Part 12 (1/2)
”How did she do that?” Anniemae exclaimed.
”It was a mechanism concealed in the floor, Ma'am,” Sam told her, retrieving Mrs. Nightengale's napkin. ”Triggered counterweights behind the paneling. There's secret pa.s.sages all over this house! She designed them herself, you know. my mistress is a most ingenious lady.”
”What happens now?” asked Annimae, looking about herself forlornly.
”Why I'll serve you the rest of your luncheon, Ma'am,” said Sam. ”And then I'll just clear away the mistress's place, and take myself off to the kitchen. You want anything, you just ring.”
”Please-” said Annimae, suddenly afraid to be left alone in this glittering room full of unseen presences. ”Won't you stay and talk to me? I need to know things-” And she almost caked him boy, but it did seem to her ridiculous, as august and white-haired as he was. And, mindful of his bent back, she added: ”You can sit down while we speak, if you like. And you can have some dinner, too. I mean-luncheon!”
He smiled at her, and the white flash from his teeth winked in every mirrored surface in the room.
”Thank you , Ma'am, I surely will.”
He served out filet of sole to her, then drew up a chair and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Settling back with a sigh, he explained the complex system by which the house ran.
On no account must any room ever be approached in the same way twice. There were a dozen different ways to reach any single destination in the house, and until she memorized them all, either he or another of the servants would guide her. There was no map, lest the dead see it and find their way where they weren't wanted; in any case no map would remain accurate for long, because rooms were continuously being remodeled in order to confuse the dead. Doors and windows were put in and taken out at the direction of the good spirits. Chambers were sealed off and reopened. Some doors opened on blank walls, or into s.p.a.ce, even three stories up, so she must be careful; stairs might lead nowhere, or take a dozen turns and landings to go up only one floor.
”I never knew there were such things,” said Annimae, feeling as though her head were spinning.
”Oh, folk have always protected themselves from haunts, Ma'am,” said Sam, leaning over to serve her a slice of coconut pie. He took a slice of bread for himself. ”Horseshoes over the door for good luck, eh? And the red thread, and the witchball, and the clover with the four leaves? They keep away all harm, so people say. Mistress just has the money to do it on a big scale, all modern and scientific too.”
”Scientific,” Annimae repeated, impressed.
He looked at her a long moment, over his smoked spectacles.
”Don't you be afraid,” he said at last. ”Just you do like you been told, and it will all fall out pretty as any fairy tale. Romance and a happy ending, yes indeed.”
”Can you tell me more about Daniel?” asked Annimae. ”Is he handsome?”
Sam shrugged.
”I reckon he is, Ma'am. I haven't laid eves on the master since he was a baby. But he has a beautiful voice, now. How he sings for love of you!”
”When may I go see-that is, when may I meet him?” Annimae set down her napkin. ”Can you take me there now7?”
Sam coughed slightly, and rose to his feet. ”That would be my old woman's business, Ma'am. You wait; I'll send her.”
He left the room, and Annimae s.h.i.+vered. She looked about and met her own timid gaze everywhere.
For the first time, she noticed the motif that was repeated on the fine china, in the carpet pattern, in the mosaic arrangement of the mirrored bits and even in the panes of gla.s.s that made up the skylight: spiderwebs, perfect geometric cells radiating out from an empty center.
She scarce had time to contemplate the meaning of all this before a door opened and a woman all in black strode in briskly, upright though she too was very old. Her hair must have been red as fire when she'd been a girl, for a few strands of that color trailed still through the rest, which was white as smoke; and her eyes behind their dark spectacles were the hot blue of candle flames.
”I'm to take you to himself, now, Ma'am, am I?” she inquired, politely enough; but her eyes flashed dangerously when Annimae put her hands to her mouth in horror.
”You're Sam's wife? But-!”
The old woman looked scornful as she curtsied. ”Bridget Lacroix. Bless you, Ma'am, you needn't be surprised. There's no scandal at all in me marrying Sam Lacroix. Don't you know how many of us Irish came to Ameri-kay as slaves? White chimpanzees, that's all we are; or so that fine Mr. Kingsley said.
And if the mistress don't mind it, I'm sure you shouldn't.”
”I am so sorry!” said Annimae, much distressed. ”I never meant offense.”
Bridget looked her over shrewdly. ”No, I don't suppose you did. Sam told me you was innocent as a little baby. But it's time you grew up, me dear.” She grinned. ”Especially as it's your wedding day.”
She led Annimae out of the dining room and through another, where jets of flame burned brilliantly in wall-mounted gla.s.s globes. The globes were all colors, hung with prisms that threw swaying rainbows everywhere. And there were more windows set in the walls, stained gla.s.s repeating the spiderweb pattern Annimae had noticed before. They, too, were lit from behind by the strange cold light she had wondered at in the chapel. Annimae, who had only ever seen candles and kerosene lamps after dark, exclaimed: ”What is this place?”
”O, this is just the Room of Eternal Day,” said Bridget. ”The dead don't like pa.s.sing through a place so bright, and it shows up that they haven't any shadows besides, and that embarra.s.ses 'em, don't you know. All very up-to- date in here! That's gaslight, of course, but for the windows she's laid on that new electrical light. Clever, isn't it?”
They went on through that room, and came to another that was lined floor to ceiling with clocks, and nothing else. Great inlaid grandfather clocks stood in the corners and ticked solemnly; French bisque clocks sat on shelves and ticked elegantly, as painted Harlequins and Columbines revolved atop them; old wooden regulator clocks thumped along wearily; and little cheap bra.s.s clocks beat away the seconds brightly. But no two clocks were set to the same time.
”How strange!” cried Annimae, and Bridget chuckled and said: ”O, this is the Room of All Time and None. It's just to confound the dead. They work very particular s.h.i.+fts, what with midnight being the witching hour and all. If one of 'em strays in to see what o'clock it is, he'll be stuck here guessing with all his might and main.”
They left that room and soon came to another, no less curious. There was no spiderweb motif here; rather the recurring image was of a tiny white moth or b.u.t.terfly but it was repeated everywhere. It figured in the wallpaper pattern like so many snowflakes, it was woven into the design of the carpet, and into the brocade of the chairs and the inlay of the tables and cabinets, and etched into the very window gla.s.s. The curio cabinets held nothing but pressed specimens of white moths, displayed against a blue velvet background.
”What on earth are all these b.u.t.terflies for?” asked Annimae.
”O, it's only the Soul Trap,” said Bridget. ”Because, you see, the nasty dead are a bit stupid, and they have a compulsion to count things. Any haunt comes through here, here he must stay until he's numbered every blessed one of the little creatures. Generally by then the ghost will have forgot whatever wickedness he was up to.”
”What a good idea,” said Annimae, because she could not imagine what else to say.
They proceeded deeper into the house, and as they did it grew dimmer and dimmer, for there were no windows nor light fixtures here, and the corridors turned and turned again ever inward. At last Bridget was only a shadow beside her, that cleared its throat and said: ”Now then, Sam told me you might want a little learning. You know, don't you, what it is a bride does with her husband?”
”Well,” said Annimae, ”As nearly as I recollect, we're supposed to fall on each other with kisses of pa.s.sion.”
”Hm. Yes, me dear, that's how it starts.”
As far as Annimae had been aware, there was nothing more; and in some panic, she racked her brains for what else happened in books and poems.
”I believe that then I'm supposed to swoon away in a transport of love,” she said.
”So you must,” said Bridget, sounding exasperated. ”But there's a great deal goes on between the kissing and swooning, sure. Think of what the stallion does with the mare.”
”Oh,” said Annimae, who had seen that many a time. She walked on in thoughtful silence, drawing certain conclusions, so intent that she scarcely noticed when it became pitch dark at last. Bridget had to take her hand and lead her through the fathomless gloom.
Soon they heard glorious music, close by but m.u.f.fled. Someone was playing a Spanish guitar with great virtuosity, each note chiming like a bell even through the wall's thickness.
”Why, who's that?” asked Annimae.
”O, the jewel, the darling! He's serenading his bride,” Bridget exclaimed with great tenderness. There was a sound suggesting that she had put out her hand and was sliding it along the wall as they walked.
Presently she stopped, and rapped twice.
The music halted at once. An eager voice said: ”Annimae?”
”She's here, charming boy,” said Bridget. ”Hurry now, while it's safe.”
There was a click, and then a rush of air that smelted of gentlemen's cologne. Annimae felt herself prodded gently forward, closer to the scent, into a warmer darkness. Something clicked again, behind her now. She fought back a moment of wild terror, realizing she had been locked in; but at once warm hands took her own, and they felt so live and steady that her fear melted away. She touched the wedding ring on his finger.