Hall of deception a post.., p.1
Hall of Deception: A Post-WWII Romantic Suspense (The Roth Saga Book 1), page 1
A Post WWII Romantic Suspense
P.L. Jonas
©2023 by P. L. Jonas
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The author grants the final approval for this literary material.
First Digital Version
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-68513-229-3
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This is not my first book nor will it be my last. The people who have stuck with me and the new ones I’ve met along the way have played a part in developing me as a novelist.
Many thanks to my family, friends, and beta readers who have supported me throughout my writing and publishing journey.
A special thank you to my friend and romance author, Pam Mortensen. Her constant support and feedback as a sounding board, a beta reader, or offering knowledge of the era was a blessing.
Thank you to Amy Craig, a romance author whose expert feedback during the early stages and as a beta reader was very helpful.
And, Reagan Rothe of Black Rose Writing, thank you for selecting this novel for publication and for your timely responses to my many questions. Thank you for bringing me into the BRW family of authors.
CHAPTER ONE
1953 Massachusetts
I gazed at the massive iron gates towering over my head when sudden panic flooded through me. Did I make a terrible mistake coming here? Turning back to the bus, it pulled away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. Resigned, I retrieved the offer letter from my bag and ran my gloved fingers over the embossed letterhead reflecting the same gold gilt crest on the gate.
It read: . . . offer you the position of tutor . . . arrival at the gated entrance . . . use the call box. There was a phone box next to the smaller gate. I picked up the receiver and pushed the red button.
A woman’s voice answered. “Rothmorton Hall.”
“Uh, yes, this is Deirdre, I mean, Dee Danes. I’m expected.”
“Wait there. Someone will drive up to get you.” The line went dead.
This was it. I could only go forward. I smoothed down my rumpled gray traveling suit, placed the letter in my bag, and pulled out a small mirror. Much to my dismay, several cracks caused pieces to fall out. “That’s all I need, seven years of bad luck.” Through the slivers, I glimpsed my shoulder-length dark blond hair, frizzy from the coastal humidity. Combing would make it worse. I gave up. When putting the mirror away, my hand touched my most prized possession, a worn copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, my favorite book. I fondled the cover and held it to my breast, remembering why I was there.
It was coming true. Ever since I first read it when I was nine, Jane’s life spoke to me. She was an ill-treated orphan cast out by family and lived in a horrible orphan’s home. I too was an orphan and ill-treated. An elderly cousin took me in until she died when I was fifteen and her daughter, Orpha, did the same. She was civil and not very loving. Another reason I clung to Jane, for she didn’t feel loved, and neither did I.
Orpha’s spiteful words came back to me. “What a coincidence. Just like your beloved Jane Eyre, running off to a grand estate to tutor a little girl, hoping to find true love. You are obsessed, Dee Dee.”
“Not a coincidence, it’s fate,” I had said with defiance.
When I heard a puttering sound, I peered between the iron bars into the shadows from the tall dense trees and thick bushes. A motorized golf cart with a hard top and open sides appeared, making me step back. The driver was handsome, probably a little older than my twenty-two years, dressed in work pants and a white short-sleeved tee shirt with a pack of cigarettes stuck in one sleeve. He parked and got out, limping to the small gate, and opened it.
“Hello.” I adjusted my hat.
“Miss Danes? I’m Ben, the chauffeur. Let me take your bag.” His face broke into a friendly grin, lifting the bag it as though it weighed nothing and placed it in the backend.
His friendliness helped me relax, and I returned a smile, sliding into the passenger side and held onto the rail in front. When he got in, he needed to lift his left leg.
“War injury two days before they dropped the bomb.” He turned the cart around and drove down the drive.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“It’s okay. Thanks to Mr. Roth, I have this job.”
“Did you serve together?”
“Yep, the Navy. The house isn’t far. Long trip?” Ben gave me a sidelong glance.
“I must look awful.”
“You look great. Don’t worry about it. You have those eyes, ya know, Bette Davis eyes. They aren’t blue, though. Green?”
I nodded.
“Yeah man, cool.” He grinned.
He sure was cute, but his kind of flirtatiousness wasn’t for me. A more mature man might fit the bill. “The trip was torture. I’m so glad to be here.”
“What the hell?” He slammed on the brakes and I lunged forward, gripping the rail tighter.
Ben went to a tree away from the drive. With a gasp, I nearly fainted at the sight of a large gray cat nailed to the tree. Dead for sure. Its blood had drained down the trunk in long dark squiggles. Ben carefully removed the poor animal from the tree and laid it on the ground.
“I’ll come back for it later, after I’ve dropped you off.” When he started to wipe his bloody hands on his pants, I must have made a face and he stopped.
“Here.” I thrust out my hanky.
“I got it.” Grabbing a rag from the cart, he rubbed his hands clean before getting in.
“Who could have done that?” I shuddered, wondering what I had gotten myself into.
“Don’t know. Sorry you had to see that. Your first day and all.” He put the cart in gear and we continued on to the house.
I was still shaking when Rothmorton Hall came into view. The horror left my mind temporarily. It was a magnificent example of architecture from the Gilded Age. I hadn’t realized such homes existed in America. Three stories of stone with a grand columned entrance.
The cart moved around a circular drive surrounding a large fountain. Water danced in a synchronized pattern up and down, sparkling from the late morning August sunlight. Ben continued to the north side of the house and into an enclosed courtyard.
“The servant’s entrance and where I spend most of my day. I live over the garage.” He pointed to his left at what appeared to be a former carriage house. Several expensive automobiles sat in open bays, among them a Bentley and a limousine. Ben parked in a spot alongside the house. A mature, short and round woman, in a black dress with a white collar, waved and beamed at us from a doorway leading downstairs.
“She’s the housekeeper,” he said.
“Thanks.” I exited the cart and smiled at the woman.
“Sure thing. Let me know if you need a lift to town. There are bicycles over there, for anyone. To explore the grounds or ride to town.”
“Plymouth, right?”
He nodded while taking my bag and left it inside the door.
“Miss Danes, I’m Mrs. Chambers,” she said.
I murmured a faint hello as she shook my hand. I followed her down the stairs and through a spacious modern-looking kitchen with shiny stainless-steel counters and overhead lighting. Three men in white uniforms were busy preparing food. She continued on to an office on the other side of the kitchen and waved toward a chair.
I was exhausted and still upset, trying not to plop.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Would you like some water?” Mrs. Chambers spoke with a slight lilting Irish accent, which went along with her cheerful disposition.
“Please.” I took my hanky from my handbag and patted my damp brow.
From a crystal pitcher on a table next to her desk, she poured a glass and handed it to me.
“Bless you,” I said. “There . . .” I gulped the water, thirstier than I realized, “was a dead cat nailed to a tree. It was horrible . . . the blood and all.” I shuddered again.
“My goodness! No wonder you’re pale. Mr. Roth demands a tight security here. He won’t be happy to hear about this.” She took a pen and wrote something down.
I took another sip of water. “It upset me more than I realized.”
“I’ll speak to Ben about it after I’ve settled you in. Now, just put it out of your mind, dearie.” Her face held genuine concern.
“I’ll be fine.”
“As soon as we finish here, I’ll show you to your room to rest from your long trip. I’m not sure how much you’ve been told about the position before you accepted. You will tutor Mr. Roth’s ward, Ellen, soon to be six years old. She suffers from chronic asthma and has a full-time nurse.”
“I wasn’t told about that.” I pulled myself together to pay attention to Mrs. Chambers.
“You’ll meet Ellen and Nurse Clayton at dinner tonight. Tomo
“Do I report to you or Mr. Roth?”
“Oh, not me dearie, you report directly to Mr. Roth.”
“When will I meet him?” Did I have fantasies about the master of the mansion? Yes, but I was also realistic. It was just that, a fantasy, right?
“He’s in Boston today, and expected after dinner. Oh, and before I forget,” Mrs. Chambers opened a desk drawer, retrieving a key on a fob. “This unlocks the side gate from the outside at the main entrance, where you first met Ben. You don’t need it to leave the grounds.” She stood and motioned me to follow her.
I put the key in my bag and we went up a dimly lit back stairway.
She paused on the first floor, and she pointed to a door. “This goes to the foyer. The dining room is through there. I’m sorry I don’t have time to give you the full tour today.”
“That’s fine,” I murmured as we continued up the stairs.
“We’ll do it tomorrow when I take you up to the classroom. Hasn’t been used in years, so it’s being cleaned. You’ll find your way. Just ask any of the staff for directions if you’re lost.”
Up the stairs to the second floor, we turned into a long, wide hallway.
“This is the north wing and bedrooms for you, Nurse Clayton, and Ellen, plus a few guest rooms, though there haven’t been guests since I’ve come here.” She stopped at the first door. “This is your room. The other two along this hall are Ellen’s and her nurse’s. Beyond is the main stairway to the foyer.”
When she opened the door, I gasped at the large and beautifully decorated room that would be mine, a mere employee. “This . . . is my room?”
“This is the grandest house I’ve ever worked at. Not a plain room in the mansion. Mr. Roth wanted you to be near Ellen.” She smiled and pointed at a box on the wall. “If you need anything, use the intercom here. Just push the button and it will ring downstairs. If I’m not there, someone else will answer. The phone on the nightstand is for outside calls. Feel free to let your family know you arrived safely. It’s on a party-line.”
I doubted Orpha would be worried. She seemed happy to get rid of me.
“Where is your room?”
“I have a suite connected to my office, in case you need me and I’m nowhere to be found.”
“Thank you. Ben mentioned bicycles are available for staff. I’d like to go into town for a few essentials.”
“Of course.” She smiled and left.
Someone had delivered my suitcase and placed it at the foot of the four-poster bed. Aqua-colored floral wallpaper covered the walls framed by carved gold gilt panels. My fingers trailed the elaborately carved mahogany furniture and I thought back to my simple desk and single bed at Orpha’s. The dressing table was more than I ever could have imagined and when I opened the enormous standing wardrobe, I chuckled. My few pieces of clothing would look silly in there. I hung my one nice dress and another suit, two blouses, a sweater, and a pair of slacks. How sad they looked.
Sheer white curtains graced the French doors leading out to a narrow terrace. I held onto the wrought-iron railing and inhaled the delightful fragrance of roses, hydrangeas, and dozens of other flowers from the garden below. Tall trees hid the ocean beyond, but I could taste the salty sea as I wrapped my arms around myself. It was heaven.
After sitting on the train and bus, my body craved some exercise. There was plenty of time to ride into Plymouth before dinner. After freshening up and changing into a pair of trousers, I found my way back down the back stairs to the courtyard. The bicycles were lined up in a row alongside the garage wall. I selected a ladies’ bike with a basket and a little bell. Ben came out smoking a cigarette and waved. I waved back and took off down the drive.
Approaching the main gate, I hopped off the bike, pushing it to the side exit. Unlocked, as I had been told, and once through, headed down the highway toward the town, keeping to the side. Few cars passed me by. One with a family. A child waved at me from the back seat. An old pickup truck with workers in the truck bed. I came upon a curve in the road with tall shrubs that blinded me from oncoming traffic. Just as I turned, a sports-car came straight at me. The driver was leaning over. I veered off the road and landed in a bush flat on my behind. Not hurt, but angry at the driver, who obviously wasn’t paying attention. I stood and brushed myself off.
“Miss, are you alright?” said a man’s voice from behind.
It was the man from the car. He had pulled over to the side of the road and walked toward me. The wind whipped through his longish, dark, wavy hair, framing a strikingly handsome face. As he came closer, his crystal light blue eyes caught me off guard.
“I’m fine, no thanks to you.” My voice was curt as I stood straight with my feet planted.
“Sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“I suppose not, since you weren’t even looking at the road. Your head was down as I saw your car coming at me.”
“Yes. Bad habit. Messing with the damn radio. Don’t know why they put it below the dash. You were too far into the road.”
“I beg your pardon? I was riding on the shoulder. Besides, how could you know where I was if you didn’t see me?”
“When I looked up, I saw you on the road veering off.”
“I was not!” I glared. “Now, if you don’t mind. I need to get to town.”
“I’ll take you.” He reached for my bike and I yanked it away from him.
“There’s no room for a bicycle in that tiny excuse for a vehicle.” I couldn’t believe the words pouring from my mouth. It was actually a very expensive Mercedes-Benz Roadster. Before he saw my embarrassment, I hopped on the bicycle and rode away as fast as I could.
“I didn’t get your name,” he shouted.
I looked behind me. He was still standing with his hands on his hips, watching me.
Upset by the interaction with such an infuriating man, I swore to myself as I rode down the coast highway. Soon it turned into the main street that ran through town.
The buildings were charming white planked siding and typical coastal New England architecture. I parked the bike outside a small department store where I purchased a few personal items and a green shirtwaist dress with short, white cuffed sleeves. The basket on the bicycle just barely held my packages.
When I returned to Rothmorton, Mrs. Chambers was in her office.
“Sorry to bother you. Could I borrow an iron to press my clothes?”
“Certainly. I’ll send someone up with one and a board. Oh, and dinner won’t be until later, at seven o’clock, in the first-floor dining room. Mr. Roth called right after you arrived. He’ll be here for dinner.”
I thanked her and went straight to my room. A few minutes later, Belinda, a bubbly young maid in her late teens, delivered an iron and a board. I took my time getting ready for dinner, feeling anxious about meeting everyone, particularly Mr. Roth. Would he be like Mr. Rochester? As much as I liked the novel, I hoped Mr. Roth would be different. I had dated a few boys in college for a Friday night movie, though nothing serious. After graduating, I focused on teaching and helping Orpha on the farm. I convinced myself there wasn’t time for dating, though I wondered if I was avoiding it. As much as I wanted to find love, the immaturity of the boys I met magnified my inexperience and insecurity.
I wore my new dress, adding a dab of Evening in Paris cologne, and stepped out into the hall, unsure which way to go, when a door opened. A woman with black hair pulled back in a nurse’s cap, wearing a white uniform, stepped into the hall followed by a little blonde curly-haired girl in a blue dress with a Peter Pan collar and black patent Mary Jane’s with white anklets. I went toward them to introduce myself.
“You’re the tutor, aren’t you?” the little girl said.
“Yes, I’m Dee Danes. You must be Ellen.”
“I’m supposed to call you Miss Danes. Just like going to school.”
Such an adorable child, all smiles with a missing front tooth. I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Glad to meet you, Ellen. I’m excited to teach you,” I said.
The woman eyed me with curiosity and held out her hand. “I’m Nurse Clayton, but you can call me Sylvi in private.” Her tone civil.
I sensed caution and wondered why. “You can call me Dee.” I shook her hand. “Shall we?” I motioned for them to lead the way, since I was not exactly sure where to find the dining room.
