The Eternal Guest

2.

Whatever answers Dr. Emrick had for me, they were postponed by my own lack of discipline. Staying up all night had perpetuated my unconventional sleep schedule, and by the time I made my way downstairs, my host was gone. The only sign of him was a short note explaining he'd been called away on business, and I should take my dinner without him.

I found a similar meal set out for me as the night before, but with just one place set at the long banquet table.

The room had an echo that wasn't noticeable with company and conversation but played on my nerves now I was by myself. The entire character had shifted to a darker patina as though mirroring my mood. Dust dampened the gloss of the polished wood. The wallpaper had lost its vibrance and was the red of dried blood on a discarded surgical apron. The art adorning the walls—stodgy pastorals done in that Romantic tradition I so loathed—were full of the muted greens, reminiscent of swamps and stagnant pools.

To be alone in such an atmosphere with no companionship but the sound of one's own echoed chewing put me in a lonely state, and once I was finished my second plate, I was determined to seek out whatever manner of humanity might be found.

Following the lit corridors and distant sounds, I presently arrived at the conservatory. Dozens of electric bulbs cast blank moons on the glass dome and made the world beyond nothing but impenetrable darkness. The servant, Vernon, was busy tending to Emrick's orchids and other tropical plants, which I was unable to identify. Botany had never been an interest of mine, but I could tell it was an impressive collection. Tall palms towered to the dome's height, and bright-colored flowers were everywhere in bloom. So stark was the difference from the rest of the house, I immediately felt cheered seeing it through the door's window.

The air inside was thick and hot like Louisiana in August rather than the early New England summer outside. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and my shirt grew damp within moments of entering. The buzz of the gas generator and whatever machines were running to maintain the atmosphere kept me unnoticed until I spoke.

"They're beautiful."

Vernon shrugged as though it was no business of his what the flowers looked like.

"So, you're the gardener then?"

"Gardener, butler, chauffeur, you name it. I am whatever I'm told to be." His voice was softer than I was expecting, although accented like the coarser aspect of those people who inhabit the shores north of Boston. Then, almost to himself, he added, "We all do what we're told here."

"The name's Richard," I held out my hand, not standing on ceremony. Emrick might be used to ordering about servants, but I'd been raised on the egalitarian principles of this country. Besides, I had served with many men like Vernon, and when the shells were falling, everyone bled the same.

"I'm a scientist like your employer."

"I know what you are." He held out his hand palm forward to show me the grime coating it and did me the favor of not shaking mine.

Tugging on the hose, he moved to the next table of pots.

"Did you find that woman?" I asked. He would have mentioned something if he had, but I hoped to get a recount of his fruitless search at the least.

"There's no woman in these woods."

"I swear, I saw a young lady coming from the direction of the house last night and entering the woods just yonder." I pointed out the windows in the rough direction I meant, but the lights blocked the outside and cast my own reflection back.

"The only ladies that come to Foxcroft is Mrs. Cabot and her daughter. And they're gone well before dark."

"Perhaps some girl from town, then? Or a stranded motorist seeking aid?"