Curse of Black Tor (24 page)

“Slut!” Natalie cried, taking a step toward Martha. “You won't snare Jules with your wiles! He wants you gone, too—he told me so! Can't you understand no one wants you here? No thanks to you that Josephine isn't dead like her father. You're a poor excuse for a nurse.” Natalie thrust her face near Martha's. “Get out!” she cried. “Get out or I'll have you put out!”

Martha fought down her anger. She looked at Matthew. “When will Jules be back?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “If you'll tell me where he went, I might have an idea when he'll return.”

“I haven't seen him since early this morning,” Martha said. “He didn't say he planned to be away overnight.”

“The funeral is scheduled for tomorrow,” Matthew said. “Certainly Jules will be here then.” He took Natalie's arm and urged her away.

“Remember—you're to be out of this house by tomorrow,” Natalie said. The color had drained from her face, and Martha realized that Natalie was really an old woman.

Martha watched Natalie carefully, alerted by the difficult rapid respirations, the slight cyanosis of the lips. Was Natalie suffering from the same illness as her brother? Matthew had said his wife had a heart condition.

“You'd better have her rest,” Martha told Matthew, her ire muted by the realization that Natalie wasn't well.

He nodded, leading Natalie along the corridor. Martha watched from her doorway. Natalie moved slowly, leaning on him for support. Did Matthew have his wife under a doctor’s care? She should be.

I’ll tell Jules, she thought, then shook her head. No. There’d be no conversations with Jules. She’d pack her bags and be ready to go as soon as he returned.

It occurred to her she needn’t remain at Black Tor waiting for Jules. No reason she couldn’t rent a room in Victoria. She glanced though the window and saw long shadows falling across the lawn and realized she had no heart for trying to find a place to stay at night. Tomorrow, then. She could pack tonight and ask Henry to drive her into town in the morning.  She sighed and sat on the bed, causing Sarah’s cards to fall off and scatter on the floor. She knelt to gather them up. One was jammed into a tear on another and, as she pulled them apart a piece of one came off and fluttered against her.  She picked it up and looked at the torn half of the king of diamonds. The deck seemed quite new, someone must have torn this
card almost in two to have it come apart so easily.

“I pretend they’re people I know,” she remembered Sarah saying. “All the face cards, the kings and queens and jacks. Aunt Louella calls the jacks, ‘knaves’, like in ‘the knave of hearts he stole some tarts.’”

Sarah’d gone on to say, “Jo is the queen of spades because she’s so dark and pretty and sort of sad. And you can be the queen of hearts because she smiles nice, like you do.”

Who was the king of diamonds? If Sarah had torn that card, she’d done it in either fright or anger.  Or perhaps accidently? There was no way to know.

Since speculation was futile, Martha gave it up. Glancing at her watch she saw it was time for dinner. Should she go? The other choice was to stay in her room with the door locked.

Everyone was seated when Martha came into the dining room. A place had been set for her and she eased into her chair without so much as glancing at Natalie. The chair at the head of the table was empty. Jules wasn’t back yet. Grilled salmon was the main course. Martha tried to enjoy the meal, despite the chilling silence at the table. Charn caught her eye once and smiled, but no one else acknowledged her.

In the silence the phone sounded with astonishing clarity. After a few moments Francis appeared. “A woman asking to speak to Miss Jamison,” he said.

Ginetha, she told herself as she followed Francis from the dining room toward the phone off the foyer. 

She hadn’t written or called her friend since she’d been here.

“Are you Martha?” the voice asked. She didn’t recognize it.

“Yes, I’m Martha Jamison.”

“She asked me to call you. “I can’t keep her here. The police will come, I know they will. I heard on the TV about her being missing. You have to help.”

Martha clutched the phone with sudden hope. “Sarah?” she demanded. “Do you know where Sarah is?”

“She’s here. She came last night and Jimmy hid her in his closet. I didn’t even know she was here until this morning. I thought she had permission. But then I heard on TV. The woman paused, then added, “I don't know how she found the place, a little girl like her—she was only here the one time. She said a nice lady gave her a ride—she told the lady she lived here, can you imagine? Anyway I can't let her stay. My father's in the hospital, he might die and I just don't know what to do. Sarah said to ask for you.”

“You're Bill Wong's daughter?” Martha asked incredulously.

“Yes. And my husband isn't home and I'm so upset and—”

“Is Sarah there? Can I talk to her?”

“She and Jimmy are outside—something about kittens. I want you to come and get her. Jimmy's too young to—”

“Where do you live?”

“Out on West Saanich Road. Do you know the Butchart Gardens turnoff?”

“I think so—at least Henry, the chauffeur, would,” Martha said.

“Oh, no, you can't bring anyone else. Promise me.”

“But—”

“Look for the sign that says Tod Inlet and turn there. Smithson is the name on the mailbox. Please hurry. I think Sarah knows something that frightens her. But I can't keep her—what if the police find her here?”

“But I don't have a car. I need—”

“I can't talk any longer,” Mrs. Smithson said. Then the line went dead.

Martha stood for a moment undecided. Finally she went into the kitchen. Henry sat at the pine table in the center of the kitchen. Ruth had just taken up a platter of food and she stood staring at Martha. Elsa, the cook, glanced at her, then away.

Martha hurried to Henry and bent to speak close to his ear. “I have to have a car,” she said, hoping her voice didn't carry to the women. “It's about Sarah.” Henry eyed her for a moment without speaking. Then he rose and beckoned her to follow him. He led her out a back door that Martha had never used before, and as soon as it was shut behind them, he turned to her. “What's this about Sarah?” he asked.

“I need a car. The woman I talked to said I had to come alone.”

Henry tapped his finger against his chin. She could barely see him in the gathering dusk. “I don't suppose Mr. Jules would mind, seeing as how it's you,” Henry said at last. “Come along to the garage. Do you know how to drive an Austin?”

“I won't have any trouble,” Martha said. “I know stick shifting.”

“Nothing's going to be easy with one hand— ”

“I'll be fine,” Martha said, relieved that she wouldn't be responsible for a big car like the Rolls.

“Where are you going?” Henry asked.

Martha hesitated. “Out by Butchart Gardens,” she said at last. “Maybe you can tell me how to get on West SaanichRoad.”

“That's 17-A,” he said. “There's a map in the car.” He paused, then added, “You're sure you know what you're doing, miss?”

“I'll bring Sarah back with me,” she promised.

“Let me drive you, miss. It would be easier. Driving one-handed like you'll have to do, and shifting and all,” Henry said, shaking his head. “You'd better let me drive you, miss.”

“No, Henry,” Martha told him. “I have to go alone.”

At last Henry nodded, then led her past Cathleen's red car and a tarp-backed Land Rover—Mr. Drew's, Henry said—and Martha got into the sea-green Austin.

“Green's an unlucky color.” What a time for Josephine's words to echo in her ears?

Driving along the narrow private road toward the highway, Martha had little trouble shifting, despite her useless left arm, and she gained confidence as she drove. She followed the highway signs to 17-A, and once she was on West Saanich Road, she tried to find a landmark she recognized. But Jules had driven Sarah and her to Butchart Gardens in daylight, and the darkness made a difference.

Where was the scarlet bed of salvia? Had she passed it? There was no way to tell. Despite her concentration, she almost missed the Tod Inlet turnoff. Once she had made the turn, she drove as slowly as possible, afraid she wouldn't be able to see the mailbox, much less the name.

Her eyes burned and her neck ached with effort by the time she finally spotted the fluorescent letters, J.E. SMITHSON. Martha swung the car into the drive.

Her headlights illuminated a small gray-shingled house set among evergreens. As Martha shut off the engine, the door to the house opened and a figure came down the steps.

Martha rolled down her window. “Mrs. Smithson?” she called. “I'm Martha Jamison.”

The woman ran toward the car, around in front of the headlights, and Martha had a fragmentary impression of dark hair and eyes. She reached the driver's side and clung to the door.

“I'm May Smithson,” she said. “Thank God you came. Sarah and Jimmy aren't back. I'm so frightened.”

“Where were they going?” Martha asked.

“To find a kitten Sarah said she'd seen. I thought she meant out in the field behind the house, but I called and they haven't come.”

Martha looked into the black eyes so near hers and felt at a loss. “Is Sarah all right?” she asked.

“Yes, she's fine. Something had frightened her at home, someone with a crazy name, it started with Al—I don't remember the rest.
”

“Ahlmakoh?” Martha asked.

“That's it. But where are they, where's my Jimmy?”

Something flickered in Martha's mind. Kitten. A kitten.

“How near are we to Butchart Gardens?” she asked.

“Less than a mile. But you don't think...?”

“When we visited the gardens the other day there was a kitten in the arbor by the refreshment stand. Sarah was quite taken with it.”

“But that's a long way. And it's dark. Jimmy knows better—”

“Why don't you get in the car, May, and we'll drive over.”

“Oh, no, I don't think I'd better. What if they come back and no one's here? Besides—the gardens? They wouldn't be there—it costs money. I don't see how you can be right.”

“I'll go over, anyway, and look.”

“Oh, I wish Jim wasn't out on the boats,” May said. “I'm scared.”

May's fright spread over Martha like a fog. She started the engine, a sense of urgency making her heart beat faster. What if the children weren't at the gardens? Where would she look next? Had someone taken both the children?

Ahlmakoh? What did Sarah mean? Just that she was afraid of the unknown? The rest of the myth crept into Martha's mind. Ahlmakoh, the woods demon who devoured lost children.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Several of the double-decker tour buses, along with a sprinkling of private cars were parked in the lot outside Butchart Gardens. Martha remembered Jules saying the tourist season ended soon, and certainly there was no crowd that night. She parked and hurried toward the entrance. The arbor and the refreshment stand weren't far from there, as she recalled.

A young man in uniform stood at the stand, leaning on the counter and laughing with the woman inside.

“Have you seen a little girl—and a boy?” Martha asked. “They're six and eight. The girl has dark hair with a white streak in it.”

“No, miss, I haven't,” the man said.

“Wait—I think I might know who you mean,” the woman said. She leaned across the counter. “I saw two kids playing with one of the stray kittens that hang around for handouts. Seems to me they went up toward the house. I thought it was odd they were alone.”

“Did the girl have dark hair with a white streak?” Martha asked.

The woman shrugged. “I didn't notice that close. If you take this path--” she pointed “—you'll come to the house.”

Martha thanked her and hurried along the footpath with boxwood hedges on one side and hanging baskets of geraniums on the other. “Sarah?” she called, once, twice. There was no answer and she met no one. She saw the thin outline of a cypress above the roof of the rambling house and remembered the tree was part of the Italian Garden. The Rose Garden would be to her left. Would Sarah have gone to either of those?

Martha shook her head. Impossible to tell where Sarah might be. Was she wasting her time here? Surely May Smithson had been telling the truth—or had she?

Suddenly uneasy, Martha glanced behind her along the walk. Still, she reassured herself, May hadn't mentioned Butchart Gardens at all—that had been her own idea.

Sarah had said something about a favorite place there— hadn't it been the Japanese Garden? Martha remembered the girl jumping from one stone to another across the creek. Where was the Japanese section? Past the Italian Garden somewhere.

As Martha started down a path that seemed to lead toward the cypress, lights glared in her eyes. She recalled Jules telling her that the lights were arranged for maximum effect if one went through the gardens following a designated path. She must be heading backward, against the lights.

“Sarah!” she called.