by Wendy Webb
“So, you did the shots?”
He shook his head. “I got a bit of shooting in, but not what they had asked for,” he said. “I found myself on my own and was taking advantage of that to shoot some of the area, but a few hours later I was told to leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It was so odd, I came all this way—on their dime, no less—and I had no more than just arrived when he cancelled the whole thing.”
“That is odd,” I said. “Did they say why?”
“Only that something had come up that made it impossible for me to be given access to the grounds,” he said.
“And so you turned around and went home?”
“I did,” he said. “But Lake Superior always called to me. I felt like I had really missed out on something, that I should have stayed and explored the lake with my camera. The shoreline reminds me a bit of the Cornish coast.”
“Why didn’t you come back? I mean, the Dares aren’t the only ones with shoreline. There’s plenty of access. It’s a big lake.”
He shrugged. “Penelope called several times, inviting me back. But life intervened. My career started taking off, and one thing led to another and soon twenty years had passed.”
I knew the feeling.
“And then Penelope rang out of the blue and asked me to come to Cliffside again,” he continued. “She wanted me to finish what I had started. I had another photo shoot scheduled for these two weeks, in Kenya actually, but it was cancelled a few days before she rang. I found myself free. And so I came.”
We stood there, looking at each other. He had a puzzled look on his face, and I was sure I did, too.
I had found myself out of a job just before Miss Penny announced her retirement. Richard had found himself out of a job just before she called with the offer for him to come and be a fellow. I also thought of Cassandra Abbott—she had applied, and was turned down, seven times before being accepted for this session.
What were you up to, Miss Penny?
All at once, a shiver ran through me. I thought of the dollhouse sitting in her room on the third floor, the perfect replica of Cliffside, all of those tiny people in it. I got the sense that she was up there even now, playing God, manipulating us all.
CHAPTER 16
After Richard had gone to his room to settle in, I sat in the winter garden sipping tea, a file of applications for next year’s round of fellows in my lap. I had read through about half of them when I took a break to watch the rain hit the windowpanes in bursts. The serenity here was quickly making it my favorite room in the house.
My mind wandered back to the mystery at hand. What could Penelope Dare have been up to, engineering things so Richard, Cassandra, and I were at Cliffside at the same time? Yes, I had sought out the job myself, but I had felt inextricably pulled toward it all the same. And now, it did feel like she had had a hand in it. But how?
I wondered about the manner in which the others in this group had come to Cliffside. Maybe they were marionettes in Miss Penny’s puppet show as well, and that could be why their letters of application were missing.
But it didn’t make sense. Why manipulate things so at least a few of us were at Cliffside at the same time, only to take her own life before she saw her little dollhouse drama played out?
I took another sip of tea and let my mind wander.
Cassandra was writing a history of sanatoriums like Cliffside. Richard was a photographer with no particular interest in the place, but rather in the lake where Cliffside stood. And me? I couldn’t find a link connecting any of it to me, other than having been here twenty years ago.
I finished my tea and put the cup back down on its saucer with a note of finality. I couldn’t figure anything out myself until I knew more, especially about how the others had come to Cliffside. If they were just ordinary fellows who had applied and been accepted, I was at a dead end. But if they, too, had strange circumstances that had brought them here, I’d have something to go on. I thought about asking them at dinner but then thought better of it. No, I’d ask each of them in private. Better to keep any of my questioning under wraps, for now.
Harriet poked her head around the doorway, interrupting my train of thought. “I buzzed your suite,” she said. “And your office.”
“Oh, I’m sorry you had to come looking for me, Harriet,” I said. “I’ve been right here, going through next year’s applications.”
She pursed her lips and let out a tsk, and I got the distinct impression I had done something wrong.
“We try to remain as invisible as possible when the fellows are here,” she said, scowling at me. “Miss Penny always remained in her suite or her office during the day. I’d have thought she would have told you that.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “She didn’t.”
She folded her arms across her chest and tried again. “That’s how it’s always been done. We don’t want to disturb their creative process.”
Was she serious? I was supposed to stay cloistered in my room for the entire time?
“That might have been how Miss Penny did things,” I said, sounding more bold than I felt, “but I really don’t think me drinking tea on a rainy afternoon in the winter garden is going to disturb anyone’s creative process.”
She huffed. I went on, “And, no, to answer your question, Miss Penny didn’t tell me to stay in my suite or in my office. She said just the opposite, as a matter of fact. She told me my time was my own and to enjoy the house and grounds as I saw fit, but not to leave the property.”
“Well, I—” She struggled to find the right words.
“Had she told me to sit in my suite all day, every day while the fellows were here, I wouldn’t have taken the job,” I said. “I suspect she knew that, despite what her routine had been. But trust me, Harriet. I know better than to disturb the fellows. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, a sour look on her face. She definitely didn’t like my answer.
“Now,” I said, desperately wanting to get out of this line of conversation, “you said you were buzzing me. What’s up?”
She cleared her throat. “I wondered if you were wanting to go over the dinner menu,” she said. “I know we’ve already sketched it out, but Miss Penny always approved the menu again before dinner each night.”
I pushed myself up to my feet and walked over to her, and took her hands in mine. “Harriet, you are much more capable than I am at the art of choosing wonderful menus and making the meals sing,” I said to her. “Everything you’ve made for me since I’ve been here has been just delicious.”
“So, you want me to—”
“Yes,” I cut in. “I do. I have complete trust in your judgment. You’re in charge of the menus from now on. I don’t need to approve them.”
“All right,” she said, nodding her head, trying this enormous breach in tradition on for size. “Thank you, ma’am.”
And she turned to go, leaving me wondering if giving her complete authority over the meals had pleased or angered her. She was, I was finding out, such a stickler for the old ways, for how things had been done in the past at Cliffside. Perhaps this freewheeling new world of directors roaming out of their rooms and autonomy over menus was going to be too much.
It was nearly five fifteen. After my encounter with Harriet, I had retreated to my suite, careful to not make noise in the hallway as I went. Freshly showered, wearing a long, purple dress, strands of silver beads, and my favorite silver earrings, I made my way back downstairs. I knew I was supposed to be in the drawing room to welcome the fellows to their daily gathering, and I didn’t want to be late, irritating Harriet even more than I had earlier in the day.
I thought of apologizing to her, but then I thought, no. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or step on her toes, but the fact was, no matter how Harriet felt about it, Miss Penny had told me I was free to enjoy the house and the grounds while the fellows were in residence. And, further, I thought
to myself as I descended the stairs, I was the director here, wasn’t I? That meant I made the rules, didn’t it? And Harriet, technically, was my employee. They all were. I didn’t answer to anybody. I smiled to myself, gaining confidence with each step. Where was that scared rabbit now?
I entered the drawing room and saw two bottles of what I found to be Chardonnay and several local craft beers standing in the enormous ice bucket on the sideboard, with a couple of bottles of red—one merlot, one Cabernet—open next to it. Glasses stood in neat rows.
I wondered if I was to pour my own glass of wine, or if a bartender would materialize. No matter. With my newfound boldness, I picked up a glass and poured some Chardonnay into it, consequences be damned.
I took a sip, and before I knew it, Diana Cooper walked through the doorway. I noticed she had changed clothes as well. She was now wearing a flowing, blue cotton dress, decorated with moons and stars, and silver sandals.
“Professor Cooper,” I said to her. “Good evening! Please, help yourself. We’ve got red and white wine and locally brewed craft beer.”
“A glass of red sounds lovely,” she said, moving over to the sideboard to pour it. She took a sip and sighed. “Heavenly. I can use it, after the day I’ve had.”
“Oh?” I said. “Is everything all right?”
She sank down onto one of the sofas and crossed her legs. “More than all right,” she said, smiling. “After our reception, I headed back up to my room and spent the next few hours writing. I can’t remember having a more productive day!”
“That’s wonderful,” I said, sitting down beside her. “Good work, I trust?”
“Phenomenal,” she said. “It just seemed to flow. But now”—she stopped to take a sip of her wine—“I’m exhausted. It happens like that, for me. I work in a frenzy and then I’m spent for the rest of the day.”
Just then, Brynn and Henry joined us, entering the room arm in arm.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said to us, bowing his head slightly.
Before we had a chance to respond, Brynn piped up, “Mr. Dalton is such a Southern gentleman. Offering his arm as we came down the stairs.”
He nodded at her and moved across the room to the sideboard. “What’s your pleasure, Miss Kendrick? Red or white?”
She wrinkled her nose at the collection of bottles. “No gin?” She turned to me, her eyes wide.
Ah, I was to see if we had any gin, that was it. So much for my hubris, thinking I had no one to answer to at Cliffside. Of course I did. I answered to the fellows.
“And tonic, I presume?” I asked her.
“Please,” she said, smiling broadly. It reminded me of an animal baring its teeth. “And lime, if you have it.”
I realized I had absolutely no idea where we kept the alcohol here at Cliffside, so I wandered through the house to the kitchen to find Harriet. She was at the kitchen table, eating her dinner with Mr. Baines. Whatever she had prepared, the kitchen smelled like heaven.
When I walked in, Mr. Baines dropped his fork and stood up. Harriet wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“Yes, Miss Harper?” she said. “What can we do for you?”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt your dinner,” I said. “Please, Mr. Baines, sit back down. I’m only wondering if we have any gin, tonic, and lime. Brynn Kendrick’s request.”
Harriet pushed herself up from the table and crossed the room to the refrigerator, where she found a bottle of chilled tonic water and a lime. She handed them to me and shook her head. “It’s always something with them,” she said, and we shared a grin. So, she wasn’t angry with me, then. Thank goodness.
“I’m finding that out,” I said. “I’m wondering if someone will want champagne and caviar next.”
This elicited a snort from Mr. Baines and a stifled grin from Harriet. “You wouldn’t believe what some of them ask for,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you remember the lobster, Mrs. Baines?”
They exchanged an amused glance. “Here we are on Lake Superior, and one wanted fresh lobster,” Harriet said, her eyes looking a bit guilty, as though she was talking out of school. “Fresh salmon and whitefish we can do, but lobster? It’s a freshwater lake!”
I laughed and took the tonic and lime from her. “Miss Penny said some of them can be divas,” I said. “I guess this is what she was talking about.”
“Indeed,” she said, settling back down in her chair.
“And the whereabouts of the gin?”
“In the sideboard,” she said. “You’ll find all manner of alcohol there. Anything they should want, we have.”
I thanked her and turned to go. “Enjoy your dinner, you two, and I’ll see you in the dining room at six thirty.”
Back in the drawing room, I found Richard and Cassandra had joined the party. The two of them were standing by the sideboard, and he was pouring red wine into a glass that she was holding. She had changed clothes as well, into a very low-cut black dress. The way she was looking into his eyes and smiling . . . it sent a rush of something through me, but I wasn’t sure what. Anger? Jealousy? That was ridiculous. I had just met the man. I shook my head, as if to shake the feeling away. Stop being such an idiot, Norrie.
He turned to me. “There she is!” he said, flashing that devilish grin of his. “I was wondering where our lovely hostess was.”
I smiled at him, hoping my face wouldn’t betray me by blushing. “I was on a mission,” I said, holding up the tonic and the lime. I set them down on the sideboard and opened its double doors, revealing a stash of bottles.
“Excellent,” Brynn said and resumed her conversation with Henry, making no move to get up. I was to make her the drink, apparently.
Richard caught my eye and smiled. “Allow me,” he said, filling a highball glass with ice. “I was a bartender, back in the day.”
“Were you, now?” I said, smiling back at him.
“Bartender, taxi driver, waiter—you name it, I’ve done it,” he said, delivering the drink to Brynn and taking a seat on the opposite sofa.
Everyone stopped talking then and looked at me. Apparently, I was supposed to say something—I just didn’t know what.
Grasping, I said, “So, how was everyone’s first day at Cliffside? Diana reports that she had a productive afternoon.”
“I didn’t get anything done.” Brynn sniffed, taking a sip of her drink. “I just unpacked. What about you, Mr. Dalton?”
He leaned against the back of the sofa and crossed his legs. “I unpacked as well,” he said. “My room has a lovely view of the gardens. Even in the rain, I could see how beautiful they are. I do hope we have better weather tomorrow. I can’t wait to get started.”
“Oh, I agree,” said Cassandra, settling in next to Richard on the sofa. “I love my workspace. I’ve got all of my notes arranged and I’m ready to go. It’s inspiring just to be here. I’m feeling like—I don’t know . . .” Her words trailed off.
“What?” I asked.
“I just feel really at home here,” she said. “I’m sure it’s all the research I’ve done, but for me, the place has a really good vibe.”
“Tell me more about your project, Cassandra,” Henry Dalton said. “What is it that you’re working on, specifically?”
And the evening began. I sat back and let the fellows talk about their work, occasionally offering a comment here and there, but generally staying out of it. This was how it was supposed to go, I thought to myself, artists of all types communing with each other. I didn’t have much, if anything, to add. I could see how, with all of Chester Dare’s experience, he would “hold court” as Miss Penny put it, telling stories about all of the famous people who had once been Cliffside fellows. But I didn’t have any stories to tell. Not yet, anyway.
I was standing at the sideboard, lost in my own thoughts, not really a part of the group, not really listening to the conversation, when something Brynn said jolted me out of my reverie.
“It’s a work of fiction, but I’m basing i
t on the scandal involving the third Dare sister, Temperance,” she said.
I had just taken a sip of wine and gasped at the same time, sending the wine down the wrong pipe and me into a fit of coughing. Everyone turned and stared. Richard Banks rose from his seat on the sofa. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. I coughed again and then turned to Brynn. “Did you say there was another Dare sister?”
She looked at me as though I had just asked the most foolish question in the world.
“You didn’t know?” she said.
“No,” I said, remembering the painting in Miss Penny’s room. So that was who the third girl was. “What was the scandal?”
Brynn’s eyes lit up. “Murder, of course,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “She was a TB patient right here at Cliffside.”
I took another sip of my wine. “Well, TB was certainly a killer, but I wouldn’t exactly call it a murderer,” I said. There were chuckles all around, but not from Brynn. She narrowed her eyes at me.
“Temperance died here,” she said. “But I don’t think she had TB.”
“How could you possibly know that?” I asked her.
“My grandmother was also a patient here at the time,” she said. “She never talked to anyone in the family about her experiences, but when I was cleaning out her attic after she died I came upon a journal she kept while she was a patient here. I read it, and I was really surprised by some of the things she wrote.”
“Like what?” Cassandra asked.
“She wrote about Temperance and how strange she was. Menacing, almost. ‘Not right in the head.’ My grandmother was a grown woman when she was at Cliffside, and yet she was actually afraid of this girl.”
I thought about the expression of the girl in the painting in Penny’s room and shivered.
“It seemed to my grandmother that Temperance wasn’t sick at all,” she went on. “This little girl led a gang of kids that apparently ran wild here, always out of their rooms when they weren’t supposed to be, making noise and disturbing the other patients.”
