by Adele Whitby
“Oh, leave it, Alfie,” I said firmly as I pulled him out the door. “You’re just making it worse.”
I walked toward the staircase, but Alfie grabbed my arm. “Actually, Mother’s on the East Veranda,” he said. That awful twinkle was back in his eyes.
“All right,” I said slowly. “I’ll just go downstairs and take the other stairs to her.”
“Really, Kate?” Alfie chided me in that infuriating way of his. “That’s pretty far out of your way, don’t you think? Wouldn’t it be easier to stay upstairs? Of course, then you’d have to walk by the East Wing. But that shouldn’t be a problem . . . right? After all, it’s not like it’s haunted. It’s not like you’re afraid.”
“Of course not,” I said stiffly.
“This way,” Alfie said.
Neither of us spoke as we walked through the halls. Vandermeer Manor was so large that we simply had no use for the small East Wing that extended out of the back of the house. But I’d heard what the housemaids whispered when they thought no one was listening.
“Poor Blythe Fontaine,” Alfie said suddenly.
Oh, no, I thought, as dread settled in the pit of my stomach. Everyone in Bridgeport knew about Blythe Fontaine. Just the thought of her terrible fate could keep me up for hours in the dark of night. If Alfie ever realized how much I hated the tale, he’d never stop telling it.
“I asked Father to show me where Captain Evans proposed to Miss Fontaine,” Alfie continued. “But he said he didn’t know, since all that happened before Vandermeer Manor was even built.”
“Are you excited about the parade?” I said, hoping to change the subject. But Alfie ignored me.
“I wonder if Miss Fontaine buried Captain Evans’s fortune,” he said. “After he was lost at sea. That’s what I would do, so robbers couldn’t steal it. But maybe she was so busy walking the cliffs that she forgot.”
Despite myself, my skin started to crawl.
“You remember the story, right?” Alfie asked, giving me a sideways glance. “How Miss Fontaine wouldn’t marry Captain Evens until he gave up the sea, so he set sail one last time, on the voyage of a lifetime—all the way around the world. Miss Fontaine waited for him, walking back and forth along the cliffs day after day . . . after day . . . after day. . . . Weeks passed, then months, then a year. She never stopped walking the cliffs, searching for him. It was the November rains that did her in. She caught pneumonia but kept walking . . . walking . . . walking . . . until the day she fell down and died . . . on this very spot . . . and her spirit never left. Vandermeer Manor was built around her ghost, and even today she paces the cliffs, searching for her lost love.”
“But, Alfie, there’s no such thing as—”
He grabbed my wrist so suddenly that I jumped. “Shhh!” Alfie hissed. “She can hear you!”
With a sinking feeling, I realized that we were standing right outside the entrance to the East Wing. There was a small door that had been painted to match the wall.
His fingers still wrapped around my wrist, Alfie pulled me toward the door. “Listen,” he whispered.
“No,” I replied. “There’s nothing there. Nobody goes into the East Wing.”
“Then why won’t you listen at the door?” Alfie asked. “Unless you’re . . . scared?”
“I am not.”
A positively infuriating smile crept across Alfie’s face. “Never mind, Kate,” he said kindly—too kindly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Quick, now, run along to Mother and put all these scary thoughts out of your head.”
“I’m not scared!” I insisted. And to prove it, I stuck my ear against the door. Alfie was quiet and so was I; we were quiet as little mice. But try as I might, I heard nothing.
Then I caught it: tinny, metallic, the sound of something being dragged across the floor.
I leaped back so quickly that I stumbled over my own feet, landing in a graceless heap. Alfie doubled over, laughing like he was fit to burst. That’s when I noticed the metal square in his hand and the scratched paint on the door frame. Suddenly, I understood everything: Alfie had scraped that piece of metal on the edge of the door to make the otherworldly sound carry through the wood.
“You’re rotten,” I yelled. “You’re a rotten rat!”
“Your face!” Alfie howled. “You should’ve seen your face!”
I stormed off, leaving Alfie alone with his laughter. His guffaws followed me all the way to the East Veranda, where Mother was reading the morning mail while Aunt Katie and Great-Aunt Kathy worked on their embroidery.
As I stepped onto the bright veranda, I realized how foolish it was to be so frightened of Alfie’s ghost story. The sun sparkling on the water made the ocean look like a sea of sapphires. Far in the distance, we could see swimmers in their bathing costumes bobbing on the waves. The blistering heat of summer had arrived, but you’d never know it from the fresh sea breeze that danced around Vandermeer Manor.
I waited for a pause in Great-Aunt Kathy and Aunt Katie’s conversation before I spoke.
“Mother, you wanted to see me?” I asked.
“Kate, dear,” Mother said as she glanced up. “There’s a letter for you.”
“For me?” I asked curiously. Beth’s tiny, perfect handwriting stared up at me from the envelope. I ripped it open eagerly; four small, foreign stamps fluttered to the ground. Beth always remembered my stamp collection and made sure to send me any unusual postage that came to Chatswood Manor.
25 June 1914
My Dearest Cousin Kate,
I ask you in advance to please excuse the haste with which I write to you. In three days, we depart for the ship—and less than a week after that, I will arrive in America! I confess that I am not a bit ready; Shannon and I have been working ourselves ragged in our attempts to decide what, exactly, she should pack for my extended stay with you this summer. It’s not just choosing the gowns, of course, but so much more—which hats and which gloves and which shoes and which jewels, and on and on and on. . . . I count myself even more fortunate now to have received the Elizabeth necklace for my birthday earlier this month, since it spares me the challenge of packing necklaces. I love my Elizabeth necklace so much, dear cousin. I am sure you’ll feel the same way when the Katherine necklace becomes yours!
Last week, Cousin Gabby, Aunt Beatrice, and Uncle Claude returned to France. I was honestly sorry to see them go. After Gabby pretended that her heirloom locket had been stolen and stood by silently while poor Shannon was blamed, I thought I’d be glad to see her leave. But after the truth came out, Gabby behaved much more like the charming cousin I remembered.
It was very kind of you to ask about my favorite foods, but please don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’m not so particular that I’d ask your cook to take extra pains for me. I am looking forward to trying American fare. Do you take afternoon tea? I thought perhaps not, but Mother reminded me that Great-Great-Aunt Katherine may have kept the old traditions alive, even after she made her home in a new land. I must tell you that I am simply beside myself with anticipation when I think of meeting her at last. It has always saddened me that Great-Grandmother Elizabeth died before I was born. To meet her twin is an experience I have long desired.
And to meet you, sweet Kate, will be a dream come true!
I will end this now, as Shannon waits patiently to consult with me about which gown I should pack for your birthday party. I hope I will choose the right one, Kate. I wish I’d thought to ask you more about the current fashions in America. Oh, I’d hate to look foolish and—even worse—embarrass you. But I have a feeling you would forgive me if I did.
With greatest affection and so much delightful anticipation,
I remain,
Your Cousin Beth
PS I promised myself that I would not write of it, as I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but I have found something that is most mysterious and unusual, and I have decided to bring it with me to America so that you may see it for yourself. Now that I have piqued your i
nterest, Cousin, I will refrain from saying more. Don’t be cross with me! I’ll be by your side—with my secret surprise—as soon as the waves will carry me.
“Any news?” Mother asked as I returned the letter to its envelope.
“Beth is very excited to visit,” I replied. “And she answered the questions from my last letter. She wants to try American foods.”
Mother looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “I’ll ring for Mrs. Taylor,” she said. “This is a good opportunity for you to give her instruction, Kate.”
“But what should I say?” I asked as Mother reached for the bellpull.
“Just tell her what you’d like to be served during Beth’s stay,” she advised.
In moments, the housekeeper joined us. “What can I do for you?” Mrs. Taylor asked Mother as she took a leather-bound notebook from her apron pocket.
“Mrs. Taylor, I was hoping you might share the latest information about the plans for Kate’s birthday party.”
“Of course, ma’am. The guest count stands at four hundred and thirty, including the family. The menu is confirmed, and Mrs. Hastings and I have placed orders for all the necessary ingredients. Mr. Gleason called yesterday with an idea for the decorations. In addition to the rose garlands you ordered, he proposed a beautiful seashell near every place setting, a little favor for each guest, in honor of this manor by the sea.”
“That sounds lovely,” Mother said. “What do you think, Kate?”
I started in surprise. Usually I did nothing more than listen quietly to Mrs. Taylor’s reports. “Yes, I agree,” I said.
“Mr. Gleason also sent final sketches for the ice sculptures—a dozen swans of various sizes, to be placed in several locations around the ballroom. I think you’ll be pleased.”
“Yes, I’m sure I will; Mr. Gleason does beautiful work,” Mother said. “Thank you, Mrs. Taylor. That was a very helpful update. Now, Kate has received word from her cousin Beth, who as you know, will be arriving here on the third of July. Kate?”
Mother and Mrs. Taylor turned to me. I took a deep breath as I unfolded Beth’s letter. “Mrs. Taylor, Beth writes that she doesn’t require any special foods,” I began. “She has, um, she has expressed an interest in trying American fare while she is here.”
Mrs. Taylor’s eyes twinkled. “American fare! Your cousin is an adventurous young lady. We will have no shortage of American fare for her, Miss Kate, I can assure you. Would you be interested in hearing some of the menus we have planned?”
“Yes, Mrs. Taylor, that would be fine,” I replied.
“On the Fourth of July, there will be a picnic luncheon in the gazebo, after the parade,” Mrs. Taylor reported. “Cold fried chicken, biscuits, potato salad, deviled eggs, watermelon, and cherry pie. That evening, there will be a clambake on the cliff, accompanied by corn on the cob, a salad of green beans and tomatoes, and a layer cake.”
I glanced at Mother, who nodded at me encouragingly.
“Beth loves chocolate,” I said. “Perhaps the layer cake could be a chocolate one.”
Mrs. Taylor made a note. “Of course, Miss Kate.”
“Thank you. Finally,” I said, “Beth wonders if we take afternoon tea. She asks if Great-Grandmother Katherine keeps any of the customs from home.”
This brought about a gale of giggles from my aunts. “Dear child,” Great-Aunt Kathy said. “The day my mother abandons afternoon tea is the day that pigs will soar on gossamer wings.”
“If you’d like, Miss Kate, we can serve proper British tea often while Beth is here,” Mrs. Taylor suggested. “That might ease any homesickness your cousin feels. And Mr. Taylor assures me that Mrs. Hastings’s scones taste as authentic as the ones he enjoyed as a boy.”
“What a nice idea,” I said.
“My pleasure, Miss Kate,” she replied.
A long pause followed. I wasn’t sure what to say next.
“Will there be anything else?” Mrs. Taylor finally asked.
I glanced at Mother, who shook her head. “No, thank you, Mrs. Taylor,” I said.
Mrs. Taylor nodded before she left the room.
“Well done,” Mother said as she patted my hand. “You spoke clearly and kindly while giving instructions to Mrs. Taylor.”
“Thank you, Mother. May I be excused?”
“Yes, Kate. I’ll see you at lunch.”
By the time I returned to my room, Nellie had cleaned up Alfie’s mess.
“Oh, Nellie, it looks so nice in here!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry about Alfie. He’s just horrid sometimes.”
“Well, as my mother always said, boys will be boys,” Nellie replied.
“That’s just an excuse,” I said. “He doesn’t have to act like such a—a—a miscreant. Why should you have to clean up the mess he made, for no reason?”
There was a look in Nellie’s eyes that I couldn’t quite read. “Everything all right with your mother, Kate?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Oh! Nellie, look at this!” I cried, remembering Beth’s letter. “A letter from Beth!”
Nellie pounced on the letter as eagerly as I had. When she finished reading it, Nellie sighed happily. “To think that in just a few days, Lady Beth will be here, in this very room,” she said. “I can’t wait to meet her and hear her accent. I hope she’ll tell us all about life in England. I can hardly believe that we’ll have a highborn lady staying at Vandermeer Manor!”
“A highborn lady?” I repeated. “You sound like a character from a novel.”
Nellie grinned. “I can’t help myself,” she admitted. “I’m so interested in everything about England. I was born there, you know. And my grandparents still live there—along with a whole slew of cousins I’ve never even met.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “What brought you to the United States?”
“My mother and father were looking for a new life—one with more opportunities for them and, one day, for me. But they died of typhoid when I was sixteen years old. Now I’m the last one here.”
I reached for Nellie’s hand. “Oh, Nellie,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re kind, Miss Kate,” she said. “I’m grateful for my English relatives, even if they are so far away. We write as much as we can, and they never let my birthday pass without a parcel full of surprises. Someday, I hope I’ll have the chance to meet them all.”
“I’m sure you will,” I said.
Nellie and I exchanged a smile, but there was no mistaking the sadness in her eyes. To be half a world away from my family would be almost unbearable. For sweet Nellie’s sake, I hoped she could see her family soon.
A few days later, my eyes snapped open before dawn. The long wait was almost over; Beth would arrive this afternoon! I leaped out of bed, too excited to spend another moment lying down. I was about to reach for the call button to summon Nellie to my room when my hand paused. It was still dark outside. The tiny clock ticking on my mantel read a quarter to five.
If Nellie’s still asleep, it would be wrong to wake her, I decided. Especially since I don’t need anything besides a little company.
I yanked the down comforter off my bed and dragged it across the room. Then I curled up in the window seat overlooking the ocean so that I could watch the sun rise. Faintly, I could hear the sound of the waves lapping onto the shore and the distant cry of a seagull. A heavy mist hung over the ocean, seeping all the way to the house, but I could see a smudge of pale light at the far edge of the horizon where the sun would soon rise.
Then, something caught my eye in the garden below. I squinted as I peered through the window, trying to get a better look. It almost looked like . . . no, that couldn’t be right. . . . But it did; it really did. It looked like a woman, veiled in black from head to toe.
It’s Blythe Fontaine’s ghost! She’s searching for the captain! I thought suddenly. No. Of course not. That is just a story. It isn’t real.
The figure moved toward Vandermeer Manor, creeping through the silvery mist.
I was trembling all over; my mouth was so dry that I could barely swallow, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I wanted to call out for help, but my voice was as paralyzed as the rest of me. Far away, over the ocean, the red sun began to rise, but the grayness of dawn hung heavily over the gardens. The figure kept walking toward the house. I watched her for as long as I could before I lost sight of her behind the hedges near the East Wing.
Moments later, the sun rose, spilling golden light over the ocean and the gardens. With such a cheerful sun shining, it was hard to believe what I’d seen. Had I fallen asleep? Did I merely dream of the ghostly figure? I wondered—or perhaps I should say that I wished. Because I knew, without a doubt, that the black-clad figure was all too real.
That afternoon, Mother, Father, and I climbed into the back of the car. Our chauffeur, Hank, paused before he shut the door. “Miss Kate, you’ll want to mind the door,” he said as he gestured to my skirts, which were sticking out of the door.
“Sorry!” I exclaimed with a giggle as I pulled the lace-trimmed silk into the car. I was so excited to meet my cousin that I had turned into a scatterbrain!
Hank smiled at me as he tipped his cap. “Right, then,” he said with just a hint of a lilting Irish accent. “Next stop, Providence Station. We’ll be there well in time for the two-o’clock arrival from New York City.”
“Thank you, Hank,” Father said as he opened his newspaper. His forehead was grooved with deep furrows as he examined the front page. “Nasty business in Europe, Eleanor,” he said to Mother. “There is already speculation of war.”
“Goodness, I hope not,” Mother said right away. “Surely it can be prevented.”
Father stroked his beard with an absent look in his eyes. “It could’ve been,” he replied. “Might be too late now. A pity. I’ll be keeping a close eye on the situation. If the worst comes to pass, Vandermeer Steel will be poised to make a pretty penny.”
Mother shuddered slightly. “A penny earned from warfare is not one worth earning,” she said firmly.
By the time we reached the station, my parents had moved on to talking about the Fourth of July festivities instead of the possibility of war in Europe, but I confess I wasn’t paying much attention to their conversation. The station was bustling with activity as people gathered to meet the oncoming train. I could hear the clattering of its wheels on the tracks and smell the thick, black smoke that poured from its locomotive. When the train itself finally appeared, my heart leaped. Somewhere, in one of those cars, sat my cousin!
