Spindrift

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  Apparently everyone else had eaten, though hot dishes still awaited me on the buffet. I sat in comfortable solitude and had scrambled eggs and bacon, toast and hot coffee. No one disturbed me, or showed the slightest interest in what I would do with my day. Not until I was nearly finished did Ferris Thornton come into the room.

  “Ah, Christy,” he said. “I’ll join you with a cup of coffee.”

  He was the only one in this house whose presence I could welcome at the moment, and I was glad to see him. True, he had been vocally critical of Adam’s gambling, but I had always believed that his criticism grew out of fondness for my father, so I had willingly forgiven him.

  He poured a cup from the plugged-in percolator and brought it to the table, black. In the light of bright morning flooding the windows, he looked thinner than ever and the bones of his face marked its structure with narrow cheeks and long chin. As he had aged, his eyes had sunk a little in their sockets, but they were still an alert hazel and I had always had the feeling that Ferris Thornton missed very little of what was going on. There might be things I could learn from him, but I would have to step cautiously because his devotion to Theodora was well known.

  “What was it like in the beginning?” I asked. “I mean when you and Father and Hal came together to start a paper?”

  “We all went to Harvard at the same time,” he said, “though I was in Law School and it was pure chance that threw me in with the other two. I was dating Theodora and she introduced me to them. I expect I was a bit of a Boston snob in those days. Hal was from what I regarded as the wilds of Chicago and Adam from the streets of New York, so I considered myself privileged. But those two had a vitality and creative energy that quickly took any wind out of my sails. I knew from the beginning that they would go places and that if I had my wits about me I could get them to take me along.”

  “It seems that you succeeded. Were you and Theodora in love in those days?”

  He seemed to regard me as a little girl asking questions and forgave my impertinence.

  “Theodora was in love with Adam. And he was in love with Hester, your mother. It was a good thing for all of us probably that Hal had the exuberant confidence to sweep Theodora off her feet. I don’t think she ever regretted it.”

  “Did you?”

  Ferris Thornton seldom smiled and there was no great warmth when he did, yet now there was just a hint of wry humor in the parting of those thin lips.

  “I expect I was relieved. Theodora was enough of a tumult in my life from afar. It might have been too painful to be any closer.”

  I liked him for his admission. Yet he had never married and all his life had been devoted to the law affairs of the Moreland Empire.

  “I think Theo listens to you,” I said. “More so than to anyone else.”

  “Perhaps because she knows I’m asking nothing of her. She knows she can trust me.”

  I left my role of the wide-eyed questioner. “You gave your loyalty to Hal too, and to Adam. You liked my father. So now will you help his daughter?”

  A veil of lawyer’s caution seemed to come over his face. I reached out a hand and touched his arm lightly across the table. For a good many years he had been “Uncle Ferris” to me, bringing me dolls and games and candy.

  “I want my son back,” I said. “I don’t think Theo’s good for him. Not as I would be.”

  “Are you so sure you are good for him?” Ferris asked.

  “What do you mean? We used to have a wonderful relationship, Peter and I. We loved each other and we could laugh and play together. He was mine.”

  “No child can be owned,” said Ferris judiciously, the long-term bachelor giving parental advice.

  “Of course not. But I was encouraging Peter to find his own way. Theo spoils him. She gives him anything he asks for without question, and he’s learning how to be clever and use her. Everything is being made too easy for him, so that he’s losing interest and getting bored. Even worse, she’s making him think of money as the most important thing in the world.”

  “The man who has it must learn to use it wisely.”

  Ferris could be hopelessly stuffy.

  “Oh, Ferris, I’ve heard all that! But there are such things as values. What Peter is developing is greed and the idea that he doesn’t need to work for anything. It isn’t a matter of taking him away from Theo, but of counting me into the picture where I belong. The way it is now, Miss Crawford stands on guard. There are rules to shut me out. I broke them by taking Peter for a walk yesterday, and now everyone’s angry with me.”

  He unbent with a nod of sympathy. “I can see it must be hard for you. But what can I do?”

  “Talk to her. Persuade her that I’m well again and perfectly fit to be a good mother. Even that I have a few rights along that line.”

  “And are you well again? Completely?”

  I stared at him. “Of course I am!”

  “At breakfast this morning Bruce said you claimed to have seen a light in a window at Redstones last night. Theodora said you were imagining things again.”

  I could not thank Bruce for telling, though it might have been a casual remark.

  “I did see a light. It wasn’t moonlight and it wasn’t hallucination. There was someone in that place last night.”

  He was not persuaded by my vehemence and there was a new coolness in his look. “Theodora thinks it very unlikely. She is concerned about you, Christy.”

  I knew the course Theo’s concern could take, and I answered indignantly. “I wasn’t imagining it! Why is it so impossible? Perhaps some kids have camped in there. Or it could be someone who likes exploring empty houses. Or a thief looking for treasure.”

  He considered all this quietly for a moment. Then he made a suggestion. “What do you say we go and find out?”

  “You mean just go over there now and walk in?”

  “I have a key. It would be quite official. There’s some interest in turning the house into a school, and I’ve been keeping something of an eye on the place for the present owner. I don’t want to pass up investigating any signs that someone has been in there. If it’s true, it should be looked into.”

  “Then let’s go,” I said. “I’ll change my shoes and get Peter.”

  “Why Peter?”

  “Because he wants to explore that old place, and this would be a much safer opportunity than if he should get the idea to go in alone.”

  “I’ll wait for you at the side door,” Ferris said.

  I ran upstairs eagerly, happy to take some sort of action. There was the possibility that whoever had been inside Redstones last night had left some sort of evidence behind which Ferris Thornton would be sure to recognize. And besides, this would be a way to spend some time with my son.

  I put on navy-blue slacks, my red turtleneck sweater, and a pair of loafers, good for clambering around on uncertain territory. Then I went to the top floor to look for Peter.

  Miss Crawford was on guard again, while Peter sat listlessly on a window seat staring out toward the sea. “Some people have swimming pools,” he was remarking as I reached the door. “Why doesn’t Gran have a swimming pool? She can buy anything she wants.”

  “October is the wrong month for swimming.” Miss Crawford evaded the issue and she looked up at me from her knitting with no welcome in her rather pale eyes.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “Uncle Ferris has offered to take me through Redstones. How would you like to go along?”

  Once Peter would have sprung up in delight, but now I could see that the habit of sulky resistance had become too ingrained.

  “I’d rather go alone,” he said indifferently, waiting to be coaxed.

  “All right,” I agreed. “I’m going anyway,” and I turned toward the door.

  Peter slid from the window seat. “I guess I could go along if you want me to.”

  “But we have a math lesson to do,” Miss Crawford objected. “You know that if you’re permitted to stay home from school fo
r a while, you have to have lessons.”

  “Isn’t it possible to do math this afternoon?” I said. “Or even later this morning? I don’t think we’ll be gone too long.”

  “Gran will let me go,” Peter said with smug confidence and I found myself torn between my own wishes and the right that was obviously on Miss Crawford’s side.

  “When will Peter be free?” I asked.

  The governess gestured toward an open notebook on the desk. “We believe in a full schedule. His time will be completely occupied all day.”

  I suspected that she had been told to confront me with obstruction, but before I could say anything more, Peter took matters into his own willful hands.

  “Oh, no it won’t!” he cried, and hurled himself past me out the door to run down the hail toward the Green Sitting Room, where Theo was dealing with her morning’s work of dictating letters to Fiona. I followed him to the doorway reluctantly. Nothing was simple any more, and I was finding myself in the thankless role of a disruptive force. What was worse, Joel was there beside his mother’s desk to witness what I had wrought.

  Theo, as always, looked smart and I guessed that her gray suede dress was a Halston. She welcomed Peter with an outstretched arm and kissed his cheek lovingly. Then she took off her green-rimmed glasses and stared at Miss Crawford and me, crowding her doorway. Peter, however, gave her no time to ask questions.

  “Mother and Uncle Ferris are going to explore Redstones this morning and I want to go along. Crawfie says I can’t. Tell her to let me go!”

  I glanced at Fiona and saw that she was watching intently, her pencil poised over her notebook. I couldn’t look at Joel.

  Theo’s beak of a nose pointed in my direction and her straight lips did not smile. “Why should you explore Redstones?”

  “Last night I saw a light there,” I said. “It’s possible some trespassers have broken in. Ferris wants to take a look and I’d like to see the house. Since Peter has been dying to go through the old place, I thought this was a good opportunity for him to go along. But I didn’t realize I was interrupting lessons. I really think we’d better postpone—”

  “I want to go, Gran!” Peter broke in, and returned her kiss fulsomely on the cheek.

  I hated to see my son coaxing his way around his grandmother so disgustingly. But the matter was already out of my hands.

  “You shall go, darling,” Theo said. “And what’s more I’ll come along myself. It’s all right, Crawfie. Peter’s bright enough to catch up on whatever work you planned for him this morning.”

  Miss Crawford knew who was boss and she retreated with a straight back that was more disapproving of me for causing all this than of anyone else. What had looked like a pleasant morning’s adventure was now to be taken over by Theodora Moreland.

  “We can finish this matter later, Joel,” she said, and rose from her chair, always surprisingly small when she was on her feet. “And, Fiona, you can work on your notes, dear. I’ll pick up that letter later.”

  Fiona raised her eyebrows at me and I could only give her a helpless shrug. One did not stem the tidal force of Theo Moreland once it had been released to some purpose.

  Joel came with us when we went out of the room and downstairs, to find a somewhat surprised Ferris Thornton waiting for us. He had hardly expected this to turn into an expedition, but he greeted Theo and Joel, nodded to Peter and led the way out through a side door.

  6

  The chimneys of Redstones stood up from among ancient beech trees whose leaves were turning bright in the October sunshine. Red bricks that dated back to the last century had softened to a muted rose color with the passing years, so that the house no longer lived up to its name. The evidences of neglect were everywhere. Walks that were overgrown, flower beds lush with weeds, the great stone urn tumbled in deep grass, all bespoke owners no longer interested. An iron fence guarded the house and we could see all this through its spears as we walked around to the front entrance.

  Here the great wrought-iron gate confronted us, its intricate pattern thrown in detailed shadow on the sunny gravel driveway beyond.

  “This was an extravagantly expensive gate in its day,” Ferris said, and touched his fingers regretfully to rusty scrollwork. “But such a gate has to be sanded and painted every year to keep its perfection.”

  “Look at the cobwebs,” Peter cried.

  Between all the involved scrollwork and loops of the iron pattern, spiders had wrought their own intricacies, the strands shining in fragile beauty in the sunlight, still twinkling with a few beads of dew.

  “Don’t break them, Uncle Ferris,” Peter pleaded.

  This was Peter as I remembered him, with a quick and sensitive eye for beauty. Once I would have exchanged a look of pleasure with Joel over our son’s response, but now Joel walked beside his mother and there was a gulf between us.

  “Nonsense,” Theo proclaimed. “Spider webs are only spider webs, and we have to get in.” She reached out a careless hand and shook the gate, but it did not open. The webs trembled and broke in places, scattering crystal drops.

  Peter promptly lost his temper as I had never seen him do before. He flew at Theo with a force that nearly pushed her off her feet, and she tried to hold him away, laughing. Even Joel seemed startled and he collared Peter firmly and pulled him back while the boy shouted angrily.

  Theo made no effort to suppress her amusement. “I’m sorry, darling. But there will be new spider webs by tomorrow morning. There are always more spider webs.”

  I looked at Joel, shocked because I had never seen Peter throw a tantrum before. Theo had been insensitive to the beauty and fragility of a spider web, but Peter should never have made a physical attack upon his grandmother. Yet I was no longer in control and in no position to reprimand him as a mother should. Joel met my eyes briefly and I knew that whatever either of us might say would be countermanded by Theodora Moreland. Nevertheless, Joel set his son down hard on his feet, and Peter subsided sullenly.

  Ignoring the entire outburst, Ferris took out a ring of keys and fitted one into the old-fashioned lock. The great double gate creaked open as he pushed it, sagging on its hinges. Weeds sprouted on the once clean gravel drive as we moved toward the house. Peter ran ahead, still rebellious, turning his back on all adults. Joel helped his mother along the uneven walk, and she leaned on, his arm possessively.

  I still felt shaken by the scene we had just witnessed. Peter had always been a sunny little boy, agreeable and reasonable most of the time. He could be as cross as any other child now and then, but he had always recovered quickly, and he had never put on a display like this. One more count had to be made against Joel for allowing this to happen, for allowing this new Peter to develop.

  We were approaching the house, and I looked up at the high roofs, feeling depressed and frustrated. It had been built with a domed rotunda at its front, and four marble pillars circling the bulge. A flight of wide, shallow steps led up to the front door, cracked in places and overgrown with clumps of weeds which had worked their way between the bricks. The tenacious tendrils of vines clung to the pillars, seeking for cracks in the marble. Over the front door the fanlight had long since been smashed and the space boarded over against the weather. Above was a wide balcony at the second-floor level, with tall french doors leading into the house. Again there had been glass damage.

  Once more Peter’s eyes were quicker than ours, but now there was something faintly malicious in his tone. “Look at the faces, Gran! Look at the wicked faces! Maybe they don’t like us.”

  By some whimsy the columns that supported the inner balcony were decorated on each side by a gargoyle face carved in marble and looking down at the visitor with evil grins that offered anything but welcome. I could see why some people might once have been afraid of this house. On either side of the marble protrusion of the rotunda, red bricks spread away in two long wings. Architecturally, the house was anything but all of one piece, yet it had aged and weathered like an elderly dowager w
ho made her own fashions and looked grand in whatever she pleased to wear. Grand and forbidding.

  Again Ferris produced a key. The double front doors opened easily, with scarcely a creak, seeming to indicate recent use. Peter stepped ahead of us into a circular front hall crowned by the huge dome, and stood looking up the wooden staircase that rose broadly on our left and then swung across the rotunda as it mounted to the floor above.

  It was a dark entryway. Perhaps daylight had once been intended to flow in through the dome overhead, but boarding had taken the place of glass, and there were no windows. Ferris left the double doors open to let in a little light and I stood in the shadowy dusk looking about me with a curious sense of uneasiness.

  I was glad for Theo’s matter-of-fact tones breaking the silence. Theo would never be impressed by a haunted house.

  “We have a much finer entrance hall at Spindrift,” she said with satisfaction.

  “You must remember how it used to look,” Ferris reminded her. “There were Chinese rugs and tapestried chairs. And all that paneling around the walls and up the stairs was polished till it gleamed.”

  It was dull and dark now. Joel went to stand at the foot of the stairs and look up at the great tapestry, a medieval hunting scene that hung above the stairs, threadbare and faded. The hall was empty of furniture and there were scratches on the fine wood of the floor. At the back there still remained a partial suit of armor, without legs, that had been fastened to the wall, and it was this which caught Peter’s interest. In spite of his wish to be sullen, he was coming to life with excitement over exploring this empty house. I would have been pleased, except that it seemed a tense and nervous excitement—too overwrought.

  He flew back to the armor and reached up to raise the visor. Nothing looked out at him and he seemed disappointed.

  “It used to be polished every week,” Ferris said. “Maddy Townsend ran a strict house and since her husband was enthusiastic about collecting armor, every bit of it had to be kept gleaming. There used to be several full suits up here and they could shine like mirrors.”