by Judith Stacy
“Well, if you should see her, let me know.” Caroline placed the flower on the service cart alongside the coffee and bowl of oatmeal. “Add some fruit to the tray. The strawberries look nice this morning.”
“Mr. Monterey don’t prefer fruit.”
“Sprinkle a little sugar on them and serve them anyway,” Caroline said. “They’re good for him.”
Caroline ignored the cook’s disapproving frown, fetched her notebook from the breakfast room and went looking for Charles.
She found him in the conservatory. He reported that the cleaning supplies she’d had him order yesterday had been delivered. Caroline gave him the list of rooms that needed the attention of the maids.
“Please ask them to begin immediately,” Caroline said. “And let me know when the workmen arrive this morning.”
She started to walk away, then turned back. “No need to trouble Delfina with this. Or Mr. Monterey.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A small smile appeared on the butler’s lips. “I understand completely.”
Caroline knew that he did. The servants knew more of what went on in a home than the owners did.
She supposed she’d stalled long enough.
Caroline stood in the hallway outside Stephen’s office straightening her mauve skirt, flicking away little bits of lint that didn’t exist. She had to go inside. She had to settle down to the work she was being paid to perform.
Not that she didn’t want to work. In fact, she’d welcome it. Something to put her mind to, to focus her thoughts on, to hold her attention. To keep her imagination from roaming.
Such passion…
Caroline closed her eyes, letting herself drift back to yesterday when Stephen had kissed her. After reliving the moment dozens of times, she still found the memory caused her heart to flutter and her stomach to tighten.
He’d kissed her with passion. Yes, she was sure that had to be it. She’d never experienced it before, but she knew. She just knew.
For those few brief moments he’d smothered her with it. And she’d let him. Willingly she’d been swept along, riding the rising tide of desire, need and soul-searing passion.
He’d surprised her. First with the kiss, then with its urgency. Stephen was reserved and controlled. She hadn’t suspected such depths seething within him.
The power that man had over her! She’d sensed it from the first moment they’d met. Before, Caroline had feared it. She’d even refused to work for him for just that reason.
But now, after that kiss…
Caroline forced her eyes open, forced her thoughts back to the reality of her situation. She was here to do a job. Not for passionate kisses, stolen glances or romantic foolishness. Besides, she didn’t want any part of that sort of thing. She wanted to be a graphologist and work for Pinkerton. So she would simply walk into the office, ignore Stephen and get to work.
With that thought firmly in her mind, Caroline went inside.
Her gaze locked on to Stephen like a gun sight to a bull’s-eye. He sat hunched over his desk, reading and eating strawberries. Her heart tumbled.
Her footsteps caused him to glance up at her. He did a double take, then rose to his feet.
“Good morning,” he said, and licked the tips of his fingers. “Again.”
“Good morning.” She pulled the cloth napkin from beneath the empty oatmeal bowl on the serving cart and passed it to him. “Again.”
He looked uncomfortable and she felt uncomfortable, and she couldn’t bear it, for him any more than for herself. Caroline gestured to the papers centered on his desk.
“Still working on the Johannesburg report?” she asked.
He seemed not to hear her or understand her for a moment. Then he glanced down.
“Oh, yes, the report from Girard.” He wiped the napkin over his mouth and tossed it aside.
“Is the news getting any better?”
“No. It looks as if I’m going to have to do something about the situation.”
“Such as?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to finish the report, check out a few things, do some more investigating. I don’t like to rush into things…usually.”
Caroline’s skin tingled. Was their kiss yesterday something he’d rushed into? Was that what Stephen was thinking about now?
She looked away, sure she was imagining things.
“I’m going to get to work on those handwriting samples,” she said, and gestured to the table in the corner where her tools were still laid out.
Caroline settled at the table and shuffled through the papers, trying to find where she’d left off yesterday. But the handwriting blurred. The dampness of her fingers made the papers sticky. Her trembling hands made the words jump.
And Stephen staring at her made her want to run from the room—or to him. She wasn’t sure which.
She determinedly focused on her work. Stephen took his seat again and turned back to the Johannesburg report. That lasted only a few minutes before he rose and pulled open all the windows.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, almost as an afterthought, waving his hand toward the windows.
“No, it’s fine.” Caroline shifted in her chair. “Actually, I’m a little warm myself.”
“Would you like to move your table closer to the window?” he asked.
“I don’t want to be any more bother,” she said.
“No bother.”
Stephen caught the back of her chair to assist her. She rose into the circle of his arms.
Mere inches away, Caroline gazed at him, her face upturned, his staring down. The warmth she’d felt a moment ago turned into a blazing fire.
Some inner turmoil warred within him and was reflected in the changing expressions she saw on his face. His mouth drew into a tight line; the worry lines around his eyes deepened. Then, as quickly as they’d appeared, they were gone. Stephen leaned closer.
Caroline’s heart rose in her throat, thudding so hard she couldn’t breathe. She rose on her tiptoes. Her eyelids sank. Her mouth sought his, guided by some unknown force. His hot breath fanned her lips, pulling her closer, closer until—
“Excuse me, Mr. Monterey.”
Caroline’s eyes sprang open, to find herself standing alone at the table and Stephen several feet away with his big shoulders blocking her view. She peered around him. Charles was in the doorway, glancing discreetly at everything in the room but the two of them.
“Miss Sommerfield is needed elsewhere,” Charles said.
“Thank you, Charles.” Caroline jetted around Stephen and out the door without looking at either man. Her heart thumped and her knees wobbled, but she made it down the hallway without collapsing.
As she’d expected, she found the five-man work crew the decorator had arranged for waiting in the green sitting room. They all looked young and strong, which Caroline was glad to see, since it was up to her to deliver the news that every piece of furniture in the sitting room had to be moved to the attic above the third floor.
The men took the news in good humor, and Caroline led the way upstairs with their first load. She thought about hoisting a chair or two onto her own back to work off some of the energy roiling through her.
Brenna and Joey came out of the nursery as she walked past.
“Good morning,” she called.
Brenna took Joey’s hand, but he pulled against her and whined. “Not such a good morning for us, I’m afraid.”
“What’s wrong?” Caroline asked. Joey didn’t seem to be in the best mood today.
Brenna held tightly to his hand, keeping him out of the way of the movers, and said quietly to Caroline, “Frankly, I think he’s lonely for children his own age. And he’s a little bored of me. He asked about his mother again this morning.”
She seemed to take it in stride and wasn’t hurt.
“Aren’t there some neighbor children you can visit?” Caroline asked.
Brenna rolled her eyes. “And leave the grounds? Mr. Mont
erey forbade it.”
“Stephen?”
“No. Colin.”
“But he’s been dead for months.”
“Change comes slowly in the Monterey household, if you hadn’t noticed.” Brenna gave her a long-suffering smile. “Come along, Joey.”
Caroline hurried down the wide hallway to catch up with the procession of moving furniture that had gone ahead without her. She climbed the staircase to the third floor where the servants lived, then led the train of grunting men through the service door and up the final flight of steps to the attic.
Delfina had pointed out the door to her during their spring-cleaning tour, but Caroline hadn’t come up here until now. The attic was nearly as big as the lower floors of the house, cut in somewhat to accommodate the steep roof, with an eight-foot, beamed ceiling. Rows of windows let in sunlight.
Half of the attic was already filled with castoffs—furniture, mirrors, boxes, crates, Joey’s crib. A thin layer of dust covered everything and the air smelled musty, heavy with the scent of things discarded and forgotten.
Caroline directed the workmen where to place their burdens, but didn’t leave when they headed downstairs for another load. Instead she poked around, peering into boxes, peeking into crates.
If she expected to find ghosts of the Monterey family, they weren’t here. Just typical attic things. Even a wealthy family had its share of junk, it seemed.
Two huge cedar closets had been built into the attic, as was typical for homes of this type. Clothing generated by a family with position could be sizable. Evening wear was usually stored.
Caroline opened the first door and saw gowns that, judging from the waist, belonged to Delfina. Dozens in a variety of styles and colors hung there.
She opened the second closet, expecting more of the same. But Caroline stopped still in her tracks, holding open the door, staring inside.
It seemed the attic had its ghost, after all.
Chapter Eleven
Caroline pushed the closet door open wider, allowing sunlight from the windows to illuminate the interior. She became aware of the silence. No voices drifted from downstairs, no birdsongs floated in through the windows, no boards creaked beneath her feet. She stepped into the closet.
Gowns, dresses, blouses and skirts dangled from a rack on one side of the closet. Boxes stacked chest high were on the other. Shoes, slippers, boots rested on shelves at the rear.
Her lungs became labored, pulling in tight gasps of air. But it wasn’t the musty smell that made it difficult for Caroline to breathe, or the warm, thick air. It was the possessions crammed into this closet, discarded, locked away and forgotten. Like the person they’d belonged to.
Caroline ran her hands over the beaded gowns, the ruffled dresses on the rack. Aunt Delfina would never fit into these things. They were a young woman’s clothes. Kellen Monterey’s clothes.
Everything was here, packed in hurriedly, carelessly. Shoes lay at odd angles; boxes were stacked crookedly; dresses hung awkwardly on their hangers.
Had the Monterey family been so hurt by Kellen’s departure that they’d tossed her belongings here to minimize their pain? Was Kellen so traumatized over Thomas’s death that she didn’t care what happened to her things?
Or was it something else?
Seeing what had been left behind, Caroline knew the young woman could have taken almost nothing with her. She had good taste, judging from the cut and color of the clothing. And a tall, slender figure to set it off.
Caroline wished she knew more about Kellen Monterey, the young widow who had abandoned her son and the family she’d lived with for at least four years. According to Brenna, she never wrote, never visited. It was as if she’d died, too.
A chill caused Caroline to shiver, despite the warmth of the closet. She’d passed through other peoples’ lives herself, visiting with her father while he worked at a case, then moving on. But she’d never left anything of herself behind. Had any of those people missed her? she wondered.
Caroline pried open one of the boxes and found a selection of handbags packed inside. In another she saw lace underwear and nightgowns. Hats were pushed into another.
She fingered the bow on a little straw skimmer, feeling a strange kinship to Kellen, the woman who’d had husband, child, home and family, and left it all behind. Similar, but not the same as Caroline, who wanted none of those things to begin with.
In the final box, Caroline discovered packets of letters. Some were tied together with pink bows, others loose in the box. She slid one from beneath the ribbon and glanced over it.
As was her habit, she analyzed the writing first. Kellen’s i’s were dotted high and to the right, indicating an outgoing attitude, extroversion and good humor. The simple bottom curve on the stroke of her lowercase l showed an eagerness to embrace the future. Normal spacing between lines gave the impression that she was organized and well-balanced.
Caroline read the contents of the letter. Kellen had written it to Thomas when he was away in San Francisco with Colin and Stephen for a time on some sort of business. It was filled with reports of her daily activities and everything Joey had done, down to the smallest detail. She told Thomas how she missed him, how she loved him. Caroline glanced through a few other letters; they all talked of the same things.
A warm glow burned in Caroline’s stomach, then lifted into her chest until her heart ached. Kellen and Thomas had loved each other with a deep passion. Kellen had written the letters and Thomas had saved each one of them and brought them back home with him.
Deeper in the box Caroline found a stack of letters Thomas had written to Kellen, but she couldn’t bring herself to read them. What she did read was several letters from a male member of Kellen’s family—brother, uncle, cousin, perhaps; Caroline couldn’t determine—inviting Kellen to come see the new orange groves he’d bought. Caroline didn’t recognize the name of the little town on the return address, but guessed it was in southern California, where so much citrus was grown.
There were letters from Kellen’s mother, as well, written before Thomas’s death. Family news, mostly. Talk of a possible trip to California. The return address indicated her mother lived in Georgia. Which was where Kellen probably was right now, Carolina decided. With her mother and not her son.
Caroline replaced the letters in the box and was about to seal it when the corner of a photograph caught her eye. It occurred to her then that among all Kellen’s possessions, there wasn’t one photograph of her.
Nor had she found one now. Caroline pulled the photo from the box and saw two little boys standing on steps leading to a big house. A small carpetbag sat at their feet, indicating they were leaving, or maybe arriving somewhere.
One of the boys was about twelve, the other several years younger. They were dressed in suits that fit poorly, the oldest’s too small, the youngest’s too large, both with patches and missing buttons.
The oldest boy was tall and thin, mostly arms and legs. His hand was clasped over the other boy’s shoulder, holding him close. His face was grim, while the younger boy smiled broadly for the camera.
Caroline’s heart tumbled. It was Stephen. The smaller child was Thomas. This was the photograph Stephen had mentioned to her, the one his uncle had taken when the boys arrived at his home so many years ago.
The same little worry lines Caroline had seen in Stephen’s face this morning were present in the photograph. He held his brother protectively.
Yet for all the details the camera lens had captured, Caroline saw the eyes of a scared little boy trying very hard to be brave.
Caroline touched her finger to the picture, to Stephen’s young, troubled face. He’d spent his whole life, it seemed, worrying and taking care of others.
She considered taking the photograph to him, thinking he might like to have the picture of him and his brother together, but changed her mind. The memory probably wasn’t a happy one, and that’s why the photo had been packed away.
Caroline replac
ed it in the box. She’d found more ghosts in the attic then she’d reckoned on.
When Caroline got down to the green sitting room again, she found Delfina wringing her hands and making little mewling sounds because, apparently, one of the workmen had asked her a question.
“Look, lady, all I want to know is if you want the draperies down or not.”
Caroline stepped in, and Delfina clutched her arm like a lifeline thrown to a drowning victim.
“Oh, Caroline, this is too much. Much too much. We should get Stephen in here to handle this. It’s simply—”
“Don’t worry, Aunt Delfi, we can take care of it.” Caroline patted her hand.
“We can?”
“Of course.” Caroline turned to the workman. “Yes, please take down the drapes and all the hardware. Pack them in the boxes the decorator sent over and store them in the attic with the other things.”
The man grunted, gave Delfina a withering look and went back to work.
“Caroline, oh, Caroline—” Delfina began.
“We have another project to discuss,” Caroline said, guiding her out of the sitting room.
“Another project?”
“In the attic just now I saw several crates of books. Why are they up there?”
“Oh, that was another of Colin’s fascinations,” Delfina said, as they walked down the hallway. “Books, books, books. He collected them from everywhere he traveled. Some are in foreign languages. Others are rare volumes.”
“Are they in good condition?”
“Oh, of course. For everyone but Colin, that is. He was so particular, you know. If he found a page—one single page—with the corner turned down, off it would go to the attic. Everything had to be perfect for him, or out it went.”
Caroline nodded, an idea growing in her head. “I think we should donate them to the public library.”
Delfina stopped. “Donate them?”
“It would be a very civic-minded gesture on the part of the Monterey family,” Caroline said.
“Well…” Delfina frowned.
“The newspaper would surely want to cover it.”
A smile replaced Delfina’s frown. “Oh, Caroline, that’s an excellent idea. I’ll tell Stephen to—”
