Consider Me Gone, page 14
part #1 of Time Shadows Series
“Wait,” Louisa interrupted, holding up both hands. “Please, both of you. This is not helping and I absolutely do not want you, Romy, to be getting further upset.” She glowered at Adrian. “And, as for you, Dr. Countway, I suggest you stop thinking you know everything about the universe ‘cause all your degrees are no better than alphabet soup when it comes to deeper matters. Pry open your mind, why don’t you? Think like a human with a spirit, not a scholar.”
He grimaced. “But I am a scholar.”
“You are also a man with a soul.”
“Why don’t you talk about the night Stanley King died?” Jo suggested as she paced about the room barefoot. “That seems pretty pressing right now.”
Romy nodded. “The police have at least one witness who said they saw us together after I left O’Briens, Adrian. I certainly don’t remember seeing you later that evening. Did you see me?”
He turned away again, his long legs taking him across the room, nearly colliding with Jo. “No, I certainly did not. The police’s sources are mistaken, as I’ve told the detective in charge. After you ran out of the restaurant, we did try to follow you—Veronica and I, plus one of the restaurant staff, that is—but we lost you on Bourbon. We walked down the length of the street looking and even went so far as to wait outside your cottage, all to no avail. After I dropped Veronica off at her hotel, I continued my search alone—very concerned, you understand—but I never did meet up with you.”
Louisa, standing with her arms crossed, shook her head. “So you think. And you have no soft spots in your memory, no fuzzy bits?”
“Absolutely none,” he insisted. “I recall every action I took that night.” He paused as if gazing back into his thoughts.
“Regression affects different folks different ways, Adrian.” Louisa said, her eyes fixed on his face. “Did you go to sleep any time that night?”
A startled expression flashed across his features. “Briefly. After completely exhausted and after I’d dropped off Veronica, I went home to bed. I was concerned, very concerned, and I saw that lout grab you on the stairs so I feared the worst. In any case, I couldn’t have snatched more than three hours sleep before beginning my search again. but with no success.”
Romy gazed at him. He cared that much?
“So, you don’t have a conscious memory of every hour you spent that night, after all. You can’t be telling me you know exactly what your body gets up to while you’re sleeping ‘cause I know it’s not so. My guess is you went sleepwalking,” Louisa said.
“I don’t sleepwalk,” he protested.
“That you know of,” Jo pointed out. “Hard to know these things when you’re asleep.”
“Are you saying that I got up out of bed and left my flat to wander around the Old Quarter sound asleep?”
“Your conscious self may have been sleeping but your body was wide awake while animated by your soul’s memories,” Louisa pointed out.
“And possessed by Antonio Ulloa, I suppose,” he said, his tone incredulous.
“Someone besides Stanley King followed me that night, Adrian,” Romy said, trying to shrug away the vast weariness pressing down around her, “someone besides Stan. I heard two male voices and then the sounds of struggle. Somebody interrupted Stanley as he was attempting to rape me. I heard voices just before I went under.”
“Before you went under?” he asked, turning towards her. “But I thought you remained conscious as this Claire person?”
She gazed up at him. “I said for the most part. Look, I don’t understand every detail of what’s happening here, either, but is it so outside the realm of possibility to think you might not know everything?”
He looked at her, stunned. “Well, of course not. I’m not a complete intractable, close-minded clod.” He hesitated. “Am I?”
“The jury’s still out,” Jo said.
Louisa intercepted quickly as she sailed toward him. In a moment, she stood eye to eye with him, one red polished nail tapping his chest. “Like it or not, Dr. Countway, forces are at work here that you don’t understand. Doesn’t matter that you don’t understand them; they’ll keep happening anyway. Seems to me if would help mightily if you were to stretch your world view some and try to get onboard here. Think outside the box, as they say.”
Adrian took a deep breath, his eyes locked on hers. “Louisa, believing I’m the reincarnation of Antonio Ulloa is so far outside the box, it may as well be in another galaxy.”
Louisa nodded. “Welcome to the universe.”
“Look, guys,” Jo interrupted. “I hate to be the voice of reason but it seems to me the point is this: a person’s been murdered and maybe the culprit doesn’t know he or she is a killer. Perhaps it is you, Doc.”
Adrian turned his shocked expression towards her. “Like hell. I’d do anything to defend Romy but I’d damn well remember doing it.”
“Actually,” Louisa began, “you did not kill Stanley King any more than Romy did, Adrian. His murdered spirit is not clinging to your soul, either. I’d know. No, someone else murdered Stanley King, a third person who probably has no idea what their body is getting up every hour of the night and day. We’ve got to find identify that someone in two lifetimes.”
Adrian rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know whether to be relieved that you don’t think I’m a murderer or further boggled by that remark.”
“Try both. Until recently, general confusion worked for me,” Jo suggested. She took a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t believe all this stuff at first, either. Now I do because what I’ve seen doesn’t make sense any other way. Now I believe in reincarnation.”
Adrian gazed at her. “I’ve been so misguided, I actually thought ghosts and reincarnation cancelled one another out. Still, I promise to try very hard to suspend belief.”
“Good,” Louisa said. “That’s all I’ll ask for now. So, you’ll have no objection to staying here as my guest until this is settled? I figure we’ll need all the help we can get to sort this thing through and your translation services could be mighty handy when Romy speaks as Claire. Agreed?”
“I’d be delighted to stay and make myself useful.” He kept his eyes averted from Romy, “and provide whatever support I can. Despite my skepticism, I’m thoroughly intrigued—dumbfounded, but intrigued. What do you propose happens next?”
“Sleep,” Romy responded, getting to her feet, “for me, anyway. I’m exhausted. I’ll just go upstairs for a nap. I presume you’ll all be putting me under house arrest in case I try to wander off speaking to the dead? Perhaps even lock me into my room? Either way, I feel like I’m about to collapse on the spot. Living two lives takes a lot out of a person.”
“Locking you in isn’t enough, Romy,” Louisa told her. “Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you all the time in case you start banging into walls and such. I’ll have Joquita stay in the adjoining room upstairs again. We’ll check on you regularly and listen out should you start wandering around.”
Romy nodded, making her way into the hall, too tired to care. She didn’t reach the steps before the headache struck.
17
Romy reeled backwards, the return to Claire’s head swift. Where did she end up this time and could she pull back into the present?
She soon became aware of Claire standing perfectly still, staring at a man beyond an open doorway but, even as the man came into focus through their shared eyes, she heard Louisa calling to her at the edge of her senses.
“Romy, follow my voice,” she heard Louisa say, the volume as faint as a whisper. “Tune out Claire’s memories and don’t get involved. Return right this minute!”
But Romy tried. She imagined Louisa’s den, thought of Adrian, of both Jo and her aunt as a means to steer her back but, except for an instant of wavering where the room seemed to blur, she remained firmly fixed in Claire.
Another attempt similarly failed. She could not disentangle herself from Claire’s memory. Every step Claire took, carried Romy with it; every thought, every feeling, became shared emotion, and now that Claire seemed transfixed by this man standing there, so, it seemed, must Romy.
And Romy recognized him in layers—once as Antonio Ulloa and, once again, as Adrian Countway. She could not tear herself away.
The man stood in the center of the tiled floor, his face half-turned. Claire recognized him at once. Who else could it be with that blue sash across his chest, that ceremonial badge of office? Her heart throbbed. She risked taking a step towards the doorway despite her instructions to wait.
Governor Antonio Ulloa was not what Claire expected. Seen from a distance that day on the wharf, he had appeared as a turkey squawking in a silver periwig. Yet, as Claire peered at him now, she glimpsed a far different man.
Much older than she, with his own hair tied at his neck, the intelligence of his lean, sharp face seemed to leap into prominence. He had a quick efficiency of manner that sliced across his surroundings like a sword prodding for stowaways. Yet, strangely, he seemed unaware how she watched from the doorway.
She edged against the doorframe, still not too far from the spot she had been told to stand, gazing as he took a seat behind a large desk positioned in the center of the room.
She stared hard. Though not tall, the governor gave the appearance of being very fit with compact muscles well-used to exercise and life outdoors. The arresting combination of planes and angles in his face drew her gaze over and over again.
He wore a line of a mustache and a thin, pointed beard, old-fashioned but a style that served him well. With his white linen shirt open at the neck and the jabot hanging loose down the front, he appeared to be a man at leisure yet ready to tie the last knot in his appearance for the public display, if need be.
She leaned far enough forward to gaze at the glass cases of insect specimens and engravings lining the walls, enthralled by glimpses of other objects in the adjoining room. Everything about both the man and his interests seemed most peculiar.
“You have not yet been summoned to my presence,” Governor Ulloa said without looking up, his French barely edged in Spanish. “Pray return to the foyer and wait as you have been instructed.”
Startled, Claire quickly retreated, returning to the exact spot on the foyer tiles where the footman had ordered her stand. So, this Spaniard had been aware of her the entire time and yet had said nothing? Not such a simple man, after all.
After a few minutes, she heard voices coming from the governor’s room—heated Spanish voices, kept low so as not to be overheard. She crept back to the doorway again to listen.
Leaning forward, she saw a man she judged to be younger than the governor, accompanied by an old woman dressed head to toe in clothing as dark as crow’s wings. As the two approached the governor’s desk, the old woman tapped the floor with her cane as if demanding the floorboards to applaud her coming.
“I have seen that glossy bit of a thing waiting there. I do not need her!” sputtered the old crow.
“Hush,” the younger man warned, raising a finger to his lips, “for she may hear.”
“She does not speak our language.” The woman shot a searing glance in Claire’s direction. Claire tried to sink into the shadows. “They have told us she is French through and through and she looks it, too. I beg of you, Señor,” she said, tapping her cane on the governor’s desk, “do not force her upon me!”
“Señora Viscaya, the governor said, raising his head at last, “Do not distress yourself. Of course, we must accept the assistance the convent has provided. You have not been well and soon we will return to Balize where the conditions are far worse. Juan and I, we cannot risk the health of the very woman who figured so prominently in our youth. We will not have you so burdened by work. With the girl in place, you can have a well-deserved rest. Indeed, I should not have allowed you to travel so far to serve me.”
“But Señor,” the old woman said, her voice tremulous and both hands clasping the cane as if that was all that kept her from pitching to the floor. “Have I not served both you and your brother well? Have I not always and forever put your needs before my own? No one can take care of you as I have, certainly not some little French thing. The French, they have no sense. They are frivolous and untrustworthy. Their cooking is inedible—so tasteless! They do not know how things are to be done.”
The governor’s lips quirked into a fleeting smile. “Señora Viscaya, the French do things differently, which is not the same as doing things incorrectly. We must open our minds to the way of this new land for, to do otherwise, puts us at a disadvantage.”
“Phaw!” sputtered the old housekeeper with a thump of the cane. “The French are the conquered ones! They must do as you say, Señor Antonio. Tell them to do as we Spanish do.”
“Enough!” the governor said, getting to his feet. “You forget yourself, Señora. I have said how it is to be and you will do as I bid. I will expect you to train the young woman in the ways of our household but to learn equally well the ways of her culture.”
“But—“
“Cease! I will not be governor of a people I do not understand. Rest assured the girl comes from a good French family and, being convent raised, is of sound character. She is also well-educated, I believe, and knows how to read. She can be useful and will do the work that you cannot while assisting you to manage the other retainers and slaves. Perhaps she will even help our cook to attempt some local fare. Now, go!”
The little crow lowered her head, cast her quick pecking glance towards the foyer doorway where Claire remained out of sight. Then she hobbled from the room, her cane banging the floorboards all the way down the hall.
“Insufferable,” Claire heard the governor mutter. “You have given her too much license, Juan. How I regret allowing you to bring her along. Her body may be failing but her spirit is as difficult as ever.”
“Now, now,” the younger brother said, shaking his head but looking quite unconcerned. Though slightly taller that the governor, Claire judged him to be perhaps five or six years younger. “Señora Viscaya is a good woman, if a bit headstrong. She means us well and is completely loyal, which is why I beseeched you to let her attend us.”
“Loyal to what?”
“Not to ‘what’, Antonio, to ‘whom’. She is loyal to us, to you and me, the Ulloa family, or what is left of our noble spirit, and one must surround themselves with such loyalty in the country of our enemy, yes? These French, they are not pleased that we have come. Every Spaniard in this God forsaken swamp is a treasure.”
“And our French citizens are treasures also, only one yet to be won,” Antonio nodded, gazing at his brother as if trying to bore understanding into his sibling’s skull. “Remember, we cannot force Spain upon the French. This is a colony not gained by war but given in treaty. We must win their allegiance through just leadership, not by pounding them on the heads with our might.”
“So you say,” Juan said, turning away. “And I have no choice but to follow your lead but pray remember that respect is gained by power, my brother, not by something that can be easily misconstrued for weakness. You are not a statesman so much as an explorer, as you have said yourself many times. I implore you to leave the management of the staff to me.”
“And, you would command the soldiers, too, if you could, would you not? But it will not be. I’ve known battles and courts and more foreign lands than you will ever hope to glimpse, little brother. You are young but make the mistake of believing you know more than you do. You are forever making suggestions as to how to govern this colony. Pray do not presume to judge what you don’t understand. I will not risk insurrection to satisfy your notion of power.”
“They would not dare rebel against us. What do peasants and renegades know of organizing a rebellion?”
“The French are in command here in all but name, Juan, and we have not the force to make it otherwise. Our king is has yet to show much interest in this colony yet it remains my job to ensure Spain profits from the acquisition. Enough. I weary of this and we will never agree.” The governor rubbed a hand across his face.
“But yet we must talk these matters through.”
“We have always thought differently, you and I, so let our debate rest for now. I have chosen my approach to this difficult governance and will proceed accordingly. Within the week, I plan to return to my fort at Balize, in any case—a strategic position perfect for watching the mouth of the river. I believe the French would prefer we remain at a distance. Now, let us greet our new housekeeper and prepare to meet the plantation representatives within the hour.”
By the time the governor’s brother stepped into the foyer to fetch Claire, she stood, head down, studying the design on the tiles.
“Señorita? Come with me, if you please.”
Dropping a curtsey, she swept into the room in what she hoped was the perfect blend of the dignified and the demure. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, the governor’s eyes pinned her to the spot. Something hot and deep plunged into her heart, shooting the length of her, and for a moment, she could only stop and stare at him.
Nothing in that intense, scrutinizing gaze indicated that he felt the same impact. His face remained curious, amused, perhaps.
“Welcome to my household, Señorita. I am, as you no doubt realize, Señor Antonio Ulloa and this is my brother, Señor Juan Ulloa. You will find us to be men of few demands who ask only that you help run a tidy, efficient, and orderly household. In addition, I will call upon you to offer some insight into the ways of the French in cooking and such and to instruct my staff accordingly. I intend for you to assume the role of head housekeeper so that the esteemed Señora Viscaya may retire from her labors. Have you any queries?”
Queries? How do I make you love me so I can bend you to my will? “Yes, yes,” she said, nodding far too much. “The language, does anyone else but you speak French, Monsieur Governor?”
“’Monsieur Governor’—I do like the sounds of that. I fear the French have other names for me not nearly as pleasing.” There came that fleeting smile again. “No one speaks French fluently in this household, Señorita, though a few of my staff have gleaned a few words. The slaves we received as gifts speak the language, of course. It would be most helpful if you would learn a little Spanish for I fear my staff is slow to learn the ways of their new country.”
