The Secret of Kolney Hatch (11 page)

When the dinner was over, and all the china had been cleared from the table, John led his fifty guests into a large drawing room. Wines, whiskeys, and scotches flowed into glasses and smoke filled the room. One man sat on the seat of the Loxley’s pearly white baby grand piano in the corner of the room and began to play. Another pulled out a saxophone, another a trumpet, and soon music filled the room. Some danced and drank while others enjoyed the Loxley’s outside verandah conversing and savoring the cool summer night.

Phillip somehow freed himself from the guests, and left Petunia standing in the corner of the room by the tall built-in bookshelves—alone. Suddenly Petunia heard the harsh voice of a woman behind her, a voice she immediately recognized.

“Petunia Pennyworth, you should be ashamed for showing your face at such an elegant affair as this,” said Lady Elizabeth Dane, shaking a white-gloved finger toward Petunia. “Come here to ruin someone else’s life?”

 “I beg your pardon, Lady Dane….”

Petunia wanted no trouble with the woman, but trouble always seemed to find Petunia.

“You and your insolent friends ruined my granddaughter’s reputation.”

 “Lord Dellington is a married man, Lady Dane, and your granddaughter…”

“Their affair was a rumor, started by that blasphemous Wendell girl.”

Petunia could not help but scoff.

“I hardly think your granddaughter was an innocent girl, Lady Dane. Perhaps you don’t know her as well as the rest of the men in London do…”

“How dare you disgrace my family with your spurious tales?

“How dare
you
 accuse me of spreading rumors that were actually truths? We saw her with Lord Dellington…”

“You…”

“Ladies, please,” said the bronzed, ocean-eyed John Loxley, “I’m sure we can iron out this disagreement at another time and place. You both do know what the definition of a party is, correct?”

 “I’m sorry John, but I cannot stay in this house with such an impertinent woman.”

“Well that’s too bad, Lady Dane. Mrs. Pennyworth is welcome in my home, and if this affair no longer suits you, well then, you are free to leave. But I do wish you would stay—the fun has only just begun. Come with me, I’ve something to show you.”

With one last hateful look at Petunia, Lady Dane accompanied John Loxley who turned his head slightly to wink at Petunia. John Loxley, who seemed to judge no one and accept everyone, was the only person at the moment that Petunia liked at this party.

Petunia, still shaken from her encounter with Lady Dane, ambled cautiously with pursed lips through the throng of smiling and laughing people. She listened to their conversations as she walked—what she could hear over the music anyway. Some spoke of their jobs, some talked about their wonderful relationships, and Petunia could not help but wonder if these people, who seemed so incredibly happy, were actually just putting on a facade as she was or if their lives were truly as wonderful as they claimed. She found herself stepping onto the verandah and found her way to the outside bar so she could lean on it.

        “Petunia?” A voiced called to her, and she turned to see the tall, gray-haired and broad shouldered Oscar Baker, clad in a black suit, a glass of wine in his large hands.

        “Oscar Baker,” she said embracing him in a long hug. She gazed into his wide, dark eyes. “I had no idea you were here. I didn’t see you at dinner.”

        “I wasn’t at dinner. I was at the hospital until late. And I’m afraid I can only stay a short while.” He looked around. “Besides, this crowd isn’t really my taste.”

        “Couldn’t agree with you more, Oscar,” Petunia answered with a smile. “Are you well?”

        “Quite, thank you. But I’ve been very busy as you can imagine. How’s Phillip?” He asked with a warm smile.

          Petunia knew Oscar only asked her that question as a formality. Oscar knew very well what kind of person Phillip was, and Petunia did not think Oscar liked him all that much or cared about his well-being.

       “He’s...Phillip. Around here somewhere,” she answered.

        For a moment, silence ensued. The last time Petunia had really spoken to Oscar was once after Wendy’s funeral.

      “Have you…spoken to Paul?” Petunia asked him.

      “He’s written to Richard…says he’s doing well in Whitemoor. But I’m worried about him, you know? He still blames himself for Wendy’s death.”

      “Of course it wasn’t his fault.”

      “Of course. But it’s hard when a person has no closure. It’s been hard for me too.”

       “I understand.”

       “I often think, if only she’d married me. She wouldn’t have been there that day.”

       “Perhaps. But Wendy was a stubborn woman. A good woman, but stubborn. She likely would have been there even if she’d agreed to marry you Oscar.”

        Oscar laughed. “Now that I think of it, yes, you’re absolutely right.”

        They shared a laughed, and then Petunia changed the subject. Talking about Wendy made her sad.

       “Is your son here, Oscar?” Petunia asked.

       “Richard and Claire are both here somewhere. They couldn’t make the dinner either. Richard had a meeting about his manuscript, but between you and me, I don’t think they’ll be leaving with me. Richard’s quite attached to the Loxley brothers these days.”

        Suddenly, Claire and Richard appeared by Petunia’s side. Richard nodded toward Petunia and then turned toward his father.

        “Father, I want you to meet someone,” Richard said to Oscar. After excusing themselves, they strolled over to a group of men crowded around a tall wicker table.

        Claire stayed by Petunia’s side.

        “Hullo Petunia,” Claire said.

        Petunia greeted Claire with a light smile—she seemed as uncomfortable at the party as Petunia.

        “Are you enjoying the party?” Petunia asked Claire.

        “Sure, I suppose. How ‘bout you?”

        “Not really,” Petunia answered truthfully. She let out a small sigh. “But I think John Loxley is a wonderful person.”

        “He is. He’s very nice.”

        “The ladies seem to enjoy the Loxley brothers.”

        “They do.”

        Petunia noticed Claire seemed distant, her mind somewhere else. Her shoulders had sunk in her black crepe dress, and she seemed almost frail.

        “Oscar tells me that Paul is doing well in Whitemoor.”

        Claire seemed taken aback by the mention of Paul.

        “He’s…um, written home to Richard, and Richard to him.”

         Suddenly Claire’s face turned white, and she looked ill.”

        “Will you excuse me a moment, Petunia,” Claire said uneasily.

        “Are you alright, Claire?”

        “Oh yes, of course. I just need to freshen up.”

        Claire walked away, and Petunia stood alone once more. She examined the bar and finally poured herself a glass of Pinot Noir. Taking a large gulp, she watched everyone still seemingly having a wonderful time, Phillip included; he stood clinking glasses with Loxley and his brothers. She made her way to an empty wicker chair, and was just about to sit down when suddenly Richard appeared by Petunia’s side.

        “Have you seen Claire?” Richard asked.

        “She’s gone to freshen up,” Petunia told him. “But, Richard, I think…”

        A heavy crease formed between Richard’s bushy eyebrows, and he hurried away from Petunia to hide himself behind Oscar who was speaking to John. Suddenly, a woman appeared by Richard’s side. That woman was not Claire. Richard walked away from her and headed to the outside bar where Petunia had originally stood. Relentlessly, the woman followed him and stood close to Richard as he poured himself another drink. Petunia thought this situation was very peculiar.

 The woman was tall and thin, clothed in a crimson red dress that set off her bobbed, curled blonde hair. Her eyes were blue frost. She was a woman confident of her beauty—her head was held high, her hands moved with elegance in her white, long gloves. Heads turned to stare at the woman as if she were a Queen, no, as if she were the goddess Aphrodite herself. Oddly, she only seemed concerned with Richard, but then John Loxley made his way over to greet her, and suddenly she seemed taken with him.  

        Claire was still not back from the lavatory when Petunia went to the lavatory herself. Petunia scurried through the oaken hallway doors, past the warm golden wallpaper and unlit fireplace. She took a quick glance at the velvety painting of a fierce, stern looking Lady Loxley, and as the tall oak grandfather clock chimed ten in the evening, she hurried into the grand hallway.

        When Petunia finally reached the lavatory, the door was closed. Was Claire still in there, she wondered? She knocked on the door but did not hear anyone inside.

        “Claire? Claire, are you alright?” She whispered, but still she heard nothing.

        Petunia decided she would use the lavatory upstairs when suddenly she heard low voices close by.

        “Rosalind, no, not here. Come with me.”

        Petunia knew Richard Baker’s distinct voice, so when she heard him speak the name Rosalind, she quietly peered around the wall in the grand hall to see Richard pulling the ungloved hand of the blonde woman in the red dress up the grand staircase. When they were out of sight, Petunia decided to follow them. She tiptoed up the white marble stairs and tried not to breathe heavily as she climbed. Large tapestries of medieval knights lined the walls of the grand stairs. Petunia had learned on the “grand tour” when they had arrived that the Loxleys had the tapestries specifically designed so the eyes of the knights were always staring at a person from whichever direction he stood on the staircase. Petunia thought the whole set up was petrifying.

When she finally reached the top of the tall steps, she stopped. She had not seen which way they had gone. She heard low voices coming from the archway to her left, so she tiptoed slowly toward the slight opening. The voices were just above a whisper, and Petunia had a difficult time deciphering what they were saying as she quietly approached the door. Now, the voices were louder. At one point she thought she heard Richard say “that was not part of the plan,” but Petunia wasn’t certain.

She ever so gently peered through the opening in the door. Now she could see them both, for to the right of the opening was a large mirror in which she could see their reflections. Richard looked worried as he paced back and forth. The woman, however, stood tall and confident.

        “Rosalind, I love my wife. I never meant for this to go so far.”

        “This? Well, you didn’t seem to mind
this
 last night.”

        “Rosalind, please, this arrangement, you and me, is not going to work anymore. I made a promise to Claire…to love her forever.”

        Petunia held her breath as she watched Rosalind step closer to Richard and stroke the side of his face with her hand. Rosalind grabbed his hand then and placed it around her waist as she stepped even closer to him.

        “You’ll forget about her, Richard. You already have. You’ve already been with me, and so, you’ve already broken your promise.”

Petunia backed away without making a sound and scurried down the stairs. She could not believe what she had just seen. Richard Baker was having an affair.

thirteen
WILLIAM WILSON

Letter from Paul Watson to Richard Baker

“My friend Richard,                         “28 May, 8 o’clock

I am happy to hear about your success with your manuscript. Which production company is it? What do they plan to do with it?

Regarding Roger and John, be careful. Roger has always had a way of coercing a person into doing things he would not otherwise do.
As for Claire, I will write to her, but I cannot promise she will be receptive.  

Kolney Hatch is a strange place, but as the gardener Harold told me, it is an asylum. Oddities are expected. Have you received any word from Charlie Wicks? I thought he might write to me when I arrived, but I have yet to receive anything. Please give your father my regards.

“Your friend,

              “Paul”

Paul Watson’s Journal

28 May, 2 in the mornin
g
.—A figure loomed over me. Her cold, gray fingers stroked my hair and face. I tried, with all my might, to wake myself from the dream, but my body was paralyzed. She seemed so real, and I was afraid she would suffocate me.

I woke in a cold sweat to the sound of a scream.  It was dawn, and the sun peeked over the trees outside my window. My neck was sore from the hard bed, and the restless sleep left me too tired to shave or fix my hair. I already had stubble on my jaw and chin, but I did not care.

        When I finally dressed, I headed straight to Doctor Reid’s office—I had a few questions for him. He was locking his door just as I arrived.