The Scarlet Wench (12 page)

  “Sorry for the inconvenience.” Simon opened bottles and offered them around. He tried to keep his tone light. What the hell else could go wrong? He shuddered at the thought of more fishing line in the dim hallways. “There are extra blankets in your cupboards, and I suggest you put them on your beds. It will get chilly later without the heat on.”

  “Then I’ll pile mine on! Sherry, Simon.” Helen pronounced. “Settles the spirits. They’re in their element in this weather. Can’t you hear them walking around?”

  The French doors across the hall rattled, giving credence to her statement.

  Gemma laughed. “Helen, you’re bonkers, you do know that?” She held out her glass. “Brandy for me, Simon, and fill it up.”

  “Yes, do fill it up,” Fiona sniped. “Like you really need more alcohol.”

  Helen held up her hands and waved them around. “Hush, you two, you’re upsetting the spirits.”

  Simon distributed drinks, threading his way between chairs at the table.

  Grayson took a brandy. “Just a small one. Probably best not to drink too much with those painkillers on board.”

  Fiona sniffed and looked away, biting her lip. Simon had the distinct impression she’d seen the director consume more than a small brandy with his pills. She waved the bottles away. “None for me, thanks.”

  “It’s an adventure.” Poppy’s voice was high and excitable. “I’m not sewing so I’ll have a brandy, please.”

  “Brandy for me, too.” Rupert patted Simon on the back. “Can’t order the weather, Simon, not your fault.”

  “Sherry would be nice,” Lydia said.

  Nora and Declan each took a sherry as Simon sat down and Maeve poured him one. He picked up on the look that passed between Nora and Declan.

  “Val won’t be able to get through.” Nora sipped her sherry and explained to Simon and Maeve that Val was to have taken Sean back to Oxford for a few days.

  Simon hid his surprise and tamped down the flash of betrayal he felt on hearing the news. He couldn’t blame Nora for wanting her child off the premises with everything that had happened this week. If he could just keep the incidents away from the press, things might be saved by positive publicity from the play.

  “Knowing Val, she’ll get here eventually.” Maeve put her hand on Simon’s arm and looked him in the eye. “Things will look much better in daylight.”

  Simon covered her hand with his, grateful she understood his mood. “I sincerely hope so.”

Chapter Nineteen

“This is quite definitely one of the most frustrating nights I have ever spent.”

Ruth: Act
III
, Scene 2

10:50 PM

Declan helped Burt and Simon fill containers with water from Simon’s bath. He complimented Simon on his foresight. They used scrubbing buckets from the kitchen and plastic tubs from Kate’s workshop and even raided Agnes’ larder for her largest plastic bowls.

  “I don’t want to be around when Agnes sees we’ve used these.” Simon grimaced.

  “She can always bleach them,” Burt retorted.

  They trudged upstairs and left a water-filled bucket or bowl in each bathroom for flushing.

  Maeve followed in their wake with a rag and wiped sloshed water off the stairs. “We don’t need any more slipping on stairs tonight.”

  Even in the dim light, Declan could see the consternation on Simon’s face.

  “Don’t even think like that, Maeve.” Simon’s exasperation was evident in his voice.

  Declan couldn’t blame Simon for being cross. The possibility that the generator motor had been deliberately sabotaged dashed all thoughts of the perpetrator stopping. Simon must have the same questions Declan had: Who was behind these incidents, and why? The lousy weather added to the menacing feeling, and from the weather report Declan saw on Simon’s mobile, it
looked like one of the worst rainstorms in Cumbrian history. The fact that there was still a signal for the mobile towers was bloody amazing.

  Simon lent Burt a tee shirt and joggers to sleep in, and he had extra toothbrushes on hand. Sporadic conversation settled over the dining room table, and the once boisterous group huddled over their drinks as driving rain hit the windows and hurled small stones against them. The wind moaned and whined around corners and crevices in the old building, and at times, gusts screeched. Everyone jumped as a burst of thunder clapped overhead.

  “Elements afoot,” Helen pronounced. “They can reach ‘almost hurricane velocity.’”

  “Act
I
, Scene
2
,” Fiona intoned, and Poppy giggled.

  “Get over yourself, Helen,” Gemma said.

  “It never hurts to know one’s lines backwards and forwards,” Helen said. “Something only a true professional understands.”

  Lydia stood. “Time to retire.”

  Rupert pushed his chair back. “I quite agree.”

  Declan couldn’t blame the couple for wanting to escape the carping of the others. “I’ll help with a torch as you go up.”

  “We might as well all go up.” Grayson stood and marched ahead of them all, cradling his arm. Each person carried a lit hurricane lamp and matches. Declan and Simon followed with extra unlit candles and torches to light the stairs, Simon behind Lange, the Dentons and Burt, with Declan bringing up the rear behind the women.

  “I wonder if I can read by this light,” Poppy mused, trailing behind Gemma and Fiona with Helen. “I doubt I’ll sleep with all this noise.”

  “Do you want me to stay up with you?” Helen asked as they reached the top of the stairs.

  Behind them, Declan saw the younger woman consider the offer.

  “The spirits will keep you safe,” Helen added.

  “It’s okay, thanks, I’ll be fine,” Poppy demurred and shut her door with a bang.

  Helen shrugged and winked at Declan. No spirit company for Poppy, Declan chuckled to himself. In his room, he packed up his kit and a clean set of clothes for the morning and threw it all in his rucksack. Burt came in with a fresh stack of towels and his borrowed clothing. They could hear Simon helping to settle everyone in their rooms.

  “Comfortable bed.” Declan added his robe and a pair of shorts to the sack and closed it.

  “As long as no one up here snores, I’ll be fine.” Burt took the towels into the bathroom and ducked his head back out. “Thanks for the bed. Beats a sofa in the library.”

  Declan descended the stairs using a torch. A flash of lightning lit up the front hall and cast the drawing room into quick relief, the props and furniture on the stage ghost-like in the shadows. He could almost see Elvira Condomine rise from the sofa, and with a shiver, he turned and walked through the dining room. Helen was getting to him.

  He passed Simon’s closed door and entered Nora’s room. She emerged from the bathroom in a nightgown, carrying a candle-lit lamp with her hair brushed out and flowing. In the blurry candlelight, she looked like a Pre-Raphaelite model, and he watched her glide toward him, her lemony scent reaching him before she did.

  He put his rucksack on the floor and held his arms out. Sean whimpered just when she stepped into the circle of his arms. He hugged her tightly, feeling her outline through her nightgown. As their lips met, Sean howled, and Nora stiffened.

  He released her. “I’ll just use the bathroom.”

  “And I’ll get Sean settled.”

  Declan brushed his teeth, listening to Nora trying to shush the crying baby. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Face it, old chap: This is not the night for wild sexual exploits.

*

11:35 PM

Alone in Declan’s bed, Burt listened to the various noises coming from the other rooms as people settled down for the night. He thought of what Estelle would have made of the
Blithe Spirit
cast. He could hear her response as clearly as if she lay beside him: “They’re all bonkers, and as for that Helen—thinking she can talk to ghosts!”

  How barren his life had become with Estelle gone. Long, lonely days stretched ahead of him. They’d never been blessed with children, and when he’d brought up adoption, Estelle had told him, “God didn’t mean us to be parents. Our students will be our children; we must be each other’s best friend and companion.” It had worked when they were teaching and in retirement when they’d spent time in the community theatre side by side. His own family was long gone, and Estelle’s one sister had emigrated to Australia thirty years ago. Except for her occasional call or card, the phone stayed quiet.

  He read a lot, but there was only so much time to be passed reading, and then his eyes hurt and he had to take a break. He went to trivia night at The Scarlet Wench but wasn’t a drinker beyond a pint or two. He had little interest in television, although he did have a fondness for
Inspector Morse
repeats.

  Morse: Now there was a man who used his brain, something Burt admired. The sense Burt made of science, Morse had made of crime. Detecting was a science as much as an art, a study of
human foibles and urges. Burt enjoyed each novel and then the television series. Too bad that Colin Dexter had tired of Morse and had killed him off. Probably spent his royalties and residuals sitting in the Randolph Hotel bar. That had been a sad day, closing the cover on the last book in the series. He watched the new series now, with Morse’s sidekick Lewis promoted to inspector and taking Morse’s place. At least the show had the good sense to use the same actor to play Lewis, although Burt hadn’t made up his mind yet about the ascetic young man who played the new sergeant.

  Burt sighed and turned onto his side. Where was sleep when he yearned for it? He should have drunk a double brandy to keep his mind from wandering. This was his future: the occasional trivia night at the pub and waiting for the next episode of
Lewis
.

*

11:59 PM

It was one of the longest hours to date in Nora’s brief experience with motherhood. She felt frayed around the edges, tired, tense and on edge.

  Even after a dry nappy, Sean wouldn’t go back to sleep. Nora had heard the bed creak earlier when Declan had climbed in. This
would
be one of the nights Sean didn’t sleep through. She topped him off with a few ounces of water, which didn’t satisfy him. Declan heard him still fussing after a while and murmured “Good night, then.”

  Rocking Sean in her chair, Nora looked down. In the candlelight, the baby’s eyes locked on hers.
Not in my room you’re not
, she felt him message her. Then she chided herself. He was an infant, a few months old, and here she was putting her ideas onto him. Guilt, indecision, take your pick.

  After a few minutes, Declan’s breathing became even. Perhaps for the best, she thought with more than a tinge of disappointment, but what was she expecting? She didn’t want her time with Declan to be spent holding her breath while listening for the baby—or worse, trying to keep quiet to avoid waking him. She groaned and let her head fall against the back of the chair. The timing was all off. But when would it be right?

  The whole week had become a disaster, with accidents and falls culminating in this storm and the malfunctioning generator, which could have been fouled at any time for its next use. That also pointed to someone trying to harm the lodge’s reputation, yet it could have been done recently. Could the generator have been tinkered with to throw people off track and add to the general confusion? But who can really predict weather? Maybe it was just broken, a case of being filled with bad fuel?

  All the other incidents were clearly directed at the cast. A dead bunny on Gemma’s pillow and cut brake lines on Grayson’s car—now no hot water or electric or heat. Could Helen be right about the ghosts of
Blithe Spirit
invading this production for some unknown reason?

  Nora glanced toward the bed and listened to Declan’s rhythmic breathing. She felt reassured he was there, nearby at the very least. She shook her head, wishing she had her notebook handy. It narrowed things down a bit if she eliminated the missing script and the generator, which could just be down to happenstance. But the deliberate happenings were all directed at cast members. And then there were those postings of unflattering photos of Gemma and Fiona at the same time. It had to be connected somehow. She thought back to the candlelit table and the faces glowing in the light, sipping brandy or sherry. Who among them would have a reason to do this? Could it be more than one person?

  She looked down and saw Sean had finally drifted back to sleep. Perhaps the noise of the wind and rain had affected him more than she’d thought, little fellow, and a wave of tenderness for her baby rushed over her. Placing him carefully in his cot, she blew out the candle and tiptoed to her bed.

  Declan lay spread out across the middle of the bed on his side, one arm flung up across the pillows. Just like a man, she thought, slipping off her robe.

  “Declan?” she whispered. She lifted the covers and slid in next to him, turning her back to fit in, curling into him and letting his body warm her. He wore a pair of shorts and she could feel his strong chest against her back through her nightgown. For a moment she considered taking her gown off. But perhaps worry over the maniac among them had robbed him of his ardor. Doubtful, she thought, smiling in the darkness at the memory of their night together.

  Declan shifted in his sleep and one arm dropped over her, trapping her against him. She snuggled closer, her eyes drooping. It had been a long while since she’d shared her bed. She didn’t think she’d sleep, not with the wind and the rain, not with his firmness against her back. Yet she felt her eyes heavy with sleep, and she knew her son wouldn’t care in the morning that he’d kept her up late.