The Fate of Mercy Alban Page 7

  It was strength in numbers I was going for. If there was an intruder and he was still here, I felt a bit safer knowing that two strapping young men were going to be in the house with us overnight rather than just me, Amity, and an elderly couple.

  Cody and Jason exchanged a quick glance and tried to hide their smiles. “Sure, Miss Alban,” Cody said. “Anything you want.”

  “Okay, then,” I said, turning to Jane. “Will you make up rooms for these boys?”

  “I’ll also make up the master suite for you and Amity,” Jane said, nodding her head toward my daughter. “There’s a big daybed in the study that she can use.”

  That hadn’t occurred to me, but of course she was right. Mr. Jameson had hired these kids and I trusted his judgment completely, but how much did we really know about them? I might have spoken too soon by inviting them to stay in the house. Best to have Amity safe with me, behind my locked door.

  And the master suite was the only one on the second floor with its own exit to the outdoors. I liked the idea that we could get out quickly if necessary. To my great surprise, Amity didn’t balk at the suggestion.

  Jane had started up the stairs with the men and Amity and I were headed back into the living room, but all of us stopped dead when we heard a knock at the front door. The police? Already here with information? I exhaled in the hopes that they had found whomever it was and we could all go back to normal.

  But it wasn’t the police. Jane opened the door to reveal the minister, Matthew Parker, standing there, holding a bottle of wine.

  Our stunned expressions must’ve been rather overt, because he said: “We said six o’clock, right?”

  CHAPTER 10

  Of course, Reverend Parker.” Jane smiled, instantly regaining her composure and slipping right back into her role. “Please do come in. Miss Alban has been expecting you.”

  As she ushered him inside, Jane shot a look at her husband, who then hurried the lads up the stairs and out of sight.

  Before I took Amity on our ill-fated tour of the passageways, I’d been planning to shower and change before the reverend arrived, but with everything that had happened, it had flown out of my mind. And now here I stood, fresh out of the dusty, musty tunnels, not knowing the last time I had run a brush through my hair. Was I even wearing makeup? I wasn’t sure.

  I pushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear and smiled my best smile, hoping my face wasn’t as grimy as it felt. “Hi!” I chirped a little too loudly. “Welcome! You brought wine! How lovely.”

  Jane took the bottle from him with a nod and disappeared into the kitchen as he walked hesitantly into the foyer, looking up at the stained-glass window and chandelier.

  “Wow,” he said. “This is the first time I’ve been inside this house. It really is quite something.”

  “Home, sweet home.” I grinned, holding my arms wide. “Let’s go into the parlor, shall we? We’ll have drinks there before dinner. An Alban tradition.”

  Amity sidled up to me, then.

  “Reverend Parker, this is my daughter, Amity,” I said, putting an arm around her shoulders and brushing the dust off them at the same time.

  “Amity, what a pretty name.” He smiled at her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Amity nodded quickly, then turned to me. “Mom, I thought I’d go upstairs and watch a movie. Is that okay?”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about Amity going off by herself given all that had just happened. But with the police on their way, with Mr. Jameson and the boys securing the house, and with us downstairs, I guessed she’d be okay. “Just make sure you sit next to the buzzer.” I squinted at her.

  “May I take my dinner up there, too?”

  The reverend grinned. “Oh, you’re not going to be joining us? Are you sure? We’re going to be talking about funeral arrangements! Come on, what teenager wouldn’t love that?”

  Amity giggled—a real, genuine giggle. This man actually amused her. She volleyed back: “Only if you tell me that my math teacher will be there, too, and we can do a few equations between deciding on readings and hymns.”

  He let out a laugh, and I patted my daughter on the back. “Go ahead, then,” I said to her, shooing her up the stairs. “I’ll have Jane bring up your dinner. But listen, keep that buzzer next to you at all times.”

  She and I exchanged a glance, and then she ran up a few steps. Turning back to Reverend Parker, she sang out, “It was nice meeting you!” and was gone.

  “Nice girl,” he said to me as we walked into the parlor, where the fire was now blazing.

  “She has her moments.” I smirked. “You know teenagers.”

  On the sideboard, I saw uncorked bottles of red and white wine and sherry; crystal decanters of scotch, gin, and vodka; tonic water; an ice bucket; and various glasses—the usual bar setup, just as my father and probably his father before him had preferred it. Jane had also lit candles around the room, making it seem welcoming and homey.

  It occurred to me that this was the first time I had entertained here at Alban House as an adult. I’d had birthday parties as a kid, of course, and attended my parents’ various functions and events, but I was never the hostess in the house where generations of Albans had welcomed friends, businesspeople, and even dignitaries. Five U.S. presidents had taken drinks in this room before dinner, most famously Franklin Roosevelt on the eve of this country’s entry into World War II. It was said that he and my grandfather talked about steel and iron ore production.

  I could feel the mantle of that tradition, passed from one generation to the next, now wrapping itself around my shoulders as I walked over to the sideboard and said, for the first time in my life, what I had heard my parents and grandparents say countless times over the years: “What’s your pleasure? If you don’t see it here, just ask. We’ve got it all at Alban House.”

  “Wine would be great,” Matthew Parker said, and the evening had begun.

  I poured both of us some wine and gestured to a pair of leather armchairs by the fire. “Shall we sit, Reverend?” I said, handing him a glass.

  He reached out to take it. “Please, call me Matthew.” He smiled. “Your mother never would. She was uncomfortable with the informality, I think, even though I prefer it.”

  “Matthew it is,” I said, settling into my chair. I looked down and noticed I was wearing my ratty old slippers. Lovely. A quick glance at my dusty jeans and I was fully chagrined. It occurred to me that I was now the perfect picture of the eccentric lady of the manor. What a cliché. I put a palm to my cheek in a futile attempt to fend off the reddening I could feel seeping out of my pores.

  “I’m sorry about my appearance,” I said quickly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “We had a bit of a situation here just before you arrived and I didn’t get the chance to change my clothes. Usually I’d be, at least, clean when a guest showed up.”

  Reverend Parker—Matthew—chuckled. “You look lovely, so you’ve got no worries there. But—a situation? Nothing serious, I hope.”

  Contrary to what Jane, and generations of Albans, might have done, I made the decision right then and there to confide in this man. I relished the idea of having somebody to talk to, another adult who might help me navigate my way through what had just happened. Not that Jane and her husband weren’t a help to me, but they always seemed to have their own agenda in matters of Alban House, dispensing information on a need-to-know basis, always weighing their actions against public opinion of the great Alban family if whatever it was “got out.” Always prefacing everything with the question, spoken or unspoken: “How will it look if we …?”

  And, it occurred to me, listening to parishioners was part of this man’s job. That’s why he was here, after all.

  “I think somebody might have broken into the house,” I blurted out. “And may have even been living here.”

  Matthew furrowed his brow. “Really? You’re kidding.”

  I took a sip of my wine and nodded. “The police are on
their way, actually.” And I told him the whole story—taking Amity through the passageways, finding the blanket and pillow in the false basement, all of it.

  He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Hidden tunnels, secret doors, mysterious intruders. It would be the most intriguing story I’d heard in a long while if it didn’t involve your safety. And Amity’s.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking—the safety part, I mean,” I said. “I’m most worried about whomever it is getting into the interior of the house at night while we’re sleeping.”

  Matthew held my gaze for a long moment. “Grace, if you’d rather just sort this out with the police, we don’t have to do this now.” He put his wineglass on the end table next to him. “We’ve got a few days before the funeral, so I can come back another time. You’ve really got your hands full and—”

  “Don’t be silly!” I interrupted a bit too forcefully. “I’d really like to go over the service now so that’s off my plate. And, this just occurred to me, I think it’s good to have some activity going on. I’m hoping that our intrepid intruder is gone, scared off by us stumbling upon his hiding place, but if he isn’t—the more people around, the better.”

  Just then, I noticed lights outside the window and unfolded myself from my chair, moving across the room to get a better look. I pushed the curtains aside and peered into the twilight. “There’s the police now.” Matthew joined me at the window and we watched two squad cars pull into the drive.

  A few moments later, the doorbell sounded. I started to answer it but saw Jane scurrying from the kitchen and stopped in my tracks. I had to remember that answering the door was Jane’s job. I watched her wipe her hands on her apron before she pulled the door open and ushered a man inside.

  Stepping into the parlor, she said: “The police to see you, miss.”

  As Matthew and I walked into the foyer, I smiled at two uniformed officers, extending my hand to one of them. “I’m Grace Alban and this is the Reverend Matthew Parker. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  And then it was time to repeat the whole story, yet again. As I finished, one of the officers nodded. “The chief has asked us to patrol the house and grounds, securing any exits. I’m assuming you’ve got all the doors and windows in the house locked?”

  Of course! I had been so worried about securing the interior passageway doors and peepholes that I didn’t even think of locking the outer ones, too. When I lived here, it was one of the household staff’s last duties of the evening, locking everything up tight. But with only Jane and her husband here with my mother for all these years, I wasn’t sure if that was still the case.

  “If they aren’t all locked, they should be,” I said. “Jane, will you ask Mr. Jameson and the boys to tend to that, please? All the doors and windows on the first and second floors.”

  “Right away, miss,” she said, adding a quick aside to me, “We’ll be ready for dinner in just a few minutes.” With that, she headed back toward her kitchen lair.

  “Chief Bellamy said he was arranging for a twenty-four-hour guard,” I said to the officers. “Is that right?”

  “We’ll be here overnight, Miss Alban,” one of them confirmed. “When we’ve given the house a look, you’ll have two men in the front, two in the back. Nobody’s getting into this house on our watch.”

  “Thank you.” I exhaled. “I’ve got my young daughter here and it’s good to know you’ll be on guard.”

  “Just doing our jobs, ma’am.” He smiled. “Protect and serve.”

  “Well, then. Do you have everything you need?” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “You’ll be warm enough outside?”

  “Don’t you worry about us,” he said as he took a walkie-talkie from his belt and held it out to me. “And if you need us, if you hear or see anything, just holler. Press the red button to talk.”

  Jane and her husband floated back into the room so silently I didn’t even realize they were there until Mr. Jameson spoke. “I’ll take you and your men through the house,” he said to the officers, who followed as he ascended the stairs.

  “So that’s what police protection feels like,” I said to Matthew, exhaling again.

  “You can’t be too careful,” he said, watching the officers until they turned out of sight on the second floor. “I’m glad they’re here.”

  “I am, too,” I said, picking up my wineglass and taking a sip. “Once they finish going through the passageways and are patrolling the grounds, I’ll have Jane bring them out some supper. And ours is probably just about ready, too, so we should migrate to the dining room. I hope you like chicken!”

  As we took our places at the table—me hesitantly taking the head and Matthew next to me on the right—Jane brought out our first course, French onion soup with crusty bread with butter, and we got down to business, talking about how the service would go, this reading followed by that hymn.

  Discussing my mother’s final wishes at our dining room table, where my family had eaten countless dinners together, conjured her spirit in a powerful way. Matthew was sitting in her usual spot. As I looked at him, I could also see my mother’s image superimposed over his own, there in her blue Chanel dress and hat, a strand of pearls around her neck. She smiled and nodded, and I heard her voice, soft and low, in my ear. “Thank you, darling. You’re doing everything right.” I felt a whoosh of cool air, buoying along the faint scent her favorite perfume, and then it was gone.

  I sopped up a little of the soup with the last of my bread. “It’s so strange to be in this house without her,” I said. “It’s not just that it feels empty to me; it’s almost like the house itself feels her absence somehow. As though the walls and floorboards and banisters are grieving with me over the loss of her. Does that make any sense?”

  “In a way,” he said slowly, “I can understand that. There’s so much family history here, it’s as though the house is infused with their spirits.”

  But that’s not what it was, not really. Certainly, I felt the spirits of my family keenly, but that’s not what I was talking about. He didn’t get it, and I didn’t blame him. He didn’t know what it was like to live in this house and feel whatever it was that radiated from its very foundations. I thought about the letter from David Coleville to my mother that I had read the day before. I could see the words in my mind as though they were right in front of me.

  As the story goes, that forest was a witch’s wood. She had been imprisoned in an old oak hundreds of years earlier by a rival. And when Alban felled the trees and brought them to this country, he got her spirit in the bargain. Legend has it that her spirit has been bedeviling the Alban family ever since.

  It was complete nonsense and I knew it. And yet … when I really thought about it … I shuddered and took another sip of wine.

  “And I know it can’t be easy for you,” Matthew continued, his voice snapping me back to the present. “You’re dealing with your mother’s death on top of being home for the first time in so many years. The emotion that surrounds those two rather monumental things would be overwhelming for anyone. And now you’ve got to worry about a possible intruder? You’re shouldering it all very well—the name ‘Grace’ fits you, it really does—but it’s a lot to deal with.”

  He was looking into my eyes with such genuine concern, just like he had earlier in the day. This man really did seem to care, and it occurred to me that he was in the perfect occupation.

  “It does seem like it’s been one thing after another, doesn’t it?” I managed a smile. “But it’s fine. I’m okay.”

  “I know you are.” He smiled back. “From what I’ve seen of you, I have gotten the impression that you’re a strong woman. Your mother’s daughter through and through. But—” he hesitated a bit and then continued. “Something you said this morning, or rather didn’t say, has been on my mind.”

  “What’s that?” I wanted to know. I put my elbow on the table and rested my chin in my hand.

  “You never did tell me what kept
you away from here all these years,” he said, his voice softening. “It’s clear to me that you feel a certain reverence for this house and your family history, and yet you stayed away for decades. You evaded the question when I asked it this morning, and I’ve been wondering if you just thought it was none of my business, that I had no right to ask, or if it was something else. Whatever it was, I just want you to know that I care and that you can talk to me about it—or anything else—if you ever decide that you want to. It’s a big part of my job, listening.”

  I looked at Matthew Parker and, for reasons I can’t quite explain, I felt that he was safe harbor, somehow. He was right—it was his job to listen, to counsel. Maybe I could get it off my chest, once and for all.

  I hadn’t intended to talk about this to anyone, ever. But it was as though being back here, and especially my father’s “visit” the night before, had unearthed the box where I had put these memories and buried them, and now they were screaming to get out. Before I knew it, the words were spilling forth.

  “When I was twenty and my brothers were eighteen, we decided to go sailing one November afternoon,” I began, the images of that day swirling in front of me. “We had been sailing our whole lives—it was a passion of my father’s and he brought us out on the water when we were very young. Some of my earliest memories are of skimming across our bay in one of the several sailboats our family had back then.”

  Matthew leaned forward. Now it was his turn to put his elbow on the table and rest his chin upon his palm.

  “It was an unseasonably warm day, so we thought nothing of it when the wind picked up a bit.” My voice broke, remembering my brothers’ laughing faces as we zipped along. “We sailed out of our protected bay and into the main body of the lake. We went farther out than we should have. But it was just so much fun, we were going so fast.”