How It Happened in Peach Hill (18 page)

I found Mama sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the wall as if it were a train window with the whole world hurtling by. I slid into the other chair, deciding to be sulky about being left behind.

“Don’t be petulant.” Mama cut me off before I could complain. “It was essential that I leave before strangling that hussy. What I don’t understand,” she said, “is why she took such personal delight in humiliating me.”

“Mama, she doesn’t want you to seduce her father. She doesn’t want you for her mama. Isn’t it obvious?”

Mama looked aghast. “Surely not! What a revolting idea!”

“It’s funny,” I said, “because she seems to be right so much of the time. It’s just that her intent is evil.”

I stopped. Was it evil? Or simply … self-preserving?

Like the rest of us?

*   *   *

Sunday passed with no customers. We were tired, and it was a relief to have a quiet Sunday. The knocker clacked once, to announce Douglas, burdened with a case of leftover champagne and one of the floral arrangements from the buffet table. Mama was quite cheered up by the note.

I woke up on Monday, my sixteenth birthday, to hear Mama singing. It was unusual enough that she was awake before me, but singing!

“Happy birthday, darling.” She patted my cheek and put a bowl of freshly sliced pears on the table. “Many happy returns of the day.”

“Thank you, Mama.” I ate a piece of fruit.

“Do you think I look any older?” she asked.

“You? No, Mama, you never do. You’re just as beautiful as you were yesterday.”

“I think in our next town you should stop calling me Mama. I think we could be sisters, don’t you? You might practice using ‘Catherine’ around the house.”

The pear jammed in my throat. “Our next town?”

“We’ll be going on tour very soon,” said Mama. “We were thinking we’d head south for the winter. Go to sunny places where it smells like orange blossoms whenever you open the window. Gregory has already contacted certain acquaintances.
He’s coming over after breakfast to devise the itinerary. We can all sit down to look at the map.”

I couldn’t let this go on. I had to stop her. I had to stop him.

“Mama, I have to tell you something about Mr. Poole.”

She went still.

I took a breath. He knows about us, I wanted to say. We have to run away again. But that was exactly what I didn’t want. I wanted, with all my heart, to stay in Peach Hill.

“I don’t trust him,” I said, whispering. “He’s acting as if we’re indebted to him, as if we belong to him somehow.”

“Annie, you trust me, don’t you? My instincts are telling me that this tour is exactly what we need. We’ll keep moving, always ahead of scrutiny. Gregory is certain the rewards will be tremendous. Have I ever led us wrong?”

“But Mama—”

“Try using ‘Catherine.’ ”

I couldn’t depend on her listening to me. Somehow I’d have to prove that he was not to be counted on, find some evidence that shouted “steer clear” …

I volleyed one more excuse, guaranteed she’d find it a poor one. “We’ve hardly been here yet. What about my friends?”

“Every town has friends,” she said, flipping her hand. “And now that you’re sixteen, we can stop worrying about school.”

“I’m going to school, Mama. You can examine the map without me.”

“Legally, you are no longer required to attend school.” She leveled a look at me. But it was my sixteenth birthday, and I could be ruthless too.

“I’m going to school because I want to be there. I like it. I’m learning everything that you never taught me. The world is wider than just us. I need to know it all. Oh, and look at the time! Thanks for the lovely breakfast.”

Sixteen! I bounded into Needle Street. I was going to school! I would devise a scheme to unmask Mr. Poole. We would not succumb to blackmail. I would not spend the rest of my life scurrying from town to town like a vagabond. Whatever happened later, however she worked her black magic, at least I’d told my mother that I was going to school!

Sammy was waiting on the corner.

“Is it true?” he wanted to know at once.

“Is what true? What did you hear, Sammy?”

“At the bash on the hill. Your mother saw ghosts while she was wearing a blindfold, but then Delia got up and called her a sham.”

“What do you believe? My story or Delia’s?”

“I haven’t heard yours yet.”

“I’m getting a little tired of explaining myself,” I said, sounding way too much like Mama. “You’ll have to decide for yourself.”

For Sammy to like me, he had to believe that I was a psychic. For me to like Sammy, I had to pretend that he was smart enough to know I wasn’t a psychic. It was getting confusing. I still just wanted to kiss him every time I saw him.

Not only Sammy had heard the scandal, of course. As with all other small-town dramas, reports of Mr. Poole’s party crackled through Peach Hill. Delia’s version was the main source of gossip for the high school.

“You were faking?” Lexie and Jean accosted me on School Street as Sammy sidled away. “It was all a hoax? Delia told us everything!”

“Delia doesn’t know everything,” I said. “Why would you believe Delia? She’s been saying her mother is dead for two years when really everyone knows that she ran away with—oh, never mind!” I could play just as dirty as Delia.

Lexie and Jean gaped.

“With who?” said Jean.

“You mean it’s true?” asked Lexie. “About the fellow who sells fish? I heard my mother and her card friends talking. You mean it’s true?”

“Delia is not to be trusted,” I said in a dramatic whisper. “She has a turbulent episode coming on, according to the cards. Emotionally very unstable.”

“How do we know that’s not just another lie?”

“You know what you saw, don’t you?”

“Do we?” said Lexie.

“She couldn’t possibly have faked that, Lexie!” said Jean. “She went terribly ugly. Nobody would do that if it weren’t real.”

Shouts and laughter brought us up short at the school gate. Helen Wilky, standing on one foot, was circled by jeering schoolmates. Frankie Romero held one of Helen’s shoes—used-to-be-my shoes—high above his nasty, grinning head. I confess to one moment’s relief that it wasn’t me inside that crowd of sneering faces, but that didn’t stop my mouth.

“What are you doing?” I hollered. “You put down that shoe, Frankie Romero, or you’ll be in deep trouble!”

“Ooooh! It’s the Gypsy princess,” announced Delia. “Making a prediction!”

I squinted at the row of gaping faces: Sally, Howie, Pitts and Delia, joined by Lexie, Jean, Sammy and several others. I strode right up to Frankie and slammed my fists against his shoulders.

“Let go of that shoe, you bully!”

He lowered his arms but kept dangling the shoe from his finger.

“You better do as she says, Frankie,” said Delia. “She’ll put a hex on you.”

Helen snatched her shoe from Frankie and darted away from his grabbing hand. She would have kept running, but the big door swung open and Miss Primley’s arm began to ring the bell. I pulled Helen over to sit next to me on the bottom step while the others filed inside.

“Another reason to avoid school,” said Helen, tying her shoelace. “But thanks.” The toes of her shoes were scuffed and muddy, looking much worse than when I’d had them.

“Helen, I wonder if you would help me with something.”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

“It’s—it’s—I need you because there may be”—I was whispering—“stealing involved.”

Helen barked that odd laugh of hers. “I can do that. Where and when?”

“The Poole house,” I whispered. “Tonight, I hope. Eight o’clock? If I can be sure that he’s going out.”

“What, the old geezer who’s courting your mother?” She didn’t bother to keep her voice down. “The ruckus that
Delia’s been blabbing about? This gets better and better. What are we looking for?”

“Don’t say ‘courting,’ ” I said. “And I won’t know till I see it, what I’m hoping to find.”

“Excuse me?”

We spun around. Delia de Groot was standing on the top step. “Miss Primley said to get inside or be marked late and she’ll call Mrs. Newman.”

I worried through mathematics whether Delia had eavesdropped before she’d spoken. I worried through geography about how I would arrange for Mr. Poole to be far from his mansion on Hill Road that evening. I worried through chemistry that I should never have told so much to Helen Wilky, notorious sneak thief. I worried through English that perhaps I’d lost my mind. My mother wouldn’t give money to Mr. Poole for a risky investment, would she? She was far too smart to be fleeced. Wasn’t she?

“Mama?” I said, coming in after school.

Peg poked her face out of the kitchen and pointed to the front room. “She’s in there, with that Mrs. Peers of yours. You come on in here and get yourself a birthday blessing.” Peg hugged me hard and laid down a bowl of warm apple crumble.

“Your mama’s been cranky,” she said, “until that Mr. Poole called on the telephone. There hasn’t been a customer all day till this one. Mrs. Peers asked for you, but your mama told her no waiting. You better keep right out of sight.”

Peg lit a candle and stuck it in the crumble so I could make a birthday wish.

“Don’t tell me!” she said. “You want it to come true, don’t you?”

Let me have the life I choose. I blew out the candle.

We heard Mrs. Peers leave, and Mama came in, shaking her head at me. “I don’t know what claptrap you fed that woman, Annie, but she is intent on seducing the dark-haired postman.”

“It’s right there on her palm, Mama.” I tilted my head to remind her that Peg was listening. “At least, I saw she had a romance looming. She decided who to tackle.”

“Peg, I will have my bath and prepare for this evening. If by some miracle we have another caller, fix a time for tomorrow.”

“Yes’m.” Peg took my empty bowl and wiped a cloth across the tabletop.

“What are you doing, Mama?”

“I know it’s your birthday, dear heart, but I didn’t think you’d mind. I’m going out to dine, with Gregory.”

“Really?” The prelude to my wish come true!

He’d be safely out of his house, but he’d also be telling Mama he was on to us. Would he threaten her, too? Would she come hurrying home to drag out the carpetbags, ready for flight? All I needed was something to wave in his face to force his retreat instead of ours.

If I could find papers, or a statement from the bank, showing that his finances were not as healthy as he pretended … Even if I could find a stash of twenty-dollar bills and reclaim them as our own …

“I hope he takes you somewhere fancy,” I said, to cover the pause. “And maybe dancing. I know you like that.”

“You’re being very generous,” said Mama. “I know your feelings for Gregory are not the warmest.”

Peg raised her eyebrows at me over Mama’s head and left to draw the bath.

I met Helen at the school gate and we walked up the hill together. Mr. Poole’s house looked bigger now that I was approaching it as a fortress to be breached.

“Looks high, doesn’t it?” I knew by now that the wrought iron fence did not restrain a lurking dog, but it was still a six-foot fence.

“We climb over,” said Helen, not the least bit daunted. “We smash one of the panes on those fancy garden doors. We knock out the jagged bit with a stone and poke a hand through to jiggle open the handle.”

I stared at her. “You sound a little too sure that would work,” I said. “But breaking glass would be too noisy. The maid would hear us.” That gave me an idea. “I think you still get to climb the fence, though. Good thing you wore your dungarees.” I’d worn my trousers too, but I didn’t plan to crawl over the fence.

“And where will you be?”

“I’m going to see if I can get in through the kitchen. I
know the maid, a little, hopefully well enough. You wait at the French doors in the garden, and I’ll meet you there. But stay hidden and don’t smash anything!”

Helen hoisted herself over the fence, and I trotted around the corner to the servants’ entrance. The light was on in the cellar kitchen, and Norah came out to the gate a moment after I’d rung the bell.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s you, is it, miss?”

“Hello, Norah,” I said. “My mother thinks she may have dropped an earring last night. Did you find it, by any chance? A pearl drop set in gold?”

“No, miss.”

“May I go and take a quick look?”

“The master’s not here.”

Well, I know that!

“And Douglas, he’s driving. Since the chauffeur was let go.”

“I’ll only be a minute,” I said. “I just want to check around the platform where she was performing.”

“I suppose …”

“Thank you, Norah! You don’t have to lose your suds,” I said, pointing at the sink, where she’d been washing the dishes. “I’ll go up and be back before you’ve finished rinsing the last cup.”

“I suppose …” She nodded toward the stairs, and I took them at a ladylike gallop.

I found myself in the foyer, with the only light coming from a glimmering chandelier above my head. We’d used the dining room for the séance the first evening. I hurried across its dim length to unlatch the first pair of French doors.

Helen appeared at once and slipped inside with a grin.

“Stay here,” I whispered. “Open the door for me in five minutes.”

I raced back down to the kitchen, where Norah was just drying her hands.

“No luck,” I said, shrugging. “Thank you anyway.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Good-night, Norah.”

Instead of going out by the gate, I scuttled around the side of the house, through the pagoda and straight to the French doors.
Tap, tap
.

I was in! We stood in the dark, shaking with excitement and in a fit of giggles, if Helen’s wheezing qualified as giggles.

“Let’s go.” I led her into the foyer and hesitated.

I wanted to search Mr. Poole’s study, where papers and files would most likely be. But was it wise to send Helen upstairs by herself?