Spindrift

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “I’ll leave you now,” she said. “Do lie down and rest, Christy. I’ll send you something warm to drink. You’ve had an upsetting day. Don’t try to come down to dinner. Everything will seem better after a night’s sleep.”

  This was the way they used to soothe me in the hospital, when all I wanted was to find someone who would believe with me that my father had been murdered and help me to find his murderer. But there was nothing more I could say to her. If she had engineered all this, then I was wasting my breath.

  When she had gone I knelt and scooped up my possessions a bit wildly, to toss them onto a chair. I would put them away later, but in the meantime I could not bear to see that straggling line across the floor, pointing at something that was untrue and that I must not for one moment believe. Ignoring the chill that crept over me, I flung myself across the bed and lay there inertly.

  There had been no “lapse” from consciousness during that scene in Theo’s sitting room. Nor had I been the one to strew those articles across the carpet. Not for a moment would I believe that these things were possible.

  I don’t know how long I lay there. Light faded from the room and I made no motion to turn on a lamp. If it was dinnertime, it didn’t matter. I was freezing cold and I couldn’t rouse myself to get up and pull the covers over me. It was as if any movement at all would plunge me into some terrible reality that I dared not face, that I must fight against with all my will and sanity.

  When the knock came on the door I tried to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would go away and leave me alone. But it came again and Joel’s voice called to me. There was nothing to do but tell him to come in.

  He opened the door and crossed the room to set something on a table, I could just make him out in the light from the hall. Then he switched on a lamp and I saw that he had brought me a dinner tray. When the room was lighted, he came over to the bed and looked down at me impersonally, put out a hand to touch my forehead. He no longer looked like a man carved from rock, but he was still a stranger.

  “Mother has told me what happened, Christy,” he said. “Upstairs in her sitting room, and here in your room. I’ve brought you something to eat and something hot to drink. You’re freezing cold. Don’t you want to get out of your clothes and under the covers?”

  “Nothing happened!” I cried. “Nothing happened! Just go away and leave me alone!”

  He didn’t go away. Instead, he rolled me over to one side of the bed and pulled the spread from under me, pulled down the blanket and sheet. Then, as impersonally as before, he pulled off my shoes and rolled me back into the center of the bed. My teeth were chattering by that time and I couldn’t stop them.

  “Hot soup first,” he said, and plumped up a pillow behind me, lifted me up in the bed and piled covers around me. He held the spoon to my lips and I took the soup, grateful for its nourishing warmth, even though I wouldn’t thank him. He believed what his mother had told him to believe. He belonged to the enemy camp. My sense of being totally alone increased. This was a man I couldn’t reach, didn’t want to reach.

  When I had finished the soup as he fed it to me, a little strength returned and I reached for the bowl of hot milk toast and fed myself. An invalid’s diet. There was even a cup of hot chocolate, a little too bitter for my taste, but it too warmed me. Joel sat down in a chair and watched me eat. As the chill left me, I was surprised to find myself hungry and a little less weak and shaken. At least I could speak now and when I finished I pushed away the tray.

  “Thank you, Joel,” I said politely. “What did your mother tell you about me?”

  His eyes were as evasive as Fiona’s. “I’m afraid you’ve had a slight relapse. There’s been too much excitement for you here. Too much unrestrained emotion.”

  “That’s the kind of emotion you’ve never understood, isn’t it?” I said. “The sort that’s unrestrained.”

  “I’ve tried to. But it’s not for me. Perhaps I’m beginning to see a good many things that weren’t clear before. My mother has been a lot sharper than I have. I don’t like to be made a fool of, Christy.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “This new interest of yours in Bruce Parry. Somehow I wouldn’t have believed that of you, Christy. But my mother has seen what was happening.”

  I could only stare at him in helpless outrage. What could I say, what could I do? There was the merest whisper of truth in his words, but I had recognized the danger of casual attraction and I had already turned away from it.

  “I suppose there’s no way to make you believe that Theo is lying again?” I said.

  His face darkened and he left his chair to pick up my tray. “Get into your night things and go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Hollow words. I wouldn’t feel better in the morning, and he knew it very well. Nothing in Theodora’s book of refined torment had been changed. It was getting worse with these new lies to Joel, and tomorrow it would continue. Until I cracked under it. That was what they all wanted. That was what they waited for. Theo, Joel, Fiona, Ferris. Bruce? But I would not think of Bruce. I hadn’t seen him since our trip to town this afternoon and I must put him from my thoughts for good. I didn’t mean to prove Theo right.

  I watched Joel as he went out of the room. Ministering to me was not an unfamiliar role. On occasions when I had been ill with a cold or something else innocuous, he had brought trays to my bed, sat with me soothingly, comfortingly. And he had kissed me good night tenderly when he went away. This sort of thing he could cope with. But not anything more serious. There was no tenderness in him now, no liking for me, and I was glad when he went away. When the door was closed and he had gone, I left my bed, meaning to get into my night things. But the chill and weakness seized me again, and I removed my stained suit, pulled on slacks and my red turtleneck. Then I turned off the lamp, opened a window in the direction of dark Redstones and crept back into bed in slacks and sweater, shivering again under the covers.

  But not for long. I began to feel languid and sleepy rather quickly, and I wondered if Theo had put anything into that hot chocolate. It didn’t matter. If she had given me a sleeping potion I would gladly go to sleep and thank her for it. I couldn’t bear consciousness any longer—with all its pain and confusion.

  I closed my eyes and drowsed and dreamed. The dreams were vividly colored and dramatic, and at first they did not seem to be wholly unpleasant. Once I thought a loving Peter had come to sit beside my bed and read to me from his favorite storybook. Once it was Joel who came and for a little, little moment I thought I loved him again. Then he turned horribly into something that lay immobile on the floor of the Tower Room and I could feel warm blood on my hands, on my clothes, so I began to scream.

  But the screaming must have been silent, because no one came and the vision faded and left me awake and drenched in perspiration. Now I became aware that the windows were rattling and that a storm had blown up outside. The voice of the ocean had become a roar. I had always liked the sounds of rain and rushing wind. I knew that waves could be crashing high upon the rocks below the Cliff Walk, and it would be rather fun to go down there and watch them. My changing mood encompassed the storm and matched it, rising to meet its intensity. I wouldn’t mind being outside in the rain, my clothes plastered against my body, my hair streaming moisture. There was inner elation in contemplation of such a vision. If only I didn’t feel so physically languid, I would go out there and meet the wild elements.

  But I was too drowsy. I fell asleep again, and dreamed, and wakened once more to the sounds of storm. In the waking moments I couldn’t remember all I dreamed. Once I was being held in comforting arms, I was being told that nothing would ever be allowed to hurt me again. I had been alone and deserted, and I opened my eyes to see Bruce’s face. But he was not as I knew him. There was a greater gentleness there, and I knew that I meant to him what he was beginning to mean to me. The rejection I felt when I was wide awake was gone, and I only wanted to hold
to this all-enveloping comfort, but the dream would not stay and a kaleidoscope of colors took its place, weaving the darkness of my room into a bright pattern, delighting me with glorious hues. Outside I heard thunder, and lightning flashed at my open window, matching the brilliance of my inner visions. It was through this pulsing of color and sound that I heard the voice calling me.

  “Christy, Christy. Wake up, Christy. I need you, Christy.”

  It was only a whisper—I couldn’t tell who called me. But the call was insistent. It would not let me be. I cast off the bedclothes and discovered with surprise that I was warm and fully clothed in slacks and sweater. When I got out of bed my legs weaved a little and there were flashes of pulsing color as I made my way across the room. The whisper was retreating now. It was not so close. I would follow it, of course. Nothing seemed more logical. With some small semblance of care, I put on my loafers so as not to go roaming about Spindrift in my stocking feet. It was reassuring to be able to reason so well.

  There was silence in the hall outside my room by the time I had slipped into my shoes, and for a moment I was afraid I had lost the whisper. But not for long, surely. I sensed that someone would be waiting for me on ahead. I felt quite calm and happy, and I seemed to float a little as I walked.

  When I pushed open the door and looked out into the hall, I saw that the lights had been turned out at the far end near the stairs. It didn’t matter. I could still make out the figure standing there. As I expected, it was my father. I recognized his plaid sports jacket and I knew he was waiting for me. For just a moment I wondered if I was still dreaming, because in my usual dreams Adam was never dead. I pinched my arm hard and felt pain.

  “I’m coming, Adam,” I said softly, and floated out into the hallway.

  The figure near the stairs beckoned and disappeared downward. I would follow him, of course. I would follow my father anywhere.

  11

  As I had known he would, Adam waited for me on ahead. When I reached the stairway I could see him near its foot. There was only a dim light burning on the main floor, and the figure in the plaid jacket moved away from the stairs as I came down.

  I was pleased with my floating motion. I hardly needed to touch the broad banister—just a tap with my fingertips now and then as I ran lightly down. Ahead of me he drifted through the dimly lighted Marble Hall and I was aware again of the storm flashing at tall windows, the thunder booming and reverberating, rain slashing against the glass. But I had no time for storms. I ran across Persian rugs and expanses of cold marble to the far doors that opened on the ballroom, and through which the figure of my father had disappeared.

  He had left the double doors open behind him, and I stepped through into darkness. Here there was no light at all and the windows were made of black glass. I stood near the door, waiting for the next flash of lightning to show me where Adam had gone. But when it came it flashed brilliantly upon nothing. The great area of floor was empty, for an instant shining and polished in the explosion of light, with rows of sedate satin benches marching around the walls. But with nothing living to be seen. Then darkness swept down again and I knew I had lost him.

  I called softly in the black room. “Adam, where are you? Adam, don’t go away from me. Wait for me, Adam.”

  But there was nothing—only the violence of the storm outside. I was waking up a little and my visions, my confident sense of floating to a sure rendezvous were fading, and in their place came a paralyzing fear. What was I doing down here in this great, dark room with the storm crashing all around? No longer was I tempted to go out and meet its fury. Someone waited for me in this emptiness that now seemed terror haunted, and I knew it was not my father. My father was dead.

  The turbulence outside was subsiding a little as the storm swept on. Lightning flickered less often now and thunder rumbled intermittently in the distance, leaving in between its drums a strange, listening quiet throughout the room. A listening I knew was meant for me. A listening that had a sense of watchfulness about it that frightened me. But I listened too.

  Was that a creak far across the ballroom? Had a foot moved upon some ancient board that groaned beneath its weight?

  Shelter. I must find shelter—a hiding place. Without being fully aware of it, I had moved away from the door and now it was only a faint oblong of dim light far behind me. If I ran toward it I would be intercepted. I no longer felt that the spirit which had led me here was benign. There was menace around me—something that threatened my sanity.

  Moving as softly as I could I went toward the nearest window and slipped behind the long crimson draperies that hung there. I remembered the crimson, though now their color was black. No one could have seen where I’d gone. There had been no flashing light for many seconds now. Only sound could have betrayed me. The heavy brocade was warm and smothering about me and I was beginning to perspire again, even though I could feel a cold draft from the window behind me, and its pane chilled my damp skin when I touched it.

  I could see nothing of the ballroom, but I continued to listen, and at the same time I looked out the window toward Redstones. Black trees thrashed out there in the wind and the other house was a crouching monster in the cloud-strewn night. No light illumined any window.

  My brain seemed thick and fuzzy, and there was no longer the wonderful clarity I had felt when I’d floated down the stairs following that vision of my father. I was wider awake now, but I couldn’t think properly and the devastating terror of my earlier dreams was still upon me. Only now it was real. There was danger waiting for me in this room.

  Somewhere a door opened and closed sharply, without effort to conceal, but I had lost my sense of direction in the dark, and I didn’t know where it was. Then footsteps started boldly down the ballroom and I knew utter terror. Whoever it was knew my hiding place and was coming directly toward me. I froze as the steps paused beside me, and a hand came through the draperies and touched me. Touched my face as I had been touched in my own bed once in the middle of the night. But this hand grasped at me, caught me roughly by the shoulder. I struggled wildly as the heavy draperies were thrust aside and a flashlight beam blinded me. I tried to cry out, to scream for help, but my throat had closed. The hands that grasped me shook me hard and a voice I knew spoke to me.

  “Christy, Christy! Stop fighting me. Open your eyes. I’m not going to hurt you. What on earth are you doing here?”

  I obeyed and ceased my struggling as I looked up into Bruce’s face. Then I sagged limply into his arms and he held me gently.

  “You frightened me terribly!” I gasped.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I’d caught our nighttime intruder. Tell me why you’re here.”

  My words must have been nearly incoherent, but I poured them out with my cheek against the wetness of his raincoat that told me he had just come in from outside. I explained breathlessly about following my father downstairs, about losing him here in the ballroom, and about the menace that hid in the darkness until Bruce had come.

  When the outpourings were done, he released me gently.

  “Stay right here while I turn on the lights,” he said and walked away from me to a wall switch.

  The chandeliers blazed, so that the great ballroom glittered with light and I could see Bruce standing by the switch in his wet raincoat with the flashlight in his hand. There was no one else there. Whoever it was had escaped. As Bruce came toward me his eyes were troubled and questioning.

  “I’m all right now,” I said in answer to that question. “I think Theo put something in the drink she sent me before I went to sleep. It was like some of those drugs they gave me in the hospital—I had wild dreams and things happened that seemed real when they weren’t. But, Bruce, I saw my father. I’m not hallucinating now and I know what was real and what wasn’t. I saw him.”

  “Yes, Christy.” His tone was still gentle. “You thought you saw him. Look. Look here.”

  He walked to a near corner of the room and picked up something that had been dropped
behind another concealing drapery, with only the edge of it showing. But Bruce had seen. He drew out my father’s plaid jacket and held it up.

  “This is what you saw, Christy, but someone else was wearing it.”

  “To lure me,” I said. “To make me think I was mad.”

  I took the jacket from him and clasped it to me, as though I held my father. The terrible shivering was upon me again.

  “If you hadn’t found me—” I faltered. “If you hadn’t—”

  “Hush,” he said and drew me into comforting arms again, as though I belonged there. It was like the dream I’d had of him, when I’d known I wasn’t alone any more.

  “I knew there was someone behind that drapery the moment I moved my flashlight around the room,” he said. “The bulge gave your presence away. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  I couldn’t stop my trembling, even in his arms, and he began to propel me across the room.

  “Come along, Christy. We’ll get some hot coffee. I need some myself by this time.”

  I went with him without question as he turned out the lights and led the way to the small rose and cream dining room, sat me gently in a chair and busied himself with the coffeepot on the buffet. When the brew was percolating, he came back and drew a chair up to sit close to me, took my two hands in his and held them in comforting warmth.

  “You’re all right now. You can stop shivering. No one is going to hurt you.”

  “They want me to go mad. They want to frighten me so badly that I’ll believe I’m ill again and go back to the hospital. Then Theo can have Peter to raise and there will be no threat to whoever it was who killed my father.”