❖
“They have the house taken?” the producer yelled into the phone the next morning. “What, what? Speak up, Miss Fiske. I can hardly hear you.”
Miss Fiske, still recuperating from her first brush with the spiritualistic world, managed to raise her shaking voice. “They like the cellar,” she stated, hoping he would not ask for a further explanation.
“The cellar yet?” he questioned, defeating her hopes.
“It seems that it’s large enough for their purposes.”
“What purposes? Wild parties, no doubt?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to contradict him. None of the family, especially not Mr. Richard Grenfall, looked as if they favored that popular recreation, but since she could not comprehend their enthusiasm for the cellar, she found it easier to let the matter stand. “Possibly,” she replied cravenly. “They said they’d be obliged if you’d replace the chandelier with a fixture that did not swing.”
“The chandelier?”
Miss Fiske hastily removed the phone from her right ear and rubbed that assaulted appendage. “Didn’t I tell you that the chandelier fell?”
“Gott in Himmel!” screamed Morris Goldbaum. “Have you any idea of the cost? Imported it was from Venice, blown especially for me, and they are not two minutes in the house and broken it is?”
“They didn’t break it, Mr. Goldbaum. It fell of its own accord, I expect.” She paused, not wishing to rub salt in his many wounds by mentioning Miss Lawrence’s contribution to the breakage.
“It has never fallen before,” growled Mr. Goldbaum. “Ach, what I must put up with actors. Very well, do as they ask. Only spare the expenses, please.”
Extracting the kernel from the nut of that conversation, Miss Fiske leaned her chin on her hands and her elbows on her desk. She heaved a long sigh. “Actors,” he had said. That was the trouble. In her eight months with Mr. Goldbaum, she had seen them come and go. Some remained longer than others. Generally they came for one picture and went back to stages located either in New York or London. Mr. Richard Grenfall was here for one picture. Undoubtedly he would leave immediately he was finished filming it—and that should not matter to her. No sensible secretary or young woman from California ever made the mistake of falling in love with an actor. Everyone remotely connected with the burgeoning film industry knew that actors were heartless, faithless, often mindless and always supremely egocentric. They lapped up praise and adored anyone who adored them—but briefly. This applied to all of them, but if they were as handsome as say John Gilbert or Ramon Navarro or Richard Grenfall, who to her mind was better looking than both of the aforementioned and definitely in a class with John Barrymore, they were impossible! Their only love could be found in their makeup mirror. Their other love would be their leading lady, in this case the exquisite Katherine Grenfall—but she was his sister! Miss Fiske hated the feeling of hope that flickered in her mind despite her large portion of common sense.
“Desist, my girl,” she muttered. She called the studio electrician and explained about the chandelier.
She hated herself still more when she dialed the number of the mansion, hoping against hope that he would answer the telephone. Her loathing for herself increased several notches when, as she heard his voice on the other end, her heart leaped and her breath grew short. It was very difficult for her to say calmly, “About that chandelier, Mr. Grenfall...” She was close to swooning when, at the end of their conversation, he said wistfully, “I hope that you are not doing anything tonight, Miss Fiske.”
Her answer, the stock one she gave all actors, should have been, “Unfortunately I am. I’m very busy.” Despite her well-developed instincts for self-preservation, she said, “No, I’m not busy. Why?”
“I... would like to see more of the city. I was in hopes that you might show it to me, you being familiar with it. And possibly we might have dinner?”
He actually sounded shy! Shy? An actor? Incredible! Striving to keep her tone level, she said, “I would be glad to show you the city, Mr. Grenfall, and I’d love to have dinner with you.”
“Oh, that’s fine, Miss Fiske. Oh, I hope you’ll not think me remiss for not asking how you feel.”
“I feel fine, Mr. Grenfall, just fine!” she exclaimed and immediately blushed. She never should have sounded so enthusiastic.
“I’m so glad. Shall we make it at six... and please give me your address, Miss Fiske.”
“And how is Miss Fiske?” inquired Livia, who had come down the stairs in time to hear the end of her son’s conversation. “Has she recovered from her experience?”
Richard’s smile faded. His expression was rather gloomy as he nodded. “She seems to have suffered no ill effects.”
Livia moved to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter, dear?”
“I like her,” he said defensively.
“That’s hardly surprising,” she replied tolerantly. “She’s a most attractive young woman.”
“Intelligent, too, in spite of... of... and you really can’t blame her for that,” he said obscurely.
“Of course you can’t,” Livia said kindly. “When I was her age, I am sure I would have fainted, too. I’m glad I’m inured now. That woman, did you hear her last night?”
“I think Kathie must say something to the Old Lord,” Richard said. “Of course, I heard them. They were having a dreadful go, and once we start filming, we’ll need our sleep. Damn, I wish I knew more about acting, Mother. Being a magician and pretending to be one must be very different.”
“I am sure it is, darling, but look on the bright side of it. You are getting paid well, and you won’t have to speak.”
“I’ll have to seem as if I am speaking,” he pointed out. “Even if the titles will do the rest, I don’t want to end up with egg on my face.”
“You won’t, darling,” she assured him. “And you will look very handsome as Cagliostro.”
“Juliet says she met him in Rome, and he was squat, flat-faced and thick-limbed.”
“Well, I don’t expect they’ll insist on realism,” Livia told him comfortably. “And thank you for the suggestion about Kathie. I will get her to speak to the Old Lord. That’s a much better idea than what your father had in mind.”
“What was his solution?”
“He wanted to conduct an exorcism, and at the present time he needs as much energy as he can get. I’m sure his work at the studio will be wearing. They’ll be at him with questions night and day. And there’s no telling when the picture will be finished, and off we’ll go on the road again.”
Richard’s brow grew even darker and his gaze more somber. “I took a walk through the gardens this morning. There’s also an orchard.”
“I know. I saw it from our bedroom window. Orange trees.”
“And lemon, avocado, kumquats and olives—all growing alive out of doors!” he said almost worshipfully.
She gave him a pitying look. “Yes, dear, it’s very nice but need I mention...”
“No!” he replied explosively. “You need never mention it at all. I have lived with the knowledge for twenty-seven years or very nearly. We dare not stay in any one place for more than a couple of weeks or something will happen and we’ll have to go! Excuse me, Mother.” He went swiftly out of the room.
Livia sent a commiserating look after her unhappy son. At least Richard, at twenty-six, was not in ignorance of what could happen because of deeds committed over a century before he saw the light of day. Richard and Kathie had grown up with the Old Lord, with Colin and Juliet, and with Mark’s infirmity. Ignorance in this family was definitely not bliss!
She thought about Ruth Fiske, a very pretty girl, efficient, reliable and sensible except where it counted the most. Anyone the children loved would have to know, and though she had no intention of being an interfering mother, she doubted that Ruth and Richard would suit each other, judging from the way the girl had reacted to Letitia Lawrence—no pretty sight, of course. Maybe she was m
aking too much of it. After all, they had just arrived and Richard had known other women, quite a few of them, in fact. Generally he did not become interested after a single meeting, but he was of an age when he might want to settle down. It was a pity that they would have to leave Hollywood. Judging from the few words she had managed to exchange with them before they retired to the cellar, Juliet and Colin liked it, too. She stifled a sigh.
It had taken a combination of willpower and tact to keep from warning them to be careful. In the years that dear Mark had been alive, she had learned their story, something neither of them had ever divulged to her. They did not confide in her very much. Though they liked her, were even fond of her, she knew they could not help comparing her unfavorably to her mother, whom they had adored. She shivered, as she remembered what form that adoration had taken! And it was certainly indicative of their thought processes.
Mark’s uncle Tony had told him of their transitions—Colin following his beloved sister into the dark realm of the Undead. In those days, they had been gentle and vulnerable. However, unless she were deeply mistaken, a large part of their humanity had dissipated. That had been all too evident on the road. As they traveled from place to place, there had been numerous cases of amnesia reported in the local papers, and in Des Moines, after a rather long fast, Juliet had slain a postman and Colin had done the same to a lady of the evening. Fortunately neither victim had pursued them, but she did not like to dwell on what might be taking place in Des Moines. The Household would be billeted here far longer. She only hoped that Juliet and Colin’s natural caution would reassert itself. She did not believe they would regain their humanity; for one thing, they weren’t human.
❖
“Livia’s upset about us,” Juliet remarked as Colin helped her out of her casket that evening.
“I know. She’s not really very good about concealing her emotions, poor woman.”
“You’re much more tolerant of her than I am. There are times when I really don’t like her, even though she is Lucy’s daughter. I fear she takes after Swithin’s side of the family.”
“You don’t really mean that,” Colin reproved, as she tied his tie. “For one who knew nothing about the Household until her twenty-seventh year, she has done famously. Look how splendidly she has coped all these years what with Mark, the children and this constant traveling. Judging from what Septimus has told us, she has been afflicted by the curse even more than the rest of us.”
“Not more,” Juliet contradicted.
“For a neophyte,” he corrected hastily.
“You are making me ashamed of myself,” she admitted. “I expect I still can’t help thinking that if she hadn’t been born, Lucy might still be alive.”
“You’re forgetting that devastating séance and Erlina Bell. And I hardly believe she’d have survived to the age of eighty-nine, curse or no curse. She was such a delicate little thing.”
“Wasn’t she?” Juliet agreed mournfully. “The sweetest girl in the world. I do miss her, but I fear she doesn’t miss us at all. I wonder where she is?”
“I don’t know. It’s not given for us to know, as I needn’t tell you. But since we’re evil, I suspect...”
“I don’t feel evil,” Juliet interrupted. “Do you, Colin?” She regarded him earnestly.
“I don’t think we should have been so enthusiastic in Des Moines.”
“That was a mistake,” she agreed, “but we were both so famished and that postman was such a horrid little creature. If he hadn’t made all those disgusting overtures to me when I happened to meet him at the pillar box, I don’t think I would have been so angry.”
“Angry or hungry?”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I have already admitted that I was starving. And you needn’t go all sanctimonious on me. Don’t forget your whore.”
“I am doing my level best to forget her,” he replied ruefully. “I paid for my greed. Her blood was full of impurities.”
“Isn’t it fortunate you’re undead, else you might have caught something really nasty,” she teased.
“There are compensations in everything, I suppose. Where are we going tonight?”
“Let’s just explore,” she said. “And I should like to get some pretty clothes. This town’s famous for its midnight suppers and after-hours parties. I really don’t have a thing to wear. Isn’t it lovely that they have ready-made clothes these days? We won’t have to mesmerize dressmakers and haberdashers or raid anybody’s closet. We can just slide into the stores and steal to our heart’s content.”
“There are several reasons why I like this century,” he mused. “I wonder what it would be like to be alive in it.”
“Oh, Colin,” she mourned, “I beg you’ll not talk that way. It always makes me feel so dreadfiilly guilty.”
“Love,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist, “if it were not for you, I shouldn’t have passed through some very fascinating times. You’ve nothing to reproach yourself about, nothing at all. Now let’s go.” Before she could comment, he changed into his bat shape, and with Juliet close behind him, he flew out the window, skimming gracefully past the eucalyptus trees.
❖
Coming up out of the cellar where he had just finished attaching steel plates to the cell where Mark would stay in a couple of days, Septimus sank down in a comfortable but elaborately ugly, red plush chair, ornamented with gold tassels and finished off with gold clawed feet on large golden balls. All through the house the tendency was toward overstatement; an impoverished child’s view of palatial surroundings had been his observation to Livia, when he had first seen this gaudy interior.
“This house also reminds me,” he now commented to his wife, who was lying on a long, deep, down-cushioned sofa covered in golden damask, “of some Swabian brothel.”
“And what would you know about Swabian brothels, love?” she inquired.
“I have a vivid imagination,” he said, smiling. Rising from his chair, he moved to his wife, and lying down beside her, he caressed her in a way that still sent thrills coursing through her body. “Aside from the furniture,” he said a few moments later, “the space in this mansion is wonderful. It has been a long time since we’ve been in such a situation.”
She had the tact not to remind him that they had never been in such luxurious premises; even her father’s house could not compare to this semi-palace, though its excesses did assault her sense of taste. She said merely, “The location is lovely. Richard likes it, too.”
“And Mark.”
“Juliet and Colin, too.”
“I haven’t spoken to Kathie,” Septimus mused, “but I saw her walking through the gardens. She looked happier than I have ever seen her.”
They turned and stared at each other. “Do you suppose?” They laughed wryly, having both spoken the same words at the same time.
Septimus pressed a long kiss on his wife’s mouth. Moving back he said, “My darling, I’ve been talking to the Gower Booking Office. We’ve been discussing slots in Fresno, San Luis Obispo, Sacramento and San Francisco. There’s definite interest, and the start of our new tour depends on when shooting’s completed.”
“I’m glad you saw them, darling,” she said approvingly. “I’m glad California’s such a large state. They say that the northern area is just as beautiful as the southern.”
“I’ve heard that, too, and the theaters in San Francisco are almost as plush as those in New York. Belasco got his start on the Pacific Coast, if you remember.”
“Yes, and beyond the Pacific Coast is Hawaii.”
“And beyond Hawaii, Japan and the rest of the Orient.”
“All Asia—Siam, Persia, India—” She broke off as a gust of wind blew through the room causing all the crystal drops on the beaded lampshades to clash together and sending several small objets d’art tumbling to the floor.
“Oh, dear, what can be troubling him?” Livia inquired. Kathie hurried into the room. “What have you been saying to upset grandfath
er? What’s all this about India?” Looking into her daughter’s distressed face, Livia said gently to her and to the vague shape she saw towering at her side, “Calm down, both of you. We were only talking.”
“He doesn’t want to leave, either,” Kathie said as the shape seemed to dissolve.
It was the “either” that really wrung Livia’s heart. It spoke volumes about her daughter’s life since infancy. The house was so beautifully situated, so large and comfortable, and poor Kathie was so weary of traveling. She herself was also road-weary—so many, many miles covered and more stretching ahead of them. In another few months, she would celebrate her sixty-seventh birthday. Septimus was approaching his sixty-ninth. They shouldn’t be expected to put on shows sometimes in two different towns in one week!
“Love,” Septimus whispered, “let’s go to bed.”
“Very well,” she agreed, excited by the touch of his caressing fingers and responding to the urgency of that request. Three decades dropped away as, bidding Kathie goodnight, Livia and her husband went up the long winding staircase.
❖
Kathie watched them enviously. They were still so very much in love. It was hard to imagine what they could see in each other after 41 years of marriage! They were both so old. Of course neither looked old, but it was the years that counted.
Love to Kathie was an undiscovered country and likely to remain that way. Her parents, she thought, had been extremely fortunate. Given her father’s former connections, he was really the ideal husband for a girl with a curse on her head. As for herself, she was just as fortunate that she had never been a party to that unfortunate emotion, especially when her choices would be so severely limited.
Though Kathie adored her father, she did not want to fall in love with a hereditary witch or a reformed Satanist. At 24, she knew precisely what she wanted and was sensible enough to realize that she probably wouldn’t get it. Her preference was for Englishmen. She had met quite a few British actors on the road and they always appealed to her, though she had never let any of them know that. One of them she remembered in particular. He had called her “Miss Frosty.” His name was Matthew Vernon. He wasn’t a good actor, she recalled, but as he confessed one day, he didn’t want to be an actor. He had been learning the stage for an entirely different reason. She had never discovered what that reason could be. They had been conversing while she was in the wings waiting to go on and be sawed in half. Her call came, and when she returned, he had gone. She had not seen him again.
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