The Green Remains (28 page)

Chapter Sixty-Two

“First you are very small and the color is old-rose and pink, and you are kept very warm.”

— Stephen Longstreet,
God and Sarah Pedlock

8:10
PM

A kitten mewed near her left ear. Put it outside. She needed sleep. A shushing voice sounded like Val. Someone held her right hand. Finally, she felt warm. She had a terrible backache. She tried to turn on her side. Severe pain across her lower abdomen encouraged Nora’s eyes to flicker open.

  Val. Standing by a window, rocking a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Nora’s eyes jerked wide. Kate squeezed her hand. “I think she’s awake.”

  Val beamed and walked over. Simon appeared at the door holding three cups; the tantalizing smell of fresh coffee woke Nora completely. Kate used a control to elevate the head of the bed, and Val held out the blue bundle.

  Nora reached for the baby, struggling to clear her fuzzy brain. “Didn’t bring one for me?” she asked Simon. Everyone in the room laughed. Nora felt the warmth of her son and peeled back the corner of the blanket to gaze at the sleeping infant.

  Small pursed mouth with pink lips. Translucent skin. Tiny fingers with minute nails. Perfect. Her son was just perfect. She pressed her lips to his forehead and inhaled his baby scent. She started to unwrap the blanket.

  “Relax, they’re all there, ten and ten,” Val said, wiping her eyes. She brushed hair off of Nora’s forehead.

  “What are you crying for? I’m the one who apparently has a huge gash in my stomach. And I thought you were in Manchester?”

  Another round of laughs. “I’m crying because he’s such a lovely baby,” Val sniffed. “Kate called me, and I came back as soon as I could.”

  Gillian and the dock came rushing back to Nora’s memory. “Gillian?”

  Simon shook his head. “Divers are looking for her. Probably for the best.”

  Nora hugged her baby. “She died the same way Keith did, giving herself up to the lake.” She looked at her baby again. “He’s sleeping so peacefully, but I want to take off all of these coverings and inspect every inch of his body.” She noticed his lips were shaped just like hers and that his eyebrows were definitely shaped like Paul’s.

  “Plenty of time for that,” Kate said. “And I think you have to start with water, or I’d share my coffee with you.”

  The baby chose that moment to yawn, and everyone gathered around to watch him open his tiny mouth and squint his eyes as he arched his back. Nora had to laugh. “You’d think he was the first baby to do that.”

  “He’s beautiful, Nora,” Kate said.

  “Too bad he doesn’t have a name,” Simon teased.

  “But he does,” Nora assured him. “I decided to honor my roots, so his middle name is my mom’s maiden name, McAllister. And for my father, John, the same first name in Gaelic, Sean.”

  “Sean McAllister Tierney. Flows well,” Val announced.

  “He’ll fit in just fine,” Kate agreed.

  “Brilliant! Very manly,” Simon added.

  A tall man appeared in the doorway. “Thanks for the compliment, Simon.” Ian Travers entered, and Kate immediately stood. “Just came to see how you and the little man were doing.” He stood at the foot of the bed with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “I guess I have you to thank for saving my life?” Nora asked.

  “No, no,” Ian shook his head. “That’s down to Simon—he jumped in before I could, damn him. I stayed on the dock to haul you both out.”

  Nora smirked as she looked to Simon. “So I have to be eternally grateful to you twice.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way for you to repay me,” Simon said. Ian touched his arm, and the two men spoke quietly in a corner of the room.

  The baby sighed, and Nora laughed. “I think he’s tired of me already.” She saw Kate trying not to look at Ian. “Would you like to hold him, Kate?”

  Kate stepped forward and took the baby in her arms. Ian and Simon broke apart, and Ian walked over to Kate, looking over her shoulder at the baby.

  “Sweet lad, Nora,” Ian said, resting one hand on Kate’s shoulder. She leaned into him. “We need to talk.” They moved over to two chairs by the window. Ian held the baby while Kate sat, then handed him back. He sat in the chair next to her, their heads together, talking quietly.

  Val and Simon opened their coffees.

  “Smells so good,” Nora said, moving gingerly in the bed. “When can I get up?”

  Val handed her a water jug with a straw. “Drink up. I’ll go ask the sister.” She left, and Simon sat down next to her.

  Nora took Simon’s hand and squeezed it before letting it go. “Seriously, thank you for rescuing me and the baby.” She thought Simon blushed, and she lowered her voice. “What was Ian telling you?”

  Simon hesitated. “They brought up Gillian’s body, trapped under the dock. Ian said her face was relaxed and calm. In her pocket was a candle, no knife. Just a bluff to frighten you.”

  Nora nodded. “She was convinced it was the right thing to do for her child.” She shivered. “It still leaves Robbie without his mother and the Clarendons without the child they loved as their own. Plus two others dead—it’s awful. At least you’re cleared.”

  “Ian’s job is just what you were doing—trying to juggle puzzle pieces to see which ones go where,” Simon noted. “I stopped being upset with him days ago.”

  Nora jutted her chin in the direction of Kate and Ian, still admiring the baby. “I think Kate’s forgiven him, too.”

  Simon nodded. “She saw how he treated me last night at the station. They’ll be fine.” He turned back to her. “How about you?”

  “After all of this waiting, I missed Sean’s birth. And the classes you took—” Nora shook her head. “Mostly, I’m grateful he’s healthy and that I’m still around to care for him.”

  “You might have been out of it, but Dr. Ling let us watch the Caesarean. Kate held your hand, and I got some great pictures on my phone.”

  “You’re quite pleased with yourself,” Nora said.

  “It’s not every day I get to rescue a woman in distress and watch a baby being born.”

  “You really are a Renaissance man. Maybe the next fairy book should feature you!”

Chapter Sixty-Three

“But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below.”

— George Gordon Byron,
She Walks in Beauty

Monday, 1st November

11:30
AM

Nora had never seen Val drive so slowly or so carefully. They were on their way home to Ramsey Lodge. She was still sore, but she hardly noticed her discomfort when she held Sean.

  The weekend had been filled with visitors, and she’d had to give Ian a formal statement at one point, all while learning to breast-feed. There had been several calls from Connecticut, and she’d reassured her mother that she and the baby were fine. Amelia and Roger were to keep their plane tickets as planned. “Don’t even think of christening that baby until I get there,” her mother had threatened.

  At night, when she had finally had time alone, Nora had reflected on all that had happened in the past days. She had still been able to feel the icy cold of the lake and knew how close she and her child had come to dying. Every time she had held the baby, she had felt grateful for his presence.

  Val’s car pulled up in front of Ramsey Lodge with its precious cargo. Nora was certain that with Simon totally cleared, business would begin to pick up again. The public had a short attention span, and people would be looking for the next scandal. She glanced over her shoulder at her son, sleeping peacefully in his car seat in the back. He wore a hand-knitted, b
lue-and-white sweater and hat that Agnes had brought to the hospital during the weekend.

  “It won’t itch or scratch his skin,” Agnes had purred, holding the infant. “He’s a lovely bairn, Nora.”

  “I’ll bring him home from the hospital in it,” Nora had promised, and she’d kept her word.

  Val undid her seat belt. “You get yourself out; I’ll take Sean. We’ll get you both settled, and Simon can help me unload your stuff.”

  “Yes, Auntie Val,” Nora beamed. She hauled herself out of the front seat and stood for a moment, taking in the comforting sight of the lodge. The day was crisp and cool, the leaves almost gone from the trees. She still wore maternity clothes—no comfy jeans yet—but that would change. Already, the swelling in her hands and feet had gone down. Slowly, Nora was getting back to normal. Then she looked at her sleeping child in the carrier in Val’s hand and knew she had to redefine what normal meant.

  She followed Val into the hallway. Val turned to go through the dining room.

  “Surprise!” Simon yelled the loudest, accompanied by Agnes, Sally and the Barnum girls. Maeve stood by the doorway. Blue streamers and balloons hung in one corner of the dining room over a table piled with presents in baby paper.

  Nora was startled by the noise, but it didn’t faze the baby, who slept on. Val deposited the carrier on top of an empty table, and the women rushed over to coo over the infant.

  “A baby shower? You didn’t warn me,” Nora chided Val.

  “It’s called a surprise, Yankee.” Val laughed and pointed to the chair by the laden table. “Your throne, madam.”

  “We planned to do this ages ago,” Kate explained. “But it seemed the timing kept going wrong with Simon being hauled into the police station. That’s in the past. This is about the future.” She motioned to Simon.

  He and Maeve carried in a dresser, a vintage piece painted a creamy yellow with a pale green glaze over it, sporting new hardware. A thick, covered pad with sloped sides was attached to its top, transforming it into a changing table.

  “Did you do this?” Nora asked Kate, who nodded, eyes shining. “No wonder you’ve been disappearing into your workshop. It’s beautiful.” She admired the way the drawers slid out easily and knew the time and effort Kate had put into restoring the piece.

  “The cover can be changed and thrown in the wash,” Kate explained. “There are two more in a drawer.” She pulled open a drawer, her engagement ring twinkling. “And the pad itself is waterproof, so you can wipe it clean.”

  “More presents!” Val declared, pushing a carton in front of Nora. The women pulled their chairs closer and sat down.

  Simon lounged in the doorway. “Don’t mind me, I’m the token male.”

  “Apparently my mother was in on this,” Nora said, opening a carton that had been shipped from Connecticut and contained several wrapped boxes. She opened the first and gasped as she pulled out an ivory christening dress, her smile broadening. “This has been in the McAllister family for decades. My mother and her brother wore it, and I did, too.”

  Everyone admired the pin-tucked batiste gown, carefully wrapped in acid-free tissue paper, complete with matching hat and booties. Nora’s mother had threaded thin, blue satin ribbons through the hat and had tied blue bows on the booties and on the shoulders of the gown. A note pinned to it read:

  Not to be used until Grandma arrives

A smaller box in the same carton proved to be a baby book from Nora’s stepsister, Claire. Roger’s daughter was finishing up grad school in Connecticut. “She’s a lovely girl, lost her mother when she was twelve,” Nora explained. “Roger did a great job raising her. She’s going to teach English and poetry.”

  The Barnum girls passed around a tray of punch and platters of warm scones and finger sandwiches. Darby sniffed every box and carton and settled down next to Nora to await tidbits. Nora continued to open her gifts, feeling swaddled in a warm and friendly cocoon as her baby slept on.

  Maeve and the Barnum girls had chipped in for a clock for the baby’s room from the Beatrix Potter shop. It featured Peter Rabbit stuck in a green watering can. Agnes and Sally had bought a set of Peter Rabbit books from the same source. A tiny box revealed a silver teething ring, sent by Janet Wallace, Bryn’s mother. Nora looked to Val.

  “She wanted to,” Val said. “She’s been bugging me for yonks to let her know when you were going to have a shower.”

  Nora opened Val’s gift next. A textile artist, Val had made a blanket and matching wall hanging. Strips of pale-blue and green velvet and chenille were interwoven with bits of material containing the Potter characters. The blanket was lined in a warm fleece; the wall art had loops across the top for hanging and pockets for toys and accessories. “Just wonderful, Val,” Nora told her friend.

  “Not every baby has two Val Rogan originals,” Val said.

  Just as Nora reached for the last small box, Simon and Kate disappeared. “Back in a jiff,” Simon promised.

  Nora opened a small box and was delighted to find a silver infant spoon and fork set. A ripple of surprise went through her when she read the card:

  Best wishes for a healthy boy, Declan Barnes

  Nora looked at Val, one eyebrow raised.

  Val shrugged. “He came into the cooperative to ask how you were doing, and I was working on your blanket. I mentioned getting it done for the shower and coming to see you. The next week he dropped this off and asked me to bring it to you.”

  Nora sat back and sipped her punch as the women admired her gifts. She wondered what Simon would make of this last gift. She felt sheepish but also ridiculously pleased.

  When Simon and Kate reappeared, they carried a large object between them, covered in an old sheet he obviously used as a drop cloth, splattered with different colors of paint. They set it in front of Nora.

  “Goodness, what’s all this?” Nora asked.

  “This is my contribution, on loan,” Simon said. With a flourish he pulled the sheet off a vintage oak cradle, large enough to hold her baby for months at her bedside. The bottom was caned and had a thick mattress and bumpers, both covered in the Potter pattern.

  “It’s been in the Ramsey family for years,” Kate explained. “Simon and I both used it.”

  “Hard to picture you fitting in that, Simon,” Val remarked, sparking a round of laughter.

  “Just so you know, it was a bugger to re-cane that,” Simon said with good humor.

  Another round of laughter. Nora’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re so good to me. Thank you all, for everything. I’m so very grateful.”

*

11:40
AM

Somehow, and he wasn’t quite certain how, Nora Tierney had managed again to come out on top of things and in the spotlight, Tony Warner mused, turning on his computer at
People and Places.

  He wasn’t too unhappy. He’d gone back to Oxford with Nora’s exclusive interview on his laptop. The story of her confronting a murderer, her close call with death and the subsequent emergency delivery were all documented, along with a nice choice of photographs. He could see it winning a few awards. When he’d returned to Oxford, Old Jenks had talked about moving him to a larger office.

  His boss had certainly been thrilled, but not as thrilled as Tony had been on meeting Nora’s replacement. A slim woman who wore pearls to work every day, she turned out to be a delightful lass whose grandmother had been a close friend of Princess Margaret’s. Best of all, she admired his prose.

*

11:50
AM

Cook was settling into a new routine, one she shared more and more with Antonia as the entire household became more casual. She was glad Sommer insisted Robbie stay at the Hall for a while as they thought things through. She and Antonia fussed over the distraught youth, who struggled to comprehend his mother’s actions and to accept that Edmunde was his father.

  Sommer had donated his entire rare plant collection to the Kendal Museum, a gesture of which Cook had very much approved. Two new nurses had been hired to alternate days to care for the brothers. Both seemed capable, although they complained to Cook that Edmunde gave them a difficult time.

  The police had come to interview Edmunde, but he had been his usual recalcitrant self, grunting and refusing to answer questions. Antonia confided to Cook that the superintendent had said the Crown Prosecution Service was still deciding whether to press charges against Edmunde. No one had ever seen him in the kitchen, and there was no evidence against him other than Gillian’s accusation that he was the instrument in Keith’s death.

  “I refuse to believe any parent could willfully murder his or her own child,” Antonia declared over tea to Cook right after the accusation came out.

  “Course, that must have been what Gillian wished had happened,” Cook agreed. Privately, Cook felt Edmunde was exactly the kind of person who could kill, even if it was with the misguided notion that he was fulfilling a promise to Gillian while eliminating the person he blamed for Julia’s death. Rowley’s flask had tested positive for the poison, as had the whiskey bottle found in his garbage pile, but the only fingerprints clear enough to decipher on either belonged to Daniel.

  Cook still carried guilt. If Edmunde had been able to manage the elevator to the kitchen—and why wouldn’t he have been, with a toggle switch to help him maneuver in that mechanical chair—if only she’d heard him, she might have been able to prevent Keith’s death.

  One of the first chores she’d given Robbie to keep him busy was to install a device on the elevator that rang in her bedroom when someone used it. Now she jumped up several times a day at the sound of the bell to find one of the nurses in the kitchen, but Cook felt it was a small price to pay for being on guard.

*

11:55
AM

The nurse settled Edmunde in his chair by the window, arranged a lap robe over his legs and opened the curtains. She believed in independence, and to that end she left his water jug on his nightstand next to an old-fashioned school bell.

  “If you get thirsty, Mr. Edmunde, just toggle over here and help yourself,” she said, checking the time on her watch. “I’ll be with Mr. S next. Ring the bell if you really need me.”

  She closed the door behind her, and Edmunde looked at the bell. As if. He’d not rung it yet and had no plans to, ever. She could rot in hell, treating him like an imbecile.

  With his left hand, he used the toggle to wheel closer to the window, giving him a clearer view of the chapel and the graveyard. He stared at Julia’s headstone, ignoring the fresh plot next to it. He remembered his dark hand moving over her creamy skin and the way her laughter sounded like a hundred tinkling bells.

  And then there had been Gillian, with her quiet reserve. He had been the one to kindle the passion in her dark eyes. She had given him moments when he’d been able to forget Julia was dead.

  He looked down at his hands. One gripped the arm of his chair; the other lay idle, curled in his lap. How many more years of this solitude could he take, alone with his raging thoughts and broken body, while the two women he’d loved were both lost to him?

  Edmunde mumbled “No!” and smacked his good hand on the armrest. He turned from the window. His bed looked inviting; the clean, cool sheets beckoned. He rolled over to his bed and, opening the nightstand drawer, took out a bottle of paracetamol. It took him four attempts to snap off the cap with one hand. Pouring the contents into his lap, he picked out the smaller sleeping pills mixed in with the mild painkiller. He’d been hoarding these for months, setting them aside on the nights he felt exhausted enough not to need them to sleep. A few stuck together from being in his mouth until the nurse left, but most of them had dried out nicely.