Shadows Wait

by Denise A. Agnew

  Chapter 7

  Lilly lunged for the young woman as she headed for the third floor staircase railing. “Suzanne, no!”

  Lilly had heard footsteps running up the stairs and knew nurses would run to help her after hearing Suzanne Phillips raging. Suzanne had been fine, talking with others in the hallway when someone had touched her arm or said something the wrong way. No one understood why or when she’d lose control.

  Lilly grabbed the plump girl’s arm. Suzanne turned around and snatched both of Lilly’s arms in a firm grip. Suzanne’s round cheeks were florid, her hazel eyes mixed with pain, confusion, and terror.

  Lilly’s heart slammed in her chest, but she took one deep breath after another. She needed to stay calm. “Suzanne, listen to me. You will be all right. Come back into the ward with your friends. Wouldn’t you like to lie down and rest? You will feel so much better.”

  “No.” Suzanne’s soft voice cracked. “No. I want to die. I cannot take this any longer. I cannot.”

  A movement down the staircase caught Lilly’s attention. Her gaze snagged on a man’s figure, well-dressed in an expensive overcoat dusted with snowflakes. Morgan Healy. Lilly’s heart did a thump of excitement at seeing him, but that instantly disappeared as she dealt with the problem before her.

  Immediately Lilly returned her attention to Suzanne. The young woman’s face changed from terror to aggression in a heartbeat. She squirmed with incredible power and wrenched from Lilly’s grip. She lunged for the railing once more.

  “No!” Lilly wouldn’t let someone die again. Not on the stairs. “Suzanne!”

  Footsteps thundered up the staircase. “Lilly!”

  She struggled, holding onto the girl for all she was worth. She wouldn’t let her go. Suzanne swung at her again, hitting her in the jaw with a resounding thud. Pain shot through Lilly’s face, but she refused to release the woman. Suzanne strained toward the railing, her considerable weight drawing Lilly’s smaller frame closer to danger. Lilly tightened her grip, not caring if her fingernails bit into Suzanne’s upper arms.

  Morgan rushed up beside them and hauled them both back from the brink. “Let me take her. Lilly, let me take her!”

  His crisp, deep demand cut through Lilly’s grip, and she released the young woman into Morgan’s superior strength. He enveloped the woman from behind in a bear hug. Two nurses joined them and helped take Suzanne back to her room. Lilly followed. Suzanne struggled and screamed the entire way. By the time they got Suzanne into her room and strapped to her bed, the fight had drained from Lilly.

  “Let us take care of her,” one of the nurses said.

  “Are you sure?” Lilly asked.

  The older nurse threw a disgusted look Lilly’s way. “We are nurses.”

  Lilly nodded and took one step closer to the bed. “It’s going to be all right Suzanne. They only want to keep you safe.”

  Lilly’s heart contracted as Suzanne started to sob. A firm male hand slipped around Lilly’s right upper arm and she started.

  Morgan gently eased Lilly away from the bed but he didn’t release her. “Come on.”

  She allowed him to lead her into the hallway. He closed the door to Suzanne’s room. As his gaze took her in, her mind and body responded to his masculine scent and powerful force. She was torn between her dislike for what he represented and the disturbing emotions he created with his mere presence. His gaze flashed over her, intent and curious and devouring. How on earth could a single person be so disconcerting to her composure?

  When he continued to stare, a hot blush filled her cheeks. Anger mixed with heat. “What are you staring at?”

  He tore his gaze away and looked past her for a moment, but his attention returned just as quickly. “This is a mistake.”

  “What?”

  “I came to take you to the house to care for my sister. I understand that you’ve been hired as her companion and maid.”

  “Yes. I’d packed my things and they’re in my room now. I would have met the carriage at the front door, but Suzanne ....”

  “I saw the nurses rushing by and followed them.”

  “Very well. Lets get my things and be on our way.”

  “No.”

  She gaped at him. “No?”

  “It’s obvious from the way you handled the patient that she was too much for you.”

  Exasperation and more anger rose to the surface. She turned and stalked toward her room. “My room is next door to Suzanne’s. I’ll get my coat and bags. I have two trunks that I can’t carry.”

  His footsteps followed as she quickly entered her room. The lamp still burned in one corner, barely illuminating her room.

  When she turned back to him, the stubborn tightness of his jaw and mouth told Lilly she was in for a fight. “If I hadn’t chased after her, if I hadn’t grabbed her, she would have jumped. And I couldn’t let that happen again.”

  “Again? She’s tried to kill herself before?”

  “No. But she’s hurt other people.”

  “You said again.”

  “Very observant of you, Mr. Healy.”

  His eyes narrowed and he stepped close to her. She drew in a breath of surprise and almost moved back. “She hurt you.”

  His hand, so big and competent looking, came up to touch her face. Before she knew it, he cupped her chin and then his fingers grazed the side of her throat. With his other hand he turned her face slightly to the side. Morgan’s touch brushed warm and gentle, and she almost gasped at the unexpected sensation. No, not unexpected. She should have guessed from her previous encounter with him at the ball.

  Embarrassment mixed with determination. She wouldn’t let him get the better of her. “Many of the insane are very strong. What are you doing?”

  “You’re hurt,” he said softly. “Did she hit you anywhere else?”

  His touch dropped away, and she could breathe again. “She pummeled me with her fists and broke loose from me before I chased her down the hall to the staircase. I’m just glad I caught her.” His disconcerting stare, so intense and brimming with residual anger, added to her own unease. “Will you use this incident against me?”

  “What?” he asked.

  A loud wail from Suzanne’s room almost made her return to help the woman. “As it states in your father’s asylum employee manual, all persons employed in the asylum are required to be calm when performing their duties. Loud talking, scurrying about is strictly forbidden.”

  He nodded, and one corner of his mouth turned up. “And unvarying kindness must be observed. Do you think you were kind to Suzanne?”

  “Yes. She’s been here since she was sixteen. She’s only ... twenty-two now.”

  “Two years older than you.”

  “Yes.”

  He placed his hands upon his hips, and his opened coat revealed an embroidered waistcoat with pocket watch. “Do you chase down all errant lunatics?”

  “Only the ones that cross my path and happen to be running. Two nurses looking after the meal on this ward decided they could leave the area temporarily.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “I have no idea, but whatever they planned to do included a great deal of laughing.” She drew in a deep breath, as angry now as she’d been earlier.

  “What are their names?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll report them for what happened. They allowed this situation to get out of hand.”

  She shook her head and felt her small hat slipping. She adjusted it on her head. “Nurse Felix and Nurse Conrad.”

  She wondered if she’d made a mistake revealing their names.

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he said suddenly.

  She frowned. “Telling the head nurse about the other nurses?”

  “No. That is certainly the right thing to do.” He sighed. “Let there be no misunderstanding. I told my father that you were not a good candidate to help my sister.”

  His words didn’t exactly surprise her. “It does not m
atter what you think. Your father hired me.”

  Surprise altered his features and then coolness returned. “Doesn’t mean I have to approve.”

  “Very well. You have warned me.” She’d cut off his objections and pride lifted her spirits.

  “If there is one thing in my life I cannot abide, it is lying,” he said.

  “You think I’ve lied to you?”

  “I think you are using this appointment as an excuse to leave this place.”

  She smiled, this time with as much sarcasm as genuine amusement. “Wouldn’t you? Perhaps you would like to try sleeping in my room here one night and test how you feel then. At night the insane sometimes scream. In the morning they occasionally throw food, strip naked because they think bugs are crawling over their skin. In the afternoon they might tire enough they fall asleep playing cards or dancing around the room in an aimless fancy. I’m immune to it all. It was either that or become insane myself. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to leave it.”

  His eyes softened, his mouth relaxing. “It isn’t a proper life for a sane woman.”

  “Or man. So, assuming you are sane, Mr. Healy, I think you’d hate it here.” She shrugged. “But then, some of the insane hate it, too.”

  His gaze traveled over her face. “I can imagine.”

  “Can you really?” She couldn’t keep he challenge out of her voice, and she feared someone would see them in her room and think it improper. “Now, I suppose your carriage driver is cold waiting for us. Shall we go?”

  His expression hardened. “I’ll get your bags.”

  All the way down the steps people said goodbye to her, and with some it took too long—or at least the impatience marked on Morgan’s face said so.

  She felt out of her depth and uncertain. Her thoughts flip-flopped from excitement to fear. As the carriage rolled through the iron gates leaving the asylum, tears filled her eyes. Thank goodness darkness prevented Morgan from seeing her. She slipped her hand into her reticule and found one of her handkerchiefs. She dabbed her eyes. Perhaps she’d never have to come back here again.

  They didn’t speak a word on the carriage ride to the manor house, but Lilly felt a wealth of conversation moving between her and Morgan. Tension stretched between them, the small carriage enclosure adding to the intimacy.

  If he noticed her discomfort, he didn’t speak. Two miles passed quickly. When they pulled to a stop, he didn’t wait for the driver to open his door. He opened it and flipped down the steps. He took her hand and assisted her from the carriage.

  The three-story manor spread out from left to right, a huge Victorian structure nestled into the pines. What little she knew about the house came from conjecture and what Oleta had told her. Even in the darkness, the gray stone resembled the asylum; they’d been built at the same time in eighteen eighty-eight. Only the torches on the front of the house gave her a clearer picture. She’d heard the architect who’d built both the asylum and this large residence had come from England.

  She’d studied photographs and illustrations of houses like this one. Obviously it was meant to look like an English country estate. With granite for trim and shingles for the roof, it was a massive form long and tall, three stories for the main house and a full four stories in a crenellated tower to the left. She recognized architectural details from days of reading books about such things. Tall windows stared down at her from so many angles, like eyes assessing her arrival with skepticism.

  She was an intruder, and she knew it in her heart. She came here with impure intentions created by anger, and by a need to put a stop to the deaths. Those eye-like windows froze her to the spot, dark invaders intent on pointing out her lies. And this man had said there was nothing he hated more than a lie. Why did this house and this man make her feel guilty for what she planned to do?

  “Are you all right?” he asked when she didn’t move, still staring at the house.

  She clutched her reticule and carpetbag. Her hand gripped his tightly. “Yes.”

  “Ow.” He released her hand. “You have a powerful grip for a woman.”

  As always, she regained her composure rapidly. “Perhaps because of chasing people like Suzanne around the asylum?”

  He snorted a laugh, very ungentlemanly-like and unexpected. “Possibly.”

  He led her through the large porch and opened the huge double doors with a massive key he procured from inside his pocket. A man who opened his own home? A home like this? Where was the butler or footman?

  Inside the manor, the central hall soared to three stories. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, dazzling with an array of crystals. A fire snapped cheerfully in a hearth to her left, situated between two sets of doors. The hall was big—she guessed at least twenty by twenty-four feet. She walked to the fireplace and held her cold fingers out for warmth.

  She imagined a home like this in Denver would have electricity; she’d heard many homes did. Such amenities hadn’t reached Simple or the homes in the surrounding area.

  “My mother is probably upstairs with my sister.” Morgan broke her trance. “May I take your coat and hat?”

  “Of course.” Her automatic response came as she removed her gloves, hat, and coat and handed them to him.

  He gathered the items in hand. “I’ll let Mother know you’re here. Father is attending to business in town. Bennett Hillman will bring in your luggage.”

  “Thank you.”

  He moved down a hallway toward the back of the house.

  When he returned empty-handed a few moments later, he headed straight by her and into the stair hall to the right. “I’ll find mother.”

  She waited, impatience in every moment. The carriage driver brought in her luggage, the two small trunks—everything she owned. She’d already set the carpetbag at her feet.

  “You waiting for Morgan?” the man asked, his craggy face so wrinkled, that he resembled a drawing of a strange Chinese dog she’d once seen.

  “Yes. He’ll be back shortly.”

  Without another word, he turned and left. She suddenly felt alone, the silence in the house unusual. Strange. Where were all the servants? She glanced around, noting the richness. Oak with wainscoting and a ceiling of open timberwork made the hallway resemble a castle’s great hall. Ahead of her, large double pocket doors were closed.

  Nervous, she wandered to one of the rooms on the left. Sliding pocket doors were, halfway open. She smelled pipe smoke. Did Morgan smoke a pipe? Or perhaps his father. She’d never heard them say they smoked, nor could she smell it on either one of them.

  As she stepped in, she saw it was a reception room, stately in furnishings. Chippendale united with Hepplewhite, and this surprised her. She’d never realized people mixed styles. Overall, the effect of the room was quiet, the colors less ostentatious than she’d expected for a Victorian home. The lady of the house may have had a hand in the lightness and welcoming decoration.

  A fireplace graced the immediate right as she came in, but it was cold. Beyond that pocket doors opened into a parlor.

  Before she could venture another step, a horrendous cry split the night.

  Chapter 8

  Lilly gasped and turned toward the door. Long and drawn out, the female cry betrayed suffering and anger. It was definitely a woman’s utterance. Lilly returned to the hallway and almost headed for the stairs. Had someone been injured? Since the sound had not repeated, she couldn’t gauge the location.

  Silence enveloped the house. How extraordinary. It was if the entire home had ceased functioning, as if the wood and stone held its breath, just as she did. Footsteps came down the stairs, and her body tensed. A wild thought came to mind. Who or what approached?

  Her fingers tightened on her reticule. The footsteps were heavy—definitely a man. She tore her gaze from the staircase and surveyed the items in the room. Two comfortable looking chairs stood near the fireplace. A large full-length portrait of a beautiful blonde woman wearing a dress from the eighteen nineties graced the area above t
he fireplace.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Morgan said as he returned.

  His gaze was serious and worried, with a haunted quality she’d never seen in his eyes before.

  “Is everything all right?” She moved closer to him. “I heard someone cry out.”

  He shook his head and closed his eyes a moment. “My sister had a nightmare. She’s prone to them. My mother is with her now; otherwise she would have come down with me. Shall I show you the rest of the house?”

  His easy dismissal of the scream surprised Lilly, but also added a measure of relief. At least no one was hurt. She followed him into the library, then to the dining room. He showed her a succession of other rooms on the first floor, including the huge butler’s pantry. Suddenly it seemed as if servants came out of the woodwork, including the butler.

  Morgan led her through a door from the storeroom into a glass and iron delight. “This is the conservatory.”

  They stood for a moment in darkness until he lit a lamp. Snow came down in soft, slow flakes outside, and the light from the room added to the fairytale appearance.

  “Electricity is coming to Simple someday soon. Father hates that we don’t have it available here yet. He says we’re twenty years out of date. Once it becomes available, we will modernize the asylum as well,” Morgan said.

  “Is that one of your goals when you take over the asylum?” She walked into the shadows, her eyes easily seeing into the darkness.

  He didn’t follow, staying within the circle of light thrown out by the lamp. “Yes, of course. But since my father will be superintendent for a long time to come, I’m sure he’ll be the one to put in the electricity.” He hesitated, then said, “Be careful. That side is very dark.”

  “I can see quite well.”

  “Really?” His voice held plenty of doubt.

  “Yes.” She wandered back toward him.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I ate earlier, so I’m fine. Will I meet your sister tonight?”

  “No. I think she’s a little ... undone by her day.” Unease slithered up Lilly’s spine. She didn’t feel right about ... something. He hadn’t told her everything. She returned to the circle of light, but just barely. “Listen, there is more you need to understand about Patricia—”