The Vanishing (8 page)

Drew and I were still on our second round of drinks when Mrs. Sinclair breezed through the door. At the sight of her, all heads turned, all conversation stopped. She didn’t seem to notice as she slipped into the booth alongside Drew and pinched his cheek.

“Hello, poodles!” she said, beaming at us. “You should have seen Tom’s face when I materialized in his office! You’d think he had seen a ghost!”

Drew caught my eye and grinned before quickly looking away. “I’ll bet. Did you have to call the paramedics for him, then? I didn’t hear any sirens.”

“Oh, you.” She dismissed his joke with a wave of her hand as the server appeared at the table, slightly unnerved by the sight of her.

“Can I get you something, ma’am?”

“Oh, my goodness, yes,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “But what? Do you have any mulled wine?”

Drew couldn’t suppress a snort. “Did you just step out of a Victorian English Christmas, then? Mulled wine?”

Mrs. Sinclair scowled at him. “I thought it would be nice on such a cold day.”

The server tried to suppress a grin. “No mulled wine, I’m afraid. But we do have wine.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Mrs. Sinclair smiled broadly at him. “I’ll have what Julia is having.”

When he had gone, she looked around the bar. “What an adorable place!” she said. “I’ll have to come here more often!”

“Who are you?” Drew asked her. “And what have you done with Amaris Sinclair?”

“You’re quite the comedian today, Mr. McCullough.” She squinted at him. “But the fact is I do feel as though I have a new lease on life lately. Julia brought a fresh perspective with her when she came to us.”

Drew looked at me and furrowed his brow, and then looked back at her. “Whatever you say,” he said, and lifted his glass. “To new leases.”

Back at the house, I had just enough time to clean up before dinner, the first formal one since I had arrived.

Marion had instructed me to be in the drawing room by six thirty. Mrs. Sinclair and I would have drinks by the fire before adjourning into the dining room for dinner at seven. And I was to
dress
for dinner tonight, Marion had sniffed, eyeing my jeans and turtleneck.

As I was showering and getting ready, I thought of what a delightful distraction the day had been, especially after my rather unsettling night and my discovery of the east salon. Riding on horseback through the pristine wilderness with the cold air nipping at my cheeks, seeing the town, and chatting with the great Amaris Sinclair. It all worked together to lighten my mood and lift my spirits, and made me forget about the fire and my troubling “side effects” for a while.

All of it got me thinking. Maybe I would start to write again. After all, I’d have hours of free time during the days when I wasn’t with Mrs. Sinclair. I didn’t have my computer, of course, and didn’t have much hope of finding one here—I hadn’t noticed anything more modern than an old rotary telephone at Havenwood—but there had to be pen and paper around the house somewhere. Or maybe a typewriter! I could start by simply jotting down notes and ideas, and see where they led.

And then a thought hit me. Just hours earlier, I had been wondering
about my own safety here at Havenwood, coloring Adrian and even Mrs. Sinclair in very dark hues. And here I was now, busily planning how I’d spend my days at Havenwood for the foreseeable future. I realized that the fact of my house in Chicago burning to the ground seemed very small and far away. Like it existed in another world and didn’t matter in the least.

All I knew was that I was getting ready for a formal dinner in the grandest home I had ever seen. This was my world now.

I slipped into an ankle-length jersey knit dress in deep purple that I had bought the year before, grateful that I had thought to bring it, and found a pair of black flats in my suitcase. I wound a colorful scarf around my neck, put on a dash of lipstick, and took a last look in the mirror. I wasn’t exactly the lady of the manor—the dress was much too casual—but it would have to do.

I made it to the drawing room, which I found just off the formal living room, without taking too many wrong turns and discovered a blazing fire in the fireplace, candles flickering everywhere, and Drew sitting in a leather armchair by the fire. He stood when I entered the room.

“Hello.” I smiled, rather surprised to see him. I didn’t know he was going to be joining us, but apparently that was part of the plan.

“Don’t you look lovely,” he said.

I could feel myself blushing, and was grateful for the darkness in the room. “You clean up quite nicely as well!” I said, eyeing his dark suit and tie. “But what kind of Scotsman are you? No kilt?”

“I save that for Sundays and holidays.” He smiled and I noticed how his combed-back hair was curling around the collar of his shirt. As he moved to the bar to pour us both some drinks, I was thinking about how handsome he was. But then I shook my head and put it out of my mind. My husband had been gone only a few months. Whether our marriage had been a sham or not, I had no business finding this man, or any man, attractive. Not now. Not yet.

“What’s your pleasure?” he asked me, bringing another blush to my cheeks. “We’ve got just about anything.”

I moved closer to the bar and saw several crystal decanters and mixers of all kinds. “Wow, they certainly like their liquor, don’t they?”

“It’s a tradition, like everything else here at Havenwood. Drinks before dinner, wine with dinner, cognac or Scotch after dinner. That’s just how it’s always been done. Livers be damned. Gin and tonic for you?”

“Make it a weak one,” I said, grateful to see him pouring much more tonic than gin. “I’m not used to drinking this much.”

“Luckily, you don’t have to drive home.” He grinned and handed the drink to me.

“That is lucky. But finding my way back up to my room after a few of these might be a little challenging, though.”

I followed him back to the armchairs by the fire and we both sunk into them.

“So, it’s formal dinner here most every night, then, unless Mrs. Sinclair doesn’t feel up to it?” I asked, remembering the lonely dinner in my room the night before.

He shook his head. “Oh no. Once or twice a week at most. And some Sunday afternoons. But Sunday isn’t formal, the way this is. It’s more of an all-afternoon affair of movies and games in the entertainment wing and constant nibbling throughout the day.”

“It sounds like fun,” I said, wondering where the entertainment wing might be.

“Marion will let you know when we’re expected and when we’re not,” he explained. “It’s at Mrs. Sinclair’s whim. Whatever she feels like doing.”

“Hello, darlings!” It was the lady herself, floating into the room dressed in a green-and-indigo gown embroidered with a pattern of peacock feathers. “I see you’ve already got your drinks. Splendid!”

Drew and I both stood up—I wasn’t sure of the protocol, so I
followed his lead—and he made his way back over to the bar. “Dubonnet cocktail for you?”

“That sounds lovely, dear. With a lemon, if you don’t mind.”

When she had her cocktail in hand, she raised her glass. “To Julia,” she said. “We are so delighted that you have come to our wonderland.”

As I took a sip of my drink, I mused about her choice of words, wondering just how much like Alice I really was.

Over a dinner of beef Wellington, red potatoes, and a crisp salad—I had scarcely eaten anything more than a Lean Cuisine for dinner in months, and the food awakened taste buds that I forgot I had—we talked of the day’s events.

“I thought you did remarkably well on Nelly today, Julia,” Mrs. Sinclair said, raising her eyebrows. “I see the makings of a horsewoman in you.”

I took a bite of the beef’s flaky crust and considered this. “You know, I really had fun,” I said finally. “There’s just something about being on a horse that feels, I don’t know, natural.”

Mrs. Sinclair and Drew exchanged sly smiles. “I knew you’d love it, once you tried it,” she said. She nodded her head to Drew.

“The Otter was nice,” I said.

“That’s the first time I’ve been in the place!” Mrs. Sinclair said, beaming. “I’ll have to go back again. It was quite a treat.”

Drew caught my eye and furrowed his brow, shaking his head slightly. “You are certainly full of surprises, Amaris Sinclair,” he said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, winking at me.

Conversation turned to other things, then—the dogs, whether it was going to snow again this week, when Adrian was returning home—until we heard the clatter of a pan dropping in the kitchen, just beyond the dining room’s doors.

“Who’s there?” It was Marion’s voice, high and shrill. “What do you want?”

Drew was out of his chair like a shot, with Mrs. Sinclair and me close behind. He burst through the dining room doors, through the butler’s pantry, and into the kitchen, where we found Marion standing at the open back door, looking out into the darkness, holding a rolling pin high above her head.

“What’s happened, Marion?” Drew asked her, gently taking the rolling pin from her hand.

“A face!” she said, breathless. “I was getting the pudding out of the oven when I looked over to the window—I don’t know why I did that, but I did—and saw a face. I think it was a man. Outside.”

“Good Lord,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Marion affirmed. “I’m not seeing things. Not yet, anyway.”

Drew turned on the outside light, illuminating the snow around the house. He and I looked out the door together, and sure enough, there were footprints just under the kitchen window.

“Bloody hell,” he said under his breath. “What’s this now?”

I turned to Marion. “Is there a flashlight here in the kitchen?”

She crossed the room to a cupboard, opened it, and produced one, handing it to me. I turned it on and shined it out the door, following the footsteps from the kitchen window out to the forest beyond. A quick check of the pristine snow in either direction told me whoever it was hadn’t gone any other way, before or after Marion had confronted him. The tracks went from the forest, to the kitchen window, and back again the way he had come.

“Well, he’s gone now,” I said, my stomach clenching into a tight knot. Was it one of Jeremy’s victims, someone who had followed me here? I didn’t even want to think of that possibility. My old life seemed so long ago and far away, and the thought of someone tracking me all the way to Havenwood gave me a chill.

“I’m going to see if I can catch him,” Drew said, closing the door. “He can’t have gotten far.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Mrs. Sinclair said, her hand touching her throat. “He might be armed. Or worse.”

I didn’t know what “or worse” meant, but thought best not to ask.

She turned around in a circle. “Where are the dogs?”

“In the stable with the horses,” Drew said. “I gave them all their dinner before changing for our own.”

“I think it’s clear they should come into the house. Immediately. Drew, will you fetch them? And if they go off into the woods—”

“I’ll go after them, don’t worry.”

He didn’t bother to put on a coat; instead he simply walked out of the kitchen door and disappeared into the dark night.

Mrs. Sinclair turned to me and exhaled. “Now that that’s handled, Julia, let’s take our dessert and nightcap in the drawing room. Marion?”

“I’ll be right behind you, ma’am.”

I wondered if I should help Drew track whoever it was that had been looking into our windows, but the finality of Mrs. Sinclair’s statement led me to do as I was told. I followed her into the drawing room, looking out the window over my shoulder all the while.

Later, after Mrs. Sinclair and I had finished our bread pudding, Drew came back inside, flushed with the cold, dogs at his heels. He sunk into a chair next to the fire as the dogs took a few laps around the room before curling up on the Oriental rug beside him.

“They followed the scent into the woods,” he said. “I didn’t think we should go farther, not in the dark.”

“Goodness, no.” Mrs. Sinclair sighed. “Not in those woods.” She rose from her chair and crossed the room to the bar, where she poured two cognacs. “Nightcaps?”

She handed one to me and one to Drew. “It’s unsettling, darlings, but undoubtedly, this is somebody who saw me in the village today and was curious. We get that here from time to time.”

Drew caught my eye and shook his head, so slightly it was almost imperceptible. I got the distinct feeling they
didn’t
get this from time to time.

“And now, it’s about time for this old bat to retire.” She smiled at us. “We’ve had quite a day, children. I enjoyed it more than you know.”

I stood up and took her hands into mine. “It was a wonderful day, Mrs. Sinclair,” I said. “Thank you. I had more fun today than I’ve had in months. I can’t remember the last time I laughed.”

“That was the idea, Julia, darling.” She kissed me on the cheek, turned, and joined Marion, who was standing in the doorway. “Home, James,” she said, extending her arm. Marion took it, and the two of them walked out of the room and into the darkness of the hallway.

Drew and I sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke.

“I didn’t want to say it to Mrs. Sinclair, but the footprints looked like they were headed back toward the village,” Drew said.

“Somebody followed us from town, then?”

“It looks that way, yes.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked him.

“I have no idea,” he said.

We both settled back down into the armchairs by the fire, talking about everything and nothing. We drank our cognacs, and then things began to get a little hazy around the edges. I do remember feeling quite drunk all of a sudden, and realizing I had better get back upstairs sooner rather than later.

The room began to spin. “Oh,” I said, putting a hand to my forehead. It was odd: a couple of cognacs usually didn’t have that dramatic of an effect on me, but this time they did. “I think I should call it a night.”

I pushed myself out of my chair and stood next to it for a moment, getting my bearings.

“Are you okay?” Drew asked.

“I’m fine. All I need is some water, a couple of aspirin, and my bed.”

I walked a few hesitant steps and then turned around, putting a hand on the archway into the hall for support. “Thank you for a
lovely day,” I said to him, slurring my words ever so slightly. “I loved Nelly, I loved the town, I loved the whole thing.”

“Sleep well, Julia.” He smiled. “We’re all very glad you’re here with us.”

Walking through the dark hallways of the house, illuminated here and there with the soft glow of a wall sconce, I began to feel as though I were in a strange and magical labyrinth. Rooms seemed to fold in on one another, circling back around so that they were in front of me once again. Every hallway I went down seemed to lead to the same place, leaving me back where I had started.

And then I heard something. I stopped walking to listen closer. Music? It was so soft and faint, it sounded like it was coming from another world. I followed the sound down the hallway. It seemed to be coming from a certain room with an arched entrance, so I poked my head inside. I saw a harpsichord in one corner and a cello propped next to a chair in the other. Between them, yet another enormous fireplace. I took a few hesitant steps inside and looked around.

Portraits of musicians with their instruments hung on the walls. Over the fireplace, I saw a large painting depicting an evening of chamber music—wealthy people congregating after dinner, drinks in hand, dressed in their fineries. A woman sat at a harpsichord, a man at her side with a cello. I gasped when I realized it was a painting of an event in the very room where I stood. This was the music room.

As I stared at the painting, it was almost as if the image on the canvas transformed from oils and brushstrokes into flesh and blood, and I could see the scene in the painting come to life, there in the room around me, the people wispy and transparent, like holograms. Or ghosts.