kitty was trying to give.
The door to my room stood closed, and I opened it to an unpleasant surprise.
The rocking horse from the South Battery house stood in the center of the room. Whoever had put it there meant to upset me.
I heard Orva in the next room, and when I called to her, she came out at once and clucked over the presence of the horse.
“Did you see anyone bring it up here?” I asked.
Orva shook her head. “I didn’t see anything, Miss Molly. But I reckon it was Miss Valerie’s notion.”
“But why put it in my room?”
“Something she’s trying to tell you?” Orva suggested. “Just a reminder, maybe? Of course that rocking horse belongs out here at the Hall.”
“At least it’s not rocking the way it did in Charleston.”
“Miss Honoria says it takes Miss Valerie being around to make it rock.”
“What do you mean?”
Orva frowned. “I can’t remember the word she used. Something that begins with ‘kin’—some kind of energy.”
“Kinetic? Kinetic energy might be a possibility, though isn’t that supposed to be connected with poltergeist activity? I believe it comes from an emotional intensity so great that it can move objects. Usually only the very young possess it.” Or the mad. A chill went through me.
In any case, I didn’t want the wooden horse in my room. A fact that Orva had already recognized. She picked it up with little effort and carried it out in the hall, leaving me to rest.
I shut the door and lay down on the bed. For now, I wanted only to be still and not think about anything. I mustn’t let what Charles had done, or what Valerie Mountfort had said, devastate me. Neither one could make me do anything I didn’t want to.
So why did I have this sense of a net settling over me, entangling me in its folds? If I could sleep for a little while, perhaps I could get up with a clearer head and then look for Garrett. He was as far from Charles and Valerie as I could get, and something had seemed to begin between us. Perhaps he would offer me support and reassurance now. I seemed to be thinking about him a lot.
I was still tired from my loss of sleep the night before, and the few minutes I intended to rest grew into a couple of hours. I awoke suddenly, with the sense of a distant crash ringing in my ears, and a feeling that my bed had reverberated as though in an earthquake. I sat up and listened, my heart thudding, but there was no further sound and my bed seemed perfectly still. I must have had a vivid dream—otherwise I’d hear the sound of voices, of people running to investigate. There was nothing.
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