Barrett's Hill Page 10

  Before I could turn to face her Adam swept me into the ballroom. It was hot and noisy in there. Gentlemen were smoking, an unusual occurrence in the presence of ladies at that time, and more than one couple whirled about the dance floor a bit too emphatically. A very large farmer stumbled into me, simultaneously treading on my new slippers and breathing second-hand whiskey into my face. Adam removed him deftly and led me into one of the less populated corners.

  “I don’t want Cousin Elinor to bundle you back to the house for a while. You’ve probably just taken five years off her life.” He laughed—heartlessly, I thought.

  “If that’s so then I’m sorry for it,” I said primly. “Karlew may lose a few years with my blessings, but Elinor has enough problems.” I felt a little prick of guilt. Not enough to make me regret my rash behavior, however.

  “You do wear the strangest costumes when you go out,” Adam remarked cheerfully, his eyes sweeping over me in a slow, meaningful way that set my heart thumping.

  “Yes, I do, don’t I? Do you mean to sneak into my bedroom and steal this from me the way you took Carly’s dress?” I asked sharply, trying to take my mind off how very close he was.

  He was a bit taken aback. “Someone took Carly’s dress from your room?”

  I nodded.

  “How very interesting,” Adam said. “But it certainly wasn’t me.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said bluntly.

  “I didn’t expect you to, my dear. Just be assured that the next time I sneak into your bedroom it won’t be clothes I’m after.”

  I could feel my face redden at the thought. “You’re not likely to get the chance.” I tossed my head in what I hoped was a properly willful gesture.

  It was getting harder and harder for me to be cold to him when I was beginning to admit that more than anything I wanted to be calm and loving and beautiful in his eyes. But these were dangerous, hopeless wishes on my part, and I did my best to fight them off. He might have an inkling of how I felt towards him, but I certainly wasn’t about to give him any proof.

  “Could you possibly get me something to drink?” I was feeling wild and excited and knew in another minute I’d betray myself. I needed a little time to pull myself together.

  “Of course. I trust it’s safe to leave with those bands of witches glaring their hatred of you.” Before I had a chance to ask him what he meant he’d disappeared into the crowd.

  I leaned against the wall, humming softly to myself. No more antagonism, I told myself. That gives you away almost as surely as moon-struck glances. From now on you treat him as a somewhat entertaining friend of your father’s. But someone less like my father’s contemporaries I had never seen. I shut my eyes and waited. Sharp feminine voices floated out from the general noise of the crowd.

  “. . . absolutely shameless . . . ward of the reverend’s with her hair hanging down her back like a tramp . . .”

  “She must know that Adam likes whores . . . always too good for anyone in town. She could’ve had Jemmy Spencer or Bill Cunningham as a husband, and we all know what she’ll get from Adam Traywick. One roll in the hay with him, and she’ll never look at another man. Karlew’ll have that one on his hands till she dies.”

  “Beats me how Adam gets women to do anything he wants. That girl will never be able to hold her head up in this town again.”

  “She don’t deserve to. I wouldn’t put the blame for That One on Adam, though. She done this on her own, just to show how much she hates us all—like we’re dirt beneath her feet. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was leading Adam on a dance herself.”

  I developed an irrationally strong affection for the last old crone. Not only did the old cow have a fairly accurate picture of what was going on in my mind, she also credited me with something I’d never have, the power to control Adam. I doubted if I had any effect on him whatsoever.

  “I found out what you meant by witches,” I greeted him as he handed me a glass of Mrs. Carter’s heady punch. “It seems that most of them blame you for my downfall.”

  He laughed. “That must have rankled. I trust you told them your outrageous behavior was entirely your own idea?”

  “Oh, no. You never know when I might need their pity and Christian charity. After you seduce and abandon me, that is.” I drained the glass. I could feel him above me, very close.

  “Miranda,” he whispered, and my heart started pounding. His lips were up against my ear. “Your cousin wants to separate us, I’m afraid.” He nuzzled my hair. “When I turn around I want you to sneak out into the hall. I’ll meet you there as soon as I rout Karlew.”

  Like an idiot I nodded obediently. He turned his back and bumped purposefully into Karlew, spilling punch all over his clothes. I didn’t have time to see any more, I was too busy trying to sneak out into the hall. I was a tiny bit dizzy, not being used to alcohol of any sort.

  “You’ve made me drunk,” I accused Adam when he caught up with me in the hall and handed me another glass of the heady punch.

  “Have I? You’re not used to spirits then?” He smiled down at me from what seemed a great height.

  “No, I’m not,” I said, draining my second glass. “What are we going to do now?” I deftly removed his glass from his hand and swallowed that too.

  “Our main objective is to avoid all your cousins. Particularly Maxine,” he steered me up the stairs.

  “Why particularly Maxine?” This didn’t make much sense to my punch-clouded brain.

  “Because she’s furiously jealous that she didn’t think of wearing the nightgown tonight,” he said casually.

  “Even if she’d thought of it she wouldn’t have done it. She’s a total coward. Why, that day we were here in the hotel she was supposed to come with me. She begged off after seeing Fathimore’s room.”

  “I should think that would be enough to make stout hearts weak. Why were you in Fathimore’s room?” We turned the corner and started up the next flight.

  “Searching for clues,” I said blithely. “I thought you might have some incriminating evidence around.”

  “Not likely, my dear. Not after twenty years and not when there’s such a curious young lady around.”

  We had reached the third floor by this time. I was feeling warm and toasty inside, surprisingly responsive to everything around me. He opened the door to Room 318, and I sauntered in.

  He lit the gaslight and shut the door behind us. Humming softly, I wandered over to the window and looked down upon the quiet town, then up at Barrett’s Hill. I shuddered slightly, and before I knew it I was folded in Adam’s strong arms.

  I have some justification for my conduct. I was slightly drunk, and therefore my defenses (what there were of them) were down. And Adam wasn’t the sort to allow any room for maidenly outcries or struggles. He slowly turned me in his arms, and I was being kissed in ways I hadn’t even dreamed of—and I’d done a lot of dreaming. I remember digging my fingers into his shoulders and thinking, yes, all right, let’s get on with it. Instead of moving me over to the bed he pulled away, leaving me weak and panting slightly.

  “That’s all very nice,” he approved in a soft, amused voice, “but despite the fact that you’re prepared for bed, that’s not at all why I brought you up here.”

  He moved across the room to the desk while I stared at him in a frenzy of frustration and embarrassed rage. “Damn you,” I whispered. Then I shouted, “Damn you, damn you, dawn you!” and ran from the room.

  I slipped on the second flight of stairs, and only a pair of strong hands from behind me stopped me from falling and possibly breaking my neck. It was Adam, following me.

  “Thank you so much,” I spat, and yanked away from him. In the front hall I met a red-faced and furious Karlew.

  “Miranda,” he stood in front of me in an attitude of outraged virtue. “Nanny is waiting
to escort you home. You will leave immediately.” He flung my cape at me rudely.

  “That’s fine with me,” I announced. I turned to Adam standing on the step above me. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” I said bitterly, and stormed out into the night.

  Nanny said nothing to me when I met her on the front porch. Her look of shocked disapproval was enough to tell me I had disgraced myself forever in even her tolerant eyes. My anger was fading to a suicidal misery.

  We made our way up the icy hill in cold silence, unspoken accusations seeming to hurl themselves from her forbidding figure. We got in the door as the church bells were telling eleven.

  “Good night, Nanny,” I said, and my voice broke in a sort of strangled sob. Immediately, Nanny was weeping too and had folded me into her starched and comforting embrace. I must have cried for quite a while, with Nanny smoothing my hair and murmuring meaningless little phrases. Finally, she took me upstairs, undressed me and tucked me into bed without ever asking for any kind of explanation, which for someone of Nanny’s temperament was forbearance indeed. Or perhaps she’d known Adam long enough to understand exactly what was upsetting me.

  “You’ll be better tomorrow, my pet, you’ll see,” she promised as she went out the door. “Why, all sorts of things can happen in a new year. Just you wait. Nothing’s impossible.” With that hopeful note she left me to continue crying into my pillow.

  When my tears had finally worn themselves out, the room seemed filled with a curious stillness. The wind had died down, at least temporarily, and the moonlight was unusually strong as it poured in my window. On an impulse, I got out of bed and went over to the door. The hall was silent and deserted as I crept across into the deserted bedroom opposite mine. I pulled a quilt from the bed and wrapped it around me as I curled myself up on the window seat and stared out into the night at Carter’s Hotel. It was still a blaze of lights. I could see the crowds milling about inside, obviously having a riotously gay time. I wondered whom Adam was with.

  It was almost midnight when I saw the solitary figure step out on the front porch. It was too far away for me to make out clearly who it was. Probably Jemmy Spencer—he was tall and lean too. I opened the window to the cool night air.

  “Adam,” I whispered. I knew it couldn’t be Adam out there, staring up at this house while the church bells rang in the New Year. But some fiercely irrational part of my nature insisted that it was, that he was looking up at the house and thinking of me. So I floated in my own lies and let myself call out the window in a soft whisper, “I love you, Adam. And I’ll never say it again but I do love you. Even if you really are the murderer.”

  After a minute or two the figure moved and went back to the hordes of revelers. And I fell asleep on the window seat.

  Chapter 12

  I WAS IN DISGRACE for the following two weeks, this recent escapade being more than the Smathers family honor could survive. I divided my time quite happily between my bedroom and the kitchen, seeing no one outside the family; and when I met them I was treated with pained, accusing glances. I would bow my head contritely, secretly pleased at my ostracism.

  I woke early one morning, before dawn, about a week into my punishment. The house was still, only vague sounds from the kitchen three flights below showing any sign of life in the old mansion. I climbed out of bed, shivering in icy mid-winter air. My window was painted with delicate frost patterns, so I surmised that it was even colder than usual.

  It was time to be wicked again, I decided, and started rummaging through my closets. I finally selected a bulky wool dress, much heavier than the more flattering light ones I had been wearing. Heavy wool petticoats and bloomers made of the same scratchy material made up my costume. The bloomers were a cheerful red color, a gift from Maxine, and I admired my rounded limbs in the oval mirror. I looked ten pounds healthier—I never used any term more extreme than “plump” to describe my well-filled figure. It was a fashionable body for those days, but one that displeased me nonetheless with its voluptuousness. Perhaps it was the almost blatant sexuality of my ripe curves that bothered me so much. It was a question of self-examination that I was not yet ready to delve into. When it came to the actual state of my self-esteem, I was on shaky ground. I was troubled enough by the recent events in Pomroy and in my cousin’s household. And troubled most of all by Adam Traywick.

  As I started down the hallway the window at the end of the passage showed more snow falling. This would make it the sixth day in the last eight when snow had been added to our already overburdened landscape. I chuckled happily to myself. For the first time in a week I was going to be out in the stuff, and, unlike the villagers who had been born and grew up here, I greeted each new snowfall with a virgin delight. I could never get enough of the thick white flakes.

  When I started down the stairs I was suddenly inspired how to spend my time of escape. Cousin Karlew had once employed a Swedish couple as cook and handyman. They had left shortly after they were hired, probably driven to distraction by Karlew’s penny-pinching habits. In their haste to escape they had left some strange contraptions in the basement storage room. Maxine had told me about them. I decided that now was the time to try them out.

  Stopping at the second floor, I strode purposefully over to Maxine’s door and knocked lightly, calling, “Max?” in a loud whisper. I heard the rustle of her satin bedclothes, and she appeared at the door, looking cross and rumpled in a nightdress made of a material far too flimsy for our cold climate, and of a color that would have shocked even the legendary Madame Rose.

  “What do you want so early?” she complained. “It’s only seven thirty, and I’m trying to sleep!”

  “Half the village has been up since five,” I said sternly. “It’s about time the rest of this household set an example for the townspeople.”

  “Ha!” Maxine snorted. “Don’t let my father hear that. We have enough trouble with him already.” She shivered in the drafty hallway. “What is it you want anyway? Certainly not to improve my moral well-being.”

  “No,” I admitted. “I want to use those things in the basement.”

  “What things in the basement?” Maxine was clearly irritated. “I wish you’d be a little more exact this early in the morning. Especially when you’ve waken me out of a sound sleep. I was having the nicest dream. About Adam, of course.” She smiled with feigned sweetness in a familiar attempt to goad me.

  “Of course,” I agreed, wanting to slap her pretty little face. “I meant the snow boards. Whatever they’re called. The ones the Lindstroms left behind.”

  “Oh, the skis.” Realization dawned on her. “Well, who’s stopping you? Other than my father if he wakes up and catches you, of course. You’re supposed to be confined to the house after your disgusting exhibition on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Very disgusting, Maxine,” I agreed. “You only wish you’d thought of it.” She started to object, but I overrode her. “Anyway, I thought you might like to go with me,” I said, somewhat plaintively. I was beginning to miss some form of companionship, even the shallow sort Maxine provided.

  “You can’t be serious!” Maxine looked at me in amazement. “I’m going back to bed. You can go out in this freezing weather if you want to. It’s still practically the middle of the night!” She looked out the hall window in disgust. “You can do anything you please, just leave me out of it.” She flounced back into her bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her.

  I shrugged my shoulders and started down the stairs. At this point I wasn’t about to let a coward like Maxine deter me from my goal.

  As I suspected, Cook and Nanny were up already, bustling about the kitchen. Delicious smells of roast coffee and blueberry muffins drifted out to me in the hallway. My resolution wavered. Going out in that cold air on an empty stomach might not be wise after all. I crept to the door and pushed it open a crack. Nanny and Cook were over near the back door, deep
in conversation. If they just kept at it I might have time to sneak in, grab a couple of muffins and escape again. I knew if Nanny and Cook saw me they would surely stop me before I had set one foot out the front door. They took Karlew’s orders very seriously, and I’m afraid my latest adventure down at Carter’s Hotel had been a little too much for their puritanical souls. I opened the door a bit wider. Nanny and Cook paid no attention. The muffins were sitting on a plate on the heavy oak counter, steam rising from them in the chill morning air. I reached out and grabbed three, then retreated out the doorway before either of the two old gossips noticed me.

  I ate one carefully, not missing a single crumb. Cook generally failed at her job, except when it came to baking. She had a magic touch for muffins and bread, and I blessed that touch that cold morning. Wrapping the two remaining muffins in the ridiculous scrap of silk that served as my handkerchief, I stuffed them into one of the spacious pockets in my gray wool underskirt.

  On my way out I paused to take my pick of the cloaks and mantles hanging in the hallway. There were several ridiculously light coats belonging to Maxine and Elinor, some rougher ones of mine, and a bright red hunter’s jacket that Karlew wore when the sound of the hunters’ gun came too near the house. I chose that, also stealing his oversized mittens to wear over my smaller ones. I was ready.

  Curiously enough, I wasn’t at all frightened of a mysterious murderer creeping around on the hillside. It was my firm belief, based on no knowledge whatsoever, that murderers were late risers.

  Therefore it was with a free mind that I stepped outside into the early light touching the surrounding mountains. A blast of cold air combined with the beauty of the morning to leave me breathless for a moment. Down in the village there was the rising smoke of breakfast fires as I made my way around to the side of the house and searched for the entrance to the basement. For a moment I was afraid it might be locked, but fortune was with me. I made my way down the snow-covered steps and into the dark jumble of discarded furniture, sleds, and various other pieces of trash that I had no time to identify. Over in one corner stood the flat, smooth sticks of wood I’d read about when I lived in Cambridge. Scandinavians stood on these and, with the help of poles, sped down hillsides and across snow-covered fields. I looked them over carefully and chose the smaller pair with its matching wooden poles. There were odd straps on the middle of the skis, but I told myself I could figure them out easily enough once I got up to Daniel’s Pond.