Betsey became suddenly agitated. “That’s what I told him, but it wasn’t true. She didn’t do that. She never would have—she was a gentle lady.”
“But then, how—”
“You should have seen me in those days. I had spunk—plenty of spunk. I couldn’t stand it that Camilla took that last scene away from my lovely lady and then came back to the dressing room to gloat over what she’d done. I’m the one who went crazy and slashed her face. And I’ve always been glad I did. Maybe I’d have killed her if I’d been strong enough.”
I rocked in the chair, agitated myself, not sure I believed her. “But Roger came in and saw Victoria with that little saber in her hands.”
“Sure! She’d taken it away from me before I could hurt Camilla even more. And she took the blame, as well. When she saw what Roger believed, she didn’t even try to defend herself. She did that to save me. The Brandts would have had me arrested and sent to jail. But they wouldn’t touch Victoria.”
“Why not?”
“She was going to have his baby, she was his lover, and this would be an even bigger scandal if it came out. Think what a field day the press and fan magazines would have had if it was known that Victoria had slashed Roger’s wife across the face. So they had to keep it quiet. And, of course, Camilla never told him the truth.”
“But if Camilla knew what really happened, why does she treat you like a friend? You disfigured her for life.”
Dark eyes twinkled maliciously. “I did a good job, didn’t I? But don’t you see—she’s had to keep an eye on me over the years, to make sure I wouldn’t spill the beans somewhere along the line. She wanted Roger to go on believing in what he thought Victoria had done. So she tried to keep me quiet with kindness and forgiveness and gifts. Forgiveness!”
There was no question as to where Betsey Harlan’s loyalties lay. She went on with gleeful spite.
“I gave Dennis Ramsay the wrong story. But he didn’t publish it, anyway. He was crazy about Camilla, and she didn’t come out so squeaky clean, either. Getting up on that horse gave her a way to tell off Victoria. Which might have been all right—but she really rubbed it in.”
“I can hardly blame her for that.”
Betsey went right on. “In a way, she got Roger back because of what he believed. Or a piece of him, anyway. You can’t tell me that any man who ever loved Victoria Frazer could really get over her.”
I remembered how moved Roger Brandt had seemed when we had watched Blue Ridge Cowboy together. The love scenes had shaken him. Though, in the end, Camilla had been the one to hold him. Perhaps he even felt he owed her because Victoria had scarred her face.
“Why didn’t you tell him the truth after Victoria was gone?”
“Camilla would have denied it and he’d have believed her. What good would it have done?”
“What if I was to tell him the truth now?”
“Let it alone, Lauren. The truth would probably destroy Roger. I don’t have much use for him, but telling won’t help Victoria now. And finding that he’d given up—maybe the great love of his life—because he wrongly suspected her would be enough to send anybody over the edge.”
“Thank you for telling me all this. And for being so wise. You’ve given my grandmother back to me. Whatever else she did, this was generous and brave, and I admire her for it.”
“Nobody really understood that she was a good, rather simple person who followed her emotions. She never realized what it would be like when all that fame hit her. She came from these mountains, so how could she know? She ran from it, even while she enjoyed it. We’re all pretty mixed up, aren’t we?”
This was true enough, and I smiled. Betsey’s hands came out from under the quilt and reached for mine.
“You’ve brought Victoria back to me, too. Brought her into this room where she had her baby. Gretchen was too critical and straitlaced, and though she’d have taken her in, Victoria didn’t want to stay with her. And, of course, the studio wanted her hidden away until the ‘problem’ could be put up for adoption. They had a lot of money tied up in those two careers. Anyway, Victoria was better off with me, who really loved her. Your mother was born in this room, so it was right for you to come here. Everything we’ve talked about and done has been right, except for one thing.”
For a moment, I was lost in my own feelings. My mother had uttered her first cries in this very room—and because of her I was here now and alive.
“Except for what?” I asked.
“I should never have let you take Victoria’s dress and the turban I made for her. I don’t think you should wear her clothes to that ball and remind everybody about the past. There’s somebody out there, Lauren—the person who killed Victoria.”
“Do you know who it is, Betsey?”
“If I did, do you think I’d have kept still all this time? I didn’t talk to your husband much when he came to see me, but from things he said, I think he was getting too close and that was dangerous. I don’t want that for you.”
“I don’t see what harm can come to me if I startle a few people. That’s all that can happen. I’ll be with over a hundred people. Perhaps I’ll even get Roger Brandt to dance with me!”
“He wasn’t the only one who danced with Victoria in the movie, you know.”
“I know. I met Gerald Osborn this morning. He’s another one who was once in love with my grandmother.”
Betsey was staring at me in a strange way, and I broke off. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Sometimes I can see ahead a little, and that happened just now. I could see a storm—lightning flashing around you. And I could see fire. But I don’t know what it means, and nothing else comes to me. Lauren, I’m afraid for you.”
I bent to kiss her cheek, murmuring reassurances even though her words chilled me. “I’ll be fine. When I bring Victoria’s things back, I’ll tell you all about what happened at the ball.”
She seemed to sink into herself again, not falling asleep but closing herself away.
I returned to Gordon and told him everything that I’d learned from Betsey Harlan. And I held on to his hand while he listened gravely.
15
The long mirror on my bathroom door gave back a reflection I hardly recognized. The dress was perfection—only yellowed a little from age, a creamy white. The smoothly wound turban hid my dark hair, its folds crossing gracefully in a peak on my forehead. I knew I would never do justice to my grandmother, or to Camilla Brandt, who had also worn this dress. I felt awkward and much too uncertain about what I meant to do.
Had I expected that magic would take place and transform me when I dressed like Victoria Frazer? How could I ever carry this off?
Nonetheless, words seemed to whisper through my mind. Relax. Be yourself. You’ll do fine. The inner advice was sound, and I raised my shoulders with a certain defiance. The reflection in the mirror changed very little, but my confidence returned. This was only a game, really—a masquerade—and I needn’t feel concerned.
I’d made no attempt to imitate the makeup of Victoria’s day. Though she hadn’t painted on a Cupid’s bow mouth, she had worn the face that was fashionable in the thirties. No matter how I dressed tonight, my face belonged to my own generation, and I used touches of blush and lipstick accordingly.
When I stepped back from the glass, the tips of my low-heeled white shoes caught my eye, making me smile. Entirely inappropriate, but they were all I had to wear. Most of the time, the long skirt would hide them, so it didn’t matter.
As a last touch, I clasped the silver bracelet around my wrist and enjoyed the sound of tiny bells as I moved.
It wasn’t time yet for Gordon and Finella to come for me, so I went outside to stand at the railing and look over the lake. The sky had darkened early, turning the water to black marble, veined here and there with lines of yellow light from houses along the bank.
Down the walk at Gretchen’s, windows were alight. I was just as glad that she wasn’t expected to go to t
he ball. I was sure she would have resented seeing me in her sister’s dress. Ty, of course, shunned most human company, and he would never appear at such a gathering.
Off beyond Rumbling Bald, lightning brightened the sky and I heard faint thunder. It was far away, but I thought of Betsey’s vision and felt a little uneasy. It would be too bad if a storm spoiled the festivities, but at least we’d be inside and dry before it broke.
Once more I had the curious sense that the mountain waited, watching me. Now I knew the exact place on the far shore of the lake where Victoria had been found. And I knew that her body had been carried laboriously up to a cave on the mountain. I suspected that somehow Jim had found that cave and discovered more than it was safe for him to know.
I shivered in a cool breeze that rose suddenly and I went inside. I was in time to hear the phone. Gordon was waiting for me downstairs.
Aware of the theatricality of this moment, even smiling a little to myself, I started the grand descent down to the lobby. A man waited for me at the foot of the steps, and the theatricality was not wholly mine. For just an instant, I thought that Roger Brandt had come for me in his full cowboy regalia. Certainly the outfit was his: pointed boots, leather chaps, a blue shirt with a scarf knotted jauntily at the throat, and, of course, a wide-brimmed Stetson hat that hid the face of the man who wore it—until he looked up at me.
Gordon’s grin was wide; he looked pleased over surprising me. “How do I look, ma’am?”
I continued down the stairs. “You look like the right escort for Victoria Frazer.”
He watched me all the way down and held out his hands when I reached the bottom step. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “But you’re not Victoria. And I want you to know I like Lauren a lot better than what I’ve been learning about Victoria.”
The clasp of his hands was warm, and although he didn’t touch me in any other way, I felt as though he had drawn me into his arms. I was happier than I could remember being in a long while. My emotions were too close to the surface and I must be careful. Not with Gordon—not anymore. But because of whoever might be watching me.
Over one arm, Gordon held a long white rain cape, borrowed from Finella, and he put this around my shoulders. We went out to where Finella waited for us in the car. When I looked into the backseat, I saw with delight that her costume consisted of kudzu leaves—cut from cloth that was almost the exact green of the plant. She even wore a wreath of skillfully sewn leaves tucked into her red hair.
Gordon smiled at his mother. “She’s a true mountain spirit, isn’t she? I just hope nobody gets hungry and tries to pick her leaves.”
We laughed and chatted as we drove down from the lodge. The storm was still far away. Perhaps it would bypass Lake Lure altogether.
When we reached the inn, the space in front was already filled. Costumed guests were going up wide steps and through the building to the far door opposite the barn. Gordon drove behind the long white stucco building and found a place in the unpaved alleyway between the inn and the barn.
Lights had been placed all around the area, and I could see that the sides of the barn were covered with walls of lush kudzu vines, so that the barn seemed to wear its own costume. A red carpet ran toward the steps that led to a side entrance; we climbed them and went inside.
A band was playing tunes that belonged to the years of the lodge’s famous past. In the twenties, songs from World War I would still have been played in this room. Years later, during the second war, I’d been told, the lodge had been turned into a convalescent home for soldiers.
Tonight, the interior of the old building had been transformed from whatever its past life had been. High cross beams had been covered with bright-colored strips of plastic that hung in streamers, catching the light from shaded bulbs. The long room, with its polished dance floor, stretched to the band platform at the far end. No one was dancing yet, but the great space was already filled with costumed guests, and the sound of voices echoed in high, dark spaces above the lights.
On the platform, a young woman in a nurse’s uniform from World War I was singing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” When she finished, there was a smattering of applause, but I had the feeling that the room waited for something else to happen. The stars of the evening had not yet appeared.
I’d checked my cape near the door, and Gordon and I stood for a few moments unnoticed while Finella went off to find her friends. When we finally started down the room, our costumes were recognized and there was a burst of applause.
The legend was well remembered. Perhaps there were even those who recognized my dress and turban as being authentic, though few would know who I really was.
There were too many people for me to note whether anyone was especially startled. Not that it mattered. Gordon and I knew exactly whom we needed to watch.
I recognized quickly that this was an older, well-to-do crowd with long memories. Probably a number of these people came from Asheville and recalled the great days of Lake Lure. Their costumes were elaborate but not always original. There was Little Bo-Peep and Red Riding Hood and a few gentleman pirates. One Marie Antoinette appeared to be having trouble with her wig and the red devil escorting her had tangled himself in his tail.
Near the edge of the floor, a monk stood huddled in robe and hood. Who was it who had mentioned a monk to me?
Young people had come dressed in a variety of imaginative costumes, but in many ways they seemed only sightseers at this antique spectacle. Gordon and I, like a number of others, were somewhere in the middle, willing to take part but not really belonging. We found chairs near the edge of the floor, where we could watch, and I began to sense the feeling of something electric in the air. That sense of waiting had grown. I knew why the dancing had not begun.
Justyn and Natalie came in first—Justyn in his captain’s cap and the seafaring garb of a sailor; Natalie dressed simply enough in an artist’s smock and beret. Justyn held the door for the two who followed, and I could hear the indrawn breath of the waiting crowd.
Camilla came through on Roger’s arm and they stood together, waiting for the applause that began very quickly. The band struck up the “Habanera” from Carmen and the elder Brandts moved regally down the room, the crowd parting to make way.
Camilla wore a full-skirted black gown with a cascading overlay of creamy lace. Her dark hair (the gray long banished) was piled beneath a black lace mantilla, held in place with a high amber comb and pinned with a yellow rose. A circle of diamonds at her throat caught the light and diamond earrings dripped from her ears, almost to her shoulders. Soft lighting flattered her and careful makeup almost hid her scar.
Roger whirled her proudly down the long room, and the silver buckles on her high-heeled black satin slippers shone beneath the hem of her gown, twinkling in and out as she moved. I became even more conscious of my inappropriate white shoes only partially hidden beneath Victoria’s long gown.
In no way would I ever look as beautiful, as stunning, as Camilla Brandt. Perhaps that was how Victoria Frazer had felt when comparing herself with a younger Camilla—a woman who was already Roger’s wife. I knew why I was having these thoughts. Go away! I told the whisper in my mind. I wanted none of Victoria’s thoughts prompting me tonight.
In his own way, Roger matched the elegance of the woman in his arms. Wearing well-cut black trousers and a short Spanish jacket, he suggested a caballero. His frilled white shirt and the scarlet cummerbund that bound his still-trim waist made him seem far younger than his years. He was a match for Camilla, and never a cowboy!
“They’re so beautiful together,” I marveled to Gordon.
He was less impressed. “In their own way, I suppose. But they make me nervous—they look like puppets dancing. Come on, let’s start things going. Look who we are—Roger and Victoria!”
I didn’t want those two to see me yet, and I felt a last-minute panic. I wanted to hold back—even to run away before I was discovered. In spite of the purpose behind my own mas
querade, I knew that everything would be spoiled for those two the moment we came into their view. So I waited, not moving, until others began to dance. Only then did we slip in among the many couples, to be lost in the throng. The band changed its tune; the ball had begun.
For only a moment I had put aside my reason for wearing Victoria’s dress. Now I began to turn my head as we moved among the dancers, so that I would never lose sight of Roger and Camilla. They still hadn’t seen me. The moment of confrontation was coming, and now I didn’t hesitate.
We needed only to let the crush of other dancers move us forward. Everyone wanted to approach Roger and Camilla Brandt, and even if he had wanted to, Gordon couldn’t keep us apart. They moved in a charmed circle with a space left around them, so they were not crowded. I pressed my hand on Gordon’s shoulder; he understood my signal and swept me closer. We entered the cleared space and became suddenly conspicuous.
Roger saw me first, and his expression froze into shock—perhaps even alarm. Then the actor took over and he smiled at me over Camilla’s shoulder—a glittering smile that didn’t conceal how badly he’d been shaken. I guessed his intent as he turned Camilla away in a wide circle, so that creamy lace swirled about her.
I couldn’t allow that space between us to grow, and it wasn’t the back of her head I wanted to see. My pressure on Gordon’s shoulder increased, and though he was not altogether willing, we quickened our matching steps, moving faster than the music. When we had swung about them and Camilla could not fail to see me, I raised my hand and allowed the chime of little bells to sound clearly beneath the music of the band.
Camilla heard and turned her head. I saw the horror of recognition in her face. For that instant, I was Victoria for her, and she faltered in her husband’s arms. He tried to turn her away, but there was steel in Camilla’s spine, in her soul, and her recovery was swift.
Because she’d stopped dancing, Roger was forced to stop and let her go. In that moment of arrested time, I was once more sharply aware of every detail around us: the high, dusty rafters of the barn, with the bright ribbons streaming out of darkness overhead; the whisper of dancing feet; the beat of the music; and the rising heat—for me—of the great room, so that I grew breathless. And always I heard the silvery chiming of bells that came out of the past to possess both Camilla and me. No one else had stopped, and yet somehow the dancers moved away from us and we were left in our own exclusive moment of time.
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