Keepers of Eternity

by kimberly

  "Really? How did you deal with him?"

  Melissa shrugged. "His bark is worse than his bite, you know. He pushes buttons, looking for your soft spot. Snap back and show grit, and he'll back off. He loves someone to fight back."

  "I'll keep it in mind."

  "Do. It'll help you immensely when you're dying to wring his neck." Around her laundry basket, Melissa laughingly made a twisting motion with her hands. The servants were not spared his rows or rages. They accepted these tantrums and the fact that their employer was high strung. He had always been unpredictable, lashing into them with an uncalled-for viciousness some found unforgivable until payday rolled around.

  "So, why does anyone put up with him?"

  Melissa pursed her lips. "The money's good," she said. "He demands absolute loyalty and he pays well for it. This is a minimum-wage state. In this area, working for the Blackthorne estate is a good job. Not just a wage, it's a living and, someday, for Tobias and me, a retirement."

  "I can see I'll have to think fast around him," she said. She glanced around the foyer. "Where can I find Grandmother?"

  Melissa shifted her heavy basket onto her left hip and pointed. "Library."

  Julienne groaned. It was where Morgan was.

  "Thanks," she said. "I think."

  Squaring her shoulders, chin up, face frozen, Julienne marched toward the library. Easy girl, she warned herself. Stay out of the path of the tornado.

  Anlese sat on a loveseat basking in the sun's rays. Her silver hair was immaculately groomed. She was dressed in a day gown, a flattering shade of blue that matched her eyes, as did the slippers she wore. She sipped from a delicate china teacup, privately savoring the fragrant amber liquid. Julienne could detect the scents of the many spices making up the tea's blend. An accompanying lunch was spread out before her, a buffet of delights in finger foods and sweets. The library was cooled by a light breeze wafting in through an open set of double doors leading outside onto the Saltillo tile patio serving as Blackthorne's back entrance. The room was bright with sunlight.

  "Good afternoon, dear," Anlese greeted, breaking out of her conversation with Morgan. "Would you care to join me for lunch?"

  Morgan was not so welcoming. He grimaced at the sight of her, hardly hiding his displeasure at her uninvited presence, but said nothing. His hand was lifted to shade his eyes from the sun as he spoke to Anlese. He was not a lover of illumination in any form.

  "Ah, good afternoon." Julienne greeted, slowing her steps to take in the incredible room.

  Flooded with natural light through huge bay windows, the library was furnished in the sturdy, less elaborate, style of Early American. Several long couches covered with afghans invited one to stretch out lazily, as did the high-backed leather-covered lounges. End tables were near at hand, ready to hold a chilled drink or a newspaper; and, indeed, there were several newspapers and magazines to be found within easy reach. Under a vaulted ceiling, the floor was wood, polished oak scattered with carpets that could belong nowhere else in the mansion.

  At the far end of the library, a huge marble mantel overhung a hearth that provided heat--and a romantic place for lovers to come together. Music, drawings, writings, there were signs of all, but the highlight was an 1891 rosewood Victorian Model D concert grand piano by Steinway and Sons. Anlese had been the last to make it work its magic. Now, with the stiffened joints of her fingers, all she could do was admire the piano's craftsmanship and remember the marvelous sounds it had once made. The room was a place of ease, peace and cerebral pursuits. It was clear the inhabitants of Blackthorne had a thirst for knowledge and the commitment to pursue it, as several walls were lined with nothing but books of all shapes and sizes, many of them very old.

  Two smaller rooms branched off from the library in opposite directions. One was outfitted as a formal office: desk, chairs, filing cabinets, a couch along one wall -- all fashioned in austere lines and intended to provide a work-only atmosphere. The other was a study. It was a smaller, more compact version of the library, except it had only one entrance and no windows whatsoever to offer it natural light.

  "This is magnificent," she murmured, almost afraid the sound of her voice would break the gentle spell.

  "So, you have some appreciation for the finer things after all," Morgan commented.

  Julienne felt her skin flush under his piercing words. "I'm not totally ignorant!"

  "Morgan, hush!" Anlese scolded, giving the arm he leaned on a light slap. "You're goading the child." She poured herself a fresh cup of tea. "Is the work of the morning done?"

  "Yes, everything is in order," he drawled. "The checks are ready and the staff can be paid."

  "Very good." Anlese indicated the chair across from hers. "Since you have finished with Danielle, perhaps she'll join me for tea as well." She called toward the office, "Won't you, Dani?"

  As Julienne sat down and accepted the cup Anlese handed over, a woman stuck her head out of the office.

  "Oh, I would love to!" Danielle Yames said with a smile. "Let me grab my things."

  A few minutes later, she exited the office, purse over her shoulder, briefcase in hand. A plump woman in her late forties, she was dressed neatly in a business suit -- slacks and blazer designed to conceal the tummy bulge age and a love of rich foods was beginning to bring to her middle. She wore sensible low heels. Her brown hair was done in a sleek, short style complementing her professional look. Her face was pleasant, her skin lightly made up to hide the puffiness under her eyes and the uneven tones of her skin. Despite these small flaws, she was elegant in a dignified way.

  Passing Morgan, she handed him a stack of the day's mail. "You need to take care of these."

  Grumbling nastily, he flipped through the letters. "Why do I have to look at these? Is this not what I pay accountants, attorneys and you for?"

  "If you would get a clue about working within the law instead of going around it, you might not need all of us on the payroll," Danielle shot back sternly.

  Morgan gave her a peeved glare and picked another letter out of the stack. "Attorney," he said without opening it. "Tie this up in some red tape for awhile." He tossed the rest of the letters on the table. "Take care of these as well."

  "Whatever," Danielle sighed and tucked the letters away. "Are we done now?"

  Morgan bade his secretary leave with a wave of his hand. "Yes."

  Dismissed, Danielle Yames took a chair beside Julienne.

  "Will you join us, Morgan?" Anlese asked sweetly, lifting her silver pot to pour steaming robust tea into two delicate china cups.

  "Let me know when water turns to whiskey and I shall," he said, pushing away from the loveseat in a single movement. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the wild black mass. It seemed to be the only care he gave his thick, collar-length mane. It looked as though it had never seen a comb, and was not likely to any time soon.

  "I'm afraid that'll not happen today," Anlese laughed.

  "Then I shall pass."

  "We should like your company anyway," Anlese said.

  Morgan gave her a squinted look, which temporarily heightened the crows-feet around his eyes. The three women might as well have been invisible for all the interest he accorded their presence.

  "I will pass."

  "Be in your den?" Anlese asked.

  "Yes," he said drolly. "I shall be there."

  Passing by without a backward glance, he retreated toward his study.

  "He's being difficult today," Danielle commented.

  "Has it ever been otherwise?" Julienne cracked after his departing form.

  "I heard that," Morgan threw over his shoulder. The door closed behind him with a resolute click. The women laughed.

  "Dani," Anlese said. "This is my granddaughter, Julienne. She's come home to live with us."

  Danielle offered her hand. "Hello, dear. I hope you'll like it here." Her voice was pleasant, carrying a light Boston accent.

  Julienne set her cup down and leaned forward to
shake the hand Danielle extended. She held her breath. To her relief, no flicker of recognition crossed Danielle's eyes, no long, lingering gaze looking for the scars on her face.

  "It's so nice to meet you, Danielle," she said, trying to modulate her own rootless voice to better fit among the diverse set of accents she had been thrown into. She could not help but notice her own hands looked rough and battered in comparison to Danielle's, whose nails were manicured to an active length and polished with a neutral shade. Embarrassed, she quickly drew her hand away and tucked it under her leg. Her other she balled in her lap, pressing against her stomach.

  Danielle took the cup Anlese handed across the table to her and chose a couple of pastries stuffed with chopped meat, along with a few sticks of celery loaded with cream cheese. "This looks good. God, I'm so hungry. Working for that man is like hammering nails into your head. I've got a headache from arguing. Down to the last dime, he knows every cent in every account he's got." She began to munch her food.

  "Is he always so damn mean?" Julienne watched her eat. She'd only recently finished breakfast, and was not hungry. However, it would be rude not to try something. She tentatively took up a plate and selected one of the pastries, trying to make her movements seem as though she were comfortable in the company of two women who were virtually strangers. She could smell the delicious aroma wafting up from the warm morsels Gretl had prepared. She had to admit it was a tempting scent. She took a small, polite bite. The beef inside had been minced and mixed to perfection with spices that brought out its rich flavor.

  She swallowed, then continued, "Just a while ago, he gave some girl an earful over cleaning."

  Anlese sipped her tea. "It'd be Jennifer, I think. She's in the habit of cutting corners with her work."

  "Well, I can understand a reprimand," Julienne said, "but he was so cruel to her. She was in tears,"

  "My dear," Anlese set down her cup and leveled her attention on her granddaughter, much like a teacher does an errant pupil, "it takes a great amount of attention to keep a place such as this going. We pay our people well. In exchange, all we ask is that they do their work as expected. If it is not, things begin to deteriorate."

  "Yes, I can see, but he was so harsh about it."

  "I realize, to your eyes, Morgan's ways must seem rather extreme," Anlese continued as though Julienne hadn't spoken, "but he is never deliberately cruel."

  "I have to admit, I don't like him very much." Julienne began to pick at the crust of her pastry, breaking off small bits of the buttery crust to nibble at.

  Anlese and Danielle tittered again, their laughs carrying through the sunlit room. Danielle leaned over and patted her arm.

  "Don't worry," she said with a grin. "Morgan's a master at making people hate his guts and what's more, he doesn't care. So, hate him all you want. He won't lose any sleep over it."

  "Now, Dani!" Anlese said in mock disapproval. "Is that any way to talk?"

  "No, I'm teasing," Dani recanted merrily. "Really, he can be quite likable; and once you settle in, you'll see for yourself."

  "Maybe I won't. He's mentioned he's leaving soon."

  Danielle raised an inquisitive eyebrow. An immediate change came over her demeanor as she set aside her food.

  "Really? Is this true, Anlese? I've been told nothing."

  Anlese Blackthorne demurred, pursing her lips. "His plans to return to his travels are tentative at best. There are several details yet to be arranged, but if they are seen through Morgan will be leaving us."

  "Well, this is unexpected," Danielle remarked. She lifted her hand and began rubbing her forehead with thumb and forefinger. She seemed disturbed. "When did this come up?"

  "I assure you it has been in the works for quite a while," Anlese explained.

  "When does he plan to go?"

  Anlese fiddled with the silver spoon perched on the edge of her saucer. "In about six or seven weeks, end of October."

  "This is quite news to me. He's not said a word," Danielle said.

  "Morgan prefers to keep his private life just so," Anlese explained gently. She replenished the liquid in her cup from the silver pot perched on its warmer.

  Julienne was giving thought to Anlese's statement when an angry female stormed into the library.

  "Where is he?" she demanded in a huff. "Where is that son-of-a-bitch?"

  And here is another woman who wants to smash Morgan's head in, Julienne mused. She had the feeling that an interesting drama was about to begin playing itself out and she had a front-row-center seat.

  Anlese sipped her tea.

  Danielle leaned toward Julienne. "Brace yourself," she whispered. "It's Ashleigh."

  Trying not to stare, Julienne found herself sizing up the woman. Ashleigh was, she noted, what the fashion business called cream, exuding the cool exterior of the classic faux-California blond: honey hair, amber eyes, high cheekbones and a dark, obviously salon-generated, tan. Her figure was perfect, her gym-sculpted body displayed to good advantage by the tight beige sweater and suede wrap-around fringed skirt she wore. Lace tights and vintage strappy sandals complemented her fashionable ensemble. Her long hair was piled into a flirty updo. A few curly tendrils hung in wisps around her pretty face.

  Looking her over, Julienne felt more than a twinge of jealousy. Ashleigh was breathtaking. Perfect. What I used to be, she thought miserably. Ashleigh looked just like the kind of woman Morgan Saint-Evanston would desire, complete with that cold "ice princess" attitude.

  Eyes furious, red lips twisted in anger, Ashleigh fastened her smoldering gaze on the three women.

  "Anlese," she said, ignoring the rest, "where is Morgan?"

  Anlese lowered her cup. "Why, Ashleigh," she said. "What's wrong, dear?"

  Ashleigh reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of credit cards. She threw them angrily on the floor. "God damn him, he's cut off my accounts…" She gave the cards a kick, sending them skittering.

  "Now, Ashleigh," Anlese tried to soothe. "I'm sure it's a mistake."

  "We'll see. Where is he?"

  Danielle pointed to the door Morgan had retreated through. "His den."

  "Thank you, Danielle."

  Taking a deep breath, Ashleigh paused, opening the slit of her skirt a little higher up her shapely thigh, then checked her makeup and curved her lips into an impish smile that showed off a dimple.

  You catch more flies with honey. Julienne's eyes narrowed. Competition, she thought, then checked herself. Competition for what? Competition for Morgan's affections, was the unsettling reply of her mind's voice. She watched Ashleigh cross to the den and knock on the door.

  "Morgan?" Ashleigh called, her voice taking on a dulcet tone. "It's me." She opened the door and slipped through, closing it firmly behind her. The voices behind the door were too muffled to hear further conversation.

  Drama over, Danielle stood and began to brush crumbs from her pants. "I'd better get going, before the shit hits the fan. Can't say I want to be around to see this one. I'll see you all Thursday." She slung her purse over her shoulder and reached for her briefcase.

  "Will you see Dani out, Julienne?" Anlese asked. "I would, but I am feeling rather tired."

  "Are you feeling ill?" Danielle asked, concern immediately etching into her features.

  "No, dear," Anlese assured her. "I'm just going to sit here and get to my knitting." She patted the large cloth bag at her feet, chock-full of needles and yarn.

  Julienne quickly stood. "I'll be glad to see you out," she offered.

  "Wonderful," Danielle said. "Thanks for the lunch. As always, it was my pleasure."

  "You're always welcome, dear."

  Accompanying Danielle back into the foyer, Julienne couldn't help casting her gaze toward the floor, looking for signs of the earlier disruption. The marble floor was pristine, untouched by any grime whatsoever, polished to a high sheen. There was no clue any disturbance had occurred.

  "He dumped the bucket again, didn't he?" Danielle asked, noticing
Julienne's scouting of the foyer.

  "Huh?" Julienne was drawn out of her inner thoughts. "Oh, yes. Knocked the thing right over. Poor little girl was in agony over it."

  "It's not the first time." Danielle shook her head as she laughed. "Every time he does it, poor Jen gets another fifty-dollar raise. This job is paying her way through college."

  "I see." Julienne said. Curiosity prodded her with its evil pitchfork. "So, Ashleigh, she's like, twelve, right?"

  Danielle laughed wickedly, catching the gist of and unspoken meaning in the question. "She's twenty-five. They've been together about a year."

  Julienne nodded and pretended disinterest. "How old is he?"

  Danielle shrugged. "Who the hell knows? I've worked here five years and he hasn't changed a bit." Her forehead crinkled in thought. "He has to be past forty. Maybe it's the booze. Must act as a pickling agent."

  "I've heard he drinks quite a lot."

  "Drinks a lot? Ha! He mainlines. The Irish and whiskey. They can't stay away from it. He calls it his slow capitulation toward suicide."

  A slamming door interrupted further conversation. It was Ashleigh and she was on the warpath of a woman scorned. Storming through, she flourished her checkbook over her head.

  "I swear to God," she yelled, "I'll just write hot checks--spend every fucking penny you've got and then some!" Opening the front door, she flounced down the stairs and into the driveway, heading toward her car, her skirt billowing around her slim, tanned legs.

  Danielle grabbed Julienne's arm and yanked her out of the path of danger when Morgan charged like an angry bull through the foyer and sped outside. "It's about to get better," she warned. "Watch."

  Julienne felt her stomach clench. She was secretly pleased to see Ashleigh go. "Should we leave?"

  "Hell, no!" Danielle laughed. "This is too good. She's had marriage on her mind for the last six months. Now, he's got leaving on his. We'll see who wins."

  Julienne watched with vague discontent and a jealousy even more vague as Morgan caught up to Ashleigh. Seeing him, she pointedly got into her car and slammed the door. Cursing in Gaelic, he tugged at the handle. Ashleigh was faster and locked it. Morgan did not hesitate. He doubled up his hand, drew back his arm and put his fist through the window. The glass shattered.