Whispers at Midnight

by Parnell, Andrea

  Amanda’s heart immediately gave a little lurch. The poor child was evidently afraid of what might happen to her and her aunt if the possibility of staying at Wicklow should come to naught. Amanda could easily understand her fears after having had so many recent traumas.

  In the end it was agreed that Emma and Trudy would be back with their belongings in two weeks’ time. The women would pay a small sum and help with the maintenance of the house in exchange for room and board. When all terms of the arrangement had been discussed, Amanda, at Emma’s request, showed them to a suite of rooms on the third floor. It was no use trying to persuade Emma to take the rooms next to her own.

  “These will do fine for us,” Emma insisted, walking through the two bedrooms, which were joined by a smaller room. That small room had once been used as a school, and one of the adjoining rooms occupied by Gardner and Ryne’s tutor. In the years since, the schoolroom had been refurbished as a sitting area.

  Though the hall was narrow and dark, the rooms were large and pleasant. All three were decorated in the lavish Oriental style peculiar to Wicklow. They were the peacock rooms, by Gussie’s account, so called because the blue-green colors were those from the decorative male peacock’s tail. The walls and upholstery were in those deep shades of blue and green, but were sunny, as they each had dormer windows along one side. As in the hall downstairs, urns of peacock feathers were placed around the rooms.

  Amanda could not understand the uneasy feeling she had as they looked over the suite. She found herself wanting to hurriedly usher the entire party downstairs and away from the third floor. She supposed it was only that she thought it inhospitable that Trudy and Emma should have to climb a second set of stairs to reach their rooms.

  The other two rooms on the third floor were not furnished for occupancy and had for decades been used solely for storage. Both were locked, as attested by Cecil’s attempt to open them for inspection. Despite Amanda’s objections, Trudy and Emma were quite pleased with the suite that was to be theirs.

  “This way we’ll be out of one another’s hair and Trudy and I can feel like we’ve got our own little place.”

  So, thought Amanda, relieved as the party reached the foot of the slate stairs, only two days at Wicklow and she had pulled together a sort of ragtag family: one deaf and stuffy cook, a reluctant cousin, and two needy strangers. Perhaps they would be all the family she would ever have. But at least the house would be alive with people again. Even the Turkish King looked a little gayer than usual. And Emma, remarkable woman that she was, hadn’t said a word about the old fellow.

  They were about to depart when Amanda remembered she hadn’t told them about Ryne.

  “Emma, Trudy,” she said, “I believe I neglected to tell you that Ryne Sullivan will be staying at Wicklow for a time. You’ll not mind that, will you?”

  “No, not a bit,” Emma said with a smile. “It will be nice having a young man in the house.”

  Amanda’s eyes, however, were on Cecil Baldwin. He smiled and the movement made his round cheeks flush and jiggle. But Amanda thought that for just a moment she saw surprised displeasure in his face.

  Chapter 5

  “I’ll take care of the rooms myself!” Amanda shouted.

  Her voice was strained after a frustrating hour of conversation following Gussie around the kitchen while the old woman got a pot of soup started. Once her new plans had been explained to Gussie, Amanda returned to her room gratified to have established a better understanding between them.

  A wide smile of acceptance had come unexpectedly when Amanda told her she intended to put Wicklow in order and that both Ryne and the two women would be staying. Amanda smiled to herself as she opened the door to Aunt Elise’s wardrobe. She wanted to look through the dresses and choose some she could restyle for her own use. She took out several and gave then a thorough inspection. The work would keep her busy in the evenings until Emma and Trudy arrived.

  The gowns selected, Amanda put them aside, finding she was impatient to begin cleaning the attic rooms. The entire floor needed a proper airing. As was true all through the house, a layer of dust needed cleaning away and the furniture coverings had to be removed and packed up.

  She had told Gussie she would undertake the job on her own, and now she saw no reason to wait. It would be torture to send Gussie climbing the narrow, dark stairs at the back of the house, and the beautiful slate ones only served the second floor. Besides, Gussie had made it clear that the garden required her attention for the duration of the afternoon. With the infirmities of weight and age, Gussie was bound to be a little more adept at wielding a hoe than climbing steep steps.

  Amanda quickly changed her dress and hurried down once more to the kitchen, where she found an apron and a broom. A further search netted her a pail and cleaning cloth there as well. Soon she had a kerchief tied over her hair and was mounting the stairs to the third floor, where she opened the windows to the wind and set about putting the rooms in order.

  Aunt Elise had kept even these seldom-used rooms pleasantly furnished. Once the stale air had been chased out and everything freshly washed, they would be far finer quarters than the shabby little house Emma had described to her.

  Amanda rolled her sleeves to the elbows and wrung out her cleaning cloth. What a sad state of affairs when two women could be turned out of their home with nowhere else to go. That could be the plight of a woman without a man. How fortunate that Emma had been acquainted with Cecil Baldwin and that he had brought them to her. Indeed, fortunate for Amanda too, for now they could serve one another’s needs.

  Amanda made her broom fly over the dusty floor. Here at Wicklow she’d see that Emma and Trudy had cheerful and clean rooms and never the need to worry about having a roof over their heads.

  Her cleaning cloth landed in the bucket with a plop. After hours of scrubbing, the job was done and Amanda spun around and surveyed her work in the sitting room. It gave her great satisfaction to look at the gleaming surface of the newly polished wood. The teak panels and the oak floors shone with a rich luster in the afternoon sun. Even the gargoyles carved into the mantel looked harmless when bathed in the bright sunshine. Soon the long shadows of evening would darken the room, but for now there was an abundance of light that showed the blue-green color scheme at its best.

  Each room had large cupboards built into the wall, and at each fireplace Amanda had discovered hidden compartments. Though none had turned up even a shred of paper, and she did not dare to hope to find the rumored gold, Amanda felt she was getting to know Jubal and Evelyn Wicklow as she learned the secrets of the house.

  Sometimes as she handled an article or used a piece of furniture installed by those two, she could feel a near-physical presence in the room. It was odd, but she was beginning to change her opinion of them. For now it seemed that whatever had happened at Wicklow had not come from disharmony but rather from a severed harmony caused by an outside force. She hoped one day she would learn the truth about Evelyn and Jubal Wicklow.

  Really she was letting her thoughts get away from her when she ought to be directing them to the work she was doing. If she did not stop, she would convince herself there were indeed spirits in the house. Instead she thought of the rooms. They were furnished well enough, she decided, for Emma and Trudy. Each had several chairs, a dressing table, and a four-poster bed with velvet curtains like those at the windows. Very attractive. But here in the sitting room, the draperies and the chair cushions were of brocade with a peacock design that gave the cool feel of a shaded garden to the small room. A few potted plants by the windows would make it a delightful place.

  The colors, Amanda thought, must have been chosen to offset the heat of the day, which could be felt at its strongest on the third floor. But certainly the suite was not uncomfortably hot, for Wicklow had been constructed with double brick walls and high gables that kept it bearably cool even on the sultriest days of summer.

  Her eyes made another sweep of the room. Satisfied she hadn’t
left a speck of dust in either the sitting room or the blue bedroom, Amanda collected her pail and cleaning cloth and went once more into the second bedroom. This room was a replica of the blue one except for the color of the fabrics, which were a light shade of green.

  She caught a glimpse of her dust-smudged face in the oval mirror at the dressing table. The small mirror was the last item in need of cleaning. Neglect had left a film of dirt over the glass. Promptly Amanda wrung out her cloth and took a seat on the tufted-velvet stool at the dressing table. She washed and polished vigorously until the mirror glistened to her satisfaction.

  That was the last of it. Amanda put her cloth aside and sought a moment of rest, her elbows on the dressing table and her hands cupping her chin and cheeks. In the mirror, her reflection showed the face of a woman tired but pleased with the fruit of her labors, a face smudged but happy.

  A few strands of hair had worked out of the braids beneath her kerchief and hung damply on her brow. Amanda exhaled a contented sigh as she loosened the knot and removed the kerchief, thinking, as she smoothed the whimsical strands away, how amazing it was that exertion could make one feel incredibly gratified.

  But it could also make one feel incredibly weary. She hadn’t realized how toil-worn she was or how much she desired a few moments of rest before she went down the stairs. No doubt Gussie had come in by now and would have the evening meal under way. She ought to go down, but it was quiet and peaceful here with the sunshine fading and the soft lullaby of the wind floating in from the treetops.

  Contentedly Amanda closed her eyes, but no sooner had her lashes brushed her cheeks than she felt an involuntary tremor pass through her body. With it came the odd feeling that someone had entered the room, and yet she hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps on the stair.

  Nevertheless she glanced over her shoulder to assure herself the hall door of the bedroom remained closed. Her glance went secondly to the door that opened into the sitting room. From there she heard a momentary rustle and a slight thump. It was inconceivable that Gussie would have braved the stairs and come in search of her. So who could it be? She felt another tiny shudder of alarm.

  “Who’s there?” Amanda called, rising quickly from the chair but holding firmly on to its back as her eyes search the doorway. She got no answer, but instead of being reassured by the silence, was left with the peculiar feeling that she was not alone in the attic suite. Yet she couldn’t imagine who might have come up. Ryne had left the house, and even if he had returned, he wouldn’t bother to look for her.

  Nervously she grabbed the kerchief she had discarded and clutched it to her breast. Once again Wicklow seemed to have taken a breath of life and shattered her peaceful repose. Or was she simply reacting to the lengthening shadows and letting the approach of night heighten her irrational thoughts? She took a shallow breath and started across the room.

  She had always prided herself on being practical. Having lived in a world of fantasy, she had most fervently fought to retain a strong sense of reality. It could only be her imagination that the atmosphere of the room had changed and that it had lost its peacefulness. But around her the air seemed warm and static. She felt the pressure of it touching her skin with a strange, brittle quality, as if at any moment it might become alive with sparks.

  Amanda wiped her forehead with the kerchief she held crushed in her damp hand.

  “Hello?” she called out. “Is someone there?” Slowly she walked back into the sitting room, only to find it empty, as was the blue bedroom.

  Finally satisfying herself that no one had come into the suite, Amanda decided the culprit must be Ezra. Her imagination was far too active. She smiled faintly as her eyes swept the ceiling and the small brass chandelier that hung in the center of the sitting room. She expected at any moment to hear Ezra mutter one of his rhymes and to find him perched in some hidden spot.

  “Ezra, where are you?” she called. “Ezra!. Out, now! I want to go down and I must shut these doors.” But there was no flutter of wings and no squawking voice in answer. Instead, a cool draft of air swept over Amanda and brought goose bumps to her flesh. She had a sensation of ice ringing her wrist and felt an odd compulsion to leave the suite without getting either the broom or the bucket. She was drawn, though she felt more as if she were being led, to a doorway across the corridor.

  Here there were two rooms side by side. The rooms, she knew, were used for storage and held furniture and chests that had not been disturbed for decades.

  “Nothing worth tinkering with up there,” Gussie had said. “But Miss Elise would never throw anything away. Kept all her father’s old papers and books, even most of his clothes. Like a pack rat she was, always bringing in something new and never throwing out the old. Hope you won’t be the same.”

  “Indeed I won’t.” Amanda had assured her she would do away with many of the curios and gewgaws that cluttered the house.

  “Watch out for him up there.” Gussie laughed. The sound was like the cawing of a crow. “That’s where he stays.”

  “He?”

  “The ghost. They’ve told you about the ghost, haven’t they? Old Jubal Wicklow.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Gussie.”

  Gussie laughed again. It made her eyes close up and disappear in her plump face. “You’ll find out. If you hear the whispers. Some folks do.”

  “The whispers? Tell me about the whispers.”

  “At midnight,” Gussie said. “The whispers start at midnight. You’ll hear them then. Or when he wants you to.”

  Amanda had put an end to the talk at that point. The mention of the whispers disturbed her, even though she knew Gussie was being absurd. Those whispers Gussie spoke of could have had nothing to do with her dark dreams.

  Gussie said the keys were lost and that no one had been in the rooms for years. Amanda had been in no hurry to find them. There was enough to see and do at Wicklow that two old attic storage rooms were only of secondary interest.

  It was for that reason that she shivered and resisted as her hand, almost of its own accord, reached out and twisted the knob. She nearly drew back in fright as she heard the lock click and felt the door open. She seemed to hear her name called from out of the stillness in that room. Gussie’s words came rushing back to her. “You’ll hear the whispers when he wants you to.”

  Amanda shook her head. In childhood once she had thought she heard her mother call out to her and had hurried to Sarah’s side, only to be told there had been no call. The voice she heard now was like that one, faint and from a distance, but not her mother’s. It was a man’s voice, and as much sensed as heard. Amanda realized with a start that it was the same whisper she had heard in her dreams.

  Was it possible Ezra had learned to mimic her name? Had he been the mysterious voice in the night, the one that had accompanied her nightmares? But even as she sought the explanation, she dismissed it. Who would have taught Ezra her name? In the space of time she had been there he would hardly have heard it enough to have adopted it on his own. And certainly he could not have gained entrance to this attic room where the door had been shut for years.

  She gave the door a light push. It was heavy, stout and sturdy as a barricade, but creaked and swung open almost of its own volition. If this were a test of bravery, Amanda felt sure she would fail. She resisted with all her power the compulsion to enter that room lit only by the red rays of sunset and draped with a thousand strange shadows which looked as if they might hold all manner of evil.

  But in the end she could not resist. She entered and wove a slow path through the maze of old furnishings, some cast in such dim light that she could not fathom what they might be. Here and there spiders had fashioned masterful and intricate webs which seemed to have been positioned to capture the last glow of the sun. Still she went on feeling as if an icy hand encircled her wrist and led her to some special spot.

  The sun was sinking rapidly in the western sky. Within a few moments Amanda was wondering if she had been led into a tra
p, if she ought to turn and run from this dismal room before someone came and shut her in. But she could not. She pushed on until she came to a battered and scarred sea chest half-hidden in the shadows. And that, she knew, had been her quest. For now she felt the lightness return to the air as she bent in front of the chest and worked by feel alone to loosen the buckles and straps that held it shut.

  No surprises were inside, only relics from a ship, a few old clothes, and some rolls of parchment from which the ink had faded. She felt her disappointment grow as her hands groped over the bottom for some item of interest. Jubal Wicklow hadn’t left his treasure in this chest. It held nothing more valuable than the buttons on an old coat, and by the look of the tarnish they bore, they were only brass.

  A moment later her searching fingers discovered a book of some sort and she lifted it out. Now the sun was gone and the room almost entirely dark. It occurred to Amanda that if she did not hurry, she would have to descend the stairs without the aid of a light. She dropped the lid of the trunk, and with the book tucked under her arm, turned about.

  She was as driven to leave the room as she had been to enter. Within a few minutes she had shaken the dust from her skirt and hurried into the hall. Still holding the book, Amanda cautiously felt her way down the dark staircase and went to her room. She had only just stepped inside and dropped the book on her desk when she heard Gussie.

  “Oh, Miss Fairfax,” came Gussie’s gruff but anxious voice. She waddled through the door of Amanda’s room, looking so perplexed that Amanda thought perhaps Gardner had been right to predict Gussie would become devoted to her. The stout old woman had a worried look in her eyes and Amanda could swear she had been wringing her apron. “I’ve called until my voice is gone. Have you been out?” The worry was quickly replaced by disapproval as Gussie saw Amanda’s soiled dress and dirty face. “Why, Miss Fairfax, you’ve been working like a chambermaid and it’s just not right,” she sputtered. “Cleaning is my job.”