Cast a Pale Shadow

chapter Eight





Though he usually used the rear entrance and the back stairs to his room, Nicholas escorted Trissa to the front. He wanted her to get the grand sweep of the foyer as the original owner intended for his honored guests. He only regretted that it was not those few moments in the early morning when the sun poured through the stained glass panels of the front door to set the grand staircase shimmering with rainbows. But that would be a revelation for some other day.

Right now it gave him joy enough to feel her hand so confidently in his as she followed him down the flagstone walkway, through the overgrown side garden, and up the steps to the arched stone porch that sheltered the front entrance. The massive oak door, carved with thistles, had bold, brass hardware and a lion's head knocker tarnished to verdigris. Dwarfed by the door, Trissa tilted her head back to admire the stained glass transom and panels on either side of the door, which repeated the thistle pattern of the carving in shades of amethyst and emerald. Nicholas set her suitcase down and pushed his key into the lock. The rusty mechanism gave reluctantly and the door groaned open. He turned expectantly toward Trissa.

"You're not really going to carry me over?" she asked with surprise.

"If you will allow me that honor." Before she had a chance to decline, he quickly added, "For appearance' sake only, you understand," and he effortlessly gathered her in his arms. "Now close your eyes." When she did as he asked, he leaned against the door to shove it open and whisked her over the threshold. "Open them," he whispered.

"Oh! Oh my!" was all she could say as her eyes took in all of it. As he had hoped, Augusta had done her duty and lit the crystal chandelier and wall sconces at the first hint of dusk, and they filled the foyer with dancing light. It set afire the gold filigree of the wallpaper, turned the veins of the marble floor into gilded rivulets, and gave a warm glow to the ivory painted woodwork. Above them, the embossed copper ceiling twinkled back the light from a thousand diamond-cut edges. The foyer was Augusta's labor of love. She fussed over its care, shining and dusting and polishing incessantly.

"First impressions are so important," she'd told Nicholas on the day he came about renting the room. As he lowered Trissa to her feet, he wondered what his landlady's impression would be of her, battered and bruised as she was. He wished he had thought to call her and prepare her for this. It was too late now. The smell of fried chicken and the faint clatter of dinner in progress filtered out from the kitchen.

"You have to see the dining room next." He retrieved Trissa's suitcase from the porch and ushered her into the dining room. Here another crystal chandelier softly illuminated an amazing mural that filled one entire wall. Painted trompe l'oel to simulate an ancient tapestry with amazing tints and shading that gave the effect of stitches frayed and faded by age, the three panel piece told the story of Queen Elizabeth and Mary, Queen of Scots. The first panel depicted Mary's trial, the second showed Elizabeth placing her seal on the death order, and the final was of Mary's execution the moment before the ax fell, a basket waiting to catch her severed head. "A bit gruesome for the dinner table, don't you think?"

"It's glorious. It looks so real. I feel I have to touch it to be sure it's paint and not fabric."

He let her wander the room, closely inspecting the mural and the antique treasures displayed in the mahogany breakfront. Faceted inlays enriched the surface of the Georgian styled dining table that was surrounded by twelve carved side chairs. Trissa's fingers explored the detail of the carving on a chair back, and she closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't understand, Nicholas. Why would anyone who could afford a house like this need to take in boarders?"

"For the same reason British nobles allow tours of the family castle. You'll know a little more when you meet my landlady, Augusta Blackburn. Are you ready?"

Angling to catch her reflection in the buffet glass, Trissa smoothed her hair then turned toward him. "I don't know. Am I? I'm so nervous."

"Me, too. Come on, we'll take the scenic route." He reached out for her hand and she took it without hesitance. Until that moment, it had not occurred to him that Augusta might not welcome this unexpected addition to her household. His mind had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Trissa over the past several weeks that it seemed strange to him that he was the only one here who would know her.

That he had spoken to her for the first time less than twenty-four hours before seemed beyond belief. Yet here they were, two virtual strangers trying to pass themselves off as husband and wife. Silently, they wended their way across the foyer and through the elegant formality of the front parlor with its ornate, carved mantelpiece and molding, it's graceful English antiques and the intricate patterns of its oriental rugs.

Through the music room and the back parlor, traversing the foyer again to the backstairs hall, Nicholas pondered the complexities of the coming introductions until he was sure his frown was formidable enough to frighten Trissa.

What would he do if Augusta rejected her outright? She kept her household as rigidly balanced as she must have the guest lists of her dinner parties in the heyday of this mansion. He knew they would all be sitting there at the dinner table now -- boy, girl, boy, girl. His vacant chair would mark the occasion of his absence. He imagined the turmoil that would be caused by the uprooting of Miss Hartenstein or Mrs. Lassiter to make room for Trissa. Their chairs were permanently embossed with the imprint of their posteriors for all the years they had spent in their same spots. His admittance into this elite group had been made possible only by the still-mourned passing of Chester Orthwein, member for some fifteen years.

Nicholas' steps slowed as he neared his destination. Trissa found it difficult to avoid treading on his heels. He thought to tell her that she was not to blame for his glowering, but when he halted suddenly and turned to face her, she flinched. "Should I have waited in the car?" she asked.

Some of his dread melted with the forlorn sound of her voice. No one, least of all Augusta, could be as heartless as to throw her out into the cold street. If worse came to worse, he would move out and give Trissa his place.

"Trissa, I'm sorry, I've been acting as if we were Christians about to face the lions. They're not so bad as that, I promise. They'll all love you, I'm sure. Let's go." He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze, and they plunged through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

As usual, Hattie Kenyon monopolized the table conversation, complaining about her day in her sugary, sibilant voice. She animated her tale with flaring nostrils and outraged fervor. When May Lassiter gave a little scream and dropped her fork in her plate, it took a moment for the others at the table to realize it was not Hattie's story but Nicholas' appearance that had provoked it. And then every eye at the table turned toward the new arrivals. Every eye except Hattie's, she took another full moment to become aware that she was no longer the center of attention. Then she, too, turned to face them with a petulant flounce.

"Good evening, Augusta. Forgive me for being so late. And good evening to all of you," Nicholas greeted them with false bravado. "Hattie, sorry for interrupting your story. I hope you'll fill me in on the beginning of it when you have time," he said, knowing the value of smoothing Hattie's ruffled feathers. He put his arm solidly and protectively around Trissa's shoulders and flashed a winning smile at them all. "May I present my wife, Trissa Brewer."

Augusta was the first to recover. The air practically crackled as she rose and briskly approached them. Her bright, silver hair stood out in wiry filaments from the tight captivity of her attempt at a french roll. She always dressed for dinner as if her boarders were the members of St. Louis society who graced her table regularly before her husband died, except now she preferred the hominess of the kitchen table to the stiff formality of the dining room. The turquoise chiffon concoction she wore tonight was thirty years out of date but hugged her petite and slender figure as perfectly as the day it was made for her.

"Nicholas, we've been so worried about you! Maurice said he heard you come in and leave in a hurry this morning. And now this! You never cease to amaze me!" She greeted him with a peck on the cheek then extended a hand to Trissa. "And you, you tiny creature, how could you marry this man and break all our hearts? Why Nicholas, she's like a fairy's gift. And you both look like you had to fight tooth and nail to win the fair maid."

"We had an accident," Nicholas said. He released Trissa so that Augusta could inspect her and escort her to the table. "We spent the night at the hospital."

"Oh, my dear, what a honeymoon! But things will be better now, Augusta will see to that." She gave Nicholas a little push toward the counter. "Set yourselves a place. You look famished. Trissa, honey, let me introduce the rest of our guests."

Nicholas found the plates and utensils he needed and stacked both settings at his own place waiting for a cue from Augusta. He watched as she wisely began her introductions with the disgruntled Hattie. "This is Harriet Kenyon. Hattie teaches medieval English literature at St. Louis University."

"How do you do?" Trissa's voice was soft and she offered a brief smile as Hattie turned her stern, square face in her direction.

"Don't be afraid of Hattie, Trissa. She only looks like she would pinch your head off. It comes from reading Beowulf once too often."

Hattie's mouth popped open as if she meant to protest but then bent itself into a mechanical smile said only, "That's right, dear."

"And this is Jack Sanders who is a precinct worker for the Democratic Party in the city of St. Louis, which is to say no one knows just what he does but he sees to it that it gets done for all the right people. Jack was the one who brought Nicholas to us when we had need of one another."

Jack stood and kissed Trissa's hand. "Trust Nicholas to keep the best secrets."

Trissa's cheeks pinkened as she thanked him.

Rounding the head of the table toward the honored position at her right, Augusta introduced Roger Thane as her concierge and Nicholas smiled at the title. Roger's main duties were as Augusta's handyman and lover. His burly build and rugged good looks disguised the fragility of his health. Lung and heart damage from smoke inhalation had forced him to leave the fire department. Nicholas admired the unique blend of coddling and encouragement Augusta exercised on Roger, who still resented his compulsory retirement. She ruffled his hair affectionately as she said, "If ever you need anything and I'm not around, Roger can take care of you."

Roger stood and swallowed Trissa in a bear hug. "Just what we needed at this table, another pretty face!"

"Roger, you'll suffocate the poor thing." Augusta tugged Trissa on to Beverly Hartenstein. "Beverly is a grief consultant."

"A grief consultant? I've never heard of that," admitted Trissa.

"She's a mortician," interjected Hattie.

"I am not! I hate that word," sniffed Beverly. "I counsel people at their hour of greatest need. It is a helping profession."

"She used to be a meter maid," yawned Hattie. "That was a great help to people too. At the hour when their greatest need was a quarter for the meter."

"We don't always snipe at each other like this, Trissa," Augusta said with a sharp look at Hattie. "Nicholas, for heaven's sake, don't just stand there. Beverly and May won't mind scooting down a bit to make room for Trissa. Get a chair from the basement."

As he headed through the butler's pantry for the basement, Nicholas heard May Lassiter and her lilting, bubbly giggle as Augusta paid her some compliment he did not catch. May taught piano and voice and had a speaking voice as musical as her singing.

By the time he returned from the cellar with a chair and a package hastily wrapped in yellowed newspaper, Trissa was seated in his old chair. Augusta mounded her plate with food: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, beets, and hot rolls and butter. Roger tore more lettuce and chopped more celery to replenish the depleted salad bowl for her, and Maurice brought her some milk fresh from the refrigerator. Mocking his occupation as a wine steward, Maurice playfully tasted the milk from the sommelier's cup he had hung around his neck, swishing it around in his mouth with a comical expression of sublime satisfaction, and pronounced it worthy before serving it up in a sparkling crystal tumbler. Trissa basked in all the attention. She looked as contented as a well-tended baby bird in a nest.

Nicholas wet a rag, dusted off his new chair, and shoved it up to the table. He whispered something in Augusta's ear and she nodded and beckoned him toward the dining room. They returned with crystal wine glasses for all, and Nicholas unwrapped his package from the cellar, showed the dusty wine bottle to Augusta for her approval, then uncorked and decanted the wine.

"Roger, I think it would be appropriate for you to call the toast," Augusta prompted.

Roger raised his glass and made a slight bow toward the couple. "To the bride and groom! May they live long and love wisely!"

"Here, here," said Maurice and like little bells came the tinkling of nine glasses. Nicholas showed Trissa how they could sip with arms linked and watched her as her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed pink. As a second toast was raised around them, he tilted her chin up and tasted the wine still moist on her lips. She caught her breath and closed her eyes and the kiss became as sweet as he knew it would be.

"Now, eat, you two lovebirds," urged Roger. "And tell us, Nicholas, is this what's been keeping you out 'til all hours every night?"

Nicholas glanced warily at Trissa but May was whispering and giggling in her ear. She hadn't heard Roger's question. He didn't know how he'd explain the answer to her. "More or less," he responded with a shrug and turned his attention to his beets. Augusta served beets regularly to add 'a dash of color to the plate'. Nicholas had never eaten beets before becoming a tenant of this house, and usually he was content to let them add color straight through the meal and back to the garbage. But tonight he attacked them with great gusto.

"Is your car badly damaged, Nick?" Beverly asked.

"My car?"

"You said you had an accident?"

"Oh, yes, but not in the car." He saw a look of panic flicker in Trissa's eyes as her fork faltered in mid-bite. He winked to reassure her. She had no way of knowing how very good he was at lying. "We were walking in this little patch of woods near Trissa's house and, gimpy as I am, I lost my footing and pulled Trissa down with me. We skidded all the way down an embankment and poor Trissa hit her head. She was out cold. Scared me to death." Nicholas paused to gauge his audience. Their expressions ranged from sympathy to alarm but not a single one showed doubt. He took a sip of wine and silently congratulated himself.

"Oh, my God!" Beverly said.

"You poor thing!" May exclaimed.

"What did you do?" Jack asked.

"Luckily, I was able to carry her out of the woods and flag down a car to take us to the hospital."

"And how do you feel now, dear?"

"I ache all over, but otherwise I'm okay," Trissa answered.

"You'll have to keep an eye on her, Nicholas. You can't be too careful with a head injury like that," Maurice advised.

"Yes, my Aunt Florence fell down the stairs and hit her head once," Hattie agreed, seizing a chance to regain the spotlight. "She never was quite right after that. And years later, on Thanksgiving, the whole family was sitting at the table, just like we are here, and, all of a sudden, Aunt Florence said 'oh my head!' and stood up and just keeled over dead. Flop, right in the pumpkin--"

"Hattie, I'm sure we'd all prefer a cheerier topic," interrupted Augusta.

Hattie's mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed first at Augusta and then at Nicholas and Trissa. "Fine," she snapped, snatched up her plate and carried it to the sink. "I haven't all night to spend at the dinner table anyway, what with late arrivals and all. I have papers to grade. Good night, ladies and gentlemen, I shall leave you to whatever cheery topic you deem appropriate." She folded her napkin and tossed it to the table then huffed up the backstairs.

Only Trissa looked dismayed at this show. May patted her hand and laughed. "Pay no mind to Hattie. High dudgeon is a neutral gear for her."

"That's true," Augusta agreed, "And if she steams off mad, she gets out of helping with the dishes."

"Oh, I'll help," Trissa quickly offered.

"Not tonight, Honey. You must be exhausted. And Hattie is right about one thing. We should think about winding up this party and leave you two to finish in peace. Your food will be stone cold before we give you a chance to eat it. We will have plenty of time to get better acquainted in the morning when you're rested. Oh, I mean..." Augusta flushed bright red with uncharacteristic embarrassment. "Nicholas, you will let the poor child rest this evening, honeymoon or no honeymoon," she scolded, shaking a finger at him.

"Yes, ma'am," he laughed, catching Trissa's sudden flustered interest in buttering her roll.

The boarders efficiently set about their appointed tasks clearing the table, rinsing, washing, and drying the plates, and sweeping the floor. Augusta employed a woman as cook and housekeeper to help her during the day but the boarders had all agreed to assist with the evening cleanup. It kept expenses down, gave some credence to their official status as servants rather than boarders, and contributed to the camaraderie of the group.

Up to his elbows in suds, Maurice crooned The Anniversary Waltz.

"Oh, how we danced on the night we were wed..." May harmonized with her high, sweet voice, performing a serenade for the bride and groom's first supper together that ended with more wine and another toast.

Nicholas wondered why he had worried so much about Trissa's welcome. Faced with the prospect of widowhood in a big, empty house she could no longer afford, Augusta had chosen to fill it with paying guests who she passed off as servants but regarded as family. Trissa would be safe here. Just as he had promised her mother she would be.