Читать книгу Winds of Nightsong - V. J. Banis - Страница 5

CHAPTER ONE

San Francisco, California—1912

As full as her life had once been, Lydia now felt empty. She reached for her brandy glass and gazed at the amber liquid which had become her friend of late. The delicate etching in the bowl of the Waterford goblet glinted enticingly in the light from the fireplace. She knew she had been drinking far too much these past months; but since Peter’s death, brandy seemed to deaden the pain—or did it intensify it?

“Lydia Nightsong,” she sighed, resting her head against the back of the chair and swirling the brandy slowly, watching the colors melt and flow. “Nightsong...what a strange name.” For a moment she couldn’t remember how she’d come by the name. Of course it was no more strange than that of the overbearing Ima Hogg of San Francisco society, nor as insipid and frivolous as Ima’s friend Charity Faire.

“Nightsong,” she said again. “Oh yes.” She closed her eyes and saw the simple little painting some Chinese artist, perhaps centuries ago, had painted on the wall of Peter MacNair’s hut in that remote Chinese village. She saw it so clearly. There was a branch of a plum tree, in full blossom, and a bird on the branch singing to a golden crescent moon. Now, as so often before, she felt she had only to listen to hear the nightingale’s song and catch the pale flowers’ fragrant scent.

“So long ago,” Lydia said. She took another sip of the brandy, remembering that night and the little bird singing to the moon, that night she’d so willingly given herself to Peter.

“Peter,” she said to the near-empty brandy glass, and the tears came in a rush. Dead. They were all dead, as dead as her own life felt now.

Lydia turned her head when she heard the door to her sitting room open. “Who is it?” she snapped, annoyed by the intrusion.

“Mother? You really shouldn’t be sitting here alone in the dark,” her son said as he came over to her chair and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged it off. “I prefer to be alone, Leon.”

“You’re too much alone,” he answered sharply. “You are not doing yourself or anyone else any good by locking yourself away and trying to crawl inside that damned brandy bottle. Good God, Mother, what would your tony friends say if they knew?”

“To the devil with those Nob Hill snobs. They never liked me anyway, nor I them. I was only accepted because of my wealth and influence.” Angrily she drained the glass and reached for the bottle that sat on the table next to her chair.

Leon took the bottle out of her hand. “I think you’ve had quite enough.”

She glared at him and grabbed it back. “Don’t you dare dictate to me, young man.”

He smiled. “Young man? Dear heavens, Mother. I’m thirty-eight-years old, which is hardly young.”

Lydia splashed more brandy into her glass. “Thirty-eight,” she sighed. “Have the years gone by as quickly as that? I feel I’ve lived two hundred years.”

“Only fifty-eight,” Leon answered with a grin. “And still an extremely beautiful woman. If you put your mind to it, you’d easily catch another husband.”

Lydia sniffed. “I’ve had my share of those.” She reached for his hand. “I have you, darling, and April and my grandchildren. That’s enough to satisfy me.” She turned her head. “Is April in her room?”

“Yes. She’s asleep. I’m worried about her, Mother. Isn’t there anything we can do? Perhaps one of those psychiatrists?”

“No,” Lydia said firmly. “In her mind your sister is where she wants to be, back in her old world where she was once so happy.”

“I was reading in the Examiner just the other day about a doctor in Vienna,” Leon persisted. “Dr. Sigmund Freud. They say he’s performing miracles with people like April, people whose minds have drifted away from reality.”

“Reality? You call this reality?” his mother snapped, switching her long, bombazine skirt. “Flying machines and carriages without horses. Unsinkable ocean liners that sink, carrying fifteen hundred people to their graves. And that odious Sun Yat-sen destroying the Manchu dynasty—your dynasty, I might remind you. The world is crumbling around our ears. Better that April retreat to the time and place of her greatest happiness and kindly allow me the same privilege.”

“This is 1912, Mother,” Leon said patiently. “A time for moving forward, a time for progress.”

“Progress? Progressing to what? Machines are taking over the world.”

“Everything has its price, Mother, even progress,” Leon said softly. “You can’t just spend the rest of your life thinking of what was. And from everything you’ve told me, your past wasn’t all that wonderful.”

“True, true,” Lydia answered with a deep sigh. “But that is when I was most content. It’s what I know. I don’t want a future. It would be too strange.”

“Of course you want a future. It isn’t right for you to drink yourself into an early grave. That’s what you’re doing, you realize?”

“It’s my life.”

“But what about us? What about your grandchildren and all the people who need you? What about April?”

“Poor April,” she said, reflecting. “Forced to pose as my servant when we first came here because the Chinese were so hated and despised. You were fortunate, Leon. You inherited my features and could easily pass as an American, while poor April could never hide what she was—the half-breed daughter of a Manchu prince.”

“Nor does she want to hide it even now. April still sees herself as heir to the Chinese throne. She speaks to me of nothing else but the day when we will return to Peking and make claim to our father’s royal rights.”

“And have your heads cut off by that maniacal Dr. Sun.”

“Sun Yat-sen is a republican, not a tyrant like my ancestors.”

Lydia chuckled. “Don’t let April hear you say that or you will bring on another of her tantrums.”

“I’m not proud of my father’s heritage, only of yours, Mother.”

She patted his hand. “You were always my favorite son, Leon.”

“Not Marcus?” he asked, toying with her.

“Dear Marcus. I’m afraid he has too much of Peter MacNair’s blood in him. As you know, much as I adored Peter MacNair, he was an overly ambitious and adventurous man. Peter was wild when he was Marcus’s age, always taking what he wanted, doing what he wanted, never satisfied. Marcus is like that too.”

“Marcus will turn out all right, Mother. He’ll marry Amelia and give you dozens of grandchildren to fuss over.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt that very much. Oh, I believe Marcus loves Amelia, but he has this racing-machine thing gnawing at him. He will never settle for a quiet life of marriage. That kind of existence is too tame for Marcus. He wants the things his father wanted—excitement, constant change, danger.”

When he noticed she was becoming uncomfortable with thoughts of her son by Peter MacNair, Leon changed the subject. “What about Adam?” he asked. “Do you think April will ever get her son back?”

“Adam is Lord Clarendon now, or soon will be. No one in England knows of his true parents. And no one must ever know,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Adam seems happy with his life as an English lord; but then why shouldn’t he? He never knew anything else. Yet, I think Adam might come back to us one day. When last we spoke, there was a strangeness in him that makes me believe he will never forget that he was born in China to a woman who is a true Manchu princess.”

“Has he married that English girl to whom he was engaged?”

“Pamela? No,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “In his last letter he said he was still unsure about marriage. He told Pamela the identity of his real mother and father, and she wants Adam to forget them. Poor little Adam, so grown up and yet so torn apart by his loyalties. The Clarendons gave him so much, and yet he now knows he is really not entitled to any of it.”

“And Caroline? Is she still gadding about Europe trying to find happiness?”

“Still in Venice with some Italian count.”

“I’ve often wondered why she didn’t come back with you when you brought Peter home to be buried.”

Lydia frowned. She could never reveal to anyone the reason for Caroline’s unhappiness, how miserable and distraught the girl had been after learning that the young man she so desperately loved was in fact her own long-lost brother. Caroline had fled to Italy to try and erase her guilt and shame, but Lydia doubted that was possible.

“Caroline has to find herself,” Lydia said simply, dismissing the sordid matter. “And she will...in time.”

Leon tightened the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. “I think you should go to bed, Mother. It’s past eleven. Shall I call Nellie?”

“No,” Lydia said, rising unsteadily to her feet. “I can manage by myself. Don’t bother Nellie.”

As he helped his mother to her bedroom, she staggered. “Madam, I do believe you are quite inebriated,” Leon chided.

“I’m drunk,” Lydia admitted. “Inebriated is what proper Nob Hill dowagers become, and I have always been one to call a spade a spade. So I’m drunk, my dear boy, very, very drunk.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he said with a laugh.

“Well, I’m not. It isn’t the first time, you know. Peter and I did so enjoy our champagne...and each other,” she added with a lewd wink.

“You’re impossible. I always thought that by the time I grew up you’d be a sweet little white-haired lady who knitted constantly and made gingerbread cookies.”

“I will never be anything but what I am: a tough old dame who enjoys a good belt every once in a while.”

He helped her onto the side of her bed. “Your every once in a while is becoming a habit lately. You know that, of course.”

“It’s my only comfort, Leon. Please don’t lecture me.”

“It isn’t your only comfort. You’re letting Empress Cosmetics go down the drain and you don’t even seem to care.”

“I don’t.” She scowled at him. “And if my cosmetics empire is going down the drain, as you say, then you are the one to blame, Leon. You are, after all, in control now. I’ve left it all for you to run.”

“You know I can’t manage without your help, Mother. Oh, the company is doing all right, but not as well as it could. The people there need you at the top. They’re used to your ways, not mine; and the wholesalers and distributors want to deal with you, not me.”

“When I’m dead they’ll have to deal with you, so they might as well get used to it now.”

“You’re not dead yet, nor will you be for a long time unless you kill that liver of yours.”

“I’m tired, Leon. Get out of here and let me go to sleep.”

He kissed her cheek and bade her good night. “Sleep well, Mother. And tomorrow I want to tell you about a new Nightsong scent I’ve been developing in the lab.”

“There will be no more Nightsong,” Lydia said adamantly.

He only grinned. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow.” He blew her another kiss and quickly left the room before she could say anything more.

Lydia lowered herself back against the pillows and put an arm across her eyes. She hoped, with all her heart, that this night would not be like all the others, filled with those unpleasant memories of her lost love, the nightmare in which Peter’s body turned into a skeleton in his coffin. More than anything else she wanted to be in that coffin beside him, holding him in her arms as their bodies decayed together. She pictured the sandy brown hair that spilled carelessly over his forehead, the dark brown eyes that turned a smoldering black when he scowled.

She idly undid the pins that bound up her hair and let it fall in a luxuriant red-gold cascade about her face and shoulders. Gently she touched her fingertips to her cheeks, searching for the wrinkles she knew were there but everyone said she imagined.

“Still a beautiful woman,” she remembered Leon saying. She supposed she was, but what did that matter? She had only wanted to be beautiful for Peter, no one else. All she wanted now, she admitted, was to sit here and feel sorry for herself, to wallow in self-pity. It was her right, and that was what she intended to do with the rest of her years.

Sleep came quickly and with it the same old terrible dreams: Lorna MacNair’s thin, cruel lips sneered at her as she threw back her head and let out a demonic laugh that brought an agonizing cry from Lydia’s mouth.

At last Lorna had what she’d always wanted...her husband safely entombed in a mausoleum where Lydia could never again take him away from her.

Suddenly, Lydia felt the bed, the entire room shaking violently. Lydia imagined the ceiling cracking above her head and the plaster and walls caving in on her.

“Earthquake,” she screamed as she opened her eyes wide with terror and stared around her. The room was still. There was no sound except the voice of Nellie, no motion but the housekeeper’s gentle shaking of her shoulder.

“You were dreaming again,” Nellie said softly. “It’s the brandy, Lydia. It makes your mind conjure up dreadful old things.”

Lydia became aware of the bright sunlight pouring through the windows, giving the room a new, sparkling look. “Wh-what time is it?”

“Ten o’clock. And look at you. Still in the same clothes you wore last night. Here, let me brace you up. I’ve brought your coffee and toast. How do you feel?”

Lydia ran her hand across her forehead as if to wipe away the dull ache. “How should I feel?” she snapped. Despite her show of irritation, she couldn’t help being thankful that her dreams were gone.

“Evelyn Clary’s downstairs having breakfast. She said she will not leave the house until she’s talked to you. It’s important, she claims.”

“Evelyn? Tell her I can’t see her.”

“She won’t leave, Lydia. She made that perfectly plain. She has a briefcase with her, and whenever I see someone carrying a briefcase I know it means trouble.”

“Tell Evelyn I will not see her.”

“Yes, you will see her,” Evelyn said as she came into the room, a black leather case tucked neatly under her arm. Evelyn Clary was not a particularly handsome woman. She had a tailored look about her that clearly proclaimed she was all business. “You’ve avoided me long enough, Lydia. Now I’m going to have my say and you are going to listen.”

“Please go away,” Lydia said with a wave of her hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Evelyn answered as she pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. “A long time ago when you first started Empress Cosmetics, you saved me from the streets by giving me a job. You made me a rich and respectable woman, Lydia. I’m not going to sit by and let all we have both worked so hard for be taken away from us.”

“No one’s taking anything away, Evelyn. I’m sure you and Leon can handle whatever is happening at the office.”

“Not this,” Evelyn said, unsnapping the briefcase and pulling out a legal document with a blue backing. “A little present for you from Lorna MacNair.” She handed the paper to Lydia.

“What does that damned woman want from me now?”

“Everything,” Evelyn said. She took a piece of Lydia’s toast and began munching it as Lydia scanned the document. “Read.”

Lydia saw the worried look that Evelyn was trying to hide. Slowly she read the legal print. As she scanned the sentences she found her fingers tightening on the page. “What in hell?” she breathed.

“As I said, that bitch has decided she wants everything you have.”

“Impossible! Lorna is out of her mind.”

Evelyn shook her head and leaned forward. “I’ve checked with our lawyers, of course. She has a case, Lydia.” Evelyn’s eyes darkened. “Remember when Peter died and left his cosmetics enterprises to you? MacNair Products wasn’t much competition for our company, but it’s always put out a less expensive line of perfumes and cosmetics and the market for the cheaper stuff is very good these days.”

“And now Lorna wants it back.”

“Not only MacNair Products, honey. Lorna wants everything. Unfortunately, when you consolidated MacNair Products into Empress Cosmetics you made it one total entity. Lorna obviously figured you would do that—consolidate the two companies—and she just sat like a fat spider waiting for her chance. Now, as you can see by that notification, Lorna has decided to contest her husband’s will. If she succeeds in convincing the courts that MacNair Products rightfully belongs to Peter’s legal heirs—his wife and children—she will take it away from you. But MacNair Products doesn’t exist as such anymore; it’s now Empress Cosmetics. So you see, unless you fight it, Lorna will get everything and you and I and your family will be back to square one without the proverbial pot, my dear.”

Lydia looked dazed. “Can she do that?”

“She sure as hell is going to try,” Evelyn said, pointing to the legal paper.

“Dear God. I just thought of something,” Lydia gasped.

“What?”

Lydia thought back. “Do you recall when I first hired you, Evelyn?”

“Sure. You’d met that awful Walter Hanover when you and April first came here with the dowager empress’s personal scent. Walter said it could be duplicated and promised to supply the money to set up Empress Cosmetics.”

“And then he skipped out, leaving us with a pile of debts and very little future.”

“But we managed to survive rather nicely without Walter,” Evelyn said proudly.

Lydia shook her head. “Walter had me sign a paper when we started the company. It was to be a fifty-fifty proposition, which was exactly what I wanted. I had no intention of being beholden to Walter, if you know what I mean.”

Evelyn knew. Walter had wanted to bed Lydia and obviously he had, because he wasn’t the type of man who gave anything without getting something in return. She nodded.

“Years after Walter skipped out and you and I made a success of our company, he showed up again and laid claim to his fifty percent share. Peter MacNair bought that fifty percent from Walter for an exorbitant price.”

“So?”

Lydia ran her hand across her eyes. “Oh, Evelyn, I’d forgotten all about that paper until just now.”

“What about it? When Peter died and left you everything in his will, his fifty percent interest in Empress Cosmetics automatically became yours.”

“Not exactly,” Lydia said hesitantly. “You know how I was after Peter died? I didn’t care about much of anything and I wasn’t interested in the company. I’d forgotten all about that paper giving Peter half of everything I owned. Fool that I am, I’d never thought to have Peter reassign that half back to me before he died. That claim was in Peter’s safe in his private study. I never got it. Lorna obviously found it. All that was mentioned in Peter’s will was his bequest to me of MacNair Products. There was no mention of his half interest in Empress Cosmetics. According to the will, the MacNair company went to me and all the other rights and assets in his estate went to Lorna. So Lorna MacNair actually inherited that percentage in our company, Evelyn.”

“God in heaven,” Evelyn breathed. “That means that in addition to suing for ownership of MacNair Products, Lorna can still claim half of our enterprises.”

“And I’m sure she won’t settle for just half, my dear. But by God, she isn’t going to get anything,” Lydia swore, throwing back the coverlet. “I’m getting dressed now, and then you and I are going to pay a visit to our attorneys. That bitch will regret picking a fight with me.”

Evelyn clapped her hands. “That’s my girl. Welcome back to the living, kiddo.”