The Gardener of Aria Manor

by A. L. Duncan

  Inside the carriage house, Ilene shook the water from her umbrella and brushed up beside Janie who had just opened the doors.

  “Why don’t you drive? I’m pretty tired.” Janie found a towel and dried her damp skin and hair in silence. She looked at Ilene questioningly.

  Ilene shrugged. “I can’t drive.”

  “What do you mean you can’t drive?”

  “I never learned how.”

  “Never learned...?” Janie was struck by the realization that the Vanderholts more than likely always had a chauffeur. “I guess you wouldn’t have to, would you?”

  Ilene shook her head. “Pathetic, I know. Yet even though you came from a big city, with cabs and all, you learned.”

  “All a part of feeling self-reliant, I guess. Hasn’t seemed to help me a damn bit lately.” She took Ilene’s hand and pulled her over to the motorcar and pointed at the driver’s seat. “Get in. You’re driving.”

  Ilene shuddered and grasped the umbrella to her chest in sudden fear. “Oh no. I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Go on,” Janie insisted, opening the door. She assisted Ilene into the seat. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing to it.”

  Ilene seemed nervous as she listened to Janie’s instruction through the half open driver’s window and eyed her warily.

  “Just be real easy with it.”

  She put the car in gear and pressed the gas pedal. The car backed into a beam, crushing the chrome bumper.

  Janie got into the car on the passenger side. “See, like I said, nothing to it. This time let’s try first gear instead of reverse,” she said encouragingly. “No worries. Okay, let’s try it again.”

  Ilene drove a few feet forward out into the driveway, then stopped to practice her shift and clutch work. Stop. Go. Stop. The last stop nearly tossed Janie into the dash.

  “I’ve got another idea,” said Janie, opening the door.

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  Janie flashed a smile intended to be reassuring. “Clutch control is very important over the rough spots in the road. My friend Frank and I learned how to drive this way in New York. Frank was so good at it, I rode all the way from the Bronx to Manhattan in a snowstorm this way.” She clambered onto the hood. “It will help you ease up on the pedal.”

  Miserable with anticipation, Ilene’s hands wrung the steering wheel. “Carolyn, are you certain of this?”

  “Sure. You’ll do just fine.”

  Things went relatively smoothly for Ilene’s first time driving. Janie’s saving grace was a small vent she was able to grasp hold of. Much to her relief, the storm was letting up a bit. Ilene’s shoulders even began to relax a little. Until a sharp curve at the top of a hill surprised her into stomping both feet on the brake. The vehicle’s nose dove violently and the car skidded to a halt, catapulting Janie off the slick hood like a New Year’s whiz-bang. She slid through the brush, over the bank, and down to the seaside ravine below.

  THE AMBER GLOW of gaslight flickered against the champagne colored walls, and the scent of lilac bubble bath soothed Janie as she soaked in the tub. Her chilled skin and aching muscles were grateful for the hot water. The parts of her that had been scraped and bruised in the fall were going to take time, and more than one hot bath, to heal.

  Ilene was cleaning the scrape on Janie’s temple, and Janie flinched away. “Ow!”

  Ilene jumped to Janie’s flinch. “You must sit still,” Ilene ordered.

  Janie grimaced. “I’m beginning to agree with Bartley. Maybe next time we should stick to bicycles.”

  “Carolyn?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “What?”

  Ilene continued to blot the wound and rinse the cloth in a small bowl of peroxide. “Why did you come to Aria Manor?” she repeated coolly. “Did you already know of your past life? Is that why you came?”

  Janie met her gaze. “No. I didn’t. Why are you asking this, after all that’s happened between us?”

  Ilene inhaled deeply and dropped her eyes. “Do you really believe my father killed my mother?”

  Janie lifted a hand from the steaming water and caressed Ilene’s cheek. “I wish I could give you a definitive answer.”

  “Then why are you so eager to find him guilty?”

  “Because it was Denys I saw with the rifle.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  Janie raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose his attempt to shoot me the other day didn’t prove anything either.”

  Ilene frowned. “He’s not himself.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  Ilene fought back tears. “He’s quite ill, and he’s not going to get better.”

  Knowing that Ilene was not given to flights of fancy, Janie realized that she was stating a fact rather than a fear. “Doctor Collier?”

  “He called this morning. Father has some disease of the brain.”

  Even as Janie’s instincts shrieked that the Major was guilty of murder and therefore deserved whatever fate was his, her compassion for Ilene’s sorrow overrode all other thoughts. She drew Ilene into a comforting embrace and tenderly kissed her forehead.

  “A DISEASE OF the brain?” Fricky exclaimed.

  He and Janie had met at the local bookstore. It was quaint but well stocked. Fricky gingerly navigated through the narrow aisles, clutching an old copy of Homer’s Iliad.

  “Damn, if that doesn’t give me a ripe bunch of Charlies.” He unexpectedly slapped the book against Janie’s arm. “Read this yet?”

  She recalled the large tome Teddy had left open in the library the night of his death. “Only a few verses.”

  “Ah, Homer makes a most emphatic contrast to today’s society. And yet, it can hardly be said our principles of worth are any different from those of the ancient Greeks. Without pausing to consider the reckless consequences, we must not ignore the deliberate impulse of the case.”

  Janie shook her head. “I’m not following. I guess I need to read up.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about Homer, my dear. I was talking about Denys.”

  Janie sighed in exasperation. “I can’t keep up.”

  “The case, Miss Vaughn.” Fricky stared wide-eyed at her like an imposing school teacher. “What do you believe his deliberate impulse was?”

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  “Jealousy. Jealousy.” Strolling down an aisle, he glanced over the titles of books at his eye level. “He had his suspicions of Miriam and this other woman you were. It was all written down in a journal he shared with a private detective.”

  “Detective?”

  “Hmm. He had hired a private detective—several months before the shooting, I suppose—to say...check up on your outings together. Tell me. You are aware of your past life intimate involvement with Miriam Vanderholt, aren’t you? I imagine that your hypnosis disclosed this?”

  Though reluctant to make the admission, Janie said, “Yeah.”

  Fricky raised an inquiring eyebrow. “And are you now...um...”

  Janie sheepishly withdrew from Fricky’s twiddling fingers. “Involved with Ilene? Yes.”

  “My, you are daring, aren’t you.”

  Janie glanced around uneasily at the passing foot traffic. “Fricky, I didn’t even know about this Miriam stuff before I...fell for...Ilene.”

  “Oh, not to worry, Miss Vaughn,” he said. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Oh goody.”

  “In the meantime, we should take advantage of the Major’s stay in hospital to arm ourselves with as many pieces of hard evidence as we can dredge up at Aria Manor. In addition to the cufflink, of course. I hear he’s quite the pack rat.”

  “Do we really have the time?”

  “Yes. Quite right,” he murmured gravely. “This disease could take him at any moment. However, with the help of our current Chief Inspector, we’ll see if there isn’t something to be learned from this skeleton in the cave, what?”

  “N
o. What I mean to say is that Denys is coming back to Aria Manor day after tomorrow.”

  “Day after tomorrow? I thought he was to be in hospital for quite some time.”

  “Ilene asked that he be brought home. She insists on looking after him herself.”

  “Oh dear. She’s put herself, and you, in a difficult spot, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah, I know. If something isn’t done quickly, I’m afraid history will repeat itself. And I’m not going to lose Ilene the way I lost Miriam.”

  HUET HALL WAS an early nineteenth-century limestone manor belonging to the widow of a retired member of Parliament. Lady Crutchfield was a woman of formidable appearance, whose pride stuck out in her large-jawed grin as much as in her full-figured fashion gown of black chiffon adorned with iridescent beads.

  She was hosting an evening party. And when Lady Crutchfield had a party, all dignitaries of name and social rank within two hours’ drive were expected to attend. To Janie’s dismay, the Vanderholts invitation to the evening’s gathering included an invitation for Ilene and a guest.

  As they joined the line of guests waiting just inside the entrance hall, Janie noted Ilene’s smile of contentment. She seemed to be in her element. As they reached the butler and awaited their introduction, Ilene clutched Janie’s arm.

  “Oh, I can’t believe how much I’ve missed parties!”

  Janie frowned. “Tell me again why we’re here.”

  Ilene responded to Janie’s antipathy with a slight tug on her arm. “Because we were invited,” she said in a muted voice, between smiling teeth.

  “Oh.”

  “One doesn’t get invited to Huet Hall and not show. It just isn’t done. Lady Crutchfield is an eccentric old windbag who has nothing better to do with her money than spend it traveling the world, then throwing parties so she has someone to brag to of her exploits. Whether here, London, Paris, or Trinidad, if she throws a party, believe me, everyone is quite eager to attend.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Oh, it is a hoot, really, to catch up on all the heady gossip.”

  “Mrs. Ilene Eldridge and guest,” the butler intoned.

  “I can’t wait to see what the gossips say about us,” Janie said mischievously, as she led Ilene into the party.

  The ballroom was gaily decorated with massive vases of flowers in celebration of spring. A quartet played Dvorak’s Humoresque as the two women mingled with guests in tuxedos or gowns. A server offered them flutes of champagne, which Janie politely accepted. After taking a sip, she made a strangled noise of distaste and practically spat the liquid out. At Ilene’s look of shock, Janie forced herself to swallow. She cleared her throat and then asked the server, “What is this stuff?”

  With a smug tone, he replied, “Lady Crutchfield buys only the best champagne. This is an 1897 from Vienna, Austria.”

  “Vienna? That explains it. Sorry. Could I just have some Irish whiskey, please?”

  Ilene touched her arm and gestured to an approaching Grand Dame. “Lady Crutchfield. Be on guard,” she whispered. “She speaks of events, especially tragic ones, as if they were a flat tire on a motorcar.”

  The middle-aged woman peered through her lorgnette at Ilene and Janie. She openly scrutinized Janie’s tailor-made tuxedo jacket and trousers.

  Lady Crutchfield leaned over to the friend who walked alongside her. “Are we having another fashion statement, Eula?”

  The petite woman pursed her thin lips and grimaced. “Oh my.”

  “Dear Ilene,” Lady Crutchfield’s deep, raspy voice said brightly. “How good of you to come to my party.”

  Ilene ignored the woman’s patently forced sincerity. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Lady Crutchfield.”

  “And who might your friend be?”

  “Allow me to introduce you to Miss Carolyn Vaughn, from New York.”

  “Ah.” The word came out as a sigh. “An American. That explains it.” She coolly assessed Janie from head to toe, as if she were a primate at the zoo. Turning her gaze to Ilene, she said, “I’m so sorry about your husband’s ill-fated journey, my dear. I do hope you’re soldiering on, what with dear Theodore being gone, too, and all that other mess.”

  “Yes. Well enough, thank you.”

  “Will we be seeing the Major soon?” asked Eula.

  “I’m afraid Father is still in hospital.”

  “Oh my.”

  Lady Crutchfield glanced at her friend. “Tragic circumstance, Eula. The poor man has a disease of the brain.”

  Janie eyed Ilene, who seemed not at all surprised that the word had spread so quickly.

  “Simply dreadful.” Eula simpered.

  “How long has he, my dear?” asked their hostess.

  Ilene flushed. “Well...Dr. Collier hasn’t determined that as yet.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. He’ll be arriving shortly. He can tell us then. Well, I’m off to mingle. Must be the good hostess, you know. A bit out of practice since my visit to Morocco. Ta ta.”

  Eula looked back over her shoulder at Ilene and murmured, “I’ll pray for your father.”

  Ilene smiled. “Thank you.”

  Janie was still watching their hostess as she moved through the throng, seeming delighted and eager to greet her each new guest as they arrived.

  “Has she always been that good at being pointedly artificial or is she still practicing?”

  “She’s honed it to an exact science.” Ilene took a sip of champagne. “Poor Eula, though.”

  “You’re telling me. Say, she and Crutchfield aren’t...um...”

  “Eula? Oh, no. She’s had feelings for my father for, well, for as long as I can remember. She was simply heartbroken when he never paid her the attention she longed for. This news about him has surely crushed her. I was hoping she’d not find out. Eula has always been such a frail little thing.”

  Janie noticed Samuel Tisdale near the buffet table, subtly attempting to capture her attention. He exited toward the atrium, and Janie invented an excuse to follow. “I think I’ll excuse myself for just a moment.”

  Ilene leaned toward her. “I believe the water closet is down that lengthy hall past the foyer.”

  Janie gently placed a hand on the small of Ilene’s back. “I’ll find it.”

  “Good luck finding me when you get back. I’ll be trying to dodge our hostess and her entourage.” Ilene eyed Lady Crutchfield approaching Dr. Collier at the buffet.

  Janie winked at her and departed the ballroom. Beyond the centuries-old polished cherry panels, Janie entered Huet Hall’s atrium, a massive greenhouse the size of a small rain forest. Sam stood near an octagonal fountain, lighting a cigarette.

  Smiling through the curls of smoke, he held out his hand. “I was hoping you’d accept the invitation to Huet Hall.”

  Janie shook his hand. “I’m told that’s what one does around here.”

  Sam laughed. “Indeed. For those of us who are less fortunate and therefore not traveling ourselves, it is a command performance.” As they walked, he constantly looked about. “I’m sorry for popping up like this, but it seems our Majesty’s Service is getting a bit, should I say, squiggly waiting for your find.”

  Janie suddenly felt nauseous but quickly recovered. “Find?”

  “The cache, darling. The Black Ruby? It is what you came to Aria Manor for in the first place, is it not?”

  “Well, I...I’ve been a little distracted lately,” she said finally.

  Sam grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I’m afraid you have been very distracted lately. Cheers to you, darling. But we mustn’t waste too much more time at this, must we? In less than two and a half months, the King is set to wear the crown for a formal photo shoot with the family and we don’t want any perceptive eyes to discover the truth. You do understand the urgency, don’t you?”

  Janie swallowed hard. “Oh, of course.”

  “Good girl.” Sam laid a hand on her arm and nodded before departing. “Give Ilene my love, would you? C
heerio.”

  “Sam,” Janie whispered loudly. He turned about, and she asked, “How do I-”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find you when the time comes.” Almost running into a tipsy couple, he quickly added, “Try the marinated salmon. Best with capers.”

  Ignoring the couple’s cackling, she rested an elbow next to a Romanesque bust. “And to think New York was becoming too much for me.”

  JANIE AND ILENE returned to Aria Manor too late to welcome the Major home. Janie thought it just as well, not knowing how stable he would be seeing her again. Michael dropped them at the front door and started for the carriage house. When Janie would have entered the house, Ilene stopped her with a light tug on her coat.

  “I just wanted to thank you for coming with me tonight. I couldn’t bear going alone.”

  Janie wrapped her arms around Ilene’s slender waist and held her tightly. An occasional flicker from a porch lamp painted Ilene’s features in a soft yellow cream. “How could I say no?”

  Ilene smiled as she brushed her palms along the lapels of the elegant tuxedo. “I don’t care what Lady Crutchfield thinks, or anyone else for that matter, I think you look quite handsome.”

  “Aren’t you concerned about what others will think of you now that you’ve been seen with me?” asked Janie. “And not without causing a few raised eyebrows.”

  “Don’t be silly. Besides, I want people to see the new me.”

  Janie laughed. “Really? And just what is the new you?”

  With confidence, she said seductively, “Alive.”

  As they entered the manor, still laughing, Ilene turned and kissed Janie passionately. Stepping from Janie’s embrace, Ilene released Janie’s hand. “Aren’t you coming up?”

  “In a minute. Think I’ll grab a bite to eat. I’m kind of hungry.”

  “With all that food at the party? Why didn’t you eat something there?”

  “They didn’t have pickles.”

  Ilene smiled. “Well, I believe I’ll drop in on Father before I turn in.”

  “Sleep well.”

  Ilene’s eyes held an invitation. Janie winked, then sauntered down the empty servants’ hall. Despite her outward demeanor, her mind was racing. How was it that the real Carolyn Vaughn had somehow managed to be hired on by British Intelligence to find the king’s missing ruby at the manor where she had died a lifetime before, circumstances uncannily similar to those in which she now found herself?