Monarchs

by Rainey, Stephen

  "I take it back," she said softly, just for Jan to hear, as she rose to her feet. Then, to David, she said, "I was wondering if I'd get to see you tonight."

  "Wonder no more." He stepped forward and took the hand she extended to him, gently clasping only her fingers. "Nice to see you again. I'm sorry if I caught you in a moment of…frustration."

  He looked more amused than apologetic. But if circumstances had been reversed, she thought, her reaction might not be so different. "Sorry about that," she said with sincerity. "Long story. Things haven't gone so well lately."

  His expression softened a little. "So I understand. What a shame." Then, giving her hand a final squeeze that she interpreted as compassionate, he stepped around the bar, dropped a few ice cubes into a tumbler, and poured himself a tall scotch on the rocks. He pointed to the near-empty wine bottle. "You two look to be well on your way."

  Jan ignored the remark. "Where have you been?"

  "Down at Arlene's cottage. She was having computer problems and asked me if I'd help her out with it."

  "Did you?"

  "Yeah. Spyware. All clean now."

  Jan pressed a hand to her chest. "You mean you actually made yourself useful?"

  "Only briefly."

  Jan glanced at Courtney. "It's against his religion to at least act like decent human being for more than a few minutes every day."

  "It's a constant struggle," he said. "But I like Arlene. Thought I'd make an exception and try to behave for an hour or so." He looked at Courtney. "Arlene's a senior, not very tech-savvy. You'll meet her tomorrow, no doubt."

  "Okay."

  "How about you? Are you spoiled for modern technology?"

  "Well, my life doesn't revolve around electronic gadgets, like most the people I know, if that's what you mean."

  "Good. There isn't much around here to rely on. But you can get on the Internet, and if you climb out on the roof on a cloudless day, you might get cell phone service."

  "That's good to know."

  "I've got an extra laptop you can use anytime you want to," Jan said. "In fact, I'll leave it with you tonight once you're settled in your room."

  "That'd be great. Thanks."

  David took a long swallow of his scotch and said, "Well, I think I'll scrounge up something for dinner. Courtney, have you eaten?"

  "We stopped in Elizabeth City for Japanese on the way in," Jan said, before Courtney could answer. "But Arlene left a pot of shrimp in the kitchen for you and Aunt Martha."

  "Ah yes, she mentioned that." David gave Courtney a long, appraising look and then his wry smile returned. "It'll be grand having you here. I trust you'll enjoy our company."

  "Grand?"

  "Yes, grand."

  "Even the fucking men?"

  "Some of them, anyway."

  "Then I'll see you later." He bowed mockingly and disappeared into the hallway.

  "Sweet, isn't he?" Jan said, crinkling her nose.

  "Well, he's not as crude as when I first met him."

  "I guess that's something."

  "So what's your Aunt Martha like?"

  "She's actually Great-Aunt Martha. Goes back a couple of generations on Dad's side. The third floor belongs to her. She is — how shall I put it? — a bit eccentric."

  "I don't recall you ever talking much about her."

  "She's been around forever. I mean forever. But we almost never see her. She lives her life and we live ours. She usually shows up for meals and that's about it, so I doubt your paths will cross much. But just to warn you — she may be a bit crotchety. She's like that."

  "So am I."

  Jan chuckled and drained the last of her wine. "Well, shall I take you to your room? You can freshen up, go to bed, watch television, anything you like. Or we can always open another bottle."

  "I think I'll pass on the latter. I've had twice too much."

  Jan raised an eyebrow. "You? What, are you getting old on me or something?"

  "No, I'm just delicate. You know that."

  "Yeah. Delicate like a wildcat. Well, come along, dah-ling."

  Courtney followed her out to the foyer, where they picked up her bags, and then — rather than upstairs, as she might have expected — down a long hall toward the back of the house, past the kitchen and several closed doors, to a wing that in recent years must have been used infrequently, if at all. The ancient wallpaper was stained and peeling, the air smelled faintly musty, and a few cobwebs hung in the corners, which thrilled her not at all. However, when Jan came to the end of the hall and opened the last door on the left, Courtney stepped inside to find a small but comfortable-looking suite, with a neatly made single bed, a small television on a stand at its foot; a chest of drawers with a large mirror; a well-used fireplace; a nook with a microwave and coffeemaker; and tiny, private bath with a shower stall. Wide, louvered windows took up most of two walls, and outside, in the dying daylight, she saw only the close-pressing woods and a tiny patch of purple sky overhead. The storm had blown through violently but quickly.

  "This used to be Arlene's suite until we decided to let her have the cottage. I figured you might appreciate the privacy."

  "It's nice," Courtney said, shoving her suitcase into the corner next to the bureau. "I was beginning to wonder if you were leading me down to a dungeon."

  "Sorry. We haven't kept this wing up since Arlene moved. But the room is in good shape, and I think you'll have everything you need to stay with us a while. There's no AC back here, but you've got a ceiling fan." She pointed upward. "The room stays pretty comfortable, even in the summer."

  Courtney smiled gratefully and wrapped her arms around Jan's shoulders. "You don't know how much I appreciate this. I'll never be able to repay you."

  Jan returned her embrace and whispered, "You know better than that." Then, as they parted, she said, "Well, make yourself at home. If you need anything, just shout, and we'll get you fixed up. If you change your mind about that bottle, or just want to sit up for a while, I'll be in the great room."

  "Okay. I think I'll just freshen up and maybe read a little bit before bed. I am about worn out."

  "I know. It shows." Courtney scowled indignantly, and Jan laughed. "Don't worry, you're still ever so beautiful."

  She gave Jan a little shove toward the door, and when her friend had gone, she closed it and hefted her smaller suitcase onto the bed to unpack her most necessary items. Once she had hung some clothes in the closet and stowed the rest in the chest of drawers, she started to undress, only to realize then that the one thing missing in the room was curtains or blinds for the windows. Night had fallen completely now, and the light in the room would make her plainly visible to any eyes on the other side of the glass. Well, there was nothing out there but woods, she thought, and the only eyes that might see her belonged to animals and insects that couldn't care less about spectacles unfolding inside her room. She went ahead and stripped off her clothes, but as soon as she did, she realized that the trees pressing so close to the house actually made her uncomfortable. The shadows seemed too deep, the sounds of chirping and buzzing a little too loud, and she could almost feel the gaze of countless eyes that seemed more curious, more intent, than they should have.

  She wasn't accustomed to being surrounded by true darkness. In the city, even in the dead of night, lights shone brilliantly from far and near, and for most of her life, it had been all she could do to shut out the light that crept incessantly from the world outside.

  She was just about to step into the bathroom when a sound rang from outside that froze her in mid-stride. It sounded like an old woman shrieking, she thought, and she stood motionless, listening for the sound to come again. No further screams came, but after a long, almost disturbing silence, a sharp, feminine voice began babbling, nonsensically but rhythmically, its timbre shrill and piercing, as if someone was calling out in panic in a foreign language.

  Hesitantly, she moved closer to the windows and soon realized that the sound was coming from above.


  Aunt Martha?

  It must be, she thought. But what in God's name did such caterwauling mean? Was the old woman truly in anguish up there, or was this some random outburst of a sort that Courtney had better get used to?

  "A bit eccentric," Jan had said by way of warning. Christ, if that actually was Martha making such noise from her third-floor sanctuary, it was much worse than that. The woman had to be stark, raving mad.

  She debated throwing her robe on and going to find Jan, just to be on the safe side, but then she decided against it, certain that if there really were a problem with the old woman, Jan or David would already be aware of it.

  Her shower didn't last long. The day's travel and the dredging up of her most intimate pain had exhausted her — not to mention more wine in the course of an hour or so than she had consumed in months. After she had dried off and finished her nightly ablutions, she pulled on a long T-shirt that doubled as a nightgown and slid beneath the sheets of her bed, which she found firm and reasonably comfortable. She usually read for about half an hour before bed, but tonight, her eyelids were on their way down before she had even turned off the bedside lamp.

  As consciousness slipped rapidly away, she heard a few distant babblings, which might have been the voice from upstairs, but by then, she was too far gone to care. Her last waking thoughts were of her dead daughter, whose image followed her into her dreams.

  Unfortunately, they were not pleasant.

  Chapter 2

  "Well, fancy you!"

  Startled, Courtney didn't drop the glass of orange juice she had just poured, but she did slosh a portion of it over her bedroom slippers. She managed to stifle an expletive before it could fully emerge, but as she turned, an electric arc of pain zoomed through her neck and skull, rudely reminding her that her tolerance for alcohol was a fraction of what it had been when she and Jan used to close bars on an almost nightly basis. Still, accustomed to rising early, she had gotten up with the sun, counting on being the first to the kitchen. But when she had stepped through the door, she discovered an old steel percolator already hissing and bubbling on the counter, filling the room with a delicious aroma.

  The raspy voice had come from a spindly, featureless wraith, backlit by the brilliant sun framed in the east-facing window. The silhouette cocked its head in birdlike fashion, briefly revealing a pair of narrow violet eyes that regarded her quizzically. Finally, the figure stepped forward so that Courtney could observe it without shielding her eyes.

  Withered was the word for old Aunt Martha. Rail-thin, no more than 90 pounds, with skeletal arms that protruded from the sleeves of her drab housecoat like twigs bent at awry angles. The gray bun at the back of her head pulled her wrinkled skin so taut that her eyes looked Chinese.

  "Good morning," Courtney said, softly, so that her voice would not trigger another wave of pain. "You must be Martha."

  "You think?" the old woman barked, her appraising stare never wavering. "Well, I know who you are, too. I daresay there was advertisement aplenty of your arrival."

  Courtney offered the woman a wan smile. "I guess Jan's been as excited about it as I have."

  "I'm talking about the racket till all hours, which some of us do not appreciate." Martha's eyes bored into hers and didn't blink.

  Courtney raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I went to bed fairly early. I'm afraid I don't recall us making much noise. Sorry."

  "A wine drinker like that young Jan, I'd hazard, and a silly one, from the sound of it. Are you a drinker, Miss Edmiston? I have to tell you that drinking is no credit to a young woman, and my niece is living testimony to the fact. Anyone with half an eye can see that. How are your eyes, Miss Edmiston?"

  Courtney's hackles started to rise, but she held to the path of diplomacy, if only to thwart another onslaught of pain. "Jan and I haven't seen each other in several years. It was something of a special occasion."

  Martha pressed too close to her now, her eyes still unblinking. "I suppose you had a lot to catch up on, then. Three years is such a long time — to a child."

  She shrugged. "I hope I can look at the passing of time from your perspective someday. I'm sorry if we disturbed you."

  "How kind. I suppose you're sincere, but for the young, sincerity is a means to a self-serving end. If I were you, I should be wary of falling into that trap."

  "I'm watching out for it as we speak," Courtney said, testily now. "Is Jan awake?"

  "I heard a stirring in yonder, so she may be. Do you take coffee, girl?"

  The obviously disparaging "girl" rankled, but she knew better than to let the old woman intimidate her. "Yes, ma'am," she said, using her thickest southern accent.

  "It'll be ready in a few minutes. That black woman never gets here early enough to start the first pot. I'm sure she's happy as the devil to find it waiting on her when she gets here to work. She works for us, you know."

  "So I understand."

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Martha said, "So. You had trouble at home, did you?"

  She took a tense breath and nodded. "Yes."

  "A shame. But people are too soft, you know that? Folks think they should be happy all the time. So when trouble comes, they make it worse by dwelling on how miserable they are. It's a matter of misguided expectations. If you accept the fact that suffering is your lot in life, then your brief moments of happiness are transcendent. This is a very simple fact, but most people don't understand it."

  "Let me guess. You're a Woody Allen fan."

  "Eh?"

  "Schopenhauer?"

  "What?"

  Courtney shook her head. "Never mind."

  "I don't appreciate sarcasm."

  "No, I'm not…" She waved a hand, as if to brush away her remark. "Sorry. Anyway, about late last night — were you by chance shouting…or anything?"

  "Shouting?"

  "I heard sounds. Yelling. Babbling."

  "That was just Aunt Martha singing."

  Courtney turned and was almost relieved to see David standing in the door, dressed in a loose-fitting satin robe, his sardonic smile firmly in place. He came to Courtney and gave her a shoulder a little squeeze.

  "Good morning."

  "Good morning to you."

  "Coffee ready yet, old woman?"

  "Two minutes. The first cup is mine, you know." Martha glared at Courtney with her unblinking eyes. "Singing is a healthy way to cope with unhappiness. It releases endorphins and elevates the spirit." She snapped her head back toward David. "You should sing more."

  "I sing all the time. That's why I don't have any friends."

  Courtney snorted despite herself, and a piercing lance drove through her temple. David gave her a knowing look and chuckled.

  "You'll be back in practice in no time. My sister gives excellent tutorials."

  It took her a moment to realize he was referring to their drinking. "There are some things I'd just as soon not get too accustomed to." She downed the last of her orange juice, which helped the cottonmouth a little. But two pairs of eyes peered intently at her, as if their owners expected her to elaborate or share some morsel of timeless wisdom. Hoping to escape Martha's scrutiny, she turned to David and offered him a faint smile. "So, David, what do you do? Do you work at an office or anything?"

  "Yes, if you call my studio upstairs an office. You're more than welcome to."

  "What kind of studio?"

  "David fancies himself an artiste," the old woman said, shaking her head with clear disdain. "He shuts himself up there with a bottle of scotch and splashes paint on a perfectly good canvas until it's ruined. I'll tell you this, girl, he's no Norman Rockwell."

  David's sapphire eyes gleamed with humor. "To my dear great aunt, there was only ever one true artist."

  Martha's head was still shaking. "Norman would never have taken a bottle with him."

  "I'd like to see your work," Courtney said, trying her best to ignore the old woman.

  His eyes dimmed a little. "I'll show it to you. Some
time. It's not particularly good."

  "The artist isn't always the best judge."

  "Or the best artist." He glanced at the old percolator on the kitchen counter. "Looks like our go-juice is ready. Old woman, how about we let our guest have the first cup this morning?"

  "What guest?"

  "No, no. Please go ahead," Courtney said, gesturing at the pot, already exhausted by her exchange with Martha and loath to absorb many more of her quirky barbs. She had to admit, if the old crone did spend most of her time closed up in her own rooms, then so much the better for this visit being a pleasant one.

  The skeletal figure ambled to the coffee pot, carefully poured a cup, and tentatively sipped it, finally giving it an approving nod. Then, somewhat to Courtney's surprise, Martha filled two more cups and handed one each to David and her. She pointed to the kitchen table and gave Courtney a sour look. "There's sugar and fresh cream over there, if you're the kind who likes to ruin a good thing."

  "Don't mind if I do," she said, going to the table, where she very deliberately scooped two spoonfuls of sugar and poured a large dollop of cream into her cup. She felt David's amused gaze as she stirred it noisily.

  "You're going to fit in perfectly here," he said. "Arlene will be here in fifteen minutes or so, and she'll make us breakfast. Do you usually eat in the morning?"

  "Actually, no, not often," she said. "Sometimes on weekends. You know what, though, I do like to get in a good run most mornings. It'd be okay for me to run out here, I take it?

  To her surprise, David's face darkened, and he gave Martha a thoughtful glance. The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, but she offered nothing in return. He mulled over the prospect for several moments, and finally, his smile returned. "I don't see why not. I would advise you not to stray from the road, though. They don't call it the Dismal Swamp for nothing."

  "I don't suppose you like to run?"

  He chuckled. "As little as possible, my dear, as little as possible."

  He did something to keep in shape, she thought, for his slender figure was well-hewn, his skin lightly bronzed by the sun. In his obviously expensive, elegant robe, she had to admit that he looked rather dashing, even this early in the morning.