“No—no need.” Jewel swiped the bottle from where he had set it and drew the cork from the neck. The noise resounding in the stillness of the room. Without a moment’s hesitation, she turned up the flask and took several long draws. Some of the reddish-brown liquid trickled from the edge of her mouth, which she brushed aside with the back of her hand.
Hunsdon blinked, rather startled by her aggressive behavior. She stood quite a few moments with her eyes closed. Satisfaction rounded her lips into a soft smile, her shoulders grew limp with relief. She exhaled and set the bottle on the table notably calmer.
“Addie seems to think you’ve grown dependent on your medication.”
"Nonsense.” Jewel turned and walked to the farthest corner of the room to gaze out the window. “It’s just that I get confused up here all alone . . . there’s so little to occupy my hours. It isn’t any wonder I’ve gone mad. I’m like a crazy old lady locked away in a bell tower.”
“Come, come. It isn’t as bad as all that. We had to do it for your own protection.”
She said nothing, remaining with her back turned as she stared out the window. Time stretched between them with only the sounds of robins chirping outside the window. When she turned to face him, she wore a sickly smile. A drug-induced glaze that left the impression she didn’t even see him. “Of course not, dear.” Her countenance changed before his eyes. She blinked as if in slow motion, and floated toward him. “You may return the tray. I’m afraid I’m not hungry. I wish to lie down now.”
Jewel gazed up at him, a veil of blankness drawn across her face. The scar that ran from her ear to her chin glared at him with accusation. He wanted her to see him, wanted her to know how sorry he was that he’d had to hurt her. Instead, he gathered her into his arms. “Would you like me to have Addie bring up your sewing? I remember how you loved it. Perhaps it would help fill the hours.”
She didn’t recoil from him, just blinked stupidly. “That would be wonderful.”
He grabbed her chin and tried to force her gaze, but it was no use—she wasn’t listening. She’d gone off somewhere, somewhere he couldn’t follow. He swung her up and lay down with her on the bed, feeling her body go lax against him as he stroked the silky dark waves that curled around her pale face.
Hope surged. Hunsdon positioned Jewel so that her sweet fragrance wafted up to him. He liked that she didn’t stiffen at his touch. As he lay there stroking the smoothness, he imagined Jewel, cozying up to him. How eager she was for her medication. He couldn’t believe the change in her disposition. Why hadn’t he considered this years ago? If he continued to provide and administer the medicine to her, she would come to rely solely on him. He could always adjust the dosage. She’d depend completely on him. In time, when she’d earned his trust, he’d consider giving her freedom to wander about the house. Relief washed over him.
I will redeem you, my little Jewel, and that’s a promise.
*****
“What do you think of this stitch, Addie?” Jewel held the embroidery up for Addie’s approval.
“It’s lovely, miss. I don’t know how you have the patience. I never did more than practical work myself. You’re coming right along with that quilt, but I wish you would stop long enough to eat just a little something for me. I declare, you’re wasting away to nothing.”
Jewel smiled to put the dear face at ease. She didn’t understand the look of worry that crumpled the older woman’s expression. She couldn’t comprehend why anyone would be troubled on such a glorious day. The curtains billowed from the open window as she sat in the rocking chair doing her needlework.
It had been several weeks since Hunsdon allowed Addie to bring her work. She was thrilled with the prospect of sewing again. He’d even been so kind as to allow Theodosia to keep her company. She could tell from the slant of the sun it was about time for Hunsdon to return from the hospital. Her lips curved as she thought of how kind and gentle he had been with her. Daily he came to her room, bearing gifts and attending to her. He seemed so pleased with her recovery. In the recesses of her mind, she was sure there was something she should be upset over, but for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to recall it. He had tried to hurt her, but the memory blurred around the edges. Besides, she was almost well enough to leave her room. He’d told her so, just this morning.
A warm hand cupped hers, bringing her from her reflecting. “Miss, I’m worried about you.”
“Why, Addie, I’m fine. I’ve never been better.”
“No, miss, you’re not. You won’t eat . . . you sit around all day in a daze. It’s not normal, that’s what.”
“Hunsdon says I’m better.”
Addie looked back at the door and lowered her voice, even though they were the only two in the room. “Miss, I want to believe that Dr. Wiltshire has your best interest at heart, but when I was in your room . . . I found some things. I know I ought not been snooping, but Dr. Wiltshire’s been acting quite strange since . . . well . . . since the day . . . he locked you up here.”
Jewel felt detached from the conversation as if they were discussing someone else. She tried to focus on the urgency in Addie’s voice as she continued her stitching. If only her thinking wasn’t so fuzzy. Despite the fog that clouded her brain, she did the best to keep up with the conversation and respond with the appropriate comments. “How so?”
“I hear him pacing all hours of the night in your old room. Sometimes I pass the locked door, and he talks to himself. I wonder if he didn’t lie to me about what happened that afternoon.”
“Poor Addie, you look so frightened.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, miss. I am afraid for you. At first, I was convinced you had snapped, and who could blame you living in this house . . . but now I’m not so sure. There’s something strange going on. I wanted to believe he cared for you. He can be charming when he’s a mind to be, but there’s a feeling in my gut that won’t give me peace. Can you remember what happened that afternoon? You were trying to tell me about getting a letter to a friend . . . John . . . James or something. Anyway . . . I found these.” Addie pulled something from beneath the folds of her skirt but stuffed them back when the door suddenly opened.
“There’s my beautiful bride.”
Hunsdon looked so handsome standing there in his gray suit; it made his clear blue eyes snap. He crossed the room, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “My, look how much you’ve accomplished today. That’s lovely work, my dear.”
Jewel smiled her appreciation. “Thank you.”
Addie stood erect, two bright spots appearing in her cheeks. “Dr. Wiltshire, didn’t you tell me this morning you’d be working late and to attend to Mrs. Wiltshire?”
“Quite right, but I wondered if she might miss me as much as I missed her and came home. I worry about you.” He laid a protective hand on her shoulder.
“Addie was just telling me . . .” She stopped, looking confused at the older woman. “What were you saying?” She blinked, trying to remember.
“It wasn’t important. Just trying to make sure you eat,” she answered, averting her eyes.
“No, I don’t think that’s it . . .” Jewel persisted, but her face clouded with confusion. “Oh, maybe it was. I can’t seem to focus. Is it time for my medicine again?”
“No, Miss, you took that earlier.”
“Now Addie, a little more won’t hurt her if she’s feeling confused. There, there, darling, you’ve probably been sitting up too long. Why don’t you lie down—shall I bring it to you?”
Jewel reached up putting her hand in his. “You’re so kind to me.”
“Addie, I can take over from here.” He assisted Jewel to the bed and started to unbutton her gown.
“Sir,” Addie persisted, obviously disapproving of something by the way she frowned. “Please try to get some food in her. She hasn’t eaten a thing all day. If you give her the medicine she won’t eat a bite.”
“I will handle the situation, Addie,” he snapped. “Now, if y
ou please, the medicine.”
Jewel watched Addie square her shoulders and hand over the bottle. She wished she could remember why the housekeeper was so distressed. Did it have to do with Hunsdon? Perhaps if she remembered she could ask him, he’d know what to do. Wouldn’t he?
Chapter 24
Jack padded on sock feet through the kitchen, guided by the ghostly green light on the microwave. The clock read 3:26 a.m. He pulled open the fridge, removed a carton of juice and chugged several long gulps before wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. He closed the container and returned it to the shelf next to the eggs. For a moment he considered pulling them out and whipping up an omelet, but then thought better of it. Too messy and too much to clean up afterward.
He hadn’t been sleeping. It was hard to rest when you felt as if you had blood on your hands. Despite everything he told himself he was to blame for Jewel’s sudden disappearance. It was his fault!
YOU’RE TOO LATE! SHE’S DEAD TO YOU.
He could see the scrawled handwriting when he closed his eyes at night. He should have prevented it—even worse, he sensed that his letters had caused it. . . well . . . whatever it was—her death? Why else hadn’t she written back to him? He’d left countless messages and received no response.
No, she wasn’t dead. That much he knew. Call it intuition, call it instinct, but he’d know if something had happened to her. Her presence was still in the house.
He closed the refrigerator, snagged a heel of bread from the wrapper on the counter, and shoved it into the toaster. Tonight, on his way home from work, he’d pick up a fresh loaf at the store.
While he waited for the toast, he measured out coffee, good and strong. Finding no clean cups, he excavated a dirty one from the dishwasher and ran hot water over it until he was satisfied it was at least sanitary. Still waiting for coffee, he jogged out to the porch and picked up the paper. The chilly morning air blew through his thin T-shirt, sending him sprinting back inside the house. Warm weather couldn’t come soon enough.
His toast slathered with strawberry jelly, Jack sat at the table with the untouched newspaper beside him. For the thousandth time he clicked off plausible explanations for Jewel’s departure, a scrap of information he’d overlooked regarding her disappearance. He and Sam had searched through reel after reel of microfiche trying to find something—anything that would give them a clue. Where are you, Jewel?
Despite a lack of response, he checked the window seat daily, hoping somehow a message would find its way to her. His letters vanished without a reply. Each time he approached the secret compartment his stomach knotted with dread.
He slammed his palm against the table in frustration, startling the cat that dozed in the nearby chair. With obvious displeasure, she laid her ears back, jumped from the seat, and landed with a heavy thud. She gave him an indignant flick of her tail before stalking away to finish her nap in a quieter part of the house.
Jack shoved the last bite into his mouth, chewing as he wadded up the napkin, and headed through the house with his mug of coffee. As he shuffled along, his feet seemed to swish out a tempo: Jewel’s Room, Jewel’s room.
Down the darkened hall, up the stairs, five steps across to the second door on the left. He hesitated outside, as if he might will her to be on the other side, safe, laughing . . . speaking in that quaint way she had. Resting his hand on the knob, he took a deep breath and entered.
The faint smell of varnish greeted him. He had completed the work to the floors. No sense in having them tested. What explanation would he give?
He approached the seat, his heart drumming against his ribs. His feet were not as certain as he reached to slide the cushion out of his way and lift the lid. It was hard to say if he was more afraid of finding the compartment empty, or discovering another ominous letter. Either way, he steeled himself.
Light fell through the window from the street lamp. His breath caught at the sight of a white slip of paper. It glowed in the harsh fluorescent light. He hesitated to touch it, as if it had the power to burn his skin. It took several calming breaths before he collected the courage to pick it up. When he did, his eyes scanned the note and read: ARE YOU REAL?
A prickling sensation ran its cold fingers down his spine. Who was this? If he responded would he put Jewel at greater risk? Perhaps this person only wanted to get a message to him. A thousand questions assaulted him like tiny arrows piercing his mind. He shook with indecision and fell weak-legged on the edge of the window seat.
Lord, I don’t want to make things worse for Jewel. What do I do?
A great silence met his plea. No benevolent wisdom, no inner guidance that told him to reply or return the letter. When in doubt, wait. That voice he recognized, because it was the coaching of his mother. Hadn’t she always cautioned him regarding prayer, never jump ahead? Wait on the peace of God that passes all understanding. Yes, wait!
Still clutching the scrap of paper, he replaced the lid and cushion, and left the room. He would go to his office where he had the other note and compare the writing. It would not be a match, of this he was certain, but perhaps it held a clue. He tried to remember if Jewel had mentioned someone else in the house. There were the servants, but would she have confided in one of them? He determined to find out the writer’s identity.
*****
Samantha Rose awoke to her alarm belting out the tune to Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble.” She lolled a few minutes, wiggling her feet in time with the music, before hitting the button on the radio. She smiled. Already thoughts of today’s events scrolled through her mind. Seeing Jack was at the top of the list.
She slipped out of bed and headed toward the bathroom, the tune she’d just heard pulsing through her brain.
. . . I knew you were trouble when you walked in.
. . . shame on me now . . . something, something, something . . .
. . . lying on the cold hard ground.
. . . trouble, trouble, trouble . . .
Great! Now I’ll have that stuck in my head all day! As she adjusted the faucet trying to remember the missing verse, she slithered out of her faded T-shirt, laughing at herself. Nothing worse than having a melody looped in your noggin and being unable to recall the words.
As the water rained on her, hot and steamy, she dreamed about the date she had planned this evening with Jack. She couldn’t wait to see him, even if he’d been a bit distracted of late—and who would blame him? Sam was glad that she didn’t have to tell anyone about the research they were doing. No doubt people would consider them both crazy, but she believed him. Simple as that. She’d seen the letters, and as bizarre as it sounded, she was certain he wasn’t insane.
She stepped from the shower, wrapping herself in a pink, fuzzy bathrobe. Moisture from her hair streamed down in spirals soaking the collar. Shoot! She’d forgotten her towel. With a pigeon-toed tread she picked her way across the hall to retrieve one from the linen closet. She selected a thick blue one and ran it through her wet locks as she reentered the bedroom.
Sam planted herself before the closet door, shuffled through the racks, and contemplated which outfit to wear. She paused when she caught sight of her white peasant blouse. With head tilted and lips puckered, she tried to decide if the look was worth the effort it took to keep the loose fitting shoulders in place all day. Honestly, some days she wore herself out in a tug of war for modesty. No, today was going to be a long day and she didn’t have the energy. She had just laid her hands on an emerald green tunic top when the phone rang.
Tossing the shirt on the bed, she scooped up her cell. Jack’s name appeared on her caller ID. She didn’t try to contain her smile. “Hello.”
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“You’re an early bird. You aren’t calling to cancel on me, are you?” She ambled toward the closet to fish out the light colored pants with the tiny shells sewn around the cuffs while she listened.
“No, of course not.” Jack’s voice sounded warm, but there was al
so an edge that made her stop and ease herself down on the bed.
“Something happen?”
“Yes.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “I found a note this morning—different handwriting from the last one.”
“What did it say?” Sam wished she could crawl through the line and see the message for herself. “Was it from Jewel?”
“No, it didn’t look like her writing, and anyway, it couldn’t be from her. It asked if I was real. What do you make of that? You read the letters—who do you suppose wrote it?”
“Have you responded?”
“No, I was afraid to. I didn’t want to take the chance of making things worse for Jewel. I wanted to talk with you first.”
That made her heart leap. He trusted her enough to ask her advice, she wouldn’t let him down. “Wow, Jack, that’s a tough one. That’s all the note said?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, let’s see . . . the only other person in the house beside Jewel and Hunsdon is the housekeeper, right? Could it be from her?”
“Anything’s possible . . . oh, and the groundskeeper. His name was . . . something funny . . . uh, Cornflower or something.”
“No, it was Culpeper. I remember now because it made me think of Culpeper, Virginia. Her letters indicated they were both friends. It could be that Jewel is in trouble and they are trying to get a message to you.”
“I hate all the ‘what ifs.’ I keep thinking the letters somehow fell into the husband’s hands, and he’s punished her. Now he wants some sort of proof, and if I respond, he’ll hurt her more.”
Samantha tugged at the cross around her neck, sliding it back and forth on her chain as she thought. “I don’t know, Jack. I’m more inclined to believe that the first note was from him. Of course, all we can do at this point is speculate, but if what you say is true, he’s probably already done the damage. But this doesn’t sound like that to me. It sounds like a plea for help. Are you real? Can you help? Perhaps it’s just me.”
Timeless Moments Page 16
