The Stranger in the Attic
Page 17
He arrived breathless, and he placed his right hand on his heart and willed it to calm down. Then, he rummaged among the rocks by the back door and found the key that had been hidden there many years earlier. He chuckled bitterly. Having played hide-and-seek in his childhood in forbidden places like this one with his friends was paying off despite all the spankings he had gotten for it.
He looked around to make sure that he was alone, and he entered. He assumed that Henrietta was still alive. Even if she hadn’t been given any food or drink, she would be hungry and dehydrated, but most probably just fine.
“Hello,” he yelled out loud. “Anyone here?”
His voice echoed in the vast empty space. He didn’t get an answer, so he went and walked around. Henrietta was probably in the back rooms somewhere. There would be shades on the windows that could be pulled down for extra privacy, and if a victim yelled, the back area was so isolated that nobody would hear. Even though he was sick to his heart thinking about her suffering, he grinned. Henrietta would be so excited to see him. He would be her savior. He was already looking forward to seeing the look of surprise and relief in her eyes.
“Hello,” he called out again, and this time he heard a soft whimper. He had found her. He pushed open the next set of doors and there she was, uncomfortably tied to the wrought-iron balustrade, leaning on the dusty, faded sofa pushed against it, her eyelids closed, as if dead.
He called out her name, but her eyes remained closed for a few seconds. He caressed her face and her hair, and slapped her cheeks gently, calling her name. And when she finally opened them, the loveliest, most grateful smile in the world illumined her face and brought it alive, and George Baxter sighed with relief.
Despite her days of agony, Henrietta looked good with her green dress and her pretty, red hair. And the happiness in her eyes didn’t disappoint. He helped her up and held her in his arms until she could stand steadily on her own. Then, after helping her to the toilets and finding some water and some crackers for her, he walked her to the front of the Lodge.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it, my dear,” he said pleasantly as he looked into her haunted eyes. “It must have been such an ordeal.”
While Henrietta talked—with a weak and shaking voice—he thought about all the arrangements he had to make. First and foremost, he would call the Captain to let him know that Mrs. Jones was safe. Then, call his sister to tell her that the hunt was back on. After having saved her life, Henrietta would never deny him his attic quarters.
What would he have done if she had died? He wasn’t sure, but it would have complicated things. Besides, he had become fond of her in his own way. He looked at her shining, grateful smile and his heart was filled with relief. He was pleased that she was well.
Once they got to the house, he helped her up the front steps and settled her in with a cup of tea, a quilt for her lap, and a tin of cookies. Then he made his phone calls.
“Henrietta, my dear, I hope you don’t mind but I called Celia. Charlie gave me her number. I thought that you would like her to know that you’re safe. I also told her that you would call her as soon as you had recovered.”
George Baxter sat down across from Henrietta. He thought carefully about how he would approach the subject that was foremost on his mind. There was no easy way.
“There’s something terrible I must tell you. As you recover, you will hear some stories about your husband that will horrify you. They will probably be in the newspapers in a few days, and all the people you know will find out.”
“About what, Mr. Baxter?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. For now, getting well should be your first priority. Then, if I were you, I would move. Your husband has been arrested, and I’m guessing that he’ll be in prison for quite some time.”
“Oh, my Lord, is he the killer? Tell me the truth, Mr. Baxter.”
“No, he isn’t. but he did something horrible that he’ll be punished severely for. His trial will be all over the news. Believe me, the events are gory enough. And at that time, you’ll want to be very far from here.”
“Actually, Mr. Baxter, I was just thinking about moving away on the walk home. I had no idea about the arrest, but I was considering getting a divorce. You might think that I’m cold-hearted, or that I’m uncaring, but I think that I would like to move down South and far away, where the weather is warmer, and the people are nicer. The truth is that I don’t have very good memories of this place. My marriage has been one long disappointment. I won’t be sorry to leave Alfred or the house behind. Maybe Celia will want to move with me. She’s all I have left now.”
George Baxter nodded. “I don’t blame you, my dear. A fresh start sounds just like what you need. I—for my part—sure am grateful that you’re alive and well, and I’ll sorely miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Mr. Baxter. You’ve brought great changes into my life and you saved me, so I’ll be forever grateful. I will miss you, but it is time to move on.” Henrietta blushed.
“So, do you think you’ll sell the house?”
“Yes. I have no savings, no income. But the house is all mine. I bought it before we got married, with my own inherited money. So, you see, I’ll have to sell it to have something to live on, to maybe buy a small property close to the beach.” Henrietta turned her face toward George Baxter. “My friend Nancy’s husband is in real estate. I’m sure that they’ll be happy to take care of things for me.”
“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll always be here for you. You do know that Henrietta, don’t you?
And Henrietta nodded and smiled her lovely smile.
“Do you promise to let me know if you need any help?” George Baxter asked quickly, very careful to hide the eagerness from his voice. And when Henrietta nodded again, he added, “I’ll send someone for my things.”
“No rush, Mr. Baxter. No rush. But I do have a question before I never see you again.”
“What would that be, now?” George Baxter asked, surprised, sitting up straight in his seat.
“Why were you reciting those terrible verses from the Bible? It made me think that you hated women.”
The lodger laughed. “Not at all, my dear. I was looking for clues. You see, I found my mother’s notebook among the books you had in a box in the attic. She had written those verses down for a reason that I still don’t understand, maybe never will. I looked them up in your Bible and I read them out loud many times, hoping to find some significance in them.”
“And did you?”
“I’m afraid not. But I’ll never give up. As you well know, my dear, I’m a stubborn man.”
George Baxter looked at Henrietta and sighed. This was an unexpected turn of events, but a very lucky one for him. He would miss this pretty, plump, shy, middle-aged woman and what could have been. But in his line of work, life left no space for romance.
Now that he would have a chance to own #9, he would have all the time in the world to look for the chest with the gold bars, and the paintings, and everything else his father had stolen and stashed away.
He returned his attention to Henrietta. She looked lovely indeed, and he just had to tell her that one last time.
“By the way, have I told you how ravishing you look today?” George Baxter asked, smiling, extending his arm to gently touch a lock of her once-magnificent hair.
Chapter 79. That Smile
Henrietta walked George Baxter to the door. As she watched his back, she felt poignantly that this was the end of a period of her life. She would never see him again.
It had been strange, this imaginary relationship that she had had with her lodger, that in a way had brought about cataclysmic changes into her life.
She wanted to stop him, to look into his deep, mesmerizing eyes one last time, to see if she was ready to let him go. But she knew—deep down—that all was as it should be. The feelings between them were so intangible that nothing would ever be built upon them.
George Baxter, she remem
bered fondly, had—for the briefest of moments—filled her life with excitement and adventure, and with the joy of being alive. Even if he was strange and secretive, and somewhat pompous, she did owe him that. Had she genuinely felt something like love for him? Or had it just been a moment of loneliness?
As if George Baxter had known that she was thinking of him, he turned around and faced her, standing on the stoop, and she reached out one hand and touched his arm ever so gently.
“You saved my life, Mr. Baxter,” she said. “And I’ll be forever grateful.” She smiled at him wistfully.
Then, for the briefest of seconds, the sun shone on her lodger’s face and illumined his eyes. Henrietta gasped softly. For those few seconds, George Baxter’s eyes had shone with a cold and cruel glint that made her recoil.
It had lasted just a few seconds, and the malice she saw in him immediately shifted back to his usual friendly self. But the impression remained. She did remember that one time when she’d gone upstairs to tell him something, and he had dismissed her so callously. It had scared her then how cruel he could be and remembering that now frightened her. As she watched him standing there, next to her—smiling now—a shiver of premonition rushed through her. This was a dangerous man that, for her own self-preservation she had no business remaining friends with. Whatever it took, she needed to get far away from him and not leave a forwarding address.
She stood for another minute or so, waving goodbye as he descended the steps, and then—once he was safely out of sight—she rushed inside and bolted the door.
The End
The Stranger in the Attic by Agnes Makóczy.
Ridgewood, NJ 07450.
www.Agnes-Makoczy.com
© 2020 Agnes Makóczy
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