by Mimi Barbour
When the bell over the doorway tinkled to announce an arrival, a middle-aged woman with a bandana tied around her hair looked up from her magazine. Slouched over the counter, she nonchalantly wiped at non-existent dust with the cleaning rag she held.
“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to have a room for tonight and possibly the next few days.”
She stared at him, and one eyebrow rose as she took in the wiggling bulge in his jacket, the newspapers under his arm, and the small paper bags he carried. “Do you have any other luggage?”
“No.” He chuckled. “Impulsive trip. I’m travelling light.” His smile faded when it wasn’t returned. He glanced around and discovered the interior of a room decorated with themes from nigh-on twenty years before. He remembered the same rose-patterned wallpaper in his grandmother’s farmhouse bedroom, and the light fixtures—pink frosted spaghetti-glass globes—were classic early fifties. He shuddered.
The heavy-chested, moustached female called over her shoulder as she walked past him and disappeared down the hallway. “Bunty, you’ve a customer.”
Within minutes, a stunner emerged from a doorway behind the desk and held her hand toward Troy. Her slim hips wiggled with a touch more effort after she had eyeballed and catalogued his charms.
Her busty upper body, clothed in a skin-tight sweater, thrust out invitingly, which together with the way she walked on her high heels could make an observer fear she might at any moment fall forward. “Good evening, sir. I’m Mrs. Hubble. You’re wanting a room?” The woman’s syrupy attitude, a complete switch from the previous greeter, charmed Troy.
“Yes. For at least one night, maybe more. I’ve business in town, and I’m not too sure how long it will keep me here.” His hand patted and controlled the nuisance hidden underneath his leather bomber jacket.
“I see. I have a nice room at the front overlooking the street, which will suit, I’m sure. Sign here, if you please? We do serve a supper every night in the bar area between five and seven. If you’re late there’s always snacks in the pub, or a restaurant down the street. It’s open until much later.”
Troy signed where her red-polished fingernail pointed and then turned the large register back in her direction. “Tonight, I’ll eat in my room, if that’s possible. Can a tray be carried upstairs? If not, I can come down and get it.”
“That’ll be fine, ah, Mr. Brennan. I’ll bring it upstairs for you myself. Say in half an hour?” She beamed at him, her lipstick-coated lips issuing a subtle challenge.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hubble.”
“Please, just call me Bunty. Mrs. Hubble seems so formal, and being as how I’m a widow, the title doesn’t really count anymore.” She turned and strutted over to the pigeonholes that were fronted with hanging keys. Taking her time, she withdrew a skeleton-shaped one and swivelled around to pass it over the counter.
“There’s the stairs, or we have a lift, if you prefer.” She pointed to the far end of the room.
Troy accepted her offering. “Thank you, Bunty, I need the exercise.” He couldn’t help smiling back at the obviousness of his proprietor. He winked and turned in the direction she’d pointed, towards the spiral wooden staircase.
The small upstairs room he entered depressed him somewhat. He missed the customary television set and longed for a private bathroom where he could soak away the aches from the last twenty-four hours. He did thank the gods for the installed wardrobe, where he could store the puppy out of sight when anyone came knocking. Lowering his pal, he put his finger over his lips and whispered, “No barking, or you’ll find yourself outside. Got it?”
The small whine of agreement satisfied him.
With a little push on the furry behind, he said. “Go investigate, and no accidents.” Then he threw himself over the blue chenille-covered bed, crossed his arms and legs, and sulked.
****
“She’s a bit of a tart, isn’t she?” The words burst from a life force shut down for far too long. Dani had tried to respect his wishes for silence, but she found it unbearable not being able to speak her mind, or think out loud.
He groaned. “What do you know about tarts? You’re a child, and your mother must have told you that children should be seen and not heard.”
“Hang on! Since I can’t be seen, I claim the right to be heard.”
“Of course you do,” he said sarcastically.
“You’re still angry with me, aren’t you? I can feel you simmering and stewing about it.”
“I’m not angry!” Troy groaned with disgust. “Fine. Maybe a bit annoyed. I followed that woman all the way from Chicago to Bury, England, and never once did she leave my sight—don’t say it!”
“I wasn’t going to! It’s understood you couldn’t follow her into the loo.”
“Within reason, she never left my sight. Then you come along and invade me for a few minutes, and all hell breaks loose. Instead of doing what I should have done, which is mind my own business, I end up with a mutt and a cold trail on the one story that could give me everything I want.”
His aggrieved tone made Dani feel terrible. The simmering annoyance he couldn’t hide burned away inside like the embers in a fireplace. She sympathized with his frustration. If finding Ellie Ward was that important to him, she couldn’t withhold information she knew would restore his good mood.
“Look, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I know where her parents live here in town. I can show you how to meet up with her again so you can sort things out.”
“You do? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“If you remember, you were in a serious bother at the time.” Working him in the same way she worked her father, she injected a small hurt tone. “You said I couldn’t speak.”
“Look, I’m sorry, kiddo. I can be a bit of a shi— jerk sometimes. Just ignore me when I get that way. It comes on quickly and goes away just as fast. Can you show me in the morning where Ellie and her family live? Then I’ll get busy working the article. If I do my homework, gather background material on her early life here in Bury, it could be a spectacular piece, maybe get picked up by the Associated Press, and I’ll have the chance to once again be in print nationally.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Troy dove for the dog. He grabbed up some of the beef jerky he’d bought and used it now as an inducement to keep his new pal from complaining too loudly for being put in a dark place. His bundled-up jacket used for a mat worked fine. Moving quickly, he placed the busily chewing puppy on top of the soft material, threw in another few pieces of the treat, and closed the door, concealing the mutt from prying eyes.
“Good thinking!”
“Thank you, ma’am, I aim to please.”
“Well, that should delight Mrs. Hubble.” The droll wit, a part of her personality that enchanted her uncle, came easily to her.
The resultant smile, plastered over Troy’s face, elicited an even bigger one from the widow Hubble as she deposited the fully packed tray on a table in front of the window. She jiggled the tied-back, white organza curtains, giving them an extra swat before she turned to face Troy.
“I trust your room is in order, Mr. Brennan?”
“Thanks so much for bringing the tray up for me. Everything is perfect, and the stew smells great.”
“It’s very kind of you to say so. If there is anything else we can do to make your stay memorable, please don’t hesitate.”
The simpering words were spoken in tandem with an obvious come-on. She straightened her shoulders and held them back, arching her bosom, and then she crossed her arms to frame what she wanted to emphasize. Catching his eyes, she smiled in a flirtatious manner while watching his reaction from under her eyelids. An over-application of mascara made them appear false and so weighted her blinking took longer than normal.
“What a silly cow!” Not used to hiding her thoughts, Dani’s raging candour prompted Troy’s engaging grin.
“No! I’ll want nothing more.
Thank you, Mrs. Hubble. I’ll bring the tray down after I’m done. Good night.”
Annoyance flashed across the landlady’s features at his sorry-not-interested tone. A loud slam vibrated the floor when she left the room.
“Sorry about that, Dani.”
Troy went over and released a happy, wriggling fluff-ball from the cupboard. Then he laid newspapers on the linoleum and placed the little one on top of them. “Okay, Licky-lou, time for your lessons.” He pushed the pup’s hind end down, over and over again, with the command “stay” until defiance receded. The warm pile of broken-up stewing beef might have had something to do with his obedience, also.
Inside, Dani smiled, and the warmth spread throughout Troy.
“You handled Mrs. Hubble like a pro, actually. And, I’m not a child, Troy, as much as you want to insist that I am. My parents, and especially my uncle, have always treated me beyond my years. It’s forced me to mature faster than my peers, and when I think of the silly, immature kids I’m forced to hang around with, I’m jolly glad for it.”
“Think again, my girl. It’s important to get along with people your own age, or you won’t have very much fun growing up, will you?”
“I have friends. Good friends. It’s just that most of the students I spend my days with are either dim-witted, and that’s being complimentary, or they try hard to look that way to fit in. Popularity is ghastly.”
“I see nothing’s changed since my days in school.” Troy ate and visited at the same time.
“I have a friend. He’s a lovely boy—no fancy airs, no vindictiveness like many of the people in our school, adults included. But the other blokes, and even some of the girls, treat him like he’s inferior, all because he’s shy. It’s horrible, it is.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Troy asked, teasing.
“Not really, but I like him and feel sorry for him.”
“Sweetheart, you can’t right all the wrongs of the world. Sometimes people have to stick up for themselves or be dumped on. It’s just the way things are. You need to take care of number one.”
“Troy, you can’t believe that. It’s a disgusting way for people to think, never mind live. We all have a responsibility to help each other—”
“Hey! You think the way you want to. I’ll believe what I know is the way things are out there in the big, bad world. And I’ll thank you not to try to influence me while you’re my resident. Deal?”
“But—”
“Deal?”
“Deal.” Dani’s mind raced. Could he really be serious?
“Dam—darn right I am. Now go away, sweetheart, and let me eat my supper.”
Earlier, her own need for some personal privacy had forced her to delve deep, to find the way to zone him out should she need space. She learned how to shut down their pipeline and exist inside her own sphere where he couldn’t tune in. Once she conquered this ability, she felt better.
His startling declaration earlier needed private consideration. What she’d shared with him was the truth. In her family circle she spent much more time with adults than with people her own age. It showed in the way she behaved, her ease with being a good listener, and her tendency to respect everyone else’s views.
But his views rang false. “Look after number one.” His philosophy baffled and saddened her. Between what he’d just told her and what she knew to be true from her own experience, a wide chasm existed. Had he spoken honestly? Or spouted words to make an impression? Sometimes it was easy to tune in on his true feelings, and other times it didn’t work. This time it hadn’t worked.
She supposed as they got to know each other better over the next few days she’d learn to read his emotions. Maybe even trust him enough to discuss her dilemma and tell him her secret. Then again, maybe not. Dani couldn’t stand the thought that he might make her regret what she’d done. Especially since she’d begun questioning herself about the choices she’d made and whether or not the outcome would be worth the uproar.
Cautiously optimistic, she decided to take her time and just let things ride for now. If she admitted her real identity, would he use that against her in some way? A self-professed jerk should be treated carefully.
Another niggling worry came to mind. The date on the newspapers he’d spread on the floor was July 1978. The day she’d visited her uncle had been ten years earlier.
Not that there hadn’t been other obvious changes everywhere they’d gone. For instance, her showing up as a grown woman in the vicarage garden. The time difference was pretty freaky.
Her mind wandered away from a problem too complex to solve. She speculated on how her uncle fared, and how he was dealing with her batty, lovable, overprotective mother. The woman could drive an angel demented, but the whole family loved and protected her from the harshness of reality.
Poor Uncle Robert. And poor Mrs. Dorn! Dani’s mood lightened for just a sec when she imagined the shock that woman would suffer upon being told about the spell attached to the roses in the garden.
Now Dani understood why her uncle never let anyone else near them. He pruned and watered them himself and maintained very strict instructions that they were never to be cut for any reason, not for the house or for company.
Thinking about him made her sad again. She missed him, but she also knew what awaited her at home wasn’t anything she wanted to rush back to. The longer she could put off returning, the better, because when she did get back, her family would be split apart, and she would be right smack dab in the middle.
Chapter Seven
“Hello, Mrs. Dorn. This is Marion Howard again. Is my brother available to come to the telephone? I’ve called three times before and—”
“Yes, mum, you don’t have to tell me. I’ve answered each time. Run me feet ragged to get to the bloody phone, I have. Sorry. He’s not ‘ere, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. He’s a busy man, he is.”
Standing next to her, Dr. Andrews frowned at Mrs. Dorn’s attitude, then nodded agreement when she picked up on his agitation and changed over. She’d tempered her tone and added the last sentence to soften her manner.
“I’m aware of how much extra work my daughter is, Mrs. Dorn, and I wish I could be there myself to look after her. It’s very annoying that I’m not allowed anywhere near when she so obviously needs me.” A sob could be heard over the line.
The doctor’s eyes looked upwards, furrowing his brow. His hands clenched, one over the other, and then lifted to rest against his lips.
Mrs. Dorn’s pinkish nose wart appeared prominently against the paleness of her face. She tried to push the receiver toward the doctor, but her action met with resistance. He shook his head quickly and pulled his hands away, as if someone held a gun on him and had given the order “stick ‘em up.” As added reinforcement, he then swung them behind his back, a mulish look obvious on his face.
With a sigh, Mrs. Dorn answered. “Your Dani is the loveliest lass I know, and doing for her is me pleasure, Mrs. Howard. According to Nurse Joye, young Dani is resting well, her colour is good, and, let me tell you, she’s getting the best of care. The doctor has seen to that, he has. He’ll ring you as soon as he gets back from the, umm, emergency. As long as it ain’t too late!” The doctor’s grimace had her adding on the last part.
“See that he does, and thank you, Mrs. Dorn.” A sniff lingered as the last sound heard before the miffed housekeeper slammed the phone down.
“Doctor Andrews! A fine howd’yedo! Here—why are you being such a pinhead? I know Mrs. Howard can be difficult, but she is your sister. The blithering woman’s distressed about her little girl’s sickness, about not being allowed near her, and she deserves your consideration, if just for a few minutes every day.”
“You are so right, Mrs. Dorn. Forgive me for foisting this situation onto your most efficient, accommodating shoulders—”
“‘Ere now, none of that nonsense. I’ve done for you for twenty years, and helped you out of many a pickle, but this time, sir, you’re out of ord
er. And if you don’t soon fix things, I’ll be one of your dotty patients meself!”
“Confound it, Mrs. Dorn! My older sister might be a tiny bit overpowering, and for that I’m sorry, but that woman can differentiate between me telling her the truth or not, even over a telephone. I swear there’s an inbuilt lie detector located on the frontal lobe of her shrewd brain.”
Mrs. Dorn’s chubby arms unwound slowly from in front of her considerable chest, and her stance became less stiff. The intractability in her attitude slowly faded. Seeing this, the doctor continued.
“Bear in mind the time I felt wretched over the Pringle suicide, and Marion invited me for dinner? I refused to go—it’s true. But I distinctly recall telling her I was a mite tired after working with some specialists from out of London. Admittedly, I might have sounded a wee bit down, but considering the circumstances, those reactions were not unexpected. I was ever so careful not to let on about my mood, or to say anything that would lead her to even suspect a slight case of depression. She arrived an hour later with her suitcase and promptly informed us she was here to make sure I took some time off from work. Do you remember, Mrs. Dorn?”
She nodded, her attitude undergoing a slight change, but she didn’t speak.
“Three unbearable days she disrupted our lives. Three of the longest days in memory.” The doctor’s voice rose perceptibly as the tale continued, and his eyes enlarged to the point of seeming to fill the round wires of his spectacles.
“Oh, Doctor, ‘ere now. She behaved quite well, even going as far as to stock up on your favourite Bury Black Puddin’s. She carried tea trays to you every hour, checked in on you to be sure you weren’t working, had your secretary reschedule all your appointments—all to give you a long-overdue break.”
“Yes, and made a mess in your kitchen, changed over all your cupboards, forced me to give said secretary, Doris, a raise to get her to come back to work, and saw to it that, to this very day, I hate any dish associated with pudding.”