She called out to me. “I’m okay, Dad. I’m not really falling.”
I stopped where I was, and as I did I realized I could no longer see anyone behind her on the stairs. Evidently Stewart had slipped back up the stairs and out the door while my attention was focused on Laura.
“Jeez, it’s dark in here,” Laura said. “That lightbulb must be an antique itself. Did they ever make ten-watt bulbs?”
“I don’t know, but we can look it up when we get home. Stay where you are for a moment.” I went back down to the bottom door and twisted the knob. It opened, for which I was deeply thankful. I stepped out into the kitchen, blinked rapidly in the bright light, then turned back to peer up the stairs.
With the added light I could see more, but this made me realize how difficult it would have been for Azalea to see much that night.
But what exactly had she seen?
More than she was telling, I was pretty sure.
How could I get her to tell me everything?
TWENTY-SEVEN
Laura joined me in the kitchen. “How eerie was that?” She rubbed her arms.
I nodded. “I’d hate to get stuck in there. Poor Azalea.”
Stewart called down to us from upstairs. “Are we done?”
I stepped back into the stairwell and shouted up to him. “Yes, come on down.”
“Okay.”
Laura and I moved out into the hallway and met Stewart, Diesel, and Miss Dickce at the foot of the main staircase.
“Was that helpful?” Miss Dickce asked.
“I think so,” I said. “At least now I have a better understanding of what it was like for Azalea in there.”
“Could you see anything?” Miss Dickce peered anxiously at me. “I’m glad you didn’t ask me to go in there. I can’t abide dark places. An’gel should either have the wiring fixed and the stairs replaced or shut the whole thing off permanently.”
“It’s hard to see anything,” I said. “I doubt Azalea could see much, either. I think the sheriff is going to have to solve this thing without a full eyewitness account.”
“That’s too bad,” Miss Dickce said. “I wish this were all over.” Diesel rubbed against her legs, and I tried not to notice the trail of hair he left on her navy blue dress. Our hostess didn’t seem to mind, however. She scratched the cat’s head and smiled down at him.
Stewart patted her arm. “We all do, Miss Dickce. But Charlie will figure it out, don’t you worry.”
“I appreciate your faith in me,” I said. “But it’s not going to be easy. Thank you, Miss Dickce, for letting us come do this. We’d better get going, though. I need to get back to work, and Stewart has an errand to take care of, too.”
“You’re so welcome, Charlie,” Miss Dickce said warmly. “I wish you had time to stay longer, but I understand.”
I suddenly remembered the check I collected from Sissy Beauchamp that morning. I pulled it from my pocket and handed it to Miss Dickce. She accepted it, glanced at it, and frowned. I wondered whether the amount was for less than what the Beauchamps had pledged, and given what I suspected about their finances, it probably was.
“Thank you for taking care of that, Charlie.” Miss Dickce showed us to the door and bent to give Diesel a kiss on the nose as a good-bye.
Laura and Stewart chatted on the drive home, but I paid scant attention. My thoughts focused on that dark stairwell, bouncing back and forth between our reenactment and the events of Tuesday night. I had to talk to Azalea again, and this time I had to persist until she finally told me everything.
Diesel and I made it back to my office at the library by a quarter to two. He showed brief interest in the box I opened, but another treat distracted him. He munched it and then snoozed on the windowsill while I delved into the box’s contents.
According to the list there were only letters here, more correspondence, chiefly business matters, from the 1920s and 1930s. I scanned letter after letter, gradually emptying the box, but found nothing of interest to my current quest.
Near the bottom of the box I felt a hard lump underneath the last inch of paper. Curious, I pulled all the letters up to reveal a small leather-bound book lying beneath. Slightly larger in dimension than a paperback and half as thick, it had a monogram stamped in gold on the cover. The letters were KCD.
Why wasn’t this listed as part of the contents? I picked up the little book and opened it. An inscription in cramped, tiny handwriting adorned the front flyleaf, and I had to pull out a magnifying glass in order to read it. The Private Journal of Katherine Cecilia Ducote.
Cecilia Ducote was the mother of Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce. I had a sudden feeling that this little book could hold the answers to Vera Cassity’s quest to know more about her mother. I also wondered whether the sisters knew about the existence of their mother’s journal.
I turned the page. There was no date, but the first sentence revealed that the keeper of the journal was on her honeymoon.
My darling Richard has brought me to Paris on our wedding trip. Paris! The city of my dreams. And then Vienna and Rome! Was any girl ever so fortunate? Richard is so attentive and so passionate. I blush to write of such things here, but dear Maman should have told me that a woman’s duty could entail such delightful feelings!
Oh, my. I probably blushed a little, reading the most private thoughts of this young woman. I hoped she wouldn’t rhapsodize in any further detail.
I began to skim and worked my way through the splendors of Paris, Vienna, and Rome. By the time the young couple left Rome to return to the United States, they had spent nearly five months in Europe. Near the end of the trip Cecilia confided to the journal that she suspected she was going to have a baby.
Home again in Athena Cecilia wrote about the events of daily life at River Hill and her developing pregnancy. She began to have problems around the fifth month, and her doctor put her on bedrest for the duration of her pregnancy.
I read with sadness the account of the stillbirth of the child, a boy, in the eighth month. Then came the shocking news that the doctor feared Cecilia would never be able to bear another child, at least not to full term.
Shaken, I put the journal down. Cecilia was heartbroken over the loss of her baby, and as a father, I could only imagine the depth of sorrow and despair she and Richard felt. Sean and Laura were both such healthy babies, and Jackie and I could have had more children, had we chosen to do so. But we were happy with our two and decided they were enough.
I brightened at that thought, because I realized that long-ago doctor had been proven wrong. Cecilia and Richard went on to have two daughters.
Thus heartened, I picked up the book and took up where I left off.
Cecilia was evidently ill for some months after the death of the baby, and her entries in the journal were sporadic at best. Then I hit an entry that gave me a tingling of excitement.
Richard insists I need a companion. He’s so busy now and can’t be with me during the day. He worries that I’ll be bored and lonely with only the housekeeper and the staff in the house. I finally consented and began to consider who might be suitable. Someone who will not fatigue me unnecessarily and whose face I can bear to see day after day, naturally. I considered various family members, but they are mostly too old and depressing. Cousin Lavinia has the face and disposition of a prune, and I should go mad after one day in her company. Aunt Berenice isn’t much better, nor is her whiny daughter, my cousin Mary Elizabeth. Then I thought about a distant connection, Esther McMullen. If I recall it correctly, she is the granddaughter of my mother’s great-aunt Matilda, or something like that. I have met her a couple of times, and she is a quiet, modest young woman. Richard has arranged for her to travel here from Georgia for a trial period. She is apparently quite grateful for she is alone with very little money.