Summons From a Stranger

by Diaz, Debra

  “We had to chase the dog,” Jonathan said, by way of explanation.

  “Let me help you, Miss—” the woman began, then stopped and stared.

  Rachel reached for the towel herself. Jonathan said quickly, “Reba, this is Rachel Evans, and Lindsey Sims. Mrs. Reba Shaw, our housekeeper.”

  Rachel and Lindsey greeted her and thanked her for the towels. The woman kept staring. Lindsey dried her hair, then put a towel under her feet and tried to wring out her clothes. Jonathan took another towel and rubbed it briskly over Honey’s wriggling little body. In a moment the dog escaped and dashed down the hallway.

  “We’ll have to change. Could you find something for Rachel and Lindsey to put on while their clothes dry?”

  “Yes, sir.” Reba Shaw seemed to overcome her surprise at seeing Rachel. “I’ll show you both to a room.”

  They all followed Reba down the corridor. As soon as they reached the main staircase, Brianna entered the foyer from another room and stopped, her sharp gaze taking in every detail. Her eyes narrowed for a moment when she saw Rachel next to Jonathan, a large towel draped over her shoulders.

  “Jon, what on earth have you been doing?”

  “We were chasing the dog,” he explained again. “They’ll need some clothes, Brianna.”

  She lifted her perfect brows. “Of course. I’ll see what I can find.” But she stood watching them thoughtfully as they all ascended the stairs. Jonathan turned to the left; Reba turned right and walked several doors down before choosing one and opening it.

  “You may use this room. There’s a connecting bathroom.”

  To Lindsey’s surprise, Rachel stopped her as she turned to go. “Mrs. Shaw, I know that you recognize me. I know who you are. I remember you from when I was little. You used to visit my mother. I know that you helped my grandmother—”

  Reba turned to her sharply, her face oddly pale and pinched-looking. “Miss Evans, if you please,” she hissed. “No one in this house must know that I attended Mrs. Laramore. It would mean my job. And yes, it would mean even the pension he is to leave me. I won’t risk it. You must not speak of it.”

  “I was only going to thank you for what you did,” Rachel said quietly. “There’s very little chance that Mr. Laramore will ever know—”

  “There are those in this house,” the housekeeper stated, “who report to him everything that happens, everything that’s said. As far as I’m concerned, you and I are complete strangers.”

  And with that she turned and left the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Well!” Lindsey exclaimed. “What was all that about?”

  “It’s just that—she was here, as a maid I think, when my grandmother was sent away. They were friends. Reba used to go into town once in a while and clean her house for her, and bring pictures of Philip. Then after my grandmother died, she did the same for my mother, and sometimes babysat me when I was little. I didn’t understand at the time who she was, but I remember her, and I remember my mother telling me about her.”

  “Well, I don’t think she’s so friendly anymore.”

  “She’s afraid. Mr. Laramore must be a terrible man.”

  Lindsey didn’t want to think about Mr. Laramore. She looked around the room. It was large and nicely furnished; there were twin beds with a table and lamp between them, a writing desk, an enormous armoire, and a dresser with a mirror. Ruffles on the bedclothes and curtains gave the room a feminine appearance.

  “Rachel, are you going to take a shower?”

  “You go ahead—you’re shivering. I’ll go next.”

  Lindsey went into the bathroom and took as hot a shower as she could stand. She found a brush in a drawer and worked the tangles out of her hair. Then she wrapped herself in a towel and opened the bathroom door, stopping short as she saw Brianna strolling into the bedroom. Rachel had sat down on the floor to look through a basket stacked with magazines.

  “I brought some clothes,” she said cheerfully, laying them across one of the beds. She plopped down on the other bed. “I brought a dress for you, Rachel—we’re close to the same size. I’m taller but that won’t matter. I couldn’t find anything for you, Lindy, except a pair of pajamas. But they’re warm, and they look like clothes.”

  “Thanks,” Lindsey said sourly. She thought about enlightening Brianna as to the correct pronunciation of her name, but decided against it. It didn’t really matter, and she had a feeling Brianna had mispronounced it on purpose.

  “I brought your purse. And there’s a laundry bag there for your wet clothes. Reba will take care of them for you.”

  “Thank you,” Rachel said, getting to her feet. “We’re sorry to be so much trouble. You’ve been very kind.”

  “Not at all.” Brianna kept sitting there, and eyed Rachel coolly. “Have you talked to Mr. Laramore yet?”

  “Why, yes I have. But we still have some unfinished business. That’s why Lindsey and I are still here.”

  Brianna gave a shrug. “What is there to finish?”

  Lindsey glanced at Rachel, who said carefully, “I don’t think Mr. Laramore would want me to talk about it just now, if you don’t mind.”

  Brianna blinked. Then she said, “I knew who you were the moment I saw you. I’ve seen photographs. I suppose it gave Jonathan quite a shock.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Brianna rose from the bed, sleek as a cat, and smiled. “I’ve heard the whole dismal tale, but I’ve never given it a second thought. Why should I? It’s ancient history.”

  Rachel made no reply. Brianna strode to the door. “There’s a hairdryer and extra toothbrushes in the bathroom. You’re welcome to stay for dinner. It’s at seven. In fact, you’ll probably have to stay the night.”

  The door closed firmly behind her.

  “Don’t worry, Lindsey,” Rachel said, as she headed into the bathroom, “we’re not going to stay the night.”

  Reba came and brought Lindsey’s shoes, cleaned and dried, as well as Rachel’s, which had been left in the living room when she went in search of Lindsey. Then Barlow brought the drinks they’d asked for. As Lindsey sipped her coke, she thought, “I really could get used to this!”

  She stood up and slipped on the pajamas Brianna had so generously provided. The pants and shirtsleeves were too long, but when she rolled them up the fit was pretty close. The only thing was that the material was a bright yellow and orange plaid.

  Great, she thought, now I look like a clown.

  She tied her hair back in a ponytail and bounced down on the bed. There were two books on the table, Wuthering Heights and Swiss Family Robinson. She flipped through the first one idly; she’d tried to read it once but found it too depressing. One of the pages was dog-eared, and when she turned to it, there was a passage that had been underlined. She was reading it when Rachel came out of the bathroom.

  She’d dried her hair and must have had some cosmetics in her purse, for her eyes were lightly made up and she was wearing lipstick. The dress Brianna had furnished reached her calves, and was mahogany with golden streaks in it, colors which complemented her eyes and hair. But her expression was what caught Lindsey’s attention, for there was something glowing and expectant about it—some quality that hadn’t been there before.

  It was the look of true love. Oh, brother, this should be interesting!

  “Rachel, look at this. This book is really old, and somebody underlined some sentences. It’s that part that says: “Nellie, I am Heathcliff. He’s always, always in my mind. Not as a pleasure, anymore than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.”

  “Let’s see.” Rachel took the book, read the passage again, and flipped back to the front. “Look, Lindsey, there’s a letter “E” inscribed on the inside cover. Do you suppose this was Ellen’s book?”

  “I guess it could be. What does it mean—the part that’s underlined?”

  “Oh, that’s Catherine, the tragic heroine, telling someone the way she feels about Heathcliff. They were a v
ery strange pair, if you ask me.”

  “I thought it was supposed to be this great romance.” Lindsey made a dramatic gesture.

  Rachel shrugged and sat down to put on her shoes. “Well, they were obsessed with each other, but I wouldn’t call it love.”

  Lindsey was about to ask her definition of love when someone knocked briskly on the door. When Rachel opened it, Honey darted inside while Barlow remained standing in the hall. Lindsey felt a little sorry for him; he’d certainly climbed the stairs often enough today.

  “Mr. Laramore’s attorney is here to see you, Miss Evans. He’s in the study.”

  “Oh. Thank you, Mr.—er—Barlow.”

  She closed the door and turned to Lindsey. “You are coming with me, aren’t you, Lindsey? I’ll need some moral support. I’m about to turn down all that money.”

  “Well, I’m not totally in support of that, but I’ll come with you.”

  “You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  Lindsey sighed and jumped down from the bed. She felt silly in pajamas; certainly it wasn’t the most suitable attire for meeting with an attorney. Leaving Honey wallowing around on a dry towel, she and Rachel went downstairs. After passing by several rooms they found one with a desk, filing cabinets, a wall lined from floor to ceiling with built-in bookshelves, and a man in a dark-gray suit.

  He was an older man, with thinning white hair and faded blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He held out his hand. “Miss Evans. I’m very glad to meet you. My name is Owen Caldwell. Jonathan has told me of your relationship with the family, and that you wish to speak to me.”

  Rachel shook his hand and introduced Lindsey, then moved further into the room. “Would you close the door, Mr. Caldwell?”

  He did so, looking at her curiously. She asked him, “Have you spoken with Mr. Laramore yet?”

  “No. They say he’s asleep. It doesn’t matter, it seems I’ll be here for a while. The roads are all but washed out.”

  Rachel looked dismayed by that information, but forged on ahead with her pronouncement. “Did he tell you on the telephone what he wants to do?”

  “Why, no. He just asked me to come right away, that there was something he wanted to take care of. Of course, I know about the letter he sent you, but that’s all.”

  “Mr. Caldwell.” Rachel went to the window. It was black and streaked with rain, and her own face and figure were clearly reflected. Lindsey saw her take a deep breath.

  “Mr. Laramore intends to leave me this house and all his money. I—I want you to talk him out of it.”

  The lawyer stared at her. At least twenty seconds went by, which is a long time when no one is saying anything. Then, lawyer-like, he repeated what she had just said. “Am I to understand that you wish to refuse Mr. Laramore?”

  “He’s doing it out of spite, or a guilty conscience, or—I don’t know why he’s doing it. But I realize I have no right to any of it. You must convince him of that. Tell him that if he leaves it to me, I’ll just turn around and give it all back to his grandsons.”

  “I see. Well.” Mr. Caldwell thought for a moment. “I’ll just go and leave word with the nurse to let me know the minute Mr. Laramore is able to talk. The sooner we get this over with the better.”

  “I’ll come with you. Perhaps he’s awake now.” Rachel turned to Lindsey. “Would you like to come?”

  “I’ll stay here. I want to see what books they have.”

  Lindsey busied herself inspecting the bookshelves. Disappointed, she saw they were books on tax laws and accounting and insurance. She knew there was a library somewhere in the house, but Brianna was probably in there being tutored. She wandered down to the end of the room, where heavy muslin draperies all but obscured an old-fashioned window seat. It was the kind you could store things in, for the lid was not fully closed. She climbed up on it and looked out the window, but it was completely dark now and she couldn’t even see the driveway. If the roads were really washed out, how in the world would they get home?

  Two people entered the room quietly and closed the door. Hidden by the thick draperies, Lindsey started to make her presence known, but stopped abruptly when she heard Isabella Laramore say, “What is that young woman doing here, that Miss Evans? What does Miles want with her?”

  It was Jonathan who replied, after a pause, “I don’t know.”

  “It worries me.”

  “Mother, about Alan—“

  “Oh, yes. I know. I promised you I would not let it happen again. I don’t know how it happened, Jon. But this time I will put the money in my personal account.”

  “There are places he can go, people that can help him.”

  “You know he will never do that. Of course, if he can’t get his hands on any cash, I don’t know what he will do.”

  Lindsey winced. If she were discovered eavesdropping she would die on the spot. She would crawl into the window seat and never come out.

  “Mother, this time I’ll give you the money, but none of it must go to support Alan. You’ve been wrong to help him. You—” Jonathan stopped.

  “I wish you would be sorry for him, too, Jon, and not be so cold to him always.”

  “I am sorry for him, but pity is not what he needs. He needs a kick in the pants and to be made to support himself for once.”

  “It’s easy for you to judge him, and not so easy to understand him.”

  Someone knocked on the door. Lindsey heard it open, and the butler’s voice said, “Dinner is served, sir. And I can’t find that little girl anywhere.”

  Little girl! Lindsey thought indignantly.

  Jonathan said quickly, “We’ll talk later, Mother,” and they both left the room.

  Lindsey waited a moment before hurrying to the doorway and taking a cautious peek into the hall. Seeing no one, she slipped out the door, scurried past several closed doors and entered the living room, where she sank onto a sofa and snatched up a magazine.

  No sooner had she done so than Jonathan walked in. “Here you are, Lindsey!” he said, looking relieved. “I didn’t see your dog anywhere either and I was beginning to wonder if you’d taken her for another walk in the rain.”

  “Oh, I was just reading this magazine,” she said with a yawn, then caught sight of the title. He must wonder why she would be so interested in Broker World.

  She sat up hastily. “I wonder where Honey is. I think we left her in the bedroom.”

  “She’ll be all right there for a while. I’d like you to join us for dinner.”

  “Like this?” She looked down at the gaudy pajamas, then at his dark slacks, fresh white shirt and dark jacket.

  He suppressed a smile. “You’re fine. I’ll explain that your clothes are being dried.”

  “Where’s Rachel?”

  “I believe I saw her coming downstairs a moment ago with Mr. Caldwell.”

  If he was dying of curiosity he gave no sign of it; he made it seem perfectly natural for his grandfather’s late wife’s granddaughter to be wandering around his house with the family attorney. He put out his arm, and Lindsey grinned at him and took it, walking with him across the foyer, through a massive archway and another long corridor to the dining room.

  Everyone else was already seated at the dining table. Jonathan walked her over to the empty seat beside Rachel and pulled out the chair. She slid into it self-consciously as he took his own seat at the end of the table. To his left were Mr. Caldwell, Gerard, Rachel and Lindsey; across from them were Isabella, Alan and Charlotte. Brianna sat opposite Jonathan, apparently already claiming her position as lady of the house.

  “Lindsey wanted to apologize for her attire, but I told her there was no need. Her clothes got wet and they’re being dried.” Jonathan winked at her over his water glass.

  Nobody asked how her clothes got wet. Nobody said anything. Lindsey made a pretense of looking around the room, half noticing the elaborate furnishings—the gleaming buffet, a huge china cabinet, a rolling table with a porcelain coffeepot and small por
celain cups. The plates were lemon yellow, and there were green fruit bowls shaped like water lilies. The melon-colored walls were trimmed in white, and at the end of the room, French doors were shuttered against the sounds of wind and rain. The chairs were covered in a subdued, floral fabric that perfectly matched the walls, as did the thick carpeting over the hardwood floor. A painting above the buffet depicted Custer’s Last Stand—a strange and unappetizing choice for a dining room, Lindsey thought.

  Barlow brought out the food with the utmost protocol and began serving the plates. There was grilled salmon, glazed chicken, wild rice, vegetables, baked apples, hot yeast rolls—Lindsey suddenly realized she was starving. The chandelier had been put on the “dim” setting, and tall candles flickered on the table, accentuating the formal atmosphere of the room.

  She wanted to ask Rachel how things went with Mr. Laramore, but couldn’t with everyone sitting around within listening distance. Besides, they hadn’t been gone long enough; the old man must still be asleep. Isabella began to chat with Mr. Caldwell and Gerard made small talk with Alan and Charlotte.

  Brianna looked very beautiful, Lindsey had to admit. She wore a chic, off-the-shoulders dress, black, with deep red roses swirling around on it. Her golden hair had been pinned into a perfect chignon. She looked almost angelic, except for her eyes, which just then held a good deal of inexplicable hostility. And as soon as she opened her mouth to speak she had everyone’s undivided attention.

  “Well, Alan,” she said coolly. “The casinos must have seen a lot of you lately. How much did you lose this time?”

  Alan paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

  “Isabella, I thought you were going to keep a closer watch on your errant son,” Brianna went on. “I must say, I wouldn’t so easily swallow having my money gambled away. How does it feel Alan? To lose all the money your devoted brother dishes out to support your widowed mother?”

  Owen Caldwell coughed and grabbed his napkin. Lindsey dared a glance at Jonathan, who looked wary—as though he’d seen it all before and knew there was more to come. Charlotte’s voice cut into the silence like a razor.