Domino. Part 8

"I don't know what you mean," I said.

"I was thinking of the roundabout way in which Mark Ingram came to Jasper."

"Gail!" There was a warning in Caleb's voice.

She chose to ignore it. "Oh, it's open knowledge, and very strange, really. If Mr. Ingram hadn't happened somewhere along the line to run into Noah Armand, he would never have heard about this place. But once he knew about it, he couldn't wait to come up here to have a look. And then, later, when he could manage it-a year or so ago-he came back, with most of his negotiations completed. Mrs. Morgan let the rest of Jasper go out of her hands years ago, so he had no trouble buying it up, as well as most of Domino. Mrs. Morgan still owns a house there, and of course the mine. The coincidence of Ingram's meeting Noah Armand is interesting, isn't it? I've always wondered how it happened. If it hadn't been for that, Ingram would probably have gone somewhere else and wouldn't be here now to upset so many applecarts."

Noah. Always Noah.

"Who told you all this?" Caleb asked, and his tone was so strange, so fraught with emotion, that I stared at him and saw how pale he had grown.

Gail seemed not to notice. "Oh, I don't know," she said airily. "I guess it's pretty common knowledge. There's so little to do around here that I go over to the hotel sometimes when I'm off duty just to talk to someone. Or perhaps Mrs. Morgan told me. Sometimes she can run on and on, and I hardly listen."

I spoke to Caleb. "What was he like-my grandmother's second husband?"

He looked pale and upset. "I'd prefer not to talk about him."

"Then I'll ask my grandmother," I said.

"No, don't." He spoke quickly. "All she wants is to forget that man ever came here, and that she made the mistake of marrying him."

"But what was he like?"

Caleb considered reluctantly before he answered. "Morose. Thin and dark. Good-looking, I suppose. Women always thought so. He was an opportunist for as long as I knew him."

I hadn't thought Caleb Hawes capable of deep anger, but I could hear it now in his voice. I had roiled depths that he usually concealed.

"Why did Persis Morgan marry him?" I asked.

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"I've always wondered what she saw in him. Her husband had died years before, and Noah knew his way around women. He was many years younger than Mrs. Morgan, and once he was here she couldn't see anyone else. She wouldn't listen to any of us. He'd been legally divorced-my father looked into that. Nothing we could say bothered your grandmother. All her life she's done as she pleased. So she married Noah Armand."

"Was she happy with him?"

The anger was still there. "I suppose so-for a while."

"How did the marriage end? What happened to him?"

Caleb was silent for so long that I thought he might choose not to answer. Gail was waiting too, almost avidly.

"We don't really know what became of him," he said at last. "He simply-left. Suddenly. Just the way he came, and we never heard of him again."

He wasn't telling me all of it, I knew, and I knew as well that it would be useless to probe further just now.

"It was probably a good thing that he left," Gail said. "I understand that your father never liked him, Laurie."

"How can you possibly know that?" Caleb asked sharply.

Gail's look was innocently blank. "It must have been Mrs. Morgan in one of her talkative moods. I heard it somewhere."

"Was my father here very much after my grandmother remarried? He died when I was only two, and-"

Caleb started to speak, and then was silent.

"He died in this house, Laurie," Gail said softly. "Don't you even remember that?"

"How could I when I was so small?"

Caleb found his voice. "Never mind all that! Gail, don't you think you'd better go upstairs to Mrs. Morgan now?"

"Yes, I plan to look in on her again. But when I told her we might go riding, she said to just go and leave her alone. You do want to ride up the valley this morning, don't you, Laurie?"

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"I'd like to very much, but I want to wait until Hillary comes. I want him to meet my grandmother."

"You'd better make that later. She's not feeling well, and she doesn't want to see anyone. She said so. I'll run up and look in on her, and I'll ask when she wants to see you."

"I'll go with you," Caleb said. "Will you excuse us, Laurie?"

There was a determination in his manner that stopped any objection Gail might have offered in her role as nurse, and they went upstairs together. They neither liked nor trusted each other, these two, and yet they sometimes seemed allied against me.

It was a relief to finish my breakfast alone and try to forget our thoroughly unpleasant conversation. When I left the table I went searching for a telephone. Perhaps I'd better phone Hillary and let him know we were planning an early ride. Now, after what had been said about Mark Ingram, I was all the more interested in seeing Domino. But I wanted Hillary with me on the ride up the valley. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with Gail Cullen. When we returned, there would be time enough for him to visit Persis Morgan.

Except for a clatter from the kitchen, the house seemed quiet as I stepped into the hall. Perhaps the telephone was out here. I wandered the length of the hall and found myself once more before the closed door to the rear parlor. Idly I tried the k.n.o.b, and this time it turned under my hand.

For just a moment I nearly panicked. Then I thrust back the feeling of fright and opened the door.

An odor of mothb.a.l.l.s and stale air greeted me, and the only light came from the doorway. When I reached along the wall and found a switch, the crystal chandelier came to life, shedding radiance over dark furniture, over heavy, closed draperies done in a red that was almost black. The carpet was worn in several places, and there were throw rugs here and there, covering spots that must have raveled through.

io6 I had been here before.

The recollection of a room that had seemed enormous to me as a child swept back, but now my perspective had changed. It wasn't all that large-not nearly so big as the front parlor.

From the walls dark pictures looked down, and I experienced a flash of recognition toward one in particular. It was a huge engraving-a scene from Hamlet-with a tragic young man in black doublet and hose, turning his back on a white-gowned, piteous Ophelia strewing flowers. I could almost recall the stirrings of imagination I had felt in studying the picture, the wondering I had done about these two tragic figures.

But on all else in the room I drew only a blank, a total lack of recall. Or was it that? Was there also an uneasiness in me, even though my conscious mind saw nothing it seemed to pick up and remember? Had a shade been drawn down sharply in my unconscious to keep me from seeing? To protect me from remembering? Was it all there underneath, waiting?

At least the room would remain safe enough as long as I could recall nothing more than a scene from Hamlet.

I moved about, touching a seash.e.l.l that I seemed to have admired-not really a memory. A spurt of dust stirred when I lifted it, and I could see that dust lay everywhere, thick on the tables, graying the satin and velvet upholstery, gathering in carved crevices of the furniture.

How utterly weird and Victorian! How fantastic to step into a room that must have been closed off for years, with everything in it left untouched. How could any sane person allow such a thing? Yet I had seen Persis Morgan, and for all her years, her faculties were obviously sharp enough. Only something so terrible that even the sane couldn't bear to face it must have happened in this room. Just as I had pulled down those shades in my mind, so Persis Morgan must have closed these doors and walked away, never to return.

Now I saw something else. Footsteps other than mine, larger io7 than mine, had marked the dust as someone had recently moved about the room. Objects had been shifted, repatterning the dust. Here and there its gray coating had obviously been disturbed, so that a box or vase stood in a smudged patch, not returned to place exactly. Someone had moved about this room even as I was doing-searching for what?

Above me a shimmer of cobwebs draped the chandelier and grew like gray lace in every corner. Or like a fungus. The neglect was extreme and totally unhealthy. It was as if the house harbored in this room a cancerous growth that would eventually reach through every outer crack and lend its contagion of disease to the house itself. Perhaps such contagion had already reached Persis Morgan upstairs. All this must have been left untouched, sealed away, because of her abhorrence of what had happened here-because she could never again face this room, and had shut it oft in an effort to wipe out its very existence.

Oddly enough, I began to feel a stirring of sympathy for her, as though terror shared made the beginning of a bond between us. Except that she knew the source of terror-and I didn't.

I brushed at my arms as though cobwebs touched my skin. For a moment I thought of flinging aside dusty velvet draperies, throwing open the French windows to air and sunlight -but I didn't dare. I remembered the funeral wreath hung on my door, and I was afraid.

Why shouldn't my father rest in peace? What had those words meant?

Yet I couldn't leave at once. A pedestal table, probably rosewood under the dust, held a large shallow box, mahogany-dark. Here again the dust had been disturbed, and there was a smudging of fingerprints over the surface. The box drew me and I touched its lid. It was as though I had touched hot metal, and almost of their own accord my fingers drew back.

This box I knew.

Once more the beating, tremulous feeling of dread began to io8 spin inside me. If had started again-that movement toward danger that could be halted only if I almost stopped breathing, nearly stopped living-let everything go blankly away from me. Always at such times I had an instinctive dread that my heart might stop forever out of fear and this was the instant when everything would end. Yet there was no dazzle of light being struck from anything here except the dusty chandelier over my head. There was only this smudged box that almost seemed to pulse with a life of its own under my fingers.

The wave engulfed me, though I tried to fight it, tried to resist. I must get to Hillary. I must find him at once. In my present world only Hillary stood for health and confidence and an ability to face life as a whole person. Only he could help me. He must take me away from this place, help me to escape.

I ran into a hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the front of the house and started down it. From the far end the sound of voices came to me-someone laughing. That was Hillary's unmistakable laughter-a lovely, mesmerizing sound that could charm any audience. Eagerly I ran down the hall to the open door of the front parlor. And saw them there. Gail and Hillary standing before a window, talking together. They had clearly just met, yet Hillary's charm was already working.

I stopped for a moment, my headlong rush halted, deflected. Slowly the spinning top in my head began to lose velocity.

Gail had tied a crimson scarf at the neck of her denim jacket, to match the ribbon that held back her hair, and she looked bright and interested. Hillary, who always wore the right, if slightly theatrical, clothes for any occasion, looked more like a dude in studded jacket and doeskin pants. All this registered superficially as the deep need in me fell away and left me standing alone. As always, he had met and captivated, and I knew I must allow him that. It was like breathing for Hillary.

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Both of them heard me at the same moment and turned to look at me in surprise.

Gail said, "How dusty you are! But of course-you must have gone into the back parlor. I thought you might want to. I got the key and unlocked the room for you."

I put one grimy hand against the doorjamb beside me and steadied myself. The need to run to Hillary had evaporated, but at least I had been spared any blanking out this time. I was all right again. If Gail had unlocked that door for me, it had been done in malice and I would not let her see the effect the room had had on me.

"Do we meet the fire-breathing old dragon this morning?" Hillary asked, coming toward me. Then his look changed. I couldn't fool him, I never could. People were the raw material of his trade, and he looked at them more searchingly than most. He pulled me into his arms and held me.

"Easy now, Laurie. If you've begun to remember, let it all come through. Give it s.p.a.ce-let it come!"

I pushed away from him. "No! Not yet. That room is a terrible place. I don't want to talk about it."

He let me go. "All right. Don't upset yourself. I won't ask questions until you feel like talking. Gail tells me we can ride over to the mountain this morning, if you like. It might be a good idea, honey. You can get out into the air and shake off the cobwebs."

Cobwebs! Literally they had been there in that roomhundreds of them, thick and gray, and somehow evil.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I'd like that. Anything to get away, to escape the nearness of that room."

"Then let's go down to the stable and saddle up," Gail said cheerfully. "You do look a bit pale, Laurie. Some of our Colorado sunshine will do you good."

"I'll clean up and change to jeans," I told her, and moved out of Hillary's arms, resisting his concern that I'd wanted so no desperately a moment before. Whatever it was had pa.s.sed, and I felt braced again and ready to go on, even though a little numb. Later when we were alone, I would tell Hillary everyj I thing. But I couldn't talk now in front of Gail Cullen. That she was curious was clear, but I didn't mean to satisfy her curiosity.

I ran upstairs and changed quickly into jeans and low boots, pulled on my suede jacket. I mustn't think of that room now. Perhaps there was only one person I could really talk about it with. Persis Morgan.

When I was dressed I started for the top of the stairs and then hesitated. This morning an effort had been made to discourage me from seeing Persis, and I felt uneasy about her. I wondered if she really hadn't wanted me to come to her.

Downstairs Gail was still talking with Hillary and I could hear their voices. I ran quickly up to Persis' room.

The door stood open and I went in. Her breakfast tray rested on a table near her bed, food untouched, coffee cooling. Persis lay with her eyes closed, and her breathing was deep and regular. On the far side of the bed Caleb sat in lonely vigil, his head bent and a hand shielding his eyes.

I spoke to him softly. "Is she all right?"

He looked up, startled, then rose to his feet. "She's asleep. Miss Cullen gave her a sedative."

"Does she have a doctor who sees her regularly? Does he approve of Miss Cullen?"

His expression told me that I was interfering. "Certainly she has a doctor. It was he who recommended Miss Cullen. Believe me, it's very difficult to find a nurse who will stay in Jasper. We're fortunate to have her here."

I wanted to remark that much of the time he didn't seem to like or approve of the nurse, but I asked a question instead.

"Why did she want to come here?"

"She was looking for private work, and she asked Dr. Burton Ill if he knew of a place. We were desperate for capable help after Belle Durant left. Belle isn't a nurse, but she had all the other qualifications."

"Belle Durant worked here?" This was surprising news.

Clearly Caleb had endured enough of my questioning. "Please. Another time. We mustn't disturb her."

I didn't think the woman on the bed could be easily disturbed. Her almost colorless lashes lay on her cheeks, and when her eyes were closed there seemed no life in her face. I could easily believe, looking at her, that she might be slowly giving up her grasp on living. Guilt was suddenly sharp in my mind. Had she given up entirely after talking with me? But there was nothing I could do for her right now, and I must see Domino. The very fact that both Caleb and Persis had tried to discourage me from going there made it all the more important for me to see it for myself.

"I'm going to ride up the valley with Hillary and Gail Cullen," I told Caleb, and went quickly out of the room, lest he protest again.

They were waiting for me downstairs, and I took Jon's borrowed sweater from the rack to return it to him.

When we reached the barn I found Red tied up and eager for release, though Jon wasn't about. A young boy who he]ped him around the place and answered to Gail's summons of "Sam!" came to a.s.sist with the saddling.- I hung Jon's sweater on a hook and asked if it was all right for Red to run loose. Sam said, "It's okay when the gates aren't being used," and I let him free.

Gail was looking over the horses. "Jon has taken Sundance, apparently. You'd have liked him, Mr. Lange. Plenty of spirit, but a good disposition. Anyway, you can ride North Star-he'll do fine. Baby Doe should be right for you, Laurie. I don't cuppose you've ridden all that much since you left the ranch."

I felt more than a little resentful of her easy familiarity. She 112.

seemed altogether too much at home on my grandmother's property.

Baby Doe, with her name rooted in Colorado history, was a gentle chestnut creature who took to me at once, and I felt no need to explain to Gail that I had always ridden. I stroked her nose and talked to her for a moment. Then I swung into the western saddle, with its high pommel that I'd always liked.

With a.s.surance Gail turned Silver King, the handsome palomino she'd chosen, and started up the valley.

Red followed us to the gate, where Sam held him back and closed it after us. At first we rode three abreast up the wide valley, with Old Desolate rising straight ahead and lesser mountains following on either side, their slopes thickly wooded. These were the trees that would go if Ingram had his way.

Before long I began to drop back a little because I wanted no intrusion on this spell of mountains and rocky meadow. Something was pulling me, as it had ever since I'd determined to return to Colorado. Not the back parlor I had stepped into a little while ago, or the past that I must still discover. Something else-something that waited, knowing I would come. Strange and compelling, this feeling in me.

All about, wild flowers grew abundantly, clear to the edge of the pine forest. Their names came back to me out of memory, and a man's voice seemed to be repeating them to me. There was wild yellow parsley and mountain lupine-the bluebonnet of these higher elevations. And of course the lovely lavender and white Colorado columbine. Beside us a stream ran part of the way before it took a downhill course where the mountains parted. In the open fields, strewn with rocks, grew tall blue aspen daisies, and I seemed to remember them with their narrow lavender petals and yellow hearts. I let Baby Doe drop still farther behind the other two so that I could savor everything I saw and breathe deeply of this heady mountain air.

Every color seemed intensified in the clear light, so that "3.

beauty grew almost too painfully sharp to bear. Some of this I remembered dimly-riding up the valley through meadow and woods, with that glorious mountain coming always closer, pulling me toward its height.

Along a rocky shoulder as we began the ascent grew a stand of tall spruce trees. Now Gail rode ahead, leading the var on her golden, silver-maned beauty, and Hillary dropped bade just behind me. I was glad for single file. I wanted only to see and feel, and not talk to anyone. For a little while this was surcease, and Hillary seemed to understand my need, not intruding upon me.