Spindrift

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  When I let myself in by way of the veranda, and this time passed one or two of Theo’s household staff, I had again the feeling that the house had grown inimical toward me. It threatened me. It was an embodiment of Theodora Moreland, threatening me. I had not felt happy or comfortable in it since I’d arrived, and Peter’s possessive attitude toward something that belonged to the past and not the present made me detest it all the more.

  I remembered that Adam had always disliked Spindrift, and I had thought his attitude too extreme. He had used words like “phony display,” and I had argued that there was the true beauty of an era here. You didn’t call the Pyramids phony, even though there had been exploitation in their building. But now I was ready to agree with him, though in a more personal way because of what Spindrift might be doing to Peter.

  Nevertheless, I knew that it was not the house itself that threatened me. It was the human purpose behind this emanation. Not only because of Theo. It wasn’t hard to believe that there was someone within these walls who resented my presence and would like me to go away. Theo would be first on this list, but there might be another. And it was the masked face I must uncover. So far Spindrift was on the side of the guilty, helping to conceal.

  During what little I knew of the investigation after Adam was killed, the police had questioned a great many people. If it had not been suicide, almost anyone at the ball or employed in the house could have murdered him. It must have been a great relief to come to the suicide conclusion. No one had listened to me. And I had never thought that some outsider had wandered upstairs and done this. Whatever motive there had been, I was convinced that it lay closer to home. What I had to do was uncover that motive.

  When I reached the Gold Room it did not welcome me any more than the rest of the house had, and its stiff splendor held me apart. I was a foreign body introduced into all this gold and cream and crystal. The huge bed did not invite my body, but I went to lie down upon it anyway. I must shut out the room and the house and try to think.

  My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my slacks and drew out that folded slip of paper with the words “MUTTON FAT AND TYCHE” written upon it. Why these words in Adam’s secret pocket? What could they possibly mean?

  Tyche, yes. After all, she was the Greek goddess of fortune—Lady Luck. My father had often worshiped at her shrine. But what had she to tell him—or me—that was so secret? And what had she or anything else to do with mutton fat?

  The tap on my door came from Joel’s room. I called, “Come in,” reluctantly.

  He was in his shirtsleeves, and his horn-rimmed glasses were in place, a pencil in his hand.

  “I heard you come back,” he said. “Did you have a good walk with Peter?”

  So he must have looked out his window and seen us go. I had to be evasive.

  “It will take a little while to get acquainted again.”

  “Especially if you must frighten him,” Joel said.

  Behind the glasses his eyes had a pained look and I knew he was unhappy with me. I waited, questioningly.

  “Peter came running to me just now,” he went on. “He said you’d told him that someone had killed Adam. He was upset and frightened. He wanted to know who it was. Christy, if you must keep on with these unrealistic notions, you shouldn’t trouble Peter with them.”

  There was no use trying to defend myself. He was right, and while what I had done had seemed natural at the time, I hadn’t thought ahead to the consequences.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “The last thing I’d want is to upset Peter.”

  But Joel was upset himself. “If you’re going to persist in what is really a delusion, I wonder if you ought to stay. I wonder—”

  I sat up on the bed and stared at him angrily. “Of course I mean to stay!”

  He made no further attempt to face me down, but turned back to his own door. “Then I think you’d better take another course and not go stirring things up.”

  I caught at his words with a challenge. “Stirring what things up?”

  “Theo, of course. She won’t have you here if you upset Peter. And if you hold to this particular course, she’ll have you sent back to the hospital.”

  “She can’t do that unless you want me to go. Do you think I belong in the hospital?”

  He met my look sadly. “I don’t know. I hope not, Christy. But it remains to be seen, doesn’t it—whether you’re really well? I’d only like to help you stay here, if that’s what you want.”

  “We’ve got to talk about Theo,” I said. “About what she’s doing to Peter. The most appalling things came through from him when we were out walking just now.”

  He waited, and I went on.

  “Peter told me he was going to be Theo’s heir. He said this house was going to belong to him and—”

  “All of which is probably true,” Joel broke in. “Theo believes that anyone who is to inherit a fortune must be prepared for the job while still young.”

  “I don’t want him to inherit a fortune. That sort of money destroys.”

  “That’s why she’s beginning while he’s young. So he’ll grow up knowing how to take care of it. And I’m afraid you can’t stop my mother from doing what she wants with her own wealth. I don’t think it really matters all that much. She raised me and I haven’t suffered particularly because of the Moreland fortune.”

  “Because you’ve never cared about money!” I cried. “So you don’t think it’s worth talking about.”

  “You’re perfectly right about that,” he said, and was gone through the door of his room before I could say anything more. I stared up into the gold and cream canopy over my bed, blinking my eyes furiously to keep from crying. There had been enough shedding of tears. I was completely alone in this house, and anything I tried to find out or wanted to do must be done alone and in secret. What Joel didn’t understand about Peter was not that he might inherit wealth, but what his growing attitudes toward it were going to be. Theo was heading him directly for disaster. When Hal had been alive and Joel was growing up, it would have been different because of Hal’s good sense. But now Theo was on her own with Peter, and Joel wasn’t understanding at all.

  I lay back on the bed, feeling utterly frustrated and helpless. It must be nearly dinnertime and dinner was the one meal at which Theo demanded absolute punctuality. If you missed what had been served, you missed it, and there was no sending out to the kitchen to bring something back for the tardy guest. Help was scarce and highly valued, and you did not inconvenience the kitchen. Besides, Theo enjoyed her small tyrannies.

  I put on a halter dress of peacock blue, with a gold sunburst in the folds of the neckline, and blue slippers to match. It was a Galitzine Theo had given me last year before everything had collapsed, and I knew she would approve my wearing it. Her good graces were hard to come by since I must oppose her on so many points.

  When I was ready I knocked on Joel’s door and we went downstairs together in silence. Clearly he had not forgiven me for what had happened to Peter or for my outburst of a little while ago. Everything had gone into cross-purposes between Joel and me and we couldn’t talk to each other any more. Yet there had been a time … no, I didn’t want that any more. I could no longer go back to those days. When something came to an end and there was no feeling left—my own thoughts brought me up short. What did I mean by an end? What were the ramifications? There was no time to think this through now, and I put the disturbing thought away from me for the moment.

  A fire had been lighted in the French Salon, where several Louis’ mixed their furniture, though with Fiona’s influence Theo rather leaned to the XVI period, with mahogany and rosewood, and small-patterned silks, all rather classical in style.

  Everyone was there and Ferris stood at a small bar that hardly suited the décor, mixing the drinks. Tonight Theo looked regal in a long gown made of Japanese obi cloth, light green, with bright red poppies scattered across it, and Fiona was lovely in pale yellow chiffon. The men wore dinner jackets, de
rigueur for Newport dining, and tonight there were no guests—just ourselves.

  Theo had not forgotten our last meeting, when I had walked out on her to go to Peter, and for a time she carefully ignored me. We went into the formal dining room and Theo took the head of the table, with Joel on her right and Ferris on her left. I sat between Ferris and Bruce, with Fiona and Joel across. Since this was a news-oriented family, the talk at first was about the latest political scandal. I didn’t join in but sat quietly at my place, eating very little, but listening and watching. I knew I had to watch them all because someone among these five might know something that I wanted to learn.

  Peter, of course, was not at the table. Theo deplored the custom of having children join the adults at dinnertime. This was the one formal meal. Luncheons were always buffet, with everyone coming and going as he pleased. And breakfasts were somewhat on the same order.

  Of all the rooms at Spindrift, this was the one I found most oppressive. The carpet was dim green, with a dingy yellow border—very valuable and old, undoubtedly. The fireplace mantel was black marble, the wainscoting dark mahogany, with patterned gold damask above. There was a multitude of lighted candles, set on the long table and on heavy, dark sideboards around the room, but they did little to brighten the atmosphere. Brown velvet draperies flowed from the top of high windows to the floor, adding to the dark oppression. Theo sat in a tall, straight chair at one end of the table, its back rising over her head so that she seemed to occupy a throne royally. The matching chair at the opposite end had been Hal’s and no one was ever allowed to sit there.

  When the soup plates had been taken away, Theo addressed me directly for the first time, so that other conversation stopped, and the focus was on me.

  “You tired Peter out this afternoon, Christy. He wouldn’t eat a bite of supper tonight. Besides that, Miss Crawford is very much distressed. She had only stepped out for a moment and during that time you spirited Peter away, without even consulting her.”

  It was like Theo to make a public accusation, and I could feel myself flushing rebelliously. I had never even thought about a likely governess who had to be consulted. There was no way in which I could answer her without bleating again about motherhood, but I struggled to save my dignity.

  “I’ll apologize to Miss Crawford,” I said. “I’m sorry I disturbed her. I didn’t think about a governess when I took him out. Perhaps now I can relieve her of some of her duties.”

  “She won’t thank you for that,” Theo said. “You’ve already made her disapprove of you.”

  Bruce said quietly, “Perhaps it’s Christy’s right to disapprove of Miss Crawford.”

  Theo threw him a look of reproach, but she said nothing, and I felt a little glow of gratitude because someone had come to my side. I looked at Bruce’s rock-carved profile beside me and murmured a secret “Thank you.”

  He turned his head and flashed that smile which could lighten his somber features and I found myself smiling back at him. For a moment we were conspirators, standing against the Empress. He was a little like my father, I thought. Adam had never let Theo blow him down, and he had spoken up when he thought her unjust to others, as no one else ever did.

  The meal wound along to its end, and I was glad to escape soon after the crepes and coffee had been served. The others might return to the salon for liqueurs and more conversation, but I’d had enough. I pleaded weariness to Theo and went up to bed.

  The Gold Room obviously disapproved of me for coming upstairs at such an early hour, but I turned my back on it and had a good hot bath in a luxurious bathroom which was Theo’s innovation, surrounded by marble and mock-gold fittings. When I was replete with jasmine bath salts and hot water, I put on a blue wool robe and stole upstairs to Peter’s room.

  Miss Crawford sat beside his bed, reading aloud to him. She was a lady of indeterminate age and immaculate nature, as was evidenced by her neat gray dress that was just an edge off a uniform. No wonder there were no toys or books strewn about the room. As I tapped and came in, she put her book down with a faint air of reproach. Peter looked at me without welcome, ready to endure my presence if that was necessary, but clearly anxious to get back to his story.

  I told Miss Crawford that I was sorry I had taken Peter away earlier without letting her know, but I think my apology hardly mollified her.

  “What are you reading?” I asked Peter.

  “It’s a book called Treasure Island,” he informed me grudgingly. “It’s very exciting.”

  I wished that I could have been the one to read it to him first. “I know,” I said. “I think I must have read it when I was about your age. Have you come to the apple barrel yet?”

  He forgave me a little because at least I was not ignorant. “We’re way past that. Jim is with Long John Silver on the island now.”

  “Then I’ll go away quickly and let you find out what happens next,” I said and bent to kiss him on the cheek. “I just wanted to tell you good night and let you know how much I enjoyed our walk this afternoon.”

  He barely submitted to my kiss. “Grandma Theo says you’re not good for me. She says you excite me too much. And she says it’s not true that someone killed Grandpa Adam. She says you get mixed up sometimes. She says everyone knows he killed himself because he was going to be disgraced, and you only believe what you told me because you’ve been sick. I’m not to listen to you.”

  I held back my impulse to blurt out hurt, angry words. I had begun to shake inside, but I managed to speak calmly. “At least we’ll have to prove to your grandmother that she’s wrong about my not being good for you. I’m your mother. And I think it’s rather fun to be excited sometimes—the way you were about that house next door.”

  He looked doubtful and a little confused. I patted his hand lightly, nodded to the immaculate Miss Crawford, who was plainly aghast, and went back to my room.

  “I don’t like you,” I told the array of cream and gold. “And I suspect you don’t approve of me either. Tomorrow I’m going to ask for the Red Room, if it’s empty. In the meantime we’ll have to bear with each other.”

  I had brought some paperback mysteries to read during dull hours at Spindrift, and I took out an Agatha Christie and settled myself against the high pillows of the bed. But I really was weary after the long, emotion-packed day, and before long I got up to open the window on a side balcony, turned out the lights, and settled down to sleep, with the distant rush of the sea—one of the things I had always liked about Spindrift—sounding in my ears. You could even smell the sea here—that distinctive scent made up of so many things—seaweed and spume and salt.

  I was only briefly aware of Joel when he came in. He did not tap on my door, nor had he come to say good night. That was a formality we’d done away with. I listened as he moved around, but he must have thought me asleep for he went away quickly.

  Nothing penetrated the deep slumber I fell into. I heard no sound of an opening door—nothing. No glimmer of consciousness reached into my dreams—if there were dreams—until the touch came on my cheek. It was light as gauze as it brushed my skin, but it was enough to startle me awake. I reached up to brush aside whatever had touched me, and for an instant my hand came in contact with the cold fingers of another hand grazing my face.

  I think I must have cried out in alarm, for a voice whispered softly in my ear, “Be quiet. Nothing will hurt you. Be still. But listen to what I say. Go away from this house while there is time. Never come back.”

  I gasped and was quiet, waiting for whatever might come next out of the blackness in my room. Nothing did. There was a faint whisper of sound as someone moved away from me across the room. There was a stirring of air as a door opened, and for an instant the slit of light from the hall was blocked by a dark figure. Then the door closed and there was only silence.

  I came to life and flung myself across the room to open the door. The long hall with its richness of red carpet lay empty and silent. No door stood open down the endless corridor, and
I couldn’t guess which blank face the visitor had vanished behind. The house was still and asleep. But my own sleep had been destroyed in that moment of fright when I realized that a hand was touching my face.

  I ran about the room, turning on lamps, banishing the darkness. The delayed reaction of my fright was worse than the moment itself when I had still been befogged by sleep. I thought of running into Joel’s room to tell him what had happened. But I stopped myself in time. I knew the look of reproach he would give me, knew he would believe nothing had happened, and that I’d been having one of my disturbing dreams that had come so frequently since I had been ill.

  Would he be right? Had it been a dream? I had been so deeply asleep that dream and reality might have mingled. The thought made me feel uncertain and as confused as Peter.

  At any rate, I was sleepless now. I couldn’t go back to bed. Instead, I slipped on my warm robe and slippers and looked in my suitcase for a flashlight. Since I could not sleep, there was something else I could do, and I might as well do it now.

  5

  When I was ready I turned out the lamps in my room, lest an edging of light show beneath the door and attract Joel’s attention. I had earlier thrown back the draperies from a side window, and now moonlight fell through the opening and made patterns of tree branches on my floor. The moonlit scene at Spindrift had always intrigued me and I went to look out the window while my room was dark.

  The view opened in the direction of the opposite house, Redstones, which Peter had talked about this afternoon. Its chimneys and pointed roofs stood stark and black in the moonlight, and I had again the sense of pricked ears, as though the house listened for something. But there was a strangeness now—something that should not have been. In a lower room a light was burning—a pale, subtle glow. I stared at it for a time, puzzled and unbelieving. The light did not move, so it must have been set in one place. I could think of no reason why anyone should be about in that house at this hour unless he was a trespasser. Perhaps in the morning I would speak to Theo about it. But now I had a project of my own.