Woman Without a Past

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  A strong sense of foreboding warned me not to relax my guard—that every shadow might be haunted. For the next twenty-four hours, I was as careful and watchful as I had ever been in my life.

  17

  Amelia was gone for part of the next day, so Miss Kitty and I kept each other lazy company.

  I wished it could have been a more restful time. Amelia’s excited edginess about the play made me nervous, and I would be glad to have the whole thing over. I’d made my plane reservation, so I could leave early the next day. Amelia had taken our lilac dresses to the theater and I was to put mine on there when the time came.

  During these hours I saw nothing of Charles—which was a relief.

  Garrett stopped in briefly to see how we were doing, but he seemed in an unsettled state, and I knew he couldn’t talk in front of Amelia. Mainly he wanted to know when I was leaving, since he, too, thought I shouldn’t stay for the play.

  “Of course she must stay!” Amelia sounded mildly indignant. “In fact, I don’t want her to go away at all, and I don’t see why she thinks she must.”

  There was no point in arguing, and Garrett kissed us each lightly on the cheek and went off. I was sure he had learned something from Orva that might upset a few applecarts, but he wouldn’t tell us now. Perhaps the outcome would have been different if he had opened up—but who could know about that?

  I had time to think during that long day, and I wondered mainly about Cecelia Mountfort. Who was she to me—that baby self I had lost so long ago? Now that I’d spent time here, and grown closer to Amelia, I knew that Charleston would always pull me back, and I wasn’t sure whether this made me happy or sad.

  We had an early supper that evening and ate lightly. Just as we were leaving for the theater, the phone rang, and when Amelia answered, I heard alarm in her voice.

  “Yes, of course, Evaline. We’ll be on the lookout. Perhaps you’d better stay there, in case she comes back. Thanks for letting me know. Good-bye.”

  “That’s all we need,” she said as she hung up. “Mama’s given Evaline the slip and gone off in a car. She’s in a terribly agitated state and she’s probably coming to the theater, so we’ll set a watch for her. She may try to come in by the stage door, where she won’t be noticed.”

  Amelia, already nervous as both actress and author, didn’t need this additional worry, and I tried to reassure her. “Perhaps Valerie will simply come home and not go to the theater at all.”

  “I don’t think so,” Amelia said darkly. “I wish I knew what she means to do.”

  There was no way to guess. We drove the few blocks to the theater, and Amelia was able to park her car easily, since we were early. As we went in through the front lobby, Amelia stopped the first man we met and asked him to watch the stage door for Mrs. Mountfort.

  “Just call me or my sister if she appears,” Amelia told him.

  With an hour still to spend before curtain time, we went directly to the dressing room. Three or four women who played small parts were already there, and a little buzz of excitement had begun.

  I set myself to helping Amelia dress in her first-act costume. She’d already done her hair at home, and had insisted on combing mine in a duplicate style that suited the period of the play—a central part, with smoothly drawn wings, and a chignon pinned on at the back. She’d even provided that for me, matching the dark color of our hair. I still disliked the idea of what she’d planned for the tribute afterward, but the deception couldn’t possibly last for long, and then it wouldn’t matter if we were dressed alike.

  Now that Valerie Mountfort might be out there somewhere, I began to feel as tense as Amelia looked. Some wild plan must be motivating her, and it wasn’t possible for me to settle down in my theater seat in the second row, so I stayed backstage. I saw Garrett and Charles in their uniforms of blue and gray, but only in passing. Amelia managed to warn them that an unpredictable Valerie might turn up at the theater. Katy, trim in her maid’s costume, was told as well, and she sent a note out to Orva in the audience. So several of us were on the lookout for Valerie.

  There was no more time to worry about anything but the play. Now and then someone went onstage to peek through the curtain, and returned to report that the house was a sellout. It seemed as if all Charleston was here!

  When the curtain went up on the first scene, I stood in the wings, where I heard the first warm sound of applause and felt as pleased as though I’d been Amelia. However, as I nervously moved about backstage, I managed to get in Honoria’s way more than once and she banished me to the dressing room.

  At least I had seen the stage earlier. The exterior of a plantation mansion had been beautifully depicted on the backdrop, and the garden scene, where the duel would take place, provided a live oak with moss dripping from its limbs.

  The first scenes ran on, and from the dressing room I could hear voices, though not the words. When the duel was fought, the clash of swords rang out, and the curtain came down on the dying Union soldier—to enthusiastic applause. Amelia had already come back to change into her lilac crinoline, and would be ready to kneel beside her dying lover when the curtain went up on the second act. She’d left the dressing room in a hurry because she got word that someone needed to see her. I put on my copycat dress, and listened to the chatter from the other actresses about how much Amelia and I looked alike.

  With the intermission nearly over, Honoria came backstage to the dressing room. “Do hurry, Amelia! You need to take your place for the last act, so the curtain can go up.”

  “I’m not Amelia,” I said. “And don’t look so upset. This trickery isn’t my idea.”

  Honoria rushed off to look for my sister, and by this time Charles, too, was searching for Amelia. Somebody thought they’d seen her out front, and they both took that direction.

  Everyone had gone, and as I sat there, uneasy and uncertain, remembering Porter’s words, a subtle awareness stole through me, as though I could sense another’s fear, even greater than my own. With a strange intensity that I’d never experienced before, I knew it was Amelia’s fear. My sister was in some terrible danger because someone thought she was me. Her terror reverberated through me, and I knew it would lead me to my twin.

  For no other reason would I ever have ventured alone into that shadowy world behind the stage. I left the dressing room, moving almost like a sleepwalker.

  No sooner did I reach the confusion of aisles than I was accosted by an excited young man. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but your mother wouldn’t wait. She pushed through the stage door and ran off among all that junk back there.”

  I didn’t tell him I wasn’t Amelia. “Thanks for trying. Don’t worry. I’ll look for her. See if you can warn Honoria,” I whispered to him.

  When he’d gone off I struck out into the uncharted territory of criss-crossing aisles. It would be futile to search for Valerie back here—it was Amelia I must find. Hanging bulbs shed a pale diluted illumination that left shadows everywhere, deep and impenetrable. I tried to move softly in my billowing dress, listening intently for the least sound that would betray a living presence. The pull I had felt toward Amelia had lessened because of the new threat—Valerie.

  The hum from the auditorium became quickly distant. I knew the curtain was still down, and couldn’t go up without Amelia. I dared not call out for Valerie, since that might only send her into hiding. Yet I knew she must be here somewhere. Somehow I must hold on to that signal I’d received from my sister.

  Unfortunately, I felt more lost than ever in this jungle of articles collected over the years. Shelves of assorted hats towered above me on a high shelf, and costumes whispered on racks as I passed, as though someone hid among them.

  Valerie, if she were still here, was being utterly quiet. Once more I stood still, listening, and now I heard a voice speaking from the back of the huge old warehouse—only a mumbled sound, but evidence that someone was
there.

  I moved softly. There must be two people if one was speaking. Amelia and Valerie! A mother who thought she was speaking to the wrong daughter. But I had to be sure before they discovered my presence.

  As I turned down another aisle, however, I found myself blocked. A woman in jeans and a man’s shirt, her fair hair floating free down her back, stood before me. In one hand she held the halberd I remembered only too well. Valerie Mountfort looked wildly excited, and I knew where the danger lay.

  With a swift movement she transferred the halberd from her right to her left hand, and reached out to grasp my arm with a grip that hurt. Not for a moment was she confused about my identity.

  “Molly,” she whispered, “come with me and be very quiet. We’ve got to stop what’s happening. Don’t make a sound.”

  I could have pulled away, escaped from her, but because of my sister, I went with her. My dress caught on some protruding object and I heard it tear. Valerie moved toward the distant voice, picking her way silently, pulling me with her.

  Space opened out at the back, and here the floor had been covered with old ballast stones. Wide railingless steps led up to a second level, where scenery flats and lengths of lumber seemed to have been stored. I could glimpse their shadowy piles.

  Valerie squeezed my arm. “Listen!”

  Amelia wasn’t answering the woman who was speaking. Chilled, I knew why. Amelia, by her silence, allowed the other person to believe she was me. In spite of that surge of fear that I’d come close to now—Amelia’s fear—she said nothing.

  The voice went on in cold assurance. “My son will never lose the plantation, Molly. I’ll not have my plans interfered with. From the time the twins were born, I knew that Charles would grow up to marry Amelia. The entire inheritance from Simon must go to her, and through her to my son—Porter’s son.”

  Amelia gasped softly, and a note of triumph came into Evaline’s voice.

  “No one has ever guessed. But now you know. After your mother and I ran off to New Orleans, and Porter came to bring us home, Valerie would have nothing to do with him. I had always loved him, but he had loved your mother. I thought he would love me if we had an affair, but his parents didn’t want him marrying a girl with nothing. Not even Charles knows who his father is—but Porter has known all along. When I suddenly married Jim Landry, he knew why.”

  For the first time Amelia spoke, though only in a whisper. She still wanted Evaline to believe she was Molly—Cecelia. This was a brave and dangerous game my sister was playing, and I knew the risk. But when I tried to pull away from Valerie, she tightened her grasp, warning me to be still. We both listened.

  “Porter gave you that second pair of earrings, didn’t he?” Amelia whispered, doing a pretty good job of sounding like me. “And you lost one when you damaged Nathanial’s boat.”

  Evaline laughed—a terrifying sound—and again Valerie’s hand warned me to wait.

  “Nathanial believed he was related to the Mountforts, and he had a foolish loyalty to them. He could have exposed Porter and ruined the family. God only knows what would have happened to us all then. Nathanial found out that I still had some pretty sleazy friends in New Orleans, and he suspected that I’d orchestrated the kidnapping to raise the money to save my son’s future. I could give that money to Porter and he would do the right thing for Charles. There was still one baby left, the one my son would marry.”

  Her utter callousness, her single-minded blind intent, was more paranoid than anything Valerie Mountfort could create. And the very fact that she was telling everything meant that she didn’t intend for the woman who listened to live. Looking up, I could see that my sister’s back was toward empty space. One shove would send her over.

  Amelia moaned softly. I wanted to shout to her to tell Evaline who she was and save herself, but Valerie held me silent again.

  “Wait, Cecelia,” she whispered. “Let her set her own trap.”

  Step by careful step, Valerie began to climb toward the lighted platform, drawing me with her. The halberd pointed upward like a spear as that cold dreadful voice went on.

  “I tried to warn you, Molly, that first day back here in the theater. You fell and knocked yourself out when you tried to run away. So I put that stage weapon beside you as a warning—to leave. I didn’t know then that Simon had left the plantation to you or I might have gotten rid of you then. When Charles fell in love with you . . .”

  “That’s not true! Charles has always loved me!” Amelia cried, giving herself away.

  There was an instant of silence as Evaline recognized her mistake. “You’re not Molly! You tried to trick me, you stupid girl!”

  Valerie let go of my arm, and this time I ran up the steps past her. “I’m the twin you’re looking for! You can deal with me now—not Amelia!”

  Amelia stepped away from the platform’s edge as Evaline caught hold of me. Strong hands swung me around, thrusting me toward the spot where my sister had stood. Below lay ballast stone and for a moment I looked my own death in the eye.

  But even as I struggled, an ax head struck at Evaline’s arm, and a lance point was suddenly at her throat. I whirled her around while she was off guard, so that her back was toward open space and I could step to safety.

  “I never took your sleeping pills,” Valerie told her, thrusting with the lance point. “I knew what you were up to, but I went to the house first to check—so you reached the theater ahead of me.

  Again she prodded with the halberd, and Amelia cried out. “No, Mama, no!”

  Valerie ignored her. “You were going to kill Cecelia, just the way you did the others. Nathanial and Daphne. Now it’s your turn.”

  But she held the lance point still, no longer touching Evaline. The woman took another step, terrified now, without caution, and went backward into space. She screamed as she fell, and we heard the sickening crack of her skull against stone.

  Then everything was frighteningly still. I ran down to the stones below, but suddenly Honoria was there ahead of me, kneeling beside Evaline’s body.

  “Daphne told me to come!” she cried. “I heard her voice clearly.” She looked up the steps, where Amelia and Valerie had started down. “I should have known! Why didn’t Nathanial tell me?”

  Valerie had dropped the halberd behind a flat from some old play, and I knew no one would find it for a long time.

  “I couldn’t let her hurt either of my daughters,” she told Honoria.

  Honoria hadn’t seen the halberd, but she smiled at Valerie. “You did very well. Now I’d better go call the police.”

  “No!” Valerie cried. “No police until you know what to tell them.”

  “You’re right. Evaline has taken her punishment and there’s no point in feeding the press with everything that led to this. It might even mean prison for Porter. Old scandals won’t help anyone.”

  Over the years the Mountforts had grown skilled at deceiving the police—and perhaps they’d get away with it one more time. They had the name and a great deal of local respect on their side.

  My fiction writer’s brain started to plot. “Can you figure out a reason why Evaline came back here and fell from the platform?” I asked.

  Honoria smiled at me grimly. “I needed a prop and I told her where she could find it for me. There was no one else to send, and I never thought she’d be careless up where there was no railing.”

  “But how could Evaline have mistaken Amelia for me—when Amelia was dressed for the play!” I puzzled.

  “Evaline knew there were two dresses because Daphne had worked on them out at the plantation. And she knew about Amelia’s plan. So she’d expected Molly to be dressed like her sister, and she’d have thought Amelia would be onstage. Why did you come back here, Amelia?”

  “Mama phoned me here at the theater—from our house. She was too late to catch me, but she warned me about Evaline
and said she’d be right over. So I came back here to watch for her. Evaline was searching too, and she took me for Molly. So I thought I might draw her out. When she told me my mother had run up there to the platform, I believed her. So I climbed up, expecting to find you, Mama.”

  “My beautiful, brave daughter,” Valerie said. “Now don’t cry, or you’ll spoil your makeup. They’re holding the curtain, aren’t they?”

  Honoria said, “I’ll go and announce that the play can’t go on.

  “No—wait!” Amelia hugged her mother and then turned to me. “I knew you’d come, Cecelia. I was calling for you to come.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “I felt you calling.” Now I understood about being a twin.

  For an instant our cheeks touched, and then Amelia turned in the direction of the stage. “They’re waiting for me. It’s my play and Daphne’s tribute. I won’t let Evaline win!”

  She ran toward the stage, drawing her billowing dress past objects that might have caught the skirt, moving far more gracefully than I ever could—my courageous, remarkable sister!

  “Now I will call the police,” Honoria said. “Can you two wait here until I get back? Then we’ll talk to them together.”

  When she’d gone, Valerie gestured toward a white garden bench nearby, and we sat down, well away from the platform and Evaline’s body. Before she’d gone, Honoria had found a length of bright brocade to throw over her. Inappropriate, but it served.

  We sat quietly for a little while, each lost in her own thoughts. Garrett would be playing his spirit role onstage in Amelia’s play. Nothing was settled between Garrett and me, but I knew how much I needed him. Wryly, I remembered that the heroes in my novels were always there to rescue the heroine. But tonight we hadn’t needed a hero. We had done it all ourselves—Valerie and Amelia and I. Mountforts!

  Yet so much still remained to be done, aside from talking to the police. Charles would have to be told that he was Porter’s son, that his mother was dead, and what she had done. I had no idea what would happen now between Amelia and Charles, and I spoke this thought aloud.