Secrets of Hallstead House (2 page)

Pete was watching me as I got my first real look at Summerplace. “What do you think?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know yet,” I answered truthfully. “It could be beautiful, but it’s a little forbidding.”

Pete nodded. “I tried to get Miss Hallstead to choose a different color than the dark green, but this is the way she wanted it.”

He led the way up the wide steps to the front porch. “It doesn’t welcome me,” I noted, half to myself. Pete had reached the front door, and he put my suitcases down and turned to face me.

“I don’t think the front porch is the only thing you’re going to find unwelcoming about this place. Don’t expect all of the people here to be happy about your arrival,” he said gravely.

Pete’s words unnerved me, and I felt my fear rushing back. I was unsure about my new job and my new home, and I shook my head as if doing so would help me shake off my rising doubts. I forced a note of confidence into my voice that I didn’t feel. “Let’s go in,” I told him. After all, it couldn’t be any worse than what I had left behind.

If I had known then of the events that were already taking shape in the gloom of Hallstead House, I might not have had the courage to go inside.

P
ete turned the knob and the enormous front door swung open soundlessly. We stepped into a large, sparse foyer. The floor had an intriguing harlequin look, with black and white marble tiles set on point in a diamond pattern. A small bench covered in a rich red fabric sat next to the door, and a grandfather clock ticked quietly to my left. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the foyer. Straight ahead was a broad staircase leading to the second story, and next to the staircase a wide hallway stretched toward the back of the house.

It was very quiet at first. Then I heard muffled, angry voices rising from within the residence somewhere. I couldn’t tell if the voices were male or female, or what they were saying. Pete threw me a quick glance and shouted, “Hello! Anyone home?” The heated voices stopped abruptly, and after a minute a tall, thin woman came into the front hall from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a dingy apron. I looked at her and was struck by how gray looking she was. Her hair, gray and shaggy, hung limply to her shoulders. She had watery gray eyes that looked slightly sunken, and even her skin had a tinge that reminded me of dirty dishwater.

She paid no attention to me as she greeted Pete, saying in a raspy voice, “Shut that door! It’s cold in here.” She reached past him and gave the door a shove, closing it with a thud. She inspected me through narrowed eyes and asked Pete, “Is this the new nurse?”

Pete answered her, “Yes. This is Macy Stoddard, Miss Hallstead’s new nurse. Macy, this is Valentina Byrd, the housekeeper and cook at Summerplace.”

I smiled and held out my hand to Valentina. She ignored me. Instead she turned to Pete and said, “You’d better go out and fix that damned awning over the porch before it starts to rain harder. It’s leaking like a sieve. Miss Hallstead keeps asking me about it.”

“No problem,” he said, and turned to me. “Vali will show you where your room is.” With that, he turned around and left, closing the door quietly behind him. I was left alone with Valentina.

She looked at me balefully and said, “Get your bags. I’ll show you where you’re gonna stay.” I took my two suitcases and lugged them up the stairs behind her. At the top of the stairs Valentina turned to the left and walked toward a closed door. I glanced around me while she fumbled with a set of keys that she withdrew from her pocket. The second floor reminded me of a hotel, with its closed doors and dim wall sconces.

It was chilly up there and I shivered. I glanced up and saw a cavernous space rising to a point above the second-floor hallway.
That must be where the weathervane is mounted outside.
Valentina finally found the key she was looking for. She inserted the key into the door and swung it open on slightly creaky hinges. The noise made the second floor seem positively haunted. I shivered again, though not from the chill this time.

“This here is your room. Your bathroom is inside to the right. If you need something, I’ll be downstairs. Miss Hallstead told me to tell you that you can look around or rest until dinnertime. She is working in her rooms and doesn’t like to be bothered while she’s working. Dinner’s at six o’clock.” With that, Valentina turned her back to me and started to close the door. Then she opened it again and glared at me, her watery eyes narrowing. “Don’t get too comfortable—I don’t think you’re going to be here too long.” Then she was gone. I listened as she clumped down the stairs. After such a reception, I felt thoroughly alone, and I was becoming increasingly apprehensive about this new job.

I looked around my room: It was huge. Opposite me was a large bank of French doors covered by thin draperies, and when I turned on the bedside lamp I was pleasantly surprised and cheered as I looked around. Unlike much of what I had seen of Summerplace so far, this room was light and airy looking. There was a second door, locked, which I assumed led to one of the turrets that I had seen earlier. A third door stood ajar, and I peered into a small dressing room.

The main room had a huge stone fireplace with a rustic wooden mantel. I couldn’t wait to use it, but I would have to ask someone to show me how to build a fire. I hadn’t gotten much practice building fires in my Manhattan apartment.

I brought my suitcases in from the hallway and opened them on the bed. Seeing this room had lifted my spirits a little, and I brushed Valentina’s brusque words aside as I started to unpack. Luckily, I had brought several sweaters, as well as jeans and corduroys. When I had accepted this position through the nursing agency, I had been told that a nurse’s uniform would not be necessary. After I had unpacked my clothes and put them into the dresser and armoire, I took my toiletries into the bathroom. When I opened the door, I saw that this was a cheerful room too.

I put my things in the medicine chest and then stood looking at myself in the mirror for a moment. My straight, shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and tied with a ribbon at the nape of my neck. I looked a little windblown from being in the boat. I smiled at my reflection. I wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants, but I wasn’t a troll either. Now, with my face slightly flushed from the boat ride and from being keyed up about my arrival on Hallstead Island, I did look nice.

Turning away from my reflection, I walked back into the bedroom. I stepped over to the French doors, flung them open, and went out onto the wet balcony. It stretched along the entire side of the house and disappeared around each corner, where the turret walls bulged. The railing was dark green with sturdy-looking spindles and the floor was a weathered brown. Standing there feeling the rain on my face, I could just glimpse the river through the trees. The only noise I could hear was the sound of raindrops falling: on the trees, on the balcony floor, on the railing, on the roof of Summerplace. I took a long, deep breath of the cool air, then turned around and went back inside and out into the dimly lit hallway. I was curious about the other doors upstairs, but I could find out more about what was behind them later. I wanted to explore the rest of the house first.

I walked quietly down the stairs to the first floor and stood for a moment in the foyer. Everything was still. Stepping through a doorway, I found myself in a cavernous living room. Despite two lamps glowing softly and a fire crackling in the fireplace, the room was dark, though I could see that it was filled with beautiful antiques that had obviously been well cared for. I walked over to the fireplace and spread my hands out before the fire to warm them.

Above the fireplace mantel hung an informal portrait of a man. He sat on a dark brown wicker chair and wore tan slacks and a short-sleeved white oxford shirt. On his feet he wore brown loafers. He bore a slight smile, and his eyes arrested the viewer with their depth. He looked completely relaxed and at ease, and it was obvious that the artist and the subject were quite familiar with each other. It was a striking painting and I liked it.

I turned around to head back into the foyer and was startled to see a man watching me from the doorway of the living room. I recovered myself quickly and walked over to him with my hand outstretched.

“Hello, I’m Macy Stoddard,” I began.

“I know,” said the man, shaking my hand limply. “Vali . . . Valentina—my wife—told me you were here.”

The man was very tall and thin, with sparse gray hair combed over the top of his otherwise bald head. He wore jeans, work boots, and a plaid flannel shirt. We stood there awkwardly as I waited for him to introduce himself, but he didn’t. “What is your name?” I finally asked.

“Leland Byrd. Miss Hallstead’s handyman.”

I smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Byrd.”

His only response was to say, “It’s Leland.” With that, he turned and walked out the front door. I watched him go, thinking that although his welcome lacked warmth, he didn’t seem quite as blatantly rude as his wife.

I walked into the room on the other side of the foyer and found myself in a small library filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves containing hundreds, maybe thousands, of books. A wide set of double doors stood closed at the back of the room. I turned on a lamp so I could look around. On a small table that held several small photographs was a beautiful shot of Hallstead Island, obviously taken from a boat. Another was a picture of the same man who appeared in the painting above the mantel. This time he was dressed in fishing gear and held up a pole with a small fish dangling from the end. He wore a wide smile and seemed proud of his catch. A third photo was of a young woman who smiled coquettishly for the camera, her dark eyes twinkling. She had long brown hair and a thin face and was dressed formally in a low-cut gown with a glittering necklace encircling her slender throat.

I turned to one of the bookshelves. It was lined with books of all descriptions, both fiction and nonfiction: classics, mysteries, romance novels, and books about exotic places around the world. This was definitely a room I would visit as often as I could.

I walked back into the foyer and turned toward the back of the house. The hallway led past the stairs, and I found myself in the kitchen. It was a large, farmhouse-style kitchen, but not a cheerful one. Like Valentina, everything was gray. With a little elbow grease, this kitchen could be warm and welcoming, but right now it was cold and depressing. I could easily imagine the dour housekeeper back here. A solid wooden door stood behind me, tucked under the back of the hall staircase.
Probably a cellar door.

I walked through another doorway on the right side of the kitchen and I was in a formal dining room. There was a long table, heavy looking and stately, surrounded by twelve chairs upholstered in rich burgundy silk. A sliver of light came into the room from windows mostly concealed by long, heavy draperies.
A thoroughly dismal room
. Pete’s word “gloomy” flashed through my mind again.

As I stood in the dark and still dining room, I thought I could hear voices being raised again. The words were muffled, but the vehemence behind them conveyed strong emotion. I couldn’t tell where the voices were coming from and I didn’t want to walk toward them unwittingly and run into the people quarreling. I stood listening for a moment as the voices got louder and louder. Instinct told me to leave quickly, so I headed for a door that led to the porch. As I crossed the dining room, the door I had seen in the kitchen, the one I had assumed led to the cellar, flung open, and Valentina and Leland stepped into the kitchen. Their voices dropped immediately. As much as I wanted to get out onto the porch, I felt compelled to stay in the dining room long enough to hear the end of the argument. Luckily I was concealed by the room’s darkness. I had to strain to hear their voices now.

“Shut up, Leland. We’re doing this my way,” snapped Valentina.

“Vali, would you just forget it? There’s nothing we can do about her,” wheedled Leland.

“Just go get those rooms ready,” hissed Valentina. She started banging pots and pans, and Leland turned and headed into the hallway. I could hear him trudging upstairs. I crept quickly over to the porch door and turned the knob. Fortunately, the door opened soundlessly, and I let myself out onto the porch, closing the door behind me. I didn’t want to pass the kitchen, where Valentina would surely see me, so I headed around toward the front of the house. I walked slowly, my mind firing off questions I couldn’t answer. Why were Valentina and Leland fighting? Were they talking about me? What had to be done Vali’s way? And what made me want to hide as soon as I heard them approaching, yet compelled me to stay to eavesdrop on them? It wasn’t in my nature to hide or to eavesdrop. Now I was feeling paranoid.

As I turned the corner of the porch, I saw Pete coming up the path to the front of the house, holding a box with several small tools in it. He raised his eyebrows in greeting and asked, “Leaving so soon?”

I attempted a halfhearted smile in return.

“What happened?”

I told him about Valentina’s harsh words, of Leland’s lukewarm welcome, and of their heated, but muffled, argument. I left out of my story the words I had heard clearly. Pete set down his tools and shook his head. “Like I said earlier, you aren’t going to find a hearty welcome from some of the people around here. Try not to let Vali and Leland bother you. They’ve been here forever, and they’re a little territorial about Alex—Miss Hallstead—and Summerplace.”

I thanked him and changed the subject, talking instead about my room and my quick tour of Summerplace. I told him how happy I was to have such a cheerful room, especially after seeing that the rest of the house was so dark. I realized as I left that while I had been chattering to him nervously, Pete hadn’t really said much. I was embarrassed and made a mental note to stop babbling.

As I thought about Pete’s words, I doubted his excuse for Valentina and Leland’s behavior. There had to be more to it than just a vague suspicion of me as a newcomer to Summerplace. It seemed almost presumptuous to think that I would be the subject of any argument between Valentina and Leland—I was a stranger to both of them—yet I had a peculiar hunch that they had been arguing about me.

I walked back into the house and went straight up to my room. I suddenly felt weary and wanted to lie down.

Once in my room I closed the thin draperies against the dank outdoors and switched on the bedside lamp. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. Immediately, images of my parents and Alan crowded to the front of my mind: my parents, who had lost their lives to a drunk driver only six weeks before, and Alan, my boyfriend of two years, who had left me shortly after my parents died because he couldn’t handle my emotional fragility.

I thrust the mental picture of Alan aside and allowed myself to concentrate on remembering my mother and father. I missed them so very much. When I thought of my mother and father, my mother was always laughing, just as she had when she was alive. It offered me some solace to know that my mother’s life, though too short, had been very happy. My father, a professor, had been a serious man, but he was always ready to lay his books and papers aside for my mother and me. My mother had brought out his fun, playful side, and together the three of us had shared many good times.