by Charles Todd
“Terrence is an annoying man. But he has kept his word, to protect me. I think he did everything he could to find Michael. That could well be why Michael wasn’t killed where he’d been kept. Terrence would have known—guessed—who was behind the abduction. But if he fell out of the boat on their way back to the mainland, who would know for certain? They untied Michael. I think to be sure there would be no bonds if he was found by a fisherman. As Fergus was.”
Simon took a deep breath. “Quietly pack your kit. When Arthur comes tomorrow night, he’ll land. I’ll disappear, once that’s done, and report what we’ve learned.”
“No. I won’t go.”
“Bess. You must. Don’t you see that you’re in danger? Your father was adamant. My first duty was to get you safely out of Ireland. They’re married. Michael and Eileen. It’s what you came for.”
“I’ve got a duty to them—and to Ellis Dawson. The Major. I think if Eileen and her husband try to leave, they’ll be killed as soon as they’re on the road, away from Terrence and the house. And if no one tries to help him, the Major will be killed.”
“I will deal with it—”
“You can’t. Not alone. We’ll need a boat, for one thing. There’s a place beyond the orchard where we could meet it. If you could signal Arthur, ask him to speak to the Colonel Sahib, have him arrange for a boat, if he could. There will be Eileen and Michael, of course. The Major, if he’s still alive. And Eileen’s mother. Five of us. You. Too many for Arthur to come for, it would take too long.”
“Why are there no dogs in the house?” Simon asked suddenly.
“I—I hadn’t really thought about it—”
“You’ve managed to come and go quietly. Is there someone who comes and goes in that house, without rousing the hounds?”
“Niall comes and goes,” I said. “And so does Terrence. If anyone comes to visit Mrs. Flynn—if she’s part of the conspiracy—they could do so quite easily. She sits by her window, watching everything. She could signal someone when it was safe to slip into the house. The stairs are just there, and her rooms are in the front of the house.” I remembered something. “The Major told me not to trust Niall.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Please don’t ask Arthur to land tomorrow night. It’s a risk, and for nothing. Can you signal him? In code?”
“You can’t stay, Bess.”
“I won’t go,” I replied stubbornly.
“You can’t save the world.”
“I can stop three—possibly four—murders. Terrence will help me get his family out of danger. And I’ll ask him where they might have taken Michael. He knows the countryside. He may help us find the Major.”
“You’re damned trusting. He’s a wanted man, Bess.”
“There’s a very good reason why he’ll help me. And that’s all that matters.”
There was a change in Simon. He said, “If you say so.” He began to move out of the shelter of the clump of trees. “It’s late. You should go back to the house.”
“I’ll meet you here tomorrow night. And, Simon? That man, the one I call the violinist or the singer. If that was him tonight, at the edge of the spinney—and I’m certain it was—be careful, please. I don’t think he has any scruples about killing. I have my little revolver. Do you need it?”
“I brought my own.”
“I’m glad.”
He couldn’t see me back to the house. But he kept watch from the stile until I was safely back in the shadow of the house. The moon was just rising.
I wondered if the Major was watching it from wherever he was, and despairing of rescue.
I got into the house, up the stairs, and into the room I shared with Eileen, without being seen or disturbing anyone. Or so I thought until I heard a door shut, and footsteps on the stairs.
It was not Niall’s door, or Terrence’s. It sounded like the Major’s—his was farthest along the passage, a guest room.
I raced to the window, but all I could see was a dark figure disappearing into the deeper shadows by the house wall.
If the Major had escaped, he’d have stayed in his room, not left it! Then who was in his room just now, when the house was quiet?
I hadn’t lit the lamp in my room. And I knew where my own torch was. I reached for it, found it at once, then opened my door and stepped out into the silent passage. Moving carefully, keeping to the wall where the floorboards were less likely to squeak, I made my way to the Major’s door.
I’d heard snoring as I passed the first bedroom, nearest mine, deep and rhythmic, impossible to mimic. I knew—how many wounded men had pretended to be asleep, when they hadn’t wanted to have a wound dressed or be given more medicines? One giant Scot had had a stage snore that rattled the walls.
There was no sound from the next room. Was it occupied, someone alert and listening? It was possible that Terrence might be out meeting with the returning searchers.
I was at what I hoped was the Major’s door. I reached for the knob, then pushed it gently open.
Keeping my torch beam low, so that it wouldn’t flash across the windows, I scanned the room.
It was neat, a soldier’s quarters. Everything in its place.
What were they after?
I kept looking. But nothing appeared to have been changed or moved or even touched. Nothing disturbed the tidiness. I’d lived in a soldier’s world, where order mattered.
Frowning, I moved to the tall chest. On top, in front of the mirror, there were his brushes, nothing else.
In the top drawer were his shaving gear, the straight razor with an ivory handle, handkerchiefs, and other personal items. Although he hadn’t worn his uniform, he would have carried his Army identification, but it wasn’t there. A small silver double frame, like a book, with velvet backing lay in the back of the drawer, as if shoved there in haste. I drew it out. It was the sort a man might carry with him on his travels, with space for two photographs, one on each side. My father had one much like it, with my mother and me as a child inside.
In the left-hand frame there was a photograph of a handsome woman, straight-backed, her fair hair becomingly arranged, dressed in a pale green gown of the sort worn a generation ago to a dinner party. Three feathers, held together in a diamond pin, adorned her hair, and the other jewelry—elegant pearl necklaces and an ornate silver chain, several rings on her hands—looked like family heirlooms, worn for a special occasion. I knew, because my mother wore her mother’s jewelry in the same way.
Someone with the skill to do it properly had tinted the photograph, giving life to the figure. And the woman’s smile reminded me of the Major’s. His mother, very likely.
There was nothing in the other frame.
His father? His fiancée, who had died in the influenza epidemic? We hadn’t exchanged more than the briefest of family histories, the Major and I. I had wondered if he knew who my father was and had chosen not to bring it up. For which I was grateful. But now I had no idea who might have been in the other frame.
Why was that wanted?
I could understand taking the Major’s military identification. It might prove useful. But why the other photograph?
Or had there ever been a photograph in that frame?
I was jumping to conclusions without any evidence to support them.
Going around the room, I looked in other drawers, bringing them out carefully in the small desk and in the armoire so that they made no noise. This wasn’t the time to be fastidious about prying, I needed to know what was missing, if possible.
I came up with nothing else that might have been taken.
Making certain that the room was just as I’d found it, I turned off my torch and opened the door.
And Terrence Flynn was standing just outside of it, a frown on his face.
“I was just about to come in. I heard a noise.”
But he couldn’t have done. I had been very careful.
Before I could answer, he went on. “What were you looking for?�
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“I think someone had been here, searching. I couldn’t imagine what he was after. I wanted to see if anything was missing.”
He looked me up and down. “You’re fully dressed. At this hour.”
I gave him an exasperated look in response. “I hardly wished to go exploring in my nightgown. Anyone could be lurking in the passage.”
“What’s missing?”
“I’m not really sure,” I hedged. “Would he carry his military identification, if he wasn’t going out?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know him that well.”
Didn’t. Past tense, used for the dead. I felt cold suddenly.
“Well. Either whoever it was got what he came for, or he didn’t. Either way, it doesn’t help us very much, searching for the Major,” I said, still cross with Terrence.
“Are you certain someone was in the house?”
“I was awake, worrying, hoping there was some news. At first I thought it might be you coming in. Instead, it was someone going out. I glimpsed him for a moment.”
Oh dear, that wasn’t very wise of you, Bess!
I shook my head. “I assume it was a man. Just a fleeting glimpse doesn’t tell you very much. And the house doors are never locked.”
He said, “Go to bed. There’s nothing more to be done tonight.”
And he waited, watching while I went back to my room, went in, and shut the door.
I slipped to the window, to see if Terrence had gone out to verify my story.
He hadn’t, even though I stood there, well hidden by the curtains, for half an hour.
Unable to sleep, I lay there, staring at the ceiling until the gray light of dawn crept in the window. I found it hard to read Terrence. He was accustomed to being circumspect, and there must have been times when his life depended on his ability to hide what he was thinking or feeling.
What’s more, Simon wasn’t himself. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but ever since he had come home from Scotland, he’d been—different. The only spark of the Simon I knew—thought I knew so well—had been something he’d said to me in the spinney, when I’d threatened whoever was coming toward me with my revolver, boldly claiming I knew how to use it. Which was of course the truth.
He’d replied, Well, I damned well hope you do. I taught you, after all.
Had he proposed to someone there—it was what our maid Iris had claimed was the reason he’d gone off to Scotland in the first place—and been turned down?
Somehow I couldn’t believe it was a broken heart.
Like my father, Simon never took out on those around him whatever it was that he was feeling. I’d seen the Colonel Sahib return from a hard-fought battle where there were casualties on both sides, and speak to the house staff as if nothing had happened. Even though we’d lost good men. It was locked up inside. He’d already told the survivors what he felt—that they had served King and Country well, and that he was proud of them—and that he mourned their fallen comrades just as they did. It was where such things ought to be said.
Then what had Simon locked up inside?
Did my mother know? He’d have given his life for her if asked. I knew that much about him. I didn’t know why, but she always turned my questions aside.
Perhaps she’d guessed what was troubling him. And said nothing.
Tossing and turning, I finally got up, dressed for the day, and went downstairs to put the kettle on.
A cup of tea couldn’t provide any answers, but it could provide solace.
As I waited for the kettle to boil, I found myself thinking that Simon had always treated me like his little sister. Argued with me, ordered me about, protected me, and was in many ways my best friend. I’d always thought I was his.
Then what was it he couldn’t confide in me?
Chapter Fourteen
When I looked in on Eileen and Michael, they were asleep. From what I could see of his face, he was better—less feverish, the cuts and bruises beginning to fade. That was a good sign, if we were to walk as far as the sea and a waiting boat. But I would have to make certain he got on his feet soon. The hidden damage, the blows to his body, his legs, had begun to heal as well, or so I hoped. Now he needed to regain his strength.
Closing the door quietly, I set about making the porridge, and taking one of the eggs in the pantry to cook for myself. I had been in Ireland a week—I’d arrived on a Thursday, and here it was Thursday once more. Eileen hadn’t been married then, and now she was, but I was still in Ireland . . .
I was just finishing my breakfast when the outer door opened, and the young girl who helped in the kitchen when she could slipped in and stopped short when she saw me.
“Oh. Ma told me to come half an hour ago, but I dawdled. I’m sorry, Miss.”
“I can fend for myself,” I told her with a smile. “I was just about to start breakfast for the Mrs. Flynns.”
“I’ll see to it,” she said, taking down the apron from its hook by the door. Then lowering her voice, she said, “If you please—is it true that the English Major has been taken? Like Mr. Sullivan was?”
When I didn’t answer at once, she said quickly, “It’s the talk of the village, Miss.”
I could imagine that it was.
“What are they saying?” I asked, trying to sound merely curious.
She shrugged. “I dunno. But Madame won’t like it, she never wishes to be talked about. She told me that when first I came here. And it’s not like I took the Major away myself, is it?”
“I can’t imagine where he’s being hidden. Or who took him. Or why. It’s a great mystery to me. I mean to say, I understand that no one cares for the English. But I thought he and I had been very careful not to upset anyone with our presence. After all, we wouldn’t have come if Eileen Flynn hadn’t asked us.”
“Is it true you were with her on that ship that went down?”
“I was.”
“Ma remembers when she was let out of hospital and was brought home. She said her limbs looked something terrible, and nobody thought she’d ever walk again. Mr. Terrence took such great care of her, in spite of being hunted. Night and day he was with her. He made her walk, it’s what the doctor said she must do. Back and forth, up and down. She’d cry, begging him to stop, but he wouldn’t. ‘Six more lengths,’ he’d say. ‘You must try.’ And soon she could do it without his arm, but he was there, close to her, fearful that she would fall. My mother was Cook for the house, she saw it.”
He’d been in love with her even then.
Bringing her back to the subject, I said, “With Michael, they sent out search parties, but they never found him. Yet he walked home. How could they have missed him?”
“I don’t know, Miss. I don’t think anybody does.”
She set about preparing trays for the Mrs. Flynns, and I took my cup of tea out to the stables, on the chance that Terrence was there. But it was Niall who was mucking out.
He looked up when he heard me speak to one of the mares—the one I had ridden—and said, “If you are looking for your Major, he isn’t here.”
I left without answering him.
When I started back to the house after walking as far as the stile, Mrs. Flynn the Elder was talking to someone, clearly angry. I veered away from the front door, because I could see the priest, Father O’Halloran, standing in the entry at the foot of the stairs, looking up, presumably feeling the brunt of her temper. As I was about to round the corner of the house, I heard him say, “I tell you, this is not a reflection on you—”
“Then you’re a fool,” she said—I could hear the contempt in her voice.
I lingered for a moment, just out of sight, for she was continuing to give him a piece of her mind. “He should have been dealt with as soon as he showed his face out here.”
“It was too dangerous. He’s dangerous.”
“Of course he is. That’s why he should never have been allowed to show his face in this house.”
I heard a door slam somewhere in the hous
e. I wasn’t sure whether it was Mrs. Flynn ending the conversation with a pointed show of disgust—or the priest leaving, letting her see that her behavior toward him was unacceptable.
Who were they talking about? The Major? Because they believed he had the authority of the Army behind him? But he didn’t—he’d told me as much.
But now someone needed him, if I was right, to confirm what Michael had told them.
I was already around the far corner of the house and halfway to the kitchen door when Niall stepped out.
I stopped, and he said sharply, “Where have you been?”
“Walking,” I told him, continuing toward him. “I need the exercise.”
“Stay close,” he said. “You know what happens to people who stray about.”
And he walked on to the stable yard.
I didn’t take that as a kindness. Or grave concern for my welfare. It was a warning.
Had Niall been the other man speaking to the violinist in the dark, at the edge of the spinney?
I couldn’t be sure, his outline hadn’t been as clear, standing closer to the trees than his companion.
I watched him go, then went inside. The girl Molly seemed tense as I came into the kitchen, glancing nervously at me, as if expecting the devil himself to come through the door.
Not surprising, given the shouting match between the priest and Mrs. Flynn. Or possibly the presence of Niall, who always seemed to be cross in the mornings, had disturbed her.
I said cheerfully, “Fresh air is a lovely way to begin the day.”
But she just agreed with me and seemed very happy when I went on up the stairs instead of staying in the kitchen.
I could hardly wait for nightfall, to speak to Simon. I looked in on Eileen and Michael several times—she had changed his bandages, and I didn’t stay. I looked in on Mrs. Flynn the Younger to bring her a dinner tray, and managed to avoided Terrence when I heard his voice from the stairs. Mrs. Flynn the Elder was in a black mood. She glimpsed me in passing and glowered. I was sure she would be delighted to see the back of me.
No word about the Major in the morning or later in the afternoon. I’d even resorted to asking Molly if she had heard any news, before she went home between dinner and supper.