Monarch Manor

by Maureen Leurck

  “Quickly,” Alfred said as he waved his hand.

  Amelia hurried out of the closet, just in time to see her mother walk into the pantry. She froze, her hand in the air, still holding her skirt. Mary wore a pale gray sundress with a tea-length skirt.

  “Mo—” She didn’t finish as Mary rushed forward and threw her arms around her daughter. The weight of her mother’s arms around her made her collapse forward, and sobs racked her body.

  “Please, you need to be quiet,” Alfred hissed as he peeked out of the kitchen doorway, around the corner toward the living quarters.

  Mary grabbed Amelia’s shoulders and looked her square in the eye. “John has been rescued, but Margaret saw him as he came offshore.”

  Amelia stepped back, her ankle wobbling, and Mary reached forward to steady her. “It was all for nothing,” she said.

  Mary dug her fingernails into Amelia’s forearms. “She does not know you were rescued. And will never know. Thus, I am sure that the expectation is that he will be sent to the school, quietly.”

  “You can’t send him there,” Amelia whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

  Mary pulled her face closer, and Amelia could see the flecks of gold in her mother’s blue eyes—the same gold as the monarch butterflies she so loved—and lowered her chin. “We won’t. For all the Cartwrights know, he will be sent there next month, and they won’t have to worry about it any longer.”

  “They’ll know,” Amelia said as she bit the side of her lip. “They’ll know if he’s not there. The staff will easily tell them that he never arrived.”

  Mary turned her head slowly toward Alfred, who cleared his throat.

  “Yes, well, that is my part to play. An old schoolmate of mine, Josepha, is a nurse at the facility. Terrible place, she says, but there isn’t work anywhere else. She says—”

  “Alfred?” Mary interrupted as she dropped her arms from Amelia’s shoulders.

  “Yes. Sorry.” He adjusted his glasses. “She is going to help us and record that he was admitted. She says the headmaster doesn’t know any of the children, and only uses the admission log to determine who stays there. She is going to write his name down, with the proper date of admission, and then if the Cartwrights look for proof, they will have it.”

  “Why would she do that?” Amelia said.

  Alfred gave her a thin smile. “She has four children of her own, and doesn’t make very much money.”

  Amelia raised her eyebrows and looked at her mother. “You’re paying her off?” Mary didn’t say anything, her silence her admission. “But what if the Cartwrights come to visit him, or what if someone wants to see him?”

  Alfred and Mary remained silent, looking at her, her naïveté bursting like a bubble in the warm kitchen air. “Of course,” she said finally, “no one will ever come looking for him.” She grabbed a fistful of her skirt and twisted it, taking a deep breath.

  “But we still have to be very careful, Amelia,” Mary said. “I am making arrangements with Eleanor right now, so you need to stay here, hidden.”

  “Can I see him?” Amelia said quietly.

  Mary shook her head and gave her a sympathetic look. “Not yet. But he’s safe, and is with Emily. The last I saw, he was looking through The Velveteen Rabbit again, and Emily was playing with her puppets.” Mary put her hands on both sides of Amelia’s face. “Trust me.” She kissed the top of her head before she turned and left, her skirt swishing behind her.

  “What now?” Amelia asked Alfred.

  He turned and pulled a biscuit out of the bread box on the counter of the kitchen. He handed it to her. With a small smile, he said, “You are now a ghost.”

  CHAPTER 34

  ERIN

  I waited outside of the Geneva Lake Museum at closing time, shivering in the November air. We had our first snow flurries that morning. Even though the meteorologists had accurately predicted the snowfall, it still seemed like a shock when I woke up and saw a dusting on the lawn, like someone had spilled a bag of confectioners’ sugar on the grass.

  The twins’ eyes had lit up when they saw the flakes falling from the sky, and I let them run outside in their pajamas and try to catch the snow on their tongues. After a few minutes, their cheeks were ruddy and their noses runny, so I bundled them inside and plied them with guilt doughnuts, promising them that I would be home from Wisconsin as soon as possible.

  I kicked the gravel rocks in the parking lot of the museum around as I checked my phone. Five-oh-four pm. Gerry should be coming out any minute.

  It was the weekend after we had visited my parents. When we arrived home that night, after I put the twins in their beds, I left Gerry a message and forwarded him the picture of who I thought was Amelia in Adare Village. He responded with a polite thank-you and said he would look into it. Two days ago, he responded that he might have a lead. And then, nothing. I hadn’t heard a word despite responding to the e-mail and sending him a text.

  “Gerry!” I said when I saw him walk out of the museum, a box of manila file folders under his arm.

  He startled and dropped the box, papers spilling all over the sidewalk.

  “Oh, shoot. My fault,” I said as I jogged over to him. I bent down, the knees of my jeans resting against the cold pavement.

  “No, no. Please. Let me,” he said quickly, and held up a hand. He wore a brown suit, as he always did, but that day he had on a pink-and-blue-striped tie, and I realized it was the first time I had seen him wearing any kind of bright color. He carefully stacked each folder on top of another and then lifted the whole stack as he stood. His knees wobbled under the weight of the papers, and I held a hand out to catch him as he steadied himself.

  “I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this. I just wanted to follow up on the lead that you found,” I said quickly. I looked down at the stack of folders in his hand, and shame washed over me. This wasn’t his quest; it was mine. Who was I to demand he give my project his full attention? “I just haven’t slept much since you said you might have found something.”

  He adjusted his glasses and studied me for a moment, shifting the folders from one hip to another, before giving me a small smile. “I appreciate your passion.” He laughed. “I felt the same way when I worked on a restoration and research project for Black Point Estate a few years ago. It consumed me.”

  “That’s a great way to describe it.” I held my palms in the air. “Well, anything you can share?”

  “Well, yes, in fact.” He glanced at the papers in his hands. “Would you like to come back inside, so we can talk?”

  * * *

  Gerry’s office looked like a TV show about hoarders. Featuring a very, very meticulous and smart hoarder. There were stacks of similar manila folders everywhere, in neat piles with perfect ninety-degree angles. Some stacks had to be nearly one hundred folders high, resting precariously on the floor in strange patterns, looking like the pillars from the ruins of an ancient city.

  I carefully walked around the stacks, holding my breath, not wanting to upend his life any more than I already had. On the chair opposite his desk was another stack, so I stood next to it, as still as possible.

  He sat down in his desk chair with a creak and turned on his computer.

  “Again, I’m so sorry. I’m sure you had somewhere to go, or something to do, and I showed up like some stalker,” I said.

  He didn’t look up from the screen. “It’s quite all right. I do have plans, but they aren’t until later.”

  I again wondered if his plans were with Haley, the librarian. I eyed his brightly colored tie and wondered if maybe she had bought it for him.

  “All right, so, I contacted my counterpart in Adare Village, and sent her the photograph that you received from your relatives.” He gave his computer one final tap and then looked up. He sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “A woman by the name of Marguerite Brown. Wonderful lady, and very knowledgeable of the town’s peccadillos.”

  I nodded and want
ed to lean forward, to pull the information out from him like a string on a doll.

  “Now, she was able to compare your photograph of Amelia to a few others that they have in the town. And you know, that town really is fascinating. It is home to Adare Manor, which was once the estate of Lord and Lady Dunraven. It’s a big Gothic building that’s been turned into a hotel. And in fact, on the grounds, there are ogam stones, and the ruins of an abbey, and—” He stopped and shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I love it,” I said with a laugh.

  “Anyway, she was able to find a few other photographs that you might be interested in.” He clicked around on his computer while I waited, a line of sweat running down my back. “I apologize for not telling you this earlier, but I’ve been lecturing every night in local venues, and my schedule has become almost unmanageable.” He swiveled the computer screen toward me.

  I leaned in closer. I set my palms carefully down on his desk, in between two stacks of papers. My breath caught in my chest as I looked at a black-and-white photograph of a woman in front of a thatched-roof house. She wore a dress, with black boots. Her hair was braided in a crown around her head, and she had an easy smile on her face. A smile that was unmistakably Amelia.

  “That’s her,” I whispered. I pointed to her. “I can’t believe it. It’s Amelia.”

  “No,” Gerry said. I looked up in surprise. “This woman’s name isn’t Amelia. It’s Bridget Regan.”

  “Bridget? No, I’m sure it’s Amelia,” I said slowly, the realization dawning on me. “She changed her name?”

  He blinked in confirmation. “That’s my assumption, and the assumption of Marguerite as well.”

  “She changed her name,” I repeated, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why would she do that, unless she was running away from something?”

  “Ah, yes.” Gerry stabbed the air with a finger. “This might help to explain that further.” He clicked again on his computer, and my heart started to pound so fast, my hands tingled and shook.

  Another picture came up on the screen. It was the same woman—Amelia, Bridget—standing in front of what looked like a rosebush. This time, her dress was more formal, like she was attending an important event, and she wore heels.

  And her arms were in front of her, placed on a child’s shoulders.

  He was blond, with large eyes and round cheeks. He, too, smiled for the camera, with his hands clasped in front of him. He was dressed in a dark suit, with black shoes.

  His hair was longer and he seemed older, but I knew it was him.

  It was John.

  I put a shaking hand to my mouth, my stomach churning. “It’s him,” I whispered. I turned to Gerry, tears filling my eyes. “It’s John.”

  Gerry nodded, smiling broadly. “I believe so. Actually, Brendan. Brendan Regan, Bridget’s son,” he said.

  “Bridget and Brendan,” I said carefully. I shook my head and leaned in again, my finger tracing John’s face. “He lived. He was alive.” My voice cracked. “How? What happened? How did they end up in Ireland, without anyone ever knowing?”

  “Well, that we may never know. But I do think we can fill in at least a few of those blanks,” Gerry said. He turned off his computer, and the image of John and Amelia faded from view. “Now that I had the name from Marguerite—Regan—I was able to do a bit of genealogy and trace them properly. It seems as though Amelia really did love this town, and her ancestral home.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. The blood was rushing so loudly in my ears, they started to ring.

  “Well, at some point, they came back,” Gerry said. “Or at least, one of them did. There are Regans in the area, who at least appear to be related to them.” He cleared his throat. “And you, in a distant way, I suppose.”

  “Wow,” I said. I took a quick step back and brushed against one of Gerry’s piles, sending one wobbling back and forth. I inhaled sharply as it leaned to one side but didn’t fall. I started to reach for it, to straighten it back, but he made a strangling sound.

  “No. No. Please leave it,” he said. When I stood up, my hands away from the folders, he continued, “I took the liberty of contacting them, since they’re locals. And . . .”—he paused, his eyes glittering—“they have some things I think you might be interested in seeing.”

  CHAPTER 35

  AMELIA

  The first moment that Amelia saw John after he was born, she felt as though it was the first day she had ever truly lived. His tiny body, wrapped in a white swaddle blanket, was placed in her arms, and she saw how perfectly he fit into the crook of her elbow, like it had been waiting for his sweet head all along.

  “There you are. I’ve been waiting to meet you,” she had whispered to him. He opened his eyes briefly at the feel of her breath on his face and looked at her. She felt as though he could see right through her, something so primal and perfect, as though she had known all along that moment would happen, somewhere deep inside her soul. He was another piece to her puzzle—the most important, largest piece in the landscape.

  He was meant for her. And she, for him.

  Henry fell in love with him, too, and barely wanted to allow the nannies to care for him as Amelia healed from the birth. She would often catch him staring at John, studying his face, trying to memorize each soft line and gentle curve. She would pretend to still be asleep, or tiptoe back around the corner, to let them have their moments together.

  But she knew in her heart that he was hers. He had been there all along, waiting to be born.

  She never thought that she would feel that same sense of wonder again as the first moment she held him. And yet she was wrong.

  In the kitchen of Monarch Manor, after Eleanor quietly whisked him downstairs under the cover of a cloak, Amelia held him again and felt as though he had been born all over again.

  When Eleanor walked in with him, Amelia had been hiding in the butler’s pantry again, counting the bags of flour and sugar to pass the time without losing her mind. As each minute ticked by and John was somewhere else in the house, she felt her sanity slip away. When the floorboards in the kitchen would creak, she would hold her breath, hoping it was John and praying she wouldn’t be discovered.

  But then, when she heard her sister whisper, “Here,” she slowly creaked open the door and saw John’s face peeking out from a long dark rain cloak, his eyes round with fear and his mouth trembling.

  She pushed open the door with a reckless thud and reached for his shoulders as she pulled him close, nearly suffocating him against her chest.

  “John. Oh, John. You’re here.” Her words fell out in a messy tumble, mixed together with tears and relief. He tried to pull away slightly, and she pressed him tighter to her body, wanting to absorb him back inside and for them to become one.

  When she finally released him, she put her hands on his cheeks and held his face close, kissing his nose and his forehead. She held his gaze for a moment, the same look that they had given each other right after he was born.

  The look that told him nothing would stop her from protecting him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she signed to him. “You are safe now.”

  “Em.” Eleanor’s voice broke the spell. “We have to move quickly.”

  Amelia lifted John up and held him like a toddler, his head dropping on her shoulder and his body limp against her. She hoisted him up, tucking an arm underneath his bottom.

  “What’s our plan?” she said.

  Eleanor wore a beautiful white lace sundress and a straw sun hat. With surprise, Amelia glanced outside and saw a brilliantly blue sky, not a cloud anywhere. For some reason, she had pictured the outside to mirror her feelings of gloom and anxiety, as though she couldn’t imagine the sun to dare shine when John wasn’t with her.

  Eleanor reached into a small bag on her shoulder that Amelia hadn’t noticed before. From it she pulled out a yellow-and-white sundress and a white sun hat, both for a child. “Put these on John.” She held them out and Amelia sh
ifted John to one hip as she slowly took them.

  Eleanor nodded. “I’m going to give you and John the tickets meant for me and Emily. You will go to New York, and I will meet you both there the following day, to figure out the rest of the plan.” She pulled out an outfit of hers for Amelia, and another sun hat. “Hopefully no one will question you and they’ll just think you were another wedding guest with your child.”

  “What about my things? Originally, Alfred was supposed to have a trunk waiting for me on the shore, with some money and clothes.” She swallowed hard, wondering why she ever thought the plan would be so simple. How could she have ever believed she and John could simply slip away forever, with only a modest trunk?

  Eleanor nodded. “He told me. He will have it for you when he drops you and John—Emily,” she said emphatically, “off at the train station in Williams Bay.”

  “And the Cartwrights? What will you tell them? She knows John is alive—and they must think I drowned,” Amelia said as she rocked John back and forth. The weight of his body was pressing on her lower back, causing jolts of pain to run up to her shoulders.

  “Mother and I will smooth things over with them. We are going to tell them that I will take him to the school next week, and that’s why we are staying back from New York for a few days. When you get to the city, go straight to my apartment. There is only a skeleton staff right now, and I can make sure they stay quiet about the arrangement. But, Em, we will need to get you and John out quickly, since the regular staff isn’t as discreet.” She pressed her mouth into a line and slowly shook her head.

  “I don’t know what to say. I can’t thank you enough for all of this. For putting yourself—” Amelia’s voice broke and tears ran down her face.

  “Stop,” Eleanor said. She leaned forward and squeezed her arm. “Just be safe. Your safety and John’s safety is payment enough.”