I outlined their duties. “I do not want anyone smoking on the grounds, either regular tobacco or wacky weed.”
A few of the little pot heads groaned, but whether at the thought of enforcing the no-smoking signs I had posted or the ban on the weed itself, I didn’t stop to ask. The grounds were too dry to risk a fire from careless smoking.
“Tiffany is head medic. The rest of you will report to her. You will wear these caps.” I showed them the white ball cap with a red cross on the front. Much eye rolling ensued.
“We will have many elderly people and children at the reunion. They are at greater risk of dehydration and heat prostration. Tiffany will explain to you what to watch for and what to do. I’ll talk to Tiffany later, but your jobs will consist of watching for problems, making sure young children are wearing hats and taking them back to their parents if they don’t, handing out sunscreen, making sure the elderly are seated in the shade and that they have liquid refreshment of their choice.”
“Now.” I paused for effect and lifted the last box onto a low table. “This is a two-way radio.” I picked one out of the box and held it up. “It is not a cell phone. You will carry one at all times. Each of us has a number. I have lists that designate our names and the corresponding numbers. Take one, please. You will note that Mitch is number two and Tiffany is three.”
“And I…” I needed them to realize the importance of my next statement. “I am Number One.”
Out of the hat box I took a fluorescent orange cap and set it on my head. I had thought of having the word Boss lettered on it, but settled for the number one. Kids that age didn’t have a sense of humour where authority was concerned.
“I will be everywhere. You can call me on the radio any time, day or night. And yes, we will have a night patrol. Medics will become security after eight p.m. You will work your schedule out with Mitch and Tiffany in a minute. By the way, they will both carry a cell phone as well as their radios for emergency use only. Please stay off your own cell phones, iPods or whatever else as much as possible. Now are there any questions? Oh, one other thing. If you lose or damage your radio, the cost of replacing it will come out of your pay.”
Standing outside the sitting room a few minutes later, I could hear the raised voices right through the heavy pocket doors. I left them to it, confident Mitch and Tiffany could handle any insurrection. Last year, a lot of the kids in that room had been responsible for much of the mischief and misery that had occurred at the reunion. I couldn’t do anything about the out-of-towners, but this year I hoped these local delinquents would be too busy calling each other on their radios and enforcing the rules to break them. Time would tell.
I walked down to the front gates to make sure they were open just enough to let people walk through. Now that everything was delivered and set up, no vehicle need pass through these gates until the reunion was over.
I turned at the gates and looked back at Hammersleigh, pulling my orange cap further down on my nose. The heat caused the house and grounds to shimmer in the sunlight.
The blue and white striped tent top was a sharp contrast to the greens of the lawn and trees and the soft grey of Hammersleigh’s stone walls. The row of turquoise porta-potties not quite hidden in the pine border was another jarring note. Well, by Monday afternoon, the tent and porta-potties would be dismantled and taken away. And I would be back at work.
The thought of returning to another downsizing depressed me. I took off the cap and wiped the sweat from my forehead. My eye was drawn back to the house and I admired again the dignified Georgian façade, the mellow limestone walls rising to the cupola and widow’s walk.
Since moving into Hammersleigh two weeks ago, I had been too busy to explore the attic floor or the cupola. From the widow’s walk it would be possible to see the countryside in every direction, perhaps even into Blackshore’s main street.
I strolled up the driveway again, then came to an abrupt stop. I craned my neck to look up at the cupola, and Aunt Clem’s words came back to me. Or maybe they were Florence’s words or Luke’s.
In a high place. Something to that effect. Look in a high place. I couldn’t remember what for. That whole episode at Aunt Clem’s was so spooky, I wasn’t sure I understood half of it. I wondered if Luke and Florence were acquainted with Leander. Aunt Clem’s guides seemed a little too high-toned to associate with the caustic Leander, but everyone must know everyone else on the other side. My mind couldn’t even get around that concept.
After a light lunch of turkey breast sandwiches and homemade cream of mushroom soup, I stood up and addressed Conklin and Caroline before they could run off.
“We are on red alert until Sunday afternoon. Conklin, forgive me for mentioning these points. I know you have directed more reunions than I can even remember, but bear with me, if you please.”
I looked at their faces and was reassured by the serious expressions. “Conklin, you will of course ensure that all doors are always locked. Please patrol the house on an hourly basis during daylight hours. I have asked Peter Tackaberry to take the night shift.” I paused for Conklin’s reaction. He nodded his approval.
“Now, Caroline. First of all, thank you for giving up part of your Sunday off to help us out. You will be responsible for Jacqueline and Rasputin. When Jacqueline needs to go out, put her on a leash and take her yourself, locking the door behind you. We can’t take the chance of a lawsuit if Jacqueline goes berserk and bites someone. Other than that, just remain attentive and assist Conklin.”
I strode up and down the length of the kitchen. “Except for Mitch and Tiffany, don’t let any of the security or medic teams in unless it’s an emergency. In that case, accompany the delinquent, I mean young person, every single minute. You can provide sandwiches, fruit and pop, which they will consume in the garden.”
I had one more thing to say. I handed each of them a two-way radio. “At the first sign of trouble, call me. I am programmed in as Number One.” I looked at Conklin in case he had a problem with this, but he nodded and pocketed the device. I thought I saw his lips twitching, but chose to ignore it. Caroline looked uncertain, so I took some time to reassure her and show her how to use the radio.
A few minutes later, I was changing my tank top for a fresh one and my shorts for a long skirt with a split side to facilitate movement. Through the open window I heard a rumble in the distance.
Not the thunder we had all grown used to. This was something else, a mechanical rumble. I recognized that sound and I straightened my skirt and stiffened my spine.
I picked up my radio and pressed the button that would alert all other devices within a one-kilometre radius. I pressed it again, guessing that my rag-tag army would be fumbling and swearing at this very moment as they searched for the audio button.
I spoke into my radio. “Attention. Everyone stand by. Recreational vehicle entering the field.”
The reunion had begun.
CHAPTER 20
The vehicles continued to roll into the field throughout the afternoon and evening. At the same time, other campgrounds and private residences in and around Blackshore filled up with reunion attendees.
There were no major incidents to that point. A few scraped knees and bug bites, and a gentleman from Calgary who took personal offence to the no smoking policy on the grounds. Mitch sorted him out and he retired, grumbling, to light up in his own RV.
Around four in the afternoon, Aunt Bertilla managed to lock herself in Tintagel. Since she lived in Blackshore, I don’t know why she didn’t use her own bathroom before she left home. I wanted to leave her in there until we could call Benny Wooter to come out and free her. I knew if we sprung the lock Benny would make us pay for a replacement, but Tiffany said she would be overcome by either heat or fumes within minutes. And the noise from Tintagel was astounding, drawing a curious crowd of twenty or more, most of them wielding beer cans and watching the fun.
Mitch removed the hinge pins and lifted the door off. Then he re-mounted it and it w
as as good as new. I stayed behind a tree when this was going on, and a good thing as it turned out. When Aunt Bertilla came bursting out, she looked around for somebody to lay the blame on, and I would have done very well. I spent the rest of the evening keeping a lookout for her glittery green muumuu.
By eight o’clock on Friday evening, the guest book set up in the tent just inside the front gates contained two hundred and ten names. Since more family would arrive on Saturday, it looked like we had already exceeded the two hundred and three count from last year.
I didn’t expect to see Aunt Clem or Aunt Wisty until the next day. Nor Mom and David and his family. Most of the locals would make an appearance late Saturday morning with picnic baskets and stay until after the campfire sing-along that night in the field.
I used my radio to remind the security team to keep special watch on the field throughout the night. It wouldn’t take much for a spark to ignite the grass and spread to Hammersleigh. And there were to be no campfires or barbecues within Hammersleigh’s gates.
Things settled down around 10 p.m. The children stopped shrieking and screaming, and the drunks passed out in their tents and trailers. After a word with Mitch—I hoped he had scheduled some sleep time for himself—I knocked at the kitchen door.
A few minutes later, Caroline admitted Peter. After Conklin and Caroline retired, I made the rounds with Peter and gave him my radio.
“You don’t need to patrol upstairs. You can even take a nap on a sofa if you want.” Let him try and sleep on one of those. “Somebody needs to be handy in case there’s an emergency during the night, medical or otherwise.”
“No problem, Lyris. I’ll look after things, you just get some rest. You’re looking a bit drained.” Peter, in contrast, looked fresh and ready for anything. I hoped he wouldn’t be too bored.
“I’m not too concerned about tonight, Peter. It’s Saturday night we have to worry about. That’s when local family socializes with family from out of town. Then, anything goes. And the kids will be out of control.”
I should know. When I was a teenager, I spent all of Saturday night running through the fields and the cemetery, smoking a little pot, generally making a nuisance of myself with the rest of the teenage Pembrooke clan. Parents threw in the towel around midnight, and the night belonged to us.
When you’re young, there’s something about a hot summer night that promises excitement and adventure. Even now, my blood stirred as I remembered. Hence the security precautions inside and outside. There would be a lot of stirring of young blood tomorrow night.
I was too wired to sleep, so I took a tepid shower to cool my hot skin and put on a camisole and thong. Anything less would have been indecent. The computer held no appeal, and I was not up to unpacking my teapot collection and putting it in the cabinet Gordon and Roddie had moved in for me. I picked up a new Mary Jane Maffini mystery, but found my sweaty fingers were wrinkling the pages. I put the book back on my bedside table to await the return of some normalcy in my life so I could focus on the story.
The music coming from the field was distracting me. It sounded like a song from the war years, and I found myself straining to hear the words. I was restless and starting to sweat again. Even the crickets sounded tired and fed up with the heat.
I thought about the widow’s walk. It would be cooler there. A staircase led from the kitchen to the third floor and from there another set of stairs should lead up to the cupola. Easy.
In the hall I stopped. This house was built when materials and labour were cheap. The original owners must have constructed another access to the cupola. I looked at the tower room door at the end of the long hallway. It could be right through there.
My fear of that room was gone. I believed the reason lay in my commitment to finding out what happened to Tommy, but maybe that was just my imagination again.
I could have turned on the lights as I went, but didn’t want to illuminate the house like a beacon for any party-hearty types who were looking for excitement. Instead, I flipped on the flashlight I had taken from my bedside table.
The enclosed staircase was behind an inconspicuous door. I had hung a mountain goat head over it without even noticing the door. Mind you, the head could have been a domestic Billy goat, since you never knew what the Victorians would shoot, and it was hard to tell the difference in the dark.
The stairs were narrow and steep and made a couple of turns on the way up. As a result, I wasn’t sure which direction I faced when I got to the top. I had climbed forty-two steps and knew I must have bypassed the third floor.
So I had to be in the cupola. I had no idea where the light switch might be even if I had wanted to flip it on. It was impossible to get a sense of the size and condition of the cupola by the feeble light in my hand. I gave it a shake and it brightened, but not much.
I played the light around the room at chest level and spotted the door to the widow’s walk. I stepped through to the balustrade-lined walkway about five feet wide surrounding the cupola. I couldn’t see a thing and that had to mean I was facing the pine wood on the east side of the house, or perhaps the maple wood at the back.
I switched the flashlight off and moved right, hanging on to the belly high railing. It felt solid enough under my fingers.
Far below me I saw the flickering campfires and the dull yellow lights in the field. Ghostly snatches of conversation and music reached me. I could see shadows of movement that I trusted were my security team on the job. Beyond the field were the streetlights of Blackshore, and in the far distance, I made out the faint greenish glow of the Bruce Power nuclear plant.
It wasn’t much cooler up there after all. A faint breeze stirred the leaves in the woods below but didn’t survive the climb to the widow’s walk.
I sank down on the floor to rest. The air felt soft and damp on my skin and I was sorry I hadn’t brought a pillow and comforter to lay on. Afterwards, I believed I must have fallen asleep.
At first it was the music I heard. I recognized Vera Lynn singing about a nightingale in Berkeley Square, and her words were crystal clear, like she had a microphone set up in the garden beneath my perch on the widow’s walk.
The music faded until I could no longer make out the words. Instead, I heard a man’s voice. It sounded like he was standing right in front of me, not far, far below.
“You can’t go on this way, darling. Nobody expects you to stay with a man who treats you so shabbily.”
A woman was with him. Her voice was low and hopeless, with a pain deep and unending.
“I must. He needs me more than ever now. And there’s the baby.”
“I’ll take you both away. It doesn’t matter what everybody thinks. We deserve to be together. We deserve some happiness.”
A short, despairing laugh. “Happiness? While the whole world is exploding and burning? There is nothing except pain for all of us. You will soon be gone again, and I must look after him. He needs me.”
“You must listen to me. The war can’t last forever. They expect it will be over in months. Then we can go away from here. I can run my business from Toronto. There will be many opportunities when the war ends. We’ll just go and leave this other life behind.”
“Our family is here. You, especially, can never turn your back on them. And how can I leave my parents, my sisters? No, it’s best if we end this now. I’ll be fine, truly, and you will find someone else.”
“No. I won’t let that happen. Stay with me.”
A new voice interrupted. Another man, older than the other. “I knew I would find you together. Get away from her. I know what’s been happening while I was in hell over there. You have everything else, but you won’t have her. Or my son.”
The woman was hysterical. “My God. What have you done? My baby. Let me have him. What did you do to him?” She moaned, and the grief was the grief I felt in my own heart for my lost baby girl.
My head bumped against the balustrade. The voices and music were gone, and my hands shook as I turn
ed the flashlight on and aimed it below. The feeble beam would not reach the shadowy centre of the shade garden and I could detect no movement or murmur of retreating voices.
Even the campfires had been extinguished. The darkness was complete except for the streetlights and the nuclear plant several miles away. I must have been asleep longer than a few minutes.
My flashlight faded and died in my hand. I gave it an angry shake, but it refused to emit even a glimmer. Either I stayed there until dawn, or I could feel my way back the way I had come.
I didn’t want to hear more of that disturbing conversation. I felt for the doorknob and stepped back into the cupola. I dropped to the floor and crawled on my hands and knees until I found the gap in the floor.
I went down the stairs on my rear end, then picked my way through the tower room. I was doing fine until I tripped over a table and landed face down on the floor. I smelled something horrible and my fingers grasped course fur and curly horns. I realized it was the antelope—excuse me, the wildebeest—which somebody had carelessly left on the floor. It smelled different from the moose, but worse.
A minute later I was back in my own bed. Despite the heat, I pulled the sheet over my head and stayed there until the alarm woke me at six.
I don’t kid myself. What I had heard the night before was some sort of flashback, the opposite of a premonition. Maybe it was Leander’s idea of being helpful, but I planned to have a word with him. Allowing me to see or hear the past was one thing, making me feel it was going too far. I was a sensitive person and could not tolerate high levels of negative emotion. Everyone knew that.
While I showered and folded my hair into a twist, I went over the conversation in my mind. When I finished dressing and grooming, I got a pen and pad of paper and wrote down everything I could remember, and unlike a dream, I remembered quite a lot.
Cheat the Hangman Page 20
