The Blackstone Chronicles

Chapter 10

The next morning dawned bright and clear, with no trace of the slate gray overcast that had gathered like a shroud over Blackstone nearly every day of the past week. Leaving Elizabeth to sleep as long as she could, Bill was dressed and at the desk in the library by six. By eight, when Megan came in to report that Mrs. Goodrich was going to throw his breakfast away if he didn’t come to the table right now, he’d reached the conclusion that if he and Elizabeth were reasonably careful about what they spent, they might just make it through until Jules Hartwick’s problem at the bank was cleared up. At the worst, only a small loan would be needed, and there was far more than enough value in the house to secure whatever loan might become necessary. Then, as he and Megan were finishing breakfast half an hour later, the phone rang and the need for a loan suddenly evaporated.
“I’m wondering if you might have any free time,” Harvey Connally said. It was clear in the old man’s voice that he was aware of the problems with Blackstone Center.
“Depending on the project, I might be able to work you in,” Bill replied.
“I thought you might,” Connally observed dryly. “Here’s the deal. My nephew Oliver has been wanting to do some remodeling down at the Chronicle. Seems he’s decided he needs a private office, and I thought it might make a nice Christmas present for him.”
“It would make a nice Christmas present for me too,” Bill said.
“Always like to spread the cheer around.” Connally chuckled. “Hate to see anyone get their holidays ruined. Why don’t you meet me down at Oliver’s little place in about an hour?”
As Bill hung up the phone and went back to the dining room, the load of worries he’d been carrying for the last few days seemed just a little lighter.
Megan watched from the front porch until her father had disappeared down Amherst Street, then she went back into the house, closing the door silently behind her. In her mind she could still hear the doll whispering to her, just as it had last night.
“Go to the kitchen,” the doll’s voice instructed. “See what Mrs. Goodrich is doing.”
Obeying the voice, Megan moved through the dining room and the little butler’s pantry, and pushed open the kitchen door. Mrs. Goodrich was sitting at the table, mixing a large bowl of batter.
“No tasting,” the old woman warned as Megan reached a finger into the bowl, scooping out a large dollop of dark brown dough studded with chocolate bits. “Well, maybe just one,” the housekeeper amended as the lump of dough disappeared into the little girl’s mouth. “But that’s enough,” she added, rapping Megan’s knuckles lightly with a wooden spoon as she reached for a second helping. “Now, you just stay out of my way for half an hour, and then we’ll start getting the Christmas things out. And this year you can set the crèche up on the mantel all by yourself.”
Snatching one last morsel of the batter, Megan left the kitchen.
“Half an hour,” the voice in her head said. “That’s a long time.”
As the voice whispered to her, Megan went upstairs and paused outside her parents’ bedroom. The door was closed, but when she pressed her eye to the keyhole, she could see that her mother was still in bed.
Megan waited, watching. After a full minute had passed, she decided that her mother was still asleep. Moving farther along the hall, she passed the door to the big linen closet, then went through the next one.
The nursery was filled with morning sunlight, and as Megan gazed around at the new wallpaper and all the new furniture her parents had bought for the baby, she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t listen to the doll after all, if she should ignore the voice. But even as the thought came into her mind, she heard the voice whispering to her once again.
“This room is much nicer than your room,” it said. “They didn’t buy you new furniture.”
Megan carefully closed the door, then crossed to the crib.
The doll lay beneath the pink and blue blanket. Its head was turned so that it seemed to be looking directly at her.
“Pick me up,” the doll commanded.
Megan obeyed.
“Take me to the window.”
Cradling the doll, Megan walked over to the window.
“Open the window.”
Setting the doll down, Megan raised the window as high as she could. Then, still following the instructions being whispered in her head, she picked up the doll and crept out onto the roof that pitched steeply away from the gabled window. Holding on to the sill with one hand, she laid the doll as far from the window as she could.
The doll slid on the wet shingles of the roof. Megan’s heart raced as it tumbled closer to the edge. Then its skirt caught on the rough edge of one of the shingles and it came to a stop six inches from the rain gutter and the straight drop to the flagstone terrace below.
Pulling herself back into the nursery, but leaving the window open, Megan ran through the bathroom and into her parents’ room.
“Mommy!” she cried. “Mommy, wake up!” Rushing to the side of the bed, Megan began shaking her mother. “Mommy! Mommy!”
Elizabeth jerked awake, the voice of her baby still echoing in her ears. Even after she opened her eyes, the voice persisted. Finally, through the haze of sedatives, Elizabeth recognized it.
Megan.
“Honey?” she said, struggling to sit up as her daughter tugged at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“The baby,” Megan told her. “Mommy, something’s wrong with the baby. Come on!”
The baby! Then it hadn’t just been a dream—her baby really had been calling to her. Throwing the covers back, Elizabeth climbed out of bed and stumbled through the bathroom to the nursery.
The crib was empty!
“Where is he?” Elizabeth cried, her voice rising as panic welled up in her. “What’s happened to him?”
“He’s outside, Mommy,” Megan said, pointing to the open window. “I tried to stop him, but—”
Elizabeth was no longer listening. Rushing to the window, she peered out into the bright morning sunlight.
There, lying on the shingles only a few inches from the edge of the roof, was her baby. How had it happened? How had he gotten out there?
Her fault.
It was all her fault! She never should have left him alone. Never!
If he tried to turn over—tried to move at all—surely he’d fall.
Elizabeth leaned out the window, reaching as far as she could, but her baby was just beyond her reach. Gathering her nightgown around her hips, she crept out onto the steep roof, hanging on to the casement of the window.
“Help me,” she told Megan. “Just hold on to my hand.” As Megan came close to the window and gripped her mother’s wrist in both her hands, Elizabeth released her grip on the casement.
“Now,” the voice whispered in Megan’s head.
Obeying the voice without question, Megan let go of her mother’s wrist. Elizabeth began to slide, her bare feet finding no purchase on the wet shingles. A second later her right foot caught in the rain gutter. For an instant she thought she was going to be all right. Reaching out, she snatched up the doll, but it was already too late. Her balance gone, and with nothing to catch herself on, Elizabeth pitched forward, plunging headfirst onto the flagstone terrace, the doll clutched protectively against her breast.
Leaving the window wide open, Megan left the nursery, made her way down the stairs, then ran through the living room to the library. Unlocking one of the French doors, she stepped out onto the terrace.
Her mother lay sprawled on her back, her head twisted at a strange angle, blood oozing through her blond hair.
In her arms was the doll, still pressed protectively against her breast. Squatting down, Megan carefully pried her mother’s hands loose from the doll, then cradled it against her own chest.
“It’s all right, Sam,” she whispered to the doll as she took it back into the house, quietly closing and relocking the French door. “It’s all right,” she repeated as, without so much as a glance back through the glass of the French doors, she left the library and carried her doll back up to her room. “You’re mine now. Nobody’s ever going to take you away from me again.”
Bill McGuire sensed nothing amiss when he came back to the house an hour later. The sweet smell of chocolate chip cookies was wafting from the back of the house; Mrs. Goodrich was taking the last batch out of the oven as he entered the kitchen.
“Well, isn’t this good timing,” the old woman said as Bill helped himself to one of the cookies that were piled high on a platter on the table. “I was just going to take some up to Miss Elizabeth, but I’m not really sure my old bones could get me up there.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Bill told her. Putting half a dozen cookies on a smaller plate, he left the kitchen and went upstairs. As he was about to go into the room he and Elizabeth shared, though, he heard Megan singing softly.
Singing a lullaby.
Turning away from the master bedroom, he continued down the hall to his daughter’s room. The door stood wide open, and Megan was lying on her bed, propped up against a pile of ruffled pillows.
In her arms she held the doll.
When she saw her father standing in the doorway, the lullaby she’d been singing faded into silence.
“I thought we decided Sam could stay in the nursery for a while,” Bill said.
Megan smiled at him. “Mommy changed her mind,” she said. “She gave Sam back to me.”
“Are you sure?” Bill asked. “You didn’t just take her out of the crib?”
Megan shook her head. “Mommy said she knows Sam isn’t a real baby, and that she doesn’t want her anymore. She told me to take good care of her and always love her.”
As Bill listened to the words, a sense of uneasiness began to come over him. “Where is she?” he asked.
Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. After she gave Sam back to me, she went back in the nursery and closed the door.”
Bill’s uneasiness turned to fear. Telling Megan to stay in her room until he came back, he went to the nursery. Opening the door, he was greeted by a blast of cold air surging in through the open window.
The doors to both the bathroom and the master bedroom beyond stood wide open. “Elizabeth?” he called. “Elizabeth!”
Going to the window, he started to close it. Before he could pull it shut, however, his eyes fixed on the roof outside.
Some of the shingles appeared to be hanging loose.
As if something had disrupted them, and then—
“Elizabeth!” he shouted, then turned and ran from the room.
A few seconds later he was in the library, at the French doors. Through the windows, he saw his wife, and a moment later, as he cradled her lifeless body in his arms, a terrible howl of grief erupted from his throat.
Upstairs in her room, Megan smiled at her doll. And the doll, she was almost certain, smiled back at her.