Whispers at Midnight

by Parnell, Andrea

  Amanda, finding herself alone, began to ramble through the volumes housed in the rows and rows of shelves. Somewhere in the past weeks she had seen a book of Persian verse that had been translated. She hoped there to discover the meaning of the lines that were written both on the base of the Turkish King and on the tomb of Jubal Wicklow.

  It took a great deal of courage for her not to order Groom to drive her into Williamsburg, where she could arrange passage back to London. But something inside her refused to give in to the fear that had almost driven her to madness. She was going to stay and she was going to fight for Wicklow.

  Amanda trembled. She felt suddenly that someone had come into the library. But it was impossible, for there was only one door and she faced it. Yet the feeling persisted, that sixth sense that told a person when someone approached unseen. She had the feeling often now. If Cecil Baldwin knew of that, he would be even more convinced she was in a delicate mental state.

  A moment later she found the volume she sought and pulled it from the shelf. The surest way to end her trouble was to find the gold, and find it soon as possible. Once it was discovered, there could be nothing else to fear.

  Amanda seated herself in a large leather chair and became engrossed in thumbing carefully through the book. The pages were brittle and now and then a corner crumbled beneath her hand. She had almost come to the end when she found a folded sheet of parchment tucked between the pages. Cautiously she opened it out and read the lines lettered in Jubal Wicklow’s own hand. Below them were the Persian symbols that appeared to be the same as those she sought.

  Hurriedly she rose and went to stand in the hall beneath the Turkish King. It was as she had thought. The Persian words were the same. Any yet it was peculiarly puzzling. The first word was “guardian.” The others were the same as the poem in the log.

  “Turbaned king of celestial light,” she read aloud, and heard the ache of disappointment in her voice. Her mouth drooped. She had learned nothing. It was only the same silly, meaningless rhyme. All her hopes lay crushed at her feet and she was no closer than ever to finding the gold.

  Amanda slid the parchment back into the book and replaced it on the library shelf. She needed to think of something else. And there was much to be done in preparation for the dinner to be held at Wicklow that night. She wanted the house filled with flowers, and extra candles placed in all the rooms.

  Rooms had to be made ready for the Wellers and Ariel. Amanda’s face clouded with unhappiness. She hoped she could be a fit hostess. How she wished she could be truly pleased to be holding her party at Wicklow. As it was, she could hardly trust her emotions.

  She went to the window and pushed the dark velvet draperies aside. The sun beamed down brightly on the garden and grounds as if to contradict the dreariness she felt standing inside.

  This world around Wicklow that she had so eagerly desired had made her a captive. The bars were invisible but she felt trapped, as if she had been lured and caught in a spider’s hidden web. Would she ever feel free and safe in this house? Only if Cecil Baldwin could do as he had promised.

  ***

  “Amanda, child, Wicklow has never looked more splendid,” Margaret Weller kissed her on each cheek, and smiling brightly, surveyed the gleaming slate floors and shiny scarlet filigreed panels in the hall. She admired the two tall arrangements of lilies Amanda had placed in matching brass urns at the foot of the stairs.

  “Yes, it looks wonderful, Amanda,” Jonathan Weller agreed. “Except for that pile of wood Jubal Wicklow inflicted on us. He pointed with disgust to the Turkish King. “I advised Elise to have the thing hauled out and used for kindling but she wouldn’t hear of disturbing her father’s folly.”

  “Father, you are too outspoken.” Ariel crossed the hall and stood beneath the statue, looking reverently up to the grim wooden face. “Really, I have always thought it, in a certain degree, beautiful.” She made a slow, graceful turn toward her father. Her face was radiant and there was a mysterious glow in her eyes as she spoke. “In the terrible, angry way that a storm is beautiful.”

  “Humph,” her father responded. “There is nothing beautiful about a storm when it beats the crops down and scatters livestock all over the fields.”

  Ariel gave a high, thrilling little laugh.

  “Forgive him, Amanda. Father does not appreciate anything that is not practical.”

  Unruffled, he gave Ariel a fond rebuke. “I wish, daughter, practicality were the one trait I had passed to you. Perhaps I would not have found myself presented with a bill for six new gowns as I was today.”

  Ariel went to her father and kissed him gently. “All in a good cause, Father, as you shall see.”

  Upstairs Amanda showed the Wellers and Ariel their rooms, then left them to refresh themselves while she went down to assist Gussie and Mrs. Campbell with the setting up of a tea table in the garden.

  Ryne’s men had done an expert job of weeding and pruning. The hedges had been cut into neat green rows, and the roses, freed of choking weeds, had begun to bloom anew. The sweet scent of the newly clipped shrubs perfumed the warm summer air. Even in her despair she could not help but feel a surge of pride that she had brought Wicklow back from neglect and disorder.

  As she hurried out she saw Ryne striding up from the stable, his black shirt open down his chest. She drew in a quick breath. Her first impulse was to step back into the doorway so that he would not see her.

  She watched as he approached the tea table which had been set and covered with a linen cloth for protection. Amanda looked about for Trudy, thinking perhaps he had arranged to meet her in the garden before teatime. It occurred to her at that moment that she had not thanked him for the work his men had done. He had, as promised, kept his word about restoring the gardens.

  She dropped her head a little. Ryne was no saint. Far from it. But she had wrongly accused him on many counts, and it seemed the very least she could do was to apologize on that score and to thank him for the work in the garden.

  With an air of determination she descended the steps and called out to him.

  “You are back early.”

  “Merely being punctual. I need time to bathe before your party begins. I did not think the guests would appreciate the smell of sweat and horses among them.” He smiled smoothly.

  Amanda nodded. “I’ll keep you only a moment.”

  She wished she could tell him she no longer thought him responsible for the harrowing experiences she had suffered at Wicklow. But she had promised Cecil Baldwin she would keep quiet. Ryne and Gardner were brothers, and though there were bad feelings between them, who could predict how Ryne might feel if he knew Gardner was to blame? He might consider it his duty to warn his brother, and then she and Cecil would never be able to prove Gardner’s guilt.

  “You have something to say, Amanda?” Ryne scowled impatiently.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I wish to thank you for making the gardens beautiful again. The work your men did in a few days would have taken me months to accomplish.”

  Ryne raised a brow and eyed her contemptuously. “I always pay my debts.”

  “Also,” Amanda said, the words seeming to tumble out on their own, “I wish to apologize for accusing you of frightening me and for believing you stole the jewelry. I know now you did not.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. “And pray tell me how I have been exonerated.”

  “I cannot,” she stammered. “Not for a while.”

  Ryne shrugged dismissively and sauntered a few steps closer to Amanda. She found herself backed against the tea table as Ryne stared down at her. He caught a length of ribbon that trailed from a bow on the shoulder of her gown. He smelled of horses, as he had said, and of pine, as if he had been riding through the thick forests. The scents blended in a pleasantly stimulating way that she found herself responding to despite her efforts to resist.

  “You could do worse than trust me, Amanda.”

  His voice had taken on that quality of dark velve
t that seemed to reach right into her heart. Mixed feelings rushed through her.

  It had seemed simple enough to deduce that if Gardner were guilty then Ryne was innocent. And yet she could not overcome some shadowy doubt that lingered untidily in her mind. She suppressed the urge to tell him all that she had uncovered.

  Deliberately she dropped her gaze from the piercing blue eyes that might in another moment have shaken her resolve.

  “I am keeping you too long,” she stammered.

  “Dear little Amanda,” he whispered. “What goes on in that head of yours?”

  Amanda’s eyes came back to meet Ryne’s. “It’s only that I’ve thought about it and realized I was wrong about you.”

  He laughed. “Much as I should like to believe your opinion of me has changed, I do not. I believe the only reason for my pardon is that you have shifted the blame elsewhere.” He gripped her shoulders lightly. “You are forcing a dangerous game, Amanda. How sure can you be of your players?”

  “I am sure, Ryne.” She bit a trembling lip. “And I am truly glad it is not you.”

  Secretly she had hoped to see a softening of his expression, perhaps to hear him say he was glad that at last she had come to her senses. But instead he lifted his gaze from her face and looked away, as if something behind her had caught his attention.

  A muscle in his jaw twitched momentarily as he stepped back a pace. Amanda turned her head toward Wicklow to see what had disturbed him, but not fast enough to see the pale face disappear from the attic window.

  If he had been about to say something to her, the intention left him and he hurriedly bade her good-bye as he started toward the house.

  ***

  The tart lemon punch, little sponge cakes, and small sandwiches Gussie and Mrs. Campbell had prepared were consumed beneath the cool awning of the trees. Conversation and laughter flowed as freely among the women as the bourbon Gardner had brought did among the men.

  “You must attend the ball at Weller Hall next month, Amanda. Emma and Trudy must come too. I know a dozen young men who will be fawning over two beautiful young ladies.” Margaret smiled. “Ryne and Gardner never miss a ball at Weller Hall.”

  Trudy’s eyes brightened. “I would be delighted to attend, Mrs. Weller. I am sure my aunt agrees.”

  Emma dropped to her lap the knitting she had taken out and was busily working on. She nodded her agreement and smiled thankfully at Margaret Weller.

  “I too would be delighted,” Amanda concurred, though it seemed odd to be thinking of such frivolous matters when her mind was laden with worry.

  Margaret pointed toward Ryne and Gardner. “It does my heart good to see those boys have mended the rift that almost made them strangers to one another. It broke Elise’s heart when they swore off each other, but there was nothing she could do to make them come to terms. Over a woman, of course.”

  “Mother,” Ariel protested, “your head is like a sieve. Everything that goes in comes out a hundred times over.”

  “Hush, Ariel.” Margaret huffed. “Everyone knows they fought over that Hanson girl Gardner got himself engaged to. The little strumpet would have liked to have them both, and every other man in the colony. Married a Frenchman after the engagement was broken. Never been back. Good riddance too, I say. She’d have made him miserable.” Her eyes turned to Amanda. “I suppose we have you to thank, my dear, that they have made their peace.”

  “Perhaps,” Amanda said awkwardly. She glanced at the four men who stood some distance from them in the garden and looked as if they might be deeply engaged in a conversation about the latest price of tobacco. Only she knew it was distrust that had brought Gardner and Ryne together at Wicklow, each afraid the other would be first to find the gold—and one of them determined to have it at any cost.

  As she watched, the men took a last round of bourbon and a moment later broke up, Ryne and Jonathan Weller striding off toward the stables. Ryne had brought Libelia to Wicklow and would possibly try to interest Jonathan in purchasing Cavalier, the foal she had borne.

  Gardner and Cecil were soon among the women.

  “Amanda, ladies,” Cecil said. “If you will forgive me for being ill-mannered, I must beg an hour’s leave of you to complete drafting a contract that must be delivered to my client tomorrow morning. I should like to have the task behind me so that it will not nag my conscience at dinner this evening.

  Amanda’s eyes met his knowingly. This would be the chance Cecil Baldwin sought to search Gardner’s room for the ship’s log or other clues.

  “By all means, Mr. Baldwin,” she said with alacrity. “Do as you must.” Her eyes were now on Gardner and she was smiling disarmingly. “I do hope you will not desert us too, Gardner. A walk by the river would do us all good if we are to do justice to the dinner Gussie and Mrs. Campbell are preparing.”

  “I would be honored,” he said, making a slight bow to Amanda.

  Ariel got to her feet, and Trudy too, though perhaps a bit reluctantly. Was Trudy thinking she preferred Ryne’s company?

  “You young people go,” Margaret said. “Emma and I will sit here and talk. I am too content to move. Go on, now,” she insisted.

  Gardner offered his arm to Ariel—the way the master of the house would to a guest, Amanda thought. Already he is imagining that Wicklow belongs to him.

  ***

  After dinner Gardner surprised them all by asking his man, Pitt, in to play the fiddle. The ballroom was opened up and soon they were dancing to the lively music.

  Not enough time had been taken to light all the candles in the gilt holders set to the wall, but those that burned flickered like starlight in the rows of mirrors that lined the ballroom. The room was large, much longer than wide, and at the far end, where there was only reflected light, it had the moody look of twilight. Those dark corners were shadowed and foreboding and Amanda found herself not wanting to be led near them as she was whirled around the floor by Mr. Weller.

  Cecil Baldwin claimed her for the second dance. The music and laughter were loud enough to drown out their voices and she hoped Cecil would tell her what he had learned by searching Gardner’s room. She had observed him closely during dinner and deduced that he was anxious to share this news with her.

  “It is as we thought,” he whispered as he moved her around the floor with a lightness of step that was surprising from a man of his girth. “The log was hidden in his satchel. I removed it and it is now safely concealed in my room.”

  Amanda paled. Gardner and Ariel whirled by, she radiant in a gown of deep rose. Her eyes sparkled, as did Gardner’s. He looked deceptively as if he had not a care in the world but matching his steps with those of Ariel.

  Ryne and Trudy spun around just opposite them. Trudy’s dress of gauzy white crepe was adorned with a sprinkling of pink bows. The full skirt skimmed lightly over the floor. Amanda quickly averted her eyes from the couple. With Ryne, Trudy looked incredibly like an angel captured in the devil’s arms.

  Cecil guided Amanda away from the others, and only then did she feel confident enough to respond to what he had told her.

  “He will discover the book is missing when he returns to his room,” she whispered.

  A faint smile curved Cecil Baldwin’s lips. “Do not fear that. He will know he has been found out. You have nothing more to fear from Gardner.”

  “Then you think this will put an end to what has been happening?”

  “I believe it firmly. I will speak to him as well, and let him know that he is uncovered.” He was silent for a few seconds and then he added, “Still, if you wish to accuse him publicly, that is your right. I only thought that for Elise’s sake you might want it done quietly.”

  She had not considered how difficult it would be to make a public accusation. Though conclusive to her and Mr. Baldwin, the evidence against Gardner might prove flimsy to a court. She could understand Gardner’s desperation and even forgive his trying to frighten her. Yes, for Aunt Elise’s sake she would try to end the matter quie
tly.

  “Perhaps you could help Gardner find an honorable way to settle his affairs.”

  Cecil squeezed her hand. “I think you have made a wise choice, my dear. I will offer my assistance. It will be up to him to accept or refuse.”

  She would have talked more with Cecil, but the tireless fiddler switched to another tune and the Wellers called for a dance where they reeled from one partner to another. Amanda found herself being handed round the floor from Cecil to Gardner and then to Ryne, who spun her at a dizzying speed through the series of steps.

  It was like falling into fire, being in Ryne’s arms. He was all heat, his arms firebrands burning her shoulders, his eyes hot coals setting her blood ablaze. In those few moments before he relinquished her to the next in line, she felt a mounting sadness that things had gone astray between them.

  “Ryne,” she whispered without knowing. She saw a faint acknowledgment in his eyes, perhaps the sharing of a common thought.

  But too soon he moved on to the next dancer and she felt the heat turn to cold as Gardner took her in his arms and led her through those same steps. She could not meet his eyes and suddenly she had lost the rhythm of the dance. He felt her coolness and looked at her sadly.

  “Amanda,” he admonished, “you mustn’t let this happen.”

  “I will have to take steps if—”

  But she whirled away and into the arms of Cecil Baldwin, who had come back around in the dance.

  “You must talk to him soon,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “He made a threat.”

  “A threat?” Cecil’s eyes were first unbelieving and then took on the keen look of a bird who has spotted its prey. Amanda relaxed a little, knowing that behind Cecil’s soft, fatherly countenance lurked a man who could be as formidable as his enemies. “Not another worry, my dear,” he said soothingly. “Leave it all to me.”