Room Beneath the Stairs (12 page)

“How do I get to her room?” I asked.

Judy gave me directions and turned to leave. As she reached the door, I called her back.

“Judy, have—have you seen my husband this morning?”

“Mister Grey? He was up bright and early. Teased me somethin' awful as I was foldin' up the linen. He went down to the village as soon as he'd had 'is breakfast.”

“Did he say when he'd be back?”

“He was rather mysterious about the whole thing. Mrs. Porter asked him all sorts of questions and 'e merely shrugged her off; said he had things to attend to. Burke was supposed to drive him down, but Mister Grey slipped off on foot before Burke could get the car out. Burke was furious.”

“I see. Well—thank you, Judy.”

She left, and after giving myself a quick inspection in the mirror, I followed, passing through the sunny sitting room, down the dark enclosed staircase and along the narrow hall that had seemed so menacing the night before. Reaching the wide hall, I turned to my left, moving in the opposite direction of the staircase that led downstairs. There were uncurtained windows at the far end of the hall, and although bright pools of sunlight burnished the floor beneath them, the rest of the hall was dim, the whitewashed walls a shadowy gray. Halfway down, two doorways faced each other on opposite sides, one with stairs leading down to the basement, the other with white stone steps that curled up to the tower rooms. I started up, a bit nervous about meeting Carlotta.

The staircase was spiral, enclosed, curving around the lower part of the tower and eventually leading to a small landing with a large golden oak door worn smooth and darkened with age. There was a huge brass knocker. I rapped it timidly against the wood. After a moment there was the sound of bolts being shoved back and locks unfastened. The door swung inward, and three cocker spaniels lunged out, one blond, one brown, one white with glossy brown spots. The blond sniffed at my feet. The brown tried to leap into my arms. The brown and white raced around me in frantic circles.

“Behave!” Carlotta Brandon snapped. “Victoria, stop that! Albert, stop leaping! You'll have a heart attack. Disraeli! Get back in this room at once, all three of you! Well,” she said as the dogs scampered back inside, “you took your own sweet time. I've been waiting breakfast for you, and I'm famished. No respect, you young people. None whatsoever! I may by fifty-nine, but I'm entitled to a little consideration.”

“I thought Grey told me you were sixty-four—”

“No
tact
, either! Come on inside.”

She pulled me in and banged the door shut, slamming one or two bolts into place. The spaniels danced about excitedly, delighted with me, delighted with themselves. The room was very large and incredibly cluttered. It looked like nothing so much as a magpie's nest, filled with bright colors, crammed with ancient, exquisite furniture that was chipped and battered. A long table beneath one of the windows was crowded with pots of jam and boxes of biscuits and tins of meat, along with books and papers and priceless dishes and chased silverware. Silk shawls were draped over the lumpy sofa and chairs. Parcels, some opened and spilling excelsior, some still wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, were scattered about; and there were perhaps a thousand books piled about on furniture and stacked on the floor. Pictures adorned the walls, dime-store prints hanging beside Picassos and a glorious Renoir. A small doorway opened onto stairs that wound up to the bedroom above. It was a bizarre apartment, but the total effect was incredibly charming, the clutter and mess giving it a distinct character. I was startled to see a powerful-looking rifle leaning against a wall.

“Wouldn't be without it,” Carlotta said, observing my surprise. “I'm a crack shot. Those damned sea gulls think this tower's a lovely place to roost. Such racket! I bag at least a dozen a week. Albert! Get away from that cake, you greedy bastard!”

She slapped the brown cocker on the rump and heaved him off the table, tossing him casually on the sofa, then turned to examine me. She was tall and thin, wearing a loose, flowing white silk smock patterned with blue and green splotches. Her hair was a highly improbable shade of blonde, covering her head with short, fluffy curls, and her face was weathered and worn, battered with age, stamped with character. Large, luminous blue eyes peered at me critically. Her nose was thin and sharp, and her small scarlet mouth was pursed. Carlotta Brandon was as bizarre as her room, but there was a fascinating grandeur about her. Larger than life, deliberately theatrical, she was like a magnificent old lioness, magnetic, beautiful in her way. I adored her on sight.

“Yes,” she said impatiently, “you've got style. Rossetti might have painted you, or Holman Hunt. Violet-blue eyes and long chestnut hair and a dreamy air about you. Distinct. Most of these young fillies you're always seeing in magazines, you can't tell 'em apart. All of them going about with wild hair, and clothes that barely cover their bodies. Not that I approve of
slacks
—scandalous things for a woman—but I realize time marches on. When I was a girl, back during the Trojan War, a woman in slacks—well, it doesn't bear thinking about! You look vague and rather helpless, but there's character there. Definitely. You have
style
.”

“Thank you,” I replied, a bit overwhelmed.

“You're too young to have
flair
, of course. That comes with age, and experience. You meet life with gusto, you fight, you suffer, you're either defeated and become a broken old woman, or you develop flair. Me, now, I was terribly uninteresting until I'd had a few knocks, learned a few lessons. I learned that life was full of pain and grief and sorrow, and then I learned to accept it and make a place for myself in the midst of it. I'm a crazy old woman, they say; mad, hopelessly dotty! Ha! My life is full of fascination, here within these walls. Why should I leave? Why should I expose myself to all that grief? An ostrich may keep its head stuck in the sand, but it has such gorgeous plumage! Plumage is important. Do you think I'm insane?”

“I think you're—fascinating.”

“Smart girl! Helen, now, she'd prefer me to be a sweet little old lady in a rocking chair, crocheting doilies and spooning pablum. I
loathe
sweet little old ladies. Loathe Helen, too, for that matter. Such a cold, hard woman. Never could stand her. Motherly love can stretch just so far! She was a frigid, sly child, and age hasn't improved her one bit. Made her worse, if anything. No spirit, no zest! The personality of a prickly pear and as lovable as a block of ice. Passion? She doesn't know the meaning of the word. That husband of hers was almost as bad. Attractive devil, like Evan, but all business, couldn't think about anything but stocks and bonds and profits and investments. He made a fortune, ran the business with wonderful efficiency, but his life was so
dull!
Life should be a grand adventure, a fabulous exploration, and both of them missed the boat. Evan, now, he may rebel one of these days and cut loose. You've met him?”

“Yes,” I said stiffly.

“Didn't take to him, I see. No charmer, Evan, but full of life. It's seething there beneath the surface. He would have made a glorious pirate. Has the face for it, doesn't he? He should be stealing diamonds from rich, plump matrons in Monte Carlo or running a dive in Marseille. Evan has the soul of an adventurer, but it's smothered here on the island—”

A loud knock interrupted her. The spaniels began to bark and dash about excitedly. Carlotta pushed back the bolts and threw open the door to admit a rather flustered Judy, who bore a heavy tray laden with a silver coffeepot, several covered dishes and a wicker basket full of bread crumbs. With a martyred expression, she set the tray on a table in front of the sofa, brushed a stray curl from her forehead and placed her hands on her hips.

“Will that be
all
?” she inquired.

“No sass, girl!” Carlotta snapped. “So you have to climb a few stairs? It's good for your figure! You're getting a bit chubby, lass. You put on a few more pounds and that scoundrel down in the village'll throw you over in no time flat.”

“I am
not
chubby!” Judy said angrily.

“I have eyes in my head, don't I? Near busting out of that uniform, you are. Has Burke gone down for the mail yet?”

“Not yet.”

“He
knows
I'm expecting several important packages! The new catalogues are due to arrive as well. No consideration! None. Tell him to get a move on, girl!”

Judy raised her eyes heavenward and left the room, closing the door behind her.

“I adore getting packages,” Carlotta explained, slamming the bolts back in place. “Every day brings a new surprise. Presents from me to me. I send for all sorts of things, anything that captures my fancy in the catalogues. Books, food, clothes, puzzles, bed warmers. I never know what the mail will bring. I do all my shopping that way. It's very exciting! This smock came day before yesterday. Smashing, don't you think? Rather dear, but then it's only money.”

She uncovered three bowls and set them on the floor. As the spaniels tore into their meal with great relish, Carlotta picked up the basket of bread crumbs, threw open a window and began scattering them on the ledge. The air was immediately filled with fluttering, shrieking sea gulls. She tossed crumbs into the air, and the gulls swooped and swirled, creating an ear-splitting din. Sun flashed on glossy blue-gray wings. Charlotta's weathered old face was aglow with pleasure as she watched their antics, and when the basket was empty she closed the window with a smile of satisfaction.

“Poor dears, they have to scrounge so hard for food nowadays.”

“I thought you shot at them,” I remarked.

“Did I say that? Well, dear, I do prevaricate a bit. Life's so dull if one doesn't. What shall you have for breakfast? I've got a marvelous assortment of goodies.”

“Just coffee,” I replied. I had had a good look at the marvelous assortment of goodies and was very dubious about any breakfast Carlotta might serve.

“Nothing else?” She seemed disappointed. “Well, I'm not really hungry myself. I snacked earlier on. Caviar on toast when I first got up. Most refreshing.”

She sat down on the sofa, the sleeves of her smock billowing like butterfly wings. I sat down beside her and began to pour coffee into two thin, elegant china cups. The dogs had finished their meal, and a single sea gull perched on the window ledge, peering angrily at us through the glass. Carlotta sipped her coffee, making even such a pedestrian action seem charged with drama.

“Disraeli!” she cried suddenly “Stop that at once! Shame on you. You
know
Victoria doesn't approve of such shocking conduct! Aren't they adorable?” she asked. “Such comfort, such delightful companions. Judy walks them for me early every morning and in the afternoon, and sometimes I let them roam the house just to aggravate Helen. They sense her animosity and plague her something awful, the dears. Of course I'll have to keep them shut up now that Grey's back—” she added thoughtfully.

“Doesn't he like dogs?” I inquired.

“He was such a precious little boy,” she said, totally ignoring my question. “So affectionate, so precocious. I used to adore playing with him. He was like a puppy himself. Before the accident. After that he was never quite the same.”

“His parents' accident?” I asked.

“Such a tragedy, such a shock to the child. He was very sensitive, you know, very emotional. His parents meant the world to him. He loved them both quite desperately.…” She hesitated, frowning, and for a moment I thought she was going to talk about the accident, but she merely shook her head, her eyes full of grief.

She was silent for a long while, staring across the room without focusing, and then she shivered visibly. “This island.…” Her voice was a husky whisper. For the first time I felt that I was losing her, that her scintillating mind was growing muddled. She tugged at the material of her smock, crushing the silk between her fingers, and then, abruptly, she leaped up with the energy of a girl, picked up one of the unopened parcels and set it on the cluttered table.

“It's such a terrible place, dear,” she said. “Now where did I put my scissors? They use such strong string nowadays. Ah, here they are. I saw you arrive yesterday. You looked nervous and upset. Grey looked terrified, and no wonder! This island.…” She cut the string and began to tear the brown wrapping paper from the box. “I suspect it's my costume jewelry. I ordered it over a month ago. They're so slow delivering! Lovely things, I ordered. A coral necklace, earrings—Last night, I saw you wandering around. I wanted to call to you. I wanted to warn you. It frightened me. You should never do that.…”

Spilling excelsior all over the table, Carlotta pulled out a magnificent strand of coral beads. Slinging it around her neck, she grasped it with one hand and swung it around like a twenties flapper. “It isn't safe,” she said, almost gaily. “You should never leave your room after dark. Why do you think I keep my door bolted? Why do you think I have my rifle?” She took out a pair of dangling coral earrings and fastened them on, then began to pull out other bright, gaudy pieces of jewelry. “Leave, Carolyn. You shouldn't be here. He shouldn't, either. Make him take you away.”

I was on my feet. “What—what are you trying to say?”

“Do you like these?” she inquired, rattling the coral beads. “Perhaps a bit much for a woman my age, but then I have enough flair to get by with it. You seem upset, dear.” She smiled slyly, for all the world like an actress who has just pulled off a bravura performance.

“I think I'd better leave now,” I said politely.

“Must you? Well, dear, I've vastly enjoyed your visit. Next time you come you must let me show you my collections. Snuff boxes—though I don't indulge—some exquisite hand-carved animals, an impressive collection of eighteenth-century miniatures.”