by Glenna Mason
Sir William had demanded allegiance and silence, and Maria would see that he got it—well, up to a point, that was.
Once the horse/ransom exchange was successfully completed and the kidnappers had established that their safety was secure in all ten exchanges, they had agreed to make a final phone communication, releasing their victims of the obligation of secrecy. The owners at that point were free to call anyone, make any statement and take any action. The kidnappers were realistic enough to know that once the horses were safely home, their return would become international headlines.
At two Maria's cell phone rang. “Hello,” she answered. After listening for a brief moment, Maria repeated the message aloud to her sisters, “My Merry Robin Hood just called, my darling. I am free to let you know that we are on our way home.”
Maria then inquired, “And, Daddy, when may I expect you?”
She continued to interpret aloud, “I've been driving for a half hour. I am somewhere south of London and should be home in approximately one hour. Oh, and, sweetheart, our little jewels are safely in the rear.”
The phone tree moved into full force. In thirty minutes everyone, who could be contacted at such short notice, arrived in jeans or jodhpurs, ready for a barn shindig, parking out of sight, over by the big house.
Friends and employees chattered with excitement at the opportunity to surprise the returning trio and especially at the prospect of a barn picnic in honor of the dapper Sir William Lucas.
All that was left was the waiting. As she joined the throng, Elizabeth had a bizarre thought, “All I seem to be doing these days is partying, and yet everything that has happened is contra-revelry.” She said, “Life is somehow askew.”
The waiting was short-lived. Soon Maria's phone chimed again. “Good!” she was heard to say. “Into the barn everyone!” she shouted. “That was security. Dad has entered the farm gates.”
The guests scrambled the short distance to hide inside the barn out of sight.
Maria's cell phone rang again. “Daddy says he is home,” she trilled merrily.
“He is indeed here,” Gage said from his vantage at the front of the crowd. “Sir William's pulling to a stop right now.”
Maria said, “Wait! Just fifteen more seconds. Let him wonder why no one is here at the barn to help.”
Soon an uneasy, obviously bewildered Sir William Lucas cautiously opened the van door to step out.
“Now!” Maria shouted. The thirty-five or so spilled from the barn, singing at the top of their lungs and mostly off-key “For He's a Jolly Good Fellow” and then “My Old Kentucky Home.”
Sir William, exhausted from the strain of his ordeal, but oh-so-happily surprised, smiled from ear to ear. He went straight to his daughter, picked her up and swung her around. Their eyes locked in mutual admiration and devotion. “I love you, Daddy.”
“Ga Ga! Ga Ga!” A very tiny voice rang out in high soprano as Cathy, the nursemaid, Trey, Libby Bell and Millie Kay rounded the barn.
“Trey” returned Sir William in his rich tenor. “Come to Ga Ga!” The toddler raced to his grandfather's open arms, and when Sir William swept him up, he received a myriad of wet kisses. Tears were now streaming down Sir William's stolid face.
“Why crying, Ga Ga?”
“I'm so lucky, Trey!” said Sir William to the baby. He turned to the others, “I am so lucky; thank you for your support and especially for your friendship.”
“Here! Here!” raised the cheer.
Then seeing Gage and Charles bringing out the tables, accompanied by Elizabeth and Kitty carrying baskets filled with breads and cheeses and fruits, Sir William said, a grin lighting his whole face and his hand moving around the crowd, “All this and food too!”
He then returned to the van and opened the rear door. Clancey raced to join him, leads in hand. The two expertly unloaded Alexis and Junie to cheers anew. The mare and her foal stood proudly, ears perked, apparently glad of the freedom from the wobbly van and aware of the excitement generated by their homecoming. The crowd swelled around the baby and his mother. Their prominence was clear as many petted the pair and treated them to bites of apple. Elizabeth advanced with a couple of her peppermints. She was glad to see the mare and the foal home and safe. She was equally glad to note that they had obviously been well taken care of during their sojourn away from home.
“Whoever had them obviously knows a thing or two about horses,” she thought as tears began to flow unexpectedly down her face. The horses nuzzled her and chewed their candy; she didn't even try to wipe the tears away. They demonstrated her total joy.
The tables were now covered in tablecloths and filled with picnic fare. Maria announced, “Let's eat!
Tish moved to stand by Elizabeth.
“William is pleased, Lizzy, with his surprise party.”
“As he should be. His daughter is an amazing woman. Sir William is a lucky man. As much as I love his daughter Charlotte, I know that she’d not have had the artistry to take her mother’s place as Sir William’s hostess. She is well-suited to be a vicar’s wife. And as much as I cringe at the thought of a Mr. Collins as a husband, Charlotte seems happy.”
“Aren't your parents coming home tomorrow?”
“Yes, and I am very glad. We all need their care right now, more than their causes do.”
“You are still joining me on Saturday for a little jaunt to the Red Mile?”
“Oh, yes, we will do some detective work, while having a good time betting.”
“Don't get your hopes too high, Lizzy. It'll be like betting on a long shot.”
“I know, Tish, but occasionally the long shots come in.”
“Yes, but still . . .”
“Still one never knows until one tries.”
Suddenly the crowd was abuzz again, as a caravan of five limousines pulled into the barn's long drive.
“Wow!”
“Claire and her friends”
Maria, Gage and Sir William formed a makeshift receiving line to greet the illustrious arrivals.
“Claire is in her element now,” Tish said, with a slight twinge of distaste in her tone. Elizabeth was surprised, having thought she was the only person to view Claire as a little officious. But then Tish was quickly proving to be the most perceptive person Elizabeth knew. Nothing amazed Elizabeth anymore when it came to the unplumbed depths of Tish Pope.
As the cars emptied, Sir William greeted each in turn: ambassadors, professors, writers, deans, actors. He welcomed them and then directed them toward the refreshments. Maria took charge of Claire, seating her comfortably in the shade of a newly budding dogwood tree. Maria had arranged the small table, especially for Claire's arrival.
Sir William, his duties as host completed, headed straight for Clancey, grabbing two bottles of beer on the way. Handing one to Clancey and then wrapping his arm around Clancey's shoulder, Sir William raised the remaining bottle in salute, “To Mr. Clancey, the Man of the Year at Stantonfield Farms.”
“To Mr. Clancey” was the robust refrain.
Clancey, his smile broad and somewhat toothless, raised his bottle towards Alexis and Junie, who had been placed in a small, fenced enclosure adjacent to the festivities, and cheered, “To the princess and her prince.”
“To Alexis and Junie” the crowd shouted boisterously.
“And,” Sir William continued, striding with pride toward Maria, “to our hostess, my beautiful daughter.”
“To Maria!”
Maria grabbed a beer of her own and stated emphatically, “To all three of the important men in my life: Daddy, Gage and Trey.”
“Yea,” the cheers resounded, “To Sir William!” “To Gage!” “To Trey!”
The toasts completed, the party resumed with escalating pleasure, becoming even more celebratory.
Rene Chevalier approached Sir William and Maria, “Mon ami,” Monsieur Chevalier said to Sir William, grasping him by the shoulders and kissing both of Sir William's cheeks. “We arrived just an hour before t
he party. I am so well timed, non?”
“Mais oui, Rene',” Sir William said.
“Madame Webb,” Chevalier stated politely with a bow. “Do you remember Marquis DePres and Count Dumont?” Rene Chevalier asked Maria.
“But, of course, Monsieur Chevalier. Welcome to all of you to a most unusual Stantonfield affair.”
“Madame,” the Count greeted, pressing his lips to Maria's hand, “Je suis charme’. Extraordinaire!”
“Madame,” the Marquis stated, as he too bent over her hand for a kiss. “Enchante!”
“Now, gentlemen, when can I join you for a ride across the fields? I have the wake to attend to first of course.”
“Mon ami, can you ride Saturday next?”
“Of course and then we will dine at Stantonfield. Shall we say cocktails at eight and dinner at nine?”
“Mais oui, s’il vous plait.”
As little pleasure as she knew it would afford her in the midst of so much fun, Elizabeth decided she could not postpone speaking to Claire any longer. So duty bound, Elizabeth imprinted herself with a good attitude, placed a staunch smile on her lips and began to work her way across the lot to where Claire was sitting under the fragrant blooms of the flowering dogwood. Nodding to friends and clasping hands as she went, the journey was one of ten non-momentous minutes. She lingered at each conversation, but eventually sat down next to Claire.
“How are you today, Claire?”
“I'm actually doing quite well, Elizabeth. As you can see, I am bolstered by guests from all over. They have cheered me up quite nicely. Thank you for asking.”
“I'm glad you have so many friends to support you. Friends are invaluable at times like this.” Elizabeth paused and then felt compelled to say, “I want you to know that we will all miss Jimmy Joyce immensely. He has been my dear friend for over fifteen years. And as you know the English Department at EKU is incalculably diminished.”
“I know full well you will miss Jimmy Joyce, Elizabeth” was Claire's strange reply with a not very subtle emphasis on you. “I went up to EKU Friday before the hordes descended (Now her guests were hordes? Elizabeth was nonplussed.) and agreed to complete Jimmy Joyce's classes for the semester. As I told them, I have all Jimmy Joyce's notes and plans. It’s just a matter of reading them aloud in order.”
“What a supreme gesture,” Elizabeth said, truly surprised Claire would offer to do so much so soon.
“I've also applied to be a poet-in-residence for fall semester. The administration has graciously accepted my application.”
“Claire, how wonderful!”
“I have lost my husband, and I intend to make the most out of it.” Elizabeth was speechless.
Claire continued, “I hope you will stop in my office now, Elizabeth, like you so often did Jimmy Joyce's.”
“I am sure I will,” Elizabeth replied, not liking the direction of this conversation at all.
“Elizabeth, I haven't welcomed Junie and Alexis back. Will you join me?”
“Certainly,” agreed Elizabeth, glad for the distraction.
The two ladies walked to the fenced enclosure. Claire opened the gate and invited Elizabeth in. Elizabeth accepted with Claire latching the gate behind them. The next few minutes were quite companionable with Claire and Elizabeth hugging Junie and giving Alexis more of Elizabeth's peppermints.
“I know you have been dynamic in your investigation of the horse thefts, Elizabeth.”
“Claire, that is a definite stretch. Lucky is more like it.”
“Still I am going to venture a large request, Elizabeth. Do you mind?”
Elizabeth struggled with an answer. She felt that Claire was going to draw her into something, but what could she do? “Venture on, Claire,” she said.
“I wonder if Jimmy Joyce's death was an accident, or if it had to do with his investigation of the kidnappings.”
“Claire, I doubt—”
“Now, Elizabeth, hear me out please.” Elizabeth cringed with the thought of what might be about to come her way.
“I know it is farfetched, but do you remember how he said he had a lead or two on Tuesday at your house?”
“Yes, they seemed to me very insubstantial, Claire. Certainly nothing worth a hit and run.”
“If I did not have all this company, I would check it out myself, but under the circumstances . . .” Claire left the invitation unfinished. Elizabeth waited. She made no offer, nor would she. Claire would have to ask.
“My strange request is this, Elizabeth. Would you just look at Jimmy Joyce's computer data to be sure he did not find something significant? To be sure there is nothing there?”
“Claire, I am not the one to ask,” Elizabeth said, thankful everyone knew her lack of prowess on the computer. “I am not knowledgeable about the computer.”
“I know that, Elizabeth. I just want you to scan his e-mails for me.”
Elizabeth knew she was caught. “Of course I would be glad to help you on something that simple. It is all I can do, however. It would be unfair of me to offer to do more, since I am computer illiterate.”
“Good, Elizabeth. I was confident I could—uh—convince you to help. Come Sunday morning. I will give you the passwords that you need. You can take them home with you and do the work at your own house.”
“Fine.” Elizabeth felt somehow outlasted and bested. A strange shadow crossed Claire's countenance. Despite the warm afternoon sun, Elizabeth felt a shiver descend her frame.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sunday dawned cloudy and rainy, a dismal backdrop for Elizabeth on a day which would prove to be characterized by constantly shifting moods, crescendos and decrescendos, satisfying highs and debilitating lows.
Elizabeth returned dripping from the barn, cold and anxiety-ridden. She was dreading fulfilling her promise to go to Claire's to get the data needed to investigate Jimmy Joyce's computer.
A cup of hot, sweet tea and a warm shower brought back some balance, but then instead of heading immediately across Pope Road, Elizabeth thought up small tasks to do around the house in order to postpone the inevitable, the result being to alarm herself right back into a cold, hard funk.
The soothing effects of the tea and the shower were easily annihilated by Elizabeth's two-fold dislike of the task ahead. In the first place, nosing into Jimmy Joyce's personal world only three days after his death was an anathema to Elizabeth. His death had left an insoluble knot in the center of her chest. Elizabeth was ill-prepared for death. Even Elizabeth's beloved pets tended to survive to the status of ancient. And she had not personally lost anyone in her family, since the death of her grandparents several years ago, deaths which were heart-rending for her, but which even the tender-hearted Elizabeth realized were in the natural order of life's cycle. Jimmy Joyce's death was different, unnatural and inexplicable.
And in the second place Elizabeth sensed an incomprehensible antipathy growing in her towards Claire Evans Carstairs. Certainly she and Claire had never been intimate, being too disparate in personality. But Claire's reaction to Jimmy Joyce's death was so foreign to anything that Elizabeth had ever incorporated into her own being about the value of friends and family that Elizabeth found herself at a loss as to how to get past Claire's so seemingly caustic, self-centered, even self-aggrandizing response to her own husband's death. For the heart-on-your-sleeve-for-all-to-see-and-pluck-and-even-stab Elizabeth, Claire's cool demeanor and forward into destiny mantra were just too calculating and, therefore, were totally unacceptable. Elizabeth was worldly enough to understand that individual reactions to death were personal and did not fit into a pattern, like the pieces of jigsaw puzzle, but then she did not have to like or approve of the divergence of Claire's response from her own either. And she didn't.
“There.” Elizabeth said aloud. “I've admitted my dilemma to myself. Claire isn't perfect and you, Elizabeth Bennet, are not either. You’re letting your personal background and subsequent prejudices infect your responses to someone who is totally differe
nt, from a totally different part of the country and who wasn't born to small town-itis and is probably glad of it.”
So properly admonished by herself, Elizabeth, who always did what she said she'd do anyway, grabbed her umbrella and her trench coat and streaked through a cloudburst to her unattached garage and her Mercedes coupe. Now more upbeat and even suddenly looking forward to a possible bit of sleuthing, the second downer of the day came when she crossed the pike to find cars lining the drive almost to Pope Road. By the time Elizabeth reached Claire's welcome porch, she was totally drenched for the second time in one morning.
Inside, Claire's house was reminiscent of a madhouse. Cell phones were ringing from every corner. Reporters were congregated in the hall and standing on the stairway. Television cameras were rolling, and apparently interviews of famous personages were in progress, when she entered.
“Well, Susie,” Elizabeth commented to the maid who met her at the door, “I guess hanging around finally paid off for the reporters and cameramen.”
“Yes, Dr. Elizabeth, I'd say so, since the famous actor, Gerald Harold, is being interviewed in the parlor for the evening news, and some other guy, a professor from Harvard, is on NPR as we speak, in the library.”
“Dr. Estes no doubt, a brilliant Joyce scholar and a collaborator with Dr. Carstairs on several articles and anthologies.”
“Yes, Miss, I do believe that that is the gentleman's name.”
“Susan, could you please show me to Dr. Carstairs' study, where his computer is, and ask Mrs. Carstairs to join me there for a few minutes?”
“Certainly, Dr. Elizabeth; please follow me up the stairs.”
Susan seemed a little harried and distracted by the commotion, but also quite naturally fascinated by the famous personalities suddenly surrounding her. Elizabeth could not help being a little in awe herself, not with a professor emeritus in the library and a famous Shakespearean actor in the parlor. She would have liked to have met them both, but fell in behind Susie to go up to Jimmy Joyce's cramped, seemingly disorganized office/den.
