by Jane Toombs
After giving Johanna her bath and playing with her until the baby grew drowsy, Vera found it was getting on for eight. She eased Johanna into the crib and replaced the straight- backed chair under the nursery doorknob before unlocking her own door and taking the key so she could relock it from the outside.
Satisfied no one could get at Johanna, she went down to breakfast, finding John and the twins in the dining room. John's warm smile, she told herself firmly, was meant as a pleasant, impersonal greeting. She mustn't imagine it was especially for her.
"I could show you around after breakfast, if you like," Sergei said to her. "The fog's lifting so we can go outside, too."
"Thank you. I'd like to go, but I can't today." Turning to John, she said, "Can you have a bolt put on the inside of the nursery door to the hall? I've improvised a temporary barrier, but I won't leave Johanna in a room with no lock on the door."
"I hadn't realize there wasn't one," John said. "I'll ask Jose to put on a bolt as soon as possible. Is she all right?"
As Vera nodded, Samara said, "Did--did something happen?"
"Johanna's face was scratched last night," John told her.
"How?" Sergei asked.
"We don't know yet."
"If Diablo were alive we could blame him." Sergei paused and looked down at his plate. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to--"
"That's all right." John's voice was heavy.
Geneva pushed through the swinging door with a serving cart full of covered dishes just as Vincent strolled in from the other side of the dining room.
"Ah," he said, "I smell muffins."
"Cheese omelet this morning, sir," Geneva told John as she rolled the cart to the table. She glanced sideways at Vincent. "And orange muffins."
Irma had cooked an excellent breakfast. Marie straggled in as they were finishing, her eyes looking puffy.
"Just made it," Vincent told her.
"I know I'm late." Marie's voice was sullen. "I wouldn't bother at all if I could get a decent meal any other way around here."
"You know there's not enough help to have trays brought to the bedrooms." John spoke pleasantly but firmly.
"Aunt Adele and Theola eat in their rooms," Marie pointed out.
"It's difficult for either of them to go up and down stairs." John's tone held a hint of warning.
Marie shrugged. "I don't see Stan here, either."
"He's a guest."
"And I'm not?"
"Guests don't hang around for years," Vincent put in. "So drink your coffee and smile--you've survived to greet another day in Hallow House. You should know by now no one wins an argument with my brother."
The bickering bothered Vera, though John seemed to be ignoring it. Escaping as soon as she finished eating, she hurried back to Johanna. The baby was still asleep, but stirred when Vera leaned over her. Soon Johanna was sitting in the nursery high chair examining a rattle with grave curiosity.
Watching her, Vera decided her cheeks might be a bit plumper already. She tried not to see the brown scabs. If the sun broke through the fog, she'd take the baby outside for some fresh air. Now, though, only tiny patches of blue peeked through its grayness.
"Ma," Johanna gurgled as she banged the rattle against the high chair tray.
"I'm Vera."
"Mama," Johanna responded, grinning happily at her. Nonsense syllables, Vera reminded herself. Yet her heart contracted as she realized she was the closest to a mother this baby was likely to have.
"Aunt Adele would like to meet you."
John spoke from behind her, making her jump. She'd removed the chair from under the doorknob and he'd opened the nursery door without her hearing him.
"I'd like to show you something first," Vera said, taking the rag doll and the jet hatpin from a drawer. "I found the doll on my bed last night when I came back to the room. This pin was stuck into the doll's throat. I'm almost certain the hatpin was used to scratch Johanna."
He took them from her. "Do you still think the woman you saw coming from the nursery was responsible?"
"I don't know. But it's true only old women use hatpins today."
He left the doll on the baby's chest of drawers, but took the hatpin with him as they went down the hall, Vera carrying Johanna.
Aunt Adele's suite of rooms were near the head of the stairs. John knocked and a thin old voice bade him enter. Two small white-haired women sat in identical upholstered platform rockers, one dressed entirely in black, the other in a long-skirted mauve gown. Vera realized she couldn't tell which one she'd seen coming out of the nursery.
"Aunt Adele," John said to the one in mauve, "this is Vera Morgan, the nurse taking care of Johanna."
Adele's glance was sharp. "Bring the baby closer," she demanded, speaking with an accent.
When Vera came near, the old woman reached up and plucked Johanna from her grasp. "Here is your old auntie," she crooned to the child. "Have you a nice smile for me?" She sat Johanna against her and rocked back and forth.
"A nasty business," Adele said to John. "But, as I told you, it had happened before Theola got there. She heard the baby scream, did you not, Theola?"
The old woman in the black dress nodded. "I saw no one at all." Her voice was high and quavering, with more of an accent than Adele's. "I was too late." She leaned forward and smiled at Johanna, reaching out a gnarled finger that the baby grasped and tried to put in her mouth.
"Why didn't you say something to me?" Vera asked. "I saw you come out of the nursery and I--" Her words trailed off. How could she tell this frail old lady what she'd thought?
"I was going for help," Theola said. "Then you came running and I knew you must be the new nurse. I did say, Johanna is hurt,' perhaps you did not hear me." Theola shifted back in her rocker. "I thought you would take care of her and I do not like to leave Adele alone too long in case she needs me."
Aunt Adele snorted. "My heart is as good as yours."
"Vera found a hatpin." John held it out to his great-aunt.
"Not mine." She shook her head decisively. "Nor Theola's, for all she is so fond of black." Adele turned the pin in her fingers. "It is old. The shaft is true gold--see how it has been bent with use. Probably one of Tabitha's."
"I thought her things were packed away long ago," John said.
"Odds and ends keep turning up from time to time."
"Who is Tabitha?" Vera asked.
"She was my brother's wife," Adele said. "She is the one who started all this evil nonsense."
"She's dead, then?"
Adele nodded. "She died young." Her shrewd black eyes focused on Vera. "My brother Boris brought me to this house from Russia when I was hardly more than a child."
"I came with her," Theola put in.
Evidently seeing Vera's confusion, John said, "Boris Gregorovich, my grandfather, built Hallow House. He'd shortened the family name to Gregory by then. Boris married Tabitha and she died not long after their son was born--my father, Micah."
"In 1869 Boris built Hallow House," Adele said. "He had been born in Russia, as I was. He was almost forty by the time he took a bride and this is the house he built for her. She did not live in it long. I have been here over sixty years."
"Aunt Adele is in her eighties," John said. "We're not quite sure exactly where."
"Yes, we lost count during the bad times. I was Boris's baby sister. He worked so hard for happiness, then had it such a short time." She shook her head. "He was enamored of Tabitha's breeding, not realizing the darkness hidden within her."
"She first used the room," Theola said. "She had the door painted black."
Johanna whimpered.
"Let me take her," Vera said. "I think she's getting hungry."
Adele gave up the baby, saying, "Thin as a toothpick, poor thing." She fixed her attention on John. "You must keep Vera Morgan here. Do not let her leave."
John's brown eyes held Vera transfixed as he spoke to Adele, all the while looking at her. "I hope she'll stay." Hi
s smile was for her alone, she was certain.
"Johanna's my charge. I won't leave her," Vera managed to say, hoping no one could tell how breathless that smile had made her.
As John went down the stairs with her, she said, "Your great-aunt has a very sharp mind."
He nodded. "No senility there. Adele can't get around much but old Theola is devoted to her and she's still able to take care of Adele."
"Is Theola a relative, too?"
He looked amused. "We all believe she's Adele's illegitimate half-sister. Adele gets furious if anyone hints at this so we pretend to believe the 'distant cousin' explanation."
They met Vincent at the foot of the stairs. "I'm going into town," he said. "Is there anything--" He broke off, reaching to turn Johanna's face so her could see it better. "My God, what happened?"
"Someone scratched her with a hatpin last night when Vera left her to fetch a baby bottle from the kitchen," John said.
"Damn it, they've carved a four on her forehead. That's crazy."
John tensed, turning to face Vincent.
"It's got to stop." Vincent's face was pale, jaw clenched.
"I wasn't the one who started it." Ice coated John's words.
Vincent stared at him for a moment before turning on his heel, flinging himself at the front door and slamming it behind him.
John stalked into the library without another word, leaving Vera gaping after him. Johanna began to cry.
In the kitchen, she found Jose sitting at the table over a cup of coffee. He started to get up.
"Please don't leave," she said. "I'm just going to feed the baby."
Jose eased back down, regarding her warily. He looked to be in his forties, maybe fifty, considering the streaks of gray in his wavy dark hair. Though he wasn't tall, he was powerfully built.
Irma came in from the pantry. "I set the high chair in the corner." She pointed. "It won't get in the way and there's no draft there. Left a stool beside it so's you'd have a place to sit."
"Thanks."
"I just finished grinding up some carrots for her, in case you want some."
Johanna ate her carrots in the high chair. Then Vera lifted her out and sat at the table to give her the bottle. Once the baby finished that, Vera put her in the high chair again while she made another batch of formula. While she was mixing it, Jose cleared his throat.
"Who make that numero?" he asked.
"I don't know who scratched her forehead," Vera told him. "We're trying to find out."
"Diablo," Jose said.
"The cat's dead," Irma reminded him.
"No, not gato. Diablo."
Vera, exasperated with the talk of devil marks and dead cats and the supernatural, said firmly, "Someone in this house hurt Johanna. A person."
To her surprise, Jose nodded. "Si. Someone in the house make acuerdo--how you say? Make a contract with el diablo. With the devil. I come and I fix the bolt on that baby's door, pronto."
Jose did complete his work quickly and, as Vera shot the bolt on the nursery door, she relaxed a little. Now she could be sure Johanna was safe.
Later in the afternoon, when Johanna was napping, and Vera was resting in her room, someone knocked on the door. She opened it, expecting to see one of the twins. Instead, Vincent stood there.
"Come take a walk outside with me," he said.
Noting his eyes were clear and his words not slurred, Vera was tempted. She could use a breath of fresh air. Glancing toward the nursery made her hesitate.
"I don't want Johanna to wake up and find me gone," she said doubtfully.
"A short walk," Vincent said. "You won't be gone long." So Vera put on her coat and locked her door. About to drop the key into her pocket, she paused.
"What's the matter?" Vincent asked.
"I really shouldn't take this key with me. What if there's a fire or something--no one could open Johanna's door to rescue her."
"Take it with you. I promise we'll stay in sight of the house."
Since Vera couldn't decide who to leave the key with-- how could she trust anyone?--she finally slid it into her pocket.
They left the house through the front door, walking out onto the side veranda she hadn't been able to see in yesterday's gray blanket. The fog was gone completely and the sun shone warmly. A faint scent of evergreens made her look to her left at a stand of tall pines near the house.
To her right, orange groves climbed the hillside. Beyond the hill, the snowy peaks of the
Sierras loomed. A hint of the snow freshened the breeze that lifted the tendrils of hair escaping from her braids.
"Beautiful," she murmured.
"Oh, yes," Vincent said, taking her arm to urge her down the steps. "Beautiful."
As they walked away from the house, she glanced at him, surprised by the bitterness in his words. What was wrong with beauty?
"Like a mask painted on a leprous face," he added. Deciding to ignore what he said, she paused, turned, and looked back at the house. Wide carved handrails followed the steps up to the porch, the banisters heavy with fruits and flowers carved into the wood. Fluted columns with an elaborate pediment supported the overhang. She craned her neck back to look up at the three stories, blinding white in the sunlight.
Twin towers in the center of the roof were fussily decorated with more of the scrollwork. The windows, narrow and double for the most part, had decorated cornices. A small balcony curved above the porch.
Vera was reminded of a dowager hung with all her accumulated jewels and finery, yet the effect was not ridiculous. Overwhelming was a more appropriate word. Vincent remained silent. She could see the distaste on his face, but as she looked at him, another emotion narrowed his lips and tensed his jaw muscles. She'd label it fear if she could believe it possible for anyone to be afraid of a house.
"What a magnificent old place," she said. "Your grandfather must have been an unusual person to build a mansion so far away from everything."
"From any civilization, you mean."
"I was thinking more of San Francisco. I could imagine this house on one of the hills there--Russian or Telegraph or Nob."
"If John told you about Grandpa Boris, I'm sure he didn't mention why the old scoundrel left the city."
"Scoundrel?" she echoed.
"A good old-fashioned word for our grandfather who was a good old-fashioned swindler. A smile, a compliment--the more flowery the better--then the knife slipped in between the ribs so expertly you didn't even know you'd been stabbed until you were out in the street and Boris Gregory was running your business. He changed the name from Gregorovich to sound more American. Boris might as well have changed the name to Volk--the Russian word for wolf. That would have fit his wolf nature--rapacious and cunning."
"You sound as though you knew him."
"Which, of course, I didn't. I assume that's what you meant to point out, clever little Vera."
They'd begun circling the house as they talked and, made uncomfortable by Vincent's sardonic remarks, she concentrated on the surroundings. Noting the bare branches of what seemed to be orchards, she asked, "What kind of trees are those?"
"Apple, pear, peach and apricot."
"So this is an operating farm."
"Ranch, as we say in the San Joaquin Valley. Also cattle and vegetables as well as grape vines. Everything. And we don't need any of it."
"You don't need...?"
"While I admit running the place keeps John sane if not happy, I couldn't care less for the joys of a country squire. But I didn't haul you out here to discuss my problems." He halted and looked around quickly as though checking to see if anyone was in sight.
He turned to her and said grimly, "You can't stay here, Vera."
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"I thought at first it wouldn't matter," he went on. "I knew someone had to take care of the baby. When John mentioned hiring a nurse I guess I envisioned a typical English nanny--someone old and homely like the last one. You're not."
Vera drew herself up. "I may be young, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of Johanna."
Vincent waved a hand. "I don't doubt your credentials. That poor little brat loves you already. The problem is you're a threat to someone, you stand in their way. The mark on Johanna's forehead is that person's mark of defiance."
"Who? Who are you talking about?"
Vincent was silent for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer. "I don't know," he said finally. "The person could be anyone in the house. Anyone at all."
Vera felt a chill that had nothing to do with the November wind. "You're saying that person doesn't want Johanna protected? Why on earth would anyone wish to harm her. Only a madman--"
"Exactly," Vincent interrupted. "One of us in Hallow House is quite mad. You're not safe in your role as Johanna's nurse. Don't you see you must leave as soon as possible?"
She gave him her best no-nonsense glare. "And leave Johanna unprotected? I was hired to take care of her and I intend to do just that. Now I think we've been outside long enough, it’s time to go back."
As she moved away, Vincent grasped her arm. "You must listen. I know what I'm talking about."
"It's my responsibility to take care of the baby."
"John can hire someone else."
"If what you say is true, then any woman who took care of Johanna would be in danger," she countered. "At least you've warned me. I intend to take every precaution—as I've already started to do with a bolt on the nursery door. I'll keep her safe. She needs me and I want to be with her."
"I need you, too, Vera. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."
She couldn't believe her ears. Pulling herself free of his restraining hand, she said, "We've just met."
He couldn't be serious. Hadn't he mocked her, made fun of her? There'd been no indication he was interested in her.
"You're real," he said. "You cut through all the nonsense here like a bright new knife. You even make me want to change my ways. Yes, I need you."
Vera shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I really don't understand."
"Let me take you away."
She was thunderstruck. "I hardly know you."
