Eugenia left in January of 1863. By the time the war ended and the young bugler--a certain Robert W. Matheson--reached Fernandina Beach in November of 1865, there was no one there except a testy maid who assured him that the lady of the house--Mrs. P. T. Brandywine-- had gone north long ago and would never return.
"Well, can you see that she gets this, then? It's very important. It's from her husband. He entrusted it to me when he died."
"Yes, young man. Yes. Now, go along with you." Sergeant Matheson, his quest complete, went on. The maid--hired by Eugenia's father and very aware that he didn't want his daughter reminded of the death--tossed the note into the cupboard, where it lay unopened for decade upon decade upon decade.
Chapter 10
Rex ran up to the house, Samson barking at his heels. "Alexi!" he called, but all that greeted him was silence. In rising panic he shouted her name again, trying the door only to discover that it was locked. He dug for his own key, carefully twisted it in the lock and shoved the door open. Samson kept barking excitedly. His tail thumped the floor in such a way that Rex knew damn well there were no strangers around now. Rex was certain that if there had been a stranger about the place, Samson would be tearing after him--or her.
"Alexi!" He switched on the hall light. There was no sign of anything being wrong. Nothing seemed to be out of place. "Alexi!" He pushed open the door to the parlor and switched on the light. She wasn't there. He hurried on to the library, the ballroom, the powder room, and then up the stairs. "Alexi!" She wasn't in any of the bedrooms, he discovered as he swept through the place, turning on every light he passed.
He should never have left her. Something was wrong; he could feel it.
Maybe nothing was wrong. Nothing at all. Maybe she had just decided that it was time to call it quits with the small-town stuff, with the spooky old creepy house and the eccentric horror writer who seemed to come with it. Maybe she felt that Vinto was a threat and that she needed far more protection than she could ever find here.
Maybe, maybe--damn!
She hadn't gone anywhere. Not on purpose. She would have left him a note...something. She wouldn't have left him to run through the house like a madman, tearing out his hair.
He stormed down the stairs and burst into the kitchen. She wasn't there. Rex pulled out a chair and sank into it, debating his next movement. The police. He had to call the police. He never should have left her. Never. Or--oh, God, he groaned inwardly. At the very least, he should have left Samson with her. He'd blown the whole thing, all the way around. He'd gone out and gotten her a pair of kittens-- kittens!--when he should have come back around with a Doberman. Or a pit bull. Yeah...with Vinto, it would have to be a pit bull.
"Where the hell is she?" he whispered aloud, desperately.
Samson, at his feet, thumped his tail against the floor and whined. Rex gazed absently at his dog and patted him on the head. Samson barked again loudly.
Rex jumped up.
"Where is she, boy? Where's Alexi?"
Samson started barking wildly again. Rex decided he was an idiot to be talking to the dog that way. Samson was a good old dog--but he wasn't exactly Lassie. But then Samson barked again and ran over to the cellar door, whining. He came back and jumped on Rex, practically knocking him over. Then he ran back to the cellar door.
"And I said that you weren't Lassie!" Rex muttered. The cellar. Of course.
But he felt as if his heart were in his throat. He hadn't believed her. Not when she had told him that someone had chased her from the car. Not when she had been convinced that someone had been in the house. He had barely given her the benefit of the doubt when she had been certain that the snakes had been brought in.
And it was highly likely that John Vinto knew that she was terrified of snakes. He had left her tonight.
And now he knew that she was in the cellar. But the cellar was pitch-dark, and he was in mortal terror of how he would find her.
"Alexi!" he screamed, and ripped open the door and nearly tumbled down the steps. Samson went racing down as Rex fumbled for the light switch. The room was flooded with bright illumination. And Rex found Alexi at last.
She was at the foot of the stairs, on her back, her elbow cast over her eyes, almost as if she were sleeping, one of her knees slightly bent over the other. The kittens, like little sentinels, sat on either side of her, meowing away now that he was there.
"Alexi!" This time, he whispered in fear. Then he found motion and ran down the steps to drop by her side. She was so white. Pasty white. How long had she been lying there? Swallowing frantically, he reached for her wrist, forcing himself to be calm. She had a pulse. A strong pulse.
"Oh, God," he breathed. "Oh, God. Thank you."
What had happened? He glanced quickly up the stairs, wondering if she had tripped and fallen. That didn't seem right. Why would she turn off every light in the house to come down to the cellar?
“Alexi... ?" He touched her carefully, trying to ascertain whether she had broken any bones. She moaned softly, and he paused, inhaling sharply. She blinked and stared up at him in a daze, groaning as the light hit her eyes. "Rex?"
"Alexi...stay still. I think I should call for an ambulance--''
"No! No!" Alexi sat up a little shakily, gripping her head between her hands and groaning again. "Alexi!"
"I'm all right, really I am. I think." She stretched out her arms and legs and tried to smile at him, proving that nothing was broken. But he didn't like her color, and he was worried about a head injury that had left her unconscious.
She gasped suddenly, her eyes going very wide as she stared at him. "Did you see him, Rex?" "Who?"
"Someone was here. Really, Rex, I swear it." "Alexi, maybe you just fell--"
"I didn't! I heard someone in the house after you left. I kept trying to assume that I was imagining things, too. But there was someone here, Rex. Behind me on the stairs. I came down to feed the kittens, and when I tried to turn...I was struck on the head."
"You're... sure?"
"Damn you, Rex!" She tried to stand, to swear down at him. But the effort was too dizzying, and before she could get any further, she felt herself falling.
She didn't fall. He caught her and lifted her into his arms. "I'm...all right," she tried to tell him. "No, you're not," he told her bluntly, starting up the stairs. She laced her fingers around his neck as he carried her that the snakes had her and studied his face as he emitted a soft oath at Samson to get out of his way so that he wouldn't trip.
"There's no one here now?" she asked.
"There's definitely no one here now. But I am going to call the police."
A silence fell for a moment as he reached the top of the stairs and closed the cellar door behind him. Alexi, cradled in his arms, kept staring at the contours of his face. She reached up to brush his cheek lightly with her knuckles.
"Were you angry, Rex? Or did you just need to escape?"
"I was angry," he told her. He carried her on through the kitchen and out to the parlor, laying her down carefully on the sofa. He told her to hold still, and ran his fingers over her skull, wincing when he found the lump at her nape.
"Police first, then the hospital."
"Rex--"
He ignored her and picked up the phone. Alexi closed her eyes for a moment. Maybe he was right. She still felt the most awful pain throbbing in her head.
But, curiously, she felt like smiling. He had come back-- all somber and gruff and very worried--but back nonetheless. And he hadn't been running away from her--he had left because he had been angry, and for him, walking away had probably been the best way to deal with it.
He set the phone down and came back to her.