Thunder Heights

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  What had happened puzzled her. The bowl was not so heavy as to cause such serious damage unless the step had already been rotten and ready to collapse. That seemed unlikely. Someone would surely have noticed it. The stairs were of the open kind, and she walked underneath, where she could look up at the shattered step. The board had broken in the middle. One side had fallen through and lay at her feet. The other side still hung in splinters from the steps above.

  She picked up the broken tread and studied it. The wood did not look rotten. The splinters of the break looked clean and far from powdery. The step had not rotted through. It was possible that it had been deliberately broken from above, then pushed back in place, to trap the first unwary person to set foot upon it. If Mignonette had not been imprisoned in the cellar and come leaping out to startle her, if Camilla had not dropped the bowl upon the step, triggering what certainly looked like a trap—she would have been flung all that steep flight to the cement below, with nothing to stop her fall.

  Her knees had begun to tremble in reaction, and she found a chair and sat down. Anyone who had put weight on that third step might have been seriously hurt. But a deliberate trap would not be set for just anyone. She knew that step had been prepared for one person alone—Camilla King. Yet how could that be? How could anyone know that she would surely be the one to step on it? Carefully, bit by bit, she thought back over what had happened.

  Yesterday Letty had locked the door. Yet she herself might have run up and down these stairs a dozen times since if she’d chosen to. Unless it had been prepared at a time when it was unlikely that she would be coming down them again. But how could anyone know that Camilla King would come down them at exactly the right moment?

  The pattern grew clearer by the moment. Hortense had sent her down deliberately on an errand. She had waited for the prescribed moment and conceived an errand that would send just one person down these stairs—to disaster.

  “Camilla! Camilla, are you there?” That was Hortense now on the landing before the cellar door.

  She had only to be silent, Camilla thought, and see what happened. If Hortense came down cautiously, stepping over the broken stair, she would know the answer. She could see her green skirts up there now, see her foot coming down to the top step. Camilla jumped up and called to her aunt.

  “Be careful, Aunt Hortense! There’s a broken step. Watch out or you’ll fall.” She had not possessed the steel nerves to try the experiment, lest she risk Hortense’s life.

  Hortense gasped and drew back her foot. Camilla picked up the brass bowl and went to the bottom of the stairs.

  “This bowl saved me from a bad fall. This and Mignonette. Someone must have shut the cat down here by mistake and when she leaped out she frightened me so that I dropped the bowl and it broke the step. Odd, isn’t it, Aunt Hortense, that a step should break so easily?”

  Hortense said nothing. She was staring at Camilla in horrified silence, and Camilla could not read the cause of her horror. Was it because of her own narrow escape—or because Camilla had discovered the trap?

  “Wait there,” she said. “I’ll get you the other vase.”

  She went to the shelf where extra vases were kept and picked one out with strange care. It was as though it were easier to concentrate on the matter of the right vase for a spray of larkspur, than to think about how nearly she had met injury, or even death.

  By the time she returned to the stairs, her knees were steadier, but she knew her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright.

  “Here you are,” she said, climbing the stairs and stepping carefully over the dangerous place. She put the vase into Hortense’s limp hands. “I must lock the door so no one will make a mistake and come down these stairs until they’re mended. I was lucky, Aunt Hortense. This is the second time Mignonette has practically saved my life.”

  Seen in the light of the landing, Hortense’s face looked as though it had caught something of the reflected color of her dress.

  At that moment the knocker rattled on the front door, and Camilla spoke quietly to her aunt.

  “The first guests are arriving. Hurry and fix your larkspur. And don’t worry about the step now, Aunt Hortense. We have a party to go through.”

  But as she followed Hortense through the kitchen and back to the foot of the stairs, her mind was busy with the three corners of a triangle. It could have been Letty, who had the key to the cellar. But access through a window would have been equally possible, and Mignonette could have come in unnoticed by a window. In that case it might have been Hortense. Or the entire plan, including instructions to Hortense and the fixing of the step, could have been managed very easily by Booth.

  She could not find the answer now, for there was Nora Redfern at the door, and with her a plump, rather dowdy woman with an air of confidence and authority, whom Nora introduced as her mother, Mrs. Landry.

  Laura Landry’s handclasp was strong and friendly. “I insisted upon coming early,” she said, “so that I could have a bit of a visit with Althea’s daughter before the others arrived.”

  When Grace had taken hats and wraps, Camilla led the way through the parlor and out upon the veranda, where Letty still sat rocking peacefully.

  Camilla slipped the cellar key into her hand. “Be sure no one goes downstairs, Aunt Letty. There’s a broken step that might injure anyone who didn’t see it. It’s only thanks to Mignonette that I escaped. She was in the cellar after all.”

  Momentary alarm flashed in Letty’s eyes, and then she was rising to greet Nora Redfern and Mrs. Landry. The key had been hidden, and there was no telling what she thought about the broken stair. If there had been a long-existing animosity between Thunder Heights and Blue Beeches, it was not evident in Letty’s gracious reception of the two women.

  Camilla turned toward the veranda steps and saw Booth at the foot of them watching her. “Congratulate me!” she said to him brightly. “I came very near killing myself on the cellar stairs a few moments ago. It was only by luck that I saw the damaged step and saved myself.”

  Did something flicker in his eyes? She couldn’t be sure. He had taken her hand to draw her down to the lawn, and his manner seemed truly solicitous.

  “You must be careful, Camilla. I’ll have a look at the bad step later on.”

  Then he too was greeting Mrs. Landry and Nora in his usual suave manner, and if he had ever plotted disaster to Camilla King, there was no reading it in his face or bearing.

  She walked across the lawn with Nora and Mrs. Landry for a view of the river, and there was no further opportunity for her to be anything but a hostess. Mrs. Landry was more interested in her than in the river, however.

  “You’re as pretty as your mother was,” she said. “Perhaps prettier. But there’s a difference. Your mother had a daredevil streak that could get her into trouble. You look a bit more sensible.”

  Was she sensible? Could she be, with this trembling at the pit of her stomach that never quite ceased, that urged her toward a blind terror that she must hold off at all costs?

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” she told Nora’s mother, and miraculously the trembling did not show in her voice. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Mrs. Landry. I know you and my mother were good friends, and there’s so much I want to learn about her.”

  But now other guests began to arrive, and there was no opportunity for more talk. Soon there were little clumps of ladies and gentlemen all about the lawn. Hortense and Letty and Booth moved among them, greeting old friends, meeting younger members of river families, whom they had not met before, and all three seemed at ease, slipping easily back into old ways.

  Once Hortense stopped beside Camilla, glowering a little. “You know why these people have come, don’t you? The old ones are here out of curiosity. To see what we’ve done with ourselves. The young ones are here to have a look at you and decide whether you’ll make a good match for one of their own crowd.”

  Camilla laughed with a touch of bitterness. There was a time when t
his party would have seemed like wonderful fun to her and she would have taken part in it wholeheartedly. But that was before the shadow of Thunder Heights had crept across her spirit.

  As always, the sun vanished abruptly behind the overhanging hill, though the colors that streaked the sky seemed brighter than ever because of the black silhouette of the mountain. The house stood aglow with lamps, and now servants were lighting the candles in the Japanese lanterns, so that lawn and veranda were soon rimmed in jewels of blue and green, red and yellow. Down toward the river, against the blackness of the bushes, fireflies lit small darting lanterns of their own in the warm night.

  On the veranda the fiddlers from the village struck up a tune, and the young people ran up the steps to enjoy a reel. Camilla found herself handed breathlessly from partner to partner. Once she saw the lighted shape of a boat passing their promontory on the Hudson, and knew that the passengers must be watching, perhaps with envy, the festivities at Thunder Heights. Sometime, long ago, she had wanted that very thing. Now it seemed an empty illusion.

  When the musicians changed to a waltz, someone touched Camilla’s arm and she turned to look into Ross Granger’s face. In the happy shock of seeing him, all doubts fell away. The rush of joy that went through her was rooted deeply in pain, but for the moment the joy was uppermost. She no longer questioned her own heart. This was her love and would always be, whether he cared for her or not. In him lay all safety and strength—a haven from peril. The very shape of his chin, the carriage of his head gave her confidence to face whatever she must face. She went into his arms and made no effort to hide the joy in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “I hope I’m still welcome. You invited me, you know.”

  “Oh, you are, you are!” she cried, and joy was there in her voice as well, with only a small stab of pain in her heart.

  He held her gently as they danced, and she felt a kindness in him that had been lacking when he went away. Perhaps he had missed her just a little too.

  “Did you find what you wanted in New York?” she asked, and held her breath against the answer. “Are you going away soon?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “There are some things I must finish here first.”

  “Work for my grandfather?”

  “Work for you. How have things gone while I was away?”

  “Badly,” she whispered. “Terribly! I want to see you. I must see you!”

  “That shouldn’t be difficult. I’m here.”

  “You don’t understand. I must see you away from the house. Where no one will watch me, or hear us.”

  “Wherever you say.”

  She thought frantically. “Tomorrow morning at the cemetery, then. Can you meet me there at ten?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  The waltz had come to an end, and she went reluctantly out of his arms, feeling that she gave up all safety until she could be in them again. Now the throbbing of pain and loss came uppermost and joy subsided.

  Refreshments were served at the little tables on the lawn, and Camilla, moving here and there as hostess, was drawn at length to Mrs. Landry’s table, to sit down with her and Nora. Up on the veranda Letty had taken her place at the harp and begun to play the old tunes of Scotland. There was a good deal of Scottish blood in the Highlands of the Hudson, and she was listened to with delight, and sometimes with tears, on the part of older members of the group.

  Laura Landry was neither Scottish nor sentimental, and she liked better to talk than to listen.

  “Nora tells me you’re a good rider,” she said. “And that you’ve bought a horse of your own. I’m glad to hear it. We all rode in the old days. Althea especially.”

  “I know,” Camilla said. “I found her gray riding habit in the attic, and I wear the whole costume—top hat, boots and all. I think sometimes the older people around the countryside think I’m her spirit come back to ride Thunder Mountain again. Mrs. Landry—were you at Blue Beeches when my mother was thrown and killed?”

  The plump, assured face creased into lines of pain. “I was here when Orrin Judd brought her down from the mountain. Booth came looking for her at Blue Beeches, hoping she hadn’t taken the mountain trail. So I came right over and waited here at Thunder Heights.”

  “I’ve heard there was some sort of scene after they brought her down,” Camilla said.

  “You mean I made a scene. You needn’t be delicate about it. I did. Althea was too good a rider to be thrown, no matter what that horse did. I felt there was something wrong—more to the accident than met the eye. I wanted it looked into.”

  “I understand her horse was frightened by the thunderstorm,” Camilla pointed out.

  “That always seems one of the strange things about what happened,” Nora put in. “That Althea went out on Folly in the first place.”

  “Not if you knew Althea as I did,” Mrs. Landry said. “That part I can accept. It was the wild sort of thing she would do. But as you know perfectly well, unless she is taken by surprise, it’s practically impossible to throw a good rider from a sidesaddle. After all, if your knee is over the horn and your right foot hooked behind your left calf, you’re locked into the saddle and nothing is going to budge you. Althea would have secured her seat and fought her horse to a standstill. The horse didn’t live who was too much for her. And I said as much to Orrin Judd. But it was the wrong time.”

  “What do you mean?” Camilla prodded.

  “He was wild with grief, and he thought I was trying to make trouble of some sort—to blame him. He was blaming himself as it was for not having got rid of the horse long before. There wasn’t anyone I could talk sensibly to, until your father got here. He saw what I meant, but by that time it was impossible to get through to Orrin. He took to his bed, except for the funeral, and they stood about him, holding everyone else away. The three of them—Hortense and Booth and Letty. I don’t suppose Orrin would have believed us anyway.”

  “Believed what?” Camilla asked. She felt cold and her hands were clammy.

  “Believed that what happened was not wholly an accident,” Mrs. Landry said flatly. “Your father believed it, but there was nothing he could do. No evidence of any sort.”

  “But—but why? I mean why would anyone have wanted to harm my mother?”

  “Your grandfather sent for her when he was ill, and once he saw her again he knew where his affections lay. He was at outs with the rest of the family by that time, and he felt Althea had been treated badly. So he was going to change his will. I gather that he meant to do the same sort of thing he did in the will which left everything to you. But he tossed it in their faces. He let them know what he intended ahead of time. So two days before Althea was to leave for home, the horse threw her. Only I don’t believe it.”

  Camilla heard her out in sick dismay. It all sounded so horrible—and so possible. She could believe these things now, as she might not have believed them when she had first come to Thunder Heights. She could believe because she knew what it was like to be the hunted one.

  “The thing I’ve never understood,” Nora said, “was why old Orrin waited so long before he sent for you, Camilla. If his feelings had changed toward Althea, why didn’t he want to know her daughter?”

  “John King took care of that,” Mrs. Landry said. “I remember him as a gentle person, with great kindness and sensitivity. He won all our hearts in the old days. But when a gentle person is angered it can be a fearful thing to see. He swore Orrin Judd would never have his daughter, and that neither of them would ever set foot in Thunder Heights from that day on.”

  Camilla spoke softly. “And he kept his word as long as he lived. Now I understand why he would never talk about what happened to my mother. Now I can understand why his sickness over her death was more than ordinary grief.”

  Mrs. Landry reached across the little table to cover Camilla’s hand with her own. “This is why I had to see you. You must never make the misstep your mother made.”

  Camilla
nodded mutely.

  She had forgotten her guests for a time, and she looked around dazedly. Letty had not chosen to join them for refreshments and was still at her harp. Hortense had taken over the duties of hostess in the grand manner and was moving about among the tables with an air of doing what she had been brought up to do. Ross had disappeared after his waltz with Camilla and was nowhere to be seen. Camilla’s eyes moved uneasily from face to face, now searching for only one. She found it at length. Booth had withdrawn a little from the scene. She saw him on the far side of the lawn, leaning against an elm tree, the light from a lantern flickering across his dark face.

  He was watching her. She met his eyes across the expanse of laughing, chattering people, and she could not look away. It was like the exchange of a lover’s gaze, she thought queerly. He was waiting for her. Waiting for the time that he would hold her in his arms. She was aware of the cold sweat upon her palms, and she reminded herself quickly that Ross had returned. She was not alone any more. Tomorrow she would talk to him, tell him everything. He would know what to do.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It was well into the evening when the last guests had left and the Japanese lanterns had been extinguished. Camilla went upstairs, only too ready to drop the role she had been playing and let down her guard. Now she could be afraid, if she wanted to be afraid. And she could think about what she must say to Ross Granger tomorrow morning. She must plan an ordered recital, so that he would believe her and not dismiss her words as nonsense.

  When she reached her room, she found that the door she always left closed stood ajar. For an instant the feeling she had experienced in the cellar, staring down at a broken step that might have pitched her headlong, swept over her again. Fear was like nausea in her stomach, and she did not want to go in. She pushed the door wide and stepped just across the threshold.

  But it was only Letty, waiting there in her room. She sat in the little rocker before the cold hearth, still dressed in her frock of misty lavender, rocking gently back and forth, and twisting a bit of lavender in her fingers. Mignonette slept comfortably in the middle of the bed, none the worse for her imprisonment in the cellar.