What Lies Beneath, page 16
It was getting warm in the ballroom. Since we’d finished the dance close to the veranda doors, I decided to sneak out for a moment to cool down. If I left the door open a crack, I could watch for Malcolm’s return. I grasped a door-handle and slipped through—and walked directly into someone, stepping firmly on their toes.
“Och, watch where you’re going, then!” a voice scolded.
“Annie!” I quickly closed the door. “Is that you?”
“Emma!” She laughed. “I thought you’d be one of those young navy men, out to steal a kiss or two with a town girl.”
“I was afraid you were one too,” I confessed, and then we both laughed. “What are you doing here?”
“What I always do—havin’ a look. It’s a bit of a lark, to peek in at the porch and see the lights and the pretty girls in their dance frocks with my flowers. Not so easy to do now, what with the blackout, but I still manage. You try it and tell me what ye think.”
I opened the door a crack and peered in. “It is lovely from this vantage point,” I said. “And much cooler. I would do the same thing, if I were you.”
“Aye, I’m not one for the heat. It’s why I sit outside to work this time of year. I can make buttonholes and stitch hems outside as well as inside. And see the world go by, to boot.”
I peeked inside again, and Annie moved around to the other door so that she could see too. I saw Helen dance by with George Osborn, which made me glad.
Annie made a small noise. “Och, that one again,” she said. “I’ve seen him going by in that wee runabout of his often enough when I’m working outside. I’d wondered if he ever came ashore. Out all times of day or night this past week, coming and going.”
“At night too? Really? How strange.” I thought of him following us the other day. Was he so enraged by Malcolm that he was—oh, I don’t know. Following him when he went rowing? I would have to warn Malcolm. And maybe I could ask Helen if she knew what George was up to. I didn’t want to find him hovering nearby next time Malcolm and I were out in a boat together.
“Weel, as I’ve said before, the strange is common where I live. And there’s your young man,” she added, poking me. Malcolm had come into view, looking around the room. “Better go in before someone else claims him for a dance.”
“You’re a tease, Annie.” I smiled at her and slipped back into the ballroom—and found myself face to face with George Osborn.
“Emma!” He seized me by the wrist just as the orchestra launched into the opening bars of a one-step. “I’ve been trying to track you down all evening. Will you dance with me?”
Drat! Where had Malcolm gotten off to? “Oh, I…but…surely you’d rather dance with my cousin. Helen’s a much better dancer.” I actually had no idea if she was, but right now, I was sure of it.
“I did. But she’s not here right now, and you are.” He chuckled, as if I were a small, wayward kitten he was humoring, and tried to pull me onto the dance floor.
I set my heels, resisting him. “Except I—I’ve already promised this dance to someone else.”
He looked about him in an exaggerated fashion. “I don’t see anyone coming to claim a dance.”
I was beginning to feel a little desperate. I did not want to dance with George Osborn. “He’ll be here in a moment.”
“Then we’d better hurry.”
That was so awful I didn’t answer, but leaned back even harder and tried to extract my wrist from his grasp. And then, much to my relief, Malcolm appeared over George’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Emma—I didn’t mean to leave you like that,” he said. “May I?” He tapped George on the shoulder.
For one horrible moment, I thought George would refuse. Then, without a word to either of us, he practically shoved my hand at Malcolm and stalked away.
“Well,” Malcolm said, staring after him.
“Ignore him,” I said. “I try to.”
He led us into the dance. I sighed in relief as our steps fitted themselves together, wiping away the memory of George—and then remembered. “I almost forgot—I was just talking to Annie—”
“Oh, is she out on the veranda again? My mother always tells her she’s welcome to all the dances, but she won’t come in.”
“I think she likes it better out there. Anyway, she said that she’s seen George out on his boat a lot, coming and going at all hours. What do you think he’s doing? I hope he doesn’t bother us again if we go out rowing.”
“At all hours?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Hmm.”
He was silent and frowning for so long that I racked my brain for some way to distract him. “This is how seals would dance, if they danced,” I said after a few minutes.
“How do you know they don’t?”
“You’re right, I don’t know. Do they?”
“As a matter of fact, they do. It’s not much like this, even allowing for differences between feet and flippers. And they generally don’t have dance floors as good as this one. The sand, you know.”
I managed to keep a straight face. “I assume, of course, that you’ve been invited to seal dances in order to have made these observations.”
“Dozens of ’em,” he agreed. “I’m very popular with that crowd, you know.”
“I’m honored that you’re deigning to dance with me, then.”
His hand tightened on mine, and he drew me a little closer. “There’s no one I’d rather dance with,” he murmured. “No one at all.”
Chapter Sixteen
Malcolm
A few days after the dance, I was at the train station in Mattaquason with the Marmon to pick up a party of arriving guests. I’d learned to bring a book with me when waiting for the train; Emma’s wasn’t the only one that had run late these days. If this kept up, we would have to start calling the station for a report; I couldn’t afford to waste an hour or two hanging around waiting for trains, especially if we lost another clerk to the army. One of the new ones had given his notice this very morning.
Today’s train was running even later than usual, late enough that I finished my book, a John Buchan novel. I checked my watch, sighed, and went into the station.
“Morning, Alves,” I said to the young man at the ticket counter.
He jumped guiltily and put down the booklet he’d been poring over. I saw it was a blue-covered Army and Navy recruitment brochure. “Oh, it’s you. Morning, Galbraith.”
“Joining up?” I nodded at the brochure.
He grinned. “Maybe. Sure beats waiting for late trains here.”
“Don’t I know it. How late is this one going to be?”
He shrugged. “Word from Hyannis five minutes ago was that it had just crossed the bridge in Bourne.”
If it had just crossed the train bridge over the canal separating Cape Cod from the mainland, it wouldn’t be here for at least another hour. Which would give me plenty of time to return my book to the library and pick out another. I said good-bye to the clerk—he was already back to his brochure—and went to get the book out of the Marmon. A brisk walk to and from the library would be just the thing; it was a nice day, sunny and not too humid.
Twenty minutes later I’d gotten to the library, found another Buchan novel, and was on my way to the circulation desk when I glanced idly into the Reference Room as I passed and then did a double-take. Emma was seated at a table in the otherwise empty room, poring over an encyclopedia. An open notebook, filled with neat handwriting, lay open next to it.
I grinned to myself and stuck my head around the door. “Hadn’t you heard that school’s out for summer, Miss Verlaine?”
She looked up quickly, and the expression of surprised pleasure on her face made my day. “Malcolm! What are you doing here?”
“Train’s late, so I came over to exchange a book. What about you?”
She didn’t answer right away but closed her volume and returned it to the shelf, then picked up her notebook. When she joined me, her face was slightly pink. “I was just doing some research.”
“Oh? On what?”
The pink deepened. “Seals. One of my governesses, Miss Talcott—she was my fourth—was an encyclopedia fanatic, and we used to make lists of things we wanted to know more about and went to the library twice weekly to look them up.”
I tried not to let my exultation show. “And you wanted to know more about seals?”
“After what you’ve showed me? Of course I do! I want to know all about them! Not that the encyclopedia entry was very enlightening.” She sighed.
“Then I’ll just have to take you out rowing again. You’ll learn more spending time with them than you will reading an encyclopedia.” I didn’t care what my father thought. Something had to be done about showing Emma what she was, and the sooner the better. “If I didn’t have to get back to the station before the train comes in, I’d take you out now.”
She waited while I checked my book out, then came down the library steps with me. We paused in the shade of one of the two large copper beeches on the library’s front lawn, just above the street. “I have to get to the ferry—Gran’s expecting me home for lunch. But I wish we could go rowing now, too,” she said, wistfully. “The other day when we were out there with them—it was magical.”
If you only knew! “What time do you usually have supper? It’s light enough that there’s no reason why we couldn’t go out for an hour or two in the evenings after I get out of work. That’s also when the wind drops and the seas are calmest. Perfect rowing time—I often go out then anyway.”
She got a dreamy, faraway look on her face. “That would be wonderful. I’ll talk to Gran. Maybe we can pick a day or two every week, weather permit—”
She was interrupted by the blare of a horn and someone shouting, “Emma!” We both looked up.
George Osborn was in his roadster, just creeping to a halt in the middle of Main Street. He was smiling and waving at Emma—until he saw me. It was kind of comical to see him trying to decide whether to glare at me or continue to smile at her.
Emma grimaced and gave him a half-hearted wave in return. “Hullo, George,” she called, then said, under her breath, “If we ignore him, do you think he’ll go away?”
“Probably not.” I waved at him and gave him a big smile. He looked as if he wanted to climb out and have it out with me, but just then another automobile came up behind him and sounded its horn. He was startled, but before he could react the other car had swerved around him and accelerated up the street. Another car was not far behind; George scowled and gave the roadster some gas, lest another car dare to overtake him.
“Ugh!” Emma exclaimed. “I just can’t get away from him, can I?”
“Is he bothering you?”
She sighed. “Not exactly. No more than I can handle. I just wish he’d stop trying so hard. It would be a lot easier to like him if he did. I try to be nice to him for Helen’s sake, but it isn’t always easy.”
I just managed not to lean toward her and kiss away the little frown line from between her brows. Damn that idiot for putting it there. And damn the arriving train that I had to go meet. “I really have to get back to the station. I’d offer you a ride home, but this will be a full load. I’ll see you Thursday when you come to give Maggie her dance lesson, all right? We can figure out a time for rowing then.”
“All right.” She gave me a swift smile and turned to leave. I watched her for a minute, then started back toward the station.
I hadn’t gone more than a few feet before, to my irritation, George Osborn fell into step beside me. “Where’s Emma?” he demanded.
“Gone back to the ferry,” I said, and had the satisfaction of hearing him swear under his breath. By the time he went back to his car and tried to find her to offer her a ride, she’d probably be at the Never Late.I didn’t say as much, hoping he’d leave.
To my surprise, he kept walking. “See here, Galbraith. You’d better leave Emma alone,” he said abruptly.
I almost stopped walking from sheer astonishment. “Excuse me?”
He’d drawn himself up and was trying to look down at me, which didn’t work very well as I was at least an inch taller. “You heard me. Leave Emma Verlaine alone. She’s mine.”
I wanted to laugh, but then I got mad. “I don’t recall seeing a ‘private property’ sign on her anywhere. In fact, she was just telling me that she wished you would leave her alone.”
He turned a dull red. “She never said that!”
I pretended to sigh. “You’re right. Her exact words were, ‘I just can’t get away from him, can I?’ Pardon my paraphrasing—I thought the meanings were similar enough, but concede that the words were not exactly the same.” I was suddenly bored with the conversation. “Osborn, stop being an idiot and give her some room, will you? She doesn’t like you. Be a man and accept it.”
“Why should I believe a word you say about Emma? You—you’ve been monopolizing her attention since the day she arrived. She hasn’t had a chance to get to know me.”
I could help a chuckle at that. “Do you honestly think anyone could monopolize Emma Verlaine’s attention if she didn’t want him to? Why not ask her cousin? I’ll bet she’d tell you.”
He was silent for a moment, trudging beside me, and I guessed I’d hit home. Emma had said more than once that she hoped the two of them would hit it off. I was willing to bet Osborn was pouring his Emma woes into Helen’s ear, poor girl.
I let him think about that for a minute more then said, as we were almost at the station, “Look, I need to get back to work. You know, if you left Emma alone, she might actually like you better.” I didn’t bother adding that she’d said as much; he’d never believe it.
“Back to work playing chauffeur,” he sneered. “I’ll bet we pay ours more than you get. Want the job?”
I probably should have just ignored him, but he was getting on my nerves. “No thanks. I like working for my father just fine. Just like you’re supposed to be doing. Though I didn’t know that making a nuisance of yourself to girls on Cape Cod was vital to our nation’s conduct of the war.”
“Why, you—” His fists clenched as if he was going to throw a punch, but just then a train whistle sounded, startling us both. I started to turn away—the folks on the train would be anxious to get to the Inn, I knew from previous experience—but he grabbed my arm. “This isn’t over,” he said in a low, venomous tone.
I shook off his arm. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a train I need to meet.”
He glared at me a moment longer—then a nasty grin spread across his face. He stepped past me and bent to pick something up, then turned and held it out to me. “There you go, Galbraith. It’s just what you deserve.” A white gull feather fluttered in the breeze between us. A white feather—the symbol of cowardice, given to men who avoided their duty to defend their country.
I stared at it for the space of a breath or two, and it was my turn to want to hit him. How dared he try to accuse me of shirking my duty when I was out almost daily helping to guard the Cape and keep our waters free from German attacks? He was the one hiding from service under the guise of working for his father.
But no one would ever know what we were doing; the other selkies and I had accepted that. We did it because it needed to be done, not because we wanted anyone’s thanks. Still, it rankled when the ones who really deserved to be handed white feathers of cowardice thought they could sneer at us. So I shook my head and made myself laugh.
“Thanks, Osborn, but you’ll have to hold onto it for now. I expect it becomes you far better.” I moved past him without another glance; the train was just rolling to a halt on the platform behind us.
But he wasn’t quite done. “I’d stuff it down your throat if I didn’t think you’d run away and complain to the station master.”
I whirled. “I’d like to see you try, little man.”
He glared at me, teeth practically bared. I met his glare—and then deliberately turned my back to him and sauntered toward the station.
“This isn’t over, Galbraith,” he muttered again, just loud enough for me to hear.
I didn’t bother turning. “It never even started.”
Chapter Seventeen
Emma
June 19, 1917
Dearest Dad,
I hope the peanut brittle arrived in time for Father’s Day on Sunday. Your last letter sounded so forlorn that if I could have fit myself in the box with the candy, I would have. Alas, I’m sure the postage would have been outrageous. I miss you too—so very much. But I’m glad you’re doing such important work for our country. I wish I could too.
Well, summer is well and truly here—or at least the thermometer says so, even if the calendar insists it won’t be here for a few more days. It’s been warm enough for me to have been swimming several times now. Not that cold water has ever stopped me from swimming—do you remember Lake Umbagog, where that man said I must be part penguin? Anyway, I continue to take lessons with Malcolm Galbraith from the Ocean Hotel and am doing my teacher proud, I think. Though honestly, I thought I was a pretty good swimmer to begin with. Our usual audience of the local seals seems to appreciate my efforts, at any rate—they’re always on hand (or on flipper) to cheer me on. I do like seeing them here—they make the ocean seem much friendlier.
We also see them when Malcolm takes me rowing. They like to follow his boat for some reason. Malcolm says they’re quite intelligent, which I’m inclined to believe as they tend not to come to watch us swim when Helen is with us. I think they sense she doesn’t care for them. How she doesn’t adore them as I do is a complete mystery to me!
What Helen does adore, I think (and please keep this a deep, dark secret, although on reflection I can’t think of anyone you might accidentally tell it to!) is our acquaintance George Osborn, whom I think I’ve mentioned before. Perhaps “adore” is too strong a word, but she’s certainly always ready to let him take her driving in his smart little roadster! All joking aside, I do hope “something” comes of it all. Maybe I was naïve to expect it, but things haven’t gone exactly as I’d hoped between me and Helen. Maybe it’s the age difference—there seems to be a big gap between my seventeen and her twenty. Or maybe it’s just that we’re different people. But I don’t want her to feel that she’s wasted her summer, and falling in love with an estimable young man would go some way toward that. And now I feel like a grandmotherly old matchmaker, wearing a pince-nez and lace shawl and consulting my little notebook. Don’t you think the role suits me?
