Memoir of a Trapped Housewife

Chapter Eleven {The "Little" Party}

Chapter Eleven

The 'Little' Party

The clock struck ten as I trundled down a hallway carrying an armload of tablecloths Mrs. Cecilia insisted we needed for the gala. At first the time held no significance to me until I remembered.

Henry Crowe! The man from the Blackstone Transportation Company I said I would meet with today at the estate's gates to confer new information about Sable! At ten, if I my thinking was correct!

Dropping the starched and painstakingly ironed cloths, I rushed to a window, threw it open, and hopped out into the aromatic grass. Being on the first floor gave one those advantages. Taking care to be discreet, I stealthily ran across the green and past the fountain of two lovers in the middle of the drive. If I were caught sneaking away I would surely be fired, and despite Mr. Cyrus's powerful influence, I doubted he would be able to remedy the situation. Ever since the incident with Clyde, Mrs. Cecilia wanted blood.

At the end of the drive I struggled to remember which direction Jack the chauffeur had brought me from when I first arrived at the estate. In both directions, left and right, there was a road leading somewhere. Following a whim, I went left, speeding to make it to the gate before I became horribly late.

Halfway down the road was a sharp turn and when I made it I saw the high, iron gates of the Blackstone estates. They seemed to be even more imposing at night. As I neared them the shadowy figure of a man separated from the surrounding darkness. I rushed forward, breathing a sigh of relief when my fingers finally wrapped around the cold, hard iron bars of the fence.

"I apologize for my lateness, Mr. Crowe," I said. "I almost forgot about our meeting."

He smiled, the white of his teeth a stark contrast from the black canvas around us. Trees rustled in a passing wind, causing me to shiver. I wasn't cold; a strange eeriness consumed me. Something was wrong; something was awry.

"It's fine," he replied. "I wasn't waiting long."

"Have you found anything new?" I asked.

"Yes," his smile faded. "I was clearing the last of the stuff from Sable's desk for when I found this in a crevice." Through the gates he slipped a small business card into my waiting hand. I held it close to my face to see it clearly.

It was not a business card, rather it was a card detailing a person's association with an organization. Perhaps it could be used to get into certain clubs or prove the legitimacy of the one who owned such a thing. The organization that the card belonged to was a distressing fact and I gasped as I read their name typed at the top of the thick paper.

"The Communist Party of Canada."

"I don't understand," my head snapped up. "Sable is a secret commie, a red?"

I didn't know much about these villains, but from the way the McCarthy government administration was hunting them back in the states, I guessed they were something to fear. Allegedly, they wanted anarchy, a world with no God. I read somewhere that they planned on creating a system where everyone was equal.

Despite what some said, I never understood what was wrong with that.

They were still villains though, preparing to dice up the free world. Weren't they?

"No, no. You've missed it," Mr. Crowe answered, pointing to a name on the card. "This isn't hers. It's Mr. Cyrus Blackstone's."

I glanced down once more. He was right.