by Rhys Bowen
“Which would then turn out to be a mooing cow, like the one Mrs. McCreedy told us about.” Daniel went ahead of me up the flagstone path to our cottage.
I hurried to catch up with him. “But how then do you explain that I saw a face at a window of an empty house and that the face I saw was that of a child who died eight years ago?”
Daniel shrugged. “I’m sure there is a logical explanation.”
“For example?”
“I can’t think of one right now,” he said shortly. “I’m going to put my feet up and read the newspaper until tea.”
He opened the front door, holding it open for me to pass through. Then he went straight into the little drawing room, selected an armchair for himself and opened the newspaper he had bought. I was going to sit at the writing desk and write to Gus and Sid, my neighbors and dearest friends who had made me promise that I would write to them every day. But the sun was streaming in through the cottage window and I couldn’t bear to stay indoors on such a lovely day. I found pen, ink, and paper in a pretty little lap desk, then I carried it outside. The grass was still wet from last night’s storm but I found a garden chair that had been dried by the sun and dragged it to sit on the grass in the shade of a big beech tree. Its leaves had already turned to gold and many had fallen in last night’s storm. I sat in the midst of a golden carpet and began my letter to my friends.
You cannot imagine the beauty of the scene that I am now admiring, I wrote. I am sitting in the midst of a carpet of golden leaves while beyond me stretch perfectly manicured lawns that end with the blue ocean. However our arrival last night was not quite so serene. I proceeded to describe our harrowing walk along the cliffs. You have never seen two more veritable orphans of the storm, I wrote. When we reached the “cottage” which turned out to be a large stone mansion built like a great castle, the full fury of a thunderstorm broke forth over our heads. I looked up at a window and … I was going to say that I saw a face but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. They were both such educated worldly women. I could imagine them smiling to each other about dear Molly’s Irish fantasies. So I left it out and went on, and we had to follow up our ordeal with a night spent in a stable, snuggled down in the straw, which proved to be surprisingly warm. But we must have looked complete frights when the housekeeper came upon us in the morning. I suspect she thought we were a pair of tramps.
I went on to describe the town and the mansions before I remembered that such things were old hat to them. This kind of life was not unusual to them. Gus was really Augusta Walcott of the Boston Walcotts. In fact they had stayed with Gus’s cousin in one of those mansions, although Gus had described it to me as a cottage.
I sealed the letter and was going to take it inside ready for posting. But the sun had moved and its warm setting rays now shone in my face. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I could hear the sound of the waves and smell the last of the honeysuckle and freshly mown grass. I heaved a sigh of contentment and must have drifted off to sleep, because I dreamed that I heard a child’s voice singing sweetly in a language that made no sense to me and a girl in a white dress stood looking down at me. I opened my eyes to find myself alone. As I brushed my hair from my face I recoiled in horror as my hand touched something. I brushed it away and jumped up as the thing fell into my lap. I thought it to be a bug of some sort, only to find that the things that had fallen from my hair were a perfect yellow leaf and a honeysuckle blossom.
I stood there with my heart beating rather fast, scanning the lawns. But nothing moved and I was forced to admit that my dream and the honeysuckle had nothing in common. Leaves fell at this time of year and the honeysuckle had been deposited in my hair by a gust of wind. I collected my things and went in search of Daniel. He had indeed fallen asleep in an armchair by the window, the newspaper unread on his lap. I stood looking down at him with affection. “Mrs. Daniel Sullivan,” I said to myself, then I tapped him gently on the shoulder.
“Time for tea,” I said.
This time Mrs. McCreedy greeted us warmly. “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen,” she said, “but it seemed rather silly to bring a tray all the way to the drawing room just for the three of us and the kitchen has a delightful view.”
So we followed her in the opposite direction from our last visit, down a long hallway and then through a traditional baize door that led to the servants’ quarters. The kitchen was a big light room with sparkling copper pans hanging over the stove and a large table in its center. There was a blue-and-white checked tablecloth on the table and a tray containing a simple blue-and-white tea service. Clearly she had decided that we were not fancy enough folks to warrant the good china. The whole place smelled delightfully of fresh baking.
“Sit yourselves down facing the window, so that you can enjoy the view,” she said.
“You’re right, it is lovely.” I took a seat, looking out over lawns to the ocean beyond. There was a sailing ship with red sails passing and a large steamer in the distance, heading out to sea.
“I’ll just cut the soda bread,” Mrs. McCreedy said and put it on the table. “There’s plenty of butter and homemade jam so help yourselves.”
“You have been busy,” I said.
“I certainly have. Eight bedrooms and a nursery to get ready, as well as all this,” she sounded proud but indignant.
“Eight bedrooms?” I said. “All those people are coming?”
“I’ve no idea how many of them will turn up. Nobody bothers to tell me. I was told the family would be coming so I was to get the house ready. And eight good bedrooms there are, so eight beds I’ve made. And all alone without a scrap of help too.”
“I thought you said that you brought in local women to help.”
“In the summer I do, but one is having a baby and another has her aged mother to nurse, and we were all caught off guard, weren’t we?”
“So a visit from the family is unexpected at this time of year?” I asked. I was still curious about exactly why Alderman Hannan had wanted Daniel to be at his summer home to coincide with his family. The timing couldn’t be accidental. If I was looking forward to a pleasant stay at the seaside with my family, the last thing I’d want was strangers on the premises. I looked up at Mrs. McCreedy, realizing that she was thinking along the same lines.
“It certainly is. They never come here after Labor Day as a rule. You could have knocked me down with a feather when the master wrote out of the blue and told me that the whole family was coming.”
“Is it some kind of anniversary then? Some kind of celebration?”
“Not that I know of.” She frowned. “There’s no family birthday in October. The master said something about Mr. Archie wanting to compete in a yacht race but the rest of them wouldn’t want to make the journey just to watch that, would they? It’s not as if they all live in New York either. Mr. Patrick has to come all the way from the Hudson Valley. That’s quite a trip for a couple of days by the sea.”
“Mr. Patrick, is he one of the brothers?” Daniel joined in the conversation, making me realize that he had kept quiet until now. “I don’t think I know about him. He’s not involved in the company?”
“Oh, no, sir.” She rolled her rs in that very Irish way. “Mr. Patrick’s a holy priest. He used to have a big parish in Albany but it was too much for his health and now he has a small country parish up on the Hudson somewhere. He never was as robust as Mr. Joseph and the master, so I understand.”
She poured cups of strong tea as she spoke and handed them to us, then passed around a plate of sliced bread. It was still warm and dotted liberally with currants. For a while there was silence.
“So which family members do you expect?” I asked. Daniel shot me a warning look as if I was being too nosy, but I suspected that Mrs. McCreedy liked to gossip and was starved for company.
“Well, let’s see,” she began easily enough, “the master and Mr. Joseph, that’s for sure.”
“And their wives?”
“Mr. Josep
h’s wife rarely comes with him,” she said slowly. “Doesn’t like the ocean. And the master’s a widower. Been without a wife ever since I’ve known him. In fact he’s raised his one child alone since she was small. That’s probably why he doted on her so much and spoiled her if you ask me.”
“And who is she?”
“Miss Irene. She was a rare beauty in her time, and she’s married well too. Mr. Archie comes from one of the best families in New York. She’s done well for herself.”
I remembered the names on that monument. “Do they have any children?” I asked cautiously.
“Two little boys. Master Thomas and Master Alexander. Grand little fellows but full of mischief. Their nursemaid has her hands full with them, especially in a place like this.” She broke off, staring out of the window.
I decided to take the bull by the horns. “Tell me about Colleen,” I said.
She dropped the spoon she had been holding as if it had burned her. “Wherever did you hear about her? Who has been talking?”
“Nobody. We were exploring the town and I saw her grave in the cemetery. It named her parents and her grandfather. And I saw a portrait of her in a gallery in town.”
“A portrait of her?” She was still looking stunned.
“Sitting in a field of flowers, holding a lamb. I was drawn to it because she was such a pretty child. So I was quite shocked when I saw her grave in the cemetery and saw that she’d died only a month after the portrait was painted.”
“The master gave that picture back to the artist after her death,” she said angrily. “He wouldn’t be pleased to hear that the man was trying to sell it again. He’d already been paid for it once. But the master wanted no trace of her around the house. It was just too painful for him to look at her likeness.”
“What happened to her? Did she die of a childhood illness?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. She was found lying on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. God rest her little soul.”
Involuntarily my hand went to my forehead to make the sign of the cross with her.
“How tragic,” I said.
Mrs. McCreedy nodded. “Such a lovely little thing she was too—a beautiful child with a beautiful nature too. Everyone adored her. When she died the light went out of our lives, especially the master’s.” She lifted the corner of her apron and wiped quickly at her eye. “But let’s not mention her name again. We are all forbidden to speak of her anymore. Now, were you still wanting your tour of the house?”
“I’m sure we don’t want to inconvenience you when you are so busy,” Daniel said, giving me a nudge with his knee under the table.
“We could take a look at the main rooms by ourselves, now that you’ve got them all ready, couldn’t we?” I added. “I’m sure you deserve a rest.”
“No rest for the wicked, isn’t that what they say?” She got to her feet and brushed crumbs from her apron. “I’ll take you around.”
“You should not have insisted upon this,” Daniel hissed in my ear. “The poor woman has enough to do.”
“Daniel, I have to take a look at that tower,” I whispered back.
Daniel rolled his eyes. “You think the ghost will be waiting to greet you, do you?”
“Come along then. Let’s start in the dining room through here,” Mrs. McCreedy called to us, already on her way through the door. We followed her into a room dominated by a long polished table over which hung two impressive candelabras.
“Why, this is long enough to feed the five thousand,” I blurted out, obviously demonstrating to her that I was not used to such rooms.
“The table came from the refectory of a monastery in France,” she said. “The master had it shipped over. And the candelabras were from the chapel of a convent in Spain. I’m not sure that I like the idea myself—looting holy places, even though I’m sure he paid a fair price for them—but it’s not my place to comment. I just dust and polish. But you have to admit that they raise the tone of the place.”
“They certainly do,” I said. “It must be a sight with the candles all burning.”
“Maybe the alderman will invite you to dinner when they are all here and then you can see for yourselves,” she said. She led us through to a morning room overlooking the lawns, a writing room, a music room with grand piano and harp, a library full of old books the alderman had had shipped from a stately home in England, the salon we had seen before, and even a ballroom with great crystal chandeliers dotting the ceiling and French windows along one side, facing the ornamental garden and fountain. Every room was finely furnished, with heavy brocade drapes, impressive paintings on the walls, vases, statues, and every kind of objet d’art in niches and on tables, so that the effect was like walking through a museum.
“Alderman Hannan certainly has a lot of lovely things,” I said.
“He certainly does. They are his pride and joy. He never forgets that he came from nothing, you see. The family was near to starvation all the time he was growing up, so he needs to remind himself that he can afford anything he wants.” She paused, adjusting a drape that wasn’t hanging properly. “But it’s more than that. He needs to be surrounded by beauty. He’s a perfectionist at heart. Everything has to be just so. He insists that the family dress properly when they are here—formal wear for dinner every night, you know.”
She nodded, emphasizing the point. “And woe betide any family member who doesn’t measure up to the alderman’s standards.”
As we went up that curved stone staircase I felt the same shudder of apprehension as I had experienced that morning. Whatever she said, there was definitely some force or malevolent spirit in this house that didn’t want me here. We did a perfunctory tour of bedrooms, all of them with splendid views across the bay, then Mrs. McCreedy started toward the stairs again.
“And up on the next floor?” I asked.
“Only servants rooms, box rooms. The family doesn’t go up there,” she said.
“What about that old turret? How do you get to that? I should think there is a wonderful view of the town from up there.”
Daniel shot me another warning look.
“I daresay there is, but nobody goes up there. The rooms were never finished. The master only added it for a kind of folly, you know. If anyone had a mind to climb up there, they’d have to climb a ladder through a hole in the floor because there’s no proper stair. The master’s nephews used to do it when they were boys but nobody’s been up there for years now—and I’m certainly not dusting and sweeping up there! You wouldn’t catch me up a ladder.” She chuckled wheezily and started toward the stairs again. I loitered behind her, trying to locate the position of the tower, still horribly curious and wanting to decide if I felt anything as we walked down the long hallway toward the front of the house.
I didn’t and we came out to the gallery that ran around the staircase—I noticed a door in the front right corner and wondered if it led to the tower. I stood looking up.
“Mrs. Sullivan?” Mrs. McCreedy called to me as she started down the stairs. I jumped guiltily and hurried to catch up with her. Her gaze went to the direction I had been staring. A look of horror spread across her face.
“Wait a minute. You said you saw a face at a turret window—it was Miss Colleen’s face, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was,” I said.
“She thought she saw,” Daniel corrected. “My wife has a vivid imagination.”
“No, I believe her,” Mrs. McCreedy said. “I can tell that she has the sixth sense. It was not so unusual at home in Ireland. And I have to confess that I’ve felt her presence myself in the house. For some reason her poor little soul can’t find rest.”
Six
“You see,” I said triumphantly as soon as Daniel and I had left the house and were walking back to our cottage. “I knew it. I was right. Mrs. McCreedy feels her presence too, poor little thing.”
“In that case I’m keeping you well away from that house,” he said. “I’m here to enjoy myself and so are you,
not to worry about dead children or to keep an eye out for ghosts.”
We went back to the cottage and I set about preparing an evening meal. Daniel slumped in an armchair and opened the newspaper again.
“You’re certainly a scintillating companion tonight,” I said dryly as I laid the table.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling up to par,” he said. “First it was a sore throat and now I’m feeling achy all over. I knew I was coming down with something.”
I felt his forehead and it was slightly warm, so after dinner I made him some hot milk and packed him off to bed. When I had cleared away supper and turned in myself he was fast asleep. Hardly the honeymoon I had imagined. I snuggled closer to him and his arm came around me.
“That’s nice,” he murmured.
I was just drifting off to sleep, listening to the smack and hiss of the waves on the rocky shoreline, when I heard the sound of a door opening. Instantly I was awake and alert. We had not locked the front door, feeling ourselves to be safe on an estate with a high wall around it.
“Daniel,” I whispered, “I think someone’s trying to get into the house.”
Daniel still lay in blissful slumber. I wondered if I had imagined the sound until to my horror I heard voices—a man’s voice and then a light female laugh. I sat up, not knowing what to do next. Surely burglars did not chat and laugh as they went about their business? I fished around in the darkness for my robe, but before I had time to act I heard heavy feet coming up the stairs. The bedroom door was flung open and the electric light was turned on. A large man stood in the doorway. He was gray haired and middle aged, big boned rather than fat, but with the unmistakable round red face and shock of hair of a typical Irishman. I was also aware of someone standing in the shadows behind him. That much I took in as I sat blinking in the bright light, clutching the bedclothes to me to preserve something of my modesty.
“What the deuce?” The man looked as startled as I did. “What is going on here?”
Daniel had stirred and grunted in his sleep at the bright light in his face. Now he sat up suddenly at the sound of a strange voice. “What’s all this?” he demanded.