The Last Camellia: A Novel (21 page)

Addison

“W
e did a full sweep of the property and didn’t find anyone,” the officer said on the doorstep. “You sure about what you saw?”

I nodded. “I thought I was. I’m sorry to waste your time.” I couldn’t imagine the same special attention from the NYPD.

“No time wasted,” he said. “If you’d like, I can sit out front for a while, until sunup if it makes you feel better.”

I exhaled deeply. “Yes, it would. Thank you.”

I took comfort knowing that the officer’s car was parked outside the manor, and yet I didn’t sleep, knowing that Sean was near. I could feel his presence, the darkness that lingered.

“You going to be all right here for a bit, miss?” the officer asked the next morning. He yawned. “If you’d like, I can get someone on the day shift to check in on you later.”

“It’s kind of you to suggest,” I said, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes. “But don’t worry. My husband will be back from London today.”

“Well,” he said, “just the same, lock the doors.”

“Thank you,” I said, latching the deadbolt behind him.

I walked over to my purse on the entryway table. Maeve, from the police station, had handed me an envelope the night Sean attacked me, but I’d been too worn out to open it. “Just something I found,” she’d said. “For your
other
investigation.”

I opened the envelope and pulled out the pages inside, photocopies of a 1942 deposition given by a waitress at a café in town regarding the disappearance of her friend and coworker Theresa Mueller. The sticky note on top of the pages read,
Another missing girl from the ’40s. Maybe there’s a connection? Good luck to you!

I opened the camellia book and thumbed through each page to see if the date of disappearance, June 25, 1940, matched any of the numbers in the book. It didn’t. I sat down on the stairs. Maybe my hunch was completely off base. The missing girls may not have been connected to one another, or to Lady Anna.

I scanned the deposition, almost giving up, until I noticed the name Lord Livingston on the bottom of the second page:

OFFICER RANKINS:
You said that Miss Mueller waited on Lord Livingston the day of her disappearance.

SUE GILMORE:
Yes, sir. He missed his train that day, and he came in for lunch. I remember because Theresa asked me to cover for her while she ran to the back to touch up her lipstick.

OFFICER RANKINS:
Did you get the feeling that the two of them, Miss Mueller and Lord Livingston, knew each other outside of the café?

SUE GILMORE:
I know she wanted that to be the case, but I’m not sure if they were ever sociable, if you know what I mean. Theresa did say that she wished she could go with him to London. She was always a bit forward like that, saying things that weren’t quite appropriate.

OFFICER RANKINS:
Did he ask her to go to London with him?

SUE GILMORE:
Not that I’m aware of, sir. She left early that day. Complained of a headache. For all I know, she may have gone with him. She didn’t say.

I looked up. So there
was
a connection. But why wasn’t there a notation in the book? Why hadn’t the date of her disappearance been recorded? I bit my lip, and then realized. Of course. Theresa Mueller’s disappearance came
after
Lady Anna’s death. She wasn’t there to add it to her record, to strengthen her case. Had she suspected her husband? Someone else? Did someone want to silence her when they realized she had gotten too close to the truth?

I tucked the pages back in the envelope and moved my operation to the table in the drawing room, where Rex had left the blueprints for the manor. I pulled a small pad of sticky notes from the drawer and wrote down the six numeric codes listed in the camellia book that appeared to contain dates, cross-checking them with the dates the girls had been abducted. My heart raced as I worked. On the blueprint that showed the existing layout of the orchard, I matched each sticky note with the codes listed in the book.

I took a step back, gasping when I saw the circular pattern on the map.
Dear Lord, what if those poor women are buried out there?

Flora

October 6, 1940

M
r. Beardsley appeared in the doorway of the servants’ hall shortly after lunch, out of breath. He held up a telegram. “This just came. From London. Lord Livingston is safe and well. He’ll be back by tomorrow.”

We all cheered, and for the first time since the news had broken of the blitz, the color returned to Mrs. Dilloway’s cheeks. It was the best news we could have received, of course, but much had changed since Lord Livingston left. The axis of the earth had shifted, and with it, Livingston Manor.

“And Miss Lewis has informed me that Desmond’s returned,” Mrs. Dilloway added.

“What will his Lordship say?” Sadie asked as she folded kitchen towels into neat stacks.

“Well,” Mrs. Dilloway continued, “he’ll have to accept Lord Desmond. After all, he is his son.”

Mr. Beardsley cleared his throat. “I will speak to his Lordship when he arrives. For now, I think it’s best that Desmond not take up residence in his old bedroom. Better have him stay in a guest room—Lord Livingston is less likely to encounter him there.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Dilloway said, walking to the hallway. “Miss Lewis, come along. The children are waiting for you in the nursery.”

Halfway up the stairs, Sadie caught up to us. “Mrs. Dilloway, you’re wanted on the telephone.”

“Can it wait?”

“No, ma’am,” Sadie said. “It’s the grocer. There’s been a problem with the order.”

“Can’t Mrs. Marden handle it?” Mrs. Dilloway asked.

Sadie shook her head. “He refuses to speak to her after the egg incident.”

Mrs. Dilloway smiled knowingly. “All right, I’ll take the call.” She sighed. “Is there any part of this house that can run properly without my involvement?” She looked at me. “Miss Lewis, go on up without me and get Desmond settled. I’ll meet you upstairs in a moment.”

Heading toward the stairs to the second floor, I walked through the foyer, but stopped suddenly when I saw a man standing near the front door carrying a large, empty duffel bag. When he turned around, I froze.

“Mr. Price!” I said. “What are you doing here?” I eyed the duffel bag in his hands. “Why do you have that bag?”

“Oh, this?” he said, smiling. “It’s funny you ask.” He fingered a gold-plated table lamp. “You never know what one might find in these old manors. All kinds of treasures.”

“Leave the Livingstons alone,” I pleaded.

“Let me remind you, Miss Lewis,” he said. “That kind of attitude will do nothing for your parents.” He took his hat off and stared at me, amused. “No point in talking about such unsavory things, when I only came to pay my employee a visit.” He walked toward me in a slow and calculated manner. “You see, I’ve made several attempts to reach you by mail.”

“But I, I—” I faltered. “I only got one. I promise.” I looked both ways, fearful that someone might be listening.

“Don’t lie, young lady,” he said, now a few inches from me. “It’s very unbecoming.”

I heard footsteps on the stairway, and I panicked. “Please, let’s not talk here. Someone might hear us.”

“And learn that you aren’t who you say you are?” he said. “My, my, have you actually taken a liking to this job? Do you fancy yourself as the doting nanny now?”

I took his arm and led him quickly into the sitting room by the front door. With the door closed behind me, I sighed. “Please, you must go.”

“Not until I know where the camellia is,” he said. “I take it you’ve found it by now.”

“That’s just the thing,” I tried to explain. “I haven’t. I need more time.”

“More time? Miss Lewis, you’ve been here for months—either the camellia is here or it isn’t here. I’m beginning to think you’ve had it unearthed yourself.” He stepped closer to me. “But you wouldn’t do that to me, now, would you?”

“Give me a few more months,” I begged. “I just need more time in the orchard. It’s nearly impossible to identify the trees when they’re not in bloom.”

He nodded. “All right. But if you haven’t found the camellia by the end of November, I’ll have my men go have another chat with your father.”

“I knew it was you,” I said, making a fist. “Please, leave him out of this, I beg of you.”

“That’s up to you, Miss Lewis,” he said, grinning. “Now, my dear,” he said, holding out his hand. “My card, in case you’ve misplaced the last one. He turned to the door. “Call me when you’ve found the camellia. And next time, I won’t be so patient.”

I waited until I heard the door click shut before I ventured back out into the foyer, which was, thankfully, empty.

I took a moment to collect myself before walking toward the drawing room.

“Oh, there you are,” Mrs. Dilloway said, appearing on the first-floor landing.

“Sorry,” I replied. “I was just showing a . . . solicitor to the door.”

We walked into the drawing room together, and Desmond jumped up from a chair and lifted her by her waist. “Mrs. Dilloway!” he cried, twirling her around.

Her pursed lips melted into a smile. She touched a badge on his uniform. “The army suits you.”

He stiffened and stood at attention, staging a faux salute. “Second lieutenant.”

Her eyes clouded with worry. “I suppose you’re going to join the fight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a proud smile. “I’ve just returned from my first mission, and my unit ships out again, this time to the south, in about a month.” His eyes met mine and looked away. “I thought I’d spend my last few weeks here—that is, if it’s not an imposition.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Dilloway said. “I’m glad you came home. We all are.”

“And my father?” he said.

“I can’t say. You parted on poor terms. Only time will tell. In any case, he’s in London now.”

Desmond’s mouth fell open.

“He’s safe,” Mrs. Dilloway assured him. “We received a telegram this afternoon. The house in London was just a few blocks from where the city was hit hardest. But he was lucky.”

“Good,” Desmond said, relieved. “When will he be home?”

“Tomorrow,” she said.

“I’d like to see the children, if I may.”

Mrs. Dilloway nodded. “Miss Lewis can take you up to see them now.”

“Let’s surprise them,” Desmond said to me with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“OK,” I whispered as we got closer to the nursery door. I could hear Abbott whining about something and Nicholas making fire truck noises.

Desmond leaned in closer to me and whispered, “Go in and tell them that their tutors are here.”

“They’ll have a conniption,” I said, grinning. “Lessons on a Saturday!”

“Then,” he continued, “I’ll wait behind the door and surprise them.”

I nodded, walking toward the door.

Inside the nursery, Abbott lay on the floor with his legs against the toy chest. He tossed the comic book he’d been reading onto the floor. “Why must life be so boring?”

Katherine and Janie sat beside the dollhouse while Nicholas pretended to push a toy fire truck toward the little building, drawing screams of annoyance from the girls.

“Children,” I said, “I’m sorry to inform you that we will be having lessons today.”

“Lessons?” Abbott cried. “But it’s Saturday. That’s . . . illegal!”

I grinned coyly. “I assure you that it’s
not
illegal.”

“Poppycock,” Janie said with a grin.

“Miss Janie,” I replied, unable to contain my laughter. “Where on earth did you learn the word
poppycock
?”

“Nicholas,” Katherine said, smiling.

“All right, all of you,” I said. “I’ve even hired a special Saturday tutor just for the occasion. In fact, he’s right outside.”

Katherine groaned. “I think I may die.”

“I am
quite
certain that you will not die.”

“Who is the tutor?” Nicholas asked. “Not that stuffy old codger with the mustache.”

“Mr. Worthington is not a stuffy old codger,” I said. “He’s a very nice man.” I lifted Janie to her feet, and Katherine followed. “Come,” I continued. “Let’s go meet him.”

With long faces, the children plodded along single file into the hallway, just as Desmond jumped from behind the door. “Surprise!” he said.

“Desmond?” Nicholas cried, grinning from ear to ear.

“Desmond!” Katherine squealed. She ran to his side and wrapped her arms around her eldest brother.

Janie clapped her hands, though I don’t think she recognized him.

Desmond knelt down beside Janie. “Last time I saw you, you were only a baby,” he said. “Look how you’ve grown!” She beamed. He then looked up at Abbott, who frowned over crossed arms.

“What’s the matter, Abbott?” I asked.

He didn’t take his eyes off of Desmond. “It isn’t right!” he shouted. “You can’t just come back here as if nothing happened at all!”

Desmond’s face looked ashen.

“It isn’t fair!” Abbott shouted before he pushed past us and ran to his room.

“You stay with the children,” I said. “I’ll go to him.”

I ran down the hallway to Abbott’s bedroom. The door was locked. “Abbott,” I said, “please open the door, honey. Please talk to me about how you’re feeling.”

“Leave me alone!” he shouted. “Please, leave me alone!”

“All right,” I said. “But I’ll be back to check on you.”

Desmond and the children spent the afternoon in the drawing room, where Janie and Katherine took turns dancing a waltz with him. Each of them squealed with delight as he whisked them around the room. Nicholas clapped his hands and played along.

Desmond manned the gramophone. “I picked this one up from a record store in the city,” he said, fumbling with the spindle. “Glenn Miller. He’s a big deal in America. Do you know of him?”

“Yes,” I said, remembering the bands at the Cabana Club at home in the Bronx. I’d wanted to be brave enough to dance with the boys who asked me, but I’d always found a reason to say no. That night with Desmond on the ship was the first time I’d ever danced with anyone.

“All right,” he said. “Then you’ll know ‘Moonlight Serenade.’” He reached for my hand.

Katherine grinned as Desmond wrapped his right arm around my waist. I clutched his shoulder as our hands clasped together.

“Pretty song, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I agreed, happy to be in his arms again.

I don’t know how long the song lasted, but it felt like an eternity. I lost myself in the music and in his embrace, as he whisked me softly around the room.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Dilloway said from the doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Miss Lewis, may I have a word with you?”

I stepped away from Desmond and hurried toward the hallway. Mrs. Dilloway closed the door to the drawing room.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I got carried away.”

“I’m not here to scold you,” Mrs. Dilloway replied. “Heaven knows I’m the least qualified to speak on matters of love.” She let out an exhausted sigh. “It’s Abbott,” she continued. “I went to check on him a moment ago and he has a terrible fever. I’m calling a doctor.”

Abbott refused dinner that evening. I worried about him. At twelve, he was somewhere between boy and man. I hated seeing him so upset.
Why did the sight of Desmond affect him so?
The doctor had visited late in the afternoon, and declared that Abbott had contracted a rare form of viral meningitis. He’d need rest, and time.

Despite the weight of Abbott’s illness, Katherine and Nicholas chattered away at Desmond during dinner. “Do you have a real gun?” Nicholas inquired.

“Yes,” Desmond said, “I do have a gun.”

“Do you have it here?” he continued. “Can we see it?”

“Now, I don’t think Miss Lewis would have me speaking about firearms at the table,” he said, casting a smile my way. “It isn’t proper.”

Sadie added a log to the fireplace in the dining room, then turned and curtsied for Desmond.

“Sadie,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too,” she said, looking flustered in the way she always did when one of Livingstons noticed her.

Mr. Beardsley shook his head, then offered Desmond a dinner roll. But before the butler could use the tongs to set it on his plate, Desmond plucked one from the basket and tossed it in the air, catching it behind his back. Nicholas watched him with eyes the size of hard-boiled eggs.

“Say,” said Desmond, “who wants to go out stargazing tonight? Just like old times.”