CHAPTER NINETEEN #2
His tone made anxiety flutter in her chest, and she breathed deep before she entered the breakfast room. She set the tray by her husband. “Good morning, my darling Gil.”
He put down his newspaper with a smile. “Good morning, my darling wife,” he replied, reaching for his knife and fork.
She poured his coffee and sat across from him. “Will you tell me what you and Grandfather are arguing about?”
He shrugged, avoiding her eye. “Money. What else.” He cut up the sausages and eggs and began forking them into his mouth.
“What will it take to make things right between you?”
Gil chewed and swallowed, then took a sip of coffee. “I don’t know what you mean?”
“We need to heal this breach in our family,” she told him. “To get past what Henry has done to us.”
“You needn’t do anything, Leona.” He tried to turn his attention to the paper but failed with a sigh. “I’m taking care of everything as best I can.”
“I wish you would talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
Gil ate contemplatively for a moment, and she let him be so his food wouldn’t get cold.
He finally laid knife and fork down and yanked off the napkin from around his neck. “You mustn’t worry so much about money, darling. Let me do that. Though I think we are going to see ourselves clear very soon.”
“I wish you’d tell Grandfather this,” she admonished him.
“I wish he’d believe me,” Gil snapped and raised the newspaper in front of his face again. “I’ll show that old so-and-so.”
Leona clamped the lid on her simmering resentment before it boiled over.
It’d waxed and waned as the holiday approached but there seemed to be a decided lack of goodwill in the house, her husband its source.
She moved away from the table with the empty tray.
Struck by inspiration, she turned back around.
“Gil?”
“What is it, Leona?” he asked from behind the paper.
“I’d like to invite Helen to Christmas dinner.”
The newspaper came down with a crumple into his lap, revealing his furious face. “Absolutely not.”
“But didn’t you just say we were nearly in the clear? Maybe we can help her. It’s not Helen’s fault if her husband—”
“Leona,” he said in a harsh voice she’d never heard before. “You are a meddler. Have you not learned your lesson yet?”
She fled down the hall, the tray rattling, her heart smarting.
Was he still angry about the Frosts and the seances she’d attended attempting to find out the truth?
Would this be her life now, her husband thwarting her at every turn until he’d worn her down?
God knew he wasn’t at all like Jack Davenport but if she’d known.
..her cheeks grew hot, and tears rose in her eyes.
Couldn’t he be kind for once after all she’d been through?
She’d never spent such a miserable Christmas holiday, her spirit crushed under another brutal heel.
Leona dropped the tray with a rattle into the sink. Damn him!
“I will go see Helen,” she said under her breath.
“Leona.”
She startled at her grandfather’s voice; she’d forgotten she’d left him sitting in the kitchen.
“What is it? What did he say to you?”
Lie and deny. She wasn’t in the enemy’s camp, but she’d long practiced hiding her feelings beneath a cheerful mask.
Without turning around, she said, “Oh, he’s just an old grump.
I don’t think he’s quite recovered from his illness the other night.
” Thinking again about the bloodied handkerchief, she softened.
“You said Helen. You mean Helen Caldwell-Jones?”
Leona touched cold fingers against her hot cheeks before turning to face him. “Yes. I wanted to invite her for Christmas dinner, but he didn’t find the very idea appealing.”
He waited, a silent invitation to confide in him.
She struggled against it briefly, then gave in.
“In all the—with everything that’s been going on, I’d forgotten about her.
She’s waiting to hear from her husband or about her husband.
And she has no one else, no family, and not many friends, I think. ”
“You’ve a kind heart, Leona. Will he stop you from going to see her?”
“Not if we don’t tell him. I sent her a card with a note, but I don’t think she sent one back yet.
” She’d have to check the basket in the foyer again.
Should she be worried Helen might do herself harm, intentionally or unintentionally?
Christmas focused on families and happy reunions, and Helen had none of this to look forward to.
“I should have checked on her sooner.” She looked around the kitchen.
The turkey for Christmas Eve cooked away in the depths of the woodstove.
The fire required continuous tending to keep the temperature even for hours as it cooked.
Fear for Helen had grasped hold of her, though. Vulnerable, drunk Helen and how she had confessed to supporting herself with her male friends since Henry had left her. Or perhaps she’d fallen ill or had an accident, unable to help herself.
“I’m sure your friend is fine, but if your mind is uneasy about it—”
You are a meddler. Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?
“—I believe you should pay her a call. I can come with you.”
He appeared quite comfortable where he sat with the newspapers, magazines, and notebooks heaped around him, a pencil tucked into his ear for notations. She gazed at him, love and fondness flooding her for the beloved, crag-filled face, Old Man of the Mountain beard, and flowing white hair.
“You needn’t.” She untied her apron and placed it over a chair.
“But I need you to watch the turkey. Just a few sticks every fifteen minutes or so, like this.” She demonstrated, opening the oven door, and pushing the wood in.
“And the butter for basting at the same time.” She pointed to the bowl and brush nearby. He eyed these dubiously but nodded.
“I won’t be gone more than an hour, an hour and a half. Just to check on her.”
“I’m in agreement, if it will bring you peace of mind.”
***
T HE CABBY brOUGHT HER to Cobble Hill through streets, filled with the bustle of Brooklynites, in better time than she’d hoped due to the judicious snapping of his whip and shouts at the slower carriages.
Once they arrived at Helen’s house, she asked him to wait, promising a generous tip in return.
Leona knocked and went on knocking but no one answered.
Cupping her hands around her eyes, she tried to see into the house through the window next to the door.
Darkness filled the interior. She raised a hand to lift the brass knocker again.
Her heart leaped with fright, her pulse roaring fast and furious.
She gasped for breath, vision gone dark and wavering, sweat breaking out on her brow.
Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she had to lean against the door to keep from falling.
“What is this?” she groaned against the wood. “Oh, God, Mrs. Drew.”
Slumped over the table, her head in her arms, the teacup spilled out.
A dark liquid lay about her feet, far more than one could expect from the emptied cup.
Leona closed her eyes and opened them again.
Her stomach quivered at the proximity of blood and piss.
She had not imagined it. No phantasm this time. Mrs. Drew was dead.
Was it instinct or fear bringing on this terror? She put her hand to her chest. But once she acknowledged it, her heart slowed, and her vision brightened. Ten agonizing breaths later, she wiped the sweat from her brow and breathed deep.
“Pull yourself together, old girl,” she whispered, lifting the knocker for three quick taps. “Helen!” she called as loudly as she could. “Helen! It’s me, Leona Gladney!” She put out her hand to check if the door was locked.
Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?
She pulled her hand away. Rebellion rose in her. “Apparently not, Gilbert Gladney.” She turned the doorknob. “Drat!”
Now what? In the house next to Helen’s, the door opened, and an older woman stepped out wrapping a shawl around her with a shiver. Her hair was tucked into a cap, her face pale, and she leaned on a cane.
“If you’re looking for Mrs. Caldwell-Jones, she’s not at home.”
Leona’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, dear. I did so want to see her before tomorrow.”
“Yes, with her husband gone, it will be hard for her,” the woman sympathized. “You are a friend of hers. I recognize you, I think.”
“Yes, I’m Leona Gladney,” Leona replied with a nod. “Listen, could you—”
“I’ve been ill for the last three weeks and only got out of the hospital a few days ago.
” She held open the door to her brownstone, the door painted warm gold to match the shutters.
“Won’t you come in and have some tea? There’s something you could take off my hands, something the mailman delivered to this address.
I don’t want to just leave it by the door.
I’ve been hoping to see Mrs. Caldwell-Jones because my son is coming to take me to his home near Graves End Bay for the holiday. ”
Not wanting to leave the woman exposed to the winter cold on the stoop, Leona followed her into the house, the scent of apple streusel welcoming her. She inhaled deeply with an appreciative sigh as the woman led her to the front parlor where a warm fire glowed in the fireplace.
“Now, where did I put them?” The woman began searching through the writing desk, opening drawer after drawer until she reached the last with a hoot of triumph.
“There you are. Well, I’ll be glad to get this off my mind.
Perhaps she’s gone off with family?” It was a rhetorical question.
“Well, either way, if you could deliver this to her?” She handed Leona a thick envelope.
“As you can see, it’s addressed to Helen Caldwell-Jones, although it was delivered here. ”
Leona barely glanced at it as she tucked it into her reticule with visions of burned-on-the- outside, raw-on-the-inside turkey on her mind. She wondered if any of the other neighbors had seen or heard from Helen, but this investigation would have to wait for another day.
“Thank you very much, I’ll make sure she gets it,” Leona assured the woman as she headed out the door. “Merry Christmas, madam.”