Katherine's Story, 1848 Read online

  Anna didn’t answer our knock. We found an empty room and an empty closet. All of Anna’s beautiful dresses had been carefully folded and packed.

  “There’s nothing here,” Alfred said.

  “Wait. What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a dark line.

  There seemed to be a crack in the wall, but when I looked more closely, I saw that it was the outline of a small door, about half the height of a normal door. I pushed and found myself in a hidden passageway, tall enough to stand in. And there, on the floor, were tubes of paint scattered about.

  I heard noise behind me. Anna had come up behind us. “Is there—” she began.

  My sister and the boys parted, and she walked between them to stand beside me.

  “Oh no!” she said. “Those are Tabitha’s paints.”

  Alfred ran to get Tabitha. When they returned, Anna confronted her with the paints in the closet and asked for an explanation.

  Tabitha immediately burst into tears. “I was afraid of this,” she said.

  “Tabitha, how could you?” Anna asked. “How could you do this to Alfred? To me?”

  “I didn’t do it,” Tabitha said, wiping her tears. “My paints were stolen. I’ve been so afraid that whoever took them used them to damage the portrait.”

  “Stolen?” I asked. “Tabitha, why didn’t you tell anyone when it happened? Why are we only learning this now?”

  “At first I thought I had misplaced them and that they’d turn up. I hardly thought anything of it. But after the portrait was discovered, I worried that my paints had been used to destroy your happiness. And now I see that that is what happened!

  “I was afraid to say anything,” Tabitha continued, her voice trembling. “I didn’t want to be blamed for damaging Alfred’s mother’s portrait. And I wanted to protect you, Mrs. DuMay. I thought Mr. Vandermeer might think you put me up to it. You must believe me.”

  “Why should we believe you?” Alfred asked. “You’ve been keeping things to yourself for days.”

  “Tabitha’s been with me for many years,” Anna said. “She’s like family to me. I believe her.”

  I could see that Anna truly did believe her maid. I would have believed Essie in a similar situation, but Alfred was still furious. Elizabeth stood at his side, furious too. I decided to keep probing, exactly like Miss Millhouse would have.

  “Do you have any idea who might have stolen your paints?” I asked.

  Tabitha shook her head.

  “Who knew you had them?”

  Tabitha shrugged. “All the servants knew. I worked on my painting downstairs, in my free moments. I don’t know how my paints made their way up here. I didn’t know anything about this secret hallway.”

  Alfred was about to question her further when Anna jumped in. “Thank you, Tabitha,” she said firmly. “You may go now. I know you have a lot of work to do before tomorrow morning.”

  Anna turned to the rest of us as soon as Tabitha had left the room. “I believe her,” she said. “She was thrilled about my engagement. She looked forward to starting a new life here. Why would she do this terrible thing?” She shook her head. “No. It wasn’t Tabitha. It was someone else.”

  Alfred’s arms were crossed, his face a stony mask.

  “In any case, the damage is done,” Anna said. “The wedding is off.” She leaned forward and kissed Alfred on the cheek. “I wanted more than anything to be a member of your family. I’m sorry that’s not to be.”

  She turned to Maxwell, Elizabeth, and me. “I’ll say good-bye now. I must make arrangements for a carriage in the morning. I want to leave at first light.” She squeezed my hand. “Keep writing, my dear. And send me a story when you’re ready. I’d love to read an original Katherine Chatswood tale.”

  I promised I would and let her know that I would return Miss Branson’s manuscript by the end of the day. Then the four of us watched her leave the room. It was all I could do not to burst into tears the way Tabitha had. Even Alfred, who was so angry a few minutes ago, softened.

  “We have no real proof either way. Empty paints don’t guarantee guilt or innocence,” Maxwell said in a measured tone. “Perhaps we can find more clues.”

  “And save the wedding,” Elizabeth said solemnly.

  I was still standing in Anna’s empty closet, in front of the secret door. The passageway stretched for quite a distance. “Let’s check the passage,” I said. “Maybe the culprit left behind more than empty paint pots.”

  Alfred found us some candles, and we walked down the long, secret hall. More passageways split off to the right and left. When we had gone straight for as long as we could, we came to a set of stairs going down.

  “I never even knew this was here,” Alfred said. “This hallway must stretch throughout the house.”

  I heard muffled voices coming from one of the rooms. “The angry voices!” I said suddenly. “They must have been coming from the passageway. Alfred, which of these halls would bring us close to my room?”

  He thought about it for a minute. “Let’s go back toward Anna’s quarters. You rooms will be off of the first hall on the left.”

  We walked in that direction.

  “What now?” Elizabeth asked when we reached the turn.

  “Run to my room and tell me if you can hear me,” I said.

  A minute later, I called out to her. “Elizabeth, can you hear me?” I asked.

  Alfred, Maxwell, and I heard a knock on the wall and soon we saw Elizabeth.

  “There was another door in your closet,” Elizabeth explained. “I simply opened it and followed the sound of your voice. If someone was speaking loudly in the passageway near Anna’s closet, it’s no wonder it woke you up. I heard you loud and clear.”

  “See. It wasn’t a ghost that I heard,” I said to Alfred. “It was the people who damaged your mother’s portrait. They were prowling around in here in the middle of the night, plotting, and one of them had a very deep voice.”

  “And you thought the other might be a woman, right?” Alfred asked. “It could have been Tabitha and Samuel.”

  I shook my head. “It was not Samuel’s voice I heard. His voice isn’t nearly as deep.”

  “What about the woman’s voice?” Maxwell asked.

  “It was too muffled,” I answered.

  “If only you had heard and seen them,” Alfred said. “How will we ever find out who did it?”

  His spirits had lifted for a moment, but just as suddenly, he was filled with despair again.

  “Don’t give up yet,” Elizabeth said soothingly. “There have to be more clues.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to think again about what Miss Millhouse would do. “Where’s the painting?” I asked. “Maybe there’s a clue we missed when we first saw it.”

  “Father took it to his room for safekeeping,” Alfred said. “Until we can consult with an artist who might be able to restore it.”

  The four of us went to Alfred’s father’s quarters in the manor’s other wing. The painting was propped against the wall in his private library. It was just as shocking this time around to see the paint splattered across the face of Alfred’s mother. It covered her smile and her eyes. More paint speckled her hair and her dress. The way it was smeared over her features would make it nearly impossible for an artist to render a similar likeness.

  We stood staring at it for a moment and then peered at the back, looking for clues. My sister the painter examined the brushstrokes. We found nothing that could shed any light on the culprit.

  “It is rather dark in here,” I said finally. I knew that Miss Millhouse liked to see things at the very scene of the crime. “Perhaps if we looked at it in the parlor.”

  Maxwell took charge in a way I admired. “Alfred, lend me a hand, would you?” he asked, taking one side of the frame.

  Alfred took the other, and together the boys carried the portrait into the parlor. They leaned it up against the wall underneath where it had hung. The light from the room’s big windows made the p
ortrait look even worse.

  Elizabeth examined the carpet underneath. “The way the paint is splattered about on the portrait, you’d think there’d be some on the floor as well. But there isn’t.”

  “So whoever did the damage didn’t do it here. They took the portrait somewhere else, into one of the secret passages, perhaps, to add the paint,” I said. “There’s no closet in this room. I wonder where the entrance is.”

  We stood back, checking the walls for a telltale crack that would reveal the door to the passageway. I looked all around the painting, and then I noticed something—something important.

  There was a sharp outline on the wall where the portrait had hung. A square of wallpaper still looked bright and new. But the paper covering the rest of the walls had faded at least two or three shades.

  The portrait and frame leaning against the wall was narrower on both sides than the bright wallpaper above.

  “This isn’t the original portrait,” I said. “This is a copy!”

  “A copy?” Alfred asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you see? This portrait isn’t the same size as the outline on the wall,” I told him. “You can tell by the wall color. The original painting was the same size as the brighter section of paper.”

  Maxwell walked up and put the damaged portrait exactly in the middle of the outline. “It’s at least four inches narrower on each side,” he said. He stood back and looked at the height of the outline. “The length is different, as well.”

  “Whoever defaced your mother’s portrait must have made a copy,” I said. “Don’t you see? The original might still be intact.”

  “Oh, Alfred. How wonderful!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “I must tell Father!” Alfred said, running out of the room. “Maybe we can save the wedding after all.”

  We ran after him. Henry Vandermeer and Papa were in the library with Uncle Willem, who had just returned from Providence.

  Anna had entered the room just before we did.

  “I’m leaving very early in the morning,” we heard her saying, emotion in her voice. “I came to say good-bye, Henry. I’m sorry things turned out the way they did. Please accept my sincere wishes for a long and happy life.” She turned to leave, hesitated, and then looked him in the eye again. “I hope you find love again. I will love you for as long as I live.”

  Henry’s face was strained and sad. Uncle Willem’s eyes, however, were filled with anger. He was just about to say something when Alfred stepped up and shared what we had discovered.

  “So whoever did it,” Alfred finished, “may not have harmed the original. Mother’s portrait may still be intact and hidden somewhere.”

  “None of this makes any sense,” Henry Vandermeer said. “Where is the original? And why would Samuel deface a copy of the portrait?”

  Anna stiffened at the mention of her son’s name. “I am happy for you, Alfred,” she said quietly. “I hope you find the portrait in its original condition.” She nodded at the rest of us and turned to leave the room.

  Alfred put a hand on her arm. “Wait, please.” Then he turned to his father. “That’s just it,” Alfred said. “We don’t think Samuel had anything to do with it. We think he was framed.”

  Henry Vandermeer looked from Alfred to Anna and back again. “Who would have done such a thing?” he asked.

  I spoke up. “Someone who didn’t want your marriage to take place.” I kept my eyes on Uncle Willem, remembering what Samuel had said. I still found it hard to believe that Uncle Willem had been behind the plot to sabotage the wedding. I saw how angry he was on Henry and Alfred’s behalf. He loved his nephew and his great-nephew. That was clear. Then again, he had the means to have a copy of the portrait made. I shoved the thought out of my head. That was preposterous.

  “We haven’t discovered who,” Alfred added. “But when we do, we’ll find Mother’s portrait.”

  Anna turned to Alfred. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for trying to clear my son’s name.”

  “It was all Katherine,” Alfred said. “She insisted we keep investigating, just in case Samuel was innocent, like he insisted.”

  “She wouldn’t give up,” Maxwell added, a hint of pride in his voice.

  “But I had lots of help from my sister, Maxwell, and Alfred. And we still won’t give up,” I told Anna. “We’ll keep at it until we find out who tried to frame you.”

  “I’m very impressed by this new generation of courageous young women,” Anna said. “You’ll do well in the world. Of that I’m sure.”

  “Does this mean the wedding is back on?” Alfred asked, his eyes on his father. Then he turned to Anna. “Please say it is.”

  Henry Vandermeer’s eyes flitted from Anna to Alfred and back again. He took Anna’s hands. She didn’t resist him. I felt a flicker of hope in my heart.

  “Please forgive me,” Henry said to Anna. “I should have believed you from the very beginning. It was all just too much, and I’m sorry I let myself get carried away.” He shook his head. “I’ll never doubt you again, my love. If you can forgive me this foolishness, my greatest wish in the world would be to marry you. Tomorrow, as planned.”

  Anna wiped away tears—tears of happiness this time. “Henry, I don’t want to live without you. I do want to be your wife, forever and always.”

  Henry nodded gravely, too overcome to speak.

  “You can ask me anything, anytime, and I promise that I’ll always tell you the truth,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “But you must promise me that you mean it when you say you won’t doubt me, or my son, again. I must know that as my husband you’ll trust in me, as I will trust in you.”

  Elizabeth and I were soon wiping away happy tears of our own. Even Uncle Willem’s stormy eyes were misting over.

  “Can I tell everyone the wedding is back on?” Alfred asked eagerly.

  “Yes!” Anna and Henry said, not taking their eyes off each other. “The wedding is on!”

  Before I knew it, the servants were hustling and bustling about, putting in place all of the wedding preparations they had begun to dismantle. Elizabeth and I were rushed away to our fittings with the dressmaker from New York City who had sewn our beautiful bridesmaids’ gowns. Everyone seemed happy and satisfied that the wedding was going to take place after all.

  But I couldn’t be completely satisfied. I was pleased beyond measure that Anna and Henry would be married after all, but the original portrait was still missing. There were three more important questions still outstanding: Who had tried to frame Anna and Samuel? Would he or she try to stop the wedding again? And where was the first Mrs. Vandermeer’s portrait? Louisa Branson and her fictional Miss Millhouse wouldn’t have given up until they answered these questions, and neither would I.

  At dinner that night, I kept my eyes on all the guests and on the servants, too. Everywhere I looked, however, I saw nothing but delight. I watched Uncle Willem, remembering Samuel’s belief that he wasn’t happy about the wedding, but he toasted the couple and laughed with Papa and was the good-humored man I had come to know and admire.

  Samuel, who seemed relieved and even a little happy himself, noticed the direction of my gaze. “I won’t fully believe that wedding is going to take place until I stand up beside Henry tomorrow,” he said. “But I am hopeful that whoever tried to stop the wedding has given up.”

  “Stand up beside Henry?” Maxwell asked. “Are you to be his best man? Not Alfred?”

  That surprised me, too. I would have expected Alfred to stand with his father.

  Samuel shook his head. “Henry thought it would be a symbol of our new, united family if I was his best man. Alfred agreed. He’s content to join Maxwell in walking you and your sister down the aisle.”

  I glanced over at Alfred, deep in conversation with my sister, Elizabeth, about a sailing trip he and his father had taken to the West Indies.

  Samuel smiled. “If he could stop talking to Elizabeth about his adventures
on the high seas long enough, Alfred could tell you so himself.”

  The two of them looked up upon hearing their names. Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed at the idea of adventure.

  “Tell you what?” Alfred asked.

  He confirmed what Samuel had told us, and then he and Elizabeth went back to their discussion concerning what he had discovered about island life.

  “Who will walk your mother down the aisle?” I asked.

  Samuel frowned. “Uncle Willem, I suppose,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. There’s no stopping this wedding now,” I assured him. “Tomorrow will be the best of days.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Samuel answered.

  The next morning dawned bright and sunny. I woke before Essie entered the room, excited about the day ahead.

  My beautiful bridesmaid dress hung on a hook on the outside of the closet, where nothing would cause it to wrinkle. I had no doubt that Elizabeth and I would be the best-dressed ladies at the wedding, with the exception of the bride, of course. The only thing that would have made our ensembles more perfect was if we could wear our pendants with them. We had tried the day before, during our fittings, but we reluctantly agreed that they covered too much of the lovely embroidery on the bodice. We would have to be content with wearing our mother’s gift on the inside of our dresses. Neither one of us could imagine going without them completely.

  Essie brought us our breakfast on a tray. The household staff was busy getting the dining room ready for the wedding lunch.

  “Nothing happened overnight to put a stop to the wedding, did it?” I asked as soon as she entered the room.

  “Not a thing. Don’t you worry,” she said. “I just passed Tabitha in the hall with Mrs. DuMay’s breakfast tray. She was whistling a happy tune and smiling from ear to ear.”

  “I am relieved,” I said.

  Elizabeth and I both slipped on easy day dresses so that we could breakfast on the balcony. The servants had set up a white tent on the manor’s vast green lawn overlooking the ocean and were now setting up rows of chairs with an aisle in between. They unrolled a white carpet in the aisle and then came the flowers! It was all absolutely beautiful. I decided then and there that my own wedding would be outdoors, too, in the gardens of Chatswood Manor.