Always in My Dreams (10 page)

"Yet you left..." he prompted.

"Yes, when Amy was sent to finishing school. The Turners would have kept me on, but I was ready for a change. I was very well recommended to the Marshalls." Some small part of Skye's conscience was truly appalled at how smoothly the lies came. Three weeks of practice had given the words just the right pitch and cadence. She could almost believe she'd done the things she said she had.

"The
Chronicle
Marshalls?"

"That's correct. Do you know them?" It was not the sort of thing one asked of a prospective employer. Skye knew it. She hoped her bald question would make her seem too aggressive and too pointedly interested in the affairs of others to be suited for the position.

"I know of them, of course. There has been some interest in doing a piece on my work. Marshall's wife was an actress, I believe."

Skye nodded. The arrival of the tea prevented her from inappropriately adding a bit of salacious gossip.

Halfway across the room Walker paused, noting with a small scowl that his chair was occupied. He elbowed aside some papers and photographs to make room for the tray, then turned to look at Skye, his eyebrows raised.

"I'd be happy to pour," she said. Half expecting him to take her chair when she came to her feet, Skye supposed she should be grateful that he merely hovered over her while she completed the task. She exhibited none of the usual grace she could muster for the serving and managed to splash both of them with hot tea. "Here," she said, handing him a cup and saucer. "Take that." And when his hooded gaze narrowed slightly she knew he had caught the insolent nuance in her voice. She turned quickly and passed another cup to Jonathan Parnell. "Cream, sir? Or sugar?"

"Neither," he said. The smile that edged the corner of his lips upward opened fully as he glanced at Walker.

"But I believe Mr. Caide is a little put out that you didn't ask him."

Skye pretended she hadn't meant the oversight. "Forgive me, Mr. Caide," she said apologetically. "Cream or sugar for you?"

"Neither," he said tersely. "But thank you for asking."

She couldn't miss that his voice was too cold to be in any way sincere. Ignoring him, Skye returned to her chair and let Walker Caide fend for himself. She wondered at his purpose in the interview, why he was permitted to stay at all. He hadn't the deference of a good butler but seemed less a friend to Parnell than an employee.

Walker sat not in the wing chair, but on the arm of it. Out of the corner of her eye Skye noticed that his long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. The delicate proportions of the china cup and saucer did not seem at all incongruous in his large hands. The lean fingers were turned lightly, almost gracefully, around the fluted edges of the saucer. He was studying her closely and making no effort to pretend he was doing anything else. "Insolent" was one word that came to Skye's mind. "Insufferable" was another.

Parnell watched Skye's attention drift away, then come back to him. When he had it fully, he spoke to Walker. "Miss Dennehy was telling me that the Marshalls she worked for are indeed associated with the
Chronicle.
You know Logan Marshall, don't you?"

In three weeks of preparation Skye hadn't once considered the possibility of being caught in her lies so quickly.

"I worked for him on one occasion," he said.

"You're a reporter?" Skye asked. She sipped her tea to cover her hard swallow. Her sister Michael had worked for Logan Marshall at the
Chronicle.
Had they known each other?

"No," he said. "Not as a reporter. I did..." He paused, searching for the right phrase, "investigating for Mr. Marshall."

Skye managed to replace her cup in the saucer without telltale clatter. "I see." She turned to Parnell. "I supervised a staff of ten with the Marshalls. My initial position with the family was very much like the one I had with the Turners, then their housekeeper took ill and I took over."

Parnell glanced at Skye's letter and noted the dates she had supplied. "You didn't stay with them long."

"No. She recovered nicely and there really wasn't a good place for me there once she had. I enjoyed the children, of course, but I was prepared for more responsibility."

"There aren't any children here at all," Walker pointed out.

"I suspected as much, Mr. Caide, when I entered the house. Children lend something special to a home. This house hasn't had it for many years."

"I wouldn't know about that," Parnell answered. "I've only lived here a little over two years myself. The townspeople still refer to it as the Granville Mansion, although I renamed it Brooke Place almost immediately."

"It seems as though it may be a house with a past," she said, glancing around the room, this time seeing more than the obvious clutter. The furnishings were old but solidly made, with the ball-and-claw feet of another era. The floors were dark oak, the grain running seamlessly from wall to wall. Where the end tables were exposed, she saw the rich green-veined markings of quality Vermont marble and the cut and polish of a skilled craftsman. She wondered which among the dozen portraits might have come with the house and which one might be the Granville ghost who had kept her up on humid summer nights.

"Yes, I think this house does have a past," Parnell said. His eyes became opaque as his thoughts seemed to draw him inward and he looked off past Skye's shoulder. She was fascinated by his withdrawal and wondered where his thoughts had taken him. He collected himself suddenly and offered a small smile in apology. "You're not afraid of ghosts?" he asked.

"I've never met one," she said uneasily. She wondered if she could force her voice to crack or stutter to emphasize her unsuitability. It was nothing new for Skye to embarrass herself in the pursuit of something she wanted—or, as in this case, something she didn't want. She'd once sat through an entire meal with spinach wedged firmly between her front teeth to discourage a suitor. Her eyes widened and she let a shiver rattle the teacup and saucer. She pitched her voice higher. "This house is haunted?"

"So they say," Walker told her, watching her carefully.

"Mr. Caide is exaggerating," Parnell said dismissively. "We've heard the story from one or two of the townspeople. The help here pays it no mind."

She made a gesture which encompassed the room. "Your
help
here pays little mind to anything, Mr. Parnell," she said. "So I don't know that I'd use them to support my case." There was a choked sound from Walker Caide, but she couldn't tell if he was swallowing laughter or outrage. Perhaps he was one of the help after all. "There are some forces I'd rather not tempt. I can manage the squalor..." She paused and looked significantly at Walker. "I can even manage the help, but I won't attempt to manage what's not of this world."

There was a moment of silence while she let it sink in. She wasn't surprised when Walker was the one who broke it.

"That's that," he said.

She could almost hear him rubbing his palms together, washing his hands of her. She waited to hear what Jonathan Parnell had to say.

"You're rather forthright, aren't you, Miss Dennehy?" he said. The back of his knuckles brushed his chin as he considered her. "No one else has commented on the state of the house, though I think squalor is overstating it a bit."

Skye gave the parlor another swift glance. "Not to my way of thinking," she said bluntly.

Parnell leaned forward and dropped his forearms on his knees. When he spoke, it was the voice of a man who'd made a decision. "You're exactly the breath of fresh air this stuffy mausoleum requires."

"Mausoleum?" she asked hollowly.

That raised his slight smile. "A poor choice of words. Tell me, Miss Dennehy, what would you need to convince you to take this position?"

Skye wasn't certain she was hearing correctly. "You're offering it to me?" she asked.

"If you want it."

"But the ghost," she said.

He waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Walker will get rid of it. You do that sort of thing, don't you, Walker?"

"It will cost you," he said, without inflection.

"That's all right, then, I can afford it." He looked back at Skye. "Consider the ghost exorcised, Miss Dennehy. Now will you take the position?"

She hesitated, thinking furiously. Jay Mac's hand surely was in this. There wasn't a good reason for Parnell to hire her except that Jay Mac had arranged for him to do so. She certainly hadn't distinguished herself in the interview. Her father apparently was determined to see that she sit only one term out of school. He probably was even responsible for the state of the parlor. There was something deliberate about the grand mess. The clutter, the soot, the marred floors, the dusty drapes—it had probably taken days just to get the right effect. She could almost hear her father telling Parnell, "Don't make it easy on her. Give her lots to do, the more menial the better. She'll be grateful to go back to school."

Skye considered all the women who had come before her, who didn't know that their fate was set because of her father's manipulation. It wasn't fair they'd been given false hope just to teach her a life lesson.

But then, Mary Schyler Dennehy was not her father's daughter for nothing.

Walker Caide sensed trouble the moment he saw her back stiffen. In profile she looked almost regal with her small chin raised and the shape of her jaw defined by a smooth, angular line. A tiny muscle worked in her cheek, hinting at her resolve. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, but there was tension in the bloodless knuckles. The braced set of her shoulders thrust her breasts forward and showed the curved smallness of her back. He remembered her in the hallway bent over the bench, all bustle and backside.

She really should go home, he thought, and somehow knew it wasn't going to happen. Once he'd suspected she was indifferent to gaining employment; he was certain now she had changed her mind.

"How many people were you intending to hire?" he heard her ask Parnell.

"Why, only one. I have other help."

"You may understand that I beg to differ," Skye said, motioning to the room again. "How many do you employ?"

"Five. Six, if you include Mr. Caide."

Walker shook his head as Skye's attention swiveled to him. "Don't include me," he said. "I wasn't hired to polish the silver."

"As long as you're housebroken," she said sweetly, "you can stay." Not giving Walker a chance to respond to her outrageous remark, she turned back to Parnell. "I will take everyone else in hand, and those who can't be trained are out on their ear. I'll brook no interference from you."

"Mrs. Reading stays," Parnell said. "She's the cook and she's been with me for years."

Skye reinforced her condition by remaining silent and continuing to stare at Parnell. "I'll want to hire one woman immediately. It's imperative that I have the respect and loyalty of at least one person."

"Afraid you can't earn it on your own?" Walker asked.

Parnell shot him a sour look, but Skye ignored him. "The wage mentioned in your ad isn't sufficient for me, but it will do nicely for Miss Staplehurst. I'm certain the house is big enough for lodging her and her small son. You knew she had a child, didn't you?"

Walker Caide sighed. "We do now." He wondered how he'd lost control of everything. He knew Parnell was going to meet her demands, although he didn't understand why. "Can't they stay in Baileyboro, like most everyone else?"

"She really can't leave her boy alone, and it would be a hardship to hire someone to stay with him. He won't get underfoot and we'll find small jobs for him. Remember, I've experience with children." My God, she thought, I
do
believe my own lies.

"I don't like it," Walker said, shaking his head. "Mr. Parnell, I think we should talk."

That suited Skye. She needed time to think calmly and rationally. When she saw Parnell was preparing to object to Walker's advice, she interjected, "I'll just take this tea back to the kitchen while you discuss whatever it is you have to. Don't give it a thought. I can find my own way." Like a bird swooping down on its prey, Skye scooped the tea tray and fled the room.

Watching her go, Walker shook his head again—not so much in negation this time as in simple disbelief. He pushed away from where he had been lounging against the wing chair and held up his teacup. "She forgot this."

Parnell smiled and indicated his own. "Mine, too."

Each man conspicuously set his cup and saucer where the tray had been. "How serious are you about hiring her?" Walker asked, even though he thought he knew the answer.

"The position's hers, if she wants it."

"Demands and all?"

"Demands and all," said Parnell. The strong, handsome features had become still, the eyes watchful as Walker Caide considered his position. "What are your objections?"

Walker didn't answer immediately. He went to the fireplace, picked up the poker, and idly jabbed at the hot and glowing underside of one of the logs. Flames leaped from the spot and spread along the length of the wood. Walker slipped the poker into its rightful place on the brass and iron rack and turned to his employer. "If you've been listening to me at all since returning from the city, you're already aware of some of my objections." He raised one hand, cutting Parnell off. "But I'm going to enumerate them again." He ticked his points off with his fingers. "You're taking unnecessary risks by inviting strangers to live in this house with you. When you realized Mrs. Reading wasn't up to the task of taking care of the house and directing the staff, you should have told me what you had in mind before placing that ad. You don't know anything about the women who traipsed in and out of here today and it's no good pointing to their references. I'm not much of a gambler, Mr. Parnell, but even I'd wager that the content of most of that paper is lies and only fit for burning."