ANNETTE MACKEY

CLASS COLLISION

Fall From Grace

Mandolin Publishing

Boise, Idaho

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

Class Collision

Fall From Grace

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2010 Annette Mackey

Cover Photo: Istockphoto, www.istockphoto.com. File #: 10262315. Used with permission.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4327-5367-2

Printed in the United States of America

For Jessica,

My flower that blooms by moonlight

Preface

David enjoyed the humiliation of the poor little French maid who had arrived at the estate only days before and spoke little to no English, none of it proper.

She nodded and threw about all the “Monsieur’s” she could muster mingled with “pardon,” and, “merci” as her head bobbed to and fro with all the training of a tree squirrel. Even with the little maid bonnet, strands of hair puffed out of her bun with droplets of sweat clinging alongside and a smear of kitchen charcoal on her now-scarlet cheek.

David saw the stress. He saw the effort. He saw it all, even more. After all, he was David. He had looks, brains, breeding, charisma; that is, charisma to anyone that mattered, and poor little maids did not.

As with every servant, she had been warned. Most of them had given up any hope of pleasing him, although they all tired trying. They knew their station and more importantly, they knew his. He may be only a child, but he was still the boss, and more importantly, he was important. Really important. He was the rich, the famous, the incredibly talented David Treigh Bastien, and like it or not, in this world he may as well be a god.

Chapter 1

Family Matters

30 miles from Philadelphia, May 1931 …

David Bastien placed his chin over his folded arms and rested upon the mahogany desk, his shiny blond hair darkened by the amber lighting of the dimly lit room. He knew Mother would not approve. Still, with no one in sight, proper posture didn’t seem quite so all-important. His crystal blue eyes peered through his thick brown lashes as Alex prepared his next move. There it was. The wince. He knew instantly what his older brother was thinking.

Alex’s chair screeched softly as he leaned forward to move the marble chess piece. In anticipation, and already aware of his tactics, David shifted the position of his rook. Alex’s nose tweaked in response, as if David had just desecrated a piece of art.

Just then, their mother, Elizabeth, peered into the parlor, standing straight in her heels and shimmering dress. “Good morning, dears,” she glistened.

Both boys stood to greet their mother properly with backs straight. “Good morning, Mother,” they answered in unison. Instantly the game was placed on hold. It was time to escort their mother to the breakfast room.

As they entered, freshly pressed linens, folded lace, and fragrant flowers greeted them. Their father, Alexander, was already settled at the table, deep into his paper. He stood appropriately as Mother entered. Without a word, she lent him her cheek and the family sat down together. Katrina, their two-year-old sister, was already in her high chair tossing cut strawberries on the floor.

Bowls of fresh cream, oatmeal, and strawberries were served as the remaining staff entered and lined up to receive their morning orders from Clifford, the house overseer. This was all very ordinary.

But, where was the cat? David’s nerves began to tingle. Where was he?

Sebastien was David’s longhaired Persian who performed his duties… dutifully. Alex was well aware of the plan, and as usual, was amazed at how smoothly David executed it. Seeing their parents struck with emotion when David asked for the furry pet made him sick, though it was mixed with a fair amount of admiration. It was an odd situation, the older brother feeling hero worship for the younger.

David usually made certain that Sebastien was snug in his basket each night, thus, avoiding an ugly episode in the morning. After all, oatmeal was the most effective torture known to man, or as the case may be, child.

Though his parents allowed other breakfast foods to be ordered, oatmeal had to be eaten first. The problem was, oatmeal made David’s stomach to do internal leapfrogs, and without fail, his stomach would threaten to expel the nasty goo.

His plan took a few tweaks here and there, but at last he knew what he had to do. Over the course of the experiment, his parents purchased several very expensive cats whose untimely demise remain a mystery to this day, although there are theories abounding. Clifford suspected foul play from the start when the dear little creatures were found on their backs with their feet straight up in the air, dead on the spot after their evening meal.

And oh, the pain! The suffering! The emotional turmoil that David experienced with the loss of each dear little furry pet only furthered his parents’ determination to get him the perfect object for his affection. They never suspected the truth—that he’d done the poor things in as a means of firing them from the job. After all, if the cat wanted rich, expensive cat food, rather than oatmeal, it wasn’t his fault that it was tainted. His conscience was clear.

After several unfortunate failures, David began to have doubts as to the practicality of the plan. Perhaps cats just don’t eat oatmeal. He was about to reconsider the whole idea when along came this princely Persian who just so happened to love the stuff. David was delighted, which meant that his parents were delighted, which meant that the whole household was required to be delighted. From the doorman to the gardener, everyone was obligated to love the cat. David named him appropriately Sebastien, and the little cat flourished under the breakfast table cleaning spoonfuls of splattered oatmeal and strawberries from the floor.

David’s worries were largely over, except for this morning. Where was that cat? It was his solemn duty to be here. Now. Right now. Oatmeal was looming! Never mind the crystal bowls. This was ritualistic torture. A forced feeding of disgustingly gigantic proportions.

He slumped irritably in his chair and even went so far as to lift his left elbow on the table and rest his face upon his hand, pressing a crease into the intricately stitched fabric as he stirred the sticky goo into a thick blob.

Clifford came and stood next to him, tall and erect with his hands clasped behind his back and cleared his throat. “Ahem.”

David leaned further on his hand and tipped his head to look up, pulling the skin at his eye tight.

Clifford raised an eyebrow.

David took his elbow off the table and straightened a bit, but not too much. After all, he had a right to rebel.

Mother noticed Clifford’s presence and almost smiled. There was no task too small to escape his conscientious attention. He was a splendid overseer for a splendid household. “Sit straight, dear, and eat before your oatmeal gets any colder. I’m sure that’s why you dislike it so.” She patted her lips with the intricately stitched napkin then proceeded to give instructions to the gathered staff; gathered, of course, by Clifford.

David straightened and braced himself. The grimace was involuntary as was the gag. His eyes began to water as he pressed the formula down, hoping it wouldn’t result in an eruption from his belly. He was supposed to be free of this humiliation. Where was that cat? He forced his stomach to be still. He simply could not allow it in front of the minions. They were supposed to be listening to Mother. Instead, several of them pretended to contain the smiles they so obviously displayed in his direction. How he hated them.

Every now and then, Mother would notice that he was just pushing his food around and gave him a gentle look of warning. “David, dear, eat your oatmeal,” she finally said.

With piqued interest, the lined group leaned forward in unison. Just then, a familiar purr nestled around David’s leg. He was saved. He whipped out his infamous smile and answered with a culpable glint, relieved and cocky. “Of course, Mother.”

Completely satisfied, she returned her attention to the staff whose moment of merriment diminished into nothing.

David almost smirked. An actual smirk would have been bad manners and, thus, would provoke the attention of both Mother and Clifford, but an almost smirk created no disturbance whatsoever. Carefully, he scooped a large spoonful of oatmeal and lifted it to his mouth, pretending to take it in, and then slipped it under the tablecloth. Drowned out by Mother’s instructions, it fell to the floor with a splat. Of course, he savored his empty mouthful. “Mmm,” he vocalized, accentuating his features for the sake of the gathered staff. Sebastien purred in appreciation as he cleaned up the mess, strawberries and all, and continued to wrap his tail around David’s leg.

It wasn’t any surprise that the spot on the floor needed a little extra attention every morning. Of course, Clifford knew everything, but in his way of understanding the inner workings of the home, he allowed the implied ignorance to continue.

Father read the paper, Mother fussed to the servants, Katrina slapped strawberries at the legs of the servants, Alex sat in wide-eyed awe, and David asked for some eggs on toast. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Chapter 2

Education

After breakfast, the boys’ standard curriculum began. English, literature, math, the sciences, music, history, art, humanities, and foreign languages were scheduled in rigorous format throughout the day as instructors came to Mandolin. The estate had been in the family for generations, and as their progenitors, Alex and David took their lessons in the Great Hall. Desks were brought in each morning as were blackboards and lab equipment.

By two o’clock, both boys were exhausted. It was then that Elizabeth dropped by to check on their progress and to customarily interrogate their professors. Mr. Kling was just about to begin their biology lesson when Alex saw her enter through the archway.

“Mother,” Alex chimed, relieved that her presence would bring a much-needed break. They had gone straight from algebra class to biology without so much as a chance to stretch their legs.

David turned toward his mother and straightened. He tried to look lively, not wanting her to see him worn from studies. They understood each other that way. Though David’s natural intelligence was his greatest strength, his desire to please his mother outweighed everything. Knowing this, Elizabeth adored him all the more. He was more than just her pride and joy. He was everything.

She smiled and turned to their instructor. “Mr. Kling, what have you prepared today?” she asked arching one eyebrow. Her tall heels and silk dress accentuated her femininity as her voice flowed like a song. Even so, Mr. Kling knew from bitter experience that her lily façade was but a front. She was not to be trifled with.

As he briefed Elizabeth on the concepts of meiosis and mitosis, he seemed to puff up a bit. Surely even the great Mrs. Bastien would be pleased. His small circular glasses accented his narrow eyes and slicked-back hair. An extremely thin fellow, his long limbs and gangly suits gave him the aura of an overgrown string bean.

Mother listened to his dialog with apparent interest, but when he had finished, her reply surprised him to such an extent that David thought the man was going to fall over backwards and he could scarcely keep from laughing.

“Mitosis is indeed a fascinating subject,” Elizabeth stated, “but today, the lesson you will teach my sons will be on insects.”

Mr. Kling’s slim chest popped as he stumbled for footing.

“You will take them outside to the woods.” Mother motioned and walked toward the massive windows that viewed the grounds. Without request, Mr. Kling knew that she demanded he follow. “Along the path, you will name the plants you encounter and review the life cycle of the grass, shrubs, trees, and any other vegetation you might pass. Then upon reaching the trees, my sons will climb several, searching along the way for different varieties of insects. They will determine which ones live in the trees and those that are only passing through.”

Mother continued to speak, but Mr. Kling was in such a state of shock that he could hardly comprehend a thing as his face turned the color of a dark red beet.

David loved it! He loved the way Mother controlled him, humiliated him, and forced his will to hers. It was thrilling, and he drew in close so as not to miss a single detail.

“—Obviously they will have to climb several.” Mother finished her lengthy oration.

The display invigorated David. The fatigue now gone, his posture soared; his mind was crisp as the world fell into perfect order.

Alex, on the other hand, was just relieved to go outside. His brain had turned to spaghetti hours ago. And seeing Mr. Kling’s humiliation pricked a nerve somehow. He wasn’t sure why. He’d seen this sort of thing a million times before. Quietly, he gathered his suit jacket off the back of his chair and readied himself as David stood firmly, still wearing his jacket, ready to follow Mother’s orders at a second’s notice.

The wind ruffled David’s blond hair as they stepped out of the towering doors. At ten years old, he had his mother’s crystal blue eyes and was without a single blemish on his polished face. Despite his natural good looks, his intelligence and arrogance stood out in demanding contrast to every other person Alex had ever known.

At twelve years old, Alex was no less handsome. Their facial characteristics were actually quite similar, but Alex had their father’s rich chocolate hair and brown eyes. Thankfully, he had an edge in height over David, which seemed to be the only edge he would ever have since David’s intellect was forever out of reach, as was their mother’s favoritism. Even so, it was hard to care. David was his best friend. His only friend.

After climbing trees and looking for insects, Alex and David washed and changed into fresh suits to begin their late afternoon and evening studies.

David practiced on his violin in the Great Hall as Alex worked in a lonely practice room on his violin and then piano. When he finally achieved the reluctant approval of his tutor, he was allowed to leave. As he opened the door, the roar of a Chopin scherzo beat rigorously upon his already-exhausted nerves. David obviously had moved on to the piano and was preparing for Dr. Rousen’s return.

Dr. Rousen was the only teacher who had refused to come to the mansion to teach the young men as he, too, had a reputation to protect. He heard David play for the first time when he was four. Immediately, he recognized the child’s unique ability and offered to take him as a student. Elizabeth and Alexander were delighted, but when Dr. Rousen told them that he would not teach David in their home, they backed away from the proposal. They didn’t want their children gallivanting about the city like average citizens. It wasn’t right, not to mention a waste of time.

To their dismay, Dr. Rousen seemed insulted and quickly revoked the offer. The matter was closed for two years until he heard David play again. Stunned with his progress, he determined that he must have an opportunity to teach that kind of talent. And so it was that both boys began lessons. Each week, Dr. Rousen came to the mansion for an individual lesson with David and Alex. He was part of the deal, and in return, the boys were driven into the city for a weekly master class at the conservatory.

It was a situation that had grown comfortable for everyone, except Alex. He didn’t like being only tolerated. To ease his pain, he would interrupt David’s practice whenever possible, making jokes, trying to get him to play something ridiculous. Usually, it was a piece that David had constructed from various Vaudeville showstoppers. Eventually, Elizabeth would enter the Great Hall with a serious frown, always incredibly shocked at their impropriety. Even from yards away, her expression would instantly silence their play.

“David!” she would say in a hushed voice. “Play something of substance.”

That meant Brahms or Beethoven. To Alex, Brahms and Beethoven weren’t any fun at all. They had way too much substance. He was swallowing substance every second of his life. He was ready to vomit substance. He wanted fun. Was that really so much to ask?

Dr. Rousen arrived from London earlier that day and as promised, came by for his welcome home concert. He, his pompous students, and their guests arrived at Mandolin shortly before seven. Each student had worked particularly hard, hoping that their performance would be praised above the others, all the while knowing that it would be David who would occupy most of the attention. They entered the castle with a combination of jealous dislike and fawning gratitude. It was a great honor to enter these walls as a guest rather than a tourist; something they couldn’t help but appreciate despite their disdainful irritation.

Clifford greeted the guests upon arrival and sent them to the Great Hall where another tuxedo-clad servant announced their names as they entered through the grand archway.

An enormous portrait of David and his loyal feline demanded the attention of all as they entered. Its massive frame was situated directly above the nine-foot Steinway piano in such a way as to signify it as the most important piece in the entire room. Recently painted, it was David’s favorite, and so naturally, it hung on the greatest wall of the great estate. He even asked his mother for a miniature which he kept in his suit pocket with her inscription across the back, “Sweet David.” To David, it symbolized that even oatmeal could be conquered. To Alex, it was just annoying.

Upon arrival, a few guests took a little extra time examining the new portrait, bringing an arch to more than one eyebrow. Where was Alex’s portrait? Where indeed? Wasn’t he of more importance than the cat? Alex tried not to notice. His mother certainly had not. She was too busy looking gorgeous in her dark velvet and sequined dress with his father standing magnificently at her side.

At the appropriate time, Clifford made the announcement and the recital began. The first students on the program were supposedly the least accomplished. Alex knew the only reason he was not placed first was out of courtesy. Although he appreciated the gesture, hearing the accomplished musicians who played before him only fueled his already-rattled nerves.

By the time his turn had come, nothing could have tamed his nervous rush of adrenaline that poisoned his memory. For several minutes, he sat dwarfed at the colossal instrument trying in vain to calm his racing heart as he realized that he had forgotten how to find middle C. After a few awkward minutes, his brain rebooted enough to breathe, and he started to play. The pressure of each eye stuck like needles in the back of his neck, bringing beads of sweat to his forehead.

Within seconds, Alex’s right leg, which rested upon the damper pedal, began to shake. At first it was indistinguishable, but as the song progressed, the shudder became violent. His fingertips grew slippery, and tension pulled at his wrist and knuckles, adding a thick slur to the fast passages. His mind ran blank as his fingers tumbled almost out of control. He hated the idea that he might have to start again, knowing that he ran only on muscle memory now. He hoped beyond hope that his fingers remembered the song because his brain certainly did not.

Amazingly, he survived the ordeal and stood from the bench. Looking out at the audience, everyone seemed pleased. His face contorted slightly as he realized that it must be out of courtesy. There was no other explanation. He bowed with obvious discomfort and returned to his seat, grateful to still be alive.

The final performance was David’s. He tuned his violin without the piano since his perfect pitch was more reliable than the noisy beats of the bombastic instrument. Carefully, he voided the beats of interference until he reached satisfaction. Then, with complete confidence, he broke the silence with a perfect attack of his bow. Incredible.

Following his flawless violin performance, he adjusted himself on the artist bench and expertly attacked the piano. With hammers flying, he roared through the bars of the Scherzo, outshining everyone in the room, even those twenty years his superior.

Elizabeth’s mouth turned at the corner with satisfaction. This was her son. His legacy would outshine them all. The evening was a splendid success, and she couldn’t be happier.

Later that night, after his nanny and Clifford had tucked him in, Alex waited for his parents to come and kiss him goodnight. He secretly appreciated their nightly visits although he sometimes insisted that he was getting too old for this sort of thing. Still, after such trauma, it was nice to feel Mother’s soft lips on his forehead and see Father’s mammoth form. He had seen him on the field playing polo many times. Somehow his powerful athletic skill brought comfort in knowing he had such an ally.

After allowing enough time for his parents to visit David and Katrina, he quietly got out of bed and pulled the corner of the heavy dresser out to expose the paneled entrance to the secret passageway that led to David’s room.

David was lying on the bed with his feet propped up, reading as he waited for his brother. In preparation, David had already pulled out the corner of the dresser that hid the secret passageway. In moments, Alex emerged from behind the wooden panel laughing with a little extra dust and a wave of spider web drifting from his hair, happy with mischief and excitement for their impending sea voyage, 20,000 leagues below. But, before the reading could begin, David started in on an imitation of Mr. Kling. Frequently, David’s theatrics could get Alex rolling, but not tonight. Instead, it brought a twinge of pain and a serious expression spread over his face. At first, David didn’t seem to notice and continued his insulting imitation.

Suddenly, Alex interrupted. “Do you ever get scared? Like tonight, when you were in front of all of those people?”

David laughed and continued in mock imitation. “Oh yes,” he squeaked. “The fear nearly struck me dead!” He fell back stiff as a board into the mountainous satin covers that shivered with appropriate applause as the crocheted trim on his pillows swished.

“I’m being serious, David. Don’t you get a little nervous?”

Suddenly, David realized that Alex wasn’t joking and a taste of disgust oozed in his throat. He had always tolerated Alex’s idiosyncrasies, but he couldn’t stomach a coward. “Nervous? I knew what I was doing, and I did it.”

A burning sensation grew in Alex’s stomach. “Nobody’s perfect,” he grumbled.

“That’s what people say who don’t know me.” It wasn’t a joke. They both knew it. It was true. David had been and always would be perfect.

Alex rolled off the bed and went over to where Sebastien was sleeping peacefully in his basket. Somehow picking up the fluffy cat brought him a measure of peace. Sebastien purred in return of the much-desired affection.

“Come on, David, admit it. You’ve been scared before.” He nudged the cat with his nose, wanting to bury his feelings from sight.

“I’m not scared of anything.”

Alex looked back at him. There was venom in David’s eyes. For a moment, Alex was angry. Then, as quickly as the emotion had come, it passed, and he turned to the cat again, nuzzled him once more, then replaced him in the basket. Sebastien seemed sorry to be let go, but with his uncanny smarts, he didn’t protest and settled back into the basket for the night.

“What chapter are we on?” Alex asked in reference to the book.

David’s eyes glimmered, not sure if he was ready to forgive Alex just yet. “Chapter seven.”

Alex hopped back on the bed. “Okay,” he said fingering the pages and began to read.

Were someone unfamiliar with the boys to chance upon the scene, they might think it a scene worthy of Norman Rockwell. But nothing could be further from the truth.

Chapter 3

Grandmother

The morning sun shone through the upper part of David’s window. He rolled slightly as the light splashed upon his face. Softly he let out a groan and covered his head with the satin sheet. Then suddenly, he threw the covers off and leapt from the bed. It was Wednesday!

“Hideout, look out. Here I come,” he voiced cheerfully to himself.

He skipped the usual shower and threw on his clothes. Temporarily, he was free from the tie and jacket. He would never admit it, but a day without constricting clothes was … a relief.

Each Wednesday, Alex and David had the entire morning off. They usually rode their horses out to the butte almost a mile from the mansion. There, they would secure the horses that would then munch on willow branches along a creek as the boys climbed up the wooded hill. In their young boy imaginations, an occasional boulder became the back of a sleeping dragon. A crooked branch was a wizard’s scepter. Even the rustling wind played a part, signaling the enemy’s army on the move behind them.

Of course, their parents had no idea that the hideout was such a dangerous adventure. They simply thought it was one of their many imaginative games, and the boys loved that it remained a secret despite the fact that they had been forthcoming with information.

With a bound, David got dressed and went to find Alex. He must be in the parlor, he thought to himself when he found his room empty. Undoubtedly, he was fretting over the chessboard. But David would have none of that today. He didn’t want to waste a single minute.

Oddly again, Alex was not there. This was puzzling indeed. As he contemplated his options, he heard voices coming from the Great Hall. Not wanting to meet whatever tour group had come today, he peered quietly from behind a familiar suit of armor to see his mother crying. Surprised, he drifted from his hiding place. Father’s arm was around her, and yes, he had seen correctly, she was crying.

“Mother?”

Instead of turning toward her son, Elizabeth turned further away. In several gigantic steps, Alexander crossed the room and enveloped him in a firm hug.

“Grandmother McCrea had a stroke last night. She is very ill.” Alexander paused to look at David as he took him by the shoulders. “We’re going over to see her in a little while. You don’t have to come. In fact, I think it would be best for you and Alex to stay here and … play with Katrina today.”

David pulled away interrupting. “No,” he almost shouted as he broke away from his grip. It wasn’t very often that David found himself without words, but he was grasping. “I … I want to see her. And Alex,” David pointed toward his brother who sat with his hands clasped in his lap, eyes swollen. “He wants to go too.”

Alex sat solemn eyed and nodded his head as Alexander considered the situation. “All right,” he agreed with a sigh. “Go and eat some breakfast first.”

In light of the crisis, oatmeal was abandoned and their orders were taken. Every pleasantry was provided in the hopes of comforting them. Along with the standard fresh flowers, they were offered succulent fruit, pastries, and hot chocolate. But how could they eat? Grandmother was very sick, and even worse, Mother was crying.

The ride to Grandmother’s house was silent. Katrina had been left at home in the arms of her nanny, and David suddenly wished that she were there. She could lighten any moment, and this one seemed very heavy indeed.

David looked across the limousine at his mother, seeing how she kept her eyes lowered and held a handkerchief in her gloved hands. Alexander’s arm was around her shoulders, and every now and then an uncontrolled sniffle escaped with a shudder.

Upon reaching Grandmother’s house, Elizabeth dashed from the vehicle, nearly running over the doorman who had never seen such a thing in all his life. Alexander hastily muttered something to Alex before following after her.

David climbed from the car and began ascending the stairs to the front door when Alex grabbed his arm.

“Father said to stay out here. Mother is much too upset for us to be present.”

“But …” David protested.

“No buts.”

It may have been the first time that Alex had ever taken the stronger role. David was about to throw a defiant remark his way, but Father certainly had given some sort of instructions to Alex. He would respect that.

After lollygagging around the flowerbeds for what seemed like hours, someone approached from the house, and both boys stood in greeting.

“Master David?” the man asked.

“Yes,” David responded and stepped forward.

“Your Grandmother wishes to see you now.”

Alex looked as though someone had taken a bat and beaten him with it.

“Master Alexander?”

With a lump in his throat, Alex raised his eyes, hoping he hadn’t been forgotten.

“You have been called for as well.”

He exhaled in relief, and both boys followed the man into the house where they were led to their grandmother’s room. As the door opened, they saw Mother sitting on the bed next to her. Their father sat in a large ornate armchair. When Grandmother saw them, she reached out with one shaking hand.

As they came around the bed, Grandmother took Alex’s hand in hers and held it tightly. Elizabeth shifted so as to ease the reach. Then Grandmother let go and used the same hand to grasp David’s. Neither of them asked why she hadn’t raised her other hand. They had learned about strokes in their lessons. Obviously, there were some extenuating problems.

“How handsome you both look,” Grandmother twinkled despite the difficulty. She always had a spark. “I’m glad you came. My, how you’ve grown. Why, I remember changing your diapers.” Alex and David both winced. It was just what Grandmother wanted. “And now, look at you. My, I m so proud of you both.”

After talking for a while, Grandmother asked Mother and Father if she could have a few minutes alone with each of her grandsons. She wanted to talk with Alex first.

Alexander suggested some fresh air to Elizabeth, who looked relieved at the very mention of it, while David remained just outside Grandmother’s bedroom door. He sat in a patterned maroon cushioned chair with his elbows resting upon his knees, the palms of his hands holding his face. It certainly wasn’t good posture, but he was sure the horsemen in the wallpaper wouldn’t mind. Besides, he was angry. Why should Alex get to go first?

Grandmother patted a spot beside her on the bed with her one good hand. “Come, Alexander.” She always called him by his father’s name. Sometimes it got confusing, but she didn’t seem to care. “Sit here beside me.”

Carefully, Alex seated himself, fearing a sudden movement might cause her a jolt of pain. So frail and white, her skin was almost translucent and molded in wispy folds at her hands and wrists. Along her eyes the skin drooped. Alex could see that just the effort to talk was exhausting, and being so accustomed to her lively character, it scared him.

Grandmother reached out with her one good arm to pull him toward her. Carefully, he came down and rested alongside her pillow as she hummed the melody of a familiar tune. It was a moment that Alex hoped would last forever.

After a while Grandmother spoke. “Alexander?”

He turned his head a to look up at her.

“You are my oldest grandchild. When I am gone, I expect you to look after your mother for me.”

Alex wanted to protest. How could she talk about being gone? It was almost more than he could stand. But something in her eye warmed him through. There within that look he found the courage he needed. “Don’t worry, Grandmother. I will. I promise.”

Grandmother managed a lopsided grin then motioned toward a large mirrored dresser against the wall. “I have something for you.” Her voice was gritty despite the smile.

Alex went to the dresser. There on top, side-by-side, were three dark wooden boxes, uniquely hand carved, ten by eighteen inches and eight inches deep.

“I had these made for you after Grandfather’s passing. Go ahead and open it.”

Alex lifted the lid and saw a number of articles nestled amidst the puffy velvet lining. Eyes wide, he lifted out an old leather bound book. “Grandfather’s book?” Guilt rushed as Alex fingered the pages carefully. “Mother ought to have this,” he choked as he returned to the bed and sat again beside her.

Grandmother covered his hand with hers. “I want you to have it,” she pressed. “Don’t worry about your mother. I’ve saved plenty of special things for her.”

Preferring to change the subject, Alex turned his attention back to the contents of the box and saw Grandfather’s gold watch and chain.

“Now that,” Grandmother smiled, “I want you to save in this box until your twentieth birthday. It belonged to your great-grandfather. It was given to him on his twentieth birthday by his father, who gave it to Grandfather, who intended to give it to you. As you know, your Uncle Taylor was already given another watch,” she winked.

Alex’s eyes sparkled in delight of it all. Being the oldest, he was next in line to receive the watch. The idea somehow made him feel needed, wanted.

The last article in the box was a simple gold band. It had been Grandfather’s wedding band. Grandmother’s eyes filled with tears as Alex lifted it.

“And this ring is for you. When the time is right, you will meet that special young lady. Make her your bride and wear this ring as a reminder that we are all tied together; one in heart, a family that cannot be broken.” She sniffed and brushed back a tear.

Alex understood. She would not be there for that most important day. She had never missed an event in his life, except perhaps the agonizing recital the previous evening. At the time, he was glad that she called to say that she wasn’t feeling well. There would be one less witness to his misery. He had chalked it up to a headache or something, not this. Losing her was more than he could stand. She was the only person who actually understood him. She was the one who told Mother that he didn’t have to be a musician. She was the one who noticed his flair for poetry. She was the one who listened, always. This just couldn’t be happening.

“I will never let you down, Grandmother,” he whispered as a tear escaped. “Never.”

Chapter 4

Patience

Once again, hours seemed to pass as David sat in the chair outside Grandmother’s room. He looked down the hall at the clock. He had waited patiently. He’d been a perfect gentleman, but this was ridiculous. All day? It was outrageous.

Finally he heard the door creak, and his posture went perfectly rigid.

“She’s ready to see you now,” Alex said as he exited the room. David thought he saw tears in Alex’s eyes. Given the circumstances, he decided not to mention it. He had always understood that Alex was not a strong person.

David straightened further and adjusted his suit. As he went through the door, much to his surprise, the sight of Grandmother nearly overwhelmed him, and he had to fight the urge to slouch. Managing the reflex, he entered. The display of his trained arrogance pleased Grandmother. He was truly a Bastien.

“Are you feeling any improved?” David asked with genuine concern, looking years older than was natural.

Grandmother laughed, and then began to cough.

David drew near in concern.

“My dear, dear, David,” she tried to speak, though she could barely muster a whisper. “I’m afraid I won’t be improving.”

Although she smiled at him, there was sadness in her eyes. The lines on her face seemed to accentuate the truth. Grandmother had always told things the way they were. It was one of the things David liked best about her. But right now, he wished she could lie, just a little.

“You’ll get better in no time, Grandmother,” David assured her. “Nothing keeps you down for long.” He meant every word of it. Mind over matter, that’s all it took.

Too tired to deal with his rigid perspective, she shifted the conversation. “There are two boxes on the dresser over there. The one on the left is for you.”

David nodded and retrieved the box, holding it out to her with both hands as if she had asked for it.

“Open it,” she said sinking into the pillow. She closed her eyes and seemed to gasp for air as the muscles in her neck pulled tight. Resisting the urge to rush to her side, David remained straight and tall, though he obeyed and opened the box. Inside lay twenty-four solid gold Spanish coins. David recognized them instantly. They had been in the McCrea family for five generations.

Grandmother opened her eyes and saw the dumbfound look on David’s face. She wanted to laugh outright, but her body was too weak, and the instinct left her for the effort. It was the first time she had seen David without words. Even as a toddler, he could out maneuver most people in a conversation.

“These are for you, David. I know you will take good care of them. They should be with someone of your character. They suit your strong will.” She tried to reach out to him, and as she did, her strength failed, and she fell back against the pillows.

David almost threw the box onto the bed as he rushed to her side. “Grandmother! Grandmother!” he cried. “Are you all right? Grandmother!”

Nurses, servants, and doctors came running at his shouts. In seconds, the room was buzzing with commotion.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Oh my, what a fuss,” she complained as the doctors intervened.

David reached through the many arms and hugged her as tightly as he dared. He had been there when Grandfather McCrea died and never wanted to witness death again.

“I love you, Grandmother. I love you now, and I’ll love you forever,” he breathed into her shoulder.

Fearing his weight, the doctor tried to pull him off of her. “Help me,” he complained to the butler as the two of them fought against the boy.

In the ruckus, David’s hair was tousled as he burst free of their interference. Grandmother thought he looked more handsome than ever. His desperate attempt to preserve her health meant more than he would ever know.

“Remove your hands,” David ordered. “Let go. Let go of me, I say.” The men ignored his complaints, and when ordered by the doctor, they dragged him from the room as his voice reverberated off the windows. “Grandmother! Grandmother! Let go, you great buffoons! Grandmother!”

“She must rest!” the doctor stated firmly after David had been deposited with his box of gold coins at the end of the hall.

Full of rage, he stormed to the car and slumped down with his box upon the cushioned seat. He had waited all day for a mere thirty-second visit.

He flipped the lid of his box open and stared at the coins as the sun’s reflection burned his eyes. Angry, he slammed the lid shut. He didn’t want them. And why would she give him money? Did she really think he was that shallow? Tears threatened, but he would not let them fall. He was no weakling, and they had treated him abominably. How dare they! How dare they all!

As the day continued, more and more concerned guests showed up at the house. In anticipation, the servants from Mandolin had been called so that everyone’s needs could be met.

David wasn’t the least bit hungry and found it easy to abstain from the banquet that seemed to have gathered every remote relative and friend in the region. It may as well have been the Fourth of July, for the setting seemed more festive than solemn. How he wished they would all have the good sense to go home. They didn’t care about Grandmother. They just wanted to take part in the Bastien social life. They were no better than the people who toured his house.

“Mongrels,” he growled, stuffing his hands in his suit pockets as he walked toward Alex who sat at one of the many tables set up special for the occasion.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied the same flustered maid he so enjoyed tormenting on frequent occasions. Her name was Collette. He watched her with scrutiny as she stacked a high rise of wine glasses. She paused thoughtfully and wiped a spot clean on one of the glasses before adding it to the tower. As she did so her face contorted with concentration.

What an moron, David thought. How much concentration does it take? “She is truly one of the most profound idiots I have ever witnessed,” he spoke aloud to Alex who was lost in a blank daze and didn’t respond. Alex’s eyes were like glass, lost and emotionless. David couldn’t believe his weakness. Irritated, he walked away from him toward Collette and the shimmering tower.

Collette looked up and jittered at his coming. With a single flinch, she tipped a glass and started a domino effect. It knocked another glass, which, in turn, tapped the next until the tumbling row reached the bottom of the four-foot tower. With a musical crash, fifty or more crystalline wine glasses smashed to the marble floor with a shatter. The sound echoed as the mass shimmered across the floor and under the feet of the ever-so-important guests. Shards pierced the ladies in open-toe shoes and stuck like tiny knives into the bottoms of the men’s leather wingtips. All at once, the room turned into panic as people ran from the sting of the tiny needles.

The poor little maid stood speechless, staring shock-eyed at the scene of her most recent disaster, all brought on by that boy.

It was almost enough to make David laugh were he not so angry. How he loved to cause her distress. But she was such a fool; she didn’t really need very much help. She managed just fine on her own. And with Grandmother’s illness, David was full of anger. He wanted to hurt something or someone, and it may as well be her. He wanted to thrust it on her in such a way that she would be able to taste it, smell it, live, breath, and die of it.

“Look at what you’ve done! This crystal was worth more than you will make in an entire lifetime, and you have reduced it to a pile of rubble,” he berated. “You stupid, blubbering idiot.”

As he publicly humiliated her, he realized that he had discovered the true purpose for society’s imbeciles. Their humiliation eased his pain. It was true, and he was feeling much, much better now. He would remember this remedy for future occasions.

After a lengthy venting session he was quite satisfied and crunched away, leaving her to clean up the pile just as Clifford entered the room. Clifford’s mouth nearly struck the floor as Collette’s eyes filled to overflowing.

“Monsieur, pardon,” she whispered as Clifford neared, plotting carefully through the glass obstacle course. “Desole, Monsieur …” Her voice cut off in a tremor.

Clifford gave instructions to several servers to start sweeping up the crystal as he took Collette gently by the elbow into the next room. His job was to make the Bastiens’ life run as smoothly as possible. The McCrea crystal was broken, the marble floor was severely scratched, the guests were bleeding, pulling glass from their feet, not to mention, worst of all, Grandmother was ill and perhaps dying. It wasn’t one of his better days.

As night approached, David and Alex were sent home along with most of the lingering guests. David felt it was wrong that a few choice relatives were allowed to stay when he was not. No one was closer to Grandmother than he. No one. His only consolation was that Alex was sent home too.

Over the next few days, thankfully, all the onlookers had gone home. With the continuing crisis, the boys’ lessons were suspended, and instead they took shifts sitting next to Grandmother.

When it was David’s turn, he talked of happy memories, especially the times when they rode their horses together. He prattled on about the time she bought him a pony. By now, Grandmother was too weak to respond, but every now and then her eyes opened and David got the sense that she understood. He especially thought she enjoyed hearing about their long walks to the nearby vista where they overlooked the hills to the sea.

As usual, Sundays were spent in church services. David looked at his mother, so beautiful with her silken blonde hair and thick lashes. He studied her carefully. The outside was all there, but something was missing, and it had been that way since Grandmother’s illness began.

Feeling more than a little concerned, he turned his attention elsewhere. With scrutiny, he began a serious study of the priest’s competency. After all, this was the man his parents trusted to handle Grandmother’s … situation. For a moment, the man’s balance seemed to teeter, and a tiny drop of wax spilled to the floor from the candle in his hands. In triumph, David huffed. How could he possibly know the certain facts of death when he couldn’t even maneuver a candle properly?

The priest returned to his place, and the bishop came forward. David noted the well-pressed robe. Clearly a point in his favor. But it was the competency of his work that really mattered. Sure enough, thirty minutes into the ceremony, the bishop sneezed. Being the forgiving critic that he was, on any other occasion, David might have overlooked it, but it was right in the middle of his Latin chant! Surely the man should have been in better control of his faculties. The charade was up. These men were not capable of providing the required insight into the deep doctrines of the universe.

At last, the services ended and David exited the church, anxious to be away from them all.

Alex remained in the cathedral for some time as acquaintances and friends offered their consolation and support. It was nice to know that people cared for his family, and for him. When he finally made his way outside, he walked along the path that ran lazily through the grass, enjoying the puffy clouds that rested against the deep blue sky. Between the spots of shade the sun rested warm on his neck.

As Alex rounded the building, he saw David sitting on a large rock that marked the edge of the path. A smile curved around the edge of his mouth. “Hey,” he said in greeting.

David made no response. Instead, he cocked his head to the side and looked away in irritation.

They hadn’t been speaking much lately, but they weren’t fighting. It was just … well, Alex wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t angry. “What is it?” he asked, wishing they could be friends again.

David again made no reply.

Alex leaned forward and grasped the edge of the rock with his hands as he joined him upon the boulder. He looked down into the rich grass. Each blade was smooth in the middle, yet sharp enough to cut on the outer edges. In the center the two sides met at a perfect angle. It was strange how much nature reflected the aspects of life. David was just like the grass. He was smooth, even soft, at least with Mother. He was the best friend and brother that Alex could ever hope for, but he was sharp. If he wanted, he could draw blood. And like the grass, the two sides of him met in the center at a perfect angle.

“What do you think will happen to Grandmother if she dies?” David blurted, disrupting Alex’s thoughts. It was his normal way of communication. He never stopped to think how someone might perceive him. “The priest and bishop don’t really know.” David spoke with authority.

“Priests study this sort of thing for a living. It’s their entire life’s work. I think they know a little more than you give them credit.”

“Have you ever noticed how sloppy they are?” It was more of a challenge than a question.

“What are you talking about?” Alex almost laughed, bringing David’s temper to the surface.

“The candles, the spilled wax, the sneezes during Mass.”

“People can’t control sneezes.”

“Well, they ought to if they’re performing a somber ceremony. It’s unprofessional!”

Alex looked with disbelief. “And that’s why they don’t know anything about death? Boy, David, that’s an impressive argument.”

“The point is, if they can’t get one simple Mass right, how can they be trusted with the secrets of the universe? Besides, how many times have they died and come back? Never. That’s the point. Neeeever.”

“You don’t have to die to know what’s going to happen. Haven’t you ever heard of faith?”

“Faith is for people with insufficient intelligence to—”

Alex interrupted with shock. “Don’t ever let Mother and Father hear you say that.”

Just then, their parents came outside, and they all went home anyway, silent, tired, and grumpy.

Alex couldn’t stop thinking about it. The conversation didn’t really mean anything, but somehow it did. They were growing apart, and Alex wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it.

Two days later, Grandmother died.

Chapter 5

Buried Treasure

David sat in the parlor chair, thinking of the night that Grandmother died. He had been forced to wait at home. When Elizabeth and Alexander returned, his father had held his mother firmly by the shoulders as if she were about to fall. They only made it as far as the foyer when she began to sob and her legs gave way. Had Alexander not been there, she would have fallen to the floor. It was then that David realized the strength of his father as he scooped her up into his arms and carried her up the marble staircase. He could still hear her sobs as they rounded the top of the stairs. Gradually they dimmed as Alexander carried her down the hallway to their wing of the house. David knew when they had shut the door because the silence rang out as loud as any cry.

Over and over David relived these events, slumped in the overstuffed leather chair in the Great Hall. Tears didn’t form. He was too angry for that. He still had not decided what death was, but he knew one thing for sure: he didn’t like it.

He rose from the chair and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he walked up the marble staircase and double landing. Once inside his room, he shut the door. His beloved grandmother had given him money in exchange for her life. How could she do that? In an instant, his face flashed with color. The numbness was gone as he allowed his emotions to surge.

Consumed, he opened the bottom drawer of his dresser that concealed the dark wooden box. He wanted to shout, throw things, hit it, anything; but to both his credit and detriment, he was unable, being held back by his long-term training.

Strapped by the demands of etiquette, he was forced to devise a more suitable plan. Quickly, he rushed to the adjoining bathroom and yanked a monogrammed towel from the rack, and then took the painting down from above his desk. He had never considered its museum quality, nor did he have the time now. Using the bed as a workstation, he turned it over to reveal the heavy brown paper on the back. Carefully, he removed the paper and rehung the picture. His chin muscles pulled as he wrapped the paper around the hated wooden box. Using the fantastic new invention in his desk drawer, Scotch tape, he pinned the seams tight. Next, he wrapped the bundle in the towel, positioning his monogrammed initials, DTB, across the top.

He stood back to survey his work as he huffed. It was oddly satisfying. With a nod, he tucked the large package awkwardly under his arm and headed to the main kitchen where he found several servants sitting around a table discussing the gloom of the day. Instantly, his blue eyes narrowed.

“What is this!” he accused. “Mother and Father are out of sight for one minute, and you are all poking about? Surely, you have something to do!”

Immediately, the kitchen burst into a shuffle as each idle body scampered to find some duty to fulfill. David’s glare continued as he stormed up to one poor fellow who was now earnestly chopping carrots.

“Where is Clifford?” David demanded.

“Umm, I  I uh,” the young man who was no more than fifteen stammered.

“Quit babbling!” David nearly shouted. Silently, he thought of Mother’s words. “One’s tone reflects one’s station.” He blinked hard, knowing it was true. But this hardly seemed the time.

Andy, the head chef, stepped forward wearing a grimy apron. His greasy dark hair matched his sweaty forehead. He was generally a good sort of man, but he had little tolerance for the likes of David, no matter what the circumstances.

“Clifford,” Andy emphasized carefully, “is attending to the needs of your parents.” His voice was smug as he plopped his hands on his greasy hips.

Suddenly, David realized that he was quite in the minority. Then, even more firmly, he butted his chin. He was still master in this house, and he would be treated as such. When he spoke again, his voice was clear and controlled. “I need to box up something,” he worded carefully.

Without a word, Andy walked to a drawer and pulled out a roll of butcher paper.

“Not like that.” David felt a surge of insecurity. Household things were completely foreign to him. Quickly, he eyed his surroundings.

“This,” Andy shook the paper, “is what I use for everything.”

David forced his posture to remain stiff. He couldn’t show weakness as he looked carefully about the room. Andy seemed to sense David’s growing confusion and silently delighted in it, which was even more irritating as David had never come across a servant who actually stood up to him.

“I mean the kind that is more like a tarp.” … Or something, his flustered thoughts added.

“That would be out in one of the sheds.” A smile crept across Andy’s face. He was certain now that this little know-it-all was stumbling.

David wanted to put him in his place. He was a greaseball, nothing more than a meat handler, and David was an heir. Just as he was about to lash out, he stopped, knowing that he lacked the information needed to prove his point, a fact that made him even more furious. Instead, he blurted out, “Like a cardboard type, suitcase thing!” As soon as he had shouted, he took a step back as the room went still. He didn’t mean to speak so loudly, and the perplexity in his own voice caught him off guard.

Andy set the paper aside and walked calmly around the stove to a pile of wooden boxes. “Oh, you mean a crate?” he responded in triumph.

Color grew on the back of David’s neck. “What else could I have meant? And don’t expect me to misunderstand your deliberate concealment.” With a relief, his mind was clicking once again. “I won’t forget this,” he said as he stormed from the room, too busy at the moment to put Andy in his place. But he would handle him soon enough.

Straightaway, David went to the stables for a tarp. Even though Andy had made the suggestion, it was a good idea. Then he ordered his horse to be saddled. In no time he was galloping across the field with the bundle strapped tightly to the back of the saddle.

When he finally reached the base of the hill, he removed the package and pulled the shovel from the strap. Then, carrying the awkward bundle, he climbed the steep terrain to the hideout. Once inside, he began to dig a hole. Dirt stuck to his face, hands, and clothes as he frantically worked, putting all of his frustrations into each scoop until he finally fell back in a heap. It was too much, and he sprang to his feet, kicking and screaming at the walls of the cave. On and on he continued, beating the solid slabs of earth with his fists and shoes, slicing the skin from his hands with each pounding effort on the rock. Then he picked up the spade and smashed it into the sides of the wall. It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t.

Finally, in exhaustion, he fell into the very walls that he had just beaten and slumped. Hours passed as he sat still and silent. Grandmother was dead, and she had given him money.

With the passing time the light faded and with the darkness, David’s senses gradually returned. Slowly he pushed forward and resumed digging. The emotions that had so violently overwhelmed him lay quiet now as he finished digging, then placed the package into the ground and covered it over with fresh dirt. He pushed one of many large rocks over the softened mound to mark the spot as its weight sank into the earth. Satisfied, he wiped his forehead and mouth, smearing his already dirty face, and shook a plume of dust from his hair. His white shirt was a dismal brown, his tie was snagged, and his suit was beyond repair. He was ready to go home.

As he neared the stables, the last bit of sun sank past the horizon. His horse neighed, and in minutes, he was surrounded by a tumult of commotion, everyone demanding to know where he had been as they had all been out all day looking for him. It wasn’t until they saw his disheveled appearance that their accusations turned to concern.

David was still on his horse surrounded by the masses when Clifford appeared, pulling him instantly from the horse by his collar and the seat of his pants. Though David protested, Clifford dragged him to the house without saying a single word.

“Let go of me! Blasted fool, Clifford! What in heaven’s name do you think you are doing? Let go I say!”

No matter how he grappled and kicked, Clifford was quick and strong.

“If you wish to live another day …” his legs swung widely, “let me down!”

Once inside the house, the exhibition continued as Clifford dragged David by the collar and belt through the entry, up the marble stairs, across the landing, up more stairs, and down the hall with ornate carpeting, to his room, tramping dirt all the way as every eye of the estate stood gawking and blinking in amazement.

It wasn’t until he was halfway up the stairs that David even noticed that he was covered in muck. Surprised as he was, he was even more surprised when he noticed the wide drawn eyes. The group that had met him at the stables must have followed him in procession as the remainder of the staff lined the walls, all gathered to watch the spectacle with mouths wide as the head overseer dragged the sassy prince, covered in mud, to his room.

When they finally arrived, David expected to be released, but to his surprise, the journey continued on until they reached his bathroom, where Clifford literally threw him into the shower, clothes and all. Then Clifford actually turned on the cold water full blast and shoved David’s head under it as he hollered and gasped for air from being forced under the spray. David spit and gurgled, but it was no use. Clifford, out of sheer mass, had won.

Sensing David’s defeat, Clifford released his grip, and David flipped around to face him, still standing in the cold spray, water splattering from his mouth as he breathed in the heavy flow. He wasn’t sure what had possessed Clifford to behave so badly, but he wasn’t ready to risk an encore.

Clifford heaved as he stared back at the boy, both of them uncertain of what to do next. The striking Victorian bathroom had never witnessed such a scene and likely never would again. The fanciful shower and intricately adorned chamber potlike toilet almost seemed to gasp at the incredible vulgarity playing out in its pious presence.

Finally Clifford spoke in a gruff, heavy voice. “Where have you been?” His carefully worded English had been temporarily abandoned.

David didn’t respond. Clifford had gone too far this time.

“I asked you a question.”

“How dare you!” David sputtered through the water spray. “How …”

“No, how dare you, young Master David!” Clifford said angrily, his entire frame shaking.

David was shocked. He had never been treated in such a manner in all his life, and by a servant, no less! A servant who now was accusing him of … well … of something.

“How dare you treat your parents in such a manner!”

As the water swiveled a snakelike figure down his nose, David stood dumbstruck. For the first time he considered his parents. Ashamed, he lowered his chin and looked at the river of mud that trailed down the drain.

Clifford took advantage of the silence. At length, he informed David that his parents had not been notified of his disappearance—yet—and that thankfully, they had remained in solitude all day, grieving for Grandmother.

David felt a surge of relief and raised his eyes, grateful that his mother had not been through more trauma on account of him.

“I was just about to inform them of your disappearance when you came plodding through the pasture. I can hardly believe that you would do such a thing. Such arrogance!”

Arrogance? What was wrong with that? David wondered. It was normal and natural; even obligatory.

“Your disrespect toward staff members … Your disrespect toward tutors and almost everyone with whom you come in contact … I never thought you would go this far. I never thought you would disrespect your parents too. These are flaws,” Clifford emphasized. “And they are rapidly becoming major defects in your character.”

It actually surprised Clifford that David was listening, so as the water swiveled through David’s hair he continued the lesson.

David knew the part about Mother was true, but not the rest. Clifford simply did not understand how the world was run. Still, out of respect, the very thing Clifford claimed he did not have, he listened. The fact that he disagreed with pretty much everything that Clifford said was beside the point. He was, after all, standing in the shower, dressed in a muddy suit with freezing cold water running all over him. And yes, Clifford had always had his respect.

Finally, the lecture concluded as Clifford moved toward the bathroom door. “I urge you, young master, to consider the things that I have said.” Clifford’s voice had softened. “I only ask you to change because I know you can be better. If anyone is capable of greatness, it is you. But you must not lose yourself to your own blindness. Please … consider the arguments I have made against you. It brings me no happiness to say such things. You must believe that I only have your welfare in mind.” With that, he turned and quietly shut the ornate door.

Alone at last, David turned the water to warm, peeled off his suit and sloughed it to the floor. The chill from the cave, combined with the nearly fifteen-minute lecture in cold water, had bitten him to the bone and rattled his teeth. No matter how high he turned up the water temperature, he couldn’t get warm. Finally, he gave up and climbed out of the shower, only to find that there was only one towel to dry himself with. He had buried the other with the coins. Whichever servant forgot to restock his room would get an earful tomorrow!

Once out of the shower, his nanny brought him a warmed set of pajamas. Clifford saw her efforts and sent her away and ordered David to bed. He would have to do without dinner. Perhaps it would make his oatmeal in the morning more desirable. David put his hand to his stomach as Clifford shut his bedroom door and then opened it again reaching for the cat. A startled Sebastien let out a yowl.

“I’m afraid Sebastien won’t be joining you for breakfast,” Clifford added, his voice stern. “He is going to visit the graves of his predecessors, and I am afraid in his grief, he won’t be able to return until next week.”

Clifford shut the door as David sank miserably down into the covers. A whole week of oatmeal. It was downright cruel.

Chapter 6

The Crash

Mid-October 1931 …

The leaves had begun to turn shades of red and yellow, and there was a brisk chill to the air. Although months had passed, the pain of Grandmother’s death was still poignant. Each day before literature class, David sought out his mother, only to find her lost in thought. Many times she sat on the terrace, just outside the marble ballroom, to enjoy the grounds. The stone terrace and patio were ideal for summer gatherings while the spacious room afforded many winter dances. David had practiced for hours here. Polished finesse oozed from his cuff links as he led many a young girl to the happy clapping of her mother.

In his search, David rounded the corner to hear his mother’s sugarcoated, albeit irritated, voice. She was in the process of chiding Grandmother’s former overseer, Monsieur De Lamont. The task of going through all of Grandmother’s belongings had enormous consequences for all of her former staff, but no one had endured more punishment than Monsieur De Lamont. Elizabeth demanded that every item be numbered and cataloged. When the set of antique Spanish gold coins went missing, she was irate. That is, irate in her own refined way.

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