Appealingly Chris gazed into my eyes, making his heart and soul vulnerable for my scorn to injure. "I'd like to hear about our mother's youth, Cathy, so I can understand what made her the way she turned out to be. She wounded us so deeply I feel neither one of us will ever recover until we do understand. I have forgiven her, but I can't forget. I want to understand so I can help you to forgive her . . ."
"Will that help?" I asked sarcastically. "It's too late for understanding or forgiving our mother, and, to be honest, I don't want to find understanding--for if I do, I might have to forgive her."
His arms dropped stiffly to his sides. Turning, he strode away from me. "I'm going out for our luggage now. Take a bath, and by the time you're finished I'll have everything unpacked." At the doorway he paused, not turning to look my way. "Try, really try, to use this as an opportunity to make peace with Bart. He's not beyond restoration, Cathy. You heard him behind the podium. That young man has a remarkable ability for oratory. His words make good sense. He's a leader now, Cathy, when he used to be so shy and introverted. We can count it a blessing that at last Bart has come out of his shell."
Humbly I bowed my head. "Yes, I'll do what I can. Forgive me, Chris, for being unreasonably strongwilled--again."
He smiled and left.
In "her" bath that joined a magnificent dressing room, I slowly disrobed while the black marble sunken tub filled. All about me were gold-framed mirrors to reflect back my nudity. I was proud of my figure, still slim and firm, and my breasts that didn't sag. Stripped of "everything, I lifted my arms to take out the few hairpins still left. Deja vu-like, I pictured my mother as she must have stood, doing this same thing while she thought of her second and younger husband. Had she wondered where he was on the nights he spent with me? Had she known just who Bart's mistress was before my revelations at the Christmas party? Oh, I hoped she had!
An unremarkable dinner came and went.
Two hours later I was in the swan bed that had given me many daydreams, watching Chris undress. True to his word, he'd unpacked everything, hung my clothes as well as his own and stowed our underwear in the bureau. Now he looked tired, slightly unhappy. "Joel told me there will be servants coming for interviews tomorrow. I hope you feel up to that."
Startled, I sat up. "But I thought Bart would do his own hiring."
"No, he's leaving that up to you.
"
"Oh."
Chris hung his suit on the brass valet, again making me think of how much that valet seemed the same one Bart's father had used when he lived here-- or in that other Foxworth Hall. Haunted, that's what I was. Stark naked, Chris headed for the "his" bath. "I'll take a quick shower and join you shortly. Don't fall asleep until I'm through.'
I lay in the semidarkness and stared around me, feeling strangely out of myself. In and out of my mother, I flitted, sensing four children in a locked room overhead in the attic. Feeling the panic and guilt that surely must have been hers while that mean old father below lived on and on, threatening even when he was out of sight. Born bad, wicked, evil. It seemed I heard a whispery voice saying this over and over again. I closed my eyes and tried to stop this craziness. I didn't hear any voices. I didn't hear ballet music playing, I didn't. I couldn't smell the dry, musty scent of the attic. I couldn't. I was fifty-two years old, not twelve, thirteen, fourteen or fifteen.
All the old odors were gone. I smelled only new paint, new wood, freshly applied wallpaper and fabric. New carpets, new scatter rugs, new furniture. Everything new but for the fancy antiques on the first floor. Not the real Foxworth Hall, only an imitation. Yet, why had Joel come back if he liked being a monk so much? Certainly he couldn't want all that money when he'd grown accustomed to monastery austerity. There must be some good reason he was here other than just wanting to see what remained of his family. When the villagers must have told him our mother was dead, still he'd stayed. Waiting his chance to meet Bart? What had he found in Bart that kept him staying on? Even allowing Bart to put him to use as a butler until we had a real one. Then I sighed. Why was I making such a mystery of this when a fortune was involved. Always it seemed money was the reason for doing anything and everything.
Fatigue closed my eyes. I fought off sleep. I needed this time to think of tomorrow, of this uncle come from nowhere. Had we finally gained all that Momma had promised, only to lose it to Joel? If he didn't try to break Momma's will, and we managed to keep what we had, would it carry a price?
In the morning Chris and I descended the right side of the dual staircase, feeling we had at long last come into "our own" and we were finally in control of our lives. He caught my hand and squeezed it, sensing from my expression that this house no longer intimidated me.
We found Joel in the kitchen busily preparing breakfast. He wore a long white apron and cocked on his head was a tall chefs cap. Somehow it looked ludicrous on such a frail, tall, old man. Only fat men should be chefs, I thought, even as I felt grateful to have him take on a chore I'd never really liked.
"I hope you like Eggs Benedict," said Joel without glancing our way. To my surprise, his Eggs Benedict were wonderful. Chris had two servings. Then Joel was showing us rooms not yet decorated. He smiled at me crookedly. "Bart told me you like informal rooms with comfortable furniture, and he wants you to make these empty rooms cozy, in your own inimitable style."
Was he mocking me? He knew Chris and I were here only for a visit. Then I realized perhaps Bart might want me to help with the decorating and was reluctant to say so himself.
When I asked Chris if Joel could break our mother's will and take from Bart the money he felt so necessary for his self-esteem, Chris shook his head, admitting he really didn't know all the ins and outs of legal ramifications when a "dead" heir came back to life.
"Bart could give Joel enough money to see him through the few years he has left," I said, wracking my brain to remember every word of my mother's last will and testament. No mention of her older brothers, whom she'd believed dead.
When I came back from my thoughts, Joel was in the kitchen again, having found what he wanted in the pantry stocked with enough to feed a hotel. He spoke in reply to a question Chris had asked and I hadn't heard. His voice was somber. "Of course, the house isn't exactly the same, for no one uses wooden pegs for nails anymore. I put all the old furniture in my quarters. I don't really belong, so I'm going to stay in the servants' quarters over the garages
"I've already said you shouldn't do that," said Chris with a frown. "It just wouldn't be right to let a family member live in such frugal style." Already we'd seen the huge garage, and the servants' quarters above could hardly be called frugal, just small
Let him! I wanted to shout, but I said nothing.
Before I knew what was happening, Chris had Joel established on the second floor in the western wing. I sighed, somehow regretful that Joel would be under the same roof with us. But it would be all right; as soon as our curiosity was satisfied and Bart celebrated his birthday, we'd leave with Cindy for Hawaii.
In the library around two in the afternoon, Chris and I settled down to interview the man and woman who came with excellent references. There wasn't any fault I could find, except something furtive in both pairs of eyes. Uneasily I fidgeted from the way they looked so knowingly at both of us. "Sorry," said Chris, catching the slight negative gesture I made,' "but we've already decided on another couple."
Husband and wife stood up to go. The woman turned in the doorway to give me a long, meaningful look. "I live in the village, Mrs. Sheffield," she said coldly. "Been there only five years, but we've heard a great deal about the Foxworths who live on the hill." What she said made me turn my head away. "Yes, I'm sure you have," said Chris dryly.
The woman snorted before she slammed the door behind them.
Next came a tall, aristocratic man with upright military bearing, immaculately dressed down to the slightest detail. He strode in and politely waited until Chris asked him to sit down.