by John Saul
Beth hesitated, then seemed to come out of a reverie. But when she spoke, she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, her eyes were fixed on a spot somewhere in the darkness beneath the stairs. “I … I guess I’m glad,” she said, but Alan was sure she wasn’t thinking about what she was saying.
“Beth?” he asked now. “Honey, what is it? Is something wrong?”
Beth shook her head uncertainly. “I don’t know. I just—I thought I heard something—”
“Down here?” Alan started up the stairs, and Beth, almost reluctantly, followed.
“Unh-hunh. It was like a … a voice. Only not really, you know?”
“No,” Alan chuckled. “I don’t know. It was probably just a mouse or something.”
Beth stopped, shaking her head, and turned back to peer once again down into the darkness of the basement.
And then, barely audible, she could hear it again.
A chill passed through her, and she concentrated, straining her ears.
“Don’t you hear it, Daddy?” she asked. “Don’t you hear it at all?”
Alan paused, and turned back.
For the last hour, he’d heard all kinds of noises in the basement of the mill.
Rats had scrambled out of his way as he’d poked around the foundations of the building, and at least once a snake had slithered over his hand. That time, he’d clearly heard his own muffled yelp of sudden fright.
Now he listened again, but there was nothing. “Sorry, hon. I don’t hear a thing.”
But still Beth hesitated, frowning deeply.
It had been there. She knew it had.
It was a voice, and it was calling out to her.
Why couldn’t her father hear it?
And then, slowly, she realized what the answer was.
He couldn’t hear it, because he wasn’t supposed to.
The voice was calling out only to her.
A chill passed through her, and her skin suddenly felt as if something were crawling over it.
She knew she was right.
In the darkness of the basement, something had reached out and touched her.
Something in the blackness wanted her.
She had no idea what was in the basement, and part of her hoped never to find out. But another part of her felt a faint twinge of curiosity. That part of her, indeed, wanted to go back, wanted to plunge back into the darkness, and discover what was there.
She hesitated, struggling with that part of her that wanted to go back into the blackness. But the moment was gone. Her father had already turned away, going on up the stairs.
She followed him, her feet carrying her slowly, for the memory of what had happened filled her mind.
There was something there, something that wanted her.
Something that chilled her to the depths of her soul.
She hurried up the stairs after her father, catching up with him halfway across the great empty building.
“Take a good look at it,” she heard him say just before they stepped out into the sunlight. “It won’t look like this much longer.”
Beth looked up at her father. “It won’t? How come?”
Alan grinned happily. “You mean your mom didn’t tell you?”
Beth frowned. “Tell me what?”
“We’re going to reopen this place. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to begin partitioning it off, and putting in skylights, and sandblasting it, and by the end of the summer, it’s going to be open and functioning again. We’re turning it into a shopping mall.”
Beth turned and stared back into the gloomy depths of the building.
She tried to picture the dark, cavernous mill as her father had just described it, but she couldn’t.
Instead, her mind filled with the voice she had heard in the basement, and from deep in some part of her being she could not identify, a terrible knowledge surfaced. It was then Beth knew that what her father was saying was wrong.
They mustn’t change the mill. Not ever.
For some reason she didn’t yet understand, the mill should stay just as it was.
Abandoned, and empty.
But it wasn’t empty, not really.
In the basement, somewhere under the stairs, something lived.
7
“I’m fine,” Carolyn Sturgess insisted, gazing at her husband fondly, but with just a touch of annoyance. “This is all a bit ridiculous.”
Phillip merely leaned down to adjust one of the pillows, and brushed her forehead with his lips. “It’s not ridiculous. You heard what Dr. Blanchard said.”
“Of course I heard what he said,” Carolyn groused. “He said I should take it easy, which I fully intend to do. And I’m perfectly willing to admit that I probably shouldn’t have gone blundering through the underbrush, given my condition. But I didn’t know about my condition, did I?”
“No, you didn’t,” Phillip agreed. “But now you do, and I intend to see to it that you don’t go against doctor’s orders.”
Carolyn glanced around the big bedroom, and fleetingly wondered if Phillip really intended her simply to lie here for the next seven months, forcing Hannah to carry her meals up the stairs three times a day. But of course, she realized, he wouldn’t intend that at all.
He’d bring the meals himself.
And an ambulance to bring her home from the hospital. That, too, was just like Phillip.
She’d felt perfectly capable of walking out of the hospital, getting into the car, and driving herself home, but Phillip had insisted on a wheelchair and an ambulance, and it had been easier to give in than to argue with him.
Once they’d arrived at Hilltop, though, she’d wished she had argued, for there was Alan, just leaving the house after driving Beth home. The look of concern on his face when he’d first seen her had quickly given way to amusement, and she’d waited for him to make some allusion to Camille or Wuthering Heights. The fact that he’d confined himself to an arched eyebrow hadn’t made her feel any less foolish.
Now, she looked up at Phillip and shook her head. “I won’t do it, you know. You can’t stand guard over me through an entire pregnancy, and as soon as your back is turned, I’ll be up and about my business. All that happened was that I fainted. Even Dr. Blanchard didn’t think I was in any danger of losing the baby.”
“We’re not going to take any chances—” Phillip protested, but Carolyn didn’t let him finish.
“I don’t intend to take any chances,” she insisted. “If I’d known I was pregnant, I wouldn’t have gone with Beth.” Then she narrowed her eyes mischievously. “Or are you trying to say that I’m too old to be having a baby?”
Phillip reddened. “I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you didn’t,” Carolyn broke in, suddenly unable to contain her laughter any longer. “It’s all just too silly, darling. I’m starting to feel like I’m stuck in a movie or something. I keep expecting you to start using phrases like ‘in a family way’ or refer to my ‘delicate condition.’ It’s just all so Victorian, that’s all.”
“I suppose we should expect you to feel that way,” another voice said, and Carolyn looked up to see Abigail Sturgess standing in the doorway. “But after what happened to our dear Lorraine, you can’t really blame Phillip for being concerned, can you?”
Carolyn’s mouth tightened in anger as she saw the misery that came over Phillip’s face, and she reached out to take his hand in her own. “I know you’re concerned for me, Abigail,” she said smoothly. “But I have no intention of losing the baby, or of dying in delivery.”
“Of course not,” Abigail agreed, her thin lips curving in a cool smile. “And you needn’t worry about anything. I shall see to it that everything in the house runs exactly as it should.”
For a moment the two women’s eyes met, and then Carolyn sighed, and allowed herself to sink into the pillows. “I’m sure you will, Abigail,” she said softly. “I’m sure you’ll run everything exactly as Lorraine would have wanted it.” Through eyes that were nea
rly closed, she saw the old woman watching her, and felt for a moment like a mouse being examined by a coiled cobra. But then, her appetite apparently satisfied for the moment, Abigail turned, and stiffly left the room. Only when Carolyn was sure that Abigail was out of earshot did she speak again.
“I’m sorry, Phillip. I shouldn’t have mentioned Lorraine.”
Her husband’s forehead wrinkled into a sympathetic frown. “She’s the one who brought Lorraine up, not you. Now, just get some rest, and don’t worry about anything. Promise?”
“I promise. And you have to promise not to start mother-henning me. Hannah’s perfectly capable of doing that.”
As if to prove the point, the old housekeeper elbowed the door open, then came into the room, a pot of tea balanced on a bed tray. “See?” Carolyn asked, then hitched herself back into a sitting position as Hannah set the tray over her legs. “Thank you, Hannah. But please don’t start treating me as if I’m sick.”
“Who says you’re sick?” Hannah retorted. “Being pregnant and being sick are two different things—despite what some people think. But a nice pot of tea never hurt anybody.” She poured two cups, and handed one to Phillip. “And as for Miss Tracy’s party, I don’t want you to worry about anything. I can take care of it all. Although I must say,” she added, making no attempt to keep the grumpiness out of her voice, “changing it from Sunday to Saturday isn’t going to make my life any easier.”
“Changing it?” Carolyn asked. “Hannah, what on earth are you talking about?”
Hannah peered at Carolyn for a moment; then her eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean Mrs. Sturgess didn’t talk to you about it?”
“She hasn’t talked to me about anything,” Carolyn replied.
“But Miss Tracy said—” Hannah began, then abruptly fell silent, her lips closing tightly.
“Said what, Hannah?” Phillip urged. “It’s all right. What did Tracy say?”
“I don’t like to talk out of turn,” Hannah mumbled. She busied herself refolding the already perfectly folded bedspread.
Phillip opened his mouth to speak again, but Carolyn held up a restraining hand. “Hannah, telling us about a change in Tracy’s birthday plans is hardly speaking out of turn. Now, what is this about changing the party from Sunday to Saturday?”
Hannah hesitated, then repeated what Tracy had said in the kitchen that morning. “She told me that Mrs. Sturgess was going to talk to you,” she finished. “It just must have been forgotten in all the excitement. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d better get back to my kitchen.”
She bustled out of the room. Neither Carolyn nor Phillip said a word for a moment. Finally Phillip spoke.
“Did Mother talk to you about switching the party?”
“No,” Carolyn replied. “She didn’t.”
“Well, I’m sure there was a reason for the change—” Phillip began, but fell silent as Carolyn pushed the tray to the foot of the bed and threw back the covers.
“There was a reason,” she agreed, swinging her feet off the bed and getting shakily to her feet. “And I intend to put a stop to it right now.”
Phillip set his teacup on the bed table, and rose to steady his wife. “Hey, take it easy. Whatever it is can wait. Let me deal with it.”
“But it can’t wait,” Carolyn insisted. “And I have to deal with it myself.” She began struggling into her robe, then met her husband’s eyes. “Don’t you see? There’s a very simple reason why they changed the party, and why Abigail didn’t tell me. Oh, I’m sure she would have—on Saturday morning, right after Beth left to spend the day with Alan!” Her eyes blazed with anger, and her mouth twisted into a parody of Abigail’s supercilious smile. “I can hear her now: ‘Oh, Carolyn dear, didn’t I tell you? Tracy’s party is going to be today. Such a pity Beth will miss it.’ Only it’s not going to happen that way!”
“You don’t think—”
“Of course that’s what I think, Phillip. And if you think about it, you’ll know I’m right. Tracy doesn’t want Beth at her party, and Abigail’s figured out a way to give Tracy what she wants.”
Now it was Phillip’s eyes that glittered with anger. “I’ll deal with Mother myself. In fact, I’ll deal with both of them. This has all gone far enough.” He turned and started out of the room, but Carolyn stopped him.
“No, Phillip. I’ve got to do it myself. What’s happening in this house is between Abigail and me, and I can’t hide behind you. Abigail will only see that as weakness, and hate me more than she already does.”
“And what about Tracy? Isn’t she part of it?”
“Tracy takes her lead from your mother. I’m not going to say a word to her about it. I’m going to let Abigail do that.”
Phillip smiled. “It’ll be the first time in years that Mother’s had to go back on a promise to Tracy. Maybe it’ll be good for both of them. But you’re sure you don’t want me to take care of it?” he added, his voice anxious. “You should be in bed.”
“I’ll be fine,” Carolyn promised him. Tying the belt of her robe firmly around her waist, she left Phillip alone in the bedroom.
Carolyn found Abigail in the library, sitting placidly in a chair by the window, a book open on her lap. The old woman glanced up, then, surprised, put the book aside.
“Why, Carolyn,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Perhaps I should,” Carolyn replied. “But right now, I’m afraid you and I need to have a little talk, Abigail.” For the first time in her memory, Carolyn saw uncertainty flicker in the old lady’s eyes.
“I’m sure whatever it is can wait,” Abigail began.
“No, it can’t,” Carolyn said softly. She closed the door behind her, then moved across the room to lower herself into the chair opposite her mother-in-law. “We’ll talk now, Abigail.”
“Very well,” Abigail said. Her voice was chilly, but her eyes darted nervously toward the closed door. “And just what is it you’d like to discuss? The weather? It seems to be a nice afternoon—”
“Nice enough for a birthday party,” Carolyn interrupted, matching the old lady’s smile. “I do hope the weather holds until Sunday, don’t you?”
Abigail’s eyes widened for a split second, but then she recovered herself. “I meant to talk to you about that,” she said. “But of course after what happened, I didn’t want to worry you with something so petty.”
“ ‘Petty’ does seem to be the right word, I suppose,” Carolyn mused, letting her eyes drift around the room. For once, she knew, Abigail was on the defensive.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abigail replied, but her nervousness betrayed her.
“And I’m sure you do.” Carolyn’s eyes moved back to the old woman. Abigail sat stiffly in the armchair, her posture rigidly erect. “Abigail, all this has to stop. I know what you think of me, and I know what you think of Beth. But I am married to Phillip, and that’s not going to change. I am also Tracy’s stepmother, and I would like that to be a pleasant relationship for both her and myself. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop interfering.”
Abigail expertly feigned puzzlement. “Carolyn, I don’t know what all this is about, and I do wish you’d explain it to me. Whatever has happened, I’m sure we can straighten it out. Now, why don’t you just start at the beginning—”
“No, Abigail. I’ve already taken care of it. I was just in the kitchen, where I told Hannah that Tracy’s party will be on Sunday afternoon, as planned. I do hope it won’t inconvenience Tracy, having to call all her friends again.” Now Carolyn saw the cold fury in the old woman’s eyes, which Abigail made no attempt to hide.
“Except that Tracy will not be calling them again,” Abigail rasped. “The fact that I failed to mention the change to you is my fault. There’s no reason why Tracy should suffer. All the plans have been made, and Hannah has everything under control. I really fail to see the problem.”
“The problem is that Beth will be with her father on Saturday afterno
on, as she always is. A fact both you and Tracy are perfectly aware of.”
“Are we?” Abigail replied, allowing her voice to turn venomous. “I think you lend your child’s activities an importance they don’t deserve, my dear.”
Carolyn smiled benignly, betraying none of her inner fury. “The same might be said of your attitude about Tracy, Abigail. At any rate, that’s not the issue. The fact of the matter is simply this: Tracy’s party will take place on Sunday afternoon, or it will not take place at all.”
Abigail’s eyes flashed with pure hatred now. “If that’s what you and Phillip have decided, I’m sure there’s nothing I can do about it,” she said. “Perhaps you’d better tell Tracy about the change in plans. I believe she’s outside playing tennis.”
“I’ll tell her,” Carolyn replied. “And I’ll be sure to be as careful about telling her as you were about telling me.”
“I had intended to tell you!” Abigail fumed.
“All right,” Carolyn sighed. “Have it your own way, if it’s so important to you. But you’re wasting your time, and making life harder for all of us.”
“Am I?” Abigail asked, her voice icy. She rose to her feet and, grasping her cane, started toward the French doors. “Perhaps I am. But perhaps I’m not. I don’t know why Phillip married you, Carolyn, but I do know that he is still my son, and still a Sturgess. In time, he will come to his senses. As to the party, I shall explain things to Tracy myself, and we shall deal with the situation. And hereafter, I shall do my best to protect Tracy, and bring her up in a manner of which Lorraine would approve.” Leaving Carolyn still sitting in her chair, Abigail swept regally out of the room.
But she’s dead, Carolyn wanted to scream. Don’t you understand that Lorraine is dead? But, of course, it wasn’t Lorraine at all. It was Abigail herself, desperately trying to hang on to a way of life that had all but disappeared. Carolyn sighed once more, feeling suddenly worn out. She allowed herself to sink deeper into the chair.
Like so much of the furniture in the old house, the overstuffed wing chair needed reupholstering. Nothing had been repaired or refurbished here for years, for Abigail refused to see how threadbare it had all become. The old woman saw only the splendor of her youth, when the house had been staffed by a butler, five maids, a cook, and a gardening staff.
