The Vanishing (12 page)

The bath was perfect. The spicy scent of the water tickled my nose and filled my lungs with calmness. I breathed in and out, releasing the day’s tension with each exhale. Whatever I had seen, or hadn’t seen, in the east salon faded away. And I would think about our “visitor” another time. It looked as though Drew and Adrian had it handled, at least for the moment. I tried to put it out of my mind and relax.

I opened one of the books and began to read, but I made it through only a couple of chapters before my eyes started feeling heavy. Not wanting to drop the old volume in the water, I set it on the window ledge next to me and lay back, sinking down farther.

I closed my eyes and submerged, listening to the rush of water in my ears, the soft hum soothing me like a mantra.

But then the hum disappeared. I heard voices in its place. Or did I? I shot up and grabbed a hand towel for my face, and listened. Two female voices, I was sure of it. There were two people in my bedroom. And I hadn’t locked the bathroom door.

Was it Marion, with another woman, back to tend further to the dresses? That had to be it. Still, I wasn’t comfortable being in the bath with them on the other side of an unlocked door, so I slipped out of the water and into the plush terry cloth robe that was hanging on a hook nearby. As I wrapped it around me, I heard giggling.

“What will you wear tonight?”

“I am still unsure. The blue one? What do you think? Will I please him in this one?”

What was going on? That certainly wasn’t Marion’s voice. I opened the door to see two women, neither of whom I recognized. Several dresses were lying on the bed, and one of the women was holding a blue gown up to her face. “Does this favor my eyes?”

“Who are you?” I asked, stalking out into the bedroom in as threatening a manner as I could muster while wearing a bathrobe. “Why are you in my suite?”

The women both gasped when they saw me, one of them putting a hand to her mouth to muffle a scream. She dropped the blue dress… and then they were gone. They simply dissipated, like steam rising above a lake on a chilly morning. Just like the figures in the paintings.

I blinked several times, not quite knowing what I had just seen, and pulled the robe tighter around me. I had attributed these “sightings” to my going off my medication abruptly. But after the scene in the east salon… Was that what was going on? Or was it something else?

Somehow, the vision of these two women didn’t frighten me like the others did—they were just two girls getting ready for a formal dinner, just like I’d be doing shortly. Maybe that was it, I reasoned. I had been feeling a sense of timelessness when Marion had brought me the dresses, and maybe, my imagination working overtime, combined with the lack of medication…

I sighed and didn’t know what to think. One minute, I was fleeing in terror from this house after seeing something I couldn’t explain. The next minute, a similar vision wasn’t fazing me in the least. Maybe I was going crazy after all.

“Which one favors
my
eyes?” I said into the air. And then I headed back into the bathroom to finish my soak, careful to lock the door behind me.

Much too early to dress for dinner, I pulled on jeans and a turtleneck and slid my feet into my slippers. I thought I’d go looking for Adrian and ask him not only about what news, if any, he had heard about the fire, but also if he had found out anything about our intruder.

I slipped out the door and padded down the hallway toward the study I had found the day before. One peek inside revealed it was empty, but I did notice the black phone was gone. Marion’s handiwork, no doubt. She didn’t want me making calls, so she made sure I wouldn’t be making them.

Where to look now? The drawing room, maybe? I made my way back down the hall to the grand stairway and intended to go to the main floor, but stopped at the second-floor landing. This was the floor where the family’s rooms were located, I recalled. I knew Marion had told me to stay away from them, but maybe I could find Adrian in his personal study—if indeed he had one.

I took several hesitant steps down the dark hall when I heard a voice. Adrian? I followed it to what I thought was the end of the hall but discovered it actually turned a corner. Of course, like the third floor, this, too, was U-shaped. I peeked around the corner and saw a door was open about midway down the hall, light streaming from inside. As I got closer, I realized that it was indeed Adrian’s voice I was hearing; he was speaking on the phone to someone. I intended to knock on the doorjamb to let him know I was there, but his side of the conversation stopped me short.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” he said, the anger in his voice hanging in the air. “This is no longer your affair.”

“That’s touching,” the sarcasm whittled his voice to a hiss. “But considering what you’ve done, forgive me if—”

“No. Absolutely not. Not back there.”

“The best place for her? That’s absurd.” His voice was louder now, angrier. “How can you even ask why? I fully blame you for the whole debacle, for everything that happened.”

Was he talking about Mrs. Sinclair?
I crept closer to the door.

“Those are your words, not mine. I would have chosen ‘gross incompetence.’ ”

“Yes, I do mean it. And don’t think for a moment my threat doesn’t still stand. If this effort doesn’t work, you
will
pay for what’s happened to her.”

“No, it is not dangerous, and no, I did not have to clear anything with you. Somebody had to do something. You certainly were of very little help.”

Silence for a moment. And then he hissed: “She’s already here, you fool. It has begun.” I heard him slam down the receiver.

My blood ran cold. Was he talking about me? I waited outside the door for a few moments and then poked my head around the jamb and saw Adrian, his head in his hands, sitting at a desk strewn with papers.

I nearly spoke to him, wanting to ask what that conversation was about, but something about the way he was sitting with his shoulders slumped, head in his hands, made me think better of it. Obviously, he was upset by what had just transpired. I held my breath and backed away.

As I walked toward the grand staircase, I ran headlong into Marion. Why did she always turn up when I was in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“Marion!” I said. “I was just—”

She shook her head and smiled. “This house can be so confusing,” she said, taking me by the arm and walking with me up the stairs. “No one blames you for losing your way.”

Back in my room, I sat at the window and tried to piece together what I thought I had overheard, but nothing was making sense to me. It was just a one-sided conversation that may or may not have been about me. But… what if it
was
about me? What might it mean? Mrs. Sinclair had hinted at an “ulterior motive” for inviting me to Havenwood. Did the conversation have something to do with that?

As I thought about it, seeds of suspicion were taking root in my mind. Everyone had been so warm and welcoming to me—almost too warm. Too welcoming. Something about it was off. Wrong. But what?

And then I put my finger on it—they were too familiar with me. I had just met these people, and yet Adrian was always touching me, offering me his arm when we walked. Mrs. Sinclair was always calling me “darling” and “my dear.” And really, when I thought more about it, I was just an employee. And a brand-new employee, at that. I didn’t hear anyone referring to Marion as “darling.” They were treating me like I was a family member who had finally come home.

I thought of asking them about it, but how does one say: “You people are being too nice to me and I demand to know the reason why!”

And then I thought of the papers strewn on the desk in Adrian’s study, the ones I had seen when he had been on that call. Maybe they could shed some light on things.

As six thirty neared, I looked at myself in the mirror. I had chosen a glittery black sleeveless sheath dress to wear and it fit like a glove. I wound a strand of pearls around my neck and put pearl drop earrings in my ears. It almost felt like a costume, truth be told, but one that I wouldn’t mind wearing every evening of my life. Timeless elegance, here in this timeless house.

I slipped out the door, but instead of heading all the way down the grand staircase, I stole down the hallway on the second floor. I knew everyone would be in the drawing room having drinks and the ever-present Marion would be busy in the kitchen. It was the perfect time to get a look in Adrian’s study.

I poked my head around the doorframe and saw the room was empty. Not wanting to turn on the overhead light—too
bright—I flipped on the desk lamp and began to look around, my heart pounding so loudly that I was sure everyone could hear it downstairs.

The papers weren’t on the desk as they had been, but a manila folder sat in Adrian’s inbox. Might it be as easy as that? I opened it to find a business ledger. Not it. But underneath where the folder had been, I spied a stack of papers.

With shaking hands, I slipped them under the soft glow of the lamp and began to read. It was a handwritten letter.

It was signed by a doctor—a psychiatrist?—along with his phone number.

I stood there holding that letter for a moment, and then the significance of it hit me. The date! Ten years earlier. That was right around the time Mrs. Sinclair “died.” She must have been in a mental hospital after some traumatic event, and rather than let the public know about it, Adrian concocted the story that his mother had died. Perhaps the catatonia was so severe, he didn’t think she’d come out of it.

So, the person Adrian was talking to earlier was probably her
psychiatrist. That was why he got this letter out after all of these years. The phone number. Maybe she had had some sort of a relapse…?

I put the letter back where I had found it and flipped off the light, feeling suddenly ashamed for snooping. Obviously, it wasn’t something Mrs. Sinclair intended to have as public knowledge. And considering her rather eccentric behavior—the cowboy getup, her jogging suits, her seeming to have several personalities—and the way Adrian and Drew were so protective of her… It all made a sad sort of sense. This was the reason Adrian wanted a companion for his mother when he was away on business. He was worried about her mental state, and considering this new information, I could understand why. It didn’t explain why I was the person he chose for the task, but at least one mystery of Havenwood was solved.

As I made my way down the stairs for dinner, I felt a wave of sympathy for Mrs. Sinclair. Catatonia, amnesia, winding up in a mental hospital… whatever had caused that, it had to be very bad. I vowed then and there to stop asking about it. I didn’t need to know any more. If she wanted to tell me about it someday, that was one thing. But I was done pushing.

I found Marion waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. “Mrs. Sinclair is in the drawing room,” she said, motioning the way.

“Julia!” Mrs. Sinclair cooed as I entered the drawing room to find a fire blazing in the fireplace, candles flickering all around the room, and Adrian and Drew standing together at the sidebar. “You are breathtaking!”

Adrian and Drew turned to me then, each holding a lowball of, I assumed, Scotch. Adrian was smiling while Drew’s mouth hung agape as he shook his head.

All eyes on me, I felt suddenly shy. “It’s amazing what a bath and the right dress can do for a girl,” I said, shrugging and moving toward the bar.

“My dear,” Mrs. Sinclair said, floating toward me in a wispy
teal-and-black gown that looked as if it were made of hundreds of silk handkerchiefs, “you must excuse my absence today. I was feeling rather tired from all of our adventures yesterday. I hope you had something to keep you busy.” She looked at Drew with dancing eyes.

“I did indeed,” I told her. “We went for a lovely walk in the woods.”

Drew was pouring me a drink, and I whispered to him, not wanting a repeat of the night before, “Light on the gin, please.” He nodded slightly, handed me a glass that was mostly tonic and lime, and came out from around the side of the bar.

My face broke into a wide grin. He was wearing a kilt with a green, blue, and black print and a sash of the same print over a white shirt, along with knee-high stockings and black shoes. His shoulders looked extraordinarily broad and his legs incredibly muscled, as though he had spent a lifetime, or several, working outdoors.

“Laird Andrew McCullough only breaks out the kilt on special occasions,” Mrs. Sinclair said, beaming. She crossed the room and tousled his hair. “I think he should wear it all the time.”

Adrian poured himself another drink and joined us in the middle of the room. “You two seem to have hit it off in my absence.” I couldn’t tell if his tone was humorous or not—he was so reserved at all times. He seemed to have an edge to him tonight, I thought, perhaps having to do with that phone call.

“Julia here is quite the horsewoman, so I’ve learned,” Drew said, doing his best to deflect the comment. “She has braved the fierce Nelly, and won.”

Laughter all around. We talked of other things until Marion came to summon us to dinner. Adrian was quick to offer me his arm, which I took somewhat reluctantly. Drew was right behind, escorting Mrs. Sinclair into the dining room.

We chatted idly over a dinner of spicy lentil soup, roast beef, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and a crisp salad. Nobody asked Adrian about his business trip and I certainly didn’t, either, considering
what had occurred at my Chicago home. I wondered how much Mrs. Sinclair knew, but thought it best not to find out.