Bloodcircle

Chapter 4

BARRETT STRAIGHTENED A little and smoothed his clothes, not taking his eyes from either of us. "I apologize for the intrusion upon you, Mr.
Escott." His tone was slightly hostile and devoid of any regret.
"Perhaps you will both excuse my desire to protect myself."
I said nothing, it was up to Escott to pick up the ball.
"There was no real need to influence me into giving you information."
"Yes, but then I don't know you. The information could have been false or incomplete. It saves time and trouble when both sides know where they stand. For all I knew, you might have been friends of Gaylen, not Maureen."
"What do you know about Gaylen?" I asked.
"Enough," he replied, echoing me. "How is it that you know her?"
"She was looking for Maureen and found me instead."
"And what happened to her?"
"She's no longer a threat to Maureen."
"That hardly answers my question."
I ignored the sarcastic note. "Where's Maureen?"
He studied me carefully, probably gauging my past relationship with her, perhaps even trying to see me through her eyes. That was what I was doing to him. "I don't know."
He could see I didn't believe him and said it again, spreading his hands for emphasis.
"When did you last see her, then?" asked Escott.
"On the night that Gaylen escaped from Kingsburg. She stayed for the day, departed the following dusk, and I've not heard from her or of her since then--until you two turned up to trouble my innocent employer with questions."
"How so is she innocent?"
"Miss Francher and I have a complete understanding over certain matters: I maintain her privacy and she protects mine." He turned to me. "I know you can appreciate how important privacy and discretion are to those of our nature. You should be more mindful of those dark glasses. They are a dreadful giveaway."
"Tell us about Maureen," I said.
"That's a long story."
"I've got all night and so do you."
"Of course, but I must think on where to start."
"With yourself," suggested Escott.
Barrett frowned and shook his head. "That would take much too long and I am not inclined this night to confess my many sins to virtual strangers."
"The primary points should be sufficient. May we begin with your life and death?"
Something like amusement seemed to light Barrett's eyes from within. "So you do know that much about us. Are you Mr. Fleming's protector?"
Escott didn't reply.
Shrugging it off as unimportant, Barrett went to the French windows and shut them against the night. "Very well, Please be seated and make yourselves comfortable. May I offer you some refreshment, Mr. Escott?"
"No, thank you."
This time Escott picked a chair off to one side of the couch. I resumed my original seat, barely settling on the edge, ready to move again if necessary. I still didn't trust the man.
Barrett righted his banker's chair, checked it for damage, and rolled it back under the desk. Apparently feeling secure about us, he sank into the opposite end of the couch from me with a mock sigh of weariness, angling against the back and arm to be able to look at us both. His loose-boned, informal posture had its effect and I felt myself relaxing a little.
"Very well," he began, looking up once at the ceiling as though searching it for the right word. "I was a lawyer's son and destined to be a lawyer as well, though I had little taste for the work. I was sent to England to study. It was my first real experience of unsupervised freedom and I quickly grew to love it. There I learned to spend my allowance in ways my father would scarce have understood, much less approved.
"Those were wild, delightful days, and the nights were made even better when I became acquainted with a certain lady of astonishing charm who taught me some unique skills in the art of love. I was but a rough, untutored colonial then, for a time I believed that that was how all men and women enjoyed themselves--I grew wiser about such things later on.
"Then war came up and I was commanded home again, that or be left without funds. Being a dutiful son, I returned. I was so dutiful that it got me killed. My father was loyal to the Crown, y'see."
"What war are you referring to?"
"The one that sundered our respective countries, Mr. Escott. The American Revolution, as it is now called." He paused to let that sink in and enjoyed our reaction.
"How old were you then?"
His eyes drifted inward, briefly. "I was not old then, Mr. Escott. I was young; very, very, young." He shifted, crossing one leg over the other.
"But I was talking about the rebellion. My dear father was a Loyalist and not a damned traitor to our God-appointed sovereign. Of course, his attitude may have been tempered by the fact that Long Island was then protected by British troops. We were safe and se-cure from the rebels, so they said, but they couldn't be everywhere at once. I was shot down in cold blood by a pimply-faced bumpkin cowering in some trees on my father's land. The cowardly, dishonorable, half-witted bastard thought I was General Howe."
After at least 160 years, his disgust was sincere and still fresh.
"I'll pass over the dramatic details of my death and return, and my first stumbling efforts at coping with the physical change within me. I was forever cut off from my family--if anything, I was too embarrassed to come forward and try to explain myself. By the time I'd decided to overcome it, the so-called colonial government had won their war and seized Father's property. He pulled a few pennies together and took the family back to England. I was tied to the land, though, and had to remain behind. I settled down, made a kind of life for myself, and even traveled a bit in later years when the chance presented itself."
"How did you support yourself?" asked Escott.
"That, sir," he smiled, "is none of your business. I did a lot of reading, trying to make up for my patchy and interrupted education.
Decades later, my interest in reading eventually led me to meet the Dumont sisters at some literary club. I was immediately attracted to Maureen, her feelings were in happy correspondence to my own, and nature had its course with us for many contented years."
"What about Gaylen?" I asked.
He sighed and shook his head. "She knew something was going on, but never came out and asked anything. It worried Maureen, but there was little she could do about it. She chose to do nothing."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. It was Maureen's concern and up to her on how to handle things. I merely followed her wishes. Gaylen was a strange woman. There were no doctors then who could be of any help to her. She was too clever to be obviously mad."
"What was she like?"
"Strange," he repeated unhelpfully. "Normal on the outside, but there was a soft and rotten core of sickness within that never showed itself until you really got to know her. She liked to use people, but only in petty ways, mind you. She'd never put on a manner to make you think she was imposing on your goodwill."
"What do you mean?"
"There are some people you like to do things for, simply because they're nice and know how to say thank you. On the surface, Gaylen seemed to be one of them. She was pleasant company, and careful never to go too far, but she was really using people in her own way. As an outsider to their family with some larger experience, I could see how she worked all things around her to her favoroh, but she was ever so nice about it.
"Maureen did everything she could for her, but it was never enough.
Gaylen enjoyed playing the sweet suffering martyr and craved the attention it got her. In later years, Gaylen practically clung to Maureen, 'as if increase of appetite had grown by what it fed on,' if I may borrow from the bard. When Maureen had her accident, it was too much for Gaylen; she completely fell apart."
"The accident that killed her?"
"Yes. She told you about the fire wagon? I'm surprised; she hated talking about it, even thinking about it made her feel sick."
Having suffered a violent death myself, I could understand.
"For me it was a miracle. I hadn't lost her to death. She'd come back to me, beautiful as ever, and young again. I helped her through her first nights, easing things when I could, but after a time she found she couldn't let go. She wanted to go back, to comfort Gaylen and to let her know she was really all right."
His expression had turned inward again; he was half-sad, half-angry. "It was a mistake and a very bad one, but she couldn't see it at first. She talked me into helping--pleaded, really--it was that important to her.
So I helped. It was all right for a time, but when the happy shock of the reunion wore off and the implications sank in, Gaylen started to work on us both. She was slow and subtle about it, but she wanted to be like us. She said there was every chance of the change working in her since they were sisters."
"She couldn't talk either of you into it, though."
"It wasn't for want of trying, and finally she tried too hard. That was her mistake; that's when Maureen realized how sick her sister was in her mind. Things got very ugly, very fast after that scene, and she had to put Gaylen away in Kingsburg, which all but broke Maureen's heart.
Gaylen was the cause of the rift between us; thereafter Maureen and I went on separate paths."
"But you kept in touch?"
"Out of mutual self-interest and because of what we'd become. Those of our kind are despairingly rare." His glance rested on me a moment and I couldn't read his expression.
"What self-interest?"
"Gaylen was full of mischief and I had little confidence in the security of that so-called asylum. Bedlam may have been noisy, brutal, and stunk to high heaven, but they knew how to keep a door locked. We each had to know where the other lived in case something happened--which it did when she escaped."
"Who paid for the asylum?"
"Maureen. She and Gaylen inherited enough from their parents to live in quiet comfort for the rest of their lives. When Maureen understood how things might be for her future with me, she made out a rather clever will that gave over her share of the estate to a nonexistent cousin. If the cousin did not appear within a year of her demise, then her share would go to Gaylen. It was easy enough to establish another identity in those days, and my background in law was proving to be quite handy for once. Maureen prepared for her change--if it happened, and so it did."
"It surprised you?"
"I was truthful with her. I told her there was no guarantee she would rise again; it was only a chance and we took it."
Escott stirred in his chair. "And the others?"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Since your decease you must have been involved with women other than Maureen."
Barrett was amused. "Of course I was. I'd changed, but not into a damned monk."
"Did any of them return after they died?"
He didn't answer, but Escott continued to wait for one. "No, none of them," he said with a flare of anger. "Not one of them. D'ye want to know how many there were and all that we did together?"
Escott ignored the question. "What about the lady you knew in England? What was her story?"
"I was her lover, not her bloody biographer."
Escott was patient, which irritated Barrett.
"Her name was Nora Jones and she made her living by accepting such gifts as we lads could afford to give her, but mind you, she was no whore--don't ever think that. She was a lovely girl, truly lovely and lovable. Not all the students were poor, and I was doubly blessed with a bit of paternal lucre and good looks, both of which she took to like butter to warm bread."
"Did she not warn you of the possible consequences of her relationship with you?"
"No, she did not. It was her way; she liked 'em young and fairly innocent, and was pleased to keep 'em so. I've also come to think that she honestly did not know there would even be consequences."
"Your resurrection must have been quite traumatic for you."
His face grew hard at the memory. "It was, and I'd rather not speak of it."
"Then we shall return to the near-present: tell us about the night Maureen came here to you."
"There's little enough to tell. I'd obtained a position here some months earlier as Miss Francher's secretary. As you're already aware by now, she knows all about me, but however odd the hours might be, I am very good at my job."
"And it's safe here," I added.
He considered the remark. "Yes, as safe as one can be from life. We had our share of ill fortune that year. Miss Francher's mother died horribly in a fire that spring and I had my hands full for a time, helping her get through the worst of it and protecting her privacy. If not for young Laura it would have been impossible. She was only fourteen then, but a splendid child; the experience matured and strengthened her even as it seemed to drain her older cousin. She'd been visiting us on her spring holiday that week and then stayed on. I arranged for a private tutor so she could finish out the year at home with us."
"What about Laura's family?"
"Her parents died ten years ago. Miss Francher's mother was her legal guardian. When she died, Miss Francher assumed the responsibility. It was easy enough, for Laura is a good girl. Things were just starting to settle down at the close of summer when Maureen showed up at the gate asking for me. She was in quite a state about Gaylen and hardly able to think straight. I'd said that things had gotten very ugly between them, she was afraid of what her sister might do to her. She wanted help and advice, and I offered what little I could."
"Which was?"
"I said she should set the police to watching her flat and to keep herself out of sight until they caught the old girl again. It seemed the most obvious thing to do, but she was that panicked."
"Did Miss Francher know of this?"
"I saw no need to trouble her with my personal problems. I told her Maureen was an old friend dropping by for a visit and she was content with that."
It sounded as though Emily Francher had been remarkably accommodating for one who demanded such privacy, and I speculated that he might have influenced her into her contentment. "How long did Maureen stay?"
"She didn't. I invited her to remain as long as she liked until they found Gaylen, and she accepted. With a place this big, there are any number of rooms she'd be safe and comfortable in, especially my own, which is well locked and fireproofed. The servants have standing orders never to go inside and they are paid enough not to be overly curious."
"Convenient." Again, I figured he'd have insured himself by slipping them some quiet suggestions on the side.
"Indeed. Maureen turned down the offer and picked another room. I saw that she was settled, did some work of my own, and stopped by to say good night and to see if she needed anything. She did not, so I went to bed."
"You saw her?"
"I called through the door and she answered."
That struck us both as odd and he knew it.
"She didn't really want to see me," he admitted.
"Why's that?" I asked.
"We had a disagreement, more of a quiet fight, really. She didn't approve of my job and I told her it was none of her business how I chose to live. Things rapidly deteriorated from there."
"And she still accepted your invitation to stay the day?"
"By then it was too late for her to go elsewhere; the time had gotten away from us. She stayed, but left right after sunset the next night. By the time I was up and about, she was gone."
"Without a good-bye?"
"Or even a thank-you. She must have been very angry with me, but then I was hardly feeling like a good Christian toward her myself."
"How did she leave?"
"Same as she came; by taxi."
"Do you know where she went?"
"No."
"Anyone else see her leave?"
"Mayfair--that's the gardener--had to let them in and out. You may ask him if you like, though I warn you he's got a brain like a block of Swiss cheese."
"And you never tried to contact her?"
"I called her flat a few times, but she was never home. Later on when I called, someone else had rented the place. She never called or wrote, I expect she never wanted to see me again." He'd drifted away, as though he were talking to himself. I wasn't the only one Maureen had hurt.
"Did you ever think that Gaylen might have found her?"
"Not seriously, no. Once Maureen had a little time to get over her upset, I knew she'd be able to take care of herself."
"Was your disagreement serious enough for her to cut you off just like that?"
"I suppose it was, from her point of view. No woman likes to see herself supplanted by another in a man's heart, even a man she's long ago discarded."
"Are you referring to your employer?" asked Escott in that carefully neutral tone of his, which meant he thought his question was important.
Barrett fastened him with a cold eye. "As I told Maureen, that is none of your business."
Escott dropped the subject for another. "What about the phone call for Maureen you received the next night?"
"Call?"
"From her friend. Maureen gave her the number of this house as though she expected to be here for a time."
"Oh, that. I remember."
"You gave this person the impression Maureen was still here."
"I think I offered to take a message and I wanted to know who was calling. I was curious and I thought she might be involved with Gaylen in some way. Who was it?"
"She was not involved with Gaylen and she asked that we not mention her name."
He shrugged, uninterested.
"Are you not curious about Maureen and what happened to her?"
"Of course I am, why d'ye think I got the two of you in here to start with? A lot of good it's done me since you've no news of her--or have you?"
"Regrettably, we do not."
"That's no surprise." He turned his attention to me. "How well did you know her?"
"Very well."
"That's evident, laddie. You must have been something special to her altogether. So why hasn't she tried to contact you, eh? Had a fight with her, too?"
"She left to protect me from Gaylen, that's all I know."
"And you said you met Gaylen?"
"She met me."
"What about her? Did the asylum finally catch up with her? You said she was caught?"
I glanced at Escott. He left it up to me. "I said she was no longer a threat. She's dead."
He thought it over for a time, reading more off my face than I felt comfortable about. "How, then, did it happen? How did she come to find you?"
"It doesn't matter, she just did. She thought I might know where Maureen was, but I couldn't help her."
"Perhaps not to find Maureen, maybe she wanted your help in other ways--and don't look so dark, laddie, I knew her, too, and far better. I knew what she wanted and how badly she wanted it, and if you turned her down, I shan't think ill of you. I said she was sick. Sometimes death is the best cure for her kind of misery. You did turn her down? She really is dead?"
"She is," confirmed Escott. "Heart failure."
I felt my face twisting in reaction. Maybe not all of the nightmare had left; something perverse inside me wanted to laugh. I got up and walked to the French windows instead. The pool lights were out and the blond swimmer was long gone. The water was still and smooth.
"Death is the best cure sometimes," Barrett repeated. "It keeps her from passing her sickness on to others and making them miserable in turn. One can hope for as much at least."
Some distance beyond the pool was a bare, fenced yard with a few trees in it and the dark, rounded shapes of horses dozing on their feet. No doubt they were part of Barrett's food supply. It was very convenient and comfortable for him to have such an obliging patroness.
I could understand Maureen's reaction to it all. In her day she had been well off and certainly attractive. Then Barrett came into her life, offering her love and a possibility of eternal youth in exchange for her money and protection. It could have been that way, an old story with a new twist that Barrett apparently repeated if he had the same arrangement with Emily Francher. No wonder Maureen had been upset, but I didn't think she'd have simply gone off without a final word to him. She had manners as well, she would have surely left him some kind of a note.
I turned back into the room. They were both looking at me; Escott alert and Barrettwatchful. I focused my full attention on him, freezing hard onto his brilliant eyes, reaching into his mind.
"Where is Maureen? Tell me."
Escott held his breath. There was total silence except for his heart thudding a little faster than normal.
"You know how to find her," I said. "Where is she?"
Barrett looked slightly surprised, not blank, as I'd expected.
"Tell me."
His face darkened.
"Where is she?"
He stood up to face me square on: a tall man, well built, wearing modern, elegant clothes. Hard, primitive fury flooded and marred his features. I'd done exactly the wrong thing by trying to influence an answer from him.
His hands had worked into fists. He made an effort to keep his voice steady.
"I have already told you I do not know where she is." He was shaking from his anger, but holding himself carefully in check. "And remember this, Fleming, no one has ever called me a liar and livedKeep that in mind before you say aught else."
Something moved out in the hall, a light footstep as someone passed the door. Escott started breathing again, but his heart was still thumping very fast. It was just distracting enough, so I did think twice about my next words and it was damned difficult to get them out.
"Ifif you should ever see her again--" I paused, but he held back, listening "--tell her Gaylen is dead. Tell her I only want to know that she's all right." My mouth was very dry. "If she doesn't want to see me again, I'll respect her decision."
Barrett was a perceptive man; he could see what it had cost me to say that. His expression softened and he gave a slight nod. "And you'll do the same for me?"
"Yes."
He nodded again. "If I should ever see her again, I will tell her that for you. If"
And he left that last word hanging in the air between us with all its attendant uncertainty and doubt.
Our car rumbled slowly down the drive, gravel spreading and crunching under the tires as we followed the gardener's truck to the front gate.
"What do you think?" I asked Escott.
He replied with a shake of the head.
Fair enough, I felt about the same. "I can't believe the trail stops here."
We rounded the turn at the side of the non-ruins of the old house and rolled gently downhill at a slightly faster speed. The truck was now nearly up to ten miles an hour.
"Got any questions for Johnny Appleseed up ahead?"
"If you mean the gardener, yes, I have. As for Barrett, he said much that agreed with what we heard from Gaylen--the manner of Maureen's death, her separation from Barrett--on those points we can assume he was being truthful."
"And of Maureen coming here and leaving?"
"I don't know. Her abrupt departure is just odd enough as a story to be true. He could just as easily have told us something more plausible.
Having never met her, I do not know if such behavior is something you'd expect from her. Is it?"
"She left me, didn't she?" Like a spectator standing apart, I noticed the bitter tone in my voice. Escott remained mercifully silent.
The gardener got out to open the front gate for us. Escott followed him and cornered the man. His wife appeared on the porch of the gatehouse and glared at them both, but Escott had anticipated her and carefully maneuvered the man so he was unaware of her presence.
Escott talked and got some mumbled replies along with head scratching, head shaking, and shrugs until the fellow caught sight of his better half and decided it was past time to go inside. Escott shook hands with him briefly. From the look that passed between them I knew he'd given him a private tip for his help, such as it was.
We drove out. Escott waved at him and got a guarded half wave in return.
"What'd he say?"
"A moment," he said, and a quarter-mile later pulled the car onto the road shoulder and cut the motor. "Lord, but that place was oppressive."
"And I thought it was just me."
My answer had to wait more than a moment as he got out his pipe, tobacco pouch, and matches. Soon he was successfully drawing smoke into his lungs and filling the car up with the aromatic exhaust. The excess floated out the windows into the cool night air of the woods around us.
He looked at the pale gray swirl without really seeing it. "Mr. Mayfair confirmed Barrett's story. It was a memorable spring because of the fire and death of Mrs. Francher, but things were more or less back to normal by summer. Unlike her mother. Miss Francher did not encourage visitors, and after her views were made quite clear to her various relatives, they ceased to call. Young Laura was the only one she'd have anything to do with. Again, he confirmed Barrett's statement that Emily took over the girl's guardianship." 'Did he remember Maureen?"
"Not by name, but he did recall admitting a young woman on Barrett's authority that summer. The circumstances were similar enough to our own arrival to bring the incident readily to mind. She arrived in a Green Light cab one night and departed the next, also by cab; a local called out from the nearest town."
'Green Light is based in Manhattan."
"Mr. Mayfair was aware of that at the time, which was another unusual detail for him to remember. He'd spent some thought on speculating how high the fare had been." 'Great. What else?"
'Nothing more to concern us, I'm afraid. Aside from the expected traffic of tradesmen, the only other visitors of note were the demolition men charged with the task of tearing down the burned shell of the old house." 'Can we try tracing the local cab?"
"I'll have a go at it first thing tomorrow," he promised. "Now about tonight"
"What about it?"
"Our interview was fascinating, but I felt a bit shortchanged on actual facts about the household. I want to ask if you would mind returning to the house tonight."
"What? Pull a peeping-tom act?"
"Engage in further investigation," he corrected mildly. "I also cannot believe the trail stops here and would like to know more about the place and the people in it. I'm interested in the cars they possess and who actually owns them. How many servants do they employ? Do any of them actually live in the house? Barrett mentioned he had a secure resting place; where is it?"
"Oh, is that all?"
He chose to overlook the touch of sarcasm. "Any piece of information, no matter how trivial, may be of value."
"And if Barrett catches me?"
"See that he doesn't."