Shadows Wait

by Denise A. Agnew

  “Patricia.” Morgan’s voice cut into the conversation quickly. “I don’t think—”

  “Oh fiddle, Morgan. How are we to become acquainted? Don’t you want to learn more about my new companion?”

  Companion. The word hung out there, stark and uncertain in Lilly’s mind. To distract herself from the tension, she nibbled delicately on toast.

  Morgan sipped his coffee. “Perhaps we should let her settle in before we ask such personal questions.”

  Morgan fingered the fine bone china coffee cup, and Lilly’s belly fluttered. Such large hands on such a delicate vessel. How did the sight of his hands on china make her feel out of control and strange? Was it because she planned to know these people well and then betray them? To bring down the family that had caused so much heartbreak and death?

  Patricia’s frown removed all the warmth from her eyes. “She is an adult, Morgan. I’m certain she can decide what is best for her.”

  “It’s all right.” Lilly drew a deep breath and threw a quick look at Morgan. “I have nothing to hide.” Displeasure marked his features, but Lilly moved onward. “My mother was committed by my father. From what I understand, my father thought my mother was too…rebellious. He decided he would commit her and then divorce her.”

  Patricia’s hand went to her mouth. “How awful. And your mother? Is she still alive?”

  “No.” Lilly’s eyes prickled with tears. “She fell sick and died when I was seven.” It was the year when so much had happened. So many horrible things.

  Zelda entered from the kitchen again, this time with a plate of eggs just the way Patricia had ordered. “Here you are, Miss. As always.”

  Patricia sighed and gave Zelda a full smile. “This looks delicious.”

  Zelda nodded towards Morgan and Lilly. “You both eat up. There’s plenty left on that buffet.”

  Zelda poured more coffee for Morgan and Lilly and then left. Lilly had finished her plate, and she rose slowly to head to the buffet. Morgan stood as well.

  “Oh, please, Mr. Healy,” Lilly said. “Do not stand on ceremony.”

  Patricia sipped her tea. “Morgan always stands on ceremony.”

  Morgan didn’t answer, his glower firmly in place. What on earth was the matter with him?

  Lilly returned to the table and ate without pause, her hand bringing the fork to her mouth with quick movements she couldn’t control. Morgan appeared to notice, and so did Patricia; they stopped eating all together. Lilly slowed and halted.

  With perfect timing, Dr. Healy and Constance Healy walked into the dining room from the hallway.

  “Patricia, what are you doing out of your room? I thought you were indisposed,” Dr. Healy said.”

  “That was last night, Father.” Patricia didn’t bat an eye. “I feel much better today.”

  “Finish eating Patricia, I’d like to see you upstairs,” her father said, his voice icy.

  Patricia ignored him, sipping her tea at leisure and eating slower and slower.

  “Lilly, I hope your evening went well?” Constance asked.

  Lilly jerked her attention to Mrs. Healy. “Yes, thank you.”

  “We are sorry to interrupted the conversation and be so late,” Constance said as she left her husband’s side to settle in a chair next to her daughter, but not next to the head of the table where Lilly thought she should have sat.

  Dr. Healy sat at the head of the table without obtaining a plate of food to eat. Instead he watched them, especially his daughter. Did Patricia feel like a bug underfoot? Someone he could crush ruthlessly without thought? Lilly tangled glances with Morgan. He was staring at her, his gaze more curious than anything.

  Conversation rattled from here to there without much enthusiasm, though Constance did try. Lilly felt awkward and her ability to deal with different people seemed to have escaped her in one fumbling answer after the other.

  “Lilly was just telling me about her life Father,” Patricia said in a cheerful tone, as if the subject of living in an insane asylum was normal. “It sounds dull.”

  “It is never dull at Tranquil View,” Lilly said.

  “We try and give patients as many activities as we can.” Dr. Healy threw a withering look at his daughter. “For the patients and their well being.”

  “Tell me.” Patricia finished her breakfast and pushed the plate aside. “Were you industrious? Did you milk cows? Perhaps you slopped pigs.”

  “Patricia.” Dr. Healy’s voice snapped with an edge. “This is hardly suitable discussion at breakfast.”

  Patricia’s biting tone had cut where it hurt. Lilly had to answer. “Some asylums have farmland, bovines, and piggeries. Tranquil View has none.”

  “I know that.” Patricia’s pristine and sweet face switched to contempt for a quick moment, then disappeared. “I am my father’s daughter, after all.”

  Lilly chose to ignore Patricia’s attitude. “In the summer there is a greenhouse. Some men work in the carpentry shop and women in the laundry. Most of the time I help patients. Wherever the nurses need assistance.”

  Patricia tilted her head to the left. “Of course. You misunderstand me. You are to be commended for the work you do. I was just having fun with you. But twenty years in the same place must be an awful drudge.” She left her words hanging.

  If Patricia only meant her comments in fun, why did Lilly feel awful? She swallowed hard. “Living any place twenty years is limiting. I was fortunate to spend time in the summers with a very nice family in Denver. I’ve had a tutor until I turned seventeen, and then I took a job in Simple.”

  “Hmm.” Patricia’s utterance held doubt. “I heard about that scandal.”

  “Patricia,” Morgan said, his gaze throwing darts at his sister.

  Constance glared at her daughter, then pasted on a smile. “Perhaps talking about the weather is a better subject.”

  “All right.” Patricia’s sweet smile continued. “It is snowing. There. You have the weather.”

  Lilly recognized Patricia’s caprice, an oddness she’d seen in others many times at the asylum.

  “Patricia, shall we take a walk outside today? We can talk all we want,” Lilly said.

  “Not outside in this weather, or alone,” Dr. Healy said.

  Stung by his sharp denial, Lilly nodded. “As you wish, sir.”

  Morgan cleared his throat. “I would be happy to take you both to town later today if you’d like.”

  “Morgan, is that advisable?” Constance’s gaze drifted to her daughter as she asked.

  “I’m happy to do it.” Morgan gave his mother a genuine smile as he rose to his feet. “If you don’t mind, I have a few things to attend to.” He almost bowed, gentleman written in his action.

  Lilly watched Morgan’s tall figure depart the dining room. Each stride spoke of strength of character and solid muscular control. She solidified her resistance to finding him attractive. She didn’t really know anything about him, and she feared what she might discover in this family with its strange secrets hiding under the surface.

  Chapter 10

  “If she’s feeling out of sorts, shouldn’t I stay with her?” Lilly asked Constance in the central hallway later that morning.

  Constance said, “She has a headache. I’ll stay with her while Morgan takes you into town. You’ll need a few more clothes and unmentionables, I imagine. Take the money I gave you and spend it on clothes.”

  Lilly nodded, but she couldn’t believe the amount of money she held in her hand. “I cannot take this, ma’am. It’s not a part of the wage I agreed to.”

  “Don’t worry my dear. It is my money and I want you to have it. You’ll need more than the clothes you have on as a member of this household.”

  Lilly frowned. “I have skirts and shirtwaists.”

  “Not enough. Find a couple of dresses at least.” Constance didn’t frown, but Lilly heard the impatience in her voice. “Dear, I’m not one to stand on ceremony despite my husband’s status in the community. But so many
others do. I won’t have you wearing those clothes to soirees or other events. Go on now and buy as many dresses, hats or whatever you require. Perhaps some shoes as well.”

  Overwhelmed, Lilly said, “All right. I’ll get my coat.”

  “Hurry. If I know my son, he’ll be off in no time.”

  Lilly hurried up the stairs to her room. Before she could open the door, she heard whimpering in Patricia’s bedroom. Concern crept up inside her. So did the icy disturbance she felt whenever she came near the woman’s room.

  She knocked on Patricia’s door, then remembered the key Constance had given her. She entered her own room and quickened her steps to the dresser. Lilly stuffed money into her reticule and slipped it over her wrist. She located the key and didn’t hesitate to open the connecting entry to Patricia’s room. Patricia lay on her expansive bed face down and completely naked. Stunned by the sight, Lilly couldn’t move. She’d seen naked women before at the asylum, but she hadn’t expected this. She froze to the spot. Patricia’s skin was stark white—not as creamy or healthy appearing as her face. Patricia didn’t move, and for a second Lilly couldn’t see the woman breathing. Panic sliced her through the middle.

  Patricia bolted upright, gathering her bedclothes about her. Lilly started at the woman’s sudden movement. There was no sign of the whimpering Lilly had heard moments ago.

  “Patricia, are you all right?” Lilly asked, approaching the bed slowly.

  Patricia was dry-eyed. “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “I thought I heard whimpering.”

  Patricia laughed, the sound a mere whisper. “Perhaps you heard the ghost.”

  “Ghost?”

  “This house is horribly haunted. Didn’t you know?”

  Lilly didn’t know what to think. She hadn’t heard or seen any ghosts ... other than Becca. “No, I didn’t. How many ghosts are there.”

  “At least six that I can think of. Maybe more.”

  “How do you know? Have you seen or heard them?”

  “Both.” Patricia’s well-composed face gave nothing away and showed no deceit.

  “I see. Are they dangerous?”

  “Do you mean, do they bite?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “No. But all the whimpering and wailing keeps me up at night.”

  Lilly played along. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Do you see ghosts, Lilly?”

  Surprise froze Lilly, but before she could respond, footsteps came up behind them.

  “Lilly? Patricia?” Morgan’s voice inquired at Lilly’s door.

  “Go have fun.” Patricia winked.

  “But you’re supposed to come with us.”

  “No. Not this time. You like my brother. I can tell.”

  Rather than answer Patricia’s outrageous claims, Lilly left Patricia’s room and closed the door. What else could she say when her mind whirled with questions? Did Patricia see ghosts, too? If so, what ghosts would inhabit this home? It was twenty years old and only the Healys had lived here. Perhaps the land was haunted?

  Morgan stood at the open door from the hallway. His gaze was curious and guarded. “Is everything all right?”

  Lilly remembered to lock the door between her room and Patricia’s. “Of course.”

  She certainly couldn’t say she’d found his sister lying on the bed without a stitch of clothing, could she? She dropped the key into her reticule and opened the wardrobe.

  Morgan stepped back from the door after Lilly donned coat, gloves, and pinned a hat on her head, and grabbed her reticule. In silence, they descended the stairs. Mrs. Healy saw them off—Lilly didn’t tell Patricia’s mother that her daughter was lying naked on the bed in a cold room. The carriage waited for them outside. The snow had stopped, and at least two inches lay in a pristine blanket over the land. Lilly shivered, glad for her winter attire. Morgan helped her into the carriage and shortly they headed out. She expected their drive to be silent.

  “Why were you in my sister’s room?” he asked.

  “I thought I would check on her before I left.” It was the only reasonable answer she could give.

  He went quiet again, but only for a short time. “I apologize for breakfast.”

  She smiled, but it was a quick movement that didn’t last. “Why?”

  “My sister can be ... extraordinarily eccentric.”

  “I had guessed that.”

  Humor brightened his eyes, but he didn’t speak immediately. “You speak very plainly for a woman.”

  “So does your sister.”

  Now, here would come the condemnation. Should she remain quiet and demure, the womanly ideal she’d read about in Ladies Home Journal?

  He chuckled. “She does. It’s gotten her into a bad spot more than once. It will be interesting to see how you two get along.”

  Surprised that he hadn’t cut her down a notch, she asked, “Do you have reason to suspect we won’t?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my sister has fired one companion after another. She becomes put off by their rules and regulations, by expectations. It’s hard for a woman like Patricia.”

  “Because she’s ill.”

  “Yes.”

  She couldn’t let up. She had to know. “What is the illness?”

  His face darkened momentarily. “She’s prone to vapors and tires easily. Her doctor says she’s of a delicate constitution. Hence, the headaches and ill humors.”

  “Hmm.”

  One of his thick, dark eyebrows flicked upward. “You don’t believe it?”

  What she believed probably didn’t matter, but how much could she tell this man? What could she say to him without revealing her true intentions for the Healy family? “Of course.”

  Lie. Yes, lie.

  He sat with his legs spread out, and he widened that stance even more. “You seem to adapt to weather changes well for someone who has lived twenty years of her life in one place.”

  She shrugged. “As I explained at breakfast, I’ve had education and experience outside the asylum. I’ve read extensively. Your father has seen to it that we have a large library.”

  “That is one good thing.”

  “The asylum isn’t as bad as some may think. I was safe from many things.”

  “Now you’re not?”

  “I’m in a world I don’t always understand. That can be dangerous.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “You are an unusual man, Mr. Healy.”

  “Morgan.”

  She smiled, unwilling to follow his request. “Surely you cannot expect me to call you by your given name. It would be scandalous.”

  One of his eyebrows quirked upward. “I don’t think you’re as proper as you pretend to be.”

  Offended, she bristled. “Oh?”

  “If you were, you would have refused to take this carriage ride with me. You don’t have a chaperone.”

  Heat filled her face. She fiddled with her hat. “There are holes in my education and some polite society rules escape me.”

  “You seem well versed in what people should and shouldn’t do according to society. You dress as other women do and wear your hair like other women. You’re not so unconventional.”

  She looked out the window on her side of the carriage. “You don’t know me well if you believe I’m conventional.” She turned her attention back to him, resentment burning inside her. “I was born and raised with lunatics. How many people do you know like that?”

  His mouth quirked up on one corner, and good humor sparked in his eyes. “None. But if you had lived there all your life without education and introduction to sane society, do you think you would be normal?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought of it. I just see myself as very fortunate.” She did and she didn’t, and the lie slid from her lips so easily she almost felt ill.

  Interest filled his eyes, or perhaps it was curiosity. The
way he watched her, so intent and absorbing, sent swirls of sensation dancing around in her stomach that were far stronger than what she’d ever felt with Harry. Angered by her reaction to Morgan, she shoved the feelings down deep and hoped they’d stay there.

  With that quick burst of control, she allowed herself to gaze outside and see pristine trees, their beauty so white and beautiful. “There is so much more than conventional in the world, Mr. Healy, if you’d only look.”

  His silence didn’t surprise her, but she’d hoped for more. For what? Confusion swamped her. She wanted his approval and it bothered her on a deep level. She shouldn’t need it or want it. She had herself, as Oleta had always told her.

  He leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. “Tell me more.”

  His stare seemed to burn her, to demand she turn back and meet his gaze. She refused. “About what?”

  “What do you see out there?”

  His hushed voice stirred her senses, brushing along sweet fibers somewhere in her being. Caressing. “Beauty. New things to explore.”

  “Sometimes exploring is dangerous.”

  “Yes. But I’d much rather step into danger than I would stay in a box where nothing could hurt me. Because that is a lie.”

  “What is?”

  “No one is safe. No one.” Her throat ached. “The asylum is an enclosed world. We grow some of our food, make some of our clothing. There are a few things shipped in from Simple and beyond. Yet bad things happen in that place. They always have. No one can stop it.”

  Except, perhaps, me.

  She took a chance and met his eyes. She fell into them, and for a moment it became hard to breathe. Understanding lived in the simmering intensity of his eyes. Did he know of the murders? Of the women who had died in his home? Her throat didn’t close because he unsettled her, but because she feared.

  Could he be the one who killed the women and had them brought to the basement of Tranquil View to hide the evidence?

  She spoke, and this time she didn’t hold back. “Mr. Healy, do you remember Catherine Renlow?”

  He blinked. “Who?”

  “She was your sister’s first companion ten years ago. She was a nurse at Tranquil View for quite some time. After she started employ with your family, no one at the asylum ever saw her again.”