Whispers at Midnight

by Parnell, Andrea

  “Oh?” Margaret Weller gave a quick but momentary twitch of her shoulders.

  Amanda, however, overjoyed by the glowing comments on Emma Jones’s character, took little notice of it. She had made up her mind that she liked Margaret Weller and now found it a treat to engage in womanly conversation. So many grave matters had labored her thoughts of late that this light talk gave a pleasant ease to the strain she felt.

  “Wicklow is far too big for me alone,” Amanda went on, encouraged. “So we have made an arrangement which will benefit us all.” Then with a pensive smile she added, “Of course Ryne is to stay until his lodge is repaired, and in return has offered to have his laborers restore the grounds. I shall be grateful for that. But I hardly know he is at Wicklow. He is so seldom in the house.”

  The briefest of silences ensued during which Ariel, who to this point had looked as if she might fall asleep at her work, gave a sidelong glance at both Amanda and her mother. A slight smile touched her lips before she dropped her head to once again become absorbed with her embroidery.

  “Emma Jones is a good woman,” Margaret said in a rush. “I might have worried over your being at Wicklow alone, so far from Williamsburg and your neighbors. But now I shall know that you are well looked after. Whatever Emma Jones has agreed to do, you can depend on it. The woman is reliable. Don’t know much about the niece. Looks a bit frail to me, but a pretty bit she is. Rotten luck she’s got nothing to bring to a marriage.” Margaret’s gray eyes twinkled conspiratorially. “Though I’ve heard rumors.”

  “Rumors?” Amanda asked, gazing at Margaret speculatively.

  “Mother, must you repeat every shred of gossip you hear?” Ariel spoke suddenly and both Margaret and Amanda turned to her in surprise. She had been so quiet and seemingly uninterested in the conversation that they had almost forgotten her presence. Amanda had even begun to wonder if there were not a blank mind behind her otherwise comely face. “You warble more than a mockingbird,” Ariel added flatly.

  “Hmmph, perhaps I do,” Margaret answered, undaunted. “But there’s always plenty who wait to hear my song, and when it’s a tune that interests you, your ears twitter as well.”

  “Very well, then, Mother, do go on. As if you would not anyway.” Ariel sipped her sherry, but despite her protests, Amanda noticed the light of affection in her eyes, indicating that though she might not always approve, there was a closeness between mother and daughter.

  Margaret stood and turned her ample backside to Ariel as she poured herself a second glass of sherry. When she took her seat again, her face was bright with amusement.

  “I guess I know what’s made you touchy as a hen with chicks.” Margaret broke into a broad, open smile and chuckled loudly. “Better tend the fire if you don’t want the coals to die.”

  Whatever the exchange between Margaret and Ariel meant, Amanda was puzzled. But undoubtedly it had some private meaning she had no need to know. And though she would not like to admit it, she was much more interested in the gossip concerning Trudy. After all, if the young woman was to be in her house, she would like to know all she could about her. And Amanda felt gratified that even though Margaret Weller had a penchant for gossip, she would never be malicious.

  “You mentioned a rumor, Mrs. Weller.” Amanda swallowed her pride and broached the subject that had aroused her curiosity.

  Margaret smiled and nodded perfunctorily at her daughter.

  “You see, Ariel, a dull place the world would be without a little gossip.” Margaret was enjoying herself considerably, though Amanda was not sure if it was the sherry or the prospect of a new audience that made her beam. “I have heard that young Trudy is a lass born on the wrong side of the blanket. Seems Emma Jones’s sister was abandoned by the girl’s papa—though he paid her off well. Heard she went through all the money before she died.” She paused. “Nobody knows who the papa is. But it’s told he was a man of wealth who couldn’t or wouldn’t marry Trudy’s mother.”

  “Nobody knows, Mother?” Ariel piped in with a bemused smile. “Not even you?”

  “Nobody knows if I don’t. Nobody, that is, except perhaps Cecil Baldwin, who passed the money along. And that dolt is too stiff-necked to ever let it slip.”

  “I suppose that means you asked him?”

  “And what if I did?” Margaret answered her daughter indignantly. “It was only out of interest in the girl.” She sniffed. “The old fool told me to mind my own business.” Margaret paused to drain the last drops from her third glass of sherry.

  “And you deserved the reproach,” Ariel said with a grin.

  “So I did.” Margaret gave her deep laugh once more.

  “But it did no harm to ask.”

  So Trudy had a stigma to deal with. Sad. But it made no difference to Amanda. If anything, it explained her shyness and reticence. Amanda felt a little ashamed at having encouraged the talk about Trudy and made a silent promise to herself to be a special friend to the girl.

  With a look of weariness on her face, Ariel left her chair and returned her glass to the tray on the serving table. Either the conversation had bored her or she was tired from her travels. Yet as Ariel stifled a yawn, Amanda had the feeling she had been under an inspection from those slanted gray eyes.

  “Amanda, it has been delightful spending the evening with you, but today has been overlong for me. I beg your leave,” Ariel said in a voice that was polite but lacking in warmth.

  “Of course, it has been my pleasure as well,” Amanda said politely. “A good night to you, Ariel.”

  It was then the idea came to Amanda that with a mother as gregarious as Margaret, it was no wonder Ariel had not developed the art of conversation. She wondered if the late Mr. Chitton had found her a dull wife.

  Ariel, her gray taffeta rustling as she walked, went to her mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Good night, Mother. Do you plan to wait up for Father?”

  Margaret patted her daughter’s hand with a great deal of vigor.

  “I do not. The sun may be cracking the darkness before those two return. I suggest we all go to bed. Ariel, we have a full day tomorrow, shopping and calling on people.” She rose, smoothed out her rumpled skirt, and turned to Amanda.

  “Won’t you plan to spend the day with us? I’m sure we could have a splendid time showing you round to our friends.”

  Amanda was tempted, but thought of all she must attend to before she entered into such festivities. She offered a gracious refusal.

  “How kind, Mrs. Weller, but I must return to Wicklow in the morning. Gardner has promised to drive me back early. Perhaps if your schedule allows, you will call on me at Wicklow sometime.”

  “We should be pleased to do so and I am certain we shall miss your company tomorrow. Now, let’s get ourselves up to bed.” Margaret ushered them out of the drawing room and up the wide staircase that filled one side of the hall. “I do believe that maid has gone out or fallen asleep,” she rambled on as they climbed the steps. “Gardner O’Reilly ought to get married, I say. Nothing ever runs as it should in a house without a woman.”

  Amanda shook out her nightdress and slipped it on. Gussie really had done a splendid job of packing. She hadn’t forgotten a thing Amanda would need. But then, she must have had plenty of experience looking after Aunt Elise.

  Gardner’s house was roomy, though not by Wicklow’s standards. Amanda remembered it had once belonged to Aunt Elise too. Jubal Wicklow had been a member of the House of Burgesses and had built the house to have a comfortable residence during the seasons the family chose to stay in Williamsburg.

  He had located the house on Nicholson Street, a two-story edifice that was the most handsome on the street. It was beautifully furnished and the bedroom Amanda occupied on the second floor was comfortable, if it lacked the frills that would have made it a woman’s room. The walls were a dun color, the woodwork painted a dull green. There was no rug on the floor, but the planks had been oiled and polished to a soft glow. A window ope
ned above a large courtyard on the back of the house.

  The summer night was warm and Amanda elected to raise the sash and let in a cooling breeze. Below she could see a small but artfully laid-out flower garden and just to the right of it an arbor covered with the thick green leaves of a jasmine vine. Beyond that were a vegetable garden and the several outbuildings that served the house.

  On the mahogany bedstead, green silk gauze mosquito netting trailed to the floor like pale threads of light. Once Amanda had put out the candles and pulled the netting down around her, she felt as if she were wrapped in a soothing night mist that lulled her into a pleasant slumber.

  It was perhaps an hour later when she awakened to the sound of whispers that a light breeze carried into her room. Amanda’s limbs shuddered beneath the covers as fear came to her suddenly. She sat up. Surely the ghostly voice she heard at Wicklow had not followed to vex her here.

  A lump formed in her throat, but soon she was up and found her footsteps leading toward the window. The sound she heard came from below and was not the unearthly whisper she dreaded. She tried to place the voices, one soft, the other deep and smooth. But she could not identify them, any more than she could distinguish the words they spoke. She thought they came from beneath the arbor, where the moonlight hinted of two shadows dancing on the ground.

  The sound of subtle laughter rose, and then more whispering. But as before, the words themselves were lost to her over the distance they traveled. All she could be sure of was that there were two voices. Amanda remembered the missing maid. Perhaps the girl had arranged an assignation in the courtyard. Something that looked like the fullness of a woman’s skirt billowed from beneath the arbor. Amanda looked more carefully, but before she could be certain of what she saw, a cloud came like a swirling cloak and shielded the moon.

  With a sigh, Amanda drew back and lowered the sash. In the darkened courtyard, she imagined she saw the lovers arm in arm walking toward the carriage house. She slept deeply afterward, her mind at ease that the whispers that had awakened her this night had brought no harm.

  ***

  The occurrence had faded like a dream when Amanda was summoned by a light knocking on her door. Reluctantly she awoke and sat up in bed.

  “Amanda, dear,” Margaret called. “I’ve had Mrs. Campbell bring up tea and toast.”

  “Come in, please,” Amanda answered. “I’m just getting out of bed.” She slipped a wrapper over her nightdress and hurried to the mahogany dressing table to unbraid and brush her hair.

  Margaret Weller, wearing a blue striped day dress trimmed with black braid, swept in behind Mrs. Campbell, who carried a tray which she deposited on the tea table near the window. As soon as Amanda assured her she required nothing else, the cook left the room.

  “That Molly hasn’t come back this morning,” Margaret Weller said. “Don’t know how Gardner can keep her on,” she protested, peering over Amanda’s shoulder at her own image in the mirror and smoothing one of a profusion of curls on her powdered wig.

  “Mrs. Campbell says she doesn’t know who’s gone more nights, Mr. O’Reilly or that girl.” She straightened up from the mirror. “You can bet we haven’t that problem at Weller Hall.”

  Amanda smiled. She could well imagine they did not. She remembered from the conversation at the dinner table that Weller Hall had a large entourage of both slaves and servants, as did many of the plantations in Virginia. She felt assured that under Margaret’s capable hand all at Weller Hall toed the line.

  Amanda nibbled a slice of toast. “How thoughtful you are, Mrs. Weller,” she said sweetly. “But you need not have troubled yourself. I could have come down for breakfast.”

  “No, no. Guests ought to be looked after,” she said emphatically. “Ariel and I took an early breakfast in our rooms and are leaving soon. No point in your going down to eat alone.” She made a clucking sound. “And if Gardner O’Reilly is in the same condition as Mr. Weller, I’ll not envy you that long ride to Wicklow with him.” She paused, but only, Amanda was certain, to draw a second breath before she went on. “Mr. Weller returned with the dawn and needed a manservant to help him up the stairs.” Margaret chuckled in her free, bold way. “Can’t bear to hear a fly buzzing this morning. But that’s his deserts.” She flipped a cloth from the tray and poured a steaming cup of tea for Amanda before she bustled out. “You tell that scamp Ryne Sullivan I’ll expect a visit from him before the week is out.”

  Amanda enjoyed her tea and toast in leisurely solitude. If Margaret were correct about the condition of Gardner’s head, she wouldn’t rush him this morning. It had come to her only a moment ago that she wanted to make a stop in Williamsburg before she returned to Wicklow. And she preferred Gardner to be in good form for the visit. As it turned out, her wish was to be granted.

  “You seem no worse for your evening out,” Amanda commented as Gardner started the horses at a brisk walk along the street. If he had overindulged, it must certainly agree with him, for he looked as refreshed as if he had retired early. His smile was wide and his eyes bright and cheerful. He was without his hat, and his red hair, caught back with a black cord, gleamed like the sun itself.

  “I have learned the lesson of moderation,” he said with a smile. “Mr. Weller outstayed me at the tavern by many hours and many tankards. Now, tell me which street it is you wish to visit.”

  “I don’t believe I know the street by name, but I do think I walked in this direction and turned here.” She indicated a narrow street which looked familiar, although once Gardner had turned the carriage into it, she began to think she had made a mistake. “I must have come in this direction when I left Mr. Baldwin’s office.”

  She had not considered that the back streets of the city could look so much alike. But Gardner was patient with her, and eventually, by crisscrossing the area they were able to locate the shop where she had seen the chess set she believed to have come from Wicklow.

  The dusty shop window was dark and a curtain had been pulled down over the glass, but through a crack she could see that the chess set was still on display inside. Gardner tried the door and found it locked. A moment later he was at Amanda’s side by the window.

  “There. Don’t you see it?” Amanda pointed to the split in the curtains and moved aside so that Gardner could look in. “Isn’t it the one? Can you tell?” she asked impatiently.

  Gardner peered within.

  “It looks like it, but I could not be positive without a closer look. Perhaps we could come back another time.”

  But now Amanda’s curiosity had risen to full force. She shaded her eyes against the glare from the glass and bent closer for a better look. Back in the shadows of the dark, dingy little shop she thought she could see a face peering through another curtain, one that blocked the doorway of what certainly must be a storage room.

  “I believe someone is inside,” she said, moving briskly to the door and putting her own small hand to the brass knob and giving it a twist. With the other hand she rapped loudly on the wooden portal.

  “I do think the building is empty,” Gardner said with a degree of certainty.

  But Amanda would not be dissuaded from her purpose.

  “Hello,” she called. “Won’t you open up? We are customers.” She could have sworn she heard a scuffle from inside, as if someone had stepped quickly into the back room. But now Gardner had taken her by the arm and was ushering her toward the carriage.

  “Your knocking is of no use, Amanda,” he said with a note of resignation. “No one is there.”

  “But Gardner,” she said, looking back over her shoulder, “I must see the set before I leave.”

  “Then come along,” he said, leading her to the carriage. “I know where we can get refreshments. We’ll come back in an hour and perhaps then the shop will be open.”

  She inclined her head in acknowledgment, but could not help wondering if there had indeed been someone inside. Yet it seemed odd that in such a place they would not welcome two customers so a
nxious to see their wares.

  “A cup of cider, Sally,” Gardner said to a buxom young woman whose white apron stood out crisply over a faded dress. “And a coffee for me.”

  “Sure, I know the way you like it, sir,” she answered with a brightness coming into a pair of pale eyes that had looked at first like bits of stone.

  Sally was back at the little table quickly and set Amanda’s cider before her without a glance. She was more attentive to Gardner, setting down his mug with deliberate slowness as she bent over the table so that the low neck of her dress gapped away from her ample endowments. Gardner’s eyes fell to temptation, but not without a touch of color flying to his face.

  “We’ve missed you at the Queen’s Gate, sir,” Sally crooned. “Mustn’t stay away so long again.”

  “My business keeps me quite busy,” he mumbled as he paid Sally and dropped a generous tip into her palm. Sally smiled and mumbled something to him that Amanda could not understand. Gardner quickly excused himself from the table and followed Sally from the room. He was back in a few minutes looking quite pleased with himself.

  Amanda smiled. “I believe the girl likes you.”

  Gardner smiled and shook his head. “She’d like a husband. And any eligible man had better watch his steps around such,” he said, his face coloring slightly.

  Amanda laughed lightly at his embarrassment. Ryne, she thought, would have felt no discomfort from Sally’s attentions.

  Amanda drank her cider and basked in the warm sunshine that streamed in the windows of the pleasant little tearoom. As they talked, her thoughts kept returning to the chess set in that dingy shop. She was more convinced than ever that it was the one she remembered. She must see it and ask how the shop had come by it. And possibly, she considered, she also wanted to satisfy herself that it wasn’t Ryne who had removed it from the house.

  Ryne. Ryne. Why did her mind always come back to Ryne?

  She felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She found it easy to understand the attraction. Ryne had a magnetism that Gardner, for all his good manners and charm, lacked. Ryne had been well-favored with his dark good looks, and though Gardner certainly bore more strength of character, Ryne possessed a certain intensity of spirit that was immensely appealing.