by Rhys Bowen
By the time I had delivered the bicycle to the carriage house, I had to rush to wash and change for dinner. Theresa once more did not make an appearance but her maid, a severe-looking French-woman called Adele, informed me that Mrs. Flynn would be most happy if I paid her a visit as soon as dinner was over.
I obliged and found her lying amid a mountain of pillows, her face as white as the cotton and lace around her.
“Molly, dearest.” She held out a languid hand to me. “I am so glad you came. I have been so lonely up here.”
“I would have come before if you had summoned me,” I said.
She patted the coverings beside her, indicating where I should sit.
“My husband has no patience with my sufferings,” she said. “In fact, he would have given up on me long ago if I didn't expect to inherit such a vast fortune when my parents die.” She clutched at my hand. “To tell you the truth, dear Molly, I truly believe he only married me for my money in the first place.”
“I'm sure that’s not true,” I said. “You are a beautiful and witty woman, Theresa. Any man would be fortunate to have you as his wife.”
“You are such a sweet child. How could you know what it is like between a man and a woman? We were never suited, Bamey and I. He has such strong—needs—and I have never been able to fulfill them. That has been our problem all along. And since Brendan died, I can't bear him to come near me. Naturally he is hurt and angry, but I can't help it. I live under this perpetual black cloud, Molly.”
I followed her gaze to a dressing table where a large silver-framed photograph stood. It was of a beautiful child with long fair curls and huge bright eyes, sitting sedately in frills and petticoats on a straight-backed chair, holding a stuffed bear in one hand. In spite of the frills one could see he was all boy from the mischievous grin on his lips. It was the first time I had looked at Brendan, apart from the grainy pictures printed in the newspapers. And the first thought that crossed my mind was that looking at that sweet, impish smile every day would break any parent’s heart.
“You have had to endure more than most women could bear,” I said. “But you still have a lot to live for, Theresa. You have a hus-band who is handsome and successful. You could be the toast of Washington if you put your mind to it. And you have a lovely little daughter who would bring light into your life if you allowed her to. Would you like me to bring her in to see you now?”
Theresa shook her head. “You don't understand. I try to love Eileen, I really do, and I know she is a sweet child, but I can't. It was too much to ask of me. I should never have—” She broke off as Bamey came into the room.
“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was interrupting a chin-wag,” he said. “I came to see how you were feeling.”
“About the same,” she said. “My limbs feel as if they are made of jelly”
“You should make an effort, my love,” Bamey said. “You will never get strong if you don't exercise in the fresh air.”
“Fresh air, where is there fresh air on this accursed river?”she demanded, her voice suddenly strong. “I hate this house and every-thing about it. It has brought us nothing but trouble and grief. Why can't we go away, Bamey? Let’s get far away from this accursed place.”
“You know we have to maintain a residence in the state which I represent in Congress,” Bamey said, “but I have offered many times to take you to Europe as soon as you are strong enough for the journey You only have to tell me and I'll make the arrangements for you.”
“And would you come too? Would you spend the summer in England with me, or France, or even Ireland?”
“I have work to do, Theresa. I'm a public servant, remember? Take Clara with you. Take Molly. You seem to tolerate her presence well.”
“Oh yes,” Theresa’s eyes fastened on me. “You could show me around Ireland, Molly. You could introduce me to all the family.”
I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “First you must make yourself strong enough to travel,” I said. “Your limbs re-ally will turn to jelly if you keep to your bed.”
“I'll make an effort, I promise. 111 get up tomorrow.”
“I'll have Adèle bring up your sleeping powder so that you get a good night’s sleep.” Bamey leaned to kiss her forehead. “I think we'll leave her in peace now, Molly.”
Theresa didn't protest as I was ushered from the room.
“You see how she is,” Bamey whispered as soon as we were out-side her door on the upstairs landing. “She'll never be strong enough to travel to Europe. She’s fine for a few days, then she collapses again. I should never have allowed those damned Sorensen women to come. It’s the séances that have upset her.”
“Maybe if you let them have one last séance and Theresa really can speak with her child, she'll be content,” I suggested.
“How can she speak with her child? It’s ludicrous.” Barney’s voice rose dangerously “He was not quite two years old, for God’s sake. Even if those charlatans could make him appear, he could scarcely say a word!”
“He may have grown more articulate in heaven,” I said cautiously.
He looked at my solemn face and burst out laughing. “God, Molly, you're as much a cynic as I am.” He moved closer to me. “You and I would make a great pair.” He was so close now that I stepped away and found my back pressed against the railing that ran around the gallery. “Theresa wouldn't mind, you know,” he whispered, so close to me now that his knee was forcing forward through my light skirts. “She'd be all for it. Keep it in the family. She likes it like that. Less complications.”
His hands moved from my shoulders down my arms, his thumbs just brushing at my breasts. I put my own hands up to push him away. “Barney, I beg you, please stop this at once. Apart from the fact that you know it’s not right, did you ever consider that I might already be promised to another man?”
He moved away, but not much. He was still dangerously close. “Oh, so you've had experience in the pleasures of the flesh, have you?”
“I have had experience in promising my heart, which is not the same thing,” I replied stiffly. “There is a young man who waits for me and I wouldn't break my oath of fidelity to him for anything in the world.”
“And who is this young paragon?” he asked.
“He’s—” I tried to make my brain work rapidly. In all my prepa-ration to take over the role of Molly Gaffney, a sweetheart had never entered into the picture. And worse still, a vivid image of Daniel Sullivan popped into my head and wouldn't leave. “He’s a policeman,” I said.
“A policeman? God’s teeth, woman, you can do better than that for yourself. Isn't one of the reason you came over here to make a good match for yourself?”
“I didn't say the family approved of him,” I said. “Now can we please drop the subject and let me return to the ladies in the parlor.”
As he let me go I heard the sound of a door closing, very quietly, somewhere along the landing.
Nineteen
Sunday. Fifth morning of this even more complicated saga. I was nowhere closer to proving the Misses Sorensen were frauds. I was nowhere closer to finding out the truth about Bertie Morell. Theresa Flynn wanted to take me to Europe with her and Barney Flynn wanted to take me to bed. Then there was a man staying next door who would have me arrested if he found out the truth about me. Why on earth hadn't I chosen a simpler profession? And if I was bent on being an investigator, why on earth had I not stuck to divorce cases? I was tempted to take the next train home, until I realized that I had no way of reaching a station without being ferried across the riverfirst.
I came down to find Clara already in her severe black crepe bonnet. Youll be coming to church with us, I trust?” she asked. “I presume that Barney’s relatives are good Catholics?”
“Catholics. I'm not so sure about the good part.”
“No?” Her look of disapproval made me wonder if she was the one who had peeked from a bedroom yesterday evening when Barney had attempted to seduce me. To my su
rprise Bamey appeared in a dark Sunday suit with hair well parted and slicked down. Theresa had announced that she was not up to the boat ride, so it was Clara, Belinda, Bamey and myself, plus little Eileen and her nurse, who made the trip across the river and attended mass at the church in Peekskill. After mass Bamey was waylaid by well-wishers and friends. He made the rounds of handshaking like any good politician should. Eileen had been very good all through mass but I could see that she was getting bored with holding her nanny’s hand.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s you and I go for a little walk. Maybe we can see birds and squirrels in the park.”
The nurse frowned but Eileen took my hand happily and skipped along beside me. A path led into the little cemetery behind the church. It was so peaceful and green up there, surrounded by trees, with a view of the river.
“Is this where dead people are buried?” Eileen asked, studying the tombstones.
That’sright. But just their bodies. Their souls have gone up to God in heaven.”
She looked thoughtful. “My brother isn't buried here, is he?” “No.” It was better that she didn't know that her brother’s grave had never been found. “But he’s an angel in heaven himself now and he’s watching down on you.”
“Look, there’s a squirrel.” Eileen was off at a great pace, discussions of heaven quite forgotten. I ran after her, determined not to let her out of my sight for a second. At the far end of the cemetery, where the grass had not been cut and odd gravestones were dotted among pine trees, I spotted a boy, a little older than Eileen, dressed in his black Sunday best, climbing on a large grave monument. Eileen saw him at the same time and made a beeline for him.
“Hello, boy!” she called.
“Eileen, wait for me,” I called. At that moment I noticed a woman who had been bent over a grave in the unkempt area. She rose hastily to her feet at the sound of my voice, grabbed the boy and yanked him down from the marble cherub. Then she shot me a glance, gathered up a bunch of dyingflowersand dragged the protesting child away in the opposite direction.
“Why did he have to go so quickly?” Eileen demanded. “I could have played with him. We could have played hide-and-seek among all the lovely angels.”
“His mommy must have been in a hurry, I suppose,” I said. Intrigued as to why she needed to rush away from what must have been a Sunday morning ritual, I made my way over to the grave. The small rectangle of granite bore the words ALBERT JOSEPH MORELL. I couldn't read the dates because there were now fresh flowers lying across it. Handpicked flowers from somebody’s garden. I noticed rosemary and forget-me-nots among them. Somebody still remembered Albert Morell fondly apart from Annie Lomax in New York.
I took Eileen’s hand to rejoin my party. As we made our way back to the boat, we had to pass under the railway to reach the river. A train was just pulling in from New York City. I looked up at the slamming of doors and saw what looked like the same woman getting into a carriage at the far end of the train.
We came home to find Theresa up and lying propped on a wicker chaise on the veranda, wrapped in a rug, although the morning was already warm. Roland Van Gelder had arrived and was perched on a chair beside her. A breakfast tray, hardly touched, stood on a round table and Roland was drinking a cup of coffee.
“Look who’s here, Bamey,” Theresa called as we came around the side of the house. “Roland has been kind enough to keep me company.”
“It’s good to see you up again, my dear.” Barney went up to her and kissed her forehead. “How are you, Roland?”
“Well, sir. And you?” Roland rose to his feet as we approached. “Ladies,” he bowed to us, “you all look simply stunning this morning. Far too ravishing for church, I must say. You must have set the poor old priest’s heart aflutter.”
“Mr. Van Gelder!” Clara said in a shocked voice. “I must protest. You may not belong to our religion but I will not let you insult it. Our priests are pure and holy men, especially Father Conway at St. Agnes.”
“Who is eighty if he’s a day,” Roland said, smiling in the direction of Belinda and myself. “I was wondering if you'd care to come out riding later today, Miss Butler?”
“Will your houseguests be accompanying us?” she asked.
“Captain Cathers may well be persuaded to. I think I mentioned that poor old Hartley doesn'tridemuch any more. Lack of balance, you know.”
“Are they planning to stay with you much longer?” I tried not to sound too interested. “Captain Cathers spoke of wanting to go West.”
“I think that is their plan,” Roland said. He looked up at me. “And I must say you've made an impression upon Mr. Hartley. He spoke about you after you left the other evening and he says he plans to look you up when you return to Ireland.”
“Did you hear that, Molly?” Qara asked. “Such a handsome gentleman too.”
“He'll have to wait a long time for Molly’s return,” Theresa said, “because I have no intention of letting her go. In fact I made up my mind last night that she will come to Washington with us where I can introduce her to all the most eligible bachelors in the land. And we were going to summon the dressmaker, weren't we? Qara, I believe I asked you to do so—have you done it yet?”
“I'm afraid it slipped my mind, Theresa,” Qara said, giving me a sideways glance. “I've been so worried about your health.”
“My health is getting stronger by the minute, I can feel it. What do you think, Bamey—should we ask Miss Emily and Miss Edith for another seance tonight?”
“Absolutely no,” Bamey said. 'You are in no fit state for more shocks to your system. Let’s get you back on your feetfirstand then think about stances.”
“How are Miss Emily and Miss Ella faring?” I asked. “I hope they arefinallyrecovering from their ordeal.”
“How sweet of you to worry for their health, Molly,” Theresa said. “But it’s good news. They have already paid me a visit this morning and will join us for Sunday lunch. Will you also join us, Mr. Van Gelder? Cook always puts on a really fine spread on Sundays.”
“I would be honored, Mrs. Flynn.” Roland’s eyes didn't leave Be-linda. “And after lunch maybe Miss Butler will satisfy my whim to go out riding.”
Belinda crossed the veranda, trailing her gloves across the furniture. “I suppose riding would be slightly less boring than playing croquet with Clara,” she said. “All right, Roland. But only if Barney lets me ride his new thoroughbred.”
“I don't know, Belinda. He’s very willful,” Barney said.
“My dear brother-in-law, you know I can handle any horse in creation,” Belinda said. “And if I don't ride the thoroughbred, I'm not going.”
“Very well, only go carefully,” Bamey said.
“Don't worry. If Roland rides that old nag again, the pace isn't going to be exactly fast.”
I saw a spasm of annoyance cross Roland’s face. “Yes, I know what you mean. We're thinking of buying a replacement, but we— we haven't had time, what with all these summer visitors.”
Lunch was everything that Theresa had promised. A huge joint of roast beef, surrounded by roast potatoes, sweet potatoes, baby carrots, beans, and peas, followed by a light concoction of whipped cream and fresh raspberries. Replete with food, we retired to our rooms, except for Belinda, who departed with Roland. I lay on my bed, watching the lace curtains stir idly in the summer breeze, listening to shouts from the river as pleasure craft passed. I found my thoughts drifting back to the strange encounter in the churchyard this morning. Surely Bertie Morell had been portrayed as a ladies' man, hadn't he? He had been walking out with Annie Lomax. There had been no mention of a wife and child. So who was the woman who came regularly to put flowers on his grave? I surmised she must be a regular visitor because the flowers she had removed were not yet quite dead—no more than a few days old. Would a sister be so loyal, or an old family friend? I didn't think so and resolved to delve deeper into Mr. Morell’s family background.
Then a drowsiness overcame me and I must hav
e drifted off to sleep because I woke with a start to hear voices below my window.
“What the devil do you think you're doing here?” A man’s voice, barely more than a whisper. If there was an answer I didn't catch it. “You must be out of your mind,” the voice continued. 'You remember our agreement as well as I do. We're not going back on it now. I paid you well enough!”
I jumped out of bed and went to look out of the window. I waited but there were no more voices and nobody came out of the house. I was confused until I realized that I had probably been listening to one end of a telephone conversation. The telephone was kept in Bamey Flynn’s study and his windows were certainly open. Well, Barney’s questionable dealings were no business of mine. I moved away from the window and pulled up a chair to the desk. I took out my notebook and jotted down what I had seen this morning—the strange woman who had leftflowerson Bertie Morell’s grave. The innkeeper in the village had hinted that he was one for the ladies. Was this one of Bertie’s conquests? And what of the boy? I'd probably have no way of finding out, unless she came back next Sunday and I couldfinda way to engage her in conversation.
The question was whether I would still be here by next Sunday. I would have to make sure I left Adare before the embarrassment of a dressmaker’s arrival and I still hadn't had any opportunity to unmask the spiritualist sisters. Since I had seen how fond they were of their food, it came to me that I could feign an indisposition and search their cottage when they were at lunch, although I had no idea what I was looking for.
Search cottage, I wrote in my notebook.
I looked up to see Desmond O'Mara hurrying across the lawn and disappearing into the undergrowth beside the river in the direction of the cliff path.
Apparently the servants always had Sunday afternoon and evening off, so the meal was cold meats and salad with the remains of the pudding. Most of us were too stuffed full from lunch to eat much anyway. The Misses Sorensen, however, node an appearance and worked their way steadily through everything.