The Stone Bull

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  Naomi, taking charge again, had pushed Irene into a chocolate-hued armchair and pulled up an ottoman for her feet. Irene allowed herself to be arranged in the chair, and she nodded when Naomi offered to fix her a cup of tea. When she had gone off toward the kitchen, Irene turned her new, quiet look that seemed all too unemotional upon me.

  “It was Loring who fixed that rock to fall,” she said as calmly as though she commented on the rain. “It was Loring who coaxed Floris into the Lair and waited for Ariel to go at her usual time to that rock over the lake.”

  I sat down heavily in a white chair, unable to speak.

  “I’ve suspected this for a long time,” she went on. “Floris and he never got on and she was threatening to cause a scandal by using Ariel’s name. She would have dragged us all into it. Loring was afraid of what she might do. I couldn’t feel sorry when she died. But I think that recent anonymous call to the police was something Loring did himself—in order to threaten Brendon and make him do what Loring wants.”

  “Does he know you believe all this?”

  “Of course. That’s why he struck me. He told me to keep my mouth shut about such lying nonsense. I suppose I really was pretty aggravating.”

  Under her calm there seemed a hint of satisfaction—as though his striking her had released her from some bondage. As though provocation had been deliberate.

  “Why are you so sure?” I asked.

  But at that moment Naomi came back with her tray of cups and teapot, and we all sat down to a cozy afternoon tea party—like the Mad Hatter’s—so that I began to wonder if I were Alice, and Naomi the Red Queen. Increasingly, I had the feeling that we were all marking time, waiting for something dreadful to happen.

  15

  It did happen—and very soon.

  Now it is days later. Only an accident, of course. What else? Yet we are all badly shaken, and I have been questioned endlessly, both by the police and by the family. Undoubtedly I am whispered about throughout the hotel. Because I was there. I saw what happened—but no one quite believes me, and I am looked at askance.

  It’s true that the family, including Brendon, has stood by me, that I’ve been as protected from unpleasant intrusion as any McClain could be, but underneath the surface banding-together lie all the unanswered questions—which may never be answered. We wait anxiously.

  Now, more than ever, I am urged to leave, and they have all pointed out that there is no reason for my staying. Since Brendon and I have parted for good, there is nothing to hold me here. Yet I must search. I am not satisfied about anything.

  That Mad Hatter’s tea seems a long time ago now, though only a week or so has passed. It is October, and the woods are gloriously aflame. I have never seen such riotous beauty. I walk the trail to Panther Rock and look across a chasm of color to High Tower on the mountain. The falcons are gone now. Every hillside is an artist’s palette of colors, yet I have no heart for painting. I have not even retrieved my sketching kit from Magnus’ cabin. Futile little drawings I put on paper don’t seem to matter anymore.

  There are guests here for the fall beauty, and I am not afraid to walk anywhere alone. Someone is always around, and there have been visiting groups besides, to help fill the rooms.

  But on that rainy Saturday night of the day when Irene and Loring quarreled, there were fewer visitors than usual over the weekend. Most of the elderly ladies, or couples who come every year to spend the summer, were gone, and there was a slight lull before full autumn splendor brought those who came to relish the painted forests for the first time.

  That night a movie was to be shown in the big room that served as meeting room, music room and ballroom, and guests gathered there after dinner. I had spent a restless afternoon and didn’t feel like settling down to watch imaginary figures on a screen. I didn’t know or care what movie was being shown.

  Dinner had been another uncomfortable meal, with Irene absent, though the others were all there. Loring gave no indication of the quarrel with his wife, except that now and then I caught his eyes on me speculatively. Naomi treated him rudely, but didn’t explain why, though I think her behavior surprised Brendon, who still didn’t know that Loring had struck Irene.

  After dinner, I wandered idly about the hotel, and when the time came for the film showing, I looked into the big lighted room that occupied an annex, protruding from the second-floor corridor over the lake, with its own peaked roof and wide, encircling veranda.

  The rain had turned to no more than a drizzle, and even that was lessening by the time I stepped out on the veranda, with the lighted room behind me and a sheltering roof over my head. The rail was wet, the night chill, but I wore a jacket, and as I walked damp boards, the lake seemed a dark steel mirror reflecting the lightening sky. All around the edge shaggy trees left their reflections in black lace trimming, and up on High Tower the beacon shone serenely. The woods were quiet, except for the endless dripping that went on after a rain.

  Tonight a wind was blowing, rolling away the storm clouds, leaving a hint of full moon to be seen now and then. The room behind me buzzed with voices, and someone was playing a piano—“Let It Rain.” My footsteps echoed on the wide boards as I walked, trying once more to find order in my thoughts.

  What of Brendon now? I knew only that something had died. Something wild and exciting and beautiful that I had thought to treasure forever was gone. Was it always like this—that one loved a mirage? I, no less than Brendon in his love for Ariel. We imagined the being we thought we loved, but when the veil was snatched away, we saw only a stranger.

  What of Magnus? I didn’t know. I knew only that when I was near him I felt safe and warm and reasonably unafraid. But this feeling had nothing in it of the exciting, headlong emotion of falling in love that I had felt toward Brendon. I remembered what Magnus had said about more than one kind of love, yet I felt empty and lost, no more than a shell, now that I knew the Brendon I’d imagined didn’t exist.

  Other thoughts troubled me as well. The things Irene had spoken of without emotion—her flat statements about Loring and the preparation he had made for Floris’ death. How much of that was true? How much was spite on Irene’s part because Loring had slapped her? Why had he really slapped her? He was usually self-controlled and above emotion, yet she had managed to break down that careful reserve.

  The voices and laughter from the room behind me were dying down as the lights dimmed. When I looked through long glass doors I saw only the flickering from the screen reflected upon upturned faces, and heard the sound track as the movie began.

  I strolled to a far corner of the veranda protruding from the face of the hotel. Here I could look up at the outline of turrets, black against a lighter sky. From across the lake a floodlight played upon the face of the structure, but its illumination didn’t reach to where the towers of Camelot were silhouetted, somehow faintly sinister and overpowering. What was it like up there where one could command a view of the entire countryside?

  A whimsy seized me in my restlessness. Now that the night was clearing, the moon full and sailing free of clouds, now that Camelot towers beckoned, I remembered that Brendon had told me that part of the roof was accessible and that stairs near our room led up to it. What a tremendous view there would be up there—of Laurel Mountain by moonlight, of the valleys that lay beyond the hotel, stretching clear to Catskill peaks on the far horizon. I’d seen all the other views—why not this? And why not tonight while the opportunity offered? Who knew how soon I might leave this place forever and the chance might not come again? The thought of this small adventure was exhilarating, drawing me from apathy.

  Inside, the corridors were empty as I hurried along, though in the sitting rooms here and there guests who were not moviegoers lingered. I flitted past without looking in, and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Here there seemed no one about and I followed long hallways past the rooms where I had been so happy, without glancing at their closed doors. In the alcove beyond, narrow stairs rose into shadow.


  When I reached the bottom step, I hesitated, with one hand on the rail, remembering that I did not walk without danger in this place, and the roofs would be dark and lonely. But no—there was bright moonlight, and anyway no one knew I had come up here. Perhaps this was one place where Ariel had never gone.

  Resolutely, I climbed the stairs and found a door at the top. It was unlocked, but heavy to move, and it creaked on unoiled hinges as I struggled to open it. Once I’d pushed it ajar, I could step out upon the surface of the flat roof.

  As I had known, no one roof covered the Mountain House. With all its additional construction over the years, a variety of rooftops abounded. But only this one flat section was intended for observers to visit. There were protecting parapets all around, chimneys of light-colored stone rose here and there and a raised pavilion stood on the far side, with a tiled roof that shone dark in the moonlight and would be red by day. A sharp wind made me shiver in this high, exposed place, yet it was glorious, and I was glad that I had come. I moved behind the parapets looking down upon conglomerate lower roofs, including the one over the room where the movie was being shown. Some roofs were brown-shingled; one just below where I stood was steeply peaked and seemed gray now, though I knew its color was green. Farther away was the long section of steep red roofs above rooms currently in use.

  Now and then an intensified gust of wind howled around the chimneys, and overhead ragged clouds raced the sky. I turned up my jacket collar and thrust my hands into pockets as I faced into the wind, looking west over the great valley with its sprinkling of lights spreading clear to scalloped Catskill peaks in the distance. Then I crossed the wide space of roof to look out toward High Tower and its light, riding the cliff above the dark lake. The grounds below seemed far away, but there were lights down there and I could make out paths and great slanting lawns shimmering in the moonlight.

  Perhaps it was fortunate for me that the door to the roof was heavy and did not open easily. Because of the events that followed, I still don’t know what was truly intended. I only know that as I stood enjoying the view, I heard someone struggling with the door as I had done, heard creaking hinges as it opened, and I acted instinctively. If someone had followed me up here, I had better not be seen, and I stepped quickly behind a massive stone chimney that hid me from view.

  Footsteps crossed the roof, and as he went past my hiding place, I saw Loring Grant. He stepped through the arched doorway of the pavilion and at once I sidled around the chimney, keeping out of sight, frightened by his presence. If the things Irene had said were true, Loring was not someone I wanted to face on this lonely rooftop. But hiding places were limited unless I ventured onto a neighboring roof.

  Stepping carefully, silently, while he was out of sight in the pavilion, I moved to the edge of a parapet where the flat portion ended and an unguarded, slanting roof spread ahead of me, dropping to either side from a central ridge. Here were more chimneys, and the curves of adjoining roofs to offer hiding, if I could reach them. I could see that a board catwalk followed the ridge, and without daring to hesitate I went over the parapet and onto it. The slant of roof on either side was not as steep here as in some parts of the hotel roofs, and I could probably walk it without difficulty. I tested it first, since it was still wet with rain. Then I stepped swiftly toward the shelter of a chimney, where I could once more crouch and feel well hidden.

  Loring was still on the other section of the roof and I couldn’t see him from behind my shelter, nor had I any intention of peering out. It was bad enough to hear him moving about, making no attempt to conceal his presence. The sounds came nearer, and I knew that he must have come close to the parapet between him and the catwalk.

  “Jenny?” He called my name above the rushing sound of the wind, and I held my breath and clung to the stones of the chimney. He knew I was here. He must have seen me go by downstairs, and he had followed me. He must have known that he had me trapped on the roof.

  “Jenny, you shouldn’t be up here alone,” he called. “This is a dangerous place, and you’ve been here long enough. It’s time to go downstairs, Jenny.”

  It was indeed time to go—but not with him. When I heard Loring climb onto the wall to let himself down to the catwalk, my fright increased. There would be no Magnus to rescue me this time, and my danger was very real. Yet Loring blocked the way to escape, and my only hope was to be still and pray that he wouldn’t find the place where I was hiding. A wild chase over the rooftops didn’t appeal to me.

  Momentarily, the moon went behind flying clouds, and I peered cautiously from behind my chimney. Loring stood on the parapet, silhouetted against the sky, while well below him I was in dark shadow. As I watched I heard a second screeching of hinges as the roof door swung open again, and someone I could hear but not see ran out upon the roof.

  Whoever it was must have glimpsed Loring poised on the high parapet, his back to the intruder. There was a rush of steps across the roof and I saw Loring turn and recoil. A moment later a long pole like a broom handle came into view, thrusting at Loring like a lance. I think it never touched him, but he leaped to my side of the roof, slipped on the catwalk and went sliding down the shingles. I held my breath in shock as he reached the edge. There was a moment when he struggled to catch himself. Then I heard him scream as he went over. Somewhere below there was a dreadful crash, followed by an equally dreadful silence. I shall hear that scream echoing in my nightmares for the rest of my life. For moments longer I cowered behind the chimney with hands over my ears as though I could wipe out the memory of that terrible sound.

  But I knew I must listen for something else. Was the person with the broomstick still there on the other roof? When I took down my hands, I heard running steps, the sound of the door again, followed by silence. There was a long, dreadful hush before an outcry of voices sounded far below. Loring’s scream and his fall had been heard, and there were shouts of alarm, men running about.

  I left my chimney cautiously and went back to the flat section of roof on legs that felt weak and unsupportive. The roof stood empty now, and the door was closed. I looked down from the parapet and saw a cluster of figures in the lighted area below. Some of them were looking upward.

  The moon sailed the sky again and now I could make out Loring’s body lodged on one of the lower roofs, unmoving as an empty sack. I shouted down to those on the ground.

  “He’s caught on that roof down there! Come and get him quickly before he slides off!”

  Those below scurried like ants, and I turned away, too sick and shaken to watch.

  Somehow I managed to cross the empty expanse and open the heavy door to look down the stairs. Would someone be waiting for me around the turn into the corridor? But the very hush of the hallway seemed deserted. I went down a few steps and sat upon the stairs, leaning my head against the wall, waiting for my trembling and my fright to subside.

  It was Brendon who found me there. I must have looked at him in a dazed, half-witted way, because he shook me, trying to jar some sense into me. Others were around us now, staring at me. Vaguely I recognized members of the hotel staff.

  “It’s all right, Jenny,” Brendon said. “They’ve brought him in through a window, and an ambulance is coming.”

  I looked up at him, still shivering. “Is he …?”

  “He’s alive. We don’t know how badly he’s been injured.”

  I tried to stand up, and then did something I’ve never done in my life before—I fainted.

  When I came to, choking because Naomi was waving an old-fashioned bottle of smelling salts under my nose, I found that I was lying on a plush sofa in the McClains’ parlor near the dining room. There were others in the room, staring at me from a distance, but Brendon was gone. Only Naomi knelt on the floor close beside me waving her little green bottle.

  “Take it away!” I gasped.

  She replaced the glass stopper and I breathed pure air thankfully. But she wouldn’t let me alone. With quick little taps she patted my fa
ce, as though she expected me to go out again.

  “You’ve got to come to,” she said. “You’ve got to tell us what happened.”

  “Loring,” I murmured. “He—he fell.”

  “Yes—we know. He’s still alive, but unconscious. The ambulance has taken him away. How did it happen, Jenny? Why were you up there?”

  I closed my eyes and took long deep breaths, grateful when Irene came quietly into the room and began to shoo everyone away, including Naomi. Apparently she could be as strong a person in a crisis as I had once thought she might be, because whatever emotion she felt now was being held sternly in check. At the moment she appeared to have only one concern—me.

  When they were all out and she had closed the door, she pulled up a chair and sat beside my sofa.

  “Now then, Jenny, tell me exactly what happened. Brendon says you were on the roof. Collect yourself and talk to me. We only want to help you.”

  “Help me?” I opened my eyes fully and stared at her. She had used careful make-up over the welt on her cheek. “Why aren’t you on the way to the hospital with your husband?”

  Her expression softened momentarily into more familiar lines. “They took him away before I knew he was hurt. Brendon will drive me in soon. But Jenny—I lost my husband years ago. Bruce was my real husband. I couldn’t ever put Loring in his place. Right now Brendon wants me to find out what happened up there on the roof. Why did you go up there?”

  My voice cracked as I tried to explain. “I—I only wanted to see the view. Loring must have followed me and—”