“Yes, that’s why I came by. I thought it might help Jessica.”
“That’s good of you. It’s the sort of neighborly gesture one doesn’t find too often in this busy, modern world. However, this isn’t the best time for it. My niece cried herself to sleep, waked with a touch of fever. Her aunt’s with her now.”
“Have you sent for Dr. Cook?”
Eric smiled and said untruthfully, “But, of course. He’ll be here any minute.”
“Mr. Griffith, I don’t see the harm in letting me talk to Jessica.”
“She’s mentioned how fond she is of you, but I think just now quiet and rest are the best therapy.”
“Supposing we let Jessica decide that. Would you just tell her I’m here?”
“Of course, Miss Bostwick. I’ll leave it to her...”
Eric went up the broad curving stairway and walked along the corridor to the Clock Suite where he inspected himself in a clouded mirror set in the upper panels of a Winchester highboy. Smoothing down his thin blond hair, he bared his lips and inspected his teeth with a critical eye, after which he adjusted the knot of his wool knit tie, whistled softly for a moment or so, and then returned to the hall, his expression suggesting kindly concern.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Bostwick. Jessica asked me to tell you she’s pleased you came by. But she’d rather not see anyone but family just yet.”
Charity Bostwick would have loved to be incisive and candid with this foppish Yank, telling him exactly what she thought of his bogus suede elbow patches, carefully waved blond hair, and supercilious smiles. But if something was wrong here, and Miss Charity’s suspicions were sharpening quickly, it wouldn’t do to let this improbable gentleman know she was on to him.
With an effort, she smiled. “If there’s any way at all I can help, Mr. Griffith, I’d be grateful if you rang me up.”
“How generous of you.”
“Thank you.”
Eric stood watching Miss Bostwick’s trim, athletic figure descending the garden steps to her sports car. Rocking on his heels, he hooked a thumb in his vest pocket and waved to her with his other hand, complacently aware of the picture he must present to this village matron, every inch the benevolent squire standing tall and virile in the high arched doorways of Easter Hill.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The lights and shadows in her mind had grown so insistent and demanding, so frightening in their implications, that Jessica’s awareness of the actual world around her had become tentative and fragile. An evanescent view of the future, details blurred and inexact but implicit in horror, so commanded her energy and attention that she was hardly conscious of the bolts being drawn in the locked door of her bedroom. When her consciousness surfaced to reality, she saw her Uncle Eric looming above her, tucking a key into his vest pocket.
Holding up a packet of letters and a folder, he smiled at her and said, “Time to talk. To let you know we’re aware of your strange gifts, Jessica. Courtesy of this explicit correspondence between Dr. Homewood and the late Andrew Dalworth.”
The sound of those cherished names, plus the abrasive exploitation of her privacy, altered the fabric of the images obscuring her awareness of physical surroundings.
She got off the bed and stood and faced her uncle, vivid contempt in her eyes.
“Those letters don’t belong to you,” she said. “But I’m not surprised you’ve read them.”
Eric sighed. “You’re being unfair, Jessica. Maud and I have only your best interests at heart. Our one thought has been to help. We aren’t rich, Jessica. You probably can’t understand what that means. Since you were a mere child, you’ve been surrounded and protected by luxury. But had you trusted us, had you been responsive to your family ties, we would have been your friends. We would have helped you. Even as Maud and I—”
Eric’s voice had become quiet and thoughtful, touched with resignation. Raising his eyes to the ceiling as if for approval, he went on, “—even as Maud and I helped your dear mother and father when they were in need of—”
“I don’t believe any of this,” Jessica said sharply, and now there was a deeper tone in her voice.
“It’s sad to find such cynicism in one so young.”
“Please stop it! You must think I’m a thorough fool. There was not even a postcard from you when Andrew was alive. You’ve lied to me from the start. I treasured the locket Aunt Maud gave to me until the morning that Mr. Flynn and I cleaned it with silver polish and found the tiny initials on the inside. They weren’t my mother’s at all.”
“Your father probably bought it second-hand which explains why—”
“Stop wasting your breath, Uncle Eric. I know you poisoned Fluter. And I saw with my own eyes what happened to Mr. Brown. You’re a pack of thieves and murderers and if it’s the last thing I do—”
Eric grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her with ruthless strength. “Don’t ever threaten me, young lady, or it will be the last thing you do. Have you thought how ridiculous your accusations will sound? As far as that old fool, Brown, is concerned, would a jury take your word against mine and Constable Riley’s?” Eric released her and looked appraisingly at her slim, budding body.
“Jessica, you’re at the age where your hormones and emotions are in a state of riot. The line between fantasy and reality is blurred, which explains your erratic behavior. Fleeing from the house without rhyme or reason, running to a beach where you could have caught your death of cold — fearsome things—” He sighed. “Faithful retainers, the victims of foul play? Beloved pet mysteriously poisoned? No.” He shook his head. “It simply won’t wash, Jessica. Maud and I brought you back here to protect you, and we’ve shut you up to prevent you from harming yourself...”
“That’s not the truth and you know it!”
“And in return—” Eric went on as smoothly, “—and in return, Jessica, all we want is a small favor.”
Jessica stared directly into his eyes. “I will do nothing for you.”
“I urge you to reconsider,” Eric said. “I might not ask so nicely a second time.”
With apparent amiability, Eric said, “I like your spirit, because it suggests an emotional tension that suits my purpose.”
As he saw her sharpening awareness, Eric nodded in gratification. “Let me refresh you with a paragraph from one of the doctor’s letters.”
Opening the leather file, he removed a page and unfolded it, a faint but sensual smile touching his lips.
“ ‘Jessica’s skills’,” he said, reading aloud, “ ‘that is, her processes of precognition, would escalate at a powerful rate in proportion to the profundity of her emotional states.’ ”
Eric glanced at Jessica and said, “This was written by Dr. Homewood when you were nine. To translate his medical gibberish into plain English, it simply means that the more terrified you are, the better qualified you’ll be to help us.”
Eric walked to the large bay window and looked down at the stables. With his back to Jessica, he said thoughtfully, “For some reason, our new groom, Benny Stiff—” He turned and smiled at Jessica. “For some odd reason, he’s taken a fancy to you—” He jingled the key to her room.
Noting the repugnance in her expression, Eric shrugged. “It’s just something to keep in mind.”
In a level voice, Jessica said, “I don’t even know the words to describe you.”
Eric removed a cigarette lighter from his vest pocket, snapped the wheel and stared at the spurting flame.
“Another thought — so many unfortunate accidents occur around these lovely, isolated country homes. Wouldn’t it be a shame, Jessica, if some careless person — a tramp or gypsy perhaps — accidentally started a fire in the stables?”