Lightning Strikes Read online

  “Yes.”

  “Oh man,” he said. “All right. Don’t worry about it. You’ll have to check your luggage inside and show them your passport with your ticket. They won’t let me park here, Rain, so you’ll be on your own from the time I let you out. Of course, I could park in the lot and wait with you if you like,” he offered.

  “I’ll be all right, Jake. Mrs. Hudson told me to be on my own from the get-go.”

  “She would because she thinks everyone was born with the same steel in her bones,” he muttered.

  “Victoria was,” I said, thinking that was the best part of Grandmother Hudson to inherit.

  “Yeah, that she was,” Jake said, concentrating on squeezing the vehicle into an opening. As soon as he did, he stopped and jumped out of the car. He opened my door and went around to the trunk, signaling for a skycap.

  “She’s going to London,” he told him. He helped load my luggage onto the small wagon and then turned to me. “He’ll take you to the counter, Rain. Everyone will be helpful from there. Just remember the things I told you.”

  “All right, Jake.”

  “Well, the queen is right about one thing,” Jake said. “Good-byes suck.”

  He and I laughed. I hugged him.

  “Don’t forget to send me pictures of Rain,” I said referring to his colt.

  “I will. You’d better get going, Princess,” he said nodding at the terminal.

  I started away.

  “Show them English how good you are,” he called.

  “Okay, Jake.”

  He held up his hand a moment and then got into the Rolls.

  “This way, lady,” the skycap told me. I followed him, but I looked back at Jake and the car one last time. I would miss him more than I had dreamed. He had a quiet confidence like someone who knew important things and just stood in the background waiting for you to catch up.

  Jake had been right about people being helpful. I was told that since I had a first-class ticket, I could wait in the lounge. It was comfortable and the flight attendants were friendly and helpful. One came to tell me when it was time to board. I followed a couple to the gate and boarded the plane. The man sitting beside me was an English businessman. He barely muttered his name and then went back to his paperwork. After the meal and the movie, he fell asleep. I don’t think we spoke more than a dozen words and finally I dozed off myself.

  It wasn’t until the pilot announced that our landing was imminent that my English businessman asked me where I was going in London. I told him about the Richard Burbage School of Drama. He raised his eyebrows and nodded softly, which was the extent of his reaction to anything, and then he returned to his paperwork. Were all Englishmen this reserved? I wondered. I’ll be talking to myself most of the time.

  After we landed and were herded through customs, I saw a stout man with a square jaw and dark, beady eyes holding up a small sign with my name printed in large block letters. He was in a dark blue chauffeur’s uniform with little gold epaulets on his shoulders, which were as thick and wide as his neck. He looked like a wrestler who had been asked to don a servant’s outfit. All of his facial features were harsh, especially his mouth because of the way his lower lip curled out a little.

  “I’m Rain Arnold,” I said stepping up to him.

  He looked me over as if he was deciding whether or not to believe me. He didn’t smile or even grimace, but his eyes darkened and he thrust his hand out as if his arm was a steel coil, grasping my carry-on.

  “I’m Boggs,” he finally said. “Mrs. Endfield will be waitin’ in the car. Follow me to the luggage carousel,” he ordered.

  “All right,” I said, but he didn’t wait for my response. He pivoted and started away, expecting I would keep up with his quick pace. He walked with his head straight, eyes forward, never turning to see if I was following behind him.

  I could barely keep my eyes in my head. Everywhere around me people were talking in foreign languages. I saw Arabs in their national dress, people from Africa with their heads wrapped in colorful turbans, people from India, and hundreds of Orientals as well as businessmen of all nationalities walking quickly and carrying briefcases.

  Not in my wildest fantasies did I imagine that a girl like me, coming from where I came from, would have this opportunity. Maybe I really was caught up in the babbling brook of destiny, swept along by forces I couldn’t begin to understand. Mama, I thought, wouldn’t your eyes bulge too at the sounds and sights here.

  When we arrived at the luggage carousel, Boggs put my carry-on down and finally turned to me.

  “Point out yer pieces,” he commanded.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Yer luggage. How many pieces?”

  “Oh, three,” I said. “There’s one!” I cried pointing. He grabbed at it and picked it up with such ease, I thought someone might have emptied it and stolen my clothes.

  After we retrieved the others, he gathered them under his arms and in his hands, nodding at my carry-on.

  “You take that,” he ordered.

  Again, I practically had to jog to keep up with him. He led me down the walkway toward an older looking, but well-kept Rolls-Royce. Before he opened the trunk, he opened the rear door and I peered in.

  There was my Great-aunt Leonora sitting in the far corner. She had a much thinner face than Grandmother Hudson, but I saw the similarity in her eyes and nose. Her dark brown hair was styled with a sweep over the left side of her forehead. Every strand looked pasted in place forever. She wore a gray tweed suit and pretty gold earrings spotted with tiny rubies. I saw she wore a great deal more makeup than Grandmother Hudson, especially the rouge on her cheeks.

  “Welcome to London, dear,” she said. “Get in quickly and while Boggs is putting your luggage in the boot, tell me how my sister is managing herself.”

  “Thank you,” I said slipping into the car. Boggs closed the door and opened the car trunk.

  As soon as I sat, my nostrils immediately filled with the scent of her pungently sweet perfume. I nearly choked on the overwhelming waves of it. In the semi-darkness I saw that my aunt had small brown spots on the right side of her jaw.

  “Mrs. Hudson wanted me to tell you how sorry she was that she couldn’t come over with me right now. Her doctors want to monitor her pacemaker a little longer.”

  “She must be furious. I know my sister Frances. You don’t tell her not to go somewhere,” Leonora said. “How was your trip?”

  “It was fine.”

  “First time abroad, is it?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And I bet you’re all excited about attending the school of drama. What a wonderful opportunity. I never would have thought my sister capable of such an enormous altruistic act. I know she is involved in this charity and that, but becoming someone’s guardian so late in life is quite a responsibility.”

  She tilted her head a bit to look at me.

  “I wonder from where she got this sudden, new motherly impulse? What have you done to charm my sister so?” she asked. There was a strange note of suspicion in her voice as her eyes widened with the question.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Mrs. Hudson has been very kind. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Really? How interesting,” she continued, still gazing at me with those scrutinizing eyes. “How are my nieces?” she followed.

  “Fine, I guess. I don’t see all that much of them,” I added quickly. I felt my voice shaking. I hadn’t expected to be put under such a cross-examination so quickly.

  “Victoria is still not romantically involved with anyone.”

  “I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

  “She’s been around often enough, hasn’t she?”

  “Yes, but not that often,” I said.

  “Hmm.” She nodded slowly and then smiled. “I bet you’re ravishingly hungry. We can stop along the way and get you some warm food, if you like. I know a nice new French restaurant that’s not far. Do you like French food, dear?”
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br />   “I haven’t eaten all that much of it,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  “I’m really not that hungry,” I said. “I ate enough on the plane. I’m okay.”

  I wanted to be polite and look at her when she spoke, but I wanted to look out the window, too. Where were the places I had read about in my history books? The Tower of London, Big Ben, Parliament, the National Gallery?

  “Just yesterday,” she said, “at tea at Lady Bishop’s, I told everyone I was getting an au pair from America. It’s usually just the opposite,” she bragged with a short laugh.

  “Excuse me? Au pair?”

  “A foreign girl exchanging housework for room and board,” she explained.

  “Oh.” How strange it was to consider myself a foreign girl, but that’s exactly who I am here, I thought.

  “When we arrive at Endfield Place, I’ll have Mary Margaret show you to your sleeping quarters, and then you’ll meet Mrs. Chester, our cook. Boggs will describe your duties to you, however. My husband has made Boggs the staff manager.

  “What do you think of my new hairstyle? It’s the rage in Paris. See how this side looks like it’s floating?” She patted the side of her hair softly.

  “How old are you again?” she asked, before I could say anything.

  “I’m eighteen,” I said, smiling to myself at the way she flitted from topic to topic. She reminded me of a hummingbird, buzzing over one flower and then rushing off to the next. It was as if she was afraid of being tied down for even a moment. She was either someone pursued or someone in pursuit, I thought and wondered if I would ever discover which it was.

  “Eighteen. Yes, it seems like yesterday,” she said wistfully. “Oh, I do hope you don’t smoke,” she said with a firm face of warning. “Richard won’t permit anyone to light a fag in our home and he can smell it a mile away, so don’t try to sneak one.”

  “Fag?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s a fag?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s what you Americans call a cigarette,” she said, laughing. “I always forget whom I’m speaking to.”

  “Aren’t you still an American?” I asked.

  “Goodness, no. Richard wouldn’t tolerate the idea.” She gazed out the window and then turned back to me. “You’re so lucky. We’re having a week without showers, if you believe what you hear on the telly.”

  “Telly?”

  “The televison set, of course. Richard says Americans can’t live a day without the telly. I don’t suppose you’re hooked on one of those dreadful soap things, are you?”

  “Oh. Television. No, ma’am, I’m not,” I said.

  “Good. Just look there,” she said pointing to a woman pushing a shopping cart full of cans and bottles. “I don’t know what this country is coming to these days. I see more and more aluminum miners foraging for recyclables to get food. Dreadful.”

  “Homeless people,” I said looking back at the woman with the cart. “It’s the same back in the States.”

  “Richard just rages and rages about them. He thinks the government should get them off the streets. Just the other day, he met with the P.M., you know, and gave him a bloody what for.”

  “Is that the Prime Minister of England?”

  “Of course, dear. Now I’ll stop talking and you tell me about yourself. Pretend you’re telling the story of your life. Go on. Where were you born?” she asked, resting her arms on her lap and sitting back as if I was about to tell her a fairy tale.

  I started, describing my life in Washington, D.C., and what it was like growing up there. She listened and then suddenly, she leaned forward and tapped emphatically on the back of the driver’s seat.

  “Go the long way, Boggs. I’d like her to see the Gardens.”

  “Very good, Mrs. Endfield,” he muttered and made a quick turn.

  “Life is very difficult for black people in America, I know,” she said. “Frances hasn’t told you that our great-great-great-grandfather owned slaves, has she?”

  Before I could reply, she shouted, “There!” and stabbed her finger in front of my face, “Kensington Gardens. Everything is in bloom.

  “Lady Billings and I are going to sponsor a picnic for the orphans next month. Oh, I believe my sister said you were an orphan now. You must forget all that, my dear. Think of us as your surrogate family until. . . until whatever,” she said laughing.

  “Everyone tells me I could have been an actress. I have the talent for it. Boggs, can you drive a little faster? I promised Lady Billings I would ring her up this afternoon.”

  “Very good, Mrs. Endfield,” he said quietly.

  “You were saying?” she said, turning back to me and smiling. “Something about your sister Beni, I think. What a quaint name, Beni? Short for Beneatha? I knew a Beneatha. Oh yes, that dreadful East Ender who came around with the chimney sweep. Boggs, remember them?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Endfield. I do indeed.”

  “Well, what happened to them?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Mrs. Endfield,” Boggs replied.

  “No, I don’t suppose you would, Boggs. Dreadful people. You could see the soot in the very pores on their faces.” She shook herself as if she had gotten a bad chill. Then she looked at me again and shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re not hungry, my dear. The food they serve on planes is just dreadful. However, Mrs. Chester will have something for you, I’m sure, even if it’s tea and a fig biscuit. We’re almost home. Endfield Place,” she said grandly as if it was Tara from Gone with the Wind.

  My head was spinning. A little while ago she had asked me something, but I forgot what it was myself. I really began to wonder how Grandmother Hudson and Leonora could be sisters.

  “This is Holland Park,” she said, “one of the nicest areas of London. My throat’s suddenly so dry. I’ll have a cup of tea myself when we finally get home. Thank goodness, we don’t make the trip to the airport all that much, right Boggs?”

  “Yes, indeed, Mrs. Endfield,” he said. He was like a statue—never turning his head once during the journey.

  “Well, in any case, welcome to London, dear,” she said as we turned into a cobblestone driveway toward a very large stone house.

  As we circled toward the front entrance, I saw what looked like a quaint little cottage behind the house. Well-trimmed hedges lined the front of it with a small walkway in between. It looked like fresh flowers had been planted along the path. The cottage was different, sparkling like new. It was a wooden structure with Wedgwood blue cladding and pretty white shutters. I thought it looked more like a dollhouse.

  “What a pretty cottage,” I remarked. “Who lives in it?”

  My Great-aunt Leonora turned slowly to me. Her face had changed, hardened so that her true age seeped out from under the makeup and deepened the crevices in her forehead and the lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes.

  “No one lives there,” she said. “And no one is ever to go there.”

  Her voice was deep, almost threatening.

  Then she smiled and laughed. She was obviously someone who could hop from one emotion to another in an instant.

  “Welcome to Endfield Place. Welcome to your new home, my dear.”

  I gazed at the grand house and beautiful grounds. Home, I thought, when will that word have any real meaning for me again?

  2

  Visitors in the Night

  My Great-aunt Leonora’s butler walked with a pronounced limp. It looked like his right leg was shorter than his left. When he stepped down on his left foot, his right leg rose and fell almost as if it was a loose appendage he had to swing around. He was a tall, thin man easily about six feet four with curly brown and gray hair like one of the Marx Brothers. His face was long with a narrow chin so far below his lip it looked like it was slowly dripping away as he grew older. He had delicate lips that were tucked down in the corners and eyes set deeply in his skull. I thought he resembled a man who had once been so terrified by something that fear
seized his features and froze them in this look of habitual shock. He waited alongside the car for Boggs to come around and open the door for Great-aunt Leonora.

  “Get the bags out of the boot,” Boggs snapped at him. The butler bobbed his head like a horse and started around to the trunk of the car. Boggs helped Great-aunt Leonora out and then stood back as I emerged.

  “This is Rain Arnold, Leo,” Great-aunt Leonora told the butler. He poked his head around the trunk lid and struggled to produce a weak smile. When he glanced at Boggs, who glared at him so fiercely, Leo moved more quickly. No one seemed to care or even see how he struggled with it all. Boggs didn’t make any attempt to help.

  “There she is,” Great-aunt Leonora cried when the maid appeared in the doorway. To me it seemed like the butler and the maid had been waiting at the front windows to watch for our arrival. “Mary Margaret will show you to your quarters, dear.”

  I looked at the petite young woman who stared at me with interest in her soft blue eyes. She looked childlike and stood no more than four feet eleven at most. Her facial features were as perfect as a doll’s and as diminutive. Against her dark blue uniform blouse, her small bosom looked to be no more than a pair of preadolescent bumps. She was so fragile, her wrists so narrow, I wondered how she could be anyone’s servant. I thought she began to smile, but when she glanced at Boggs, she stopped her lips from curving and an icy fear slid over her eyes. Instead, she did a small dip of a curtsey and stepped back.

  Behind us, Leo groaned and squeezed one of my suitcases between his arm and the side of his body, adjusting his hip bone to keep the luggage in place. The weight of the other two pulled his shoulder down so that the lines in his neck became embossed against his pale white skin as he clenched his teeth with the effort to hold on to them. Still, Boggs didn’t offer him any help, and I was afraid to say a word.

  “Mary Margaret will find you a proper uniform after she shows you your quarters, dear, and then, Boggs will describe your duties to you. Well, don’t just stand there like some waxwork, Mary Margaret. Say hello to her. She doesn’t bite, you know,” Great-aunt Leonora said.