A line of disappointment creased Amanda’s brow. So Mr. Baldwin too had formed an opinion without knowing her. He expected she would want money and that the house itself meant nothing to her.
“Mr. Baldwin,” Amanda started to speak.
“I would be honored if you would call me Cecil,” he said, turning and gracing her with a broad smile. “I believe I have a buyer for the place if we don’t delay too long. A better price than might be expected—”
“Mr. Ba . . . Cecil,” Amanda said hurriedly. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to sell Wicklow. I want to live in it. I already am. Since last night. I believe Aunt Elise left a small sum to maintain the house if I should choose to live there.”
Stunned, Cecil stopped beside his desk. “She did. Hardly enough to live as you are accustomed, but I suppose you have money from your mother’s estate as well.” He nodded. “I had the good fortune once to see your mother perform at Drury Lane.”
Amanda’s eyes dropped briefly to her lap. Even in the colonies, Sarah Fairfax was not unknown.
“My mother did not accumulate great wealth, Mr. Baldwin,” Amanda said without emotion. “She preferred to enjoy her rewards as they came to her. I’m afraid there was nothing left once she died.” Boldly she looked up at him, the traces of sadness masked in her eyes. “Wicklow and the sum Aunt Elise left are all that I have.”
She saw the quick veiled surprise in his eyes. “I see,” Cecil Baldwin responded, pursing his lips. “How will you manage?”
“I will manage, Cecil,” Amanda said softly. “The important thing is that I have a home. After years of living in inns or one rented house after another, a home of my own is something I desire very much. I believe Aunt Elise left Wicklow to me because she knew I would love it and care for it just as she did.”
Cecil paced across his office, lines of concentration deepening on his brow.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Elise was foolish about that house and it appeared neither of her sons had any desire to live there.” Cecil paused to stuff the bowl of a pipe he had taken from a drawer of his desk. “Though I caution you they were both seething when they learned it had been left to you.” He took a moment to light the pipe and draw a few puffs, filling his office with the heavy, pungent odor of tobacco. “A colonial practice I’m fond of,” he said, smiling as he held the pipe from his lips briefly.
“And one that has spread to England as well,” she commented. So Gardner too was displeased that the house had been left to her.
Cecil’s eyes searched Amanda’s face and seemed to see past the brave front reflected there. He puffed heartily on his pipe before he spoke again. One gray brow lifted into a slight curve as he pursed his lips slightly.
“Forgive me, my dear, but I always looked after Elise’s interests, and not just business matters, mind you. We were quite close and I felt a much stronger obligation to her than to other clients. Now I feel I can offer you no less.” He paused as if he must deliberate on what he would say. “Since you are determined to stay at Wicklow, there may be a way that I can help you.”
“Please tell me,” Amanda said earnestly.
Encouraged, he went on. “Would you be agreeable to taking a pair of boarders? I know a young lady and her aunt who are in need of accommodations, and it only just occurred to me that the three of you might find such an arrangement mutually advantageous. They could pay you a small sum for room and board and I am certain would be willing to do their share of work.” He rolled his head sympathetically from side to side. “The poor lass arrived in Richmond recently expecting to live with her relatives, only to find her uncle had died and her aunt in dire straits.”
“I’d like to meet them,” Amanda said. What a stroke of luck that would be! “Please do bring them to Wicklow.”
“Very well,” he responded. “You need not make your decision until you have met them.” He sounded pleased, so Amanda was puzzled by the sudden look of concern in his eyes. “Amanda,” he said hesitantly. “You may count me foolish for telling you of such things, but I feel I must if you are to live in that house. There are reports of strange happenings at Wicklow.” Beside her chair now he took her small hand and squeezed it between both of his. “Some have talked of sights and sounds for which there is no explanation. Inventive talk, most certainly. But I would not forgive my lassitude if you should hear it from other quarters or be frightened by some occurrence.” Cecil raised her hand to his mouth and bent to kiss it. “You will be careful.” His voice was heavy and serious.
Amanda withdrew her hand from his. What unusual eyes he had, round and soft but surprisingly deep with concern. And she appreciated his candor, whether his words were meant to reassure or to warn. But she could not suppress a smile as she thought of the irony of a shrewd, successful agent and solicitor being such a sensitive man.
A moment later her gay laughter challenged his grave expression. Certainly he looked as if he took the stories far more seriously than she did. Even the strange sounds at Wicklow and the perplexing dream of last night would not make her believe in ghosts. “I’ve heard the tales, Cecil. If Gussie will stay on and if I agree to take the boarders, I’ll not be alone and I am not easily frightened.”
Two dimples appeared in his round cheeks before he joined her laughter. “You’d be hard put to get rid of Gussie. Gardner had the devil of a time getting her to tend his kitchen while his own cook is ill.”
Amanda stiffened momentarily. “Then Gussie isn’t at Wicklow now?”
“No, not for the last few days. She’s been at Gardner’s house here in town. But I’ll send word to him that you’ve arrived. She’ll be glad to get back to Wicklow and to meet her new mistress.”
Now she had caught a touch of alarm, but she wouldn’t let him see it. She had thought that Gussie’s being in the house would somehow account reasonably for all the odd things that had happened or seemed to have happened. But the housekeeper hadn’t been there at all.
Amanda rose from the chair. “I thank you, Cecil,” she said with a deliberate bright smile. “You’ve been kind to see me when I wasn’t expected, but I am sure I’ve kept you from your business long enough. I bid you good day and shall look forward to seeing you again soon.”
Cecil frowned. “To my regret, I do have an appointment shortly, Amanda. But in a few days I’ll have all the papers ready concerning the estate.” His round head nodded woodenly. “I have my carriage. I’ll arrange for my driver to take you back to Wicklow.”
“That is kind, but no,” she responded. “I’ve some shopping to do and I’ve arranged for a carriage.”
The lines gone from his face, the merriment back in his eyes, Cecil Baldwin linked her arm through his and escorted her to the front office. Amanda’s eyes met his once more as she said another good-bye. It would be good to have an ally in Williamsburg. She knew instinctively she could count on Cecil Baldwin to befriend her. How welcome that friendship would be.
Cecil’s eyes twinkled at her. “You have brought an unexpected pleasure to my morning,” he said. “Now, remember, I expect you to notify me immediately if you need my assistance in any way. Meanwhile, I will hasten to complete the documents concerning the estate. Elise had the contents of the house cataloged before she left. I believe Gardner has a copy, besides myself.” Cecil covered his mouth and coughed. “Though I warn you, besides the furnishings, which you’ll most likely want to keep, there are only a few things of much value. I can help you dispose of those should you wish to.”
Amanda nodded. How kind he was. She would need to sell some things from the house. She had so little money left.
“I’ll expect you soon,” she said thoughtfully. “Meanwhile, I’ll be very busy getting Wicklow in order. It all seems to be under dustcovers.”
Amanda hurried away, happily contented to have made one friend in Williamsburg already. It gave her a light-hearted feeling as she strolled past the taverns and visited shops, frugally selecting the few necessities she required. She bou
ght a loaf of bread, since she didn’t know when Gussie would return. Her own culinary skills ran afoul if she went past making tea. Perhaps Gussie would teach her to cook once she was back at Wicklow.
Amanda’s final purchases were made at a mercantile store not far from Cecil’s office. She found she enjoyed introducing herself as the new owner of Wicklow and seeing the interest that knowledge stirred. She knew the friendly shopkeepers would soon spread the word of her arrival.
Once upon the street again, Amanda lifted her face to the sun and thought eagerly of the day when she would be accepted as one of the gentlefolk of Williamsburg. She liked being in the colonies. She liked the newness of this town, so fresh and free compared with the crowded streets and tired, dingy buildings of London.
Suddenly and curiously, Amanda’s face changed. The smile vanished from her lips. What had made her think of London? Not the white picket fence nor the tall shading oaks in the distance. Possibly it was the passing of a carriage ahead. The spinning wheels had brought a dark thought fluttering through her mind to mar her happiness. Her mother and Aunt Elise had been thrown from a carriage such as that.
Amanda turned down another street to rid herself of the sight. She had grieved for her mother and for Aunt Elise. That part of her life was over, though she would have loyally served as her mother’s manager for as long as her stage career lasted. But the choice had been taken from her and she must not dwell on the loss. Her mother would understand the longing to establish her own life here near Williamsburg and the need to be accepted simply as Amanda Fairfax.
Wandering aimlessly through the narrowing streets, Amanda took little notice of which way she turned or what street she took. She had walked for some time with her mind rather blank and unsettled when something in a shop window caught her eye. She stopped for a closer look. Her wandering had brought her to a part of the city less prosperous than where she had started her journey. Here, nearer the outskirts of town, the shops had a meaner look and the people presented a less fashionable picture. Yet for all the disarray, among the items in this dusty shop window were some that must be quite valuable.
Through the smudged glass she could see an ornately carved ivory, ebony, and gold chess set. It was a replica of the one Aunt Elise had used to teach her the game eleven years ago. The turbaned kings, the veiled queens, and the knights on tiny steeds with flaring nostrils stood at odds on the open board. Could there be two like that unusual set? Hadn’t that same ivory king been her champion when she had won? Aunt Elise must have arranged those wins to strengthen a little girl’s confidence. Yes, it must be the same set. She remembered vaguely Aunt Elise telling her Jubal Wicklow had the figures and board made in some Eastern country where his ship sat in port. He had made young Elise a gift of the set on her eighth birthday.
Was it possible Aunt Elise would have parted with the gift her father had given her? It seemed unlikely. But she would like to see it closer; the grimy window blurred the view somewhat. Amanda tried the door of the shop but found it bolted shut. Perhaps they had closed for the lunch hour. Well, no matter. She’d come back later and inquire. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she stooped to rub clean a spot on the dirty glass. Inside she could see a varied assortment of items: jewelry, furniture, some silver pieces badly tarnished, odds and ends of china, and other whatnots. Some were certainly of value; others obviously had seen their best days.
It dawned on her slowly that the shop was one where people pawned items for currency. Surely Aunt Elise would not have pawned the chess set? She had money to spare and had settled handsome amounts on her sons before she left the colonies. Amanda straightened up, aware from the reflection in the glass that passersby were giving her peculiar stares. She might be making too much of a childhood memory. It had been eleven years since she had even seen the chess set. Most likely she would find the one she remembered packed away in a cupboard at Wicklow.
The sun stood high in the sky as Amanda hurried toward the livery. The day had become hot and hazy and but for a light breeze would have been truly uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to walk so far. Now she was late and she hoped, as her feet flew over the pavement in the fastest ladylike walk she could manage, that the driver she had hired would wait.
***
Amanda felt a change once the carriage pulled onto the drive at Wicklow. The air was cool and damp despite the blaze of the sun. The grounds still smelled of fresh, wet earth and crushed green leaves the hail had torn from the trees. It was as if the storm clouds from last night had returned to cast some dark spell over the house. Even the tiny brown rabbit that scurried through the brush seemed to be running away from Wicklow.
As the carriage wheels plowed through the muck and mud of the lane, her high spirits tumbled by degrees, like a ball rolling slowly down a set of stairs. Ryne Sullivan’s face and taunting eyes appeared in her mind. Her thoughts roamed back to the nightmare and the strange whispers that had broken her sleep last night.
What had happened to the smiling sunshine of morning? Now Wicklow looked as somber as it had in the aftermath of the storm. The long shadows of afternoon blackened the ground and the air had a chill to it. Maybe it was the nearness of the river that made it cooler here. From the crest of the hill she could see silvery water winding its way below the house.
Rubbing her temples, Amanda closed her eyes momentarily. She opened them to see flashes of red where the high windows of the monstrous house caught a few of the sun’s rays and threw them defiantly back. Amanda blinked and turned her face from the angry glare to survey the land of Wicklow.
The house had been the main building on the large Wicklow estate, which included almost two thousand acres surrounding the mansion. That land now belonged to Gardner and Ryne. Amanda had inherited only the house and the few acres immediately around it. Quite enough, though, to make her happy, and certainly all that she alone could care for.
She shook her head sadly. The overgrown grounds were as much in need of attention as the interior of the house. Vines tangled over the shrubs and thick weeds choked the once carefully cultivated garden, smothering its beauty in a profusion of wild growth. The long hedges, once a marvel of landscape artistry, had been allowed to grow untrimmed. It looked as if not a thing had been tended since she had been named the new owner.
The house itself was sound. Cecil Baldwin had been right when he said it was made of excellent material. The dark slate roof—no wood shingles like those on the houses in town—brick walls, and wide stone steps would last another century. Somehow that thought of permanence lifted her spirits again, and by the time the carriage reached the house she was once more eager to get inside.
The driver halted his horses and climbed down to assist Amanda in alighting from the carriage. She paid the man and thanked him, watching contemplatively as he drove away. From the branches of a great oak a bird warbled the sweet, clear song of summer. Amanda lifted her eyes to the treetops and smiled, feeling the last of her apprehension fly away. She would not let an embarrassing meeting with Ryne Sullivan, nor a nightmare sprung from fatigue, dim her happiness at owning Wicklow.
Adding her own happy tune to that of the bird, Amanda whirled lightly and started up the steps. Above, a movement in a window caught her eye. She thought first that Ryne might have come back to the house. But a second glance assured her the silhouette belonged to a woman moving about in Aunt Elise’s bedroom.
Angered, Amanda flew up the steps, spurred on by the indignity of Ryne Sullivan’s having brought another of his doxies to her house. Finding the door unlocked, another affront to her ownership, she rushed inside, skirts flying out behind her, and raced to the stairs. The very thought of him made her choke.
“Who’s there?” came a cry from a plump old dragon of a woman standing in the parlor door.
Bewildered, Amanda turned from the stairs and hurried toward the woman. She could not believe anyone could have come down the stairs and reached the parlor before she herself opened the front door. It seemed doub
ly unlikely that this woman, old and weighty, could have moved with such speed.
“Who are you?” Amanda asked angrily, withstanding a scorching look from a pair of dark eyes. “What are you doing in my house?”
The woman had a long, sharp nose that was out of sorts on a plump face, and wiry white hair knotted on the top of her head.
“If you’re looking for Miss Fairfax, she’s not here,” she said loudly, waddling toward Amanda. “Don’t know when she’ll be back. Don’t know nothing about her except she’s got this house what ought to belong to Mr. Gardner or Mr. Ryne.”
“I am Miss Fairfax,” Amanda said hotly. “Who’s upstairs?” She waited impatiently for an answer, but the old woman either didn’t hear or ignored her words. She simply frowned and shook her grizzled head from side to side.
“Some English girl, they say. Don’t know what got into Miss Elise, giving the house up to some stranger.” She stopped and laughed. “She won’t stay long, though. Old Jubal’ll see to that. Won’t have a stranger owning Wicklow. No he won’t.”
Amanda’s chin went up stubbornly. “Stop your prattling and tell me who is upstairs.”
“What’s that, miss?” The old woman cupped a hand to her ear. “I said Miss Fairfax isn’t here.”
The woman was intolerable. “Oh, forget you!” Amanda shouted, and spun around. She’d find out for herself who was in Aunt Elise’s bedroom. Out of breath, she arrived at the top of the stairs and dashed down the hall to the corner room where she had seen the woman in the window. “Hello, who’s there?” she asked, thrusting the door open and searching the dim rose bedroom with her eyes.
She saw no one. The room was as she had left it. The bed unmade, the dustcovers in a heap in one corner. The chair she had pulled close to the bed sat as she remembered. Had anyone been in the room other than she and Elizabeth, there was nothing to show it. And yet she couldn’t rid herself of the conviction that she had seen someone.
Whispers at Midnight Page 5