by Rhys Bowen
“Please, please.” Irene held up her hand. “None of this bickering. We have a guest and my father is not yet resting in his grave. Don’t you think I’ve had enough to upset me recently?”
Archie put a hand on her shoulder. “There, there, my dear. Do not distress yourself. Have another cup of tea.” He glared at Joseph and Terrence. “You should know how hard it is for Irene even to come to this confounded place. Every time she’s here it’s a reminder of what she lost. And now her father lying dead in the same spot. Well, have a little consideration please.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. I looked out at the sailboats on the ocean, wishing I were somewhere else.
“Mama, when can we start playing again?” Alex asked. “We’re bored.”
“And you’ll learn to show a little respect too, young man,” Archie snapped. “One does not play nor make merry in any way when there is a death in the family. We are in mourning.”
“Well then, shouldn’t we be eating gruel or dry bread rather than these éclairs?” Terrence asked. “They are sinfully good.”
“One day, Terrence, you’ll go too far,” Eliza said.
“As you and Mama have often told me.” Terrence deliberately took a big bite of éclair. “I wish that dratted policeman would return with some news. Was he or wasn’t he? It’s quite putting me off from eating a second éclair.”
“If he was, then you would be a prime suspect,” Eliza said.
“Me? What on earth makes you say that?” Terrence demanded. “I was always the soul of politeness to the old boy.”
“Even after he gave you that ultimatum last week?” she asked sweetly. “I seem to remember your language was quite colorful.”
Terrence flushed uncomfortably. “I didn’t like being spoken to as if I was a child.”
“None of us did,” Joseph said. “But Brian thought he had the right to lay down the law.”
“And he did have the right,” Irene said. “He created this pleasant existence for all of us. He worked jolly hard all his life so that we could live like this and it’s not right to try and run him down after he’s dead.”
“Nobody is running him down,” Terrence said.
Father Patrick stood up. “We’re all a little on edge, aren’t we? Brian was a fine man and at this moment we should be praying for his soul and reflecting on the good he achieved in his life.”
Suddenly Terrence got to his feet beside his uncle. “There is an automobile outside the gates. I believe the moment we’ve been anticipating has arrived. That pompous policeman has returned and now maybe we can all go home.”
The auto contained three policemen as well as Chief Prescott. One of the men was in the process of dragging open the big gate so that Chief Prescott could drive through. As the auto approached the house he spotted us seated on the lawn. He left the car and strode purposefully over to us. “Ah, good. I’m sorry to interrupt your little tea party, but I have news for you.”
“You do? What is it?” Joseph said. “Have you discovered that we were right all along and the poor blighter had simply drunk too much and fallen?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
“Then what, for God’s sake?” Joseph blustered. “Speak up, man. Don’t keep us in suspense any longer.”
“I’m afraid I’ll need your servants out here too.”
“Our servants?” Archie said indignantly. “What right have they to be privy to matters that don’t concern them.”
“I’m hoping that they can shed light on a few facts,” Chief Prescott said. He saw me sitting there. “And Mrs. Sullivan—could you fetch your husband. I’d like him to hear what I have to say.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” I said. “My husband has been gravely ill. He almost died of pneumonia last night and he is not to be moved or excited. You’ll just have to tell me and I’ll pass the news on to him.”
“I see.” Chief Prescott frowned as if he wasn’t sure I was telling the truth.
“My brother Patrick had to give him the last rites,” Mrs. Flannery said. “It’s a miracle he’s alive at all today.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. Please give him my best,” the chief said gruffly. He turned to address the maids. “Would one of you girls go to summon the rest of the servants?” The girls looked uncertainly at Irene.
“It’s all right, Alice. Do as he asks,” Irene said. The maid scurried across the lawn toward the front door.
“And your gardeners. I don’t see any of them around today.”
“It’s Sunday,” Archie Van Horn said brusquely. “They don’t work on Sundays.”
“I’ll need to speak to them as well,” Chief Prescott said. “If you could give me their home addresses, I’ll have one of my men go and round them up.”
“You make them sound like escaped cattle,” Terrence said dryly.
“You’ll have to ask the housekeeper for their names and addresses,” Joseph said in a clipped voice. “She handles everything to do with the servants around here.”
“Then go and fetch the housekeeper, please,” Prescott said to the other maid. “Tell her we need to speak to her right away.”
The girl took off like a frightened rabbit. We continued to stare at the police chief.
“Now, for God’s sake tell us what you’ve found,” Joseph bellowed the words. “Don’t keep us in the dark any longer.”
“Very well.” Chief Prescott looked around the assembled group with a certain amount of satisfaction. “Mr. Brian Hannan did indeed have alcohol in his blood, but not enough to have made him drunk.”
“Then what killed him? Was it an accident?” Joseph demanded.
“No accident, sir. What the physicians doing the autopsy did find was the presence of potassium cyanide.”
Twenty-one
Nobody moved. We stared at him, trying to comprehend what he had just said. Then Archie stood up. “Alex, Thomas, go to your room immediately and stay there until I tell you that you may come out.”
“Oh, but Papa,” Alex complained. “We’re old enough to hear this. And just when it’s getting exciting.”
“Now, young man.” Archie pointed dramatically at the door. “Where is that nursemaid of yours? Why does she never seem to be around when she’s needed? Go on. Go.”
The two boys shuffled off reluctantly with a few backward glances.
As they retreated there was silence. Nobody moved. The tableau had resumed, with each person staring down, wrapped up in their own thoughts.
“You mean Brian was deliberately poisoned?” Mary Flannery asked at last.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“And the poison was in the whiskey?” Archie asked.
“No, there was no trace of poison in either the glass or the decanter,” Prescott said.
“But cyanide is a fast-acting poison,” I pointed out, making them look at me suspiciously.
“Precisely. The amount of cyanide he had ingested would have killed him immediately.”
“Then how and when was it administered?” Joseph asked.
Chief Prescott turned to me. “Thanks to Mrs. Sullivan we found shards of a shattered glass at the bottom of the cliff, matching the one on the tray. One has to surmise that Brian Hannan was planning a quiet drink with someone. A tray with two glasses on it. The other person came prepared.”
“But if Mr. Hannan had drunk from the glass containing cyanide, he’d have keeled over and died right there in the gazebo,” I pointed out, “and there are no signs of a body having been dragged to the cliff.”
Prescott nodded. “Which must mean one of two things. Either the two people were actually drinking together somewhere near the cliff and the tray was carried to the gazebo later to make it look as if Brian Hannan had been drinking there alone, or Hannan was lured by some pretext close to the cliff edge once he had consumed a drink or two. His attention was drawn to something on the shore, or out to sea, maybe, and the moment he looked away, the cyanide was dropped into his glass
. A bold and daring move. A person prepared to take great risks. That’s who we’re looking for.”
“Do you have any idea who that could be?” Archie Van Horn asked. “What about the fellow Mrs. Sullivan spotted, standing at the gate and asking if Mr. Hannan had arrived yet. Has he been tracked down?”
“No, sir. We’ve had no luck with him. Any number of men matching his description were seen boarding trains back to New York. He doesn’t appear to be staying anywhere in town, that’s all I can say. Naturally I’ll speak with the New York police and ask them to take this matter further, but I’m not prepared to speculate until we hear what the servants have to say on this matter.”
“Fingerprints,” I said, waving my own finger at him. “Did anybody test the tray and glass for fingerprints?”
“They did, and you know what? They discovered something interesting. Brian Hannan’s prints on the tray and decanter, but nobody else’s. And those prints were smudged as if someone had attempted to wipe the items clean.”
“My betting is on one of the gangs,” Joseph said.
“Gangs, sir?”
Joseph folded his arms. “In our business we are subject to constant demands for protection money, and threats if we don’t pay up. Brian refused to be intimidated. In fact this accident, the tunnel cave in a few weeks ago, was highly suspect, in my opinion. The police were investigating and it’s possible that Brian named names. Gang leaders don’t like squealers. This might have been payback.”
“Interesting, sir.” Prescott scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll definitely bear that in mind. Because if it’s not someone convenient like a gang member, then it has to be someone highly inconvenient—like a family member, for instance.” He looked around us—deliberately, slowly. “So if any one of you knows the real reason that Brian Hannan assembled you here at this time, it would be wise to tell me right away, because I will find out eventually.”
Silence. Again the family members looked down, not wishing to meet another’s eye. I studied them, noticing Father Patrick’s gaze go from Joseph to Terrence and back again. Maybe Daniel had been correct in his supposition that this gathering had something to do with money, squandering of funds. Had Joseph and his son been cooking the books, or in some way betrayed Brian’s trust, so that he was about to announce he was cutting them out of the family business? Joseph knew about Brian’s fondness for drink. Had he placed the tray where he knew Brian would find it?
And Terrence—someone who resembled Terrence in stature had crept out of those French doors at about the right time for a rendezvous with his uncle in the gazebo. Terrence who was clearly considered to be a black sheep in this family. It was Joseph who spoke first.
“The accusation is preposterous. You would not find a more close-knit family than ours. Brian was the patriarch. He earned and received love and respect from each of us. We’d still have been living in a fourth-floor tenement on Cherry Street if it hadn’t been for his hard work and enterprise. Do you think we’re not mindful of that?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m sure this is very hard to hear, but in my profession we are taught to start with the obvious. And to me the obvious is that Mr. Hannan summons his family here at a strange time of year and he is poisoned. What would you think if you were in my place?”
“I’d think it was time to start looking beyond the obvious,” Joseph said sharply. “Find out who wished my brother ill, who had a grudge to settle, especially among the criminal classes.”
We looked up as one of the maids came running back across the lawn, the ribbons in her cap flying out behind her. “Alice is bringing the rest of the servants, ma’am,” she said to Irene, “but I couldn’t find Mrs. McCreedy anywhere. Nobody’s seen her.”
I felt a jolt of fear go through me. I remembered all too clearly when nobody had seen Mr. Hannan although it was supposed he had arrived. And I’d come to appreciate that Mrs. McCreedy was a woman living on her nerves. Something had severely rattled her even before Mr. Hannan had died. I suspected she knew something she hadn’t told us about this visit and had feared something might go wrong.
“Might she have stepped out?” Police Chief Prescott said. “It is, as you pointed out, Sunday afternoon when servants do like to visit their families.”
“But she helped to carry out the tea things,” Eliza said, “and we’ve been out here since. We’d have seen anybody going past toward the gate.”
Eliza turned to the maid. “Go and look again, Sarah. Perhaps she is taking a nap in her room. She does get up extremely early.”
It struck me that this was an unusual thing for a woman of her station to say. I’m sure the thought never crossed Irene’s mind that servants might need to take naps or indeed had to get up awfully early.
I got to my own feet. “I’ll go and help her, if you like. It is an awfully big house.”
I think Joseph was about to protest when Chief Prescott said, “Good of you, Mrs. Sullivan.”
So I went. As well as my nagging fear that something had happened to her, I realized that this would be my one chance to look around the house for myself. I don’t know exactly what I expected to find, but I was still morbidly curious about that tower. As the maid and I went in, we passed the other servants filing out through the front door.
“Has any of you seen Mrs. McCreedy?” I asked.
“I have. She helped carry out the table about half an hour ago,” the footman said.
“But since then?”
They shook their heads.
“She may be in her room,” one of the local girls said.
They went on their way, out toward the lawn. I looked at the maid. “Where is her room, Sarah?”
“I’m not quite sure, ma’am. Up on the top floor with the rest of the servants, I presume.”
“Then you go straight up and see if you can find her. I’ll search the rest of the house systematically.”
“Very well, ma’am,” she said, not too graciously. She was a hefty girl and I could tell that she wasn’t charmed with the idea of climbing all those stairs again.
“Off you go then,” I said as she still lingered. “Up on the top floor, correct?” I indicated the grand staircase. She blushed. “Oh, no, ma’am. I shouldn’t use that staircase. I have to use the servants’ stairs at the back.” And with that she set off down the long dark hallway to the back of the house. I wondered if the servants’ staircase had been behind that door I had opened when I had so startled Mrs. McCreedy. That would explain a lot of things—if maybe she had been up in her room, taking a nap when she shouldn’t and had just hurried down several flights of stairs. I knew that not everything has to have a sinister meaning. I just prayed that the girl would find Mrs. McCreedy asleep.
I was going to follow her, to check out that staircase for myself, but I decided that an empty house and permission to search it was an opportunity too good to miss. So I worked my way through the ground-floor rooms. She wasn’t in the salon, the drawing room, dining room, morning room, music room, or library. I half expected to see her feet sticking out behind a bookshelf in the library, but all the rooms lay calm and serene in the afternoon sunshine. I went through a swing door to the servants’ part of the house. I found the back staircase off a side hallway. I also found the door behind which I had seen her startled face, but it was locked. There was nobody in the kitchen, nor in any of the closets, scullery, or anywhere else.
I stood looking out of the back door, realizing that she could have come out this way without being noticed. A picture of her lying dead at the foot of the cliff flashed into my mind. I’d leave that search until I’d been through the whole house. I went up the servants’ stairs and peeked into the bedrooms one by one. Behind one door I heard shrieks. I flung it open to see two little boys jumping on beds with toy guns in their hands while the nursemaid was standing with a look of despair on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I told them they weren’t allowed to play but they don’t listen to a thing I tell them.”
“You know what your parents told you,” I said, wagging my finger severely. “No playing out of respect for your grandfather. If you want to do something fun get out some paper and write an adventure story. Take yourselves up the Amazon.”
Two sets of eyes lit up. “The Amazon? That’s where you find anacondas,” Alex said.
“I can’t spell ‘anaconda,’” Thomas complained.
“Your brother will help you. And don’t forget the illustrations.”
They rushed to get to work. The nursemaid gave me a grateful smile.
“Did you want something, ma’am?” she asked.
“I was looking for Mrs. McCreedy. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”
“Not recently,” she said. “And why don’t you write in pencil, Thomas. We don’t want ink spilled on this carpet.”
I left them and finished my tour of the bedrooms. The main staircase did not go any higher so I went back to the servants’ stairs, up another flight, and found myself on a bleak and bare landing.
“Hello, Sarah?” I called. “Any sign of Mrs. McCreedy up here?”
She appeared further down a hallway. “Not yet, ma’am. She’s not in her room. I don’t know where else to look. There’s an awful lot of box rooms and spare rooms up here.”
“Check them all,” I said.
She looked puzzled. “What would she be doing in box rooms? I’ve called her name enough. Surely she’d have heard.”
“Check anyway.”
I went to the other end of the hall. It opened to a landing with doors all around. Some were locked. I found a key in one and tried the other doors. Some opened, some didn’t. What I found were empty rooms. But one on the far right opened into a narrow passage. It was dark and I couldn’t find an electric light switch. I went down it cautiously and found myself in a round area like a rotunda. As far as I could make out in the dim light it was nicely paneled in dark wood, with statues in niches around the walls. This must be the tower, I realized and looked for a door that might lead me higher. There was none. No door of any kind. So I had to conclude that Mrs. McCreedy had been telling the truth—it was just a folly, an unfinished area. I looked up at the ceiling and could make out what looked like a wooden trapdoor in the plaster. Mrs. McCreedy had said that you could only get up there with a ladder, so that must be the entry. But it was firmly closed and there didn’t appear to be a string that one could pull to open it. I stood there for a moment, trying to work out if the tightness in my chest that I felt was as a result of worrying about Mrs. McCreedy or if I was experiencing that same feeling of dread that had overcome me the first time I entered the house. I found myself looking around nervously, but no ghost appeared.