Moonshadows (6 page)

Household servants, faithful to the end, withstood the onslaught of the weather with their usual dignity. Mentally, Janet rushed the minister forward in his eulogy. Cold began to seep through her leather gloves and sting her fingers. She shifted her feet on the hard ground and felt only numbness. To take her mind off the cold, Janet turned her attention to Lettie, standing stiff and proper beside her husband. Janet wondered what the woman might be thinking. Over the years her attendance to her charge had been nothing short of total devotion.

Elizabeth Lancaster had not been an easy woman to live with. For Janet, growing up at
Heather Down
often proved difficult. Much was expected of her, and many times, she feared, she had fallen way short of the mark. Her grandparents had planned for her to attend Harvard School of Law and follow in the footsteps of her father. But the prospect of years of diligent study and dedication failed to attract Janet in the least, and she was forced to oppose the two of them—a formidable task, to say the least—for the first time in her young life. Dropping out of college after only two short years of working toward a liberal arts degree, Janet informed them that she was as much a liberal as she cared to be and could see no reason to continue wasting her time and their money. She mulled over the possibility of going away to Baltimore to study art, but decided they would only want to change her style and tinker around with her technique, so that idea was deep-sixed almost immediately. When she ended up going to work at the library, her grandparents accepted her decision and were appeased to a certain degree.

The minister’s voice brought Janet back to the present.

“…and may God gather you in his loving arms and keep you safe always. Amen.”

The service was over and the small procession hurried to their cars to drive the short distance back to the house. Duffy held open the door of the Rolls and Janet crawled in. The rain drummed on the roof of the car and the continuing slap-slap-slap of the wipers and the warm air humming from the heater had a hypnotic effect on her. She would have liked to curl up in the corner of the back seat and go to sleep, but procedure took precedence over preference.

Back inside the house, Cook began shedding her outer garments before she cleared the front door. “Tea will be served in ten minutes,” she announced.

Janet climbed the stairs to her room and peeled away the wet clothes and towel-dried her hair. Moments later, they all gathered around the dining table as Cook scurried about seeing that everyone’s needs were attended to.

A short time later the small group of visitors started to disperse. Janet stood at the front door shaking hands and nodding with a sad smile at offered condolences. Once they were all gone, only the Lancaster intimates remained. Ian Newkirk, properly clad in formal funeral attire, stepped to the doorway of the kitchen. The elderly gentleman, reared in the old guard of gallant chivalry, waited for a break in the conversation before he spoke.

“Janet, I’m sure you already know the contents of your grandmother’s Last Will and Testament. She informed me just last week that she intended to tell you exactly how it was set forth.” Looking around the table, he pushed back the sides of his broadcloth cutaway and hooked his thumbs into the slit pockets of the gray-striped vest. “While I understand that this is neither the time nor place to be bringing up the matter, I just want all of you to know that you have been more than adequately provisioned.” He nodded. “Janet, when do you plan on returning to Middlebrook?”

“I thought Saturday, Mr. Newkirk. I promised to be back to work on Monday. So yes, Saturday afternoon, I think.”

“Very good. Why then do we not schedule the reading of the will for Saturday morning? We can do it here, in your grandmother’s study. With few exceptions, all parties named in the will are present in this room, so I can see no reason for a delay.”

“Thank you, Mr. Newkirk,” Janet said.

On Saturday morning, the reading of the will held no surprises. The four servants were to continue receiving their full salary for the remainder of their lives. The generous deed was apparently more than expected of the late Madam. Lettie and Cook fought back tears, and Trent and Duffy seemed to have developed the sniffles. Janet thought it little enough for the many years of service rendered. The conditions for the bulk of the estate were set forth in precise detail. It was just as her grandmother had related to Janet the evening before she died.

Mr. Newkirk refolded the stiff, blue-bound paper.

“This document will go into probate and be filed at the courthouse for public inspection. Once that is done, we can only hope that either Isabella or Etienne hear about the death and chooses to come forward.” He removed his glasses and placed them on the desk. “In the meantime, the entire estate will remain as it exists today until the year has ended.” He returned his glasses, settled them on his face, and began stacking papers back into his briefcase. “Do you have any questions, Janet?”

“Has there been no news about Etienne—nothing at all?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

Janet nodded.

He snapped the lock on the case and picked it up. “Fine. I’ll leave you then.” He gathered his hat and walking stick and strode to the entrance of the study. At the door, he placed the hat on his head, patted it lightly and turned back toward the group. “Good day to all of you.”

The five remained seated, each entertaining their own personal woolgathering. Finally Lettie spoke.

“I had no idea Madam would be so generous.”

The others looked up and nodded at what must have been a shared opinion.

“Miss Janet,” Trent spoke. “Do you intend to keep the house open?”

“I think not, Trent. Not for a while anyway.” She smiled. “That is unless you all want to continue living here. That would be fine with me.”

Lettie laced her fingers together. “It wouldn’t be the same with Madam.” She glanced around the table. “We’ve all decided to leave
Heather Down
. It will be a sad going, but that’s what we decided.”

Janet nodded. “All of you have earned a much-needed rest. So do things you want to do, for a change. Travel, visit friends and families—whatever you want.”

Lettie smiled. “Duffy and I have always longed to see Ireland.” She reached over and patted his hand. “Now we can afford it—and we’ll certainly have plenty of time.”

“Trent,” Janet asked. “Any plans?”

The old face brightened and Janet realized that he wasn’t nearly the frail fossil that she always thought him to be.

“Going south—someplace warm the year around,” he said and winked at Cook. “The Keys, most likely. I have a brother there. Me and Daisy are going together.” He laughed. “Might even get married.”

Janet frowned. “
Daisy
? This is the first time I’ve heard your name. Isn’t it strange that I never thought to ask.”

Cook trilled a sort of off-key melody, self-conscience at being the center of attention.

“It’s all settled then,” Janet declared. “But I would appreciate it if you’d keep in touch. If I should decide to reopen the house I’d be more than honored to have you return.” She smiled. “That is, if retirement ever gets to be too much of a burden, and you need something to do. Besides, I’d hate to have to break in a whole new staff when you all know the place better than I do.” She looked at Duffy. “And I’d never trust the Rolls to anybody but you.”

Duffy blushed and lowered his head.

Lettie laid a hand upon Janet’s arm. “I never could stand slovenliness,” she said. “You can always depend on me. You must remember that.”

Later that afternoon, Janet packed her clothes for the return trip to Middlebrook. After she put her room to rights, she walked down the flight of stairs and stopped outside the closed door of her grandmother’s room. Reaching for the knob, she touched it lightly before changing her mind. She withdrew her hand and turned away to continue down the stairs. The staff moved on silent footfalls, draping furniture with white dustsheets and closing off rooms. The house was stirring with veils of shadows that whispered murmurings of death. In the black and white tiled salon, the late evening sun cast a pale shimmer though the windows and played an eerie light against the hulking ghost-like shapes that sat poised as if upon a giant chessboard. The game was over; the queen was dead.

Lettie approached.

“We’ll be gone in the next few days,” she said to Janet. “I’ll leave the key with Mr. Newkirk.”

“Thanks Lettie. You’ve been indispensable these last few days.”

“Didn’t do more than I wanted to, Miss Janet. Now you take care of yourself.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. She stepped forward and gave Janet a hug. The rest of the staff came from other rooms. Cook moved on tiny feet to Janet’s side and took her hand.

“God bless you, Miss. I always did like for you to come up so I could cook for you.” She smiled. “I love to see a hearty appetite.”

Janet laughed. “I have that, all right.”

Duffy joined the farewell gathering. He put out his hand and Janet smiled.

“Thank you Duffy, for all the trips you made to the Point—and always with a shopping list.”

“Didn’t mind, Miss. Didn’t mind at all.”

“I’ll carry your bag out to the car,” Trent volunteered.

“That would be nice.” Janet smiled as she allowed the faithful butler one last chance to serve.

They went through the door and across the porch. Janet turned and looked back at the remaining three standing framed in the doorway.

“Goodbye,” she called. “And remember that you promised to keep in touch.”

She waved to the group then turned and followed Trent, who seemed to have a new spring in his step. They went down the steps and across the lawn that was even now becoming overgrown and neglected.

A
jagged curtain of water whooshed from beneath the wheels of a UPS truck and splattered a mess across Janet’s windshield when she merged with Middlebrook traffic. It was all so familiar, yet now it seemed disconnected to her life. After being away for a week, she ticked off in her mind the contents of her refrigerator: stale bread, outdated milk, withered fruit. Speeding up to get into the turn lane, she whipped into Kroger’s and found an empty spot near the door. Janet had never been one to shop by the squeeze, sniff, or thump method, so she was in and out in less than twenty minutes.

The rain had not slackened when she pulled into her parking slot at Middlebrook Arms. She set the brake, looked through the fogged windshield, and thought how she hated to venture from the warm car into the icy downpour.

Middlebrook Arms wasn’t the ritziest place to live but it was a better part of town, home to older and more established residences. But the years were telling and the condos were beginning to show signs of ageing. The units followed along the lines of a horseshoe: single-level buildings on either side were filled mostly with singles, like herself, or young couples with no children. The long multi-level building spanning the back catered to the retired and tenants with special needs. It had a handicap ramp leading up to the common front porch, and inside was an elevator to reach the second level. Janet once had a paraplegic friend who lived there, but the friend had died and she hadn’t been back inside the building since.

A courtyard graced the center of the complex and was tended by meticulous landscaping. Wood-slatted benches and flower boxes circled a fountain that was presently covered with a canvas sheet, but would come alive with columns of water during the summer months. Clumps of white birch completed the arrangement. All the units were gray brick, with a slightly darker shade of wood trim. The doors and windows, overlaid with decorative black wrought-iron barriers, offered a measure of security without making the whole thing look like a fortress.

The parking area was the opening of the horseshoe. Black filigreed streetlamps that followed the curve of the sidewalk were already glowing.

After tugging on the hood of her jacket and tightening the cords, Janet looped the tote strap across her body. She gathered the sack of groceries, sandwiched the photo album against her chest, took a deep breath and stepped from the car into the violent weather. A slashing wind drove the rain into her eyes and she ducked her head to keep from being blinded. She barreled up the sidewalk with no thought of being careful.

“Oomph.”

The breath was nearly knocked out of her as she smacked into a solid wall of hurrying humanity. The grocery bag exploded from the compression of the two bodies and little Cheerios missiles shot in all directions. The bag hit the soggy ground and oranges bounced on the wet grass and rolled away. A geyser of milk erupted from the red carton and spewed white foam on her rain-soaked jeans.

Janet almost laughed as she swiped water from her face and looked at the stranger in the raincoat. Without speaking, he knelt and began to retrieve the remnants of her purchase. A khaki rain hat, pulled low over his brow, hid his face. In silence, he handed up the oranges one at a time and Janet tucked them into the little vee-shaped shelf made by her body and the album.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke without looking up. “It was all my fault. I guess I thought nobody else would be out in this miserable weather.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “It was my fault too. I should’ve been more careful. I’m afraid my mind was more scattered than these groceries.”

He stood and wiped his hands on the sides of his raincoat.

“Can I help you inside?”

Still holding the picture album and clutching a single orange, Janet shook her head and hurried away. She would clean up the mess later. She stuck her key into the lock of unit seven and thumbed down the latch. As she stepped though the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder. The stranger was still standing on the sidewalk watching her. With a jerk of his body, he turned and walked away.

Janet flipped the light switch, let her shoulders go slack, and sagged against the closed door. The warm apartment closed in around her like a lover’s embrace and fulfilled her desperate need for a great deal of comfort. But this time the comfort was mixed with a bittersweet homecoming. There would be no more calls to
Heather Down
—her haven from the world. The one constant in Janet’s life was gone.

Streams of water trickled from her jacket and puddled around her feet, darkening the carpet. Tiptoeing around the edge of the living room, she stepped to the shiny tile of the kitchen and dumped the contents of her arms on the table. Her clothes felt heavy and clung hard to her body. She peeled them away and let them fall to the floor.

Moments later Janet slid into a steaming tub and set her mind adrift; it drifted to gardens and tall grass and towers. And gravesites. And she felt more alone than ever before in her life. Soon the water cooled and goose bumps puckered her arms and she was forced to crawl out and reach for her favorite robe.

After a supper of grilled cheese and tomato soup, Janet carried a cup of hot tea and the photo album to the sofa and tucked her legs beneath her body. Running her fingers over the cover, she touched cracks in the leather. They were like raw sores that refused to heal. Now she knew why the album had ceased to be maintained, what lay behind the disruption of the Lancaster line.
Where are they now,
she wondered?
Aunt Isabella and Etienne?
Her wonderings short and without answers, were interrupted by the telephone. She stretched to the end of the sofa for the receiver.

“Hello.”

There was the faintest chuckle:
“Riddle me out.
Riddle me in. Now’s the time the fun begins.”

“Sorry, you must have the wrong number.” Janet laughed. “No big deal, I misdial quite frequently.”

“I don’t make mistakes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

There was a tisk-tisking:
“Riddle a penny, riddle a pound. Follow the clues and truth will be found.”

Before Janet could arrange her thoughts to respond to the strange message, the line went dead.

She frowned. “Riddles and clues?” she repeated. That made no sense. “Why would the caller think I would be interested in riddles?”

Dismissing the call, she went again to the album. Turning the pages, she looked at the pictures and wished that she had known the people, her family from the past. “If wishes were flowers, we’d all be orchids,” her grandmother used to say.

Sliding the heavy album onto the coffee table, she stood up, stifled a yawn and started for the bedroom when she remembered the mess left on the sidewalk. She climbed into jeans and a sweatshirt, stuffed her feet into loafers and went out the door. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the air chilled and sharp. She walked down to where the accident had happened. The area, well lit by the many streetlights, showed a neat and tidy sidewalk. Janet was amazed to see that every bit of the mess had been cleaned away. She stood for a moment, hands on her hips, and considered the situation.

“Well,” she grunted, “the elves have been busy tonight.”

Back inside the apartment, she flicked the loafers into the closet and they clattered against the back wall. Just as she started to tug the shirt over her head, the chimes of the doorbell sounded.

He stood there holding a small bag of groceries. Minus the hat, his dark hair, heavy with dampness, separated in the middle and flipped little wings back from brown eyes flecked with specks of golden topaz. He fingered back the hair and the porch light picked up a few errant strands of silver. He grinned rather sheepishly as Janet got her first clear look at the man who had nearly knocked her down earlier.

He held out the paper bag. “Excuse me for popping over, but I wanted to bring you this.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I wanted to. I hope I got everything that was ruined.”

Janet dug into the bag and shuffled items around. She looked up and frowned. “Where’s the Rocky Road?”

“You didn’t have Rocky Road.”

She thunked her head. “I didn’t? Darn, it sure would be great right about now.”

The man laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “By the way, the name’s Stephen Prescott. I just spent the last couple days moving into number fifteen.” He pointed to the apartment across the way, directly in line with Janet’s front door.

“Nice to meet you, Stephen. I’m Janet Lancaster.”

“How did I miss you earlier?”

“I’ve been out of town and just got back.”

“And I had to ruin your homecoming.” He shoved the dark hair back from his face. “Some neighbor I turned out to be.”

“If you ask me, I think you’ll be a great neighbor.” Janet hefted the bag on her hip. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.”

Janet laughed. “Maybe we will.”

They stood for an awkward moment, each waiting for the other to speak.

“Well, goodnight,” he said, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and backing off the porch.

“Goodnight,” Janet said and closed the door.

Later as she prepared for bed, the handsome face of Stephen Prescott kept skipping across Janet’s brain, and she felt just the slightest seduction of leaning into his wide shoulders and getting herself thoroughly lost in the depths of those gold-flecked eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded herself. “He’s probably married to a gorgeous corporate power-broker who blends her own teas and buys strictly organic.”

Besides, had she healed enough to become emotionally involved again? She decided not.

Changing into a flannel granny-gown, Janet dove beneath the covers and pulled the down-filled comforter to her chin. She lay motionless until the bed warmed then she reached for the bedside phone and punched in some numbers.

“Hello,” Chelsea answered.

“I’m home.”

“I’m glad. I worried about you. You okay?”

“Yeah. No. Lord, I don’t know. Want to come for breakfast? I’ll make blueberry waffles.”

“It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“Because it’s breakfast. Lunch is strictly library stuff, supper’s pleasure. But breakfast means serious discussions are on the agenda.”

“See you at nine?”

“Nine.”

“’Night.”

“You too.”

Janet hung up the phone. She switched off the lamp and lay for a moment in the darkness. The only illumination in the room was the green glow of the lighted dial of the clock. It was 10:03. Burrowing her head into the pillow, she dragged her hair from beneath her shoulders, fanned it out and let it tumble against the headboard. Exhaustion and a sense of loss overtook her and she slept.

By the time Chelsea arrived the next morning, Janet had breakfast ready. She layered the waffles on their plates and set them on the table next to maple syrup and butter. They sat down at the table and Chelsea sipped her coffee in silence while Janet related to her all that had happened over the past week.

“A cousin you didn’t even know about?” Chelsea’s lovely pearl-gray eyes widened with astonishment. “A cousin who’s an actor.”

“And an aunt—Aunt Isabella. Lord Chels, I wonder where they are.”

“Do you think they’ll turn up—either one of them? Or maybe both?”

“Who knows? It certainly would be to their advantage—there’s a lot of money involved.”

“Maybe they don’t need it,” Chelsea said. “And since they’ve scarcely kept in contact with your grandmother, maybe there’s still hard feelings.”

Janet frowned. “Could be, but I’m betting on the contents of the will. Money, sudden riches, can do strange things to people.”

“It didn’t to you,” Chelsea said.

“But then I’ve always had it.”

Chelsea took the last bite of waffle, raked her fork though the remaining buttery syrup and licked the tines.

“True.”

Janet got up, walked to the counter and picked up the coffeepot. She turned. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if Mr. Newkirk’s private investigator can find them.”

Chelsea held up her cup for a refill. “The waiting’s going to be tough.”

Janet nodded and poured the coffee.

“In the meantime, you need to keep busy,” Chelsea said. “Speaking of which, there’s a Hitchcock film festival next weekend. Want to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“You love Hitchcock. Besides, it’ll take your mind off things for a while.”

Janet smiled. “You’re right, as usual.” She slapped Chelsea’s hand. “I hate it when you do that.”

Chelsea leaned back in her chair and smiled at Janet over the rim of her coffee cup.

“I missed you those days you were gone.” Her eyes misted. “I’m sorry your grandmother died, but I’m glad you’re back.”