Usher's Passing (12 page)

Margaret said, "I trust you'll be on time for dinner. You look as if you can use a good, filling meal. A needle and thread would do wonders for that shabby coat, as well. Take it off after dinner and I'll have it fixed for you."

"Thanks."

"Come along when you're ready, then. We eat at seven-thirty in this house."

Left alone, Rix contemplated the locked doors again, and then went back the way he'd come to the main corridor. He walked past the living room and dining room, heading for the rear of the house.

In the large Gatehouse kitchen, where copper pots and utensils hung in orderly precision from hooks on the spotless, white-tiled walls, Rix stood at the doorway. He watched a short, rotund woman with gray hair checking a number of simmering pots on one of the ranges while she gave orders in a soft but firm voice to the two subordinate cooks who bustled about. An amazing warmth spread through him, and he realized at once just how much he'd missed Cass Bodane. One of the cooks glanced over her shoulder at him—and didn't recognize him—but then Cass turned toward him and froze.

Rix was prepared. Her oval, ruddy-cheeked face registered shock for only a fleeting second, and then a smile like sunshine took its place. Rix was sure Edwin had told her how bad he looked.

"Oh, Rix!" Cass said, and embraced him. The top of her head came only to his chin. Her warmth was as welcome as a cheerful hearth on a winter's night, and Rix felt his bones beginning to glow. Without this woman and her husband, Rix knew his life at Usherland would have been truly bleak. They lived in a white house behind the gardens and garage, and many times when he was a little boy, Rix had wished he could live in that house with them. Though they had an enormous responsibility, they'd never been too busy to spend a while listening to him, or giving him encouragement.

"It's so
good
to have you home again!" She pulled back to look at him; her clear blue eyes only flinched a fraction.

"If you say I look wonderful, I'll know you've been hitting the cooking sherry," he said with a smile.

"Don't you tease me!" She pushed affectionately at his chest, then took his hand. "Come sit down. Louise, bring two cups of coffee to the nook, please. One with cream and sugar, one with sugar only."

"Yes ma'am," one of the cooks said.

Cass led him out of the kitchen, through a door to the small room where the servants took their breaks. A table and chairs were set up here, and a window looked out toward the gardens, now illuminated by low-level floodlights. They sat down, and Louise brought their coffee.

"Edwin told me you were upstairs," Cass explained, "but I knew you needed your rest. How was New York?"

"Okay, I guess. Pretty noisy."

"Were you up there on business? Researching a new book?"

"No, I . . . had some things to take care of with my agent."

When she smiled, the deep lines surfaced around her eyes. She was a lovely woman at sixty-one, and Rix knew she had been a real knockout when she was a girl. He'd seen an old photograph Edwin carried in his wallet: Cass in her twenties, with long blond hair, a flawless complexion, and those eyes that could stop time. "Rix, that's so exciting!" she said, and covered his hand with her own. "I want to hear all about your new book!"

Bedlam
was dead, he knew. There was no sense in trying to stir it from the grave. "I'd . . . like to tell you what I'm going to work on next," he said.

Her eyes brightened. "A new thriller? Oh, goody!"

"We talked about it before, the last time I was home." He braced himself, because he remembered her reaction. "I still want to do the history of the Ushers."

Cass's smile faded. She was silent, averting her gaze and toying with her coffee cup.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time," Rix continued. "I've even started the research."

"Oh? How?"

"I went to Wales after I finished
Fire Fingers.
I remembered that Dad told me Malcolm Usher owned a coal mine in the early 1800s. It took me two weeks, but I found what was left of it, near a village called Gosgarrie. It was boarded up, but a records cleric in the village dug up some documents on the Usher Coal Company. There'd been an explosion and cave-in around 1830.

Malcolm, Hudson, and Roderick were touring the mine when it happened, and they were trapped in there." He expected her to look up at him, but she didn't. "Hudson and Roderick were rescued, but their father's corpse was never recovered. Evidently they were so torn up about his death that they came over to America, with Madeline."

Still, Cass didn't respond. "I want to know what my ancestors were like," Rix persisted. "What motivated them to create weapons? Why did they settle here, and why did they keep building onto the Lodge? Edwin's told me things about grandfather Erik, but what about the others?" Their portraits hung in the library, and he knew their names—Ludlow, Erik's father; Aram, Ludlow's father and Hudson's son—but he knew nothing of their lives. "What were the Usher women like?" Rix pressed on. "I know researching the book would be tough. I'd probably have to use my imagination on a lot of it, but I think it could be done."

She drank from her cup and held it between her palms. "Your father would put your head on top of a flagpole," she said softly.

"Don't you think people would like to know about the Usher family? It would be a history of the American weapons industry, too. Don't you think I could do it?"

"That's not the point. Mr. Usher has a right to privacy. Your entire family has, including your deceased ancestors. Are you sure you'd want strangers knowing everything that's gone on at Usherland?"

Rix knew Cass was referring to his grandfather Erik, who had a penchant for throwing wild parties where nude women served as centerpieces. At one party, Edwin had told him, all the guests rode horses inside the Lodge, and Erik required the servants to wear suits of armor and joust on the lakeshore for entertainment.

"Pardon me if I'm wrong," Cass said, and finally raised her eyes to his, "but I think you want to write that family history because you see it as striking out against your father and against the family business. You've already let him know how you feel. Can't you see how he respects you for daring to break the mold?"

"Are you kidding?"

"He's a proud man, and he won't ever admit that he's been wrong about you. He envies your independence. Mr. Usher could never break away from Erik. Someone had to take control of the business after Erik died. You shouldn't hate him because of that. Well . . . do as you please. You will anyway. But my advice is to let sleeping lions lie."

"I could write that book," Rix said firmly. "I know I could."

Cass nodded absently. It was clear she had something more to say, but she didn't know how to begin. Her mouth pressed into a tight line. "Rix," she said, "there's something you need to know. Oh dear, how can I say this?" She gazed out toward the gardens. "There are so many changes in the wind, Rix, so many things in a state of passage. Oh hell! I was never any good at making speeches." Cass looked directly at him. "This is the last year for Edwin and myself at Usherland."

Rix's first impulse was to laugh. Surely she was kidding! The laugh stuck in his throat when her expression remained serious.

"It's time for us to retire." She tried to smile, but it wouldn't come. "Past time, really. We wanted to retire two years ago, but Mr. Usher talked Edwin out of it. Now we've saved enough money to buy a home in Pensacola. I've always wanted to live in Florida."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this! My God! You've been here all my life!"

"I know that. And it goes without saying that you've been like a son to us." There was pain in her eyes, and she had to pause for a moment to gather her thoughts. "Edwin can't get around the estate like he used to. Usherland needs a younger man's touch. We want to enjoy the sun, and Edwin wants to go deep-sea fishing. I want to wear sun hats." She smiled wistfully. "If I get bored with doing that, Edwin says I can open a small bake shop. It's time, Rix. It really is."

Rix was so stunned he could hardly think. What would Usherland be without Edwin and Cass? "Florida's . . . so far away."

"Not that far. They do have telephones down there, you know."

"But who'll take your places—as if anyone could?" Rix knew it had been a tradition, ever since Hudson's day, for the chief of staff of Usherland to be a Bodane. But since Cass and Edwin had no children, the next chief of staff would have to be an outsider.

"I know what you're wondering," Cass replied. "There's always been a Bodane in charge of Usherland. Well, Edwin wants to keep the tradition going. You've heard him mention his brother Robert, haven't you?"

"A couple of times." Edwin's brother had left the estate when he was a young man, but had settled on the other side of Foxton. Rix knew that Edwin visited him occasionally.

"Robert has a grandson named Logan. He's nineteen, and he's been working at the armaments plant for two years. Edwin believes he has the potential to take the job."

"A nineteen-year-old chief of staff? That's crazy!"

"Edwin was twenty-three when he took over from his father," Cass reminded him. "He's talked to Logan about this, and he believes Logan can do it. Mr. Usher has given his approval. Edwin's going to bring Logan here tomorrow or the day after to begin his training. Of course, if Logan decides he doesn't want to stay, we'll advertise for an outsider. And if there's any problem at all, he leaves."

"Have you met this kid?"

"Once. He seems to be intelligent, and he has an excellent work record at the plant."

Rix caught a trace of reticence in her voice. "Are you sold on him?"

"Honestly? No, I'm not. He's a little unpolished. I think he'll have to prove himself. But he's agreed to try it, and I think he should have the chance."

A buzzer went off in the kitchen. It was almost seven-thirty, and Margaret was summoning the servants to the dining room.

"I have to go." Cass rose quickly to her feet. Rix sat staring out at the gardens, and Cass touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry if this came as a shock to you, Rix, but it's for the best. It's the way things are. You'd better run along now. I've got a good, rich Welsh pie in the oven for you."

Rix left Cass working in the kitchen, and walked dazedly to the dining room. His mother was waiting alone at the long, gleaming mahogany table.

As one of the many clocks struck seven-thirty, and others echoed it, Boone strode through the doorway. His face was flushed, and there was racetrack dust in his eyebrows, but he'd dressed for dinner in a dark blue suit and striped necktie. "You look like crap on a cracker, Rixy," Boone said as he took his place across from Rix.

"Both of my fine boys are home," Margaret said, with a strained note of cheer. She bowed her head. "Let us give thanks for what we are about to receive."

THE PUMPKIN MAN WAS IN THE WOODS.

He wore a funeral suit of black velvet and a black top hat. His face was as yellow as spoiled milk. He carried a scythe that glowed electric blue in the moonlight, and with a wave of one skeletal hand he parted the underbrush before him. Those who had seen him and lived to tell the tale said his eyes shone like green lamps; his face was split by a cunning grin, his teeth sharpened to tiny points.

The Pumpkin Man was used to waiting. He had all the time in the world. Sooner or later a child would wander from a familiar path, or chase a rabbit into a place where shadows slanted like tombstones. Then there would be no more going home, ever again.

He carried his weapon in an easy grip, and sniffed the night wind for the human scent. A small animal tore away through the weeds. The Pumpkin Man stood like a statue, his only movement the slow sweep of his gelid gaze through the darkness.

He looked toward the Gatehouse, where the Usher boy was sleeping. The Usher boy had come home again. If the Usher boy didn't come out to play tomorrow evening—then there would always be the next. Or the next. He stood beneath the Usher boy's window, staring upward. Come out, come out and play, he whispered in a voice like the wind through dead trees. You're the one I want, little Usher boy—

When Rix forced himself awake, his nerves were jangling like fire alarms. He sat up in bed. The walls of his room were crisscrossed with shadows—tree branches, outlined by moonlight. He'd never had such a vivid nightmare about the Pumpkin Man before. The thing had looked like a picture he'd seen of Lon Chaney in
London After Midnight,
all hypnotic eyes and vampire teeth. Got to cut down on those damned late-night "Creature Features," he told himself. They're not too good for the old beauty sleep, are—