As if it were any of her business. I wanted to dismiss her straightaway. Yet, did I do much the same sort of thing, judging Avery and Gen?
I turned to look out over the sea and clasped my hands behind my back. Avery and Gen were not the same thing at all, I decided. My judgment came from knowing the two of them, not simply because of their circumstances.
Daro hadn’t heard us or didn’t understand. He fussed with remnants of the light, offered to go after parts for a repair, and began measuring for replacement panes. He didn’t notice my discomfort. Perhaps he thought it didn’t matter. Perhaps he didn’t care.
I hated to admit it, but feared I would meet Mrs. Trumbull’s sort of short-sighted disapproval over and over again. Her way of thinking was hardly outdated. I decided I would not let her ruin my day. Nothing mattered but the two of us and soon I would again be arm-in-arm with the man I…oh dear heavens. What was I letting myself believe?
My heart sank. I hadn’t given a thought to other people, had I? What folks would say, or for that matter, what my parents would say. Oh, better not even to think of them. I knew what they intended. They had planned for me to take up with a man like Avery. Or Mark. Yes, he did seem more and more like Mum’s choice, all along.
Why, if my sister were here, she’d be as dedicated as Ariel, hell-bent on breaking up her sister’s pursuit of this local fisherman.
Of course, the entire affair might be in my imagination. Daro had not come calling for me, had he? What if he was merely being kind? Why, he’d not said one word, had he? He’d never said anything to imply his admiration. Oh, it was all good and well for me to relive those moments when we walked hand-in-hand through the most magical fog, but here, in the full light of day, things appeared different.
I suppose I looked grim, thinking such thoughts. Suddenly the old lady leaned forward and whispered low, “It’s a hard thing not to be part of things. To come from away and never quite fit-in.” She pressed my hand tightly.
Much as I didn’t care to, I understood. Her voice gave away. She was, herself ‘from away.’ She might have married in, she might be respected, but did she get invites to the odd family musical events the locals so loved? Did people drop by for a cup of coffee? Did George come by and offer to play the piano? The Doughty’s lived a mile up the road, but had Mrs. Trumbull ever heard Donnall’s ‘beautiful voice?’ I suspected not. She was quietly alone, too dignified to admit to being lonely.
I thought of her long years in this great old Victorian house, probably built with the idea of having several children, but then waiting all these years for a man who had likely died half a century ago. I shivered.
“I’ve a shawl I can lend you,” Mrs. Trumbull immediately offered. I felt the worse, for thinking badly of her at first.
“I’d be most appreciative,” I said, mostly because I wanted to accept her kind gesture. I followed her in to her front foyer. It felt as large and grand as Oceanside itself, though it echoed with emptiness.
Daro thumped in after us, looked at the lock on the door and nodded briskly. “I’ll stop by with something to get a light going out front again, Mrs. Trumbull. I’m glad to see they didn’t attempt to get in the house.”
As we left, I realized I wanted to stay. I wished to explore the fabulous house. I would love to see a portrait of the Captain, her husband. Oh, what a romance it must have been, to keep her here waiting and hoping all these years! Everyone knew how she had waited with endless hope and loyalty, a young bride left all alone here, presumed a widow.
As I wrapped myself in her mint-green hand-knit shawl, I imagined the rest of the house; a dining room to rival the great hall at Oceanside, a sitting room with a tea set from the Far East, and somewhere, an elegant portrait of her husband, the sea caption.
I mused silently as we strolled along.
Daro seemed rather quiet, too. He walked us along the point, to the foot of the lighthouse. He pointed south toward the rocky shoreline, where I’d very nearly crashed the Thistle. “A strange false light from a fire. Then, lamp oil and a lantern’s mirror are stolen. We can see it now.”
“We can?”
“You can send out a more-sure, steady light with the mirror and a proper big lamp, than from a bonfire on the beach, can’t you now?”
“Mm.” I didn’t care about the lantern. Had he worried what his family would say about me? Had he given us any thought at all? They probably already had some nice village girl all picked out for him, or some lass from Ingonish, who’d fit in nicely with the family.
Daro crossed his arms and looked thoughtfully at the sea. “We sailed up past this point ourselves. We saw Mrs. Trumbull’s.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It was recognizing Mrs. Trumbull’s that saved us.”
“The answer is obvious. Someone’s going to try wrecking.” He glared at the moderate waves, glittering in the morning light. “They tried trickery with a bonfire. They nearly fooled the two of us, didn’t they? But looking back, the light we saw flickered, didn’t it? With a proper lantern and mirror, they can make their false look more like a proper, steady lighthouse beacon. If they can trick a ship into taking it for a navigational light, they could lure one into the shallows.”
“Fool ships?” I didn’t grasp what he was talking so urgently about, nor much care. We’d gone up and down the lane. I probably ought to take my leave and go to the seamstress’ shop. I’d planned to ask him to write when I set out this morning, hadn’t I? I must at least ask.
“Wrecking. Some ships carry a fortune in goods.”
“I came today, to ask, I mean, to leave my address,” I forced myself to say.
Daro’s mind was far off, in the tumbling waves rolling so relentlessly to shore. “They lure a ship in too close to shore, so it crashes into rocks or a beach, and then they salvage whatever washes up. They grab as much cargo as they can, with never a care for lives lost in the process.”
Sea fog swamped the road south of us, leading to the resort. All tire tracks disappeared into the soupy fog, not many paces from us. Oddly, more than the tracks from George’s automobile marked the road. I let go of Daro to stroll down a little way. Clear tracks marked the lane south. The little intersection was crisscrossed with tracks, of two different sizes.
“It’s an old, old crime.”
“Who would have been up and out so early today?” I looked down at the tracks. “This driver might have seen someone break Mrs. Trumbull’s lantern.”
“Or been the one to break it,” grumbled Daro.
Avery popped into my mind. The hotel’s large open-topped touring car was the only other automobile in the area. Why would Avery visit this little fishing village, though? And so early. It made no sense.
Daro ambled over and looked up and down. “George must have dropped you off then gone straight back south. He would have noticed someone else driving by.”
“I’ll ask George when he picks me up. I wonder if Avery drove through quite early this morning.”
“Avery is the son of the owners? Thinks himself the boss? Tell me something Elizabeth.” Daro looked pointedly at my wrist. “What happened yesterday? Was it him?”
“Yesterday was nothing,” I said quickly. “Just our Ariel, one of our guests, stirring up things. She’s er…determined to break up her sister Gen and Avery.” Hastily, I went on to say, “I must try to remember to ask George about this morning.”
Daro shook his head. “You forget, oh Captain, exactly who has paid George to do all these errands and trundle all the staff from the hotel around all summer. George is nobody’s fool. He’ll not have a job if he talks about his boss’s business, will he?”
“True.” I admitted. Still, it was a puzzle. Mrs. Trumbull’s lantern mechanism and oil taken, and an automobile had plainly visited this morning, before dawn.
I reminded myself of my real purpose here and steeled myself to try again. I might well be leaving and I wanted to give him my home address. Home address, home address chimed insanely in my head. H
ow forward, how ridiculous. He’d never given me the slightest reason to suppose…to suppose anything! Still, I couldn’t simply leave. I had to somehow speak. It might be my only chance.
“I’m likely to be packing,” I squeaked.
“Be ready.” He nodded briskly. “Best course. We could have a big storm any minute. They should have closed long since.”
I could hardly explain it would just be me leaving; fired the moment I set foot across the threshold. I’d hoped for some plan for the future, but I could hardly insist that he accept my parents’ address, could I? It was beyond me to leap beyond the etiquette. Finally, sadly, I murmured, “I’ll miss you.”
Chapter Eight
Ariel’s Success
Ariel came into brunch alongside the French lady. I arrived at almost the same moment.
The old art professor, already waiting, had angled his chair so he could enjoy the sunlight coming through the east-side windows. “The atmospheric effects with light here are always interesting,” he enthused. “Each day a new discovery.”
The French lady shot him a withering look, pawed through the mail piled on the sideboard, glared with disgust at poor little Beryl shuffling in with a tray of fried herring, and marched off to the drawing room.
I had avoided everyone thus far. I had ordered the drapes, returned, and busied myself in the kitchen. I’d not run into Avery or even Mr. Osten. Mrs. Brookeson had thankfully departed for an early breakfast in town. I couldn’t avoid them all forever, though.
As I poured coffee, I steeled myself for a final confrontation: Avery would likely march through the door next.
Instead, Ariel tiptoed over beside me. “Avery’s left.”
I gaped at her. “Left?”
“Last night. Gone and not coming back. I insisted.”
I could hardly grasp her words. “Gone?” Avery gone and apparently without a complaint about me to the manager? A reprieve? I sank into the nearest chair. “Why? I mean, how?”
“What I told you. I insisted,” Ariel whispered again. “I said I would tell the world about him and the young maid and ruin him in all good society unless he made himself scarce and gave me a few days to get Genevieve out of here.” She rolled her eyes.
“You don’t know if all that about the maid is true!”
She shrugged. “It must have been or he wouldn’t have left, would he?”
“Whatever did your sister say?”
“I’ve not told Gen. Couldn’t decide what to say.”
“Perhaps, as he’s left, she’ll assume he’s disinterested?” I clasped my head in my hands. Genevieve, simply give up? It seemed a forlorn hope.
“That’s the idea.” Ariel lowered her voice further. “At first, I thought I would try to convince her that he would fail to meet our parents’ approval.” She cut off quickly as the hallway door opened.
Manager Osten held the door and stepped aside to usher in Mark DeLaMore. Mark did not look around the room for Avery, as was his custom. He carefully made no eye contact with Ariel or me, either. Certainly, he knew something about the events of the previous day.
Osten addressed the ladies in the room with a half-bow, and Mark troubled about such etiquette not at all. He kept well away from both eggs and fish and instead, set about straining a fresh cup of coffee through the press.
Genevieve giggled her way into the room, paused at the head of the table, glanced all around and pouted. One might have imagined the dashing Avery had a habit of waiting for her every morning.
“Oh dear, has Avery already gone out this morning?” She looked expectantly at the side door. My heart sank. She was so lovely and had plainly taken such pains, even though her best efforts usually went slightly awry. She had on a smart tailored morning dress and she’d added a shimmery scarf of purple, and somewhat less wonderfully, a bright yellow narrow scarf above that. Obviously, Ariel hadn’t dawdled upstairs to coax her sister into wearing a more conventional array of colors.
She asked again, “Avery?”
Poor Gen. What a nasty way for a relationship to end, with him abruptly departing. I felt so badly for her.
“Gone and gone,” snarled Mark.
“Oh? An early riser for once? Do tell me, did he discover his almonds yesterday? Did he guess who left them?” She clapped her hands, gleeful.
Mark swung around sharp enough for the coffee to slop from his cup. “He has quit this place entirely. Very likely caught the early ferry this morning.” He glared at Ariel and muttered again, “Gone.”
“Gone,” Genevieve repeated, frozen, her hand at her throat. “Was he called away?” Her snow-white face looked suddenly ashen, her soft eyes, disbelieving.
Ariel scrambled to her feet. “Genevieve?”
Her sister did not glance at her, but stared at Mark. “He surely left me some word? I mean, some explanation surely, for all of us, all his friends here?”
“He said he had enough of Cape Breton Island. He has no plans to return.” How Mark could turn, so unfeeling, from the beautiful girl in front of him, I could not understand. How would one not reach out a hand, or say some word of comfort?
Ariel grabbed her arm and steered her to a chair.
“Oh, surely, Avery must have said something? There will be a card?” Genevieve grasped her sister’s hand. “Do you know what is going on?”
The two of them had become, in some macabre fashion, the focus of attention in the little hall. Our manager, the artist, and even Beryl all watched surreptitiously from their various corners.
All unplanned, I bounded to my feet. “Let me pour you fresh coffee, Professor? Beryl, hadn’t you better get back in there and start clearing up the kitchen?”
Osten, for all he looked like an aging ferret, was not completely insensible either. He strolled out across the hallway and began the thankless and near pointless task of chatting with the French lady.
Genevieve carried on as if unaware she might be the center of attention. “Of course, he’s never said anything. Not formally, I mean. He’s been most correct, a darling, all summer. Every minute coming up with some entertainment or chatting about the news, or talking about shows and things we’d see this winter, in the city.”
Ariel patted her sister’s hand and looked, most despairingly, at me.
“Why I assumed, of course, just a matter of time. Surely, there is some mistake? I should likely expect word, hadn’t I? Of course, I’m disappointed he’s gone, but I think he is most important to his father’s business. That must be it. All the young men here have commitments, I think. I can’t think why he didn’t say so.” Genevieve looked dreadfully pale. “He must plan on returning soon?”
Ariel kicked me ankle. What on Earth could I say? Mark had said his piece, giving the idea that Avery had dumped her. Dumped her without a word. Now I was supposed to say that too? It might be in her best interest, but seemed cruel to me. She plainly adored him.
I folded my hands in front of me. “He did not leave any word with me.”
“I’ll speak to his mother?” Genevieve still held a hand at her throat. “I expect he’ll be back shortly. It must all be a mistake.”
Ariel glared at me.
Very quickly, I said, “He did not mention returning. I expect Oceanside must close soon, anyhow.”
A faint rustle in the room alerted me that not only did other’ ears listen, but reacted to the idea of closing. Why? It made no sense. No one at the hotel had a good reason to remain, and not one among them did not have some other place to go.
Ariel stood. “I think we should prepare to depart. You know what they are saying, now storm season is upon us. The locals say this place should be closed up and boarded.”
“Depart? But his mother says she will not.” Genevieve stood. “Truly, he’s left with no word at all? Do you mean to tell me that this, is it? He means his departure to tell me how he feels? Or perhaps, does not feel?” Her voice broke on the last bit, yet, she still stood there, courageously, letting all of us see her heartbre
ak.
I found I could not utter a word. It was all so horrible and tragic and painfully public. I wanted to scream out the truth. Ariel had contrived all this, with her threat to disgrace him. I wasn’t even convinced our suspicions about Siobhan had any truth to them, although why would he go, if they didn’t? Oh, it was all too complex to understand.
“He’s left me,” Genevieve repeated.
Ariel seized her moment. “I’m afraid that is what he meant.”
Genevieve spun and ran from the room. Ariel rushed after her.
****
I gladly volunteered to accompany our French lady to Ingonish town, as an escape from the unpleasantness.
Ainsley-mare obliged most willingly. The great Clydesdale met me at the gate, ears pricked, happy for the attention. I thanked my stars the hotel had thought to keep a horse on hand, for I could have never managed the newfangled automobile contraption on my own. As it was, I was doubtful about maneuvering the sleigh. The grand resort could not have up an ordinary sleigh, but a great four-seater, with high lamps, decorative curls and elaborate carvings. It seemed enormous.
Ainslee backed cheerfully between the shafts while Madame Chatillon stood impatiently by the gate. I clucked softly and the mare walked up to the walkway and stopped politely for passengers to board. The lady took two steps and ensconced herself on the rear seat. She nodded brusquely.
I had to suppress a giggle. Chauffer now! You’d think I was a complete stranger, sitting there at the reins. I clucked and the mare moved off.
The frosty air still glittered with cold and my heart lifted as the great horse sailed forward into a trot. The snow muffled her hoof beats and the air felt fine. The few miles south to Ingonish passed as if the sleigh rode on air.
Heavy, gray-white clouds filled the southerly sky, and a shimmer of light reflected almost magically off of them. Indeed, the world became a wonder the very moment I discovered I didn’t have to leave this beautiful place…or Daro. At least, not yet.
Trouble Cove Page 7