The Scent of Heather Page 10

  “It is not ruined,” Maggie answered, brushing it off with her hands. “It can easily be cleaned. It’s only dust.”

  “Good heavens, Maggie. What were you doing down there? After what happened in this house tonight I can’t understand how....”

  “I’d prefer to forget what happened here tonight. I don’t want to think about it.”

  Rebecca eyed her brazenly. “Are you referring to Sophie’s death or the disgusting way you threw yourself at David this evening?”

  “Did I throw myself at David this evening? Funny, I thought it was the other way around.”

  “You know I’m interested in David and you’re purposely trying to interfere,” Rebecca said angrily.

  Maggie put a record on the stereo. “You’re interested in every man you meet. I can’t see where David is any different from all the others. You’ll tire of him in a week.”

  “I won’t. I’ve fallen in love with him.”

  “Oh, Rebecca, what a silly thing you are. You only met the man yesterday, and tonight you’re suddenly head over heels in love with him. You were also in love with my husband at one time, remember?” She hadn’t intended mentioning Rod but it slipped out before she could check it.

  “That isn’t true,” Rebecca said, but she did not say it very convincingly.

  “Of course it’s true. Rod himself told me you told him you loved him.”

  “He lied.”

  “Rod never lied to me in his life. Even when I found you both in each other’s arms he admitted that it hadn’t been the first time. I understood him; I understand you.”

  Rebecca looked suddenly contrite. “Rod was different. I was unhappy with George. Rod made me laugh. But it was only a fleeting thing.”

  “For you, perhaps. Although Rod came to me and cried on my shoulder, asking for my forgiveness which I gladly gave—I still think he loves you.”

  “Loves me? Rod’s dead. What difference does all that make now?”

  “Is he dead, Rebecca?” Maggie asked.

  “Of course he’s dead. You know that.”

  “I know nothing of the sort. They never found his body. When I see him buried in the ground I’ll believe he’s dead, but not until then.”

  A Chopin nocturne played softly in the background.

  “I love Rod very much,” Maggie said, letting herself drift into the familiar strains of the haunting melody. “I’ll forgive him anything just so long as he comes back to me. You’ll not have him, Rebecca. I won’t let you take him away from me.”

  “He’s dead, Maggie. Can’t you understand that?”

  “I don’t believe it. I’m no fool, Rebecca. I know what you have up your sleeve but you’ll not get away with it. I’m wise to you.”

  Rebecca stared at her. “What are you talking about? What do I have up my sleeve?”

  Maggie bit her tongue and turned her back on her sister. “There wasn’t any earthquake tonight, you know,” she said.

  “How did you know that?”

  “There wasn’t, was there?”

  “No. When we got into Pinebrook we met Mrs. Johnston and asked about the tremor. She said she didn’t feel anything. Nobody at the cafe had felt it either.”

  “There was an explosion in the cellar. That’s why I was down there.”

  “How did you know there was an explosion?”

  “I smelled something I thought was gunpowder. I’m surprised that neither you nor David mentioned it. It came from the cellar. I went down to investigate.”

  “And?”

  “Someone had blown a small hole in one wall.” She described the condition in which she found the wall behind Heather Lambert’s portrait. She didn’t mention the portrait. Something told her not to.

  “Why would anyone set off an explosion in the cellar?”

  “Why would anyone want to kill poor Sophie?” Maggie let out a sigh. “I don’t know if it was dynamite...it wasn’t that strong a blast. I thought at first it might have been....” She was going to say, “might have been Rod,” but instead, she said, “Oh, I don’t know who it may have been. Someone from the village, perhaps, who’d hidden something there and didn’t want us stumbling upon it.”

  Rebecca looked frightened. “I don’t like it, Maggie. This whole bit is giving me the creeps. Ever since you set foot in this place weird things have been happening. And I for one don’t plan on staying here very long. If you want to stay, then stay. I’m going. Where? I don’t know. But I’m getting out of Heather House, as you call it, before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel that something terrible will happen if we stay here.”

  “And where would you go?”

  “I don’t know that either.” Rebecca hesitated, as though choosing her words carefully and as though she wasn’t sure she should say what she was tempted to say. “I told David about how much I dislike living here. I thought maybe he could suggest something.”

  “And what did David say?”

  “He’s on your side. He thinks I’m crazy to want to leave here.” She paused again. “If you want to know the truth, he thinks you’re the greatest since Cleopatra.”

  Maggie was impressed but refused to let herself show it. “Is that why he drove you home?”

  “Don’t be horrid.”

  “He’s a man, isn’t he?” Maggie said. “He’s never married. He likes something new and different every so often. He’s had you. Now he’ll try to set his cap for me.”

  “You’re wrong. He doesn’t think about you in that way at all. David is more innocent than you think.”

  “Oh, sure.... He’s something right out of a Victorian melodrama, all virtuous and pure. I suppose it was his innocence that invited you into his bed? David McCloud is what was once called a cad. There’s a slightly more distasteful word for his kind today.”

  “Maggie, how rotten of you. David has said nothing but glowing things about you all evening. He thinks most highly of you and you in turn talk about him like he was something that crawled out from the woodwork. How can you hate him and yet throw yourself at him the way you did?”

  “I don’t hate him. In fact, I don’t think I’d actually mind getting to know him better. That way he could compare us and decide who is the better of the two. I think that’s what’s in his mind.”

  “Maggie!” Rebecca’s face was flushed. “I can’t believe my ears. This isn’t you speaking. You’re being monstrous.”

  “No,” Maggie said casually, “just truthful.”

  “Well, don’t you dare throw yourself at David.”

  “Why not?”

  “I won’t permit it, that’s why not.”

  Maggie grinned. “Since when have you decided you can tell me what I can and cannot do? I’ll do exactly as I please, sister dear...just as you have done all of your life.”

  From out of nowhere came the scent of heather and in her mind Maggie saw Heather Lambert proud and defiant in her gilt frame. Maggie heard herself saying, “Don’t you dare interfere with me or you’ll regret it,” in a voice that wasn’t her own.

  Rebecca took a step backward. “Maggie, what’s gotten into you? You’re behaving hatefully.”

  I’m behaving as I should have behaved years ago,” Maggie said. “I’ve spoiled you rotten. I’ve always covered up for you. But no more, Rebecca. You can leave Heather House whenever you wish and you won’t be missed...at least not by me.”

  Rebecca stood there dumbstruck. She couldn’t believe this was the same dear, loving sister she’d known all her life. The woman before her was a stranger. Even her voice was different. She saw the hatred in the eyes, the ugly down-curve of the mouth. “Oh, Maggie, what’s come over you? Something’s happening to you and I don’t know what it is.”

  “I’m thinking of myself for a change. Is that so very wrong?”

  “No, of course it isn’t wrong, but don’t look at me like that. You look as though you hate me.”

  Maggie sudde
nly slumped back against the stereo. “I’m tired, Rebecca. Go to bed.”

  Her sister came over to her and put her arm around Maggie’s shoulder. “No wonder. Finding Sophie....”

  “Please, Rebecca, let’s not talk anymore. I’m very tired.”

  “Of course you’re tired, Maggie. You’ve been working and cooking and cleaning all day, besides your being so distraught about what happened to Sophie.”

  Maggie patted her hand. She could only vaguely remember the things that had been said. It was like a receding echo far back in the inner recesses of her mind. She felt so very drowsy. She needed to sleep. The day was a blur in her memory. Rebecca’s face was a blur. For a moment she was sure it was some other woman’s face, a woman who was a stranger to her and yet not a stranger.

  “Edwina,” Maggie said softly.

  Rebecca cocked her head. “Edwina? Who’s Edwina?”

  Maggie shook herself. “What? What did I say?”

  “You said, ‘Edwina.’”

  “Did I? I wonder why.”

  “Come on,” Rebecca said, “you’re exhausted, let’s go to bed.” She reached behind Maggie and switched off the music.

  “No, you go along. I’ll be all right.” She moved, as though through a vacuum, toward the foyer and the stairs that would take her to her bedroom. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

  As she entered the bedroom, she thought she caught a glimpse of white chiffon with a blur of purple heather drifting swiftly across the room. It seemed to stand poised for a second against the white sheet that covered the broken window.

  Heather...Heather Lambert.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Maggie sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the sheet that covered the broken window. She saw nothing, heard nothing but the dull throbbing of her heart. A strange, swirling noise rushed around inside her head and a dizziness came over her.

  The air in the room was suddenly stifling. She was suffocating. She felt a desperate need for air. The room was still pungent with the odor of burned cloth from the night before.

  The reminder of the fire brought her to her feet. She made her way slowly toward one of the unbroken windows and tried to raise it. It refused to budge. The others, too, refused to surrender to her efforts to open them.

  She went toward the sheet-draped window and ripped the covering away. Strangely enough the air in the room refused to freshen. Nothing seemed to pass into the room from the night outside. It was as if an invisible barrier had been built, holding out the night.

  Something white again moved across her field of vision. The door to the hall was standing open. Now it began to move, threatening to slam shut. Maggie made a dash for it, flinging it back. It banged noisily against the wall, its knob leaving a dent into the plaster.

  She mustn’t let the door close.

  Frantically she looked about the room for something with which to prop it open and spied a small chest of drawers. She put her back against the chest and strained and pushed, sliding it across the rug.

  “Maggie, what on earth?”

  Rebecca was standing in the doorway. The room was as it should be. The air was fresh and clean and cold as it poured through the broken window. Maggie sucked in great quantities of it, filling her lungs, letting it settle her head.

  “What are you doing?” Rebecca glanced at the pulled-down sheet. “Why did you rip the sheet off the window?”

  “I couldn’t breathe. The room was stifling,” Maggie gasped. “And the door...it slammed shut last night and stuck. I couldn’t open it. There must be a draft. It almost blew closed again. I was wedging it open.”

  “Of course there’s a draft, that window’s broken out. Maggie, this room is freezing. Why don’t you come down and sleep with me?”

  “No,” Maggie said. “I’m sleeping here. I’ll be all right now, Rebecca. Go to bed.”

  “No, I insist. You’ll just catch cold sleeping here. Come along. We’ll sleep in my bed. It’ll be like old times. I’ll make us some hot chocolate and we can talk...just like we used to.”

  “No, Rebecca. Really, I’ll be all right now. I’m tired. I don’t want to talk. I just want to sleep.”

  “So we won’t talk then. Please, Maggie. Do it for my sake. Sleep with me. This house makes me nervous. I feel so alone down there.”

  Rebecca came over to her and put her arms around her. “Don’t be angry with me, Maggie. I know I’m nothing but a silly child at times. Don’t lecture me...not anymore tonight. We’ve both had a difficult time of it these past few days and it would be nice just to forget all that’s happened and everything that’s been said and start all over again tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.”

  Maggie dropped onto the edge of the bed, saying nothing.

  “Oh, Maggie. Please don’t make me sleep in this drafty, cold room. I will if you don’t agree to come down and sleep in my room. I just don’t want to be alone.”

  Maggie didn’t want her here in this room that had once been Heather Lambert’s. She didn’t want anyone sleeping in Heather’s bed but herself...and Rod, in time.

  Perhaps Rebecca was right. The room was too cold. She might catch cold. She was always catching a cold. Slowly she got to her feet. “I’ll sleep in your room,” she said resignedly. “Go along. I’ll change and be down in a moment.”

  Rebecca gave her a squeeze. “Thank you, Maggie. You really are good to me.”

  What had happened to her resolution not to give in to Rebecca ever again? Maggie asked herself as she took off the lovely burgundy dress and tossed it over the back of a chair. She remembered a passage she’d once read, though she couldn’t remember the author:

  There is no such thing in man’s nature as a settled and full resolve either for good or evil, except at the very moment of execution.

  My moment of execution is not yet at hand, Maggie reminded herself. She did not rightly understand what was going on in this house. Something was affecting her from time to time, pulling her first in one direction and then in the other, as if opposing forces were fighting over the right to control her.

  She had scoffed at David’s mention of ghosts. Now she was not so eager or so ready to scoff. She felt sure that the ghost of Heather Lambert was trying to influence her, and maybe someone else as well. There was definitely something here. She was certain of that. If it wasn’t a ghost, it was some other spirit, some force, some power or some person controlling her...or trying to.

  Was it this strange spirit, this force, this white, filmy, ghostly figure that had set fire to this room? Was it Heather Lambert who wanted to see her destroyed?

  She met Rebecca at the foot of the steps. Rebecca had two mugs of hot chocolate and some cookies on a tray.

  “I thought these might help you sleep,” Rebecca said.

  “I don’t need anything to help me sleep. I’m almost asleep on my feet as it is.”

  “Nevertheless, a little more inducement can’t hurt. It’ll relax you all the more.”

  Rebecca’s room was stark and narrow and austere. Why she wanted to sleep in it Maggie couldn’t imagine, but after looking closely at it she suspected that her original suspicions were correct. There were French doors leading out onto a terrace that overlooked the patio and the driveway. It would be a simple matter for someone to come and go without anyone else in the house knowing of it.

  “I was thinking about what you found in the basement,” Rebecca said as she propped herself up on pillows and tossed a cookie into her mouth. “What do you think is down there?”

  “I’m too tired to think about it tonight, Rebecca. Go to sleep.”

  “Drink your hot chocolate before it cools off. I put a marshmallow in it, the way you like.”

  With a sigh Maggie reached for the cup of hot chocolate. It was thick and sweet. She took a deep swallow.

  “Maybe this place was used for some kind of smuggling,” Rebecca suggested.

  “Smuggling?” Maggie asked sleepily.

  “Sure. David said the house
has been vacant for a terribly long time. Everyone suspects it’s haunted so nobody comes near here. It would make a perfect spot to hide smuggled goods...or maybe a body.”

  “You’re being overly dramatic. Go to sleep.”

  “Maybe old man Lambert is buried down there.”

  “Louis Lambert went away.”

  “Yes, but nobody saw him go, David says. Maybe this Heather Lambert lady knocked him over the head and she and Sophie carried him down to the cellar.”

  “Oh, really, Rebecca.”

  “It’s possible, you know.... Maybe someone got rid of Sophie for fear she might spill the beans.”

  “But hardly likely. Heather Lambert was supposed to have died of a broken heart. If she killed her husband she wouldn’t continue to pine for him, now would she?”

  “Then maybe it wasn’t Mr. Lambert who Heather and Sophie killed. Maybe Mr. Lambert killed one of Heather’s admirers and ran off.”

  “Why would he run off without Heather if he loved her enough to kill for her?” Maggie finished the hot chocolate and fluffed up her pillow. “Go to sleep. I don’t want to think about all this anymore.”

  “How did you know Heather Lambert died of a broken heart?”

  “The workman who came to fix the window and paint the door was talking about it. Turn off the light, Rebecca.”

  “Why did you have him paint the door white?”

  Maggie yawned. “He said the people around here would look more neighborly on us if we had a white door. Rather than argue I told him to go ahead and paint it.”

  “David told me all kinds of things about this house. Do you want to hear them?”

  Maggie didn’t answer. She kept her breathing even and feigned sleep, which she knew she wouldn’t have to fake for very long, despite Rebecca’s chatter and the horrors of the night. She suddenly felt very peaceful.

  “Mrs. Johnston used to live here. Did you know that?” Rebecca asked. “She moved out when she married that man who’s now in the wheelchair. Some people say old man Lambert frightened her away by trying to make passes at her.” Rebecca giggled. “Who would ever think old Mrs. Johnston was ever pretty enough to attract a man? But David said she wasn’t all that bad when she was young. Right after she got married—or was it just before she got married?—Mr. Lambert ran off with a young girl from Pinebrook. The townspeople were furious. He had a reputation for seducing young things. He must have been some hunk of man. They say Heather Lambert was jealous as the dickens of him.” She glanced over at Maggie and saw her regular breathing. “Are you asleep, Maggie?”