Well, if you can’t help Marc, then go away.
I shut Leander off and looked up. Several people, including Conklin, were looking at me although I knew I hadn’t spoken out loud. I’m sure anybody could read the anger and anguish there. I turned my eyes to the floor and thought about nothing.
Marc went into surgery. He came out several long hours later, still alive, and was sent to the ICU. I spent a few minutes watching his still form and listening to the sinister bleeping of the heart monitor by his bed before a nurse hustled me out.
Soon, Marc’s daughters, his parents, his Great-Aunt Martha for all I knew, went in to see him. When they came out and retired to a nearby waiting room, I slipped back in. Rita Pembrooke, the head nurse on duty, caught me and sent me away. I had met Marc’s parents, Gilles and Therese, several times including a barbecue on Canada Day, but now we sat within the circle of our shared fear and said nothing to one another. The twins clutched their grandparents’ hands.
Conklin found me and stayed with me. Other people came and went—my mother, David, Peter. Patsy and Nick stayed a long time, and then went home to feed their sons. But they came back. There was always a police officer or two hanging around, drinking coffee and telling macabre police jokes to keep their spirits up.
My own spirits were so low, they should have thrown me into the psych ward for being clinically depressed. If my mother hadn’t brought me clean clothes, and a nurse hadn’t tossed me into a shower, I would have sat there dirty with Marc’s dried blood on my skin for more than twelve hours.
I missed Aunt Wisty’s funeral. Aunt Clem stayed with me for a while and described the service. She was certain her sister was now at peace. I heard her words, but I just didn’t care.
In the afternoon, I walked over to the desk.
“Listen, Rita. I don’t know if you heard that Marc and I are engaged. I am going into his room now. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the hospital administrator.” Which was still Patsy, my best friend. I should have thought of that before.
“You and the chief are engaged? Why didn’t you say so?”
That’s all it took. And it wasn’t much of a lie. Marc had asked me several times to marry him.
He was lying still and pale. A massive bandage covered his naked chest, and an IV dripped antibiotics and fluids into the veins of his left hand. The heart monitor continued to bleep beside the bed.
I sat down and took his free hand in mine. There was no response and my empty stomach contracted even further.
I looked at his motionless form and didn’t know what to do or say to make a difference.
“You’d better not die, Marc. I don’t think your soul’s journey is completed yet. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.”
That wasn’t helpful. I had to try something else.
“I think I figured out what happened to Tommy. It’s a very sad story. Shall I tell you about it?”
I just started talking. I spilled my guts. All about how Aunt Wisty had fallen in love with Uncle Patrick, while her husband Thomas was overseas. How Thomas returned, sick and disoriented, and in the grip of despair and pain, smothered his baby son to save him from a merciless world. Wisty, mad with grief over her child’s death and conditioned to always think of her husband before herself, killed Thomas to save him from the hangman, who still stalked our society.
“Today, neither one of them would have been prosecuted for murder. Back then, they wouldn’t have stood a chance in the judicial system. Now, all of them are dead, everyone who participated in the cover-up—Uncle Patrick, the Chief of Police, the undertaker, Aunt Clem’s lover, Bruce Wingate. All dead, except Aunt Clem, and she played a minimal part. I think she’s spent the last sixty-eight years trying to pretend the whole thing never happened.”
Marc continued to sleep. His fingers didn’t move in mine, but the heart monitor displayed a steady, rhythmic pattern. At least, I prayed it did.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to close the file on Tommy’s murder since I don’t have any proof that it was his father who killed him. I’m satisfied the truth is known, if only to me and Aunt Clem— and now you. You probably don’t believe me anyhow and that’s okay because you wouldn’t believe how I found out. I guess I should tell you about Leander, but even I have a hard time with that part.”
Then I shut up for a while. A nurse came in and fiddled with the monitor and the IV. She smiled and left.
I pulled my chair closer to the bed so we wouldn’t be overheard. “Life is funny, isn’t it? You’ve been open with your feelings about me all along, and all I’ve done is pretend not to hear you, or act like you were joking. Now it may be too late, but I’m going to be honest with you anyway.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to find a place of calm and courage somewhere in my heart.
“I’m kind of screwed up, in case you haven’t noticed. It seems that Dennis, and even my father, have contributed to my inability to commit to you. Not that I blame them, not really. We have to take responsibility for our own lives sooner or later, despite our past traumas, and I think I can get past mine. I might need some help, though, professional help. So I hope you won’t consider me a total nutcase if I start seeing a therapist.
In the meantime, I am going to tell you I love you. And that I’m sorry I haven’t said it before now. I hope somehow you know I love you. I don’t want you to…to leave…without knowing that.”
I was crying so hard that it was a few seconds before I realized Marc’s fingers were warmer, and they were gripping mine—not tightly, but squeezing a little.
I looked at his face and to my amazement and joy, he was looking back at me. The tears fell faster and I couldn’t speak.
“Say that again.” His voice was weak, but he was talking.
“Uh?”
“Say what you just said again.”
“Let me get the nurse. They should know you’re awake.”
“No.” His fingers gripped mine and I stayed where I was. “I want you to repeat what you just said.”
“Okay, okay. I guess you heard me say that I am an emotional basket case, but I plan to get some help to overcome my insecurities regarding close relationships of the opposite-gender kind.”
His grey eyes never left mine.
“Okay. Also...I love you.”
“Do you mean it?”
“You bet I do. Can you stand it?”
“Does this mean we’re getting married?”
“We have to. I told the head nurse I was your fiancée.”
“I suppose you’ll want a long engagement.”
“How about a Labour Day wedding? That gives you six weeks to get back on your feet.”
On my way out, I stopped at the nurses’ station. “Marc’s come out of the coma. Maybe the doctor should see him.”
Rita looked up from a medical journal depicting the ghastly image of some poor soul’s diseased innards. “Coma? Marc was never in a coma. Didn’t anyone tell you? We sedated him, so he wouldn’t move around too much right after surgery. We’re moving him out of ICU to a private room this evening. He’s doing extremely well.”
“Good to know,” I said, resisting the urge to throttle her. “He needs to be in perfect shape for our honeymoon.”
CHAPTER 32
Two minutes later, I was standing under the portico of the hospital’s main entrance, watching the downpour. The intense heat of the last two months had been washed away in almost an instant, and the humidity was finally raining onto the thirsty, grateful earth. The temperature had dropped at least 10 degrees. Most of the people walking by looked comfortable in rubber boots and vinyl raincoats buttoned up to their chins.
I wasn’t sure what to do. My car was at Hammersleigh, and I would be soaked in seconds if I walked home. I could call and see if Conklin or Peter would come get me. I could wait until somebody like Nick or Ronnie came to visit Marc and ask him for a ride. Or I could call the town taxi. I couldn’t decide.
“Lyris. How’s Marc doing this morning?” The concerned faces of Patsy and Nick crowded under the portico in a flurry of umbrellas and slickers. They had matching yellow slickers, but somehow that didn’t seem so weird anymore.
“He’s better, lot’s better.” To my utter humiliation, I felt my face crumble, and I was seconds away from howling again.
Patsy took charge as usual. “Nick, honey, why don’t you go on up and see Marc, while I take Lyris across the street for a bite. Here, give me your umbrella. I’ll catch up with you later.”
She thrust Nick’s umbrella into my hand, and we bounded across the street to Ali’s Pizza Emporium. I realized I was starving and ordered a medium with mushrooms and green peppers.
We sat in one of the tiny corner tables to wait for our lunch. Patsy peeled off her slicker and leaned forward. “Lyris, this may not be the best time to talk, but I’m so excited I can’t wait any longer. Now that we know Marc is going to recover, maybe you can give some serious thought to my proposal. If we want to get this off the ground, we’ll have to act fast.”
“Speaking of proposals, I just asked Marc to marry me and he said yes. It’s going to be Labour Day weekend, and you’re my maid of honour—again. But this time I guess it’s matron of honour.”
“Oh, my God. Lyris, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.” She made moves to leap across the table and hug me, but Ali got between us with the pizza.
“This is so exciting. You must be so happy. I’m happy.”
“You already said that. You seem to be excited and happy about a lot of things right now, Patsy. After losing your job, I’m glad you found something else, but I sense you’re trying to drag me into it.”
I took a huge bite and waited for it.
“Okay, but promise to hear me out before going ballistic. Let me finish and then you can speak.”
“I never go ballistic. Talk.”
She took a deep breath. “I’ll just come right out and say it, then I’ll elaborate. Remember, don’t get mad.”
“Patsy…”
“Okay, okay. Here it is. I want to turn Hammersleigh House into an upscale convalescent estate.”
I didn’t say a word. I had just taken a huge bite of pizza and the cheese strings refused to be swallowed.
“You know how people are tossed out of the hospitals far too soon? Days after surgery, or an illness like pneumonia, we discharge them. Sure, there’s government-funded home care and visiting nurses to change dressings and dispense medications, but there’s a market for a place where people can rest and recuperate for a few weeks before they go home. A place with fine dining and beautiful surroundings.”
I swallowed the lump of double cheese. “You want to turn Hammersleigh House into a nursing home? And you want me to be the chef?”
“No. Listen up, will you, Lyris? You promised not to talk until I was finished.”
I waved at her to continue.
“You have six bedrooms on the second floor and two bathrooms. We can add four more—the bedrooms can be partitioned off to make space for ensuite bathrooms. An elevator will have to be installed—we can’t expect our guests to use the stairs. We’ll have to engage an architect to preserve the integrity of the house.”
Architects, bathrooms, elevators? I had to stop this madness. “Patsy, you know about Uncle Patrick’s will. We can’t make structural changes to the house. So adding more bathrooms and installing elevators just can’t happen.”
“One elevator, and I’ve already talked to John Brixton. He was dubious at first, but when I explained my plan, he thought it quite feasible. He feels that a private convalescent estate will be a better fate for Hammersleigh than splitting it up into apartments and renting it out to yuppies.”
“So John doesn’t think I can handle Hammersleigh by myself? He thinks I’m going to carve the house up into apartments? I couldn’t do that if I wanted to. The house has to stay true to the Victorian period, and why were you talking to my lawyer about my house anyway?”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to investigate every aspect of the plan before I brought it to the table. I called him for an appointment and made it clear that this was my own idea, and you had nothing to do with it. That way, if he refused to even consider it, then no harm was done.”
“He was adamant that I couldn’t make any structural changes.” I could hear myself and I was whining.
“Lyris, you’ll have to talk to him yourself. I think he realizes that, even if the trust pays for some things, you’ll have a hard time maintaining the house on your own. John seems to have a lot of control over the trust, and if he says we can put in more bathrooms and install an elevator, then we can. We won’t change the Victorian ambience in any way.”
“Okay. Where will I sleep? You’ve changed the bedrooms on the second floor to guest rooms. If you think I’m going to sleep on the third floor, you are quite frankly nuts. And this is all hypothetical. I’ve agreed to nothing.”
The pizza had grown gummy, but I picked up another slice anyway and took a jaw-splitting bite. I chewed it furiously. I was furious.
“You will be sleeping, with Marc I trust, in the current employees’ quarters. There are, what, four bedrooms? And at least two bathrooms with a huge common room that can be sectioned off into kitchen and living room.”
“I don’t think Conklin would enjoy sharing his living accommodations with me. And what about Caroline?”
Patsy’s right elbow was jammed into a pizza slice. So far, she hadn’t eaten any. “This is where it gets exciting. You do know that Conklin and your Aunt Clem are moving in together?”
“Moving in together? My Aunt Clem and Conklin? No way. Where did you hear that?”
“From the horse’s mouth. I had a little talk with Conklin, and he confided that he was trying to find a way to let you know he wanted to slow down, and enjoy…uh…other interests. Oh, he still wants to be part of Hammersleigh, but he wants to spend more time with his, and I quote, dear friend Clematis. He says you get so panicky when he mentions retiring that he was going to let your aunt tell you.”
“Are they getting married?”
“I don’t think so. If they get married, their pensions will decrease, but if they just live together, they’ll have more money. I think they want to do some traveling too.”
“Oh, my.” I attempted to pull myself together. “Where are they planning to live? Aunt Clem sold Hollyhock Cottage to David, so that’s out.”
“You know that carriage house behind the pines on the west side of Hammersleigh?”
“I have a carriage house?”
“It was turned into a cottage years ago and needs updating, and that’s where Conklin and Aunt Clem are going to live. Isn’t that neat? They’ll have their own space, but handy for us.”
“I hope they have room for Luke and Florence.”
“Who are Luke and Florence?”
“Never mind, I’ll tell you later. Maybe. Don’t distract me. So now we have six guests on the second floor, and Marc and I are in the servants’ quarters. Conklin and Aunt Clem are in a carriage house I didn’t know existed. I’m supposing you will sleep with Nick as usual in your own house. Do you think I’m going to run a nursing home in my spare time, alone?”
“It is not a nursing home. Quit calling it that. Our guests will be paying through the nose for the privilege of recovering from their surgeries and illnesses in beautiful Victorian surroundings. This is a business, a successful business.”
“So in this hypothetically successful business of ours, where does the staff sleep? I’m supposing we have resident staff, other than me?”
“No problem. We’ll refurbish the third floor. There’s nothing wrong up there that a little decorating and another bathroom or two won’t cure. I think you might want to ask Peter to start apprenticing with Conklin, before Conklin and your Aunt Clem jet off on some exotic vacation.”
“I’m guessing you talked to Peter already?”
“Sort of. I knew we wou
ld need a general factotum around the place. and he’s perfect. Caroline too. Of course, I don’t know if she’s still interested in staying, after all she’s been through. I’m hoping she’ll stick to her promise to attend counselling sessions, at least.”
“She’ll go.” I was going to insist on that. “What about other staff? I refuse to clean all those toilets.”
“You won’t need to clean any toilets. You don’t clean any now, do you? The cleaning staff paid for by the trust can do them all once a week like always, and the housekeeper, whether Caroline or someone else, can lend a hand the rest of the time. I think we’ll have to hire a receptionist to handle bookings and answer the phone, but some of your staff at the Hydro Commission will be looking for work, won’t they? I don’t think we’ll have any problems finding staff.”
“Who’s going to cook? And quit looking at me.”
“Nobody wants you to cook, trust me. These people will be paying for professionally prepared meals, so we’ll have to hire several chefs, other than Caroline. And John Brixton has heard from Marion Beadle. She’s finished her little fling in the city and is coming back to Blackshore. She asked John about the possibility of working at Hammersleigh again. Isn’t that lucky?”
Uncle Patrick’s former housekeeper and bedmate returning to find a much younger woman installed in her old position? Yeah, that was going to work. I permitted myself an inward shudder at the very thought. I refocused on Patsy’s crazy scheme.
“So now we have the house remodelled, the staff hired and guests making reservations. Who’s paying for all this work to be done?”
“Conklin and your Aunt Clem are paying for the renovations to their cottage. And my severance package, and yours, will pay for the work that needs to be done at Hammersleigh. That doesn’t even touch our pension buyouts, which we will reinvest in our individual locked-in retirement plans. Not to be touched until we want to start drawing pensions.”
“So I’m quitting my job, just like that?”
Cheat the Hangman Page 32
