“I might help you from time to time.”
“You do that.” Henrietta pouted. She felt a tremendous animosity toward her husband at that moment because she knew well enough how lazy Alfie was. Then, she remembered the extra money she would put aside and for a second or two, day-dreamed of getting rid of her husband and living peacefully on her own.
“He says that he’s a vegetarian,” she said.
“Oh, how fun. You can make him bread and butter every night. I’ll eat his share of the meat.”
“Not funny, Alfie,” she said gruffly, but regardless, Alfie grinned.
Chapter 19. At Last!
Henrietta lay in her bed, exhausted after all the excitement. She listened to Alfie snore, and for once, welcomed the solitude of being alone in the darkness, awake.
She had mentioned to her husband the $100 a week but had kept quiet about the extra $70 Mr. Baxter was going to give her for the food. She would tuck that money away, in some safe place where nobody could get their grubby hands on it and keep it for a rainy day. She had a feeling that she would manage nicely on the other $100 a week.
For a while, she listened to the late-night noises, the cats fighting, the dogs barking, and the people laughing on the street under her window. All the familiar noises of the night.
She was finally dozing off when she heard footsteps coming down from the attic. It must be Mr. Baxter, leaving quietly, she thought. It comforted her that a new sort of order had come into her life. A better life. She gratefully thanked God and Mr. Baxter for the good things coming her way, and soon she was asleep.
It was much, much later that an unusual sound woke her up. She lay in bed, listening intently for a while. The grandfather clock struck three times. Then she heard footsteps inside the house, somewhere downstairs. Heavy footsteps, so different from Alfie’s. It must be her lodger, she thought, who had made the noise when he came home, the one that had awakened her.
She wondered where he had gone so late at night, and why, oh why did he have to do so, especially on such a cold, wet, foggy night. But it was none of her business. She would have to learn to let him be.
Once she heard him climb the myriad steps to his rooms, and knowing that everyone was home safely, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Chapter 20. Henrietta At The Park
Ember Street was alive with sunshine and sparkling, melting snow. The same usual people rushed back and forth on their daily business, but there seemed to be a new joy in their steps. Amazing what a little sunshine did for the soul. Henrietta picked her steps carefully, avoiding the cold puddles that would wet her old boots and soak her woolen socks.
She felt like a winner, full of life and happiness, carrying a 100-dollar bill in her purse. She looked around her at all the delighted people basking in the long-missed sunshine, and she thought of all the delicious foods she would buy. The grocer would be surprised when he noticed that she was not bending low in front of the shelves looking for lower-priced items on the bottom rung. Ah, she thought, life was good at last. Now she just had to make sure that Mr. Baxter stayed for a very long time.
She took a right turn at the end of the street and headed for the River Walk. She was in no hurry. She knew that Alfie would spend the morning with his friend Oscar—the neighbor—and discuss the stranger in the attic ad nauseam. That was fine with her. She could take her time without having to rush home because Alfie hated to be home alone.
She sat on a bench, on a dry spot, and inhaled the cold, clean air. The river meandered like a snake toward the sea, languidly carrying chunks of ice that sparkled in the friendly morning sunshine.
She would buy herself some new boots. She desperately needed a pair. And then, a new coat, perhaps. Was that Nancy sitting on that yonder bench? Suddenly, she itched with the desire of telling her friend all about her reversal of fortune.
Henrietta jumped up and hurried over to the other bench. After hugs and hellos, happiness poured out of her lips as she shared the good news.
“And then, when we were already in bed, the bell rang,” Henrietta said.
“You mean you have a bell in the attic?”
“Yes. I have no idea who put it in. It was there when we bought the house, I guess. Anyway, it’s just a chord. Nothing fancy. But when you pull it, it rings downstairs in the kitchen, and it’s loud enough that I could hear it in the bedroom.”
“And what did your lodger want at that late hour?”
“You won’t believe,” Henrietta laughed. “Alfred went to see what he wanted as it was too late for me to go upstairs, and the man asked for a Bible. Can you imagine that? He wanted to borrow our Bible.”
“And do you have one?” Nancy asked. Her eyes were big with wonder.
“Of course, we do. But what a request. So, Alfred went back up and took him the Bible.”
“What would he need it for? And why doesn’t he have one of his own?”
“I have no idea. Maybe that’s one of the things he lost when they stole his luggage.”
“They stole his luggage? Who did?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“So, he doesn’t have any clothes either?”
“I guess not. He just had a leather bag, like one of those old-fashioned briefcases. But with all the money he took out of his pocket, he can surely afford to buy himself a whole wardrobe.”
“Strange fellow, he sounds like, your new tenant.”
“He is strange, for sure. He’s very tall and gaunt. He’s very serious, too. When he smiles, he looks a little bit creepy. His eyes are dark and penetrating, and he stares at you like he was trying to read your mind. And he has long pointed incisor teeth, like vampires. At first, I got scared of him. I almost told him that the rooms were not for rent any longer. But we need the money.” Henrietta shrugged. “What else could I do?”
“Well, you better be careful, you two, about welcoming strangers into your home, with that murderer running around loose.”
Henrietta shivered, but not from the cold. She wondered about the murderer, about whether the police were close to catching him. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea that she had allowed a stranger into her home. But it was too late now. She sighed.
Chapter 21. Settling In
That evening, when Henrietta took dinner up to his new lodger, she was shocked to see that all the paintings on the wall had been taken down and had been put in a corner out of the way. She found George Baxter sitting on the threadbare sitting chair, Bible open on his lap, reading out loud.
She looked around disconcerted, surprised to see the walls empty. The lodger faced her and greeted her with a big, contented smile.
“I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Jones. I took the trouble to rearrange things to my liking. The paintings were distracting me. I was very careful taking them down, I assure you, so no worries.”
Henrietta was at a loss for words. She had always been proud of her paintings, even these lesser ones that she had hung up on the attic walls. Like her jewelry and some of her antique furniture, these pieces had been left to her by her mother, her aunts, her grandmothers. Being the only child in her generation, everything the family had ever owned came down to her. And this was what this stranger did with them?
Mr. Baxter must have noticed her distress because he put the Bible down and got up. With two long steps, he stood next to her and looked into her eyes with that deep, disconcerting gaze.
“Mrs. Jones, Henrietta, please do forgive me. I’ve been surrounded by empty walls for so long, that it disturbed me to no end, all that distraction on the walls. The dogs hunting, the foxes, the horses, the women with all that makeup, staring at me. Tell me you do understand? I don’t want to trouble your kind heart. Please tell me that you don’t mind?”
“It’s all right, Mr. Baxter. I understand. I’ll have Alfred come upstairs and take them away. I want you to be comfortable and happy up here.” Awfully aware of her lodger’s intense gaze, she tried to look away, but—as if she had been hypnotized—she r
emained rooted in position and stared back at him, into those deep, dark eyes.
“Thank you, dear Mrs. Jones. You are a treasure. And thank you for lending me your Bible. I’ll take good care of it. As you know, there’s no reading like the reading of the Good Book. There is something in it for everyone’s state of mind and body. It comforts us all.”
“Very true, sir.” And with that, Henrietta took a few dainty steps back, quickly laid out the appetizing little meal she had cooked for her lodger, turned around, and left the room, quietly closing the attic door.
Chapter 22. The Victim And Her Child
It was another dark and dreary night. Snowflakes beat against the windowpanes as the young woman shivered by her cold fireplace. She walked back to the heater and insulted it in an angry voice, giving it a clunky kick for good measure. You useless hunk of metal, you, she told it. You don’t even give me enough heat if I’m standing right next to you.
She stood by to the heater and rubbed her hands together, in the hopes of warming them. Her only comfort was that her little son was spending the night at the babysitter’s again, where it was cozy, and comfy and warm.
Kind, the old woman, willing to care for her child for so little money. One day, she would have enough money to do something truly nice for her. But for now, she had to bite her pride back and take the charity.
With a sigh, she went to her armoire. Definitely, nothing much to choose from. Her monsieur had already seen all her more decent clothes. From now on—unless he gave her some more extra money—she would have to re-wear what she had.
She went for the dark green dress. It was a thinner fabric, and it hadn’t been new in a very long time, but it still looked decent. She shrugged as she took it out and off the hanger. With her red hair, she always felt pretty in green, she would have to wear thick pantyhose to keep warm and hope that the coat would suffice.
Maybe she could ask her monsieur to take her to some warm place, instead of that blasted park that he seemed to be so fond of.
Taking a quick, almost cold shower, she began to get ready. She had been going out with this man for a month now. Where could a relationship like this go? Surely, she would never get him to marry her, even though she was young and pretty and he was old and grumpy.
She wondered what kind of pleasure he got out of her company—beyond the obvious one—when they quietly strolled in the park and he said nothing.
They had talked once, not that long ago, about her quitting her work. He had asked what she could do. Could she even do anything besides walking in the red district at night?
Her work was dangerous and at times disgusting, but she brought enough money home to feed herself and her child. Wasn’t that enough? She hadn’t answered him. She knew he wasn’t going to offer to marry her, nor would she be able to accept if he ever did, to live with an unattractive man like that with horrible personal habits, for the rest of her life.
The doorbell rang and she took one last look at herself. She looked particularly attractive tonight. The cold shower had colored her cheeks, and her red hair shone by the lamplight.
She was very pleased with herself when she opened the door, and she smiled big when her monsieur told her, “I have something very special planned for tonight.”
Chapter 23. The Telegram
Alfred Jones awakened to the ringing of the doorbell. He looked at the clock on his night table and noticed that it was only six o’clock in the morning and still almost dark. Then, he turned over to Henrietta’s side. She was snoring gently. It was never a good idea to wake her up too early.
Henrietta slept like a log, with her eye mask and her earplugs, and nothing short of a cannonball whizzing over her head would wake her up. Alfred reminded himself how lucky he was because, on the odd occasion in which he had had to leave the house in the middle of the night, Henrietta had slept on with the peace with which only the innocent can sleep.
He slipped into his slippers and shuffled down the stairs. The doorbell sounded more and more exasperated, and he hurried on. He was on the verge of screaming in frustration by the time he grabbed the front doorknob and was about to tell off whoever was disturbing them this early on a Saturday morning, when he saw, standing in front of him, the meek and apologetic figure of a postman.
“Sorry, sir. I wouldn’t have come this early had this not being an emergency.”
“What do you mean by an emergency?” Alfred asked, making no effort to disguise the anger he felt.
“It’s a telegram, I’m afraid.”
“Do they still have those?”
“Apparently they do. I was asked to change my route this morning so that I could deliver it. Mr. Jones is it?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Alfred Jones?”
“Yes. That’s me. Just give me the darned thing so that I can get back in bed.”
Alfred yanked the telegram out the postman’s hand and was about to slam the door rudely on his face when the postman shoved his boot between the door and the jamb.
“I know you from somewhere,” he said.
“But I don’t know you. So please take your foot away so that I can close the door.”
“But I’m sure that I know you.”
The seemingly mild-mannered postman had suddenly acquired a dark and threatening demeanor. He aggressively kept the door open with his foot and approached Alfred by a couple of inches.
“Get that foot out of my house or I’ll call the police.”
To Alfred’s surprise, the postman backed down and looked apologetic.
“Maybe I’m mistaken. I meant no harm, sir. I could have sworn that I’ve seen you before, somewhere. Have you ever lived in Texas?”
“No. Never. I’ve never even visited. Have never had any interest. I like it up here too much to go exploring down South.”
“Hmm. You’re a dead ringer for this one guy I knew a long time ago.”
“You forget that if that was a long time ago, you might not even recognize your friend at all. We change too much as we age.”
“Who said he was my friend? Anyway, sorry I disturbed you. Won’t happen again.”
Alfred shrugged. The apologies had deflated his aggressive anger and now all that was left was the annoyance of having been awakened too early, and the mysterious telegram.
Chapter 24. A Postman?
Henrietta reached the front door as Alfred was closing it.
“Who was that, Alfie? I heard loud voices.”
“Some crazy postman I’ve never seen before, who came to deliver a telegram and started a nasty argument about knowing me.”
“And do you?”
“And do I what?”
“Know him? Do you know him?”
“Of course not. He was delusional. And very aggressive. I thought he was going to assault me.”
“Maybe we should tell the police. Did you see a name tag?”
“Um, actually yes. Ha! I even remember his name. It’s an odd one, too.”
“I’ll call Charlie. He said he was coming over on Tuesday anyway. Maybe he could come today instead.”
“And report a postman? Charlie will laugh at me.”
“No, he won’t. He’s fond of you, and he’s in love with Celia. He would never laugh at you.”
“Let me think about it. It was nothing, actually. Just a stupid misunderstanding.”
Alfred and Henrietta headed for the kitchen, where she got ready to make coffee and breakfast.
“You know, love, it’s strange, though. I saw recognition in his eyes, and even before he became threatening, I felt a fear run through me as if I had known him from before.”
Henrietta sipped on her coffee while she watched her husband from the side of her eyes. He hadn’t always been the tame, quiet fellow he was today. She remembered stories he told about his childhood, where he’d gotten into scrapes with mafia-type guys—whatever they were called—who caused trouble and had even been in jail as a young offender once or twice.
He was an
upstanding citizen these days—or at least he appeared to be—but could this postman be a remnant of his past that was back to cause them trouble? Henrietta sighed as she put fried eggs and toast in front of her husband and sat down across the table from him to eat.
“So, what was his name?”
“The postman’s? Something, something Grant. Fergus, I think. Fergus Grant. And I think I know what you’re thinking, Henrietta, but I swear to you that I’ve never met anyone with that name before. I should remember. That’s not a name one would forget.”
“And the telegram? Did you ever open it?”
“Oh, no. I completely forgot.”
Alfred hurried to the living room and came back with the envelope and handed it to Henrietta, who tore it open right away. She turned the sheet within one way and the other, baffled.
“Alfie, there’s nothing here.”
“What do you mean, nothing there?” He took the paper out of her hand and examined it himself. His hand began to shake. There was not one word written on it. And he knew exactly what that meant.
“It’s just a plain piece of white paper. Completely empty,” he said, cautiously hiding the fear in his voice.
“How’s that possible?”
“It must be some kind of mistake, nothing more.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either, my dear. I don’t either. Best not to worry about it.”
Henrietta picked up the dirty dishes from the table and headed for the kitchen. Alfred watched her as she went, thinking, thinking fast. He had lied to her badly. He should have felt awful and told her the truth, but as he watched her go, he realized that he didn’t care about her that much anymore. Besides, what was another lie?
Chapter 25. Another Murder
The Stranger in the Attic Page 4
