by Kate Danley
"Of course," said Wesley, reaching out his hand to take hers.
"I knew you were good folks when you came to see me, but I couldn't talk, ya see. There was something, it was like there was something forcing my mouth to make words I didn't want it to make," she confessed.
"I understand," said Clara, remembering the queen's compulsion down in the basement. "We understand completely."
"Can we take you home?" said Wesley.
Pauline looked up at the sky. "Naw. I sort of feel like maybe I want to walk a bit. Maybe have some quiet time to think about things and such. It's been so long since I felt like me. I just want to enjoy that feeling for a little while." She was immediately apologetic, as if what she said was somehow offensive, "If ya don't mind and all. You both seem very nice."
"No offense taken whatsoever."
"I'm sorry I tried to kill you," she apologized awkwardly.
"These things happen," replied Clara.
"They do?" said Pauline.
Clara looked up at Wesley gratefully. "Yes, they do."
Pauline gave them a little wave and headed down the street. One of the constables rushed up to her to get her information. She gave him a couple words and then started walking, alone, to the end of the block and turned out of sight.
Clara and Wesley watched her until she was out of sight.
"I am grateful she didn't kill you," said Clara.
"As am I," Wesley said.
"I couldn't stand to lose two men that I loved in one lifetime."
Wesley looked down at her. "I should like to kiss you right here in the middle of the street."
Clara laughed and then looked over at the waiting cab. "Red? Would you take us home?"
"It would be a pleasure, misses."
He opened up the door to the cab and waited as Wesley and Clara climbed inside. The trip to Clara's little house upon the square was too short, the journey broken up with tender caresses and silent kisses.
As the cab pulled up to the townhouse, Wesley helped Clara out of the cab.
Clara's blood froze in her veins. "Minnie," she whispered.
The ghost of Wesley’s sister was standing on the front porch as clear as day to Clara, but Wesley looked wildly about, unable to perceive her.
"Oh! Looks like you have company!" Red said, giving Minnie a wave.
"Can you see her?" Clara asked in surprise.
"Of course, misses. My eyesight isn't as good as when I was a lad, but I can see from here to your steps without any problem."
Minnie gave Clara a smile and Clara understood. She turned to the cab driver and said, "I do say, Red, I feel that perhaps fate has brought us together. Something in my bones says that we shall have many interesting days ahead of us."
Distilled Spirits
Book Three – O'Hare House Mysteries
By Kate Danley
To Buddy
1
Red gave Minnie, the ghost of Wesley's sister, a friendly tip of his hat from high atop his cab. He was distracted by his horse whinnying, though, and failed to see Minnie as she faded into thin air.
"Whoa, Daisy!" Red said, getting his horse to settle down. By the time he turned back, Minnie had disappeared completely from sight. He jerked his chin towards the porch of Clara's little brick house and said in his friendly brogue, "Did she go inside? Funny, that. You'd think she would have stayed to hold the door open for you."
Clara was grateful Minnie had timed things to avoid an awkward conversation. After all that Clara and Wesley had been through that day vanquishing the angry mummy of an ancient Egyptian queen and such, she just did not know if she had it in her to explain the ghostly inhabitants of her home. It seemed a bit much.
But then the smallest, strangest idea took shape in Clara's mind. She glanced at Wesley wondering what he would think of this impetuousness, then squared her shoulders and asked, "Red? I was wondering if I could invite you in for tea to discuss a potential employment opportunity. I shall, of course, recompense you for your lost time."
Wesley looked at Clara as if she was mad, but she merely smiled back at his questioning look, her green eyes twinkling.
Red tipped his hat again with his long, freckled hand. He seemed a bit dumbstruck, but grateful for the surprise. "I would be most obliged."
Clara gave him directions to the servants' entrance behind her home, which also featured a more comfortable resting place for his horse. As Red's lanky figure and the gentle clip-clop of Daisy's hooves faded down the block, Clara and Wesley walked up the path towards her house on the garden square.
What horrors the two of them had endured these past few weeks, she reflected. First the massacre at Lord Oroberg's house when it was revealed Violet Nero had been possessed by the murderous spirit of a cursed Egyptian queen. Then Phineas Stokeman, who tried to channel that spirit into Clara. Wesley's auburn hair was a mess and his neat clothing torn. She protectively brushed some of the dirt from his jacket shoulders. They had both come very close to an unpleasant end. She could not help but think how empty her life would be if anything were to happen to him.
All of these musings she kept to herself, though. Wesley seemed preoccupied.
He looked back inquisitively at where Red had dropped them off. "What was that you were saying about discussing employment opportunities with this young cab driver?"
"Young man? He looks at least twenty. I was married at his age," Clara ribbed. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts together, not entirely sure how to explain her hunch. "He could see Minnie," she finally explained. At the sound of Minnie's name, silent sadness clouded Wesley's face. Clara squeezed his arm, hoping that he would feel her love and support in that embrace. She continued. "I feel that I should keep him close until I learn what that means."
"I wish that I could see her… just one last time," said Wesley, heaving a heavy sigh.
Clara did not understand why his sister would not stay long enough for her to act as intermediary between them. Perhaps it was being parted from her brother that kept her tied to the earth. As Clara pondered the events of the past few days, she could not help but think how important Minnie being here had been to Clara and Wesley's survival. Clara was not comforted by the thought that perhaps Minnie knew it was not yet time to rest.
"So," said Wesley with composed formality, "this cab driver can see my sister, even though I cannot."
Clara answered as they walked up the brick steps to the door. "Your sister must have her reasons," Clara said. "She has quite a determined spirit."
Wesley looked at her.
"Pun completely unintentional." She grasped his hand in hers. "We both owe her so much. After recent events, I trust that she has our best interests at heart. Someday she will make herself known to you, my dear."
"It is strange those who choose to remain behind. Do you ever wonder," Wesley asked, "why Thomas has never appeared to you?"
Clara looked down at her blue dress, the one that under bewitchment had caused her to cast aside her grieving and change from her widow's weeds. "He did. Once."
"What?" asked Wesley. "When?"
"In a dream. He sat beside me and told me to love again." She looked up at Wesley, her heart brimming for him. "And so I have."
Wesley pressed his warm, soft lips to her temple and they stood there for a moment, quiet in their memories, in their grief and love. A tear slipped down Clara's cheek, not out of sadness, but out of the enormity of it all.
"I shall not betray that trust," he whispered before they parted.
Clara nodded, knowing that Wesley spoke true, knowing her husband, in one final act of love, had guided her heart to this safe port.
Their reverie was interrupted as Mr. Willard opened the door. He smoothed his peppered gray hair as if Clara had caught him instead of the other way round. "Mrs. Clara! I thought I saw a carriage."
"Indeed, you did," Clara replied, pulling away from Wesley and regaining her composure. Clara walked into the black and white tiled foyer and removed
her gloves. "Yes, we have had quite a day."
"Good to see you again, Mr. Willard," Wesley stated, handing him his hat.
"Indeed," said Mr. Willard with a smile, before winking out of sight.
Clara shook her head. "Cheeky."
Mr. Willard appeared again and took Clara's gloves as Mrs. Nan came downstairs. Mrs. Nan cried out at their appearance, "My word! Look at the two of you! Dead on your feet!"
Clara instinctively tried to smooth her fiery hair, realizing she must look a fright. "Fortunately for us, not quite," Clara replied.
"What terrible mischief did you get into this time?" Mrs. Nan replied, folding her hands sternly in front of her like an angry schoolmarm waiting for an explanation of bad behavior.
"We were responsible for the rescue of an unfortunate young woman," Clara informed her defensively, "and may have discovered some rather interesting explanations in regard to your current status."
Mrs. Nan did not say a word, just waited for Clara to continue, letting her silence speak more than any admonishment could.
"Also," said Clara, trying not to be cowed by her housekeeper, "there is a young gentleman at the back door attending to his horse and carriage. Please bring him to the parlor when he is available."
Mrs. Nan narrowed her eyes.
Mr. Willard gave a bow. "I shall see to it, Clara. May I inquire as to the gentleman's name?"
"He is called Red and he was quite instrumental in our survival on this errand."
Mrs. Nan threw up her hands in despair. "Surviving something terrible again? I shall be most cross if anything happens to you two! You would think you would have learned to call the police for such matters!"
"This cab driver had the foresight to fetch the authorities for us, Mrs. Nan," assured Clara. "But they just did not get there before we awakened a terrible curse. It was rather unfortunate timing."
Mrs. Nan shook her head as if greatly disappointed by Clara's lack of effort.
"But the good news is that with this encounter, I believe I have found the perfect driver for our household. I have decided to offer Red employment."
This time, Mr. Willard joined Mrs. Nan in the meaningful glances department, and their look was not of the supportive type.
"Now, now," said Clara. "I think you will find he is quite the proper addition to our family. A kindred spirit if you will."
"Really?" said Mr. Willard with a sniff of his beaked nose and an air of suspicion.
"It seems he has already become acquainted with Minnie," Clara informed them.
This revelation caused both Mrs. Nan and Mr. Willard to take pause. "My word!" exclaimed Mrs. Nan. "Minnie! She let herself be seen?"
"Indeed," said Clara. "She was standing on the front porch as we arrived and he remarked upon her appearance."
"Well, if that isn't the strangest thing…"
"He could see her? I shall take care of him right away!" said Mr. Willard, hurrying off.
As she watched Mr. Willard quickly leave, Clara teasingly commented, "How upside-down is my household that you all will not accept an appointment I have deemed appropriate, but accept a stranger based upon the approval of our flightiest resident?"
Mrs. Nan patted the back of her own hand uncomfortably as she tried to come up with a proper response. "Minnie always has had a way of winning us over."
"I would not have even considered Red if he did not receive the stamp of her approval," confessed Clara. "Now, if you will, we have had quite a time and would be most grateful for some refreshment."
"Fortunately, I had afternoon tea already brewing. I shall bring you some right away," clucked Mrs. Nan like a mother hen at her brood. Clara took Wesley's arm and steered him into the light green parlor as Mrs. Nan disappeared off to the kitchen.
"Well, that went better than I had hoped," said Clara cheerfully.
"Really, Clara… have you considered the dangers you are opening yourself up to by inviting this stranger into your home?"
Clara sat upon a delicate armchair by the window and looked out at the street. "It is odd, Wesley. If you would have told me two weeks ago of all that I was about to endure, I would have had you committed. But after all this, I find myself craving the company of those who can sympathetically understand."
"But what of Mr. Willard and Mrs. Nan?" he pressed. "Have you considered the unpleasant position this may put them in?"
"No doubt it may cause some awkwardness, but I did not know myself that they were not of this earth until several days after moving here. I trust that they will confide in Red when they feel comfortable. Also…" she paused before continuing, "they cannot hold their forms when I am gone overnight. It would be good to have someone here at the house if, through some carelessness on my part, I am not here to restore them. Someone who might be able to answer the door or take the order from the grocer. And after all we have been through, it seems to me that I need a living, breathing man here in case of danger."
"Oh Clara, of course you do," Wesley said. He paused for a moment, his face a mixture of emotions, and then crossed over to her. Kneeling by her chair, he gathered up her hands in his and pressed them to his lips, his breath whispering on her fingers. "I was so terrified I would lose you. I vowed never again. I could be here for you… I would be here… every hour of the day… if you would have—"
Clara's pulse quickened. Was he trying to say what she thought he was trying to say? This hardly seemed the time or place. And yet… But before he could finish, the door opened. Wesley hastily rose to his feet and dusted off his pant-legs as Mr. Willard ushered Red in.
Wesley gave Clara one last pleading look, but Red was in the room and the moment was gone. Oh, for just a minute more! Clara knew she needed to take care of this business, but her mind was still there, wondering what the rest of Wesley's sentence would have been.
Clara walked over to the couch and motioned that Red should sit down in the chair across from her, hoping the blush in her cheeks did not betray her. Wesley sat down close. As if on cue, Mrs. Nan entered carrying a tray of tea and cookies. She placed it upon the low table between them. Clara took the honors of pouring and handed cups to both Wesley and Red, her hostess duties giving her a moment to collect her thoughts. She handed the young driver his refreshment. Red's calloused fingers seemed ill-equipped to handle the delicate bone china teacup. He made a great effort to lift it with care.
"Red, we are most grateful for your assistance today," started Clara.
He stopped drinking mid-sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his finger to reply. "It was my pleasure, misses."
"I suppose this may come as something of a surprise, but I was so impressed with your service, I would like to offer you full-time employment," Clara continued.
Red choked. Wesley rose from his seat to pound the young man on his back.
"Needin' you any references? I mean, I own my own cab and Daisy's mine, too, if that matters…" Red informed them, coughing.
Clara cut him off. "I assure you that your actions today were all the reference I need. I am not frequently out and about, but it would be quite splendid to have someone with your quick thinking and responsibility."
"I would be pleased to… well…" He seemed at a loss as to the proper and respectable response, awkwardly aware of his untrained manners. His saucer began to tremble and his eyes darted around the room as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into a spiral of self-loathing for not knowing the etiquette of this situation.
Clara smiled encouragingly. "Tell us about yourself, Red."
"I'm a hansom cab driver…" he started, then stopped himself. "I mean, you already knew that. I been doin’ this for many years…"
"Do you have any family?" Clara asked.
"My mam and my sister, but I'm afraid that my sister passed."
Wesley nodded sympathetically. "I lost my sister, too."
"Did you, sir?" said Red, surprised.
"And I recently lost a husband," Clara stated.
Red hastily snu
ck a drink from his cup before putting it down with too much care, as if terrified he might break the saucer. "How strange it is that all of us should be findin' one another."
"That was what I was thinking, too," Clara replied. "It seemed too great a coincidence to be just coincidence."
"My mam always told me since I was wee that there was a reason for everythin'," Red stated, as if his mother's words were the final ones needed on the matter.
"Indeed, there is often an impression that events might be connected…" said Wesley. He didn't appear quite as sold on the theory in this case.
"Tell us about your previous employment," Clara asked, "just so that we might be further acquainted."
"I used to work at one of the manor houses," Red said, "up until my sister passed."
"For which family?" Clara asked.
"The Beltza family."
"I am not familiar with them," said Clara.
"They live a fair distance out of town. Lord Alastair and Lady Rhoda Beltza. Lady Beltza had a son named Trevor and a brother… Her brother's family was in the newspaper recently. Mr. Peter Nero?"
"What?" said Clara and Wesley in unison. Clara felt as if all her breath had been stolen from her chest.
"You know them? I mean, of course you know them…" Red was awkward and uncomfortable again.
"A reason for everything," Wesley whispered, his eyes fixed upon Red, unaware of the words as they fell out of his mouth.
Clara reached out to calm Red. "We recently were acquainted with Mrs. Hilda Nero and her daughter, Violet. We were there the night they died."
"You were there that night?" said Red, suddenly leaning forward in interest. "In Lord Oroberg's house where everyone was killed?"
Clara nodded. "Indeed."
"Everyone I know is talking about it! The whole story was right there in the paper! The killer on the loose! And you survived. Did you see him?" he asked intently.
Clara paused for a moment before repeating the lie they had all agreed upon just an hour before. "Yes, we caught him. There in the house you dropped me off at and brought the police to. The killer was a Mr. Phineas Stokeman. He confessed to it all in front of witnesses before he perished."