Room Beneath the Stairs

by Wilde, Jennifer;

  “I just don’t understand you,” he finally said, his voice sullen.

  “It’s quite simple—I happen to be a good girl.”

  He scowled, curling his mouth down at one corner.

  “Surprisingly enough, there are still a few of us left,” I said, trying to keep it light. “Don’t take it so seriously, Grey. You’re marvelously sexy. If I were going to sleep with anyone, it would be you.”

  “I’m supposed to be flattered?”

  “Why don’t you just take me back to the flat? You’re not the best of company today.”

  He ignored me, kicking another stone out of his path.

  “You’re being terribly childish, Grey.”

  “And you’re being damned unreasonable,” he muttered.

  “I can’t help the way I am.”

  “If you loved me.…”

  “That’s an old argument, Grey—done to death. I do love you. You know that.”

  “Not enough, evidently.”

  “There are any number of girls you can sleep with. Why don’t you take one of them out?” My voice was testy.

  “I just might do it,” he snapped.

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I won’t!”

  “Well.…”

  His eyes glowed with anger. We had reached the familiar impasse. For perhaps half a minute we glared at each other with something like loathing; then his face brightened and that marvelous grin appeared and he slung an arm around my shoulders, pulling me up against him. We followed a twisting, footworn path through banks of towering green shrubbery, ending up at the edge of a large pond. The water rippled; reflections shimmered. Little boys sailed toy boats on the other side, but there was no one near us. Grey drew me closer to him. I leaned my cheek against the soft suede jacket, feeling his arms tighten about me. The warmth of his body warmed me. I dreaded the thought of losing him.

  “You’re infuriating,” he said, pushing the scarf back and stroking my hair.

  I said nothing. My palms rubbed his broad back.

  “There’re times I’d like to throttle you,” he continued. “My life’s been a constant torment ever since I dashed into that damned book shop. I want you, Carolyn. You hear?”

  “I hear.”

  “You’ve bewitched me.”

  “Have I?”

  Curling strong fingers around my chin, he tilted my head back and covered my mouth with his own. The kiss was long and lazy, deeply sensual, with none of the hard urgency he frequently employed. Eyes closed, I savored the tingling emotions I chose to deny. It would be so easy to give in to them. His mouth, his arms were far more persuasive than words. I could feel myself weakening. I drew back, alarmed. His arms still holding me a willing prisoner, Grey gazed down at me.

  “We’re going to have to do something about this,” he said huskily.

  “I’m sorry, Grey. I just can’t.”

  “You’ve got some pretty outdated ideas.”

  “I suppose I have,” I retorted. “If you wanted a real swinger, you should never have asked me out in the first place.”

  “I don’t want a real swinger. I want you.”

  He sighed heavily, releasing me. I stepped back, retying the scarf over my head. Sunlight sparkled on the pond; glittering silver reflections danced and drowned as flurries of wind scurried over the surface. Across the pond the little boys cried out in glee as their toy boats dipped and darted. Grey thrust his hands into his pockets and tilted his head to one side. A half smile played on his mouth, and there was amusement in his eyes.

  “I suppose you’re holding out for marriage,” he remarked.

  “I suppose I am.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to marry you.”

  “Don’t jest,” I said crisply.

  “You think I’m jesting? I’m asking you to marry me, Carolyn.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t you want to be my wife?”

  “Of course I do, but not—not just so that—”

  “You think that’s the only reason I want to marry you?”

  “Isn’t it?” My voice was remarkably calm.

  His eyes twinkled. He looked like a mischievous little boy. “That’s a part of it,” he agreed, “a large part. But I happen to love you, Miss Dawson.”

  “Grey—”

  “I figure we’d better do it right away—tomorrow maybe, or day after at the latest, before I get cold feet and change my mind. You’d better snap me up while you have the chance.”

  “You’re talking nonsense. You don’t really—”

  “I really do,” he retorted, grinning a wide grin. “Now I figure we’d better start making plans. A simple ceremony; no fuss, no bother. How does Brighton strike you for the honeymoon?”

  “You’re mad,” I said irritably. “You don’t just rush into marriage on the spur of the moment. You—well, a girl needs time, and.…”

  My cheeks were flushed. My head was spinning. Grey chuckled and swung me roughly against him, giving me a robust, playful kiss and laughing with delight as I pulled away from him. He kissed me again, then with boisterous good humor threw an arm around my shoulders and led me back along the pathway, away from the pond. On the lawn, a crowd had gathered around an impassioned orator who perched on a soapbox and denounced the government with vehement zeal, arms waving furiously. I hardly noticed. Grey squeezed my shoulders, drawing me closer to him. It was the happiest moment in my life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  We waited on the crowded, bustling pier. Grey wandered about, impatient, trying to hide his nervousness. He wore bleached white trousers and a bulky-knit blue sweater threaded with gray. His blond hair swirled in the wind. Although he frequently turned to give me a reassuring smile, I could tell that he was almost as apprehensive as I was. Enormous fishing boats loomed up around us, their slick black hulls gleaming, the men on them busily unloading and climbing ropes and swabbing decks. Behind us, the Brandon cannery was a solid gray bulk; a cacophony of noise poured from its windows. One of the servants was to meet us here and take us across to the island in the family launch, and he should have been here by now. No one paid any attention to us as we waited. They all went about their business with great industry. I was on edge, not knowing what to expect.

  I had been in a daze throughout the wedding. It had been a hasty, informal affair. I remembered dim corridors and a dusty office, a crackling radiator with a plump marmalade cat curled up beside it, a shabbily dressed justice who peered at us over a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and stuttered throughout the ceremony. Ellie and one of her beaux were our witnesses, and afterward the five of us, including the justice, repaired to a restaurant for a splashy and festive wedding dinner. Champagne abounded. The justice got drunk. Ellie looked tearful. Grey seemed nervous and ill at ease, holding my hand in a tight grip most of the time. Then we all went to the station, where Grey and I boarded a train for Brighton.

  Grey had sent a telegram to his family from Brighton, informing them of our wedding, and he had received a mysterious telephone call two nights ago. Turning his back to me, he cradled his hands around the receiver and spoke in a low voice. I could tell that he was nervous, then upset, then angry. Scowling, he slammed the receiver down. He made no mention of the call for the rest of the evening. I asked no questions. Later, near dawn, I awoke to find myself alone in the bed, the other pillow dented, sheets still warm. Grey was sitting at the opened window, where the light curtains billowed in and out with a soft rustling noise. Wearing only his pajama trousers, he stared out at the beach beyond the esplanade, watching the waves washing over the carefully swept sand.

  “Grey.…” I said hesitantly.

  He didn’t move. His body was silhouetted against the window. I could see the smooth curve of his back in the moonlight.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said.

  “Something’s worrying you. That phone call—”

  “It was Evan.”

  “Your cousin? What did he—”

&nb
sp; “We have to go back to the island.”

  “So soon? But I thought.…”

  “The honeymoon’s over, Carolyn.”

  And here we were, waiting on the pier. Grey had been cheerful all day, but it had been forced, unnatural. It was almost as though he dreaded going back to the island, as though he were afraid. I wondered why. He had married me without first getting his family’s approval, true, but that was hardly a valid reason for his tension. He was a grown man, not a little boy returning to face his punishment after an act of disobedience. Perhaps they had planned for him to marry someone else, I thought. Rich, powerful families frequently arranged such matches, and when his grandmother died Grey and his cousin Evan would inherit everything. I hadn’t realized before just how wealthy my husband was.

  Would the family think I married for money? Would they resent me? I wished I knew more about them. I recalled my encounter with Evan Porter so long ago. He had been an insufferable boy. What kind of man was he? His mother, I knew, had been Helen Brandon, Grey’s father’s sister. Her husband, Douglas Porter, had been in charge of the family business until his death some ten years earlier. Helen and her son lived at the big house with Grey and Carlotta, the four of them all that remained of the powerful and influential Brandons. Now there was another Brandon, nervous and apprehensive about the reception she would receive. Would they like me? Would they think me an intruder, an opportunist? I wished Grey were poor. I wished he had no family at all.

  Hands in his pockets, Grey sauntered over to me, stepping over coils of rope and moving around barrels of salted fish. He looked glorious, a husky Adonis with golden hair and a wide, friendly grin. I still found it hard to believe that I was actually his wife. Watching my husband approach, I felt a warm glow of happiness spread through me, and some of my apprehension vanished. Everything would be all right. Grey would see to it.

  “Impressive place, isn’t it?” he said, indicating the cannery with a nod of his head.

  “It’s very—large.”

  “Largest cannery on the coast. More than five hundred employees, half of them from the island. A boat brings them over in the morning, takes them back in the afternoon. Incidentally, all the big fishing vessels dock here at the cannery. The boats you see at the island are just small craft, privately owned.”

  “How many boats does your family have?”

  “Fishing boats? Twenty or so, I’d guess. Evan could tell you. He’s the businessman in the family. I don’t have much to do with the boats or the cannery. By choice, I might add. I’m afraid you’ve married a lazy man, Carolyn. I glance at the books once in a while, but I’m perfectly content to let Evan run things. He enjoys it; gives him a sense of power. I’d much rather loaf.”

  He was jesting, of course; playing the charming, irresponsible chap for my benefit. I found it endearing.

  Grey took my hand and we strolled to the end of the pier, past four enormous boats that looked like gigantic beached whales, black and gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Our luggage was stacked in a neat heap, my battered suitcases looking pathetic beside Grey’s expensive leather bags. The cannery was far behind us now, the clanging din muted by distance. The wind blowing in from over the water brought a sharp tang of salt, driving away some of the smell of fish and tar. The water was steel gray, tinged with the faint bronze shadows I remembered so well. From this point we looked directly out over the ocean to a misty purplish-gray horizon several miles away. Greycliff Island was five miles farther down the coast, invisible from here.

  “Burke should have been here by now,” Grey said, a slight frown between his brows.

  “Burke?” I vaguely remembered the name. It had been mentioned that afternoon in the caves.

  “He’s our chief servant—chauffeur, butler, handyman, more like a member of the family than an employee.”

  “He’s been with you a long time?”

  “Yes. He brought me up actually—kind of a father-substitute after my father died. Uncle Douglas was always too occupied with the business to pay much attention to me. Burke’s rather intimidating on first sight, but don’t let it bother you. He’s really a fine fellow, if a bit severe. Looks like a broken-down prizefighter, mean and ugly. Scares hell out of all the housemaids.”

  “I—I hope he likes me.”

  Grey chuckled, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Couldn’t help but like you,” he said breezily. “You’re an adorable creature. Glad I nabbed you.”

  “Are you, Grey?”

  “Damned right I am. What a silly question.”

  “It’s just—well, our marriage was so hasty. We don’t really know each other all that well.…”

  “Nonsense.”

  “You might be disappointed in me.”

  “Never.”

  Grey wrapped his strong arms tightly around my waist, pulling me back against him. Holding me in front of him, he leaned down to plant his lips on the side of my neck. I closed my eyes, feeling his hard, sturdy body against mine. My doubts and fears seemed foolish, mere nervous fancies I harbored without cause. I loved Grey with all my heart. He loved me. And that was all that mattered.

  “We’re going to be very, very happy, Carolyn,” he whispered. “Don’t ever doubt it. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I intend to spend the rest of my life showing my gratitude.”

  A few minutes later we saw a bright speck gleaming on the water far away, growing larger and larger as it skimmed over the waves like a frenzied insect. The motorboat was much larger than the one I remembered from my trip with Evan Porter. It was glistening tan and white, streamlined, exquisite, trailing a wake of foamy white behind it as it sped toward the pier. Drawing nearer, it slowed, the powerful motor humming low. Although he waved, although there was a smile on his lips, Grey was tense. I could sense it. His smile was tight, artificial; a tiny muscle at his temple throbbed. The boat was skillfully pulled up alongside the pier, and the man at the helm tossed a rope to Grey.

  As Grey secured the rope to a pole, the man climbed out of the launch and stepped onto the pier. Around forty, he wore a neatly tailored black broadcloth uniform that fit his large, stocky body a bit too tightly. The nap of the cloth was smooth with age, shiny from too many cleanings. The jacket strained across broad, powerful shoulders. His short black hair was grizzled with gray, and his tanned, weathered face was deeply creased. His lips were thin, the mouth cynical. Pulling off his dark glasses, he greeted Grey with stiff formality and ignored me completely. Burke was undeniably ugly, but his ravaged face and tall, solid body would be perversely attractive to many women. There was an aura of icy coldness about him that struck me immediately, and I felt that this man would be able to commit acts of cruelty with total indifference. I found it hard not to draw back as those glowering black eyes peered at me.

  “This the wife?” he asked. His deep voice was harsh, slightly raspy, exactly the kind of voice one would expect him to have.

  “This is the wife,” Grey replied. “Have you ever seen a lovelier girl, Burke?”

  “H—hello,” I stammered.

  Burke ignored my greeting. “Help me with the luggage,” he said curtly. “We’ve got to get back to the island.”

  As the men stacked the luggage on the launch, I tried not to let the servant’s coldness bother me. I remembered what Grey had told me about him. Perhaps my first impression would wear off. Perhaps I would actually find him friendly as I grew to know him. I doubted it. Something about him made my skin prickle. He resented me, and he made no effort to conceal it. He had been deplorably rude, and I couldn’t help but be offended that Grey hadn’t reprimanded him for it. Despite his nonchalant manner and forced smiles, Grey seemed as intimidated by the man as I was. Why? After all, Burke was merely a servant … wasn’t he? True, he had helped raise Grey, but it was almost as though he had some kind of hold over him. I didn’t like the way he had ordered Grey to help with the luggage in that hard, no-nonsense tone of voice.

  Back at the helm, Burke put the
wraparound sunglasses back on and started the motor. I sat at the back of the boat, and Grey stood beside Burke, talking to him in a low voice as we moved away from the pier. In minutes we were soaring over the water, the launch bouncing and thumping, a fine spray splashing over me. My hair blew wildly, and I had to hold my skirt down to keep it from billowing. I could see the cannery growing smaller, a bulky gray blur in the distance now, surrounded by smaller black blurs—the fishing vessels. The coastline was magnificent: savage waves lashing at gigantic rocks; tall gray cliffs rising over lonely stretches of beach; the woods above dark green, occasionally thinning to reveal part of a village. There was a rugged grandeur about this part of the country, a harsh, rough-hewn beauty that was almost frightening. We passed an ancient brownstone lighthouse jutting out on a craggy promontory, and, a short while later, my pulses quickened.

  I could see the cove, exactly as I remembered it. Something old and only half-understood stirred within me. I recalled my childhood fantasies, my grief, and I could almost see the skinny little girl sitting on one of the rocks, her homely young face grave, her mud-colored braids coming undone in the wind. The island had been an imaginary haven to her, but that illusion had been destroyed in the caves. How many other illusions would be destroyed? Was my adult happiness an illusion? Would it survive on Greycliff Island?

  You’re going off the deep end, Carolyn, I scolded myself. You’re letting nervous apprehension get the best of you. Everything is going to be all right. Everything is going to be wonderful.… I pushed a dark chestnut wave from my eyes, trying to get hold of myself.

  I had never mentioned that day at the cove to Grey. There had never been any occasion to, and for some reason I didn’t want him to know that I remembered something that he had so obviously forgotten. As far as my husband was concerned, we had met for the first time in the book shop that rainy afternoon not six weeks ago. I peered at him, so handsome in his sweater, so healthy and robust. He was still talking to Burke, stressing some point with a fierce gesture. He was frowning, his expression half angry, half worried. Burke stared straight ahead, his face in profile, inscrutable as he steered the launch. The motor roared, drowning out Grey’s words, but I could tell that his voice was raised, seemingly in protest. What was he saying? Why did he look so upset?