by L C Kincaide
Parting the sheers, Elinor gazed outside. A limousine glided to the curb, and the chauffeur was holding the door open for unknown guests. They were stepping out with only the tops of their heads visible and disappeared into the building. She touched a finger to her throbbing temple.
The altercation with Emma had upset her more than she first realized and her head ached as a result. There had really been no need for her outburst and she didn’t understand Emma’s sudden defiance. Maybe she had been too hard on her daughter over the years; the notion crossed her mind more than once. But what other choice had she knowing what lay in store for her? The way Emma had managed her life put them all in danger and it seemed for the longest time she would have to continue the yearly charade until the day she died.
Then, by some miracle, Ivy Mylton appeared; the right person to appease Mason Everdon’s demands and put an end to their annual, generational tribulations. Since then, they had all been freed to go on with their lives, including herself, or so it seemed until Emma and her daughter-in-law stirred up the spirits with their séance. Now Emma again threatened the peace with her foolishness.
She took consolation in knowing the Langstones were out of danger since no direct Everdon descendants had survived in that line. Martha Everdon had married the widower, Sir Nathaniel who already had two sons, and their only child, a son had tragically perished in the Great War. Though not family by blood, their portraits hung in the portrait gallery at the manor in honor of their sacrifices of over a hundred years alongside the Everdons.
Poor George had brought about his demise because of his defiant behavior. Such a tragedy that was, and completely avoidable. But he couldn’t have known he would have only a few years left of the annual participation. At the time, it must have seemed eternal. All these connections were carefully documented and one day, like it or not, Emma would study them, just as she had, and added her own findings to them as well. The Ruskins were not family, their involvement an accident of circumstance.
She drew the drapes to the night, and after hanging her clothes, prepared for bed. No sounds escaped from beyond Emma’s closed bathroom door. It occurred to her to knock, but that would only renew their argument and since neither was backing down, it was futile and best to leave until morning.
Brushing her hair at the dressing table, Elinor thought of her children. Matthew was so like his father; fair-haired with strong features and kind blue eyes, his demeanor calm and reassuring. She could always rely on his support. Though it wasn’t necessary, he had taken part in the Weekends. Why, it never crossed her mind he had been born to a different mother. And soon he would be a father, and a patient and loving one. Maybe Rachel would at last relinquish her flighty ways once the baby came.
If only she could say the same for Emma. She had thwarted her every effort to prepare for her duties to the family and to him as if by ignoring the situation, it would magically cease to exist. No matter how often she had brought up the subject, Emma changed it or simply left, feigning some excuse or other. Now she was expressing a perplexingly unyielding attitude.
She tried to pinpoint when her daughter had become so rebellious. Emma always had a defiant streak that manifested itself in her attire and overindulgence in alcohol. That she hadn’t mutilated her body with tattoos and piercings was no small miracle, but she attributed that to Emma’s aversion to pain rather than restraint. But she had never spoken back to her before. Willful and tenaciousness when it came to a cause, even when it was the wrong one, Emma was true to herself regardless of whether it served her. These qualities most vexed Elinor, but on some level, she admired her for having them. Her daughter was an Everdon through and through.
However, what was happening now was downright unsettling. Elinor had been convinced following her misadventures in the manor last fall, Emma would have had enough of everything associated with the Everdon Family. Not in a million years did it occur to her she’s be running off to see another manor of the same name with a man she had just met. His good looks and charm played a role, of that she was certain. Now the girl was back and defending his rights. Her actions were beyond comprehension.
Elinor’s options were few, but something needed to be done to avert this disaster. She applied the night cream and rubbed her temples, her mind turning to the distant past when her great-uncle Mason made a critical decision his descendants and he would come to regret when he met his future wife. That was a catalytic event, there could be no doubt. If he had never known Amelia Bramfield, he would have married Clara Massie and all succeeding Everdons would have enjoyed lives not plagued by a curse and all that accompanied it, but lived like regular people with normal lives. It was Amelia’s appearance that started a chain of events and the first casualty had been Clara herself.
Recalling the young man who so strongly resembled his forebear, Elinor could not help wondering what if anything the two had in common. For everyone’s sake, she hoped it wasn’t much. The family had experienced more than their share of hardships and grief, and the notion of the past repeating itself filled her with the deepest dread.
What troubled her more than knowing the events of the past was not knowing the risks the current situation presented, and they were potentially significant. The last of Mason Everdon’s line and the last of his brother Maxim’s line had collided. If this was a catalytic event, Elinor did not yet know for certain. All she knew was that this young man seemed to be very much like his predecessor in appearance and from her observations, his charms too. None of this bode well for Emma and by default, for any of them. Perhaps she should have encouraged the relationship between her and John.
Regrettably, since his car accident, Frances had been whispering in Godfrey’s ear and John was in Japan, leaving Emma alone and vulnerable. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for John and Emma if she could arrange for them to get together and soon, not that Frances would be of any help in that regard. His mother was in full protection mode of her son, and little did she realize what a mistake her actions could prove to be in the end.
Elinor sighed. Surely there must be a way to prevent further development between her daughter and the Kinsley man regardless of what happened with John Ruskin. The notion of the two Everdon descendants together clenched her stomach with unease, and she thanked the heavens above that an entire ocean would soon span between them. They should never have met and their union must never consummate. In the meantime, a perfect solution to sever the last ties had presented itself and the frustration of Emma sabotaging everything was quite beyond endurance. She had to change Emma’s attitude about Adam Kinsley’s rights if it was the last thing she did — Mason Everdon’s wishes be damned! Whatever happened, Emma was her daughter, and for better and for worse, she had an obligation to protect her and her future.
~*~
“Emma.” A voice called from somewhere in a dream.
“Emma!” Louder now, Emma jerked to semi-consciousness and squinted. Streetlights from below cast shadows on the ceiling of the darkened room. For a moment she forgot where she was — no, this wasn’t the manor bedroom. She was back in the hotel and someone was calling her name. Mum? The bedroom was quiet and only the discreet hiss of the air circulation system disturbed the silence. Maybe she imagined it. But she was awake, so she may as well get up to make sure. Wrapping herself in the spare blanket, she padded to the bathroom and pressed an ear to the connecting door. Cracking it open, she poked her head into a room made dark with drawn curtains.
“Mum?” She whispered and was met with silence. Closing the door softly, she climbed back into bed convinced it had been a dream.
WEDNESDAY
~*~
The moment her eyes opened, her pulse began a rapid thrum knowing what lay in store — the continuing standoff with her mother, possibly including the lawyer later on. Emma groaned into the pillow. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. After rolling around for a half hour, s
he stood under the hot spray until her skin looked raw. She towelled off remembering too late to switch on the exhaust fan and wiped down every surface, taking one complaint off the list.
Not ready to start her day and even more loath to meet the Ruskins downstairs, she ordered breakfast from room service, read the headlines and checked her email. Nothing there and no phone nor text messages either. It was just as well though a stab of disappointment betrayed her nonchalance.
A knock came at the door, and a waiter pushed in the trolley and left. The food looked good, but had no taste as she forced herself to eat it. The coffee was hot and strong, and she sipped her second cup gazing out the window watching the traffic crawl below. Heavy clouds rolled over the city, and a drizzle polished every surface to a high sheen. The weather matched her mood perfectly. She should have stayed in bed. How would she spend her last day in London? Sleeping it away would have suited her best.
A glance at the phone said it was going on eleven, which meant her mother should be up and about. The door to her room and the bath was closed, but no telltale noises of Elinor getting ready sounded from within. Like her, she was probably in no hurry to continue the argument either, and they could find themselves in a prolonged standoff situation — the first one to blink is the loser!
Emma dressed in fresh jeans and a loose sweater and waited. Maybe she had missed Elinor’s puttering earlier; her concentration was a little off this morning. A knock on the door didn’t elicit a response, and she cracked it open, finding the bathroom as she had left it. Shutting off the fan, she knocked on Elinor’s door.
“Mum?” She called tentatively. When no answer came, she opened it to darkness. “Mum?” Again silence met her call. Crossing the threshold, she waited for her eyes to adjust before going further in. The bed materialized in the murk, a ghostly rectangular shape.
Goosebumps prickled her skin as she tiptoed across in silence. A mound on the bed indicated Elinor was under the blankets asleep, yet a chill washed over her the closer she approached.
“Mum?” Emma croaked. Why didn’t she answer?
She waged an inner battle deciding if she should switch on the nightstand lamp and give Elinor a nudge, or just turning the light on may be enough to rouse her. Taking a fortifying breath, she turned the knob. A harsh glare illuminated silvered hair crowning features that were drawn and pale. From her position by the bedside, Emma detected a fine network of capillaries on her mother’s eyelids. How strange — she barely had any eyebrows and her lips were blue.
Emma clamped a hand over her mouth and staggered backward. “Oh-my-God!” Came out three times in rapid succession. Elinor’s body lay unmoving beneath the coverlet. Emma stared in disbelief. Was her mother dead? She didn’t look alive, not with that color complexion and blue lips! She must have died hours ago for that to happen! Was she cold? Emma didn’t want to find out. What to do? Her frantic gaze fell on the phone. Who to call — not room service, nor the Concierge. Damn! Think! Her hands clapped against her temples. She picked up the receiver and punched the number for the front desk.
“I have an emergency! Room 403. I need a doctor. Right away!” She hung up before the woman could ask questions.
She had just yanked the curtains back when a knock on the door made her yelp and she let the house doctor inside, a hawkish man with a short crop of brown hair and glasses.
“It’s my mum. I think she’s dead.” Emma told him wringing her hands.
He checked Elinor’s pulse and eyes and arranging her hand under the cover with an effort, drew the sheet and covered her head confirming Emma’s diagnosis.
“She was like that when I found her a few minutes ago.” She explained. “How did it happen? Can you tell?”
“Was she taking any medication?”
“No.”
“It appears she possibly suffered a stroke or possibly a heart attack. I will perform the standard examination as is necessary in these cases, to rule out any questions though I suspect my original diagnosis to be correct. I am very sorry for your loss, Miss.”
The shrouded figure blurred through Emma’s tears. “When?” She barely pushed the question through a tight throat.
“Judging from the rigor mortis, I would say six to ten hours.”
Rigor mortis. Emma shuddered. In other words, in the middle of the night.
“Excuse me. I have to make arrangements.” He punched a number and quietly spoke to someone on the other end and hung up. Emma couldn’t take her eyes off her mother’s body. Just hours ago she was standing in front of her, full of vigor and arguing. Now she lay there under a bed sheet. In rigor mortis. Was this really happening? Maybe it was a dream, and she’d wake up and later they would continue fighting over what was right and wrong.
“Is there someone you can call?” The doctor broke into her musings as they waited for what would happen next.
“Huh?” Emma blinked at him thinking he seemed perfectly suited to this job, at least where the dead were concerned. She had expected a grandfatherly type of physician giving her kind looks and reassurances. This man was all business, down to the charcoal suit.
“I will issue a Death Certificate later today,” He continued, “but you will need to call your Embassy — you are American, I presume — and make arrangements to have your mother’s body shipped home.”
The words seemed to be spoken as if from a distance though he was standing in front of her and she nodded mutely. He regarded her curiously, assessing her condition, no doubt wondering if she was about to become hysterical or pass out.
A knock came at the door and two men pushing a gurney entered. The wheels clicked across the plush carpet and they parked it alongside the bed, lowering it to the same level. Throwing the bedspread aside, they tucked the sheet under the body — her mother’s body — and transferred it.
“Where are they taking her?” Emma rediscovered her voice.
“She will be taken to a morgue. Your embassy has a designated facility and when you call them, they will explain to you the procedure. As I said, ruling out other findings, your mother appears to have died of natural causes and that is what I shall put on the Death Certificate. The process normally takes several days. It is a formality of bureaucracy. If you know your mother’s wishes regarding funeral arrangements, burial versus cremation, that will help.”
She followed the men to the door where they stopped and checked the hallway in both directions. Finding it empty, the gurney wheels click-clacked as they hastened down the hall, passing the elevator and continued to the end where a wide door slid open to reveal a service lift. Emma stood in the corridor as the door closed and her mother’s body disappeared from view.
“Is there someone you can call?” The doctor asked her again as he steered her by the elbow to a chair. She dropped into it gratefully and took the glass of water.
“You are in shock. I will give you a sedative to help you sleep later.” He withdrew a bottle with a few pills in it from his doctor’s bag and gave it to her. “In the meantime, I need to ask you some questions for the Death Certificate.”
A half hour later, Emma was back in her room. She had calls to make. Oh God! She had to call Matthew! Who else? Who could she ask to help her, her mind scrambled to think straight. Robert was honeymooning on an island in the Caribbean. Considering all the people she knew here, only one person qualified. God knows, he had experience with these matters.
She called Sir Theo, then placed the hardest call to Matthew. Early morning in Boston, she wouldn’t have to rouse him from sleep with the news at this hour.
“Matthew, it’s Emma.” She swallowed hard desperately trying to keep calm. She knew from the silence on the other end he was gripping the phone. “Something’s happened… mum is dead. I don’t know what she’d want me to do!” She was losing it fast. “Do you know? I have to tell them how to fly her home, Matthew
and I don’t know what to tell them!” She sobbed.
“What is it? What happened?” Rachel’s voice in the background, alert and worried.
“Mom died.” He said.
“What? How? When? For God’s sake, put it on speaker! Emma! Are you there? Honey, talk to me! It’s going to be okay! We’re here for you!”
“Oh Rachel! It’s all my fault. We had an argument, and she had a stroke or something during the night and now she’s gone!”
“It’s not your fault, all right? These things happen!”
“Is Matthew still there?”
“He’s looking for Elinor’s Will so we can make decisions. See, we’re getting things done. Have you called anyone there?”
“Yeah. Sir Theo. He’s calling the embassy for me. The doctor is faxing the Death Certificate to them.” Her breath hitched and her self-control was returning as she listened to Rachel’s reassuring voice. Her friend was right. She had to pull herself together to get things done.
“Thanks, Rachel. I’ll let you know when I change the flight.” She had no idea when that would be. “And the Ruskins should be told. They’re on their way home.”
They spoke for a few minutes longer and Matthew gave her the information she needed. When Sir Theo called her back, she passed on her mother’s wishes, and he confirmed that Elinor would be taken care of either today or tomorrow. He had referred to her by name, not as “the body”, and for that she was grateful.
She slumped in the armchair overwhelmed by the circumstances. What next? She would have to pack her mum’s clothes, then hers. This was to be their last night in the hotel. Realizing that, Sir Theo offered her a room in his house not wanting her to be alone tonight and for as long as she needed until everything was sorted out. The old gentleman was the kindest of the Langstones. He had not had an easy time in life either and she gratefully accepted his offer. Staying here on her own next door to where her mother had died filled her with dread, and it had nothing to do with ghosts.
