ShadowsintheMist (20 page)

It was about two hours later that I discovered the trunk. It
was made of cedar with a beautifully carved and inlaid lid. It seemed familiar
but I couldn’t quite place where or when I’d seen it. It was gray with dust and
practically hidden among a pile of old straight-backed chairs and cardboard
boxes filled with books. I managed, with considerable difficulty, to shift the
surrounding debris so I could drag the chest free.

It was dark in this particular section of the attic with the
shuttered window nearby blocked by more stacked boxes. The afternoon sun
beating down on the roof made the air almost unbearably stuffy and hot, despite
a strong wind that moaned over the gables.

I removed my bandanna and wiped my face and neck, then
attacked the pile in front of the window. I finally made enough room to lift
the pane and throw open the shutters. The breeze was refreshing and I knelt
there for some time while the perspiration dried on my face and my lungs took
in the clean, cooling air.

Finally, I turned back to the trunk. It was unlocked and
except for a minor protest from long disused hinges, it opened readily.

I was slightly disappointed to find nothing of great value.
It seemed to be full of clothes and I pulled them out one at a time to inspect.
I knew immediately whose clothes they were and remembered why the box was so
familiar. It stood at the foot of my parents’ bed until my mother’s death and
was one of the few pieces of furniture my mother brought with her to Beacon.

Most of the clothing was stained with age and would be
useless. Nearer the bottom, however, lay her wedding dress and, although it was
extremely wrinkled and limp, it was preserved admirably, wrapped in blue tissue
paper and sealed in a cardboard box.

Beneath this was a jewelry box containing an assortment of
unremarkable baubles I assumed she owned prior to her marriage to Leo. The
expensive pieces he lavished on her later were locked safely in the family
vault at the bank. I made a mental note to inventory those as well.

Next to the jewelry box lay a number of tattered spiral
notebooks and my heart quickened as a flash of memory took me back fifteen
years to High Dune, when I’d nestled drowsily next to my mother. The sun was
warm on my face and I was happy, though weary from running up and down the
steep hill. She smiled at me lovingly and chucked me under the chin with the
end of her gold pen. On her lifted knees was one of these notebooks—the
journals she wrote in so diligently.

I caught my breath. I’d all but forgotten about them. Leo,
in his grief, ordered all her things removed. Somehow these were overlooked. I
pulled them out one by one and dragged a chair over near the window to read.

Chapter Nine

The other shape,

If shape it might be call’d that shape had none

Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;

Or substance might be call’d that shadow seem’d,

For each seem’d either; black it stood as night,

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,

And shook a dreadful dart; what seem’d his head

The likeness of a kingly crown had on.

Satan was now at hand.

John Milton,
Paradise Lost

The diaries began when Anna was seventeen. I was enthralled
as I skimmed the pages sharing her joys and tragedies, insecurities and
frustrations. I began to glimpse a mother I hardly knew. Through her writing,
she became more than just a pleasant maternal memory. She became a complex,
interesting woman, far different from that gentle but vague entity I locked in
my heart. Her essence shone through and her vivid emotions revealed a depth to
her character I never suspected.

I was surprised to discover how like me she really was.
Despite her stiff upbringing at the hands of strict, devout parents, she
suffered many of the frustrations and self-doubts as I did. She spoke of
writing—of how she longed to make it a career but knew it wouldn’t provide a
suitable future for a young woman. I smiled at this. If times were different,
she might have made a greater success of it than I.

In her era, marriage was all-important. Propriety and
respectability were the cornerstones of life. She was trained to believe virtue
and piety were a woman’s greatest assets, yet deep inside, rebellion bubbled.
She was often lonely and fought daily to quell desires she was taught were
sinful.

As she grew older, the turmoil of youth mellowed. Her
parents died, leaving her little in the way of financial security and with no
training in any solid profession, she turned to childminding as a means of
support. Her interview for the position of nanny to young Colin Dirkston
precipitated a rash of excited entries tinged with anticipation and
uncertainty. I wished I was there for her at that time to offer her sympathy. I
understood all too well those feelings of inadequacy.

I flipped forward a few pages and my eyes lit on Colin’s
name.

“Colin is a sweet young thing, though I’m afraid he’s been
terribly spoiled by his mother and neglected by his father. I sometimes wonder
if I’ll ever be able to manage him. He’s so used to having his own way. It will
be a challenge to win him over. He’s still very young and perhaps, in time, he’ll
learn to trust me.”

That was the end of this particular journal. I closed it
gently and sat gazing out the dormer window. The view from this height was
magnificent, encompassing a panorama of Beacon’s tailored grounds, the fiery
woods on either side and the strip of white beach edging the vast expanse of
water. It was getting late. The sun was descending into its liquid lair,
dressed in red and gold and trailing gauzy skirts across the sky, making the
tumble of clouds on the horizon look like gilded dumplings. Below, the swimming
pool mirrored the hues of the sky in miniature. A rising breeze rippled the
surface into goose flesh and I shivered in sympathy.

Organized religion didn’t stifle my imagination. Unlike
Anna, I grew up with a benevolent image of eternity and the Almighty. Despite
my mother’s insistence I attend Sunday services as well as regular instruction
on Christian doctrine, I took it all with a grain of salt and even actively
studied other beliefs and theories on the occult and supernatural at university.
It was perhaps my open-mindedness, interwoven with the belief in an afterlife,
that allowed me the comfort of believing my mother and father were with
me—perhaps on another plane but still able to watch over me and guide me.

Sitting there in the cooling breeze with the world stretched
at my feet and heaven so close, I could almost feel Anna’s gentle hand on my
shoulder. I closed my eyes and let my mind go blank, half-hoping the presence
that engulfed me on those other occasions would return.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the open shutters and flung
itself about the attic, kicking up dust, ruffling papers and tipping one of the
haphazardly stacked journals onto the floor. I opened my eyes, disappointed and
somewhat sheepish. My logical side still scoffed at the incident on the beach,
yet another part of me wanted to cling to it. I refused to believe I was losing
my mind, though the various suggestions I was suffering from nervous stress
seemed all too possible. I didn’t want to believe this, either, so I ignored
it, shutting my mind as I shut the window and turning the slide lock at the
top.

I bent to retrieve the journal that had fallen to the floor.
I froze as my eyes scanned the words on the page that lay open.

“Sometimes I can feel him watching me and it makes me
frightened. It’s as if he knows I see through him and is waiting, like a cobra
ready to strike. I don’t know what to do. If I tell Leo, he’ll probably laugh
and tell me I’m imagining things.”

At that moment, a movement near the side of the chest sent
me stumbling backward in fright. I half-expected to see a snake coiled
maliciously there but instead Kong sidled up, rubbing his thick coat on the
corner of the box and purring like a faulty engine. I let out my breath in
relief and reached for the journal again but footsteps sounded nearby. I peered
into the lowering gloom to see David, picking his way gingerly through the
mounds of furniture.

He smiled amiably. “You certainly pick some damnable places
to get to these days,” he said.

“And you certainly know how to scare the wits out of me,” I
rejoined, though I was pleased to see him.

He reached down and picked up the fallen journal. “What’s
this?” he asked, thumbing through it.

I took it away from him a little too hastily. “It’s nothing.
Just some old college notes. I don’t know why Martha saved them.”

I don’t know why I felt compelled to lie to him. I only knew
I wanted to keep the journals my own secret for the time being. They were my
mother’s, after all and not meant for public scrutiny.

I put the books back into the trunk and shut the lid.

“Can you believe all the junk up here?” I exclaimed. “It’ll
take days to go through all of it.”

He nodded, his eyes sweeping the room. “I’ll bet there’re
plenty of antiques lurking about. Probably a collector’s dream, eh?”

“Well, I don’t know about that. So far, I haven’t found
anything I’d want to ‘collect’.”

“Mmm, perhaps not. But you’d be surprised at what some of
these items are worth. Take this chest, for instance.” He ran his fingers over
the engraved lid. “This is all hand etched. Early Dutch, I’d say. Could bring
you a couple of thou.”

I looked at him with newfound respect. “Do you really think
so?” Then I cocked a suspicious brow. “Since when did you become an expert on
antiques?”

He shrugged. “I’m no expert. But I’ve been to a few auctions
in my day and they sort of piqued my interest.” His eyes roamed over my face
and he lifted a hand to rub a dust smudge from my nose. I expected him to take
me in his arms but instead he merely gave my cheek a gentle caress, then
frowned. “Do you happen to know what time it is?”

“About dinner time?”

“About half-past dinner time! Lucky for you, Darla has
diverted everyone’s attention or Lottie would be furious. As it is, she agreed
to try to keep things warm while I scoured the house for you.”

I grinned mischievously. “What do you suppose would happen
if we didn’t go down? How long do you think it would take for anyone to find
us?”

He smiled. “Not long, I’m afraid. Darla said you were…uh…shall
we say, in somewhat of a mess when she arrived and you’d mentioned the attic.”

I scowled. Darla! Just like her to bring up my untidy
appearance. “Come on then,” I said abruptly. “We’d better get going.”

We left the attic together with Kong stalking regally ahead,
tail high, ears pricked. I intended to return as soon as possible to retrieve
the journal. That brief excerpt left me unsettled. It was the first clue that
there was a cloud over Beacon long before either of my parents’ deaths.

As circumstances dictated, it was some time before I could
return to the journals. Shortly after sitting down to dinner, served by a
glowering Lottie, a commotion in the front hall brought me curiously to my
feet. I slipped quietly out of the dining room and down the passage.

“It’s none of your concern!” It was Colin’s voice—loud,
angry.

Someone—a woman—was weeping.

Then, there was another voice. “It is my concern if it’s
going on under my roof!”

I shrank back into the shadow of a doorway, recognizing
Grant’s clear, officious tone.

Colin snorted. “Your roof, is it now? I see you’re not
wasting any time taking over, eh?”

“Don’t change the subject. I know Alicia’s been taking drugs
for some time and I want to know where she’s getting them.”

“Why don’t you ask Suzanna? As I recall, it was her pills
that put Alicia in the hospital.”

At that, the sobbing rose to a crescendo. “Stop it! Stop it!
I can’t listen to it anymore!”

To my amazement, it was Alicia herself. Concerned at the
desperation in her voice, I left the protective shadows and strode into the fray.

“What’s going on here?” My eyes moved from Colin, rigid,
red-faced, fists clenched at his sides, to Grant, tense, wary, mouth tight,
eyes uncompromisingly riveted on Colin and finally to Alicia, slumped in a
wheelchair, her pale face blotched, a handkerchief clutched to her nose. She
raised stricken eyes to mine. As if she uttered a verbal cry for help, I moved
defensively to her side and glared at the men.

“What’s come over the two of you? Can’t you see what sort of
state you’ve put her in? I assume she’s just come from the hospital. Is it your
intention to put her right back there?”

Grant shifted his gaze to me and blinked, bewildered. Colin
unclenched his fists and remembering his duty, moved solicitously to his wife’s
side.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said quietly. “Are you all right?”

Alicia nodded but the slump of her shoulders belied her
exhaustion. I was shocked at her appearance. She seemed to have shrunken into
herself, as though ill for a very long time instead of a few days. There wasn’t
a trace of the glamorous actress, only a listless invalid, frightened and
confused. I laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

“It’s good to have you home, Alicia. Are you able to walk?
Perhaps you’d prefer to use the downstairs guest room until you can manage the
stairs?”

She shook her head. “I want to go to my own room,” she said
and turned her eyes up to Colin beseechingly. He understood and nodded.

“I’ll carry her up. The doctor wants her to stay in bed for
a few more days and she’ll be more comfortable in familiar surroundings.”

He lifted her easily in his arms. With a brief nod in my
direction and a spiteful glance at Grant, he mounted the stairs and
disappeared. I glared at Grant. He hadn’t moved, watching Colin’s back as he
carried Alicia up the stairs, his face tight with irritated frustration.