Whispers at Midnight

by Parnell, Andrea

  It was as if the house had conspired with the night to make their trek down the hall so silent that her heartbeat sounded louder than the patter of footsteps. She tried to force back a half-thought forming deep in her mind. It was too disturbing to believe that what had happened had not been simply a crude prank, but might instead have been a malicious warning that she was not safe at Wicklow.

  “It’s there,” Amanda said, pointing to the place she had dropped the towel.

  Ryne lit candles so that her bedroom was bright as daylight. Amanda paused to pull on a dressing gown, and when it was tied about her waist, hurried to the washstand. But she stopped suddenly and drew her breath in sharply. The white linen towel hung crisp and neat over a wooden rod and was both clean and dry. It couldn’t possibly have been used by anyone recently.

  “No,” she whispered, moving once again and plucking the towel from the rod. She turned it over and over in her hands until there could be no doubt in her mind that it was unstained. The water too was clear and clean and there were no splash marks around the basin to indicate someone had washed only a few minutes earlier. She spun around and her eyes sped to the pillows on her bed, but they too were as white and unstained as a summer cloud.

  “You had a dream,” Ryne said with a tone of condolence.

  “But it couldn’t have been,” she said shakily. Amanda swallowed a painful lump in her throat. She should have been relieved. But to think that a dream could frighten her so much she couldn’t cut it from reality gave her little solace. Surely it had not been a dream. It had been alarmingly real. But the blood was gone, and no other explanation bore logic.

  “Amanda,” Ryne said softly, though a curious light flickered in his eyes. “If it really bothers you for me to be in the house, then . . .”

  “No, no. You must stay, Ryne,” Amanda mumbled. She felt drained and oddly weak, as if she had just been defeated in some game where her life had hung in the balance. She had accused him of madness and now it seemed she was the one in question, imagining things and blaming Ryne because they were at odds on another matter. Soon she’d be seeing the ghost she had heard about. “I apologize,” she went on weakly. “I was wrong to accuse you.”

  He stared at her for a moment. She was trembling and he knew she was still afraid, as much of him as she was of the nightmares that plagued her. He felt the struggle of cross-purposes within him. He wanted to cosset and console Amanda Fairfax, to say some careful words that would assuage her fears. But he held his tongue. He must not forget she had trained with one of the best actresses in all England.

  “Go to bed,” he murmured as she stood beside her bed looking disoriented and altogether desirable. “You need rest.” Ryne moved purposely about the room, snuffing out all the candles but the one that burned on the little table by the door. His back was to her, but soon he had turned and was watching as she smoothed the sheets and coverlet that had been flung aside. Though he tried, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from her. “I’ll leave this one lit,” he said. “You sleep.”

  Amanda climbed into bed, mindless of Ryne watching. She thought he was smiling a reassuring smile at her, but how could she trust her eyes anymore? When he came to her bedside, she had let her heavy lids slip down so that her lashes only flickered a little as he pulled the covers to her chin and bade her good night. At least now she was too tired to dream.

  She didn’t know how long Ryne stayed, but when she woke he was gone. The window curtains were closed, though a breeze had them fluttering and the sun was shining through as best it could. Amanda lay still a moment, listening to the welcome chatter of the birds outside and enjoying the peaceful feeling of having slept a very long time.

  Yawning, she sat up and pulled the bed curtains open further. She glanced around the room. The candle by the door had burned down and gone out, hours ago from the look of it. Her eyes came back to the rose-colored coverlet on her bed. Now she could see an odd strip of black that marred its smooth surface.

  She twisted around. The pillow beside her looked distinctly as if someone had slept upon it. But of course that was impossible. Ryne would have left the room as soon as she had fallen asleep. What was that beside her? She reached for the dark strip and was surprised when her fingers clutched a black silk cord. Like the one Ryne used to hold his hair in a queue.

  Somewhere down the hall someone was moving along noisily. A gust of wind blew the window curtains out and allowed a narrow band of light to sweep across the floor until the panels rippled back in place and shut it out. But Amanda, sitting rigidly in her bed, saw and heard nothing while her eyes grew wide and questioning as she stared at the cord in her hands.

  ***

  “You awake, Miss Fairfax?” Gussie’s loud voice came with a persistent tapping on the door. Amanda instinctively stuffed the cord under her pillow and leaned back against it.

  Without waiting for an answer, Gussie bustled in and went straight to the windows, where she drew back the heavy curtains that had kept out most of the light. A sudden infusion of brightness filled the room. She was soon aware that she had slept through the entire morning and that it was the strong afternoon sun streaming hotly in her windows.

  “My goodness, Gussie. What time is it?” she asked.

  “Mr. Ryne said you was all spent and to let you sleep all the day if you would. But now Mr. Baldwin is here with those women, and them expecting to meet you. Ought to let a person know when callers are coming. Don’t like surprises. No, I don’t.”

  “Has Ryne left the house?”

  “Ought to give me time to air out the rooms if you’re going to have people staying.” She shook the wrinkles out of Amanda’s dress and hung it in a wardrobe. “Not a bad sort, that Emma Jones. Looks like a solid woman. Don’t know about the niece. Looks too pampered. Like you. Won’t know her way around a kitchen, you can bet.”

  With a sigh, Amanda sank deeper into the pillows. It was exasperating trying to carry on a conversation with Gussie and never getting an answer to a question, at least not one that made any sense concerning what you asked. She did wonder about Ryne. She had a few questions at issue with him, not the least of which was that he had no business giving Gussie orders for her care.

  “I’ll have to get dressed quickly,” Amanda mumbled as she slowly peeled the covers back and set her feet on the floor. “Gussie, you go down and tell them I’ll be with them in a few minutes. Please see that they are made comfortable while they wait.” Amanda shouted, wondering if she weren’t speaking so loudly her message might be given without Gussie’s assistance.

  For once Gussie seemed to hear what she said. The old woman nodded and started for the door. “You be needing any help to get dressed?”

  “No, thank you. I can manage on my own. Now, hurry, Gussie, and tell Mr. Baldwin I’ll only be a moment.”

  She was a bit longer. Her hair proved to be a mass of difficult tangles that took as long to brush out as to braid and pin in coils over her ears. Concerned that she was keeping her callers waiting, Amanda hurriedly dressed in a chintz gown and an embroidered linen waistcoat that accented her slim waist.

  She took a moment more to make her bed. She didn’t want Gussie doing that task for her either, especially not with the cord still concealed under the pillow. As she worked, her mind was occupied with hopes that Emma Jones and her niece would prove to be compatible and that both ladies would be agreeable to the proposition Cecil Baldwin was about to make.

  There was so much about living at Wicklow she hadn’t anticipated. She particularly hadn’t expected the feeling of unrest that kept growing within her. She might blame Ryne Sullivan for that. Nor had she expected the dim shadow of fear that sometimes swept over her. She realized as she gave the bedcovers a last smoothing stroke that she was counting heavily on having the two women stay.

  The bed finished, Amanda dashed out into the hall and hurried toward the stairs. She had gone only a few paces when she was aware of someone walking behind her and spun around to find Ryne catchi
ng up to her.

  Unconsciously she furrowed her brow at the sight of him, but mostly because he brought a secret stirring deep inside her. He was again clad entirely in black, and she wondered briefly if he ever dressed otherwise. Certainly the choice was a wise one for attractiveness. The color became him and made his blue eyes shine like sapphires in contrast. At least for once his shirt was fastened and tucked into his breeches.

  As if he had made one more concession to conventionality, he also wore a black leather stock at his collar and silver cufflinks in his sleeves. To see him with the warm smile and outward look of pleasure on his face, Amanda had no wonder that women were drawn to him.

  “Amanda”—his eyes regarded her with good-natured amusement—”you slept well, did you not? And long?”

  For some reason she couldn’t pinpoint, his cheerfulness annoyed her.

  “Yes, I did,” she answered with a forced pleasantness, though her eyes narrowed with the effort.

  A cool, appraising smile touched his lips and fled. She wondered if he were telling her he wanted to put their quarrel behind him and was disappointed that she would not.

  “You’re angry,” he said with a note of mockery.

  “So you read faces, Ryne?” She was sure now he had left the cord behind simply to make her wonder if he had lain beside her. He hadn’t needed to play a trick like that if he wanted them to be on friendly terms.

  He chuckled. “If there is no other way to find the truth, I do so.”

  Suddenly she wanted to pay off the debt and make him feel as uncomfortable as he had made her. Amanda inclined her head so that her dark braids swung rhythmically.

  “While we are in pursuit of truth,” she said firmly, “there is a question I would ask you.”

  “Then ask,” he said lightly. “I am known for being candid. It is one of my few virtues.”

  He took such delight in baiting her that she was pleased to be able to retaliate so cleverly. Her eyes were bright with purpose as she boldly met his gaze.

  “I have looked for the ivory-and-ebony chess set that was in the parlor and cannot find it in the house. Did you take it?”

  “Take it?” There was an almost imperceptible change in his face, as if he had been about to catch his breath but overcame the impulse.

  “Yes.” Amanda lifted her chin stubbornly. “Did you take it and dispose of it? Sell it or pawn it perhaps?”

  “Why would you think that I had?” A curious look shone in Ryne’s eyes. Amanda marked it to guilt.

  “You said you had no money,” she answered, her head lifted high in a gesture of triumph. “I thought you might have sold some of your mother’s things.”

  A muscle twitched in Ryne’s cheek, but other than that he stood quite still. As the moment stretched out, Amanda felt the alarm quicken and stream through her. She couldn’t have imagined his eyes could look so dark and hateful beneath his scowling brow. What folly had led her to trifle with a man as dangerous as Ryne Sullivan? She waited, like a tiny bird trapped by a hungry cat—waiting for what he would say or do, powerless to break the stare between them.

  At last she saw a shudder shake his shoulders with the force of some terrible emotion. His mouth took on an unpleasant twist and she knew he was about to speak. Amanda took a halting step back, dreadfully afraid she had stirred up more of a tempest than she could tame.

  “Amanda, dear cousin,” Ryne said, his voice hard and exact. “No matter how little money I might have, I would not resort to thievery. And never would I have taken even a shilling from my mother without her consent.”

  He reached out his hand and cupped her small chin, stretching her face up to his. Even though his grasp was gentle, she was frighteningly aware of the strength in his fingers and how easy it would be for him to snap her neck. The tip of her tongue moved nervously over her lips. She could see in his eyes that he detested the fear he read in her face, just as she detested feeling it.

  With a quick turn of her head, she pulled her chin out of his grasp. The action surprised him and brought a thin-lipped smile to his face. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief to see that he had won out over his rage and there would be no worse reprisal.

  “Then you have no reason to be angry,” she said resolutely.

  He glared at her. “I have every reason to be angry. Here I have you cast upon me, and meddling in my life at every turn, accusing me of persecuting you, stealing from you. I suffer to think what delusion will come into your mind next while I am forced to beg your hospitality.”

  “Now, look here, Ryne,” Amanda started.

  “No. Only hear this before I go. Through some lapse of wisdom, my mother cast us into a situation so that we must at least tolerate each other. I suggest we attempt no more. I will do my part by staying out of your way while I am here.”

  His tone aroused her anger once more. “That should remedy much of the problem,” she retorted.

  Ryne whirled and stomped away toward the back stairs. Amanda went to the window at the end of the hall, wanting a breath of air before she went down. She had forgotten all about her guests and now she worried that they might have heard the angry exchange between Ryne and herself, yet she couldn’t face them until her pulse had stopped pounding and the flush had left her face.

  On the grounds below near the side entrance to Wicklow a horse stood tied to a hitching post. The mare was such a lovely creature that Amanda couldn’t take her eyes away for a moment. She was chestnut-colored, with fine dainty legs and small ears, and hadn’t a white mark on her other than a spot on the tip of her nose that looked as if someone had spilled milk on the velvety muzzle. The rest of her coat shone like red gold in the sunshine. There could be no doubt of the fine bloodlines.

  Amanda watched the chestnut mare’s head go up proudly. The horse stamped her feet coquettishly on the ground and gave an eager, welcoming whinny as Ryne rounded the walkway. Amanda watched a little longer as Ryne tenderly stroked the mare’s neck and cooed in her ears. With a frown of exasperation Amanda drew back from the window. Was no female immune to his charms?

  ***

  By the time Amanda arrived in the parlor, Gussie had served tea and a plate of scones.

  “Good afternoon,” Amanda said as she entered the room where Cecil Baldwin sat with a matron and a surprisingly pretty young woman.

  Cecil quickly replaced a porcelain figure he had taken from the mantel and hurried toward Amanda. He took her arm and led her across the room to make the introductions.

  Amanda smiled. Mrs. Jones was indeed a solid-looking woman, but with an open, friendly disposition. The older woman got to her feet and once they had exchanged greetings gave Amanda an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

  “Why, my dear, you are almost as much a child as Trudy.”

  “Oh, hardly as young or as attractive,” Amanda responded, turning her eyes to Trudy.

  Emma’s niece stood at her side and smiled rather shyly. She had large brown eyes and was strikingly fair-haired, her long curls hanging freely from beneath her

  bonnet. Trudy was an extremely pretty girl and perhaps four or five years younger than Amanda. She had an attractive mouth and full rosy lips that seemed to be set in a permanent pout.

  Amanda’s eyes were drawn to the narrow hands that held a china teacup. Trudy’s fingers were long and rather bony, perhaps the only detraction from the young woman’s prettiness. Her dress was a dark brown color trimmed with a white satin collar, and Amanda noted that it was of exceptionally good cut and cloth for someone in dire circumstances. But then Trudy Cole had only recently undergone a change of fortune. Actually Amanda felt an immediate kinship with Trudy and her aunt. They were all victims of misfortune and it seemed destiny that they should all come together at Wicklow.

  Cecil Baldwin patted her hand. “Amanda, dear, I hope we haven’t come at a bad time. Gussie told us you were sleeping. You aren’t ill, I trust.”

  “No. I’ve seldom felt better.” It was true, barring the disagreement with Ryne a few mi
nutes earlier. The long sleep had succeeded in restoring her spirits and enthusiasm about owning Wicklow. She could dismiss all she had felt last night and the night before. She had been exhausted, but now that she was rested she had a clear perspective of what the future held. She would not again let herself be thwarted by nightmares or ghostly whispers or the likes of Ryne Sullivan.

  “Splendid. Now, do sit down, Amanda, and have your tea. We’ve gone ahead. Gussie told us we shouldn’t wait.”

  “And a very fine cup it is,” Emma added. “It isn’t everyone who can make a decent cup of tea,” she went on as Amanda poured a cup for herself.

  “Gardner says Gussie is the best cook in the colony.” Amanda nibbled one of the delicious scones on the tea tray and decided he was right. She must remember to tell Gussie how good they were.

  Cecil took another cup and plied it with sugar and cream, then leaned back in his chair. Once they were all settled, he cleared his throat and spoke.

  “Now, ladies, let’s determine if this arrangement I’ve proposed can be agreed upon.”

  The conversation progressed through Emma telling about her husband’s death and her shock at learning she had no claim to the house they had lived in. Emma pulled a handkerchief edged in black from her pocket and dabbed at her nose.

  “And what with Trudy coming to me at that time, I don’t know what I might have done if Mr. Baldwin hadn’t said you might be wanting someone here at Wicklow.” She sniffed. “It’s lovely, your coming to live in the house just at this time, its standing empty and all.”

  Trudy laced her slim fingers together and glanced quickly at Cecil Baldwin. He returned the look and gave a slight nod. She immediately looked toward Amanda, her eyes wide and dewy. Before she spoke, her lips seemed to tremble a little.

  “We are so hopeful that you will want us to stay. Really we will be no trouble and ever so much help if only you decide we are to come to Wicklow.”