Authors: Marni Graff
Chapter Eight
“I’m sure I hope you both enjoy yourselves.”
Ruth: Act
II
, Scene 3
8:55 PM
Declan winced when Grayson Lange tapped his knife against his water glass. Voices around the table fell silent. Beside him, Nora sat up straighter.
“I think a few comments are in order before we retire. First off, thanks to Simon Ramsey for hosting us this week and to his staff for making us comfortable. I’m sure if your rooms are anywhere near as comfortable as my Royal Suite, we’ll enjoy a relaxing break combined with a successful play.”
Simon acknowledged the remarks with a nod of his head to a smattering of applause. Declan thought Burt Marsh actually smiled for the first time that evening. Grayson’s toothy, white smile was either the result of recent bleaching or a full set of crowns.
As the director explained the daily schedule, Declan inhaled Nora’s citrusy scent when she leaned in closer to him and spoke quietly.
“I saw Burt earlier today at the graveyard at St Martin’s.” She explained the man’s piteous howls.
“Poor chap. But he seems to be engaged now.”
“Grayson has that effect on everyone. He swoops you in.”
“And did he swoop you in when you interviewed him?” Declan steeled himself for her answer. They were adults and both had pasts.
“No way. But I wonder who’ll share the Royal Suite tonight.”
Declan looked at the grouping. “You seem certain he won’t be alone. Who’s on your short list? Or might you change your mind and fall under his spell?”
“As if. There’s only space for so much ego in one room.” She pointed her chin at the table. “Besides, there are enough candidates over there.”
Declan followed her gaze. “I see you need a mystery to unravel even when there isn’t one. Motherhood hasn’t changed you a bit. So your likely suspects are?”
“Three possibilities. Poppy Braeburn’s the right age, but she’s too uptight. I say it’s down to either Fiona Church or Gemma Hartwell. I thought it must be Gemma because Grayson put her in the room next to him, but Simon disagrees.” She sipped her tea and met his eyes over the rim of her cup.
Declan admired the mischievous glint in Nora’s eyes and considered her statement. “He’s in for a rough time if it’s Fiona. She strikes me as beautiful but cold.” Not Nora. She was anything but cold.
“Interesting. You think Gemma’s more his type, too?”
They watched Gemma lean over to whisper in Grayson’s ear, placing a hand on his arm in a proprietary manner. The director laughed heartily at her remark.
Declan nodded. “I think that decision’s been made. I’m just not sure who made it.”
*
10:45 PM
Declan returned his sherry glass to the tray in the library and tried to catch Nora’s eye. She remained in deep conversation with Poppy about the costume Gemma would wear as Elvira.
“Empire, loose and frothy, delicate and ethereal,” Poppy explained. “A very light grey, and we’ll keep her makeup pale, just highlight her eyes and do bright red lips.”
“Perfect.” Nora sighed. “My outfit in college was run together from an old net curtain that had been used in the previous play.”
“And I have no doubt it looked lovely on you,” Declan interjected, finally catching Nora’s attention and giving her what he hoped was a meaningful look.
“I should turn in.” Nora stood. “Thanks for the update.”
Lydia Denton stood also. “We’ve had a long day, Rupert.”
Her husband rose, and the two murmured their goodnights. They left the library with Nora and Declan on their heels.
Declan walked Nora to her suite. This was a bit awkward. Could he expect to be invited into her room?
At her door, she hesitated, looking across the hall to Simon’s door. He followed her glance.
“Firmly closed.” He drew her into his arms for a long kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that all evening.”
“Sorry I’ve been distracted.” Nora returned his kiss.
Declan realized she was standing on her tiptoes to reach him. “Maybe you’d be more comfortable elsewhere?”
Nora bit her lip and opened her bedroom door. A nightlight shone in the alcove, throwing the shadow of the baby’s cot onto one wall. Sean cried out, and she stiffened.
They waited in the doorway, listening to the baby shuffle around. Declan mentally crossed his fingers, hoping Sean would fall back to sleep.
The baby’s movements increased and so did his cries.
Nora squeezed his hand. “I’ve got to go to him.”
“Of course.” He hoped he’d hid his disappointment. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Sean howled, and Nora closed the door.
*
11:10 PM
Folding down the covers, Lydia Denton observed her husband puttering around their suite. It looked out over the front drive of Ramsey Lodge, and she approved of the Morris wallpaper below the chair rail that matched the blue birds and red, flowered vines on the drapes and coverlet.
“I believe that’s the same Kelmscott Tree pattern Morris had in his own bedroom.” She remembered their visit to Kelmscott Manor early in their marriage when she’d become an aficionado of Morris’ designs.
“Very nice, dear.” Rupert fussed with arranging the top surface of the tall dresser, where Lydia had stored his clothing.
She could have been talking about the weather. She watched the man she’d loved for so long move the framed photograph to different positions until he was satisfied, biting her tongue to refrain from chastising. It wasn’t healthy, this obsession of his. It wasn’t healthy at all.
*
11:59 PM
Nora looked at her sleeping son, his lips pursed as he dreamt.
He’d fallen back to sleep after only a few minutes of rocking. Missing the breast, she supposed, and he wouldn’t take to using a dummy, as the Brits called a pacifier. With luck, he’d sleep until
6 AM
.
That left her with a full six hours during which she could be sleeping. She changed into her nightgown and brushed her teeth, remembering the rush of feelings that swept over her when Declan had taken her in his arms and how that warred with her reticence to welcome him into her bed with Sean sleeping just feet away.
She thought of how she’d categorized herself earlier today: writer, author and single parent. She’d left out one important aspect: woman.
Before she could change her mind, Nora turned on the baby monitor and grabbed the receiver. She threw off her old nightgown and slipped into her robe, the newest thing she had, a Christmas gift from her mother and Roger. The blue robe had
Mum
embroidered on its chest.
“Mums have sex, too,” she whispered and crept out of her room past Simon’s door.
The glow of a small lamp on the hall desk showed her the way. She shot up the stairs, picturing Declan in the Sherlock Holmes Suite where Kate had insisted he belonged.
She knocked softly, mirroring the hammering of her heart. Declan’s surprised expression quickly changed to delight. She waved the receiver at him and watched his smile grow wider. The mahogany four-poster with its tattersall curtains centered in the room looked like a haven to Nora as she walked in and closed the door behind her.
Chapter Nine
“Behave perfectly ordinarily, as though nothing had happened.”
Ruth: Act
II
, Scene 3
Tuesday, 10th April
9:20 AM
Nora looked in the bathroom mirror and smoothed on a hint of blush. Was that the face of a sated woman looking back at her? She smiled at her own reflection. Naughty could be good—very good.
Her favorite jeans fit, which brought another huge grin. Strange how a piece of clothing made a person feel confident. It was going to be a great day, despite hardly sleeping. True to form, Sean had woken at
6:15 AM
just as Nora had stepped out of the shower. These morning hours when the rest of the lodge was quiet were her favorite time with her son. He had her undivided attention, and every day she could see growth and change as his personality formed.
After his morning bottle, she dressed him and sat with Sean in her wing chair and alternated taking bites of an apple with reading a book to the baby, making animal noises as she pointed to the colorful pictures. At times, Sean grunted in return. He really was the most amazing child. She felt suffused with love for the entire world. Val would say she’d put on her rose-colored glasses today. She had Declan to thank for that—Declan, who smoothed away any hint of embarrassment with laughter, who woke up bits of her she’d forgotten she owned, who made her feel that part of her that had been missing had been returned.
When Sean’s eyes got heavy, Nora put him in his cot, then turned on the musical mobile and left the room so he would learn to fall asleep by himself. Being aware of his cues would help her keep him on a schedule. She took her old friend, the monitor receiver, into the lodge.
This morning over breakfast, Declan described the hike he would take today. She knew he needed this respite from work. After the flurry of emotions of last night, she sensed that rather than trying to escape from her, he was giving her space.
Grayson had told his cast at dinner last night that his expectation was to start their first rehearsal promptly at
9:30
. Right after eating, everyone had gone back to their rooms to prepare. Nora passed through the empty dining room and into the drawing room.
Burt Marsh had been in early to work; the risers were set up and locked into place. Nora had seen him getting started early this morning when she’d wandered in her robe into the kitchen to heat Sean’s bottle. Now she found him pawing through one of the stacked cartons.
“Can I help, Burt?” She wondered if he knew she’d been privy to his emotional breakdown the day before. How awkward.
He looked into the depths of the carton. “You’d be a lifesaver if you could find the cloth that’s supposed to go over that table.” He pointed to a round table and looked at a listing on a clipboard.
His unembarrassed demeanor led Nora to decide he hadn’t seen her at the church. “What color is it?”
“Not noted, damn it.” He slapped the clipboard down and pulled over a second carton.
“I’ll check this one.” Nora opened the one Declan had moved yesterday. She found throw pillows packed around a table lamp. Wedged next to them was a slim cardboard tube with a piece of linen wrapped around it. “Could this be it?” She unrolled the cloth.
Burt hastened over. “Let’s see if it fits.”
Nora draped the cloth over the table. “This must be it.”
“It’s so wrinkled.” Burt grimaced. “Estelle could press those out in a pinch.”
“I’ll press it.” Nora whipped the cloth off the table. “Agnes has an iron in the kitchen.”
“
Excuse me
—I’m supposed to handle the costumes and any material.” The waspish statement came from Poppy, who stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. The Dentons hovered close behind her.
Nora stopped in her tracks by the kitchen door. So much for the woman’s nice behavior yesterday when Sean had thrown up on her. Nora looked uncertainly back at Burt, who had his head down, rooting around in another carton. Then Grayson appeared with Gemma hanging off his arm.
“Now, Poppy, don’t go all schoolmarmish on us. Let Nora be your handmaiden if she wants—you have plenty to do and we need to start blocking rehearsal.” His voice had a remarkable effect, calming Poppy, who nodded and moved away.
Nora wished she could slam the swinging kitchen door to let Grayson know what she thought of his remark. Handmaiden, indeed. Her morning glow evaporated.
She remembered more clearly his insufferable attitude during their interview, especially his condescending demeanor toward women. Poppy’s pickiness rankled, too. She could be nicer; Nora had seen that firsthand. After today, Poppy was bloody well welcome to iron everything in Ramsey Lodge.
Callie wiped the counters after breakfast cleanup. “Simon and Maeve took Agnes to the market,” she said. “I made Declan sandwiches for his pack before he left. I’ll start making beds up next if Sean is asleep.”
“He’s napping. I suspect you’ll find one of those beds hasn’t been slept in.” Seeing Gemma and Grayson together confirmed her feelings about them. She took out the iron and board, plugged in one and folded out the other. “Need to iron this.” And no need to tell Callie her own bed hadn’t been slept in.
“Let me do that,” Callie offered, tying her auburn hair into a ponytail.
“No, you start the beds, and I’ll come up to help, but I’ll tell you what you can do later.” Nora licked a finger to test the heat of the iron before applying it viciously to the cloth. “When this iron cools down, please take it with the board up to the Potter Suite and leave it for Poppy’s use.” Nora smiled at her initiative, back in control of her emotions.
“Will do.” Callie set off up the back stairs, whistling lightly.
Nora ironed the creases out of the tablecloth, then unplugged the iron and set it to cool on top of the board. She burst through the swinging door back into the drawing room in time to see Grayson stalk into the hallway and bellow up the stairs.
“Fiona! Get your lazy arse down here!” He strode back into the drawing room in a huff.
Nora helped Burt spread the cloth on the table. He smiled his thanks.
Upstairs, a door slammed, then footsteps clattered down the stairs. Fiona stood in the doorway, her face flushed with rage.
“Someone’s had the cheek to come into my room and steal my script!” She yelled and stalked toward Gemma, who hid behind Grayson. “And I know who that slapper is!”
“Fi, language dear.” Grayson drew Gemma out from behind him and kept his arm around her. “That’s impossible. Gemma’s been with me since breakfast. You must have misplaced it.”
“It was on my bedside table when I came down to breakfast. It was gone when I went back up.” Fiona spoke through clenched teeth. “Don’t be such a bloody idiot, Gray.”
Gemma laughed, secure in the circle of Grayson’s arm. “Temper, darling. We don’t want the local rags to hear you can’t control yourself.”
Fiona raised a finger in Gemma’s face. “Is that a threat?”
The director drew up to his full height and glared down at Fiona. “Remember who runs this show, my dear, if you want to keep your role in it.” Changing his mood in a heartbeat, Grayson plastered his charming smile back in place. “Take mine. I know this farce by heart.” He held out his script; Fiona snatched it from his hand as he turned to the grouping watching the interplay. “Places, people. Let’s take it from the top.”
*
1:45 PM
After lunch, Simon made certain the dining room floor didn’t need a sweep. His thoughts strayed to Kate and Ian, exploring Paris and then traveling by train south to Provence. What he wouldn’t give to trade places with them. He missed France with an ache that reached into his fingers.
But this was Kate’s time while he played the good brother, insisting that Nora and Maeve would step up to help out, and both were proving him right. Maeve and Agnes were preparing dinner; Nora and Callie had done the rooms in record time.
Nora recounted the cast members’ tantrums that he’d missed when he was at the market. After he’d helped set up lunch, he’d stood in the doorway to watch the last of the morning rehearsal. The troupe had worked on what the director called blocking, their entrances and exact places on stage. It had seemed to go well, and the cast was now resting before their
2
PM
rehearsal.
Simon checked the desk. Nora had answered all the emails and done the post. He stepped into the drawing room and surveyed the stage. Lamps were on tables; a coffee table stood on a rug rolled out in front of the sofa. Burt stood on a ladder, fiddling with a chandelier hung in place of the lodge’s ceiling fixture. The thing was massive, with long curving brass arms. Each arm had a metal band running around the top that held a bulb. Burt affixed several glass prisms along a few of the bands and climbed down.
“Magnetic. Stand back and we’ll give this a try.” He held a remote in his hand and hit a button. The glass prisms fell to the ground.
Simon started, then leaned over and picked one up. The crystal had a flat metal disk at its top. “Not broken?” The pointed spear glittered in the light. “These look sharp.”
“Shatterproof glass. They’ll hit the table and scatter, but that’s at the end as the stage is empty and the room falls apart.” Burt stepped over to the fireplace and showed Simon a painting propped on the mantel. “When I get this rigged, it’ll crash nicely to the ground, too.” He pointed to the windows. “I still have to sort the curtains so they open and close on a repeater. And the phonograph will play the theme song, ‘Always,’ loudly and quickly to round out the climax.”
“How will you get all those dangles back on after Saturday for Sunday’s performance?” Never having been part of the backstage preparations for a play, Simon’s interest was genuine.
“See this?” Burt pointed to a line that ran from the top of the fixture through a hook, along the ceiling and down the wall, only to disappear at the top of the left French door. “It’s fixed outside on a winch, like a boat, with a dog stop to keep it from falling. I can raise and lower it to reattach the crystals. We used a similar device when the Community Theatre did
Phantom of the Opera
, and it worked like a charm.”
Simon had never seen such animation in Burt. “So all these things can be repeated for Sunday night, then?”
“That’s the beauty of—” A loud shriek from the second floor cut Burt off.
Simon raced toward the stairs. Where had that come from?
Nora appeared from her room. “What’s going on?”
Several doors opened upstairs as Simon ran up. “I’ll let you know.” He reached the top landing and looked around. The door to the Shakespeare Suite banged open. Gemma Hartwell stood trembling in the doorway; tears streamed down her face.
“In here,” she cried, pointing to the ornately carved Jacobean bed.
Grayson ran from his room next door, drying his hands on a towel. He drew the actress into his arms. “Darling, what’s happened?”
By then, Helen, Poppy and Fiona had crowded the hallway and were gawking over the director’s shoulder. The Dentons stood in their doorway, peering out anxiously. Simon brushed past Gemma and Grayson into the large corner suite, not seeing anything worth screaming about. If this was about a spider hanging in a corner …
He looked around the room: creamy upper walls, dark-paneled wainscoting, a large tapestry on one wall. The bed was neatly made up, its hangings and coverlet in the blue, green and vermilion crewel embroidery of flowers and animal shapes of the era.
Gemma shrugged off Grayson’s arm. “On—the—pillow,” she managed to get out between sobs.
Simon brushed aside the bed curtains and immediately saw the reason for the woman’s distress. Laid in the center of the crisp, embroidered bolster at the head of the bed was the carcass of a light grey rabbit, its fluffy white underbelly a counterpoint to its angled, broken neck and the bloodied pulp of one mangled foot.
*
2:05 PM
Nora joined the group as Simon took charge.
“I’ll get a garbage bag from the service closet,” he said.
Nora pulled him aside. “Try not to touch it; use the plastic to envelop it.” She saw the look he gave her and could almost read Simon’s thoughts: “A bloody mystery Nora thinks she has to solve.”
Nora took Gemma by the arm. The woman seemed rooted to the spot, sniffling. Helen peered inside the room. “There’s an evil spirit amongst us,” she pronounced. “This play is cursed!”
Grayson reacted instantly, snapping his towel. “Helen! Stop being a ghoul and lead the way downstairs. Back to work, everyone.” He turned to Nora. “Please take Gemma to my room.”
Gemma allowed Nora to help her into the Royal Suite, where she threw herself across the huge bed. Grayson tossed the damp towel into the bathroom sink and charged back out. “Five minutes to pull yourself together, Gemma, and I’ll expect you at rehearsal.” He stalked out of the room.
Nora grabbed the towel and ran the water to warm it. A large bottle of perfume from Illuminum, the same house the Duchess of Cambridge used, stood on the counter. Somehow, Nora doubted the director wore the scent “White Gardenia Petals.” She noticed more feminine cosmetics spread out over the end of the counter.
She wished Declan were here to make sense of this malicious mischief. At least Sean was safe on the other side of the lodge. She’d left him sitting on a blanket on the floor of her room, surrounded by soft toys and his favorite plastic keys.