Curse of Black Tor (13 page)

“That's home base while I'm on the island,” he said. “A fantastic layout they've got. You must see it before you leave.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Before I leave?”

“Oh—just a manner of speaking. After all, Victoria isn't your home.”

A few tourists boarded the tallyho, and then they were off on their sightseeing tour. Cy, the driver, kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out the local spots of interest and giving some details of the history of the island. After showing them the legislative buildings and the twenty-three-carat-gold statue of George Vancouver, they went on to Beacon Hill Park, given to the people of Victoria in 1858 by Sir James Douglas, the first governor of British Columbia, and from there to Goodacre Lake. Next, Cy pointed out Craigdarroch Castle, perched on its hill. Then they turned and drove along Park Boulevard
.
They passed the house were Emily Carr was born and grew up, then passed the totem poles in Thunderbird Park. When they came into the downtown section, Cy showed them the Christ Church Cathedral at the end of Courtney Street, pointing out the mandala in the upper window and the old burying ground next to the church.

Then finally they returned to the starting point.

“What a beautiful city!” Martha said to Bran after they'd climbed down onto the sidewalk. “Is it all so lovely?”

“Oh, there are meaner sections of town, but Victoria has nothing as bad as most American cities. Tourism is big business here. Quite a lot of money around.”

“I didn't see many large homes.”

“They're mostly in Oak Bay, except for some of the old ones like the castle the guide pointed out. And Black Tor, of course. I understand the Garrards were always—different.” Bran's voice was hard.

“Did you quarrel with Jules?” Martha asked.

“Let's just call it mutual distaste.”

Martha raised her eyebrows.

“Doesn't all his handsome perfection strike you as too good to be true?”

“I—I'd rather not discuss my employer, if you don't mind. Thanks for taking me out this afternoon. I did enjoy seeing more of the city.”

“We'll take in something else next time. There's the Butchart Gardens and—”

“I may not have any time in the next week or so.”

“Well, why not bring the girl along—what's her name? Josephine?”

“Oh, I don't think—”

“Why not? I'd rather see you with her along than not at all. She isn't really crazy, from what I understand.”

“I hardly think it would be appropriate.”

“Josephine probably would enjoy it, and her brother couldn't refuse you, would he? I'd do my best to entertain Josephine so she wouldn't feel left out. I understand she's been shut up in that house for years, poor kid.” Bran shook his head.

Martha began to consider the idea. He might be good for Josephine--after all he was cheerful and good-looking. Plus he wasn’t a native of the island, so he wasn’t prejudiced about her. Bran might make her laugh and give her a few happy hours away from Black Tor. And there’d be the two of them to keep track of Josephine. If she became depressed as Jules though
t
she’d be after the party, Bran’s idea might be a good one.

“I‘ll keep your invitation in mind,” she told him.

Chapter Twelve

Bran drove Martha back to the house. As they turned into the drive, she saw Cathleen's red car ahead of them; when they pulled up before the house, Cathleen was just getting out. She walked over to Bran's VW.

“Hi. Enjoy your sightseeing?” Cathleen asked.

Martha nodded. “This is Bran Lowrey,” she said. “Cathleen Wexler.”

Cathleen smiled up at Bran. “No wonder Martha wasn't interested in my party,” she said. “Now I understand. But I can remedy that. Bran, consider yourself invited. Informal. Tomorrow about six.”

Bran sketched a bow. “Delighted,” he said. “To meet you and to be invited to your party.” He turned to Martha. “I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“A long-time friend?” Cathleen asked after Bran had driven away.

“No—I met him on the ferry coming over to Victoria.”

Cathleen raised her eyebrows and smiled. “He's good-looking, if you like the candid blue-eyed type, and don't we all once in a while.” She sighed. “Less trouble in the long run. At least you know where you stand.”

Martha said nothing, but in her mind was Johann's handsome face, the clear, seemingly guileless eyes that had hidden his mind's dark thoughts. Bran wasn't Johann, of course, and she had no reason to suspect he was anything other than what he seemed. Still—Cathleen's generalization of candid-eyed types are seriously amiss. Who was Cathleen thinking of? What man didn’t let her know where she stood? Jules?

Had Jules held Cathleen and kissed her as he had kissed Martha? There was certainly no openness in Jules's glance, the deep brown eyes offered no easy interpretation of his thoughts. Again Martha relived the moments of terror of her first night at Black Tor. Could she be positive that the man had been Simon? If he had identified her, perhaps others had.

Cathleen walked away from her to the front door and Martha followed. Time to check on Josephine. Belatedly she realized that the girl was supposed to be spending the day helping Cathleen.

Once inside, Martha hurried upstairs, only to find Josephine reading quietly in her room. “Did you have fun?” she asked Martha.

“We took the tallyho tour,” Martha said. “Victoria's the prettiest city I've ever seen. Each yard has flowers, and the houses are so neat and tidy.”

“Not Black Tor,” Josephine told her. “Daddy always said no architect could make the house fit in. He said it was a monstrosity and he was proud of it.”

Martha sat on Josephine's bed. “Who brought you back here?” she asked. “Who found you in your lost years?”

“Why, daddy, of course—didn't I tell you?” Josephine said. “As soon as I saw him I knew who he was and who I was, too. That was in the States, somewhere. Daddy said Oregon.”

“Where were you when he found you?”

“On a sort of farm with some other people. They were all older. When I remembered I was Josephine Garrard, I forgot who they were. Daddy told me their names but I still didn't know them.”

“I had the impression that Jules was the one who brought you back,” Martha said. “Oh, no. I've heard him ask daddy about me, but daddy said it was none of his business. You're the only one I've told anything to.”

“Then no one knows about your lost years except your father?”

Josephine frowned. “I don't know if he does, either. He told me he found me, but he won't talk about how I'd gotten where I was. And the people on the farm said they didn't know anything except that I'd been there a year and that someone had dropped me off with them.”

“So you really have only one year accounted for?”

“I guess so. But I don't actually remember the farm, either. Only about the zodiac and my—occult learning. That came from the two years.”

“Did your father ever mention how he located the farm?”

Josephine shook her head. “He wouldn't tell me.”

Martha made up her mind to visit Norman Garrard again. He had wanted to tell her more before Natalie had interrupted. Was it about the missing years in Josephine's life? If he really believed his daughter was in danger, couldn't it be because of those two years? After all, she had always been his heir, hadn't she? She and Jules. Back to Jules again.

Martha rose from the bed. “Cathleen's invited Bran Lowrey to the party tomorrow,” Martha said. “You'll have a chance to meet him. I think you'll like him.”

Josephine clasped her hands together convulsively, dropping her book. “Maybe I will,” she said after a moment. “Do you like him?”

“Yes,” Martha answered.

“Do you think he's good-looking?”

“I suppose so, yes. Cathleen certainly thought so.”

“Are you--interested in him?”

Martha glanced at Josephine, who smiled disarmingly. “I don't know exactly how to put it. I like Bran, just as I like Charn. But interested...?”

Josephine looked at her slyly under her lashes. “You like Jules better, don't you? Cathleen does and you do, too. I can tell. Well, you'd best be careful. Jules can be ruthless. Cynthia was terrified of him before she--died.”

“In an accident?” Martha asked.

Josephine laughed shrilly. “Yes, an accident. She fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Like I was supposed to fall off the cliff, only I didn't die.”

Martha stared at her.

“Everyone said Cynthia was clumsy because she was pregnant,” Josephine added.

“The baby...?”

“Oh, it died, too. Inside her, I mean. She was only about six months along.”

The Garrards had an unpleasant history of accidents, Martha thought. Had she been meant to have an “accident,” too? To fall from the cliff while she was drugged?

“Miss Eccles slipped on the stairs, just like Cynthia,” Josephine said. “She was lucky to only break a leg.”

Sarah edged into the room. “You went someplace two days in a row,” she said accusingly, glowering at Martha. “You didn't even ask me if I wanted to go on the boat yesterday, and neither did Charn. I thought you were going to be my friend.”

“I am,” Martha said. “And next time I go anywhere, I'll see if you can come, too. After all, Josephine didn't go with me, either, so you shouldn't be angry.”

“Cathleen says I can come to the party for a while tomorrow, but I know Aunt Natalie will make me go to bed early and I'll miss most of it,” Sarah complained.

Why didn't Jules send this child to school, where she'd have other children her age to make friends with? It was monstrous shutting her up in that house. Martha wondered if she could tackle Jules about finding a school for Sarah.

“Jo, what are you reading?” Sarah asked. “Will you read to me?”

“Not this. You're too young for Sylvia Plath.”

Martha eyed the slim white volume in Josephine's lap. Ariel. Johann had liked Plath. “She's right, you know,” Martha remembered him saying. “Dying is an art, the greatest challenge for any human. Not the phony staggering around clutching at one's chest and then delivering a three-minute monologue—not a stage death. But dying. Going out with style.”

“I thought Plath stuck her head in an oven,” Martha had said.

Johann had flung Ariel across the room, crying, “You can't understand the simplest abstraction! God save me from Capricorns!”

When Martha went to her own room, Sarah was sitting in Josephine's lap, the two of them on the floor, and Josephine was teaching her a song about the wind, which she said she'd learned when she was a girl in school.

After dinner that evening, Martha made her way quietly along the corridor leading to Norman Garrard's quarters. She kept an eye out for Natalie, not wishing to upset her again. What an odd match, Matthew and Natalie, She had married late in life, according to Josephine, and Matthew was certainly younger than she. It was hard to think of any man falling in love with the formidable Natalie. Yet Matthew certainly seemed to care for her.

In Norman's room Martha found Simon helping the old man drink orange juice. “Hello, Mr. Garrard,” she said, deliberately not speaking to Simon. “Are you feeling well enough for a visitor?” Simon put down the glass and hurried toward her. “What're you doing in here?” he muttered as he came close. “Mr. G. didn't ask you....”

Martha ignored him and went to the bedside.

“Evening,” Norman said. He caught Simon's eye and motioned for him to go out.

Simon stood his ground for a moment, glaring at Martha. Then he shrugged and obeyed.

“I wanted to ask you where you found Josephine. She thinks it was Oregon.” Martha grasped the hand that groped toward her, feeling his thready pulse under her fingers.

“Malville. Inland. Farm. People named Reynolds. Thought the woman knew. Something. Wouldn't tell me. Offered money. Nothing. Brought Josephine back here. Take care.”

“I will. But how did she get to Oregon?”

He shook his head. Oxygen bubbled through the water bottle on the tank and into the old man's nose. His lips were blue.

“Does Jules...?” she began, and then saw Norman's eyes widen and look past her.

She turned. Jules stood in the doorway.

“I hardly think my father's in any shape to have you visit him daily,” Jules said.

“That's what I told her,” Simon said from behind Jules. He stalked toward the bed. “She walks in here like she owned the place, and I said—”

“Please come downstairs,” Jules said to Martha.

She followed him.

When they were in the library, he closed the door and sat behind the desk, stranding her on the other side. “What's your business with my father?” he asked.

“Josephine,
”
she said bluntly. “He knows where she was. He brought her back to Victoria.”

“Who told you that?”

“He did. He sent for me yesterday and told me. I went back today to find out more if I could— because Natalie interrupted yesterday. He—your father—won't talk if there's anyone else around. He says nobody knows but him.”