The Aviary (6 page)

Ruby stayed quiet until the nosy driver had closed the carriage door. “Do you know that man?” Clara asked.

“I know of him,” she said, peering through the window. She took out her hankie, wiped her face, and began to fan herself.

“Is Mama in trouble?”

“We’ll see,” Ruby said.

“But why?”

Ruby threw up her hands. “Because,” she said, going red in the face, “we could be out on the street, bag and baggage!” She began to sob. “So sorry. Deary me, I don’t know
how your ma does it. Excuse me if your old Ruby wasn’t born with a cast-iron constitution.…”

Clara pressed against the window. Her mother was listening to Mr. Merritt-Blenney, bobbing her head, but her veil obscured her expressions. Finally, the lawyer reached into his breast pocket and produced a card. Harriet studied it and curtseyed quickly as the man tipped his hat to her.

“Here she comes,” said Ruby. “Marching like a soldier.”

No sooner had the coachman helped Clara’s mother aboard and closed the door than she threw back her veil and showed her gleaming face.

“Great merciful God,” she said. “We are given a reprieve!”

Ruby fell upon her, crushing her in an embrace. Clara was happy too, but still felt unsettled. She had been on the verge of peril and never had an inkling.

“Tell us,” Clara said. “Who saved us?”

“George and Cenelia Glendoveer, that’s who,” her mother said, letting out a laugh. “The story is strange. In short, Mr. Glendoveer provided for the house to be kept open and in readiness for fifty years after the disappearance of his youngest child.”

“You mean Elliot?” said Clara.

“Yes. You knew about him? I must say I’m surprised.”

“Mrs. Glendoveer showed me the baby’s picture. But I thought he had died.”

“No,” said Ruby. “The baby was taken. No one knows who did it or what happened to him after that.”

“Which is why George Glendoveer wanted the house maintained in case of his return,” her mother said. “And Mrs. Glendoveer did him one better. She added a codicil to her will, leaving the house to us along with a modest trust to run it.”

“Isn’t the fifty years up yet?” asked Ruby.

“Almost,” said Harriet. “I believe there are only four or so more months before the fiftieth year ends.”

“And then what?” Ruby asked. “The house is falling down around our heads. A small allowance won’t go far with the old place.”

“I believe we would be permitted to sell the property and split the proceeds. As long as we provide for the birds, of course. They must be kept together and cared for as long as they live.”

“Would you really sell, Mama?”

“I don’t know. There are other provisions in the document. I’m to meet with Mr. Merritt-Blenney in his office on Sunday to get the full picture.”

Clara was thinking how terrible it must have been for Mrs. Glendoveer to never know what happened to her lost baby, Elliot, when she saw her mother draw a blue leather box from her reticule.

“This is for you, Clara,” said her mother. “Mrs. Glendoveer told me long ago that she wished you to have it when she passed on.”

Clara took the box and opened it. “The locket,” she said when she saw the oval citrine stone on its face. The necklace was cold to the touch, which made Clara feel
the dear woman’s absence concretely. She opened it and glanced at the little key held inside. Then she took off her hat, lifted her hair, and had her mother fasten the chain around her neck.

“I’ll wear it always,” she said, and spent the rest of the ride home with her hand over her heart.

The bit of relief that Ruby, Clara, and her mother had felt evaporated when they entered the door of the house. Inside, the rooms were dark and chilly, and Clara noted that today was the first day in as long as she could remember that the house had been left empty.

As Ruby and her mother went to the kitchen to make supper, Clara climbed the stairs to Mrs. Glendoveer’s bedroom. The door was ajar, and Clara peeked in and saw that the bed was neatly made. The desk where she had sat and read looked very small.

For many years, Mrs. Glendoveer, a natural teacher, had praised Clara for being a quick study and an ideal pupil. Now Clara realized that her schooling might well be over.

Time seemed stretched out before Clara in a way that actually frightened her. Would she spend her days in
isolation until someone carried
her
out in an old cabbage rose quilt?

Gong!

Clara pricked up her ears. She could have sworn she heard the doorbell ring.

Gong!

“There it is again,” she said, rushing down the stairs. The bell seldom rang and was so muffled it couldn’t be heard in the kitchen.

“One moment!” she called before flinging open the door.

A woman in a full skirt, shawl, and pearl-gray brimmed hat stood before her holding a large covered basket. “Hello,” she said, smiling shyly. “I do hope we aren’t inconveniencing you.”

“We?” Clara said.

A girl with blond curls stepped out from behind the woman. “Yes, we!” the girl said. “The notice of Mrs. Glendoveer’s passing was in the papers, and I told Mother we had to come by.”

Clara couldn’t find words. Here, in front of her, was Daphne Aspinal, and yet she, Clara, stood mute as a fish.

“Mother,” Daphne said, “this is Clara Dooley.”

“How did you …?” Clara gasped.

“And this is my mother, Delia Aspinal,” Daphne went on. “And I’m Daphne.”

“Oh! I know!” said Clara. “I received your letter.”

“May we come in?” Daphne asked.

“Daphne!” said her mother. “We can’t impose like that.” Then, to Clara, she said, “Please accept this basket, and tell your mother the Aspinals send their condolences.”

Clara took the basket and looked pleadingly at Daphne. “I don’t know what to say,” she told her.

“No need to say a thing,” said Mrs. Aspinal. “Good afternoon, dear.” She picked up her skirt and turned to the street, but to Clara’s delight, Daphne stayed behind.

“I got your rock,” she whispered.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” said Clara.

“I almost missed it. I do wonder why you hid it in the shrubbery.”

“Daphne!” called her mother.

“Coming!” she called.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Clara said.

“I’ll come back for the casserole dish.” Daphne tapped her forehead. “See? There’s always a way.”

“Yes,” Clara said, her heart beating wildly. “Yes. And thank you! Thank you both.”

“Who you hollering at?” Ruby hollered from down the hall.

Clara shut the door and carried the basket to the kitchen. “The lady from two houses over brought us a hot dish.”

Her mother frowned. “Which lady?”

“Her name is Delia Aspinal. Look, she sent a note.”

Harriet unfolded the letter and scratched her head. “Says they’re new to the neighborhood,” she said.

“Well, that explains it,” Ruby said.

Clara’s mother raised an eyebrow.

“You know darn well that none of the old-timers will call,” Ruby said.

“It’s awfully nice of them, don’t you think?” Clara said.

“Wait until the rumor mill catches up with ’em,” Ruby said. “Then we’ll see.”

“That’s enough, Ruby,” Harriet said under her breath.

Clara’s fists tightened. “What rumors? Please. I want to know what you’re talking about. Does this have anything to do with what the carriage driver said?”

Ruby’s head shrank into her shoulders, and her mother didn’t answer.

“In one day, I hear a baby’s been taken and that the house should have been pulled down. What was he talking about?”

“Who knows?” said her mother. “The house is quite a shambles from the outside. Maybe people make up stories about it. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“That’s how people are,” Ruby said. “Why, when I was a girl in Nova Scotia, there was an old lady said to drink the blood of cats.”

“Honestly!” said Harriet.

“And don’t you know all us children believed it. Whenever a cat went missing, we said it had gone the way of Mrs. Lynch’s goblet.”

“How horrible,” Clara said.

“It wasn’t entirely bad,” Ruby added thoughtfully. “They do say she kept the population down.”

“I suggest we change the subject,” said Harriet, “or we won’t be able to enjoy this supper so kindly provided to us.” She peeked in the basket. “Oh, look, there are hard rolls in here still warm.”

“Let’s eat early, shall we?” said Ruby, lifting the lid on the casserole. “And I’ll say no more about cats.”

Clara set the table while Ruby went out back to check on the aviary. “They still haven’t made a peep,” said Clara to her mother. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“Animals are sensitive,” she said. “And these birds have been in the family for I don’t know how long. I wouldn’t be surprised if some passed away, frankly, from the shock.”

When Ruby came back inside, she clucked her tongue. “They spilled their grain on the floor and left the earthworms to dry.”

“Just as I was saying to Clara,” Harriet told her, “those birds may not be long for this world.”

“One would think so,” Ruby said, “and not because our Mrs. Glendoveer is gone. All of them except for the cockatoo have lived far beyond their natural limits.”

“Due, no doubt, to your exceptional care, Ruby. Now will you get the butter? I believe we’re ready to eat.”

Ruby and Harriet ate heartily, but Clara couldn’t help but think of the starving birds. She had to admit that she sometimes saw in them a reflection of herself, cooped up with nothing but the same faces to look at day after day.
But today, she’d gone on a carriage ride and opened the door to Daphne. Perhaps her own cage door might be rattling open. Just a little bit?

On Sunday, Harriet Dooley put on her veil and took the streetcar down to Fitzmorris Blenney Partners. “Mr. Merritt-Blenney is meeting her there after church,” Ruby told Clara. “I’m guessing your ma told him how empty our pockets are. Why else wouldn’t they wait until proper business hours?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to sell any more of the Glendoveer silver,” Clara said.

“Oh, that,” Ruby said. “I just hope Mrs. Glendoveer never knew how desperate we had been to keep the household going.”

“I’m sorry you had to worry so much. I’d have found a way to help.”

“You did help Mrs. Glendoveer. She adored you, you know.” Ruby sniffed and dabbed one eye with her apron. “Now I’ve got to get myself out back to turn over the soil for spring planting. And, no, you can’t join me. Your ma would have my head.”

Clara watched Ruby pull on her cap and rough coat, wishing she could keep her company. Instead, she wandered through the house to the parlor listening to the various clocks tick their way through the late morning. At last she rested her head on the old horsehair sofa and dozed until she heard a voice in the foyer.

“Helloooooooo! Anyone home?”

Clara went to look and had to laugh. The mail slot in the big front door flapped open and shut as if it were speaking. She fell to her knees and peered out, and was greeted with another pair of eyes.

“Oh!” said Daphne. “It’s you. I tried to ring the bell, but no one came.”

“I was asleep,” Clara said. “I can’t believe it’s really you!”

“Did I get you from your bed? Now I feel terrible.”

Clara flung open the door. “I’ve been up for hours. It’s just that there’s nothing to do around here.”

Daphne looked past her into the hall. “It looks like a castle inside. May I see?”

Clara recalled with a start that her mother was not at home. “Please come in,” she said.

Daphne stared up at the starred ceiling. Clara followed as she ran her hand down the heavily carved banister leading upstairs.

“You should see my house,” Daphne said. “It’s
sober
, which is supposed to be tasteful, I guess. Nothing but a box covered with shingles. But this …”

“You like it?”

“Of course,” Daphne said. “Don’t you feel you’re living in a fairy tale sometimes? With the romantic turrets and crooked shutters? I would.”

Clara shrugged. She was embarrassed by an urge to smile constantly.

“What?” Daphne asked. “Am I prying? I am. I ask too
many personal questions and am always poking into the out-of-the-way places. My mother says to learn to say things in my head before I state them, but that slows everything down to a snore, don’t you think?”

“I …,” Clara said. She hid her face with her hands. “I’ve never had anyone in my house before. Not another child, I mean.”

“Then I’m the first? Extraordinary! How old are you?”

Clara peeked through her fingers. “Almost twelve.”

“How amazing,” Daphne said. “I’ve always been surrounded by
masses
of girls. At boarding school, we ate together and roomed together and went to chapel together and all the rest. There is no mystery in that kind of life. Absolutely squashing.”

“But why are you in Lockhaven now?”

Daphne looked over her shoulder, then whispered, “Booted.”

Clara stood uncomprehending.

“Kicked out. Sent down.” She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Don’t think I’m bad. I did a foolish thing. Our headmistress had it in for a girl who was a bit distracted. And the meaner this headmistress got, the more distracted the girl got, until she was unable to answer in class and kept forgetting to refill the cistern and sat up all night with insomnia and spent all morning falling asleep in chapel.”