Hush Now, Don’t You Cry (13 page)

His fair Celtic face flushed. “Very well, ma’am. I’ll ascertain whether he and Mr. Joseph wish to be disturbed. If you’ll just wait here.”

He opened the door. “A Mrs. Sullivan is here and wishes to speak to Chief Prescott,” he said grandly.

“What does she want? We’re busy,” Joseph Hannan said.

I wasn’t going to stand meekly in the passage while they discussed me and what I might want. I walked into the room. It was a gentleman’s study, with leather chairs, a mahogany desk, and a wall of leather-bound books. It looked so perfect that I couldn’t help wondering whether Brian Hannan had purchased the whole thing from an English stately home and had it shipped across. Joseph Hannan and Chief Prescott were sitting across from each other in leather armchairs. They both looked decidedly displeased to see me.

“This won’t take a moment of your time,” I said, addressing myself to the police chief. “But I’ve discovered something that may be important for your investigation.”

“You have? What is it?”

“I was taking a stroll around the grounds,” I said, “and the wind became rather strong so I decided to take refuge in the little gazebo. Imagine my surprise when I saw a tray on the bench. There was a decanter on it, and a glass, half full. I presume your men must have mentioned it to you, but on the off chance that they hadn’t, I thought I’d better.”

“Yes, well thank you, Mrs. Sullivan,” the police chief said. “Good of you.” His expression made it clear that nobody had told him about it but he wasn’t about to lose face by admitting it.

“A tray with a decanter on it, you say?” Joseph Hannan asked.

“And it looks as if it had been placed there recently,” I added.

“And how would you know that?” Joseph Hannan asked in what I took to be a patronizing voice.

I still kept my gaze directed toward the police chief as I answered. “Because there are a good many leaves lying on the bench and none on the tray. So I wondered who might have gone to have a quiet drink alone there, and when that was.”

“Interestingly enough, that ties in with what I was just telling you,” Joseph Hannan said to the police chief. “That would make perfect sense. Brian arrived last evening and the first thing he needed was a drink before he faced us. But he didn’t want any fuss from us so he took it off to the gazebo where he could drink in peace.”

My gaze went from the police chief to Joseph Hannan and back again.

“Mr. Hannan had just this minute mentioned to me that his brother had begun drinking rather heavily and that the family was trying to stop him before it was too late,” Chief Prescott said.

“Nobody enjoys a good Irish whiskey more than I do,” Joseph Hannan said, “but with Brian it was beginning to take over his life. Threatening all he’d worked for all these years—the business, his political ambitions. Naturally we tried to help him. My wife and daughter are part of the temperance movement so you can imagine how they lit into him any time they saw him with a glass. Poor man, they gave him hell.” He gave a wry smile.

“So if he arrived last night and wanted a drink, he must have got it from somewhere,” Chief Prescott said. “Where would he have helped himself to a decanter and glasses without being seen? Or one of the servants must have brought him the tray, which is strange, because none of them mentions having done so. In fact they all swear that they didn’t see him arrive.”

“Ah, well, I think I can shed some light on that,” Joseph said. “Shed being the operative word. Brian knew his drinking wasn’t well received in the house, so he kept a little stash in the shed by the stables. That’s where this probably came from.”

“Thank heavens for that,” Chief Prescott said. “I was fearing we’d be in for an investigation, given that Mr. Hannan was such an important man in New York. But this explains it all, doesn’t it? You say Mr. Hannan drank too much. Didn’t know when to stop. He sat there in the gazebo last night until he was drunk and then in his drunken stupor he walked the wrong way, over the cliff. A sad ending to a great man, but not entirely unexpected would you say, Mr. Hannan?”

“It’s what we’ve all been fearing,” Joseph said. “What a waste. Just when his future had never been brighter.”

Chief Prescott nodded. “Better in a way than the suspicion of a crime hanging over the family.”

“I suppose it is. And that means there is no reason for Mrs. Sullivan and her husbasnd to stay on any longer, is there?” Mr. Joseph put the question to Chief Prescott. “They’d be free to leave now, wouldn’t they?”

“I suppose so.” The police chief was hesitant. “Let’s just wait and see that the autopsy confirms what she has just told us. We should hear their initial findings later today with any luck.”

“And if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if we could stay at least until tomorrow morning,” I said. “My husband is not at all well. He needs a day of rest before we attempt the journey home.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chief Prescott said. “I noticed he was coughing this morning. Caught a chill, has he? The wind can be fierce at this time of year.”

“He’d recover better in his own bed at home,” Joseph Hannan said. “That’s the first thing I want when I’m ill. My own bed.”

“I’d prefer they didn’t leave at this very moment,” Chief Prescott said. Then he actually extended his hand to me. “Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan. You have been most helpful and most observant. No doubt our autopsy will reveal the presence of alcohol in his system and we can close this case.”

And he escorted me to the door then shut it firmly behind me.

Fourteen

Daniel opened his eyes as I came into the bedroom.

“Oh, there you are,” he said wearily. “I wondered where you had gone. I’m so thirsty, I needed a drink of water, but I didn’t feel like going all the way downstairs to fetch one.”

“I’ll get you one,” I said and did so. He drank as if he’d been lost in a desert for days. I put my hand on his forehead. “You’re rather hot,” I said.

“And my head aches like the devil,” he said.

“I’ll go into town and get you some aspirin from the chemist if you like,” I said.

“Thank you, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“What else do I have to do?” I looked down at him fondly and stroked his hair. “I want you to get well as soon as possible, don’t I?”

Having left Daniel with a carafe of water and a glass at his side I put on my hat and cape again and set out on my errand. As I joined the main driveway close to the gate I saw my gardener from yesterday working nearby.

“Morning, ma’am,” he called. “You’ve heard the terrible news, no doubt.”

“I have.” I didn’t need a second excuse to go over to him. “What an awful thing to have happened. The whole family was in shock this morning.”

“I can imagine. The servants were pretty cut up too, I can tell you. Especially Mr. Hannan’s own servants he’d brought from the city. Couple of maids bawling their eyes out and even his cook looked as if he’d been crying—but then he’s a French guy so you expect that kind of thing from foreigners, don’t you?”

“How many staff actually came from Mr. Hannan’s house in the city?”

He sucked through his teeth, thinking. “Not many this time. It wasn’t worth bringing up the whole household like he does in the summer. Let me see. The French chef, for one. Mr. Hannan never leaves him behind. He was fond of good food and frankly Mrs. McCreedy’s cooking isn’t too wonderful. What you’d call Irish basic, I think. And usually the butler comes up in the summer, but this time he stayed behind. And who else was there—Mr. and Mrs. Van Horn brought their personal servants. They have a maid and valet who look after them, like in all the good households. But the master just brought a couple of maids and a footman to serve at table, oh, and his chauffeur. He keeps an automobile here to run him around and he has another one in the city. Imagine—two automobiles, and I hear he has a very fine carriage and pair too. Nice what money can do, isn’t it?”

“No use to him in the end though, was it?” I said.

“True enough. We’re all wondering what’s going to happen now.” He looked around before speaking again. “We don’t know if the whole kit and caboodle will go to Mrs. Van Horn, seeing as how she’s his only child. Or to Mr. Joseph as his business partner, or whether the fortune will be shared between all the family members. If it’s Mr. Joseph he may not even want to keep on this place. He doesn’t really like it here. He’s a city gent. He doesn’t even stay in the house most times—he sleeps out in the guest cottage where you are now.”

“And I have a good idea why,” I said. “He arrived unexpectedly a couple of nights ago and brought a woman with him.”

“That’s what we’ve heard.” The boy lowered his voice even though there was nobody within sight. “He and his wife don’t get along. He only married her for her money, of course. That’s what we hear. And she’s very religious and into charity work and he—well, let’s just say that he likes a bit of fun, if you know what I mean. They say he has a regular mistress—all set up in a house of her own and everything. But the master didn’t approve so I suppose Mr. Joseph kept her away from prying eyes in the guest cottage.” He laughed in disbelief. “He’s got a nerve, hasn’t he? The way rich folk carry on.”

“So tell me,” I said, steering the conversation back. “What did the servants have to say to Chief Prescott? Anything interesting?”

“Nothing much at all. He asked us whether Mr. Hannan was definitely expected last night and what orders he’d given to his staff. They all said that he sent them ahead and told them he’d got a spot of important business to take care of and he’d be coming up on a later train. The footman had brought the bags and had unpacked his master’s clothes—laid out his suit for dinner, so he was definitely expected by then.”

“But nobody saw him arrive?”

“That’s the funny thing, isn’t it?” The boy put his head on one side, like a sparrow. “House full of people—you’d think someone would have seen him. You’d think he might have said hello to his family before he went off walking in the dark.”

“It’s all very strange,” I agreed.

“You know what else was a bit strange,” he continued. “Mr. Parsons, he’s the head gardener. He said someone had been in the shed. Moved things around.”

“Ah, well, I think I can explain that,” I said. “Two people in fact. Mr. Hannan’s grandson Sam went out fishing early this morning and I gather the fishing tackle is kept in the shed, and also I was told that the master kept a bottle of whiskey and a glass in the shed, in case he wanted a tipple without anyone seeing him.”

“So that’s why nobody saw him.” He looked relieved now. “He went off for a quick drink in private.” Then a frown crossed his boyish features. “All the same, that don’t explain how he wandered the wrong way and went over a cliff, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” I said.

He lifted his shears again. “Ah, well, it’s no business of mine. I’d better get back to work. Mr. Parsons is a stickler about slacking off and I’m lucky to be one of the ones they keep on all winter. In the summer they take on five gardeners. In winter it’s just down to three.” And he went back to digging up dying plants.

I continued out of the gate and followed the road into town. As I passed the solid red brick colonial I glanced up and thought I saw a figure half hidden behind the drapes again. Someone in that house had nothing better to do than to sit and watch the road. I wondered if this observation continued after dark. If so the person might prove very useful to the police chief—but then he’d already decided that this was an accident caused by drunkenness, hadn’t he?

I went over this as I walked on. I’d been trying to form a picture of Brian Hannan in my head and what I’d heard didn’t add up. A man who was the clear head of the family, who could summon them, knowing they would all come. I’d gotten the impression they were all a little afraid of him. I’d heard how they had to be well dressed for him, how the staff were not allowed to slack off. And yet this man, the owner of the estate, a powerful politician and businessman, had apparently not wanted to face his family without taking a drink first. He had slunk off to a gazebo with a bottle he’d kept hidden away in a shed. That didn’t make sense. Surely a powerful, confident man like Brian Hannan would have said, “To hell with the lot of you. I’m going to take a drink in my own house.” He would have announced his arrival and expected his family to gather around him to pay their respects. The only reasons I could think of for this secret drink in the garden was that he was ashamed of his own weakness, or … He was meeting someone he didn’t want the family to know about. And my thoughts went to the man who had stood outside the gate and said, “Don’t tell him. I want to surprise him.”

Had the surprise been to push him over a cliff?

I decided to keep an eye open for him when I was in town. I also thought that I might find out whether Mr. Joseph’s ladylove was staying somewhere close-by. I went first to the chemist shop. The young man behind the counter remembered me.

“And how is your husband today?” he asked. “Did the medicines make him feel better?”

“Not yet,” I said. “In fact he is now suffering from a headache and a fever. I know how well aspirin works so I thought I’d bring him some.”

“Good choice,” he said. “I’ve got some packets already made up. You just need to stir them in water. I always find a spoonful of jam helps take the bitter taste away. And I’ve a good tonic to help build him up—it’s made with Fowler’s solution of arsenic and Culver’s root. Powerful stuff. Do you want me to make you up a bottle of that?”

“Let’s just try the aspirin first,” I said, having reacted to the word arsenic. “I think it’s just a nasty cold and needs to take its course.”

I came out of the shop with my packets of aspirin powder and stood looking out at the blue waters of Narragansett Bay. A line of white sails stretched across the horizon, obviously the yacht race in which Archie was going to compete. I thought how pleasant it would be to take another stroll through the town, to sit in the sun on the harbor, and watch the boats. But I wanted to get the aspirin back to Daniel. Maybe if he slept after lunch I’d go for another walk.

I did keep a lookout for the man I encountered at the gate last night and I visited a couple of small hotels on the main street to ask if a single lady had been staying there. No such brazen ladies had darkened their doors, but one establishment did say that a lady and gentleman had come in very late a couple of nights ago, saying that they had missed the last train back to New York and would have to stay until morning. A Mr. and Mrs. Joseph. She had done most of the talking. He’d stayed in the background—big fellow with an impressive bushy mustache. They’d left early the next morning, without even waiting for breakfast for which they’d paid. The woman sounded amazed that anybody would do anything so foolish. “They must have been in a real hurry to get back to the city,” she’d added.