The Curse of Bloodstone. V. J. Banis

through to the pantry and eventually the large kitchen. Tutrice was fumbling around near the open hearth. When she heard Vanessa’s steps she straightened and nodded a morning greeting. Vanessa put her arms around the old woman and hugged her tight.

      “Good morning, dear Tutrice,” Vanessa said gaily. “Isn’t it wonderful to be alive and home again?”

      “Alive? Home? You are as alive as you were yesterday, and you were home yesterday. Why do you think things are different today?”

      “Oh, Tutrice, don’t be so glum. I feel so happy, so marvelous. I don’t think even your gloominess could change that.”

      “The storm is passed. Perhaps the new day has brought you new hope.”

      “No, Tutrice. I no longer have to hope. I will merely wait. It will all come to be, just as I wish it to be.”

      “So, finally you are beginning to understand.”

      “I don’t want to understand; I don’t have to. I’m content just to be alive and let fate take care of the rest.”

      “You did not dream last night?”

      “I’m done dreaming.”

      “That is well—but be wary of your new-found freedom.”

      “Again you talk in riddles, Tutrice, why don’t you ever just say what is on your mind.”

      “It is that you do not listen, or do not wish to listen. But soon you will understand what you must do.”

      “Tell me.”

      “There is Bloodstone first to be thought of. You must get yourself prepared to put things right with Bloodstone.”

      “I’ll speak with Father after breakfast.”

      “No, not him. Your father cannot do anything, not yet. In time he will help, whether he wishes to or not.”

      “More riddles.” Vanessa went to the big door that led outside and threw it open. Sunlight poured into the room. “Oh, Tutrice. You were right. The storm has gone. And today is meant for fun and laughter.”

      “And love?”

      “Yes, and love.” They both laughed.

      The door swung open and Jeremiah Mallory appeared. His somber expression seemed to pale the brilliant sunlight.

      “Good morning, Father,” Vanessa said. “See, the storm has passed.”

      “You should keep the door closed,” he said. “It makes a draft in the house. You know how susceptible your mother is to drafts.”

      “Forgive me, Father. I forgot.” She pulled the door shut. The room was suddenly so cold and so dark, the feeling of being trapped came over her—trapped in her own house.

      Tutrice paid no attention to either Vanessa or Jeremiah, but Vanessa saw Tutrice’s eyes shift from time to time in Jeremiah’s direction. It was as if she were on guard, waiting for something that might happen.

      Vanessa forced herself to smile at her father. “Tutrice and I were just talking about Bloodstone, Father. I thought I might go into Skull Point and arrange for repairs to the outside.”

      “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I will take care of it in due time.”

      “It should be done now,” Tutrice put in without looking up.

      Jeremiah did not answer her.

      “Please, Father,” Vanessa said. “I would so like the house to be as it was. You needn’t bother with any of the work. I’ll attend to everything.”

      She expected to get an argument, but her father merely nodded and said, “Very well, if that is what you wish.” He turned to leave but hesitated and looked back over his shoulder at her. “But your mother must not be disturbed by the workmen. I won’t tolerate any of them in the house. She’s not as strong as she could be.”

      “There won’t be any need for them to come inside. The interior seems in perfect condition; and I will caution them to be as quiet as possible while they work.”

      Jeremiah nodded again. He left the room. Vanessa looked at Tutrice. “What’s wrong? He doesn’t seem to care about Bloodstone. Why? What happened while I was away? I know something happened, but what?”

      “Don’t bother about your father,” Tutrice said. “I’ve heard he has not been well. People say he thought you drowned and gave up living.”

      “But I’m home. Surely that should make him happy.”

      “Perhaps your return was too late.” Tutrice came over to her and put a withered arm around her shoulders. “Don’t fret about it, my baby. Bloodstone is your concern now. I am sure your father will not interfere with anything you wish to do.”

      Vanessa wondered what secret existed between Tutrice and her father. Whatever had happened during Vanessa’s absence was undoubtedly known to Tutrice.

      It was too beautiful a day to wonder about such things, however. She donned a cloak and bonnet, at Tutrice’s insistence, and would not hear of Tutrice’s offer to chaperone. Once she was outside and saw Bloodstone’s crumbling exterior, her heart became heavy. She stood at the back of the house looking up at the sagging shutters, the missing clapboards. She tried to make a mental calculation of the extent of deterioration, but the project seemed too enormous.

      “Good morning, miss,” a man said as he doffed his hat and smiled at her.

      She looked around in surprise. She’d never seen the man before.

      “I’m Carl, the stablemaster,” he told her. “I heard you were back, Miss Vanessa. Welcome home.”

      She thanked him but her mind was suddenly on last night and Tutrice’s efforts to conjure up this man’s dead wife. “I don’t remember you, Carl.”

      “No, miss. I wasn’t at Bloodstone when you went away.” He bowed slightly to her and walked away.

      Something about the man made her uncomfortable, though. She walked around the side of the mansion and out onto the north terrace, a wide, tiled platform on the very edge of a cliff that fell leisurely down to the sea. Below the marble balustrade edging the terrace stood wave after wave of pines, smelling warm and spicy after the lashing storm. She heard birds twittering and a cool breeze drifted over her, teasing her hair. As far as she could see the ocean stretched out, calm and shimmering. It was an enchanting view.

      Vanessa sighed. It was wonderful to be back; she’d never leave Bloodstone again. She stepped onto the path that would eventually take her to Skull Point. The path meandered through the Mallory property, eventually reaching the edge of the bluff and skirted the precipitous cliff for a goodly distance.

      She suddenly caught sight of a small sailing boat making ready to leave the shore. Noah Bingham’s, she decided. The storm would make the catch a good one, she told herself as she watched Noah and his crew working to bring the boat’s nose toward the open sea.

      She was unmindful of the soggy, treacherous ground upon which she walked and began to hurry.

      The cliff path led toward a grove of dense pine trees. The grove of pines skirted only one side of the path; the other side fell far and sharp down into the sea and the jagged, spear-tipped rocks at the foot of the cliff.

      From out of nowhere something or someone shoved hard at the back of her shoulder. Vanessa screamed as her feet slipped out from under her. She fell to the side, toward the cliff and started to roll over the edge.