Hellfire

7

“I’m fine,” Carolyn Sturgess insisted, gazing at her husband fondly, but with just a touch of annoyance. “This is all a bit ridiculous.”

Phillip merely leaned down to adjust one of the pillows, and brushed her forehead with his lips. “It’s not ridiculous. You heard what Dr. Blanchard said.”

“Of course I heard what he said,” Carolyn groused. “He said I should take it easy, which I fully intend to do. And I’m perfectly willing to admit that I probably shouldn’t have gone blundering through the underbrush, given my condition. But I didn’t know about my condition, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” Phillip agreed. “But now you do, and I intend to see to it that you don’t go against doctor’s orders.”

Carolyn glanced around the big bedroom, and fleetingly wondered if Phillip really intended her simply to lie here for the next seven months, forcing Hannah to carry her meals up the stairs three times a day. But of course, she realized, he wouldn’t intend that at all.

He’d bring the meals himself.

And an ambulance to bring her home from the hospital. That, too, was just like Phillip.

She’d felt perfectly capable of walking out of the hospital, getting into the car, and driving herself home, but Phillip had insisted on a wheelchair and an ambulance, and it had been easier to give in than to argue with him.

Once they’d arrived at Hilltop, though, she’d wished she had argued, for there was Alan, just leaving the house after driving Beth home. The look of concern on his face when he’d first seen her had quickly given way to amusement, and she’d waited for him to make some allusion to Camille or Wuthering Heights. The fact that he’d confined himself to an arched eyebrow hadn’t made her feel any less foolish.

Now, she looked up at Phillip and shook her head. “I won’t do it, you know. You can’t stand guard over me through an entire pregnancy, and as soon as your back is turned, I’ll be up and about my business. All that happened was that I fainted. Even Dr. Blanchard didn’t think I was in any danger of losing the baby.”

“We’re not going to take any chances—” Phillip protested, but Carolyn didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t intend to take any chances,” she insisted. “If I’d known I was pregnant, I wouldn’t have gone with Beth.” Then she narrowed her eyes mischievously. “Or are you trying to say that I’m too old to be having a baby?”

Phillip reddened. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Carolyn broke in, suddenly unable to contain her laughter any longer. “It’s all just too silly, darling. I’m starting to feel like I’m stuck in a movie or something. I keep expecting you to start using phrases like ‘in a family way’ or refer to my ‘delicate condition.’ It’s just all so Victorian, that’s all.”

“I suppose we should expect you to feel that way,” another voice said, and Carolyn looked up to see Abigail Sturgess standing in the doorway. “But after what happened to our dear Lorraine, you can’t really blame Phillip for being concerned, can you?”

Carolyn’s mouth tightened in anger as she saw the misery that came over Phillip’s face, and she reached out to take his hand in her own. “I know you’re concerned for me, Abigail,” she said smoothly. “But I have no intention of losing the baby, or of dying in delivery.”

“Of course not,” Abigail agreed, her thin lips curving in a cool smile. “And you needn’t worry about anything. I shall see to it that everything in the house runs exactly as it should.”

For a moment the two women’s eyes met, and then Carolyn sighed, and allowed herself to sink into the pillows. “I’m sure you will, Abigail,” she said softly. “I’m sure you’ll run everything exactly as Lorraine would have wanted it.” Through eyes that were nearly closed, she saw the old woman watching her, and felt for a moment like a mouse being examined by a coiled cobra. But then, her appetite apparently satisfied for the moment, Abigail turned, and stiffly left the room. Only when Carolyn was sure that Abigail was out of earshot did she speak again.

“I’m sorry, Phillip. I shouldn’t have mentioned Lorraine.”

Her husband’s forehead wrinkled into a sympathetic frown. “She’s the one who brought Lorraine up, not you. Now, just get some rest, and don’t worry about anything. Promise?”

“I promise. And you have to promise not to start mother-henning me. Hannah’s perfectly capable of doing that.”

As if to prove the point, the old housekeeper elbowed the door open, then came into the room, a pot of tea balanced on a bed tray. “See?” Carolyn asked, then hitched herself back into a sitting position as Hannah set the tray over her legs. “Thank you, Hannah. But please don’t start treating me as if I’m sick.”

“Who says you’re sick?” Hannah retorted. “Being pregnant and being sick are two different things — despite what some people think. But a nice pot of tea never hurt anybody.” She poured two cups, and handed one to Phillip. “And as for Miss Tracy’s party, I don’t want you to worry about anything. I can take care of it all. Although I must say,” she added, making no attempt to keep the grumpiness out of her voice, “changing it from Sunday to Saturday isn’t going to make my life any easier.”

“Changing it?” Carolyn asked. “Hannah, what on earth are you talking about?”

Hannah peered at Carolyn for a moment; then her eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean Mrs. Sturgess didn’t talk to you about it?”

“She hasn’t talked to me about anything,” Carolyn replied.

“But Miss Tracy said—” Hannah began, then abruptly fell silent, her lips closing tightly.

“Said what, Hannah?” Phillip urged. “It’s all right. What did Tracy say?”

“I don’t like to talk out of turn,” Hannah mumbled. She busied herself refolding the already perfectly folded bedspread.

Phillip opened his mouth to speak again, but Carolyn held up a restraining hand. “Hannah, telling us about a change in Tracy’s birthday plans is hardly speaking out of turn. Now, what is this about changing the party from Sunday to Saturday?”

Hannah hesitated, then repeated what Tracy had said in the kitchen that morning. “She told me that Mrs. Sturgess was going to talk to you,” she finished. “It just must have been forgotten in all the excitement. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d better get back to my kitchen.”

She bustled out of the room. Neither Carolyn nor Phillip said a word for a moment. Finally Phillip spoke.

“Did Mother talk to you about switching the party?”

“No,” Carolyn replied. “She didn’t.”

“Well, I’m sure there was a reason for the change—” Phillip began, but fell silent as Carolyn pushed the tray to the foot of the bed and threw back the covers.

“There was a reason,” she agreed, swinging her feet off the bed and getting shakily to her feet. “And I intend to put a stop to it right now.”

Phillip set his teacup on the bed table, and rose to steady his wife. “Hey, take it easy. Whatever it is can wait. Let me deal with it.”

“But it can’t wait,” Carolyn insisted. “And I have to deal with it myself.” She began struggling into her robe, then met her husband’s eyes. “Don’t you see? There’s a very simple reason why they changed the party, and why Abigail didn’t tell me. Oh, I’m sure she would have — on Saturday morning, right after Beth left to spend the day with Alan!” Her eyes blazed with anger, and her mouth twisted into a parody of Abigail’s supercilious smile. “I can hear her now: ‘Oh, Carolyn dear, didn’t I tell you? Tracy’s party is going to be today. Such a pity Beth will miss it.’ Only it’s not going to happen that way!”

“You don’t think—”

“Of course that’s what I think, Phillip. And if you think about it, you’ll know I’m right. Tracy doesn’t want Beth at her party, and Abigail’s figured out a way to give Tracy what she wants.”

Now it was Phillip’s eyes that glittered with anger. “I’ll deal with Mother myself. In fact, I’ll deal with both of them. This has all gone far enough.” He turned and started out of the room, but Carolyn stopped him.

“No, Phillip. I’ve got to do it myself. What’s happening in this house is between Abigail and me, and I can’t hide behind you. Abigail will only see that as weakness, and hate me more than she already does.”

“And what about Tracy? Isn’t she part of it?”

“Tracy takes her lead from your mother. I’m not going to say a word to her about it. I’m going to let Abigail do that.”

Phillip smiled. “It’ll be the first time in years that Mother’s had to go back on a promise to Tracy. Maybe it’ll be good for both of them. But you’re sure you don’t want me to take care of it?” he added, his voice anxious. “You should be in bed.”

“I’ll be fine,” Carolyn promised him. Tying the belt of her robe firmly around her waist, she left Phillip alone in the bedroom.

Carolyn found Abigail in the library, sitting placidly in a chair by the window, a book open on her lap. The old woman glanced up, then, surprised, put the book aside.

“Why, Carolyn,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Perhaps I should,” Carolyn replied. “But right now, I’m afraid you and I need to have a little talk, Abigail.” For the first time in her memory, Carolyn saw uncertainty flicker in the old lady’s eyes.

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait,” Abigail began.

“No, it can’t,” Carolyn said softly. She closed the door behind her, then moved across the room to lower herself into the chair opposite her mother-in-law. “We’ll talk now, Abigail.”

“Very well,” Abigail said. Her voice was chilly, but her eyes darted nervously toward the closed door. “And just what is it you’d like to discuss? The weather? It seems to be a nice afternoon—”

“Nice enough for a birthday party,” Carolyn interrupted, matching the old lady’s smile. “I do hope the weather holds until Sunday, don’t you?”

Abigail’s eyes widened for a split second, but then she recovered herself. “I meant to talk to you about that,” she said. “But of course after what happened, I didn’t want to worry you with something so petty.”

“ ‘Petty’ does seem to be the right word, I suppose,” Carolyn mused, letting her eyes drift around the room. For once, she knew, Abigail was on the defensive.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abigail replied, but her nervousness betrayed her.

“And I’m sure you do.” Carolyn’s eyes moved back to the old woman. Abigail sat stiffly in the armchair, her posture rigidly erect. “Abigail, all this has to stop. I know what you think of me, and I know what you think of Beth. But I am married to Phillip, and that’s not going to change. I am also Tracy’s stepmother, and I would like that to be a pleasant relationship for both her and myself. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop interfering.”

Abigail expertly feigned puzzlement. “Carolyn, I don’t know what all this is about, and I do wish you’d explain it to me. Whatever has happened, I’m sure we can straighten it out. Now, why don’t you just start at the beginning—”

“No, Abigail. I’ve already taken care of it. I was just in the kitchen, where I told Hannah that Tracy’s party will be on Sunday afternoon, as planned. I do hope it won’t inconvenience Tracy, having to call all her friends again.” Now Carolyn saw the cold fury in the old woman’s eyes, which Abigail made no attempt to hide.

“Except that Tracy will not be calling them again,” Abigail rasped. “The fact that I failed to mention the change to you is my fault. There’s no reason why Tracy should suffer. All the plans have been made, and Hannah has everything under control. I really fail to see the problem.”

“The problem is that Beth will be with her father on Saturday afternoon, as she always is. A fact both you and Tracy are perfectly aware of.”

“Are we?” Abigail replied, allowing her voice to turn venomous. “I think you lend your child’s activities an importance they don’t deserve, my dear.”

Carolyn smiled benignly, betraying none of her inner fury. “The same might be said of your attitude about Tracy, Abigail. At any rate, that’s not the issue. The fact of the matter is simply this: Tracy’s party will take place on Sunday afternoon, or it will not take place at all.”

Abigail’s eyes flashed with pure hatred now. “If that’s what you and Phillip have decided, I’m sure there’s nothing I can do about it,” she said. “Perhaps you’d better tell Tracy about the change in plans. I believe she’s outside playing tennis.”

“I’ll tell her,” Carolyn replied. “And I’ll be sure to be as careful about telling her as you were about telling me.”

“I had intended to tell you!” Abigail fumed.

“All right,” Carolyn sighed. “Have it your own way, if it’s so important to you. But you’re wasting your time, and making life harder for all of us.”

“Am I?” Abigail asked, her voice icy. She rose to her feet and, grasping her cane, started toward the French doors. “Perhaps I am. But perhaps I’m not. I don’t know why Phillip married you, Carolyn, but I do know that he is still my son, and still a Sturgess. In time, he will come to his senses. As to the party, I shall explain things to Tracy myself, and we shall deal with the situation. And hereafter, I shall do my best to protect Tracy, and bring her up in a manner of which Lorraine would approve.” Leaving Carolyn still sitting in her chair, Abigail swept regally out of the room.

But she’s dead, Carolyn wanted to scream. Don’t you understand that Lorraine is dead? But, of course, it wasn’t Lorraine at all. It was Abigail herself, desperately trying to hang on to a way of life that had all but disappeared. Carolyn sighed once more, feeling suddenly worn out. She allowed herself to sink deeper into the chair.

Like so much of the furniture in the old house, the overstuffed wing chair needed reupholstering. Nothing had been repaired or refurbished here for years, for Abigail refused to see how threadbare it had all become. The old woman saw only the splendor of her youth, when the house had been staffed by a butler, five maids, a cook, and a gardening staff.

Now all that was left were Hannah and Ben Smithers, who did their best to cope with all the work that had to be done, aided occasionally by a few people who came in part-time when things could be put off no longer.

But Abigail wouldn’t see it. Sometimes, as now, when she was feeling dispirited by the constant battle, Carolyn thought that nothing would change until the day Abigail finally died.

And sometimes Carolyn was certain that Abigail would live forever.

Abigail flung open the French doors, stepped out onto the terrace, and looked down toward the tennis court, where Tracy, dressed in spotless whites, was playing with Alison Babcock. Abigail watched the game for a few minutes, remembering the days before concrete courts, when the young ladies and gentlemen of her own generation had played genteel lawn tennis here — days long ago that Abigail still missed sorely. How much more civilized life had been then. Life went on, some things never changed. That was what Carolyn would never understand. She would never understand that being a Sturgess was something special, with rights and privileges that had to be protected. To Carolyn, the Sturgesses were just like anyone else.

Abigail knew better, and always had.

And Tracy knew it, too.

The game ended, and Tracy, grinning joyfully, was running toward her.

“Three sets, Grandmother,” she crowed. “I won three straight sets!”

“Good for you,” Abigail told her. “Why don’t I have Hannah bring us some lemonade, and we can sit for a while?”

Tracy’s face immediately crumpled. “But Alison and I wanted to go to the club. Her mom’s picking us up.”

“Well, I’m sure a few minutes won’t matter, and I want to talk to you about something.”

“What?” Tracy asked. “Why can’t we talk about it later?”

“Because I think we’d better talk about it now,” Abigail replied in a tone that warned Tracy not to push her luck too far. Reluctantly, the girl accompanied her grandmother to a small wrought-iron table surrounded by four chairs, and sat down.

“I’m afraid our little plan didn’t work out quite the way we intended,” Abigail began. “Carolyn has changed your party back to Sunday.”

Tracy’s eyes flared dangerously. “But she can’t do that! I’ve already told everyone it’s Saturday!”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Abigail replied. “But there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do. Beth is going to be here. And,” she added, smiling tightly, “I shall expect you and your friends to treat her exactly as I would myself.”

Tracy’s eyes clouded threateningly, but then, as she began to understand, a smile spread over her face. “We will, Grandmother,” she replied. A horn sounded from the front of the house, and Tracy leaped to her feet. “Is it okay if I go now, Grandmother?”

“Of course,” Abigail replied. Tracy bent over, and the old woman gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “You have a good time, and don’t worry about the party. I’m sure you know exactly what to do.”

When Tracy was gone, Abigail suddenly had a sense of being watched, and turned.

Standing at the French doors, looking at her thoughtfully, was Carolyn.

It doesn’t matter, Abigail told herself. Even if she heard, she won’t know what I was telling the child. The woman doesn’t even speak our language.

Beth retreated to her room right after dinner that evening. The meal itself had been horrible — her mother hadn’t come down at all, and she’d had to sit at the table, picking at her food, while Tracy glared at her and old Mrs. Sturgess ignored her. Uncle Phillip had been nice to her, but every time he started to talk to her, Tracy had interrupted him. Finally, pretending that she didn’t feel well, she’d asked to be excused.

Now she lay sprawled on her bed, trying to read a book, the radio playing softly in the background. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and Beth rolled over and guiltily switched the radio off. A second later the door opened. With relief, Beth saw that it was not Tracy this time.

Phillip stuck his head inside. “Okay if I come in?”

Beth nodded. “I’m sorry the radio was too loud. I didn’t think anyone could hear it.”

Phillip’s brow knit into a frown. “It isn’t even on, is it?”

“I turned it off. I was afraid Tracy—” Then she fell silent, suddenly embarrassed.

“Tracy’s downstairs, listening to the stereo in the music room,” Phillip replied. “If you want the radio on, turn it on.”

“I don’t want to bother anyone.”

Phillip hesitated, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “How come it’s not all right for you to bother anyone, but it’s all right for everyone else to bother you?”

Beth regarded her stepfather shyly. “But it’s Tracy’s house.”

“It’s your house too, Beth,” Phillip told her. “And it seems to me you ought to be sticking up for yourself a little more. Your mother can’t fight all your battles for you.”

Beth looked away, then felt Phillip’s hand on her shoulder. She started to pull away, but couldn’t. Finally she turned to face him again. “I … I just don’t know what to do,” she said. “I want to do the right thing, but all that ever happens is that I mess it up. Like this morning, down at the stable.”

“All that happened down there was that you didn’t know what you were doing. And whatever Tracy might have said, there wasn’t any harm done. In fact, I’ll bet Patches was happy to get out of the stall, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. Most of the time, all she does is just stand there.” He smiled reassuringly. “Would you like to learn how to ride her?”

Beth’s eyes widened eagerly. “Could I?”

“I don’t see why not. In fact, if you want to, we could go out tomorrow morning. We can both get up early and have breakfast with Hannah, and be back before anyone else even knows we’re gone. What do you say?”

“That would be neat!”

“Then it’s a date,” Phillip said. He stood up, and started toward the door. “And for God’s sake, turn the radio back on. This place is too big, and too quiet.” Then he was gone, and Beth was alone again.

She switched the radio back on, then flopped over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Suddenly, for the first time since Tracy had come home, she felt a little better. Maybe if Uncle Phillip really would teach her to ride …

With the radio playing softly, she drifted into sleep.

When she woke up, the dream was still clear in her mind.

She lay still, thinking about it, reliving it, then rolled over to switch off the radio that was still humming softly on the nightstand.

She had been back in the mill, but it hadn’t been at all the way she remembered it from this afternoon.

Instead, it had been filled with people working at all kinds of machinery she’d never seen before. But they hadn’t seemed to be able to see her, and she’d wandered around for a long time, watching them work.

And then, faintly, she’d heard someone calling to her. The voice had been muffled at first, and she’d barely been able to hear it. But as she’d wandered toward the back of the building, the voice had grown stronger. She’d suddenly realized that it was coming from downstairs.

She’d gone to the top of the stairs, and listened, hearing faintly but distinctly, the voice, calling to her again.

But then, as she’d started down the stairs, a hand had fallen on her shoulder.

“You can’t go down there,” a man’s voice said.

She had stared up into the face of the man, and realized that he looked strangely familiar. His hair was iron gray and there was a hardness in his eyes that frightened her.

“But I have to,” she’d protested weakly. “Someone’s calling me.”

“You can’t go down there,” the man had said again.

Then the voice had called to Beth again, and she’d struggled with the man, trying to twist away from his grip. But it hadn’t done any good. The man’s hands had only tightened on her, and begun dragging her away from the stairs.

And then, with the voice from the basement still ringing in her ears, she’d awakened.

Now, in the silence of the room, with the darkness of the night gathered around her, she could almost hear the voice again, still calling to her, even though she was awake.

She got up from the bed, and went to the window, peering out into the night.

A full moon hung in the sky, and the village, its lights twinkling, lay spread out below. In the distance, almost lost in the darkness, was the dark silhouette of the mill.

Beth waited, half-expecting to see the same strange light glowing from it that she’d seen from the mausoleum this morning, but tonight there was nothing.

She watched for several long minutes, then finally turned away and began undressing. But when she finally slipped under the covers and closed her eyes, the memory of the dream came back to her once more. Once more she heard the strange voice calling out to her, a strangled, needy cry.

“Beeettthhh. Beeettthhh …”

And in the depths of her memory, the same voice echoed back, calling out the other word, the word she had seemed to hear in the mill that afternoon.

“Aaaaammmyyy …”

Amy.

Amy was calling to her. Amy needed her.

But who was Amy?

As Beth tossed in her bed, trying to fall back into sleep, she knew that somehow she would have to go back to the mill. She had to find out.