Читать книгу The House Of Secrets - Elizabeth Blackwell - Страница 10

ALISSA COULD TELL Constance was surprised by her appearance, but she was too tired to care. She reached forward for a hug, then pulled back as she saw her friend stiffen. No wonder—Constance, as usual, was immaculate in a pressed cotton blouse and tailored trousers, while Alissa looked like a refugee from a construction site. Her greasy hair was jammed under an old college baseball cap. A paint-splattered, stretched-out T-shirt was paired with saggy pants that had a rip across one leg, and a fine layer of wood dust was sprinkled over her skin. The two women looked each other over, then broke into laughter.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Alissa exclaimed. “Ready for the tour?”

Constance clapped her hands together and pressed them to her chest, one of the prim, old-lady gestures that made her appear far older than she was. Although, at thirty-five, she was only a few years older than Alissa, Constance Powers seemed to belong to another generation. Even when her job as an architect had her traipsing through dusty building sites in a hard hat, Constance managed to stay elegant. Somewhere between a mentor and older-sister figure, Constance was the person Alissa aspired to be.

“Is this still a good time?” Constance asked. “If you’re in the middle of something…”

“I’ll be ‘in the middle of something’ for the next ten years, from the look of it,” Alissa said cheerfully. “Come in—I’m ready for a break. I even made sandwiches.”

Constance stepped into the middle of the foyer, then gasped as she took in the soaring staircase and chandelier hanging high above her.

“Oh, Alissa!” she exclaimed. Alissa grinned with delight. She could tell from her friend’s expression that Constance saw past the paint cans and the tarps on the floor. She felt the magic of this house.

“I know it’s a disaster zone,” Alissa apologized. “I’m not going to invite anyone else over until I get the place in better shape.”

“It’s fantastic!” Constance said. “Even more so than I imagined. Give me the full tour.”

Alissa guided her friend through the rooms, talking nonstop and pointing out her favorite architectural details along the way. They ended in the master bedroom, just off the landing at the top of the main staircase. Constance pulled open the French doors that opened out onto a narrow balcony above the back garden. She looked down on the white stone patio and walkway below. Bushes and weeds had long since taken over the flower beds, but the outline of the garden’s elegant design was still clear.

Constance turned and walked back inside. Her eyes scanned the high-ceilinged room. A double bed, one dresser and an armchair sat forlornly in the middle of a space that could have easily held twice as much furniture. The floral-patterned wallpaper was peeling off the walls. A full-length mirror mounted in a gaudy gold frame made the room seem even larger and emptier. Constance fingered the floor-length white curtains.

“These are new, at least?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Alissa said. “The old ones were so dusty, I couldn’t stand it.”

“Once you get this wallpaper down and put on a fresh coat of paint, it will look great,” Constance said.

Alissa shrugged. “I’m concentrating on the downstairs for now.”

“At least you’ve got indoor plumbing,” Constance joked as she peered into the en-suite bathroom. “When would you say this was done—the late fifties?”

“Whenever peach and black were considered the height of fashion.” Alissa laughed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally getting some help,” Constance said. “What time did you say that guy was coming?”

Alissa glanced at her watch. A contractor recommended by Elaine, the Realtor, was due in half an hour for an interview. Alissa had hoped to hire some of the workmen she’d used in projects around Baltimore, but none were willing to drive this far.

“One o’clock,” Alissa said. “C’mon—I’ve got lunch set up in the dining room.”

The round, glass-topped dining table and silver aluminum chairs—brought from Alissa’s modern condo—looked especially incongruous in the middle of the formal room. Dark wood wainscoting covered the lower half of the walls; the upper half was covered in worn burgundy velvet.

“I know it’s silly to eat in this giant room when it’s just the two of us,” Alissa said, pushing an open bag of potato chips toward Constance. “But the kitchen is such a mess. Plus, it’s so dark—it’s not my favorite place to hang out.”

“Ah, yes, the days before eat-in kitchens,” Constance mused. “Half my jobs these days are kitchen expansions. Have you thought about knocking down that wall between the kitchen and conservatory? It would open up the whole back of the house.”

“I’m not ripping out any walls,” Alissa said firmly. “I want to keep the original character of the house.”

“Suit yourself. You know me—always ready to tear things apart!”

“Any other changes you’d make?” Alissa asked.

“Oh, plenty,” Constance teased. “But that doesn’t mean the house isn’t lovely as is.”

“Really? You don’t think I’m a complete fool for buying it?”

Constance carefully wiped her lips with her napkin, then leaned toward Alissa.

“Between you and me, I think you got the bargain of the century,” she said.

Alissa laughed with relief. “Thank you. I mean—I was so sure I was doing the right thing when I signed the papers, but lately, I’ve wondered what I’ve gotten myself into.”

“Of course you have. I feel like that on every job I take. There’s always a hidden support beam that can’t be moved or some other random complication. But this place—Alissa, it’s wonderful.”

Alissa grinned.

“It’s got such great bones,” Constance continued. “The rooms, the way each one opens onto the other, with fantastic sight lines…it’s really ahead of its time. Now, I’d open it up even more, as I said, but even just updating it will make such a difference. Didn’t you say something about a bed-and-breakfast?”

“Maybe,” Alissa said. “A lot of people come out here from Baltimore and Washington for the weekend. I could make extra money renting out rooms in the summer if I had to. It all depends on how my design business goes.”

“And how’s it going?”

“All right, I guess.” Alissa shrugged. “A few of my clients from Marsh and Mason said they’d like to keep working with me. Nothing fancy—mostly basements and kids’ rooms. Honestly, I’ve been so busy here that I don’t have time to drum up new business.”

“Whenever you’re ready for more work, let me know,” Constance said. “I’ve got a lot of contacts who could help get you started. Anything I can do to keep you from going back to that miserable office.”

“Walking out the door was one of the greatest days of my life,” Alissa agreed. “No regrets there.”

“Look.” Constance pursed her lips with concern. “I’m really sorry I didn’t make it to your goodbye party. I wanted to be there.”

“I know,” Alissa said. Despite all the confidences that the two women had exchanged over the years, there was one topic Alissa didn’t know how to address: Constance’s desperate desire for a child. Years of trying unsuccessfully to get pregnant had finally given way to tests and doctors’ visits and fertility treatments. Now, Constance and her husband, Colin, were at the mercy of a constant, ever-changing schedule of tests and procedures. When a few of Alissa’s coworkers had thrown her a combination leaving-work and leaving-Baltimore party, Constance had called to say she wouldn’t be there because she had a hospital appointment early the next morning. Alissa hadn’t needed to ask why.

“So, the hospital?” Alissa asked carefully.

Constance shook her head slowly. “No luck. But thanks for asking. There’s some good news, though,” she said with a determined smile. “I met with another specialist, and he thinks I’m a good candidate for a new kind of treatment. I’ll spare you the gory details—it probably won’t be pleasant—but it’s worth a shot.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” Alissa promised. “If you ever want to talk about it…”

Constance nodded. “I know.”

Alissa took in her friend’s wistful expression and changed the subject. “So, how does Colin like his new job?” Alissa asked.

“It’s good enough for now. Keeping the books for a dysfunctional family business was never his long-term ambition, but at least he’ll get some decent stories out of it.” Constance’s husband had been laid off from a large accounting firm a year earlier, and Alissa had watched them both grow steadily more frustrated with his fruitless job hunt. Constance had even implied they would have to take a break from fertility treatments because of financial worries. But now that Colin was employed again, things seemed to be looking up.

“Have you heard from Brad?” Constance asked.

“Nope. Thank God. I don’t need the distraction,” Alissa lied. In reality, she was hurt that he hadn’t called once, even though she’d left her new number on his voice mail. After talking every day for years, it seemed impossible that they now had nothing to say. Not that she wanted to get back together. It just felt strange to have him so absent from her life.

“His loss,” Constance said. Their laughter was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

“Ah, it’s your new handyman!” Constance announced. “Should I get going? I don’t want to be in the way of the big interview.”

“No, please stay,” Alissa urged. “I’d love a second opinion.”

As the two women walked toward the front door, Constance whispered, “Do you think he’s still got all his teeth?”

“I don’t care if he’s toothless and bald,” Alissa whispered back. “As long as he’s strong enough to pick up a hammer.”

Still smiling, she pulled open the heavy wood door. Her smile froze and her eyes widened in surprise. The man standing before her was far from the grizzled, feeble handyman she had envisioned. Instead, she faced a man not much older than herself, with muscular shoulders and biceps that nicely filled out his gray T-shirt. She was struck by his green eyes, which stared at her intently as if equally taken with her. He ran one hand through his longish, dark brown hair, shaking her out of her reverie.

“Alissa Franklin?” he asked.

“Daniel Pierce?”

His eyes crinkled amid laugh lines as they shook hands. “Call me Danny,” he said.

“Danny.” She stood unmoving, still trying to reconcile this vigorous man with the decrepit figure she had expected.

“Can I come in?” Danny asked, gesturing to the hallway behind her.

“Of course,” Alissa said, embarrassed by her awkwardness. “Um, this is my friend Constance. She’s just visiting. I mean, she’s an architect, so she might have some questions for you, too. Just, you know, to get another perspective.”

Constance stepped forward to block Alissa’s nervous chatter. “Nice to meet you, Danny.” She gripped his hand with both of hers, then turned her back to him and gave Alissa a wide-eyed smile. “Hot!” she mouthed.

Danny ran a hand down his face as though stifling a laugh. Mortified that he might have caught Constance’s reaction, Alissa stiffened her shoulders and fixed Danny with her best professional expression.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said good-naturedly. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I just thought you’d be much older.”

Alissa relaxed. “I thought the same thing about you.”

And with that, the nervousness lifted. Alissa felt like herself again. How many times had she interviewed workmen for projects? She could do this almost without thinking. As they sat at the dining room table and Alissa described her plans for the house, she ignored Constance’s meaningful looks and teasing asides. Constance—happily married for almost ten years—could enjoy a harmless flirtation. Alissa, on the other hand, would be this man’s employer. She had to make it clear she wasn’t angling for a date. No matter how hot he was.

Taking Danny on a walk through the house, Alissa was struck by his silence. He didn’t try to impress her, although his occasional comments showed a more than passable knowledge of architecture and design. Unlike so many other men she’d met in construction, he didn’t come on strong. If anything, he appeared too thoughtful—something she had never encountered in a workman before.

“I’ll need to check your references,” Alissa said as they returned to the front door.

“Sure.” Danny pulled a crumpled, folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket. “There are some names and numbers on here.”

She took the worn sheet and unfolded it gingerly. He hadn’t put much effort into the presentation. Would he be this cavalier about his work?

“Thanks,” Alissa said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I hope so,” Danny said. “It’s a great house. I’ve driven by it so many times, wondering if anyone would ever fix it up. If I had the money, I would’ve bought it myself.”

Afterward, Alissa deflected Constance’s teasing about the hunky handyman.

“I can’t hire the first person who shows up,” she protested.

But deep down, she knew she would, because he felt the same way about the house as she did. He would give it the respect it deserved. His good looks were just a bonus.

TO AVOID LOOKING too eager, Alissa waited a full twenty-four hours before calling Danny and offering him the job. If he guessed that she hadn’t interviewed anyone else, he didn’t let on, telling her he was glad to be chosen and would be there the next morning to get started. About half an hour later, Elaine Price called.

“So, I hear you’ve hired Danny,” she announced cheerily.

“Word travels fast,” Alissa said.

“The downside of life in a small town, I’m afraid. Everyone knows everything. Danny’s mother and I are old friends, and I told her to call me as soon as she heard. He’s a very responsible worker—you won’t be disappointed.”

“Thanks for the recommendation.” Elaine’s words echoed the description she had gotten from Danny’s references the night before. Dependable. Honest. Hardworking. No one volunteered the information she really wanted: why someone like him—handsome, smart, well-spoken—was working as a glorified carpenter in the middle of nowhere.

“I’m glad you’re finally getting some help,” Elaine said. “Though I’m impressed with what you’ve accomplished on your own.”

Elaine seemed like the kind of person who’d call an electrician to help her change a lightbulb.

“There was one more thing I wanted to mention,” she continued. “I was at the library yesterday—have you been there yet?”

“No,” Alissa said. “I’ve barely left the house since I moved in, except to run to the hardware store.”

“I got to talking with Claire Polley, who’s been the librarian there for ages. I mentioned you and the house, and she said the library has a whole box of materials on the Brewsters. You should talk to her. That is, if you’re still interested in the history of the house.”

“Oh, yes,” Alissa said. “Very much so.”

“Good,” Elaine said. “Claire works Mondays through Thursdays. On Fridays and Saturdays, the new girl’s there. She’s sweet but quite useless. Claire’s the one you want.”

“I’ll try to get down there later this week,” Alissa said. But as soon as she hung up the phone, she found herself distracted from her latest project, stripping paint off a doorway molding. She glanced at her watch. Three-thirty. If she hurried, she would have an hour or so to glance through the documents. There might even be pictures of the house. Maybe, if she found one of the home’s interior, she could restore the rooms to their original decor. She could bring the house back to the way it used to be, when it was filled with happiness and love.

Alissa spotted Claire as soon as she entered the library. She was a delicate older woman who looked as if she had been living among the stacks for decades. Her curly white hair was almost the same shade as her pale white skin, and when she reached out to shake Alissa’s hand, her arms were nearly translucent, revealing the veins beneath the surface.

“No one’s looked at this for years,” she said, “so it’s all a bit dusty.” She pointed to a document box in a corner behind her desk. “I’m not even sure what’s here. The contents were never cataloged, I’m afraid.”

Alissa carried the box to a long table in the center of the room. She removed the top and saw a stack of magazine and newspaper clippings piled loosely inside. She scanned the headline on the first article: Brewster Mansion Falls to the Wrecking Ball.

“I don’t know much about the family,” Claire said, “but I’ll try to help you if I can.”

Alissa nodded distractedly. Claire’s voice had already faded into the background. She dug through the articles, going back from the 1960s to the 1920s, reading stories about the Brewster Shipping Company and tea parties given by women of the town. Then, toward the bottom, she spotted a headline.

Lavish Brewster Wedding Dazzles. The date on the newspaper was April 21, 1904.

Alissa read the subhead: Charles Brewster Introduces His Bride to Baltimore Society.

She pulled out the article, staring at a photo of a young couple standing together, facing the camera. Charles and Evelyn Brewster. He seemed stiff and serious; she clung to his arm, wearing a formal gown with puffed sleeves, a shy fairy-tale heroine clutching her dashing prince.

Suddenly, Alissa envied them with a force that caught her by surprise. For months, she had heard her new home described as the Brewster house. But the Brewsters themselves had remained shadowy figures. Now, finally, she would find out who they’d really been—and what had happened to them.