by Peggy Gaddis
“Then you’ll come to dinner tomorrow night.” It was not an invitation, but an order. And as though there could not possibly be any negative answer, she added, “That will give you time to give your housekeeper the evening off, won’t it?”
“Yessum,” said Sam with a mocking humility that made Marise eye him suspiciously. “And I’ll come back tonight after dinner.”
He turned to Judy and Alison, made some pleasant remark about how much he had enjoyed their company and drove back down the road to his own cottage.
“Why haven’t I met him before?” Marise demanded of Judy.
Judy’s eyes met hers, and she said coolly, “Oh, I guess Sam is just lucky!”
She walked into the house before Marise could manage an answer to that. Marise glared after her and then turned sharply on Alison.
“All right, how did you meet him? she demanded.
Alison set her teeth for a moment before she could say with some measure of quietness, “He and Judy were going in town for lunch, and they asked me to go along. So I went.”
“Without so much as asking my permission?” Marise raged.
Anger stiffened Alison’s voice.
“Look, Marise, I’m your favorite whipping boy, and I wait on you hand and foot and take any kind of verbal abuse you care to heap on me. But I am not a child, and I have a perfect right to use my own judgment now and then.”
Marise eyed her coldly, contempt and hostility riding high in her eyes.
“It seems to me that you’re getting a bit above yourself, Alison, old girl,” she drawled, and there was the sting of a whiplash in her voice to match the look in her eyes. “Any time you want to call a halt to our relationship, just say the word and get out. I’m supposed to support you and provide for you as long as you are helpful to me, and not a moment longer. Remember Dad’s will? You’d better!”
Alison stood perfectly still, white-faced, bitter-eyed; biting her tongue to keep back the angry clamor of words that struggled for speech.
Marise watched her, relishing Alison’s discomfort, rejoicing in the knowledge that she held the whiphand over her cousin by reason of the will that had turned the vast Parker estate over to her. When at last she saw that Alison was not going to speak, she turned away and said over her shoulder, “Now on upstairs and help me with the mail that came today. And then you can assist me in getting dressed for dinner.”
And Alison, despising herself for her spinelessness, could do nothing but follow Marise into the house and up the stairs.
From the open doorway of the big drawing room came the sound of laughter and chatter and the tinkle of ice in tall glasses. The cocktail hour was, as always, the highlight of the day at Oakhill since Marise had brought her crowd down. And as she followed Marise up the stairs, Alison could take what small comfort she could derive from the thought that every single one of them was as much under Marise’s thumb as she herself. Marise never withheld any blows. If Tony or Mimi or Roger or Terry so much as dared to question any decision she made, Marise lashed out at them as savagely as she had at Alison. Only Bix was free of that crushing thumb—as of now! But Heaven help him, Alison told herself as she followed Marise into the bedroom that had been assigned for her use, if ever he slipped into the yoke that Marise was preparing for him.
Marise dropped down at the dressing table and over her shoulder said carelessly, “Today’s mail is on the desk over there. You know how to handle it. The charity solicitations go into the wastebasket; any personal ones you can answer; and the business letters should be sent back to the Foundation.”
“Of course,” said Alison tonelessly.
Marise glanced at her, and her lovely mouth thinned until it wasn’t really pretty any more.
“And if you try very hard, you might get it all attended to before bedtime,” she mocked. “Of course you’ll have to skip dinner, but I’m sure they’ll send you up a tray. I’ll ask when I go down. That is, if I remember it.”
“You needn’t bother,” Alison told her. “I had a very nice lunch and I’m not hungry.”
“This Sam person,” Marise drawled at last, “what exactly does he do here?”
Alison looked at her swiftly.
“I suppose you’d call him the overseer,” she answered.
Marise turned, startled.
“You mean he’s part of the staff? Hired help?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Alison told her, and hid her malicious satisfaction at Marise’s amazement.
“So that’s why I hadn’t met him,” Marise mused aloud.
“I think that must be the reason,” Alison agreed, still watching her. “You haven’t been very pleasant to the hired help here, so I suppose he planned to keep out of your way.”
The hint of criticism in Alison’s voice brought sparks of anger to Marise’s eyes.
“Well, beginning tomorrow night, all that’s going to be changed,” Marise told Alison with a sweetness that was more than faintly edged with malice. “I’ll find out from Bix just how important this Sam person is, and that will be that!”
Alison heard herself saying the last thing on earth she had meant to say.
“Marise, don’t hurt him! He’s really very decent.” She set her teeth hard to stop any further words but knew that she had already said the very thing that would make Marise pursue Sam relentlessly.
“Oh,” Marise purred, brows raised airily, “so Sam has won your support, has he? I don’t believe you’ve ever asked me not to interfere with your boy friends before.”
“That’s easy,” Alison said through her teeth. “I’ve never had any. You’ve seen to that ever since we were children.”
Marise shrugged carelessly.
“Can I help it if men prefer me to you?” she mocked. “They always do, you know.”
“Why not, with all that money—” Once more Alison had said more than she intended, and something that she had not in the least meant to say.
Marise came to her feet as though a hidden spring had been suddenly released beneath the dressing table chair. She swung toward Alison, hands extended, fingers curled like claws, red rage in her eyes.
“Don’t you ever say anything like that to me again!” she breathed furiously. “Don’t you dare hint that men like me only because of the Parker estate. If you do, you’ll be sorry the longest day you live! And you know I mean that!”
Alison set her teeth hard against the anger that boiled within her. Before she could speak, Marise raced on.
“You’re the most ungrateful creature that ever lived! You’ve had everything any sane girl could want, and you’ve never by so much as a word indicated any appreciation! So now you can mind your own business and be very careful. Else you’ll find yourself kicked out into the world to make a living for yourself, probably by scrubbing floors or baby-sitting. Who knows or cares?”
She waited for Alison to answer her. But long experience had taught Alison that Marise thoroughly enjoyed a verbal brawl; and since such battles sickened her, she had learned not to offer any encouragement when Marise began berating her.
Marise waited, but Alison merely turned to the portable typewriter on the desk and picked up the sheaf of mail that was awaiting her attention.
“And be sure you have those ready to go to the post office in the morning,” Marise said harshly. “If you had stayed here and attended to your work today, you wouldn’t have had to work tonight. So it’s your own fault that you do.”
Still Alison did not answer. When she was sure that she was to be deprived of the verbal brawl she was geared for, Marise turned away and began dressing for dinner. She dressed for dinner at Oakhill just as she would have dressed for a formal dinner in New York or London or Paris; and when she was ready to go downstairs, she revolved slowly before the full-length mirror, settling the amber-colored sheath snugly about her, nodding with frank satisfaction at the picture that looked back at her, before she went out of the room without another word to Alison.
Judy was
coming along the corridor en route to the Old Gentleman’s room when Marise brushed past her without a word or a glance and went lightly down the stairs to the big drawing room.
A door along the corridor opened, and Roger Mayson came out, dressed in evening garb. He paused as he saw Judy, then came swiftly toward her.
“I missed you this afternoon.” His tone was lightly accusing.
“That was nice of you,” Judy said as lightly. “I went into town for lunch with friends.”
“Oh, then, how about going into town for lunch with me tomorrow?”
“Sorry, I never go in town more than once or twice a month.”
“Oh!” Roger seemed downcast. Then he glanced at the simple daytime frock she was wearing and asked, “You’re not coming down to dinner?”
“Of course not. I’m hired help, remember?” Judy laughed, and added quickly, “I always sit with the Old Gentleman while his nurse has dinner with Mother. I’ve already had mine.”
Roger nodded and added, “But you’ll be coming downstairs after the nurse takes over again. How about meeting me for a walk in the rose garden when the moon comes up? I’ve always had a yen to walk in a rose garden with a pretty girl beneath a Southern moon! Surely you haven’t the heart to deprive me of making that dream come true when all the signs and indications are right? I have it on the very best authority that there is a moon, or will be in an hour or so. Meet me on the verandah at moonrise?”
Judy laughed. “Now that’s a romantic-sounding invitation if I ever heard one.”
Roger looked pleased. “Come to think of it, it is, isn’t it?” he agreed. “Is it a date?”
“Why not?” Judy laughed and walked on to the Old Gentleman’s door and tapped very lightly.
The nurse drew her into the room, welcomed her pleasantly, and departed for her own dinner with Miz’ Beth in the housekeeper’s quarters.
Judy went to the side of the bed and looked down at the old man who lay there for all the world like a figure carved from stone. Save for the very faint rise and fall of his chest, it was difficult to believe that he still lived. Remembering his stalwart body, his strength and energy, his joy in the very fact of life itself, Judy’s tears came, and she could not control them. For all that she knew, there was the very faintest possibility that the sound of her weeping might penetrate the thick fog of the coma in which he lay and so disturb him. But even that thought was not enough to check the tears.
When the nurse came back and looked down at her, she said quietly, “Judy dear, you’ve been crying. You mustn’t, honey. He’s had a rich, full life, and you must accustom yourself to the thought that he cannot recover and that he would not want to go on living as he is. Brace yourself, Judy, for the inevitable.”
Judy nodded miserably.
“I know I should, but somehow I just can’t. It hurts so to see him like this,” she confessed.
“Of course it does,” the nurse agreed sadly. “I often feel that a heart attack is about the most merciful way a person can go. Not one of the lingering ones, but one that hits like lightning. This way—” She sighed and patted Judy’s shoulder gently. “You run along now, and try to have some fun. And don’t scowl at me for saying that. After all, your life is all ahead of you; his is behind him. Be a good girl now, and stop this grieving!”
“I’ll try,” Judy stammered huskily, and went out of the room.
She paused in the corridor, lifted her head and squared her shoulders, drawing a deep breath. She wished with all her heart she could do as the nurse urged. But the Old Gentleman was very dear to her. It was the first time she had ever witnessed the slow, stealthy but not to be evaded approach of death, and it hurt her almost unbearably.
Downstairs, she could hear the hubbub of laughter and voices as Bix and his guests foregathered for cocktails before dinner.
She had almost reached the stairs when she heard the unmistakable clacking of a typewriter coming from the direction of the rooms assigned to Marise and Alison. Puzzled, she listened, knowing that Marise had gone downstairs. And anyway, she couldn’t imagine Marise pecking away at a typewriter.
She tapped lightly on the door of the room, and the clacking ceased. She heard Alison’s voice calling, “Come in,” and she opened the door.
Alison sat behind the small desk, her fingers poised above the keys, looking across the room at Judy with a faint smile.
“Oh, hello, Judy. Come in.”
Judy asked, “Why aren’t you downstairs having dinner with the others?”
Alison sat behind the small desk, her fingers poised typewriter, even while a faint fan of color touched her cheeks and her eyes would not meet Judy’s.
“Oh, it seems there were letters in the afternoon mail that had to be answered in time for tomorrow’s post,” Alison said hurriedly.
“All that important, are they? There is only one mail a day out here, so that means the letters have been here since this morning. Why didn’t Marise tell you about them earlier?” Judy demanded.
“Well, I suppose she thought I’d be around all day,” Alison replied.
“So you went off to town with Sam and me and, I hope, had an elegant time, and that’s something her ladyship can’t abide unless it happens to her,” Judy said. She added briskly, “Have you had any dinner?”
“No, but I’m not hungry.”
“Pish-tush and fiddle-faddle!” Judy snorted inelegantly. “I’ll bring you a tray. And don’t argue with me, woman. I will not have you dying of malnutrition beneath the roof of Oakhill. It might give the place a bad name.”
Without waiting for an answer, Judy went out quickly and down the stairs. She had forgotten her tears. When she went into the kitchen, Mam’ Chloe looked at her sharply and demanded, “How come you been crying?”
“Don’t be silly!” Judy scoffed, getting out a tray. She neatly sidestepped the hurrying servants and placed food on the tray while Mam’ Chloe eyed her sharply. “Who’s been crying?”
“Well, if you don’t know, I sure don’t,” Mam’ Chloe told her, and added curiously, “You didn’t have your dinner with Miz’ Beth?”
“Sure. This is for Miss Parker, Miss Alison Parker,” Judy answered. “She’s working too hard to come down to dinner, so I’m taking her a tray.”
“You don’t have to do that, Miss Judy. Let one of the maids do it. It ain’t fittin’ for you to be totin’ trays,” Mam’ Chloe protested.
Judy hooted derisively at her as she lifted the tray and headed for the back stairs.
“You may be surprised, Mam’ Chloe darling, what’s fittin’ for me,” she called over her shoulder.
Alison rose as Judy came in with the tray and protested, “Oh, Judy, you needn’t have gone to so much trouble. A sandwich and a glass of milk would have been plenty.”
“Hush your fuss and clear that table beside the window,” Judy ordered briskly. “I brought you some of everything that was going into the dining room. Mam’ Chloe’s on her mettle. She’s determined that Mr. Bix and his guests are going to have the best Oakhill affords.”
Alison eyed the tray hungrily and asked, “Have you had dinner, Judy? There’s plenty here for both of us.”
Judy laughed. “Oh, I had mine hours ago. And besides, I have a date for a moonlight walk in the rose garden.”
Alison asked, “With Sam?” And there was more than a hint of wistfulness in her voice.
“Of course not. Sam and I have known each other for centuries. Why would we go for a moonlight walk in the rose garden or elsewhere?” Judy laughed.
“It sounds as if it might be nice,” Alison said, and the wistfulness in her voice made Judy look at her so sharply that Alison said hurriedly, “If not with Sam, then with Bix, maybe? Or that nice young man we met in town?”
Judy shook her head. “With Roger Mayson. Do you mind?”
Alison stared at her. “Roger? Do I mind? Goodness, of course not. But Marise will, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, now that’s just too bad! I’ll worry
about that some day when I can’t think of anything else to worry about,” Judy retorted, and looked at the tray. “Sure you have everything there you need? If not, ring, and Mam’ Chloe will send one of the maids up.”
“I couldn’t possibly want any more than this, or even half of it,” Alison answered, and added impulsively, “Be careful, Judy!”
Puzzled, Judy asked, “You mean of Roger? Why, he seems quite harmless—though he’d hate me for saying that, wouldn’t he?”
“Not of Roger. He’s a lamb,” Alison answered. “I meant, be careful of Marise. She can be a very bad enemy.”
Judy stared at her and laughed. “Alison, I swear I think you are afraid of her!”
Alison looked down at the laden tray, and her cheeks were hot with color.
“Of what she can do. She can be very unpleasant, even brutal,” she said huskily.
Judy asked impulsively, “Why do you put up with it, Alison?”
Alison’s mouth thinned to a bitter line, and her eyes would not meet Judy’s.
“Because I’m a spineless coward, afraid to try to earn my own living in a big, wicked world when I’ve had no training of any kind,” she said brusquely. “Please, Judy, run along now and let me get back to work. I have to finish these letters before I can stop. Thank you for the tray, Judy. Thanks a lot.”
Judy eyed her curiously.
“You’re welcome, Alison. Good night,” she said, and let herself out of the room, drawing the door shut behind her.
In her own room, she removed the traces of tears, brushed her hair and slipped into a fresh dainty frock of flower-sprigged cotton. The night was cool, and so she flung a light sweater around her shoulders and went down the stairs.
Roger was waiting for her on the wide verandah. He said accusingly, “You’re late. The moon is already up!”
Judy laughed as they went side by side down the wide, shallow stairs.
“Oh, well, it will stay up for hours,” she mocked him as she led the way around the terraced drive and to the two wide, flat steps that led down to the garden.
At the top of the steps, Roger paused and flung up his head, sniffing delightedly.
“Well, what do you know?” he marveled. “There really is a rose garden.”
