Moonshadows (5 page)

The door opened and Lettie entered the room. “Seven o’clock,” she spoke softly. “Time for your medicine, Mrs. Lancaster. Cook will have dinner shortly, and I’ll bring your tray.”

“Seven o’clock,” Janet repeated and glanced at the darkened windows. “I had no idea it was so late.”

Lettie smiled at Janet. “Cook said to tell you that dinner will be served in thirty minutes, if you care to freshen up.”

“Thank you, Lettie. I’ll do that.” She turned to the bed. “Grandmother, you need to work on getting stronger, so try to eat a bite or two and I’ll see you again before bedtime.” She leaned over and kissed the wrinkled cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, “and please don’t worry.”

Janet was aware that her grandmother was still trying to tell her something, but the words were forced back by a kind of strange rattle that vibrated against the bony chest. Janet thought it just as well that any further news wait until a later time. She had already received almost more than she could readily digest.

She held the cold, hard fingers between her warm strong ones for a minute before touching them to her lips. They reminded her of icicles, brittle and easily broken. She placed the old lady’s hands beneath the sheet, pulled the covers up over the meager shoulders and tiptoed from the room.

Janet sat alone in the formal dining room. She picked at the rich roast beef and jabbed a fork into fluffy potatoes. Her head was still spinning from the revelations of the past hour. How she would love to meet Aunt Isabella and her cousin Etienne. They could be a real family. And like a real family, they would celebrate birthdays and Christmas and Thanksgiving. Janet would stuff a turkey, make three kinds of pies, hot cider with cinnamon sticks, and invite Aunt Isabella to give the dinner blessing. All the while she could hear her favorite song for giving thanks:
Bless this house, oh, Lord we pray—

Then Janet realized that her imagination was running wild and about to go off into the ditch, and she forced herself back into reality. Before any of these things could happen, Mr. Newkirk’s detective would have to locate what was left of her family.

For the first time in memory, love for her grandmother was touched by an outside force. Resentment settled heavily in her breast and she felt cheated by being denied this remarkable gift for so many years. She took a bite of food and concentrated on chewing. She took another, and then another, and found that the act of eating helped to tame the turmoil whirling around in her brain.

Later, she cracked the bedroom door to say goodnight to her grandmother. A dim light from the small lamp on the nightstand cloaked the room in a somber aura and she could make out the slight body in the center of the bed. The hump beneath the mounds of covers lay quiet and still and Janet knew she was sleeping. Without entering, she closed the door and climbed the stairs to the third floor.

Janet lay awake in her darkened bedroom and tried to remember her grandmother’s exact words. Why had the secret been kept for so many years? Was family pride so important that a parent would deny a child her birthright? And then the child’s child. In her innermost ear, Janet could hear her grandfather as he must have shouted at Isabella. Janet knew his terrible temper. Many times she had witnessed his wrath when he was displeased. It seemed to be a family trait—this need for perfection and domination. Thankfully, Janet thought, she’d never strived for such foolishness. While she did possess a certain amount of determination—spunk, her grandmother called it—Janet’s volume for compassion was far greater than her desire to over-expect or to dominate. She cared for people and their feelings and didn’t for a moment believe doing so to be a human frailty.

At long last her busy mind rested and she was able to push aside the momentous events of the day and fall asleep. Shining ringlets, as if burnished by fire, framed her face as she slept. Sometime later, something—a slight sound, a whiff of movement—roused her from her sleep and she was faintly aware of a shadow moving silently across the room.

J
anet lay still and waited for the apparition to take shape.

“Miss.”

The light from the hallway outlined Lettie’s form.

“Miss,” she said again and nudged Janet’s shoulder.

“What is it, Lettie? What’s the matter?”

“It’s Madam, Miss Janet.” Pain was evident in her voice. “She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Janet bolted upright. “Gone where?”

“She’s dead, Miss Janet,” Lettie seemed to apologize. “Doctor was called in a little after midnight.”

“And just why was I not awakened?” Janet demanded.

“I wanted to come for you, but he said to leave you be, said you needed a good night’s sleep for what lay ahead.” She wrung her hands. “He worked with her for a long time, but there was nothing he could do.”

Janet scrubbed sleep from her face. “What time is it now?”

“Almost three.”

“I’m sorry, Lettie. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but I should’ve been there.” Her eyes, midnight dark, floated like glassy orbs on a layer of water. The tears washed over and rolled down her sleep-flushed cheeks.

Lettie placed an arm around her shoulders and let the bright tousled head lie against her bosom.

“Cry if you like, child. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Thank you, Lettie, but I’m fine now.” Janet pulled away and looked into the kindly face. “I loved her, as we all did, but she had a full life and she wouldn’t want a lot of grief on her behalf.” Janet’s shoulders squared beneath the
America Rocks
nightshirt. “I’m sorry she’s dead and I’ll miss her dreadfully, but she’d be furious if she thought I was giving in to sorrow. That wasn’t her way—the Lancaster way.”

“No, Miss.”

Janet swung her legs out of bed and stood up. “Is there anything I can do, Lettie? Anything at all?”

Lettie shook her head. “Madam has been taken to the funeral home at the Point. She always said to all of us in this house that when her time came to go, she didn’t want her obsequies turned into a sideshow. With your permission, that’s the way we’d like to keep it.”

“Of course,” Janet said, picking up her chenille robe.

“Come along downstairs now. Cook will have fresh coffee brewing and some lovely pastry. A bite will do you good. We noticed that you ate very little at dinner.”

Lettie helped Janet into the robe and held her arm as they left the bedroom.

The rest of the servants ringed a small table in the kitchen. The men rose as Janet approached.

Cook, unaccustomed to having her territory so fully invaded, darted back and forth and fluttered her hands.

“Please sit here, Miss Janet,” she trilled and motioned toward a ladder-back chair. “I’m so sorry about Madam. We all are,” she said, speaking for the men, who stood in awkward silence.

Trent and Duffy bobbed their heads and quietly cleared their throats. Cook’s hands took flight again and she tucked a wisp of hair beneath the elastic thread of her hairnet.

“Let me get you a nice cup of coffee and a bite to eat.”

“Thank you, but coffee’s fine. And please sit down, all of you.” Janet pointed to the chairs. “We’re family here and this is no time to be formal.”

The group sat down to their cups and saucers. The indignant rattle of dishes sounded disrespectful in the somber room.

Janet’s gaze traveled around the table. “You’ve all worked here a long time.” She spoke to no one in particular.

“We have at that, Miss,” Trent answered. “Me and Cook came to this house the day your grandfather brought Madam here as his bride. Lettie and Duffy,” he continued, motioning to the married couple, “came just a few weeks later.” He paused and seemed to study for a moment. “We’ll miss her hard. We surely will.”

“So you all knew my father when he was a little boy?”

“Oh yes, Miss,” Lettie said. “I remember the night he was born.” She smiled. “Lands, what a howl he put up. I guess we all remember that night.”

They made polite little laughs but held back any comments.

“Lettie,” Janet said, “do you know where the family album is, the one with all the old pictures?”

“It’s in Madam’s study. I haven’t seen it for years. It was in the bottom of the rosewood secretary. I’m sure it’s still there.”

“Get it, will you, Lettie?”

“Now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Lettie was gone no more than a minute or two when she returned with the large leather-bound book and placed it on the table. Janet traced her fingers along the finely scrolled Lancaster name; the gold leaf had almost flaked away. She lifted the cover.

The first page contained the family genealogy. Hands of a gifted calligrapher had written the names. Janet smiled to herself.
Nothing but the best for the Lancasters,
she thought. The ink had long since faded, and the names and dates paled against the fine vellum. Her name was not on the page—or Etienne’s—and Janet felt a sense of loss at not seeing them there. There was an ugly smear toward the end, as if violence had assaulted the paper, and Janet knew that this was where Isabella’s name had once resided. The final name to be registered was that of her father. It was as if the family had ceased to exist after that.

She turned the page. A young couple stared at her from behind brittle cellophane. The images on the heavily silvered daguerreotype were still easily discernible, and Janet knew this was Jason Lancaster and Heather, his frail bride. The man’s eyes mirrored a certain coldness—a hardness that seemed unusually cruel, and his mouth was untouched by even the slightest sign of pleasantness. Heather was a pretty girl in a pale and languid way and was towered over by her husband. Had she been sorry that she left her homeland and traveled so far away? Had she longed for England and her family? Janet was sure she must have.

The servants sat at the table and remained silent as Janet turned the pages. There was a picture of Nathaniel and his wife, Rachel. Rachel sat holding Little Nate, while Nathaniel stood just behind her. There was only one photograph of Little Nate and his notorious Gwendolyn Harrington, and they did look happy together. Janet was surprised that their picture had been deemed appropriate enough to remain in such hallowed surroundings. Sophie, Gwendolyn’s tender-aged replacement, was nowhere to been seen. But Charlie H. was there with Morgan, the apparent spoiled brat of the family. There were many pictures of Morgan on horseback and one with him sitting beside Bethany—the insufficient wife who took second place to his love for horses. He looked angry, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. His head was undersized and sprouted little tufts of hair;
lint balls
, Janet thought. He glared at the camera. There was something about him—some unpleasantness—that seemed familiar to Janet. Some family condition, she supposed. The Lancaster men always looked uncomfortable when being photographed. Janet could imagine their impatience with such frivolity.

The friendly face of a small boy dominated the majority of the album. Janet’s father, usually dressed in short pants and a sailor blouse, laughed up at the camera and seemed to adore having his picture taken. Birthday and Christmas pictures filled the pages. As he grew, the quality of the pictures improved. In time, the black and white prints evolved into full-color snapshots and lost a great deal of their appeal.

Thumbing back through the first few pages, a tiny square tucked into the spine of the album caught Janet’s eye. It was a picture of her father sitting astride a white horse. He was clutching an arm that reached out from behind him, encircling his waist. The back half of the picture had been ripped away making it impossible to see to whom the arm belonged.

Janet glanced up at the group around the table. “There are no pictures of Isabella.”

Their eyes flickered in each other’s direction. Janet detected an almost indiscernible shake of Lettie’s head.

“No, Miss,” Lettie said simply.

“Don’t worry, Lettie, I know now about Isabella.” Janet gave the group a tender smile. “Grandmother finally told me about her and Etienne.”

“Yes, Miss,” Lettie said.

Janet closed the book and pulled it to her chest. “I’m going back to bed for a while, and I suggest you all do the same.” She stood up. “You must be exhausted and there’s nothing we can do now. Later on I’ll call Miss Austin and tell her what’s happened, and let her know that I’ll be here until after the funeral.” She smiled at the solemn faces. “You’re all so sweet and I do appreciate everything you’ve done.” She shook her head. “I knew the demands of my grandparents, and believe me, you all went way beyond your call of duty. Go to bed now and rest.”

Janet left the room, aware of the huddled heads still at the table behind her, and their whisperings.

On Sunday Janet called Middlebrook. Miss Austin answered the phone and Janet gave her the news.

“I’m sorry, Janet.” Her voice held a hint of frost. “When’s the funeral?”

“Wednesday afternoon,” Janet said. “It’ll be private, only personal friends, and the household staff.”

“Of course.” The voice remained chilled. “And the library will send flowers.”

“That would be nice,” said Janet. “Thank you.”

“I assume all the family have been called in. Are they very scattered?”

“There is no family. Only me.”

“How sad,” she said. “How utterly, utterly sad—that all this has to fall on you, I mean. Are there no other relatives, nobody to step in and help out so you can resume a portion of your responsibilities here?”

Janet tamped down the urge to lash out at her callousness. “Right now, this is my responsibility—not the library,” she snapped. “And even if there were others, this is something I have to do, something I want to do.”

“Very well,” Amanda Austin said, but Janet could hear an underlying,
I’ll get you, my pretty
.

“Miss Austin, I’ll get back to work as soon as I can. But this is far more important than anything else in my life right now, and I intend to take as much time as I need. It’ll be without pay, of course.”

“Oh, Janet,” Miss Austin said in a voice that sounded caught off guard. “I hope you didn’t think that I was pressing you to return to work. No dear, you take all the time you need. I have Chelsea and Hilda here, and we can do nicely. Don’t be in a rush to get back. You must stay right there and do your duty to the Lancaster name. After all, this is sort of a historical marker; the end of a dynasty.”

“Well, not quite the end,” Janet said.

“No?”

“I’m still here.”

A slight chuckle crossed the wire. “Frankly, Janet, I don’t see you in the role of a matriarch.”

Janet had to agree, but couldn’t help but feel she had been insulted.

“No matter,” the woman went on. “You take whatever time you need. We’ll manage.”

“I shouldn’t be more than a few days,” Janet hurried to explain, wanting to terminate the conversation as quickly as possible. “Monday at the latest, I think.”

“Monday will be fine.”

“Thank you, Miss Aust—” She heard a click as the line cut off their connection. It was plain that Amanda Austin had little sympathy for any Lancaster misfortune.
Understandable,
Janet thought
, for a witch
.

She still felt the need to talk, to make personal contact with someone who mattered to her, someone she mattered to and who cared about what happened in her life. She dialed Chelsea’s number.

“Hello.”

At the sound of the familiar voice, Janet’s resolve broke like an earthen dam after a downpour. “She’s gone, Chels,” she sobbed into the receiver. “Grandmother’s dead.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Can I come up and be with you?”

“Huh-uh. Stay there. You’ll be needed at the library. Miss Austin has already tried the guilt trip on me for being off these extra days.”

“She would,” Chelsea hissed. “I hope you didn’t pay any attention to her.”

In the way of an answer, Janet snuffled and swiped her nose with the heel of her hand.

“Are you going to be okay?” asked Chelsea.

“Eventually. I guess I just needed to let go.”

“She was all the family you had. Don’t apologize.”

“But she wasn’t, Chelsea.”

“Wasn’t what?”

“All the family I had,” Janet said. “Just wait ’til you hear the story.”

“Tell me.”

“Not now. I’ll call you soon as I get home.”

“In the meantime Janet, if you need to talk you know my number.”

“Lord girlfriend, what a lifesaver you are. I’ve got to go for now. See you soon.”

Janet hung up and reached for a tissue.

The day of the funeral was most disagreeable. It reminded Janet of the day her parents were buried, and she wondered if any Lancaster had ever been laid to rest beneath a sunny sky. Certainly not today, as the cold rain was whipped by a violent wind coming in off the ocean. The small company, numbering little more than a dozen, stood on the perimeter of the grave. Ethan Chandler, the chairman of the library board, stood tall and regal. Janet thought about her grandmother’s offer to call him to ask for an increase in her salary. She wondered what he would’ve said. Being a man of unquestioned integrity—in spite of his high-priced attorney status—he was a stickler for precedent and the precise order of things. He would’ve found a way to refuse the wishes of the determined Elizabeth Lancaster and even have her end up agreeing with him.