Thunder Heights

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  His angry disapproval was so unfair that she did not want to let him go out of the room without offering some defense.

  “Would you like to read my grandfather’s letter?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, thank you. It’s sure to be the letter of a weak, defeated old man—not of the Orrin Judd I knew years ago. Reading it would not change my feelings about what he has done.”

  “I didn’t ask for any of this—” Camilla began, but he would not stay to listen. He walked out of the room as though he dared not trust his temper and closed the door behind him.

  Alone, Camilla sat at the library table and looked up at the portrait of her grandfather. She felt sick and shaken. This was going to be far harder than she had expected. Her spirits had plummeted from that moment of high elation when she stood looking up at the house, thinking of the changes she might bring to it. Only Booth had spoken to her gently and tried to hide something of his own disappointment. Letty had advised against acceptance. Hortense was distraught and indignant, and even Ross, who was not one of the family, was angry with her.

  She felt helpless and appallingly alone. Tears came before she could find strength to fight them back, and her head went down on her arms.

  It was Ross who returned to find her there. He came into the library and stood beside the table while she made futile dabbing gestures at her eyes.

  “There’s no help for it,” he said. “You’ll have to talk to the reporters. They’re not satisfied with Pompton’s dry-as-dust evasions. What’s worse—Booth is out there now, antagonizing them further. It’s you they want to see, and you can’t blame them for trying to do the job they’ve been sent here to do.”

  She stared at him, panic rising in her. “But—how would I know what to say? I—I’ve hardly grasped this myself. And—I must look terrible.”

  A flicker of amusement showed unexpectedly in his eyes. “You do,” he said. “Your nose is red and your eyes are puffy. But you can be forgiven, since you’ve come from your grandfather’s funeral. It’s just as well if someone manages to look grief-stricken. Shall I bring them in?”

  How hard and insensitive he was. She knew by his face that he would probably call the reporters in, whether she agreed or not. It was difficult to make a request of him, but she could not face them alone.

  “Will you stay while I talk to them?” she asked.

  “I’ll stay,” he said. “But you’re in charge now, and you’ll have to manage this yourself. The sooner you take hold, the better it will be for you.”

  Her feeling of panic increased, and he must have seen it in her eyes, for he softened a little.

  “Look—we’ll set the stage, shall we? Sit over here with your back to the light. That will give you an advantage. Take a few deep breaths and just try to be yourself. There’s no great damage you can do, really. Most of the damage has been done by the situation itself.”

  As he went to summon the newsmen, she realized that she was gripping the arms of the chair with all her strength.

  She was relieved when Booth returned with Ross and the five or six reporters who accompanied them into the library.

  “Why did you agree to this?” Booth whispered, taking his place beside Camilla’s chair. “I’d have got rid of these fellows for you in a few more minutes.”

  There was no time to answer him. The group of newspapermen had arranged themselves around her, and she saw their curious glances as they took in the room’s details and studied her.

  “How do you feel about being Orrin Judd’s heiress?” one of them asked.

  She knew her lips would tremble if she tried to smile, and she answered stiffly. “I can only hope to be worthy of the responsibility.”

  The questions began to come quickly then. Why had Orrin Judd chosen her, when he had never sent for her before? Was it true that he had long ago disinherited her mother? What did he have against the other members of the family that he had treated them like this? Was it true that she was a governess?

  They were not polite questions, and they were not intended to spare her. Once, sensing Booth’s indignation, she put a hand on his arm so that he would not burst in angrily. Ross had gone to stand before the fire, as Mr. Pompton had done earlier, taking no part in the proceedings, and making no effort to come to her aid.

  When the rapid questions confused her, Camilla put her hands up in protest. “There’s so much I don’t know. Perhaps it would be better if I tell you the little I do know about how I come to be here.”

  They listened and scribbled notes as she related simply, sometimes haltingly, what had happened from the moment when Mr. Pompton had come to see her in the house in Gramercy Park. All that she told them was the truth, though there were many omissions. She had no intention of giving any hint of the atmosphere in this house, or of the things her grandfather had said to her. She did not mention his letter. It lay in her lap, and once when she touched it inadvertently, she remembered its contents and felt strengthened. She had her grandfather’s words and trust to hold to, though she might have nothing else.

  When the reporters asked about her plans for the future and how she meant to run Orrin Judd’s enterprises, she managed a rueful smile.

  “You must know that is a question I can’t answer now,” she said. “But at least I have plans closer to home. I want to do this house over completely and make it the wonderful place it must once have been.”

  They liked this and took her ideas down as she talked. There was only one more sharp question near the end of the interview.

  “What about your mother’s death?” one young man asked. “There was some tragedy here—years ago, wasn’t there? She was pretty badly smashed up in an accident, as I recall. Didn’t your father—”

  Ross broke into the interview smoothly. “You’ve had the time I promised you, gentlemen, and I think you have your story. Let’s not torment the young lady unnecessarily.”

  His manner was courteous but firm as he saw them to the door and out of the house.

  “You were wonderful, Cousin,” Booth said, bending over her. “And more sensible than I. It’s in my blood, I suppose, to hate reporters, since we’ve fared badly with them in the past.”

  Now that the ordeal was over, Camilla felt weak with relief. Her knees were trembling as she stood up. Beyond Booth she saw Aunt Letty in the doorway.

  “They’ve bothered you enough, my dear,” Letty said. “Come upstairs now and lie down. No, Booth, not another word.”

  Gratefully, Camilla went with her. She had nothing to say to either Booth or Ross Granger.

  When Letty had gone, Camilla lay on her bed in the darkened room, trying to command her own thoughts, to formulate some sensible plan of action.

  These first days would be the most difficult to get through, she assured herself. Once the family grew accustomed to the idea of having her here, once they came to know her and accept her, it should not be so hard. Surely they would be pleased when she made plans for the house. Hortense had longed for a gay life. Why couldn’t it be gay enough for her right here at Thunder Heights? If Booth wished it, why couldn’t he go to New York and arrange for a showing of his paintings? She could do so much for all of them, once they accepted her and began to trust her.

  Her immediate task was to win them, to be patient and never angry, no matter what anyone might say or do. The business affairs she could do nothing about. Mr. Pompton would handle those, and she must trust him as her grandfather had undoubtedly trusted him. In spite of his attitude toward her, she wished that Ross Granger were not going away, because he too had been trusted by her grandfather. She could not, however, ask him to stay.

  She had no desire at the moment to go downstairs to face the others, and when Grace came tapping at her door with a supper tray, she was relieved.

  “Miss Letty fixed it herself,” Grace said, setting the tray on the marble-topped table before the hearth.

  When Camilla sat down to the tray, she found a brief note propped against a cup. I
t was from Letty.

  Don’t come down to dinner, dear. Let us talk this out among ourselves. Everything will be better tomorrow.

  Lovingly,

  Aunt Letty

  She was grateful for the respite and happy to have her meal quietly here in her room. She went to bed early and fell asleep at once, waking now and then to the rumble of a train that seemed to come from the earth beneath the house, or to the whistle of a boat, or foghorns on the river, only to fall quickly asleep again.

  In the early morning she came wide awake, to find sunlight glowing beyond window draperies, and she sprang out of bed to let it in. The air was brisk and cool, but there was no sharpness in its touch as she opened the balcony door. She looked out across the river toward the morning sun, feeling rested and no longer fearful.

  “This is mine!” she thought. “I need never look for a home again as long as I want to stay here. I belong to this now. I have a family.” They might not want her here at first, but she belonged to them and eventually they would accept her.

  When she had washed and dressed, she hurried downstairs, hungry for breakfast and eager to begin the day. Yesterday had been sad because of the funeral and frightening because of all the new, strange things that had been hurled at her when she was unprepared. But today she felt strong and unafraid. She would laugh at Ross’s scowls and coax Aunt Hortense into good humor. She would find ways to make Aunt Letty happy, and she would show Booth her gratitude for his unexpected kindness.

  Once more the dining room was empty, and for the moment she was glad to be alone so that she could marshal her plans before she talked to anyone. She had brought paper and pencil downstairs with her, and she set them beside her plate and began to jot down reminders to herself. Unobtrusively, if possible, she must learn to know the entire house. She must inquire into the possibility of hiring gardeners, carpenters, painters, so that the work might be appraised and started as soon as possible. There must be additional household help. Yet with all these changes she must move quietly and without seeming to jerk the reins from the hands of others. She must remember to consult Aunt Hortense, draw her into her plans, move gently until the others could see that only good would come of having her here.

  No one joined her at the table as she finished breakfast, though Grace said Mr. Granger was up early as usual, and had gone over to Blue Beeches. He, at least, she would not have to consult, Camilla thought, and undoubtedly Thunder Heights would enjoy a less ruffled atmosphere when he was gone. Yet when she thought of Ross it was always with a tinge of regret. Under other circumstances they might have been friends, and it was sad to see a possibility of friendship lost.

  When she had finished her second cup of coffee, she took her newly jotted list and descended from the kitchen to a landing at the back door. From the landing the stairs dropped in a second steeper flight to the cellar below, and she followed them down.

  The main room of the cellar, at the foot of the stairs, was a large one, lighted by high windows that rose above-ground. A huge cookstove indicated that the room had once been the main kitchen of the house. What a busy, exciting place this must have been in the great days of Thunder Heights, before the new wing had been built to accommodate a smaller upstairs kitchen.

  Camilla followed a corridor that ran the length of the cellar, looking eagerly into one room after another. There were storerooms of various kinds, and finally a room with high stone walls and an air of chill that indicated a larder.

  Its door opened inward and stood ajar. These days butter and cream were kept in the ice chest upstairs, serviced from the village, so another use had apparently been found for this room. Along the wall facing the door were rows of shelves lined with dozens of small glass-stoppered jars and corked bottles. A marble slab had been set into a work shelf below at waist height, and a mortar and pestle rested upon it.

  All these things Camilla saw at a glance as she stood sheltered by the door, unaware until she moved into the room that she was not alone. At her right, standing before a further row of shelves, was Aunt Hortense. This morning she wore a voluminous green negligee trimmed with yellowing lace. Her red hair, done up in rag curlers, was hidden by a white cap with coyly placed green velvet bows. She had not heard Camilla’s quiet step in the doorway, and as Camilla hesitated, she reached up to a shelf and took down one of the labeled bottles.

  “Good morning, Aunt Hortense,” Camilla said, and her aunt whirled about, nearly dropping the bottle in her hands.

  “Don’t startle me like that!” she cried. “I didn’t know anyone was about.”

  “I’m sorry,” Camilla said. “I didn’t see you till I stepped around the door.”

  She moved toward the shelves and looked up at them with interest, reading the labels. Here were Letty’s herbs. The usual cooking herbs: thyme, chives, basil, marjoram, parsley, summer savory—all dried and pulverized, or left in leaf form, all labeled. On another shelf were the medicinal herbs: angelica, chamomile, hyssop, and many more. There were infusions and elixirs and distillations, as well as the dried herbs. As Camilla studied them, Hortense replaced the labeled bottle of tansy she had taken from its place.

  “My sister Letty’s hobby,” Hortense said, her nose wrinkling a little as if she did not wholly approve. “It gives her something to do. But she indulges in too much experiment. I prefer to pick my own mixtures and avoid hers. I came down for something for my stomach and nerves. I hardly slept a wink all night. Is there anything you’re looking for down here?”

  In the bright morning light, Hortense’s skin looked gray and a little withered. Her eyes that were not altogether green, nor altogether blue, had a look of cold resentment in them as they rested upon Camilla.

  “I’m not looking for anything special,” Camilla said. “I thought I would start at the cellar and begin to know the house. I hope you don’t mind. When you feel up to it, Aunt Hortense, I’d like to consult you about so many things.”

  Hortense sniffed. “I’m certainly not up to it now. Not after the severe shocks I’ve had to endure in the last few days. And after a miserable night. How did you sleep?”

  “Soundly,” Camilla said. “I hardly stirred till morning.”

  “She didn’t bother you then? She didn’t come to your door and try to get in?”

  “What do you mean?” Camilla asked. “No one came to my door.”

  “A good thing. She might have frightened you. I’ve always wanted to lock her in at night, but Papa wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Camilla asked in bewilderment.

  “My sister Letty, naturally. When she is disturbed she often walks in her sleep. And we never know what she may do next. I found her climbing the attic stairs last night and I had a time getting her back to bed.”

  Hortense reached for a jar of peppermint tea leaves, lifted out the glass stopper and sniffed the fragrance. Then she dropped a spoonful of the leaves into the teapot she had brought downstairs, added another spoonful from a jar of rose hips, and picked up the pot. As she reached the doorway, she paused.

  “I should think you would be afraid to stay on in this house,” she said.

  “Afraid? Why should I be afraid?”

  Hortense shrugged. “You might ask Letty sometime just what it was she gave Papa to drink the night he had his attack.” She walked out of the larder, leaving Camilla to ponder her words in astonishment.

  NINE

  In the days that followed, spring began to move brightly up the Hudson valley. Forsythia spilled its yellow spray, and enterprising crocuses and jonquils poked their heads through the bare earth of winter, announcing a change of seasons. About the house there were changes as well.

  Camilla went vigorously and determinedly to work on her plans for renewal and repair. Booth laughed in good nature at her efforts, though he told her plainly that he could see no point in her desire to refurbish the house. Let it fall to ruin, he said, and then they would be rid of the burden and could live somewhere else in more fas
hionable style.

  Nevertheless, he obligingly helped her find carpenters and set them to work. Old Toby obtained help in the village for work about the grounds and went at it with a will. Toby, at least, was all for restoring Thunder Heights to its former glory, pleased at the notion of lording it over the new help. He became something of a Napoleon in his attacks upon weeds and scrubby undergrowth. He planted with a lavish hand—grass and flower beds and new young trees to replace those that were old and dead.

  An extra kitchenmaid was hired as well, leaving Grace free for upstairs work, but Camilla quickly discovered that indoor household help was difficult to find. Thunder Heights had a reputation that would have to be lived down. Thus Hortense, who was in need of a personal lady’s maid, had to do without, since Camilla was unable to find anyone to work for her.

  With Letty’s help, Camilla checked slowly through every room in the house, to make sure of all that must be done. Letty was sweet and cooperative and refused her nothing, but Camilla had the uneasy feeling that she too did not believe in what they were doing. Except when Letty was in her herb room downstairs, or outside in her garden, she worked vaguely, as if with fog that blew through her hands as she measured it and would be nothing when she was finished.

  Hortense remained hostile to all plans and would take no part in them. There was, Camilla quickly discovered, a convention to which all those in the house, masters and servants alike, bowed in convincing pretense. The pretense was that Hortense ran the house, gave the orders, made all plans, settled all problems. But it became evident in Camilla’s first week that it was Letty who quietly executed these matters behind Hortense’s back, even while she too gave lip service to her sister as mistress of the house. Camilla might have found something touching about this little game of pretend in which Letty protected her older sister from realizing the emptiness of her rule, had it not been that this sort of thing got in her way when she wanted to act without bowing to the wishes of Aunt Hortense. Camilla intended to make things happen now, and she found she could not wait until Hortense had been placated and coaxed into the new pattern. She tried not to oppose her openly, but she could not follow the example of the others if real changes were to be made.