Whispers at Midnight

by Parnell, Andrea

  ***

  The bedroom was her cocoon, so luxurious and plush, its pink satin and roses soothing her and shielding her against the dark secrets she could feel in every other room of Wicklow. Emma sensed her mood when she brought the supper tray, and tried to comfort Amanda.

  “My dear, you have worn yourself out with worry. Don’t deny it. Rest is what you need. You have not been calm since the theft occurred.”

  Amanda sat back against the pillows. “Oh, Emma, I wish it were only the theft I am worried about.” She closed her eyes momentarily. “I have begun to wonder if there is not someone who wants me to leave Wicklow. Emma,” she said, sitting up quickly, “do you ever hear strange sounds in the house, a voice at night?”

  “Only Ezra,” Emma replied. “That bird is everywhere with his annoying chatter.” She patted Amanda’s hand. “Now, you hush this talk. You’re only upsetting yourself more. I’m going to sit right here until you eat every bite of food I’ve brought.” Her voice was gentle but insistent. “And you’re not to stir from this bed till morning. Lots of rest,” Emma chattered on. “That’s what you need.”

  Amanda ate. Emma would allow nothing else. Half an hour later, when Emma took the tray away, Amanda, feeling much better, settled down into the feather mattress. Tomorrow Cecil Baldwin would come and she could tell him what she suspected. He was the only person who could possibly help her.

  Her mind ran through all that had happened, trying to find the answers she desperately needed. At last she gave up the quest and slept, but it was a restless sleep fraught with the strange whispers and dreams she had come to dread. She dreamt an intruder slipped into her room and rambled around searching through her dresser and desk. It was such a realistic dream that she could hear the clatter of bottles being knocked together and the scrape of wood on wood as drawers were pulled slowly open.

  She tossed upon her pillow and whimpered. Another sound came, one that was at odds with the thumping and bumping in her dream. It sounded like a moaning gush of wind blowing through the door. She shivered and pulled the covers tightly around her as the draft made an icy trail over her bed. The room shook as if a whirlwind spun inside the darkness.

  Amanda heard a muffled cry of fright, the sound of hurried footsteps, and then, from another quarter, the soft, whispered calling of her name.

  She felt a touch on her brow, a hand as soft and gentle as her mother’s had been. Once again there was the whispered calling of her name and then a deep, peaceful slumber that lasted until the sun teased her awake with thin, gay ribbons of early-dawn light slipping through the windows.

  Jasmine. She smelled jasmine scent so strongly the room might have been doused with it. The smell was overpowering. Amanda rubbed the sleep from her eyes and climbed out of bed. She pulled on a wrapper and hurriedly lit a candle. The sun had only just begun to paint bright bands of amber and orange in the morning sky.

  At first she noticed nothing unusual in the room, but as her eyes went to the dressing table she saw that a box of powder had been upset and the bottle of jasmine scent overturned and spilled. She was pondering how the disturbance could have happened, projecting herself back into that peculiar dream of last night, when she noticed that the door to her bedroom was not completely shut.

  All her fears and uncertainties came plummeting at her. Emma had shut the door. Amanda struggled to think logically. Perhaps Emma had not fastened it securely and during the night it had swung open of its own accord. Any other night she would have made sure the key was turned in the lock. But last night she had been so upset she had forgotten.

  The only solution she was willing to accept was that while the door was open Ezra had flown in and knocked over the bottle. That would account for the sounds that had disturbed her. She smiled faintly. At least this puzzle had a simple solution.

  Amanda started for the windows to open them more. The room needed a good airing. But at once she stopped as if frozen. She had an inclination to cry. It had not been Ezra in her room, though she wished fervently that it had been so.

  Ezra could not possibly have carried away the old ship’s log that was missing from her desk.

  Though it seemed an endless time, only a few minutes had passed since she climbed out of bed. She hastened to shut the door that still stood mockingly ajar. But as she stood there so near the corridor, she could hear the sound of someone moving around in the hall below. She was thinking of the intruder and wondering if it might be that same person moving stealthily through the house.

  Without considering the consequences, she found herself hurrying silently to the stairs. She tied the blue silk wrapper tightly around her waist as she went. But when she arrived at the landing that overlooked the wide entrance hall, she saw no one.

  “Amandaa . . .” It was the strange, distant whisper she had heard in her dreams. The sound floated and fell to silence in the circles of light that streamed in from the three round windows above the door.

  Awestruck, Amanda clutched the rail near the spot where the Turkish King’s head rose. Her fear was gone but she felt a peculiar sensation sweeping over her in its stead. The prickling on the back of her neck was there as it had been when she knelt at Jubal Wicklow’s grave. Below her on the dark slate floor, three circles of light met and merged and sped as one to the base of the Turkish King.

  Amanda stood there a long while watching as the sun rose higher in the sky and the circle of light traveled up until the face of the king was bathed in the bright light of morning. The glass eyes caught the beam and glowed like tiny suns themselves. The spectacle lasted only a moment before the fall of light changed and the hall once again looked totally ordinary.

  She leaned over the rail, staring at the fierce face of the Turkish King.

  “Guardian,” she murmured. “Guardian of what?”

  She did not hear the light step behind her and was not aware anyone had approached until she felt the slight pressure of someone standing dreadfully close.

  “It’s a long way down,” Ryne whispered in her ear, his arms wrapping around her and his hands clamping over hers on the rail. She felt the heat of him searing through the thin silk wrapper as he lined his body against hers. A shudder of fear ran through her.

  Ryne laughed huskily as he felt the tremor of her small frame against his thighs and chest.

  He turned her in his arms so that she faced him, but still she was pressed tightly against the banister.

  “Let me go, Ryne.” She pushed ineffectually at his chest.

  “I want to talk,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to her throat.

  “There is nothing for us to say, Ryne,” she murmured unsteadily as her hands gripped his shirt.

  “Gardner—” he started, but was interrupted by the loud sound of knocking from the front door.

  Ryne released her and she hurried down the stairs while he stood and watched from above.

  “Who’s there?” she asked.

  “Cecil Baldwin,” came the answer. “I am sorry to have arrived so early, but—”

  Amanda flung open the door. “Oh, Mr. Baldwin, I am so very glad to see you. Do come in.” His kind face was like a beacon and she quickly ushered him inside. “Will you wait while I go up and change? There are things I must discuss with you right away.”

  They had almost reached the drawing room door when Amanda stopped and cried out. There beside the base of the Turkish King lay Ezra’s limp body. Amanda bent down and picked it up. The curved beak was open slightly, the head hanging down from a twisted neck.

  He was dead.

  Chapter 13

  “Bury the bird near Jubal Wicklow’s grave,” Amanda instructed Groom. With a look of sadness the old man took the creature from the house. He promised to construct a small box in the barn and then comply with her wishes.

  Gussie was distraught. It was she who had cared for Ezra over the years and she was heartbroken that the bird had met with a sad end.

  “He was old,” Ryne insisted. “Probably died there
where he perched on the king’s shoulder and toppled off.”

  “His neck was wrung,” Amanda said flatly.

  “Wrung,” echoed Trudy, whose face had gone remarkably white. Trudy and Emma had come down shortly after Mr. Baldwin arrived.

  “Or simply broken from the long fall,” Ryne suggested.

  “It was wrung,” Amanda said bluntly. She looked accusingly at Ryne, only to see that his dark eyes were flashing a warning. “It’s a long way down,” he said only a few minutes ago.

  “Nonsense, my dear.” Emma placed an arm comfortingly around Amanda’s shoulder. “You are overwrought. You were too fond of the bird. Nobody would have hurt the poor creature. Certainly no one here.”

  Amanda was prevailed upon to go to her room and dress. She ascended the stairs slowly. She could not escape thinking how wrong Emma was. Someone had killed Ezra. But who would kill a harmless bird who did nothing more alarming that flutter overhead and mock the people he heard?

  Or was that the cause of it? Had Ezra imitated words that were meant to be secret? Had someone in the house thought Ezra’s chatter so dangerous?

  “Amanda,” Cecil Baldwin called to her as he emerged from the drawing room, followed by Emma and Trudy. “You are looking much better.”

  Amanda was dressed in a sunny yellow gown of chintz that had a bodice laced with pale green velvet ribbon. She had brushed her hair until it shone and, with a matching ribbon, tied it back in a cascade of curls. The dress had been chosen to offset her mood. She did not want anyone to see how successful this latest attempt to frighten her had been.

  She smiled awkwardly and took Cecil’s arm as they went into the dining room for breakfast. She really did not know what she would say afterward when she could talk to him privately. For the first time, she was wavering in her determination to stay at Wicklow. Every bit of good, every bit of happiness she had found there had turned to ruin. She tried to tell herself it was not the house, that these things might have happened anywhere. But she could not believe it. Wicklow was peppered with unhappiness and strife. It was Jubal Wicklow’s legacy from his violent death. Perhaps it would be best if she did sell the house.

  Her heart fell as they reached the table. She dreaded seeing everyone again so soon and hoped the meal would be a quiet one. But it was not fated to be so.

  Gardner came to her side a moment after she was seated and squeezed her hand.

  His brows were knit tightly together. “I have heard what happened to Ezra and how upset it has made you.”

  Amanda found herself drawing away from him. “You disliked the bird,” she said.

  Distrust flickered in her eyes. He spotted it immediately.

  “Not precisely that,” he said, straightening up and soberly taking his seat. Gardner cast an angry glance at Ryne, who gave him back an equally hard stare.

  Afterward, behind the closed doors of the library, she was able to tell Cecil Baldwin what she suspected.

  “Amanda . . .” Cecil Baldwin’s voice dropped in volume. “Gardner has been around the bird all his life. So has Ryne. Why would either of them kill it now?”

  “Because Ezra might have repeated something one of them wanted kept secret.” Cecil rubbed his plump hands together. “My dear, think of it. They were accustomed to the bird. They would have been careful around it.”

  Amanda slumped in her chair. “If one of them did not kill him, then who?”

  “No one. Accept Ryne’s explanation. The bird died and fell. He was old by any standards. No one killed him.” he sighed heavily. “Oh, Amanda, don’t you see what is happening to you in this house? You are imagining things that do not happen. You are developing a nervous temperament.”

  “No, no. I am not. These things are not imagined. Even you must admit the thefts were not imagined.”

  Cecil leaned forward and patted her hand. “Of course. But I do not admit there is any relation to these other acts you have reported. You have said yourself it would have been easy for a thief to slip into the house.”

  She saw the anxiety in his eyes, but it was anxiety for her emotional state and not for her safety. She had counted on his help and now it appeared he did not believe any danger existed.

  “Mr. Baldwin,” she said, “I am not hallucinating. I know what is happening and what the purpose is.”

  He looked suddenly distraught. “Then tell me,” he pleaded.

  “You have heard the rumors of gold being hidden in Wicklow.”

  Cecil exhaled a slow breath. “They are not new.”

  “No,” she said. “But I have found evidence that they are true.”

  “What’s this?” His eyes opened wider. “How can you be sure?”

  Amanda could see that his opinion was changing and it gave her strength to go on with her story.

  “I have found a ship’s log which refers to the gold. I am convinced Jubal Wicklow has hidden the clue to the location in a passage we found there.”

  “We?”

  “Trudy and I read it together.”

  “Have you kept this a secret between the two of you?”

  “No,” Amanda answered. “It has been discussed. At first I took the rumors no more seriously than anyone else. But after these dreadful things happened, I began to wonder why anyone should want me to leave. The gold is the logical conclusion.”

  “I see.” He paused as if he were very carefully testing the words that would follow. “And you think that either Ryne or Gardner is responsible for frightening you?”

  “I am certain it is one of them,” she said slowly. “It could be no one else.”

  Cecil Baldwin got to his feet and looked at Amanda contemplatively for a moment. Then he said in a firm, kind voice, “Amanda, I have known Ryne and Gardner since they were small boys. I watched them grow up. I admit Ryne has a wild streak.” His hand was on her shoulder. “But what you say is unthinkable.”

  “No,” she whispered. “You don’t know that they are both desperate for money. Gardner I believe has lost large sums gambling.” She recounted the demand for money she had overheard in Gardner’s house. “And Ryne has none of his fortune left, not even enough to afford an inn.”

  Cecil shook his head gravely. “That does change matters,” he murmured. “But still . . .”

  “There is more,” she said sadly. “Each has asked me to marry. I thought at first it was because they cared for me, but I know now it was only to have a claim on the gold.”

  “This is a shock,” Cecil stammered. “To think that either of those boys could be so cruel. You do not think they are acting together?”

  “I am sure that only one of them is responsible for tormenting me. I am not sure which.”

  Cecil took her trembling hand in his and held it firmly for a few seconds.

  “But you have a suspicion?”

  She nodded. “I believe Gardner is responsible.”

  He did not speak for a moment and she wondered what he was thinking. Had she been brash in emptying her soul before this man? He had been a friend to Gardner and Ryne long before she arrived on the scene. She looked into those wide gray eyes, deep and wise as an owl’s. She needed that wisdom if she were to be safe at Wicklow.

  As he turned without a word and mopped his damp brow, Amanda felt herself shrinking away. Uncertainty grew within her, and also a fear that he was about to refuse to help.

  Cecil turned to her again and shook his head sadly as he looked down at her. Just for an instant his eyes had grown sharp and narrow like those of a bird of prey.

  “I will help you fight this, Amanda,” he said. “You must not think you are alone.”

  She was so filled with relief that she closed her eyes tightly for a moment.

  “You do believe me, then,” she whispered.

  “Yes, I do,” he answered. “But without proof it will be hard to bring him to justice. We must make a plan. Will you do as I say?”

  “I will,” she answered quickly.

  “First you must bring me the ship’s l
og and let us see what we can discover.”

  A look of despair spread over her face.

  “But I can’t,” Amanda cried. “It’s been taken from my room. Last night while I slept he must have slipped in and taken it.”

  Cecil mopped his brow again.

  “If only you had confided in me sooner, my dear.”

  “I couldn’t,” Amanda protested. “I didn’t know what to believe.”

  He shook his head woefully. “You should not have had this ordeal. I blame myself for not looking after you. Still, who could think one of Elise’s sons could come to this.” His voice was bland but soothing. “Amanda, you have my word I will bring this threat to an end. I want you to promise to say nothing to anyone until I have had a chance to investigate. If Gardner knew we suspected him . . . well, let us not think of that. Tonight at your party—”

  “Oh,” Amanda cried. “I had forgotten that the Wellers were to come. How can I possibly have guests when—”

  “No,” Cecil interrupted. “Don’t you see, it is the best thing that could happen. He cannot make another move with so many people in the house. It will give us time to act.”

  “But what can we do?”

  His brows rose.

  “You leave that to me. I may find a chance to search his room. If the log is there, then we will have our proof. You must act as if nothing is wrong. Be the cheerful hostess.” Cecil smiled reassuringly. “He must not suspect.”

  “If you think it best,” Amanda murmured.

  She knew Gardner was to accompany the Wellers on to Williamsburg the following day. And, as Cecil said, with so many people in the house he could not possibly risk giving himself away. He didn’t dare, but nonetheless she would be sure her doors were locked when she went to bed.

  Cecil’s eyes flickered. “I think it is the only way.”

  He said he would postpone the business that had brought him to the country so early and would spend the entire day at Wicklow. A short time later he left the library to talk with Emma.