No Mortal Reason (2 page)

“How long was the O&W tied up?”

“Six days.”

“The storm paralyzed most of New York and New England for the better part of a week.”

“Diana?” Ben called, preventing her from sharing her own blizzard story. The buckboard was loaded and wanted only her presence to leave for the hotel.

Bidding goodbye to the friendly station agent, Diana hurried toward the wagon. She reached it in time to hear Ben ask their driver a question about the waters that had given Lenape Springs its name.

Floyd Lyseth looked as if he’d bitten into a sour apple. “There’s just the one and that spring’s been nothin’ but trouble. Can’t see no mortal reason for them to go addin’ on to the hotel. Fine just the way she was. Outsiders comin’ in are goin’ to bring nothin’ but trouble.”

Diana hid a smile. The station agent was right. The man was a real curmudgeon.

Barely waiting until his passengers were settled on the hard wooden seats behind him, Lyseth took up the reins and urged the horses forward along the hard-packed dirt street that ran parallel to the railroad tracks. They were soon out of the village and heading west over an uneven road made worse by recent rains. Diana clung to Ben’s arm for balance and was glad she had him there to support her when they turned north onto an even more deeply rutted country lane. The land rose all around them and, in common with the hilltop she’d noticed from the train as it entered Liberty, one directly ahead also had a large building at its crest.

Slowed by mud and mire and by the narrow road’s many twists and turns and ups and downs, it seemed to take eons to reach Lenape Springs, though in reality considerably less than an hour passed. At the end of the journey, Diana found herself in a pretty little hamlet situated in a pleasant valley. A hotel was the first building they came to, but it was not their destination. A sign proclaimed that it was the Lenape Springs Villa. Down a side road to the right, Diana caught sight of a mill. As the wagon continued along the main street, they passed two stores, a post office, and a church on one side of the road, and a livery stable and blacksmith shop on the other, all interspersed with a sprinkling of houses. A wooded stretch of perhaps a quarter mile in length separated the last of these from the entrance to the hotel grounds, a long drive that curved gradually upward.

“Hotel Grant,” their taciturn driver announced when he brought the wagon to a stop. Those were the first words he’d spoken since leaving the depot at Liberty.

For a long moment, Diana simply sat and stared. It was the building she’d seen earlier from a distance, but that glimpse of a far-off hilltop had given her no hint of what to expect. She’d never seen anything quite like the structure in front of her.

What was still recognizable as a two-story farmhouse was at the core of the hotel, but various additions had been made to it. There was a three-story section that, by itself, might have seemed a natural extension . . . if someone had not added another wing with two five-story towers. Just visible over the mansard roof of the three-story section were the tops of several lower towers at the back of the hotel. A wide veranda, intended to provide guests with a place to socialize in the fresh air, wrapped around as much of the structure as Diana could see. Parts of it appeared to have been built recently and were still unpainted.

“Expanding, are they?” Ben asked.

Diana could hear no hammering or sawing and no workmen were in sight, but she thought she heard a distant shriek—the kind of noise a board made when it was ripped free of its fellows.

Lyseth’s answer was muffled by the heavy trunk he’d just hoisted onto his shoulders. “Tryin’ again. Didn’t learn their lesson the first time.”

That sounded ominous, Diana thought, exchanging a concerned glance with Ben. She wondered what had happened “the first time” the hotel had been renovated. Then again, judging by the hodgepodge of styles the structure boasted, the “lesson” might have been that the Grants should have employed the services of an architect before expanding.

With a grunt, Lyseth steadied his burden and led the way toward wide steps cut into the terrace. Halfway there, he stopped dead as a goat appeared out of nowhere to block his way.

“Confounded nuisance!” Lyseth stamped his feet, hoping to drive the animal away, but it stood its ground and bleated at him. When Lyseth took a step forward, it lowered its head as if it meant to charge.

“That’s some guard dog you’ve got.” Diana heard the amusement in Ben’s deep voice. She had to stifle a giggle herself.

“Get out of the way, Tremont,” Lyseth bellowed, his face going very red as he kicked a rock in the goat’s direction.

Tremont bleated again and backed off far enough for Lyseth to reach the steps. Ben hustled Diana after their driver, but the goat seemed to have no interest in butting anyone else. Diana had the feeling this was a long-standing feud between man and beast, and wondered if there might be a piece for the newspaper in it. Then she put the idea aside to think about later, for they had entered the hotel.

Diana’s feet sank into soft, deep carpet. Even on this overcast day, enormous windows provided plenty of illumination and her gaze was drawn first to the huge fireplace directly ahead of her. Situated against the far wall, across an expanse of open space, it dominated the lobby.

Diana frowned. It was cold in the cavernous room, but no one had lit a fire. She thought that strange but had too many other things on her mind to dwell on the oddity of it. She took note of the elevator to one side of the hearth and the grand staircase curving upward on the other. Then her focus shifted to the ornately carved mahogany check-in desk that stood near the stairs.

A large, leather-bound guest register sat open on the counter. Pen and ink waited beside it, but nowhere was there any sign of a desk clerk or any other member of the hotel staff. When Diana looked around, she realized that Floyd Lyseth had also disappeared, taking her trunk with him.

“Did we imagine him?” she whispered.

“Probably,” Ben said. “If Mother were here, she’d be sure the place is haunted.”

“How very peculiar that no one is here to greet us. They obviously expected us today.” Unless, of course, Floyd Lyseth
was
a ghost.

A little hand-lettered sign beside a brass bell said “Ring for Service.” Tentatively, Diana did so.

Before the last echo of the ding died away, a young woman threw open the pocket doors of the room directly opposite the check-in desk and scurried toward them, hastily wiping her hands on the sides of her well-worn white lawn apron. The garment had definitely seen better days. It had probably started life as part of a parlor maid’s uniform, starched and pressed, its bib and shoulder straps embroidered and in pristine condition. Years of use had yellowed the fabric and left it torn in two or three places.

“Forgive my appearance!” The young woman sounded a trifle breathless. “We knew you were coming. I just lost track of the time.” As she ducked behind the check-in desk, she whipped off the apron to reveal a serviceable red calico frock with a narrow white collar and plain, wrist-length sleeves. She wore neither corset nor bustle, which Diana supposed was only common sense since she’d plainly been cleaning in the other room.  

Diana shifted her attention to the woman’s face. Was she a cousin? She had red highlights in her light brown hair. Diana’s hair was also reddish-brown. Beyond that, and the fact that they both had blue eyes, there did not seem to be much resemblance. Diana was of medium height and build. She had a slightly square face with wide-spaced eyes and fair skin—a gardenia-petal complexion, so Ben liked to say—and a small nose. The desk clerk was shorter than Diana and possessed of a noble nose and a generous bosom. She was a bit too thin elsewhere. Her face was very pink. Either she was flustered by their sudden arrival or she’d recently spent too much time in the sun without the protection of a hat.

Embarrassed, Diana decided, thinking of the apron, though she had no reason to be. No sensible woman would do housework in her best clothing.

As Floyd Lyseth had done, the young woman ignored Diana and addressed Ben. “Welcome to the Hotel Grant. You must be Dr. Northcote. Uncle Myron is real anxious to meet you. At least he is if you’re a medical doctor.”

“Is he ill?”

“Uncle Myron?” Cornflower-blue eyes widened at the very idea. “He’s never been sick a day in his life. We’re all healthy here in Lenape Springs. It’s the water, you know.”

“Why does he want to meet me, then?”

“Oh, he hopes you’ll endorse the wondrous properties of Lenape Springs water. I’m sure you will, once you’ve tried it for yourself.”

“I came to fish,” Ben said, clinging to the fiction he’d decided upon during their train journey.

Diana used one silk-gloved hand to hide a smile. She’d once heard Ben wax caustic over an advertisement for a popular spa that claimed its medicinal springs could cure anything from dyspepsia to torpid liver. He would never agree to give Myron Grant the testimonial he wanted, but for the present, because of her, he could not come right out and refuse. 

“I hope you’ll forgive the confusion,” the young woman continued, apparently satisfied that Ben would change his mind about the endorsement. “We expect to be finished with all the construction before the season starts.”

“The season?” The term confused Diana.

Ben seemed to understand the young woman’s meaning but still looked surprised. “Are you open only for the high season? A friend told me this was a fine area for fishing and advised me to visit before the flies get bad. May fifteenth to June fifteenth, he said. Or wait until the fall.”

“We do get some fishermen, and a few families come to the area in mid-June, but for the most part we only take guests from July tenth until September tenth, just like the other summer hotels and boarding houses in Sullivan County. Some folks come and stay six or eight weeks, whole families sometimes, except that the husbands can only come up from the city to join them for the weekends.”

“Do I gather that your family owns this hotel?” Diana asked, seizing the opportunity to find out more about the desk clerk. “Your uncle, you said?”

“Uncle Myron. Yes.”

“Myron Grant?”

“Yes. My name is Mercy Grant. I’m in charge of the desk and I grow all the flowers we use to decorate the public rooms.”

Which meant, Diana concluded, that she must be the daughter of the younger of the two Grant brothers, Howard. Diana’s mother had given them the names of all five of her siblings—Myron, Sally Ann, Luella, Ida May, and Howard. Mercy Grant’s father was some five years older than his sister Elmira, which meant he must be in his late fifties. Mercy herself didn’t look a day over eighteen.

While Diana had been questioning her newfound cousin, Ben had signed the register. He cleared his throat to get their attention and the desk clerk at once remembered her duties.

“I hope you will find your accommodations comfortable,” she said, pausing briefly at a key rack before she came out from behind the check-in desk. “Your rooms are in the north tower. I’ll show you the way. It’s a bit of a maze through the corridors. Your luggage will be brought up, if it hasn’t already been delivered. Do you need help with your unpacking? We haven’t any chambermaids on staff at the moment, but I’d be happy to—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Diana interrupted. She wished her cousin would stop talking for a moment. She had the feeling she’d just missed something of significance. No chambermaids? That seemed a bit odd, even if the hotel wasn’t open. Did Mercy do
all
the housework herself?

Ben caught Diana’s arm as Mercy rushed ahead of them toward the elevator. His eyes stayed on the other woman until he was sure she was too far ahead of them to overhear. Then he bent close to Diana’s ear and whispered, “Don’t make a scene. I have my reasons.”

She stopped in her tracks, realizing at that moment what it really was that had seemed wrong to her. Ben had signed the register. She had not. And Mercy had taken only one room key from the key rack behind the check-in desk.

A none-too-gentle tug from Ben got her moving again. “Come along,
Mrs. Northcote
.”

Diana obeyed, but only because she did not wish to embarrass herself. How
could
he? This was a disaster. By signing the register as Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Northcote he had put her in an untenable position. If her family ever found out they had shared a room in the hotel without benefit of clergy, they’d be outraged and horrified—as they should be!

“All the tower suites have a spectacular view,” Mercy said when they got into the elevator. She gave Ben a bright smile as she set it in motion. “You and your wife can enjoy a splendid vista of mountains and treetops from your very own private balcony.”

Ben’s hand tightened in warning on Diana’s arm, but he needn’t have worried. She was not going to denounce him in front of her new-found cousin. She’d keep her thoughts to herself until they were alone.

Emotions warred within her, perilously close to the surface. Her cheeks felt quite warm and a tight knot had formed in her chest. Beside her, Ben seemed unconcerned. He even chuckled at some remark Mercy made.

Diana felt a bleakness descend upon her as she listened. Did Ben Northcote understand her so little? Did he not realize the enormity of what he had done? She had thought that if she decided to tell the Grants who she was, she might also invite them to the wedding. That would be impossible now. And to think, only a short time ago she’d been worried that they might question her character just because she’d made a train journey unchaperoned in a gentleman’s company!

Oblivious to the brewing storm, Mercy Grant sang the praises of the newly installed hydraulic elevator all the way to the third floor. At the end of a long passageway and up a flight of stairs, they came to the top of the north tower.

As promised, the parlor of the suite offered a panoramic view of the Catskill Mountains. Furnished in Eastlake style, with a lovely red rose Brussels carpet, it also boasted a fireplace, this one supplied with kindling and firewood ready to be lit.