The Gilded Curse: Will the young heiress be the next victim of her family's curse? (3 page)

“Are you cold? I’m sorry the weather isn’t more welcoming.”

“I don’t remember it being this cold here.”

Russell laughed. “I’m sure it’s been this cold before, but not often, and the good thing is, this is as cold as it’s going to get. You know our winters are shorter and much milder than you have up north. I promise you it’ll warm up before you leave.”

She doubted that. He probably assumed she’d at least stay through March for the club season, but she wasn’t planning on staying that long.

Encased in frosty fog, the clubhouse had a ghostly appearance. As they pulled into the circular driveway and up to the portico, the top of the building disappeared into the mist while the wraparound porch came into view.

“Where are your other bags?” Russell stopped the car in front of the steps and glanced over at Lexie.

“I don’t have any others. I won’t be staying long.”

“You’ve been gone ten years, and you’re not staying long?”

She smiled but didn’t answer.

A bellman opened Lexie’s door, and she climbed out.

Russell grabbed her bag and handed it to the bellman.

“Take this to Miss Smithfield’s room, please.”

The bellman nodded and turned up the steps. Russell took Lexie’s arm and steered her toward the front of the building.

“Why aren’t you staying longer, Lexie?” he asked as they entered the lobby.

Lexie started to answer, but noticed other guests nearby, warming themselves by one of the ornately carved fireplaces, and hesitated. She shot Russell a message with her eyes that she didn’t care to discuss her business in public.

He glanced about and acknowledged her need for privacy. “I’ll let you get settled in your room. When would you like to see the cottage?”

“Not today.” Her answer came out more abrupt than she expected. “I do hope you haven’t gone to any trouble opening it.”

“No, we haven’t, but only because you instructed us not to when you called to make a reservation. But I must warn you, the years have taken their toll on the old cottage.” Russell shook his head. “Perhaps tomorrow the weather will be more suitable to go there. Would you like us to light the fireplace tomorrow to get the chill out of the house first?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m just too tired now. I’d forgotten how long the trip is from New York—hours on the train, then the ride over on the launch.” Lexie stifled a yawn. “A hot bath sounds much more inviting.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Russell stopped at the front desk. “Miss Smithfield’s room key, please.”

The clerk nodded and retrieved the key, handing it to Russell. Russell studied the key before giving it to Lexie. “Room 214. Would you like me to show you to your room?”

“That won’t be necessary, Russell. I believe I can find my way to the second floor.” She glanced over her shoulder at the rich mahogany staircase flanked by twisted balusters.

“I’m sure you can, Lexie.” He flashed a disarming smile. “I’ll come for you at 10:00 in the morning so you’ll have time for a leisurely breakfast.”

Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the grand dining room, trying to lift the weight from Lexie’s chest. As she took in the scene before her, though, she felt an eerie sense of moving backwards in time. Well-dressed guests conversed at linen-draped tables arrayed in even rows reaching from one wall to the other. Imposing white ionic
columns marched double-file down the center of the room just as they had so long ago. It was as if Lexie had stepped on stage in a familiar play, but with different cast members.

Huge pots of native palms flanked the columns while bouquets of fresh flowers graced each round table, competing with the lavish fashion of the diners, evidence that the island’s greenhouse still functioned. One wouldn’t know winter still existed elsewhere, with the tropical atmosphere perpetuated here. This was a world of man’s creation, safe from the harshness of the outside world.

In this sphere of protection, did the members even realize the country was at war? Even the climate was controlled to keep the guests from any discomfort while here. Lexie drew in a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her slender gray pleated skirt as she scanned the room for a familiar face. Finding none, she headed toward an empty table a comfortable distance from the others.

“May I help you, miss?” The hostess attired in a crisp white apron rushed to Lexie’s side.

“Yes, I’d like a table, please.”

“Will anyone be joining you?”

“No. I’m alone.” The sound of that admission reverberated in Lexie’s mind. One more thing she had never done alone before—eat in the clubhouse dining room. There had always been an assembly of Smithfields at the table—Grandmother and Grandfather, Mother and Father, Robert and herself, and even Kenneth. Her heart twisted as the pain of her little brother’s death renewed itself. Gone. Everyone was gone, except her.

“This way, miss.” The hostess led her past couples and families enjoying each other’s company. Several patrons nodded or smiled as she walked by, and she reciprocated. She had the impression of being on parade. Once seated, she wished she’d chosen to face away from the others. Several guests cast sideways glances her way and leaned close to their table companions, whispering about her, no doubt, and curious about the young single woman. Was this what a caged animal felt like in a zoo? Holding the menu up in front of her face, she tried to block out the other diners.

“Good morning, miss. Would you care for coffee or tea?”

Lexie jumped, unaware that the waiter had arrived. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding since she entered the room. “Oh, I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry, miss.” The tall, gray-haired gentleman bowed. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

She gazed up at the uniformed waiter and noted a slight smile on his face and twinkle in his eye.

“You’re Mr. Mason, aren’t you?” Her heart leaped at the recognition.

“I am indeed.” He nodded then tilted his head, studying her. “Now let me guess who you might be.”

Lexie fingered the pearls at the neck of her cream satin blouse, watching him. He’d been a fixture at the clubhouse forever, it seemed. How old must he be now? In his sixties?

“Ah … Miss Alexandra! Of course!” He snapped his gloved fingers on one hand. “I remembered those pretty blue eyes of yours. You’ve been gone a long time!”

“I have, Mr. Mason. In fact, I don’t recognize a soul here.” She glanced around the room. “It’s a relief to see someone I know.”

“Many of these folks are new to the club, which is why you may not know them.”

“New? I thought the club was restricted.”

Mr. Mason leaned over to whisper. “It used to be, but, unfortunately, the Depression forced many members to withdraw their membership. The club offered more affordable dues to entice new people to join.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” So her family wasn’t the only one affected by the economy.

“Even so, the war has caused many to think of more important issues than vacation.”

At the reminder of war, Lexie’s mood sobered. Mr. Mason’s eyebrows pinched together.

“Is everything all right, Miss Smithfield? Your mother and your brother are well, I hope?”

Her eyes began to fill again. “My brother Robert was killed at Pearl Harbor. He was an officer on the
Arizona
.”

“I’m so sorry, miss. What a dreadful day that was. I’ll never forget hearing the report on the radio.”

She nodded and dabbed her eyes with the napkin. “Thank you. The shock of Robert’s death seemed too much for Mother. Whether she realized he had been killed or not, she passed away a few days after Christmas.” Mother’s health had deteriorated at the sanatorium, but after Robert’s death, she quit eating and just wasted away, the final blow to her pitiful existence.

“Bless your heart, dear.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let me get you some hot tea. And some extra honey and lemon slices, right?”

She lifted her tear-filled eyes. “You remembered!”

“Of course. Who could forget Miss Alexandra Smithfield?” He winked. “And I believe we have some of your favorite scones as well.” She stared after his retreating form, her mouth agape.

“Excuse me, ma’am, did I hear correctly? Are you Alexandra Smithfield?”

Lexie jerked her head around to the heavyset matron standing on her other side. Oh dear. Of all people to run into—Mrs. Appleton—the one club member she had the misfortune of remembering. Did she still hold the dubious honor of being the biggest gossip on the island?

“Mrs. Appleton. Why, how nice to see you.” Lexie stood and extended her hand. Inside, she cringed at the lie. “Yes, I’m Alexandra. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Sit down, dear.” Lexie obliged, and the woman plopped down next to her. “Why, you’re all grown up. My, my. What a lovely young woman you’ve turned out to be. I just love the way your hair frames your face with those pretty blonde curls. Anyone ever say you look like Jean Harlow?”

Lexie’s face warmed as moisture popped out along her hairline. How nice to know she looked like a dead actress. On the other hand, she’d also been told she looked like Shirley Temple, a former child star eight years her junior. How could anyone resemble such different personalities?

“How have you been, Mrs. Appleton?”

“Oh, just fine. But tell me about your family. How is your mother? I don’t think she liked it here much, did she? Well, I can’t say as I blame her, after your father’s accident and all.”

Lexie’s stomach tightened. “Mother passed away last month. She had been in poor health for a while.” The less said, the better, with this woman.

“Oh dear. I’m so sorry. Is your brother here with you? Robert the third, right?” She scanned the room as if she could find him. “What is he doing now?”

“Robert was killed at Pearl Harbor.” How many times would she have to repeat it? Each time she spoke the words, her heart squeezed with guilt that she was killing him again.

“Oh, my. You poor child!” Mrs. Appleton reached over and squeezed
Lexie with her massive arms. “So who are you here with?”

“I came alone.”

The woman drew back. “Alone! Don’t tell me you’re staying at that dreadful cottage by yourself!”

“No, I’m not staying at the cottage. I’m staying here at the clubhouse.” Dreadful?

“Thank goodness. You’ll be appalled when you see the place or have you already? It’s in a terrible state. What a shame to let such a lovely place go neglected.” She patted Lexie on the arm. “Of course, it’s not your fault. Someone should have been taking care of it for you.”

Someone had, before their accountant told the family they could no longer afford the upkeep. Lexie just smiled and nodded, revealing nothing. Mr. Mason returned to the table with her tea and scones. Her stomach grumbled as the scent of warm pastries wafted toward her. But the more Mrs. Appleton’s chatter dragged on about other people Lexie didn’t know, the more her appetite diminished. She sipped her tea and picked off tiny bites of scone, hoping to avoid talking.

“So, dear, have you a special gentleman friend? There must be many admirers seeking your attention.”

Lexie gulped. “No, ma’am. I’ve been too busy with my studies at Vassar to even consider such things.” Her studies, her mother, and her job, to be honest. More information she intended to keep private.

Mrs. Appleton’s face lit up. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence. My son Floyd is still unattached, as well. Do you remember him?”

Her stomach churned. Boy, did she remember Floyd. A mama’s boy, to be sure. He never joined in with the other children, always afraid to leave his mother’s side. Guess he never had.

“Yes, I remember Floyd.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because he’s here too!” The woman began waving toward a table on the other side of the room. “Oh, bother, he doesn’t see me. I’ll go get him.”

As soon as she left, Lexie grabbed a scone and stood to leave, hoping to get away before they came back. She’d eat in her room. Before she could make her escape though, she was intercepted by Mrs. Appleton and Floyd.

“Floyd, you remember Alexandra Smithfield, don’t you?”

Lexie tucked the scone inside her sleeve unnoticed and extended her hand.

Floyd’s dour expression changed little as he gave a slight nod. His
pallid complexion reinforced Lexie’s memory of the boy who never wanted to go outside and play. He extended a limp hand.