Cast a Pale Shadow (16 page)

"Roger, you'll suffocate the poor thing." Augusta tugged Trissa on to Beverly Hartenstein. "Beverly is a grief consultant."

"A grief consultant? I've never heard of that," admitted Trissa.

"She's a mortician," interjected Hattie.

"I am not! I hate that word," sniffed Beverly. "I counsel people at their hour of greatest need. It is a helping profession."

"She used to be a meter maid," yawned Hattie. "That was a great help to people too. At the hour when their greatest need was a quarter for the meter."

"We don't always snipe at each other like this, Trissa," Augusta said with a sharp look at Hattie. "Nicholas, for heaven's sake, don't just stand there. Beverly and May won't mind scooting down a bit to make room for Trissa. Get a chair from the basement."

As he headed through the butler's pantry for the basement, Nicholas heard May Lassiter and her lilting, bubbly giggle as Augusta paid her some compliment he did not catch. May taught piano and voice and had a speaking voice as musical as her singing.

By the time he returned from the cellar with a chair and a package hastily wrapped in yellowed newspaper, Trissa was seated in his old chair. Augusta mounded her plate with food: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, beets, and hot rolls and butter. Roger tore more lettuce and chopped more celery to replenish the depleted salad bowl for her, and Maurice brought her some milk fresh from the refrigerator. Mocking his occupation as a wine steward, Maurice playfully tasted the milk from the sommelier's cup he had hung around his neck, swishing it around in his mouth with a comical expression of sublime satisfaction, and pronounced it worthy before serving it up in a sparkling crystal tumbler. Trissa basked in all the attention. She looked as contented as a well-tended baby bird in a nest.

Nicholas wet a rag, dusted off his new chair, and shoved it up to the table. He whispered something in Augusta's ear and she nodded and beckoned him toward the dining room. They returned with crystal wine glasses for all, and Nicholas unwrapped his package from the cellar, showed the dusty wine bottle to Augusta for her approval, then uncorked and decanted the wine.

"Roger, I think it would be appropriate for you to call the toast," Augusta prompted.

Roger raised his glass and made a slight bow toward the couple. "To the bride and groom! May they live long and love wisely!"

"Here, here," said Maurice and like little bells came the tinkling of nine glasses. Nicholas showed Trissa how they could sip with arms linked and watched her as her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed pink. As a second toast was raised around them, he tilted her chin up and tasted the wine still moist on her lips. She caught her breath and closed her eyes and the kiss became as sweet as he knew it would be.

"Now, eat, you two lovebirds," urged Roger. "And tell us, Nicholas, is this what's been keeping you out 'til all hours every night?"

Nicholas glanced warily at Trissa but May was whispering and giggling in her ear. She hadn't heard Roger's question. He didn't know how he'd explain the answer to her. "More or less," he responded with a shrug and turned his attention to his beets. Augusta served beets regularly to add 'a dash of color to the plate'. Nicholas had never eaten beets before becoming a tenant of this house, and usually he was content to let them add color straight through the meal and back to the garbage. But tonight he attacked them with great gusto.

"Is your car badly damaged, Nick?" Beverly asked.

"My car?"

"You said you had an accident?"

"Oh, yes, but not in the car." He saw a look of panic flicker in Trissa's eyes as her fork faltered in mid-bite. He winked to reassure her. She had no way of knowing how very good he was at lying. "We were walking in this little patch of woods near Trissa's house and, gimpy as I am, I lost my footing and pulled Trissa down with me. We skidded all the way down an embankment and poor Trissa hit her head. She was out cold. Scared me to death." Nicholas paused to gauge his audience. Their expressions ranged from sympathy to alarm but not a single one showed doubt. He took a sip of wine and silently congratulated himself.

"Oh, my God!" Beverly said.

"You poor thing!" May exclaimed.

"What did you do?" Jack asked.

"Luckily, I was able to carry her out of the woods and flag down a car to take us to the hospital."

"And how do you feel now, dear?"

"I ache all over, but otherwise I'm okay," Trissa answered.

"You'll have to keep an eye on her, Nicholas. You can't be too careful with a head injury like that," Maurice advised.

"Yes, my Aunt Florence fell down the stairs and hit her head once," Hattie agreed, seizing a chance to regain the spotlight. "She never was quite right after that. And years later, on Thanksgiving, the whole family was sitting at the table, just like we are here, and, all of a sudden, Aunt Florence said 'oh my head!' and stood up and just keeled over dead. Flop, right in the pumpkin--"

"Hattie, I'm sure we'd all prefer a cheerier topic," interrupted Augusta.

Hattie's mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed first at Augusta and then at Nicholas and Trissa. "Fine," she snapped, snatched up her plate and carried it to the sink. "I haven't all night to spend at the dinner table anyway, what with late arrivals and all. I have papers to grade. Good night, ladies and gentlemen, I shall leave you to whatever cheery topic you deem appropriate." She folded her napkin and tossed it to the table then huffed up the backstairs.

Only Trissa looked dismayed at this show. May patted her hand and laughed. "Pay no mind to Hattie. High dudgeon is a neutral gear for her."

"That's true," Augusta agreed, "And if she steams off mad, she gets out of helping with the dishes."

"Oh, I'll help," Trissa quickly offered.

"Not tonight, Honey. You must be exhausted. And Hattie is right about one thing. We should think about winding up this party and leave you two to finish in peace. Your food will be stone cold before we give you a chance to eat it. We will have plenty of time to get better acquainted in the morning when you're rested. Oh, I mean..." Augusta flushed bright red with uncharacteristic embarrassment. "Nicholas, you will let the poor child rest this evening, honeymoon or no honeymoon," she scolded, shaking a finger at him.

"Yes, ma'am," he laughed, catching Trissa's sudden flustered interest in buttering her roll.

The boarders efficiently set about their appointed tasks clearing the table, rinsing, washing, and drying the plates, and sweeping the floor. Augusta employed a woman as cook and housekeeper to help her during the day but the boarders had all agreed to assist with the evening cleanup. It kept expenses down, gave some credence to their official status as servants rather than boarders, and contributed to the camaraderie of the group.

Up to his elbows in suds, Maurice crooned
The Anniversary Waltz
.

"Oh, how we danced on the night we were wed
..." May harmonized with her high, sweet voice, performing a serenade for the bride and groom's first supper together that ended with more wine and another toast.

Nicholas wondered why he had worried so much about Trissa's welcome. Faced with the prospect of widowhood in a big, empty house she could no longer afford, Augusta had chosen to fill it with paying guests who she passed off as servants but regarded as family. Trissa would be safe here. Just as he had promised her mother she would be.

Chapter Nine

Trissa felt warm, and giddy, and fuzzily soft-focused, as if someone had wrapped her in clouds and carried her to heaven and she thought it must be the wine. About her, the dear angels fussed amiably, tending to her needs before she spoke them, seeing that her glass was filled a second and a third time, singing sweetly as they finished their work and drifted off, one by one, all with the same knowing smile, privy to the same secret intrigue.

It had to be the wine and not the kiss that bewitched her so, melting away her aches, and weaving its magic through her veins. If she took just one more sip, she would know for sure that was so. If she felt the smooth, cool crystal on her lips, she would know it was that memory and not the soft warmth of Nicholas that still tingled there.

Before she had tiptoed off, the angel called Augusta had extinguished all the lights except the candles she had gathered from the ends of the table to circle the space where Trissa and Nicholas now sat alone. From some other cloud, a piano sent its bright notes like falling stars sparkling around them. Her fingers trembled as they reached for the glass, setting its golden contents to shimmer and dance in the candle glow. Surely, it was this magical potion and not the kiss at all that cast this strange enchantment.

Her hand was stilled by a gentle touch and the glass was taken from her. "I think you've had enough for tonight," said the angel Nicholas.

"Oh," she sighed her disappointment. Now, without the test of the last sip, she would never know. Unless -- His crinkly smile dazzled her very nearly as much as the twinkle of the candle fire and wine. Perhaps another kiss...She closed her eyes and wished for one.

Nicholas abruptly cleared his throat and pushed his chair back. "It's time you were put to bed," he said gruffly as he took her hand and tugged her to her feet.

Her cloud dipped and whirled a bit, and he put an arm around her waist to steady her. She opened her eyes and let the spinning stop. His hair was a curly halo glinting with candlelight. "Oh, but I feel so... so... I can't explain it. It's like magic almost, isn't it?"

"No, not magic. Just the wine."

She sighed again. "Ah, well, that's what I thought. Too bad." She nestled her head against his shoulder and took a few tentative steps with him toward the backstairs. "I should say good night to all of them. They were so kind to me."

"They'll understand."

A lighthearted giggle bubbled out of her. It was as if the stairs they mounted led to some rarefied atmosphere that increased her giddiness. "Oh, right. Appearances. I forgot."

"Shh, shh, shh," he cautioned softly in her ear.

The second floor of heaven seemed to be all blue and silver with stars shining from its ceiling and the polished floors she tried not to scuffle along. But, really, the air up here seemed so high and fine that she had great difficulty walking at all. "I feel kind of wobbly," she said just as Nicholas' grip tightened around her waist and he lifted her off her feet, "Another threshold to cross?" she laughed.

"Yes," he said. "Unfortunately, it's locked, and my hands are a bit occupied at the moment."

"Do you have your keys?"

"In my pocket."

"This one?" she asked and tilted dizzily to reach in and find them.

"Careful. Edmonds will kill me if I drop you on your head."

"I won't like it much either," she giggled. "Turn." As he did so, she frowned at the numerous keys on the ring. "Do you collect them?"

"It's the long, skinny one."

"Looks like a dungeon key? Should I watch out for bats and booby traps?" It took her three tries to successfully aim the key at its target and insert it. "
Abracadabra,
please and thank you." She turned the knob and the door creaked open.

Nicholas flicked the light switch with his elbow. "Ah, very nice, Mr. Brewer! Neat as a pin. But you will have to discharge your French maid now that you have a wife to look after you. No more hanky-panky with the household help, I'm afraid," she teased him.

"I'm the only household help around here," he muttered grumpily and carried her to the sleeping alcove. His bed was curtained from the rest of the room and was a cozy little nest of crisp, white linens and a blue and green tartan throw. It practically reached up and swallowed her in its cuddling comfort.

"In that case," she yawned, "I may have to reconsider the hanky-panky part."

"Hmph," he grumbled. "Let me take off your shoes." He sat at the end of the bed with her feet in his lap, slipping the black suede pumps from them one by one, then gently rubbing them to warmth. She arched and flexed them contentedly under his tender ministrations. His touch stirred warm tingling all up and down her spine that pooled in the very core of her.

But Nicholas stopped abruptly, shook his head and ordered her, "Now, go to sleep."

Exhaustion and the wine overtook her, and she remembered nothing more except the snugly toastiness of the wool throw he tucked around her and the fleeting kiss, as misty and delicate as angel wings, that touched upon her lips. "Mmmmm," she murmured, nodding into the pillow, "Maybe it was the kiss all along."

*****

Nicholas waited, watching, until her breathing deepened rhythmically and he was sure she slept. He tugged the bed curtain closed just enough to shade her eyes but still allow him a clear view while he worked. He needed an activity to ease his ruffled composure and calm his agitated mind. The rigid neatness of his room gave a facade of orderliness to his inner turmoil. He had to do something to forget her innocent teasing, and the memory of holding her so close for so long. It was too soon and there'd been too much wine for both of them. And it was all his fault.

She had too little experience to know any better, but he should have known. He should have been more conscious of her injuries and the way wine might affect her after the medication she had received. Having learned too well and at too high a price how alcohol worked on him, loosening his already tenuous hold on reality, he usually avoided more than a few cordial sips. But he had let happiness lull him into thinking himself normal. He had let himself relax as if insanity didn't wait to pounce at the least sign of weakness. He had let Maurice keep the wine flowing, and he had been negligent or worse not to notice.

Lighting his desk lamp and extinguishing the overhead fixture, he set to work clearing a drawer and one side of his closet for Trissa's things. Maurice and Jack had fetched them from the foyer and deposited them in his room. They didn't take up much space.

 The sweater and skirt she slept in was the best she had. All the rest seemed tired and faded, survivors of many washings, lowered hems, and minor mending. A few pairs of jeans, tees, some khaki shorts, and a couple of old, white, men's dress shirts with frayed cuffs and collars, along with her underwear and night things made up most of her wardrobe. Pitiful enough for a girl her age.