Hush Now, Don’t You Cry (27 page)

“You should try to eat and build up your strength, Daniel,” I said. “And I’m going to see if we can get you downstairs and out into the good sea air later today.”

“All right.” He nodded halfheartedly and my heart lurched. The doctor had warned that there could be relapses. I had expected him to bounce back to his usual robust self. He was too passive, too lethargic.

“I’m going to ask the doctor to have another look at you today,” I said.

“What good could he do, old quack,” Daniel muttered. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll be all right in a few days. Just give it time.”

“Old quack or not, I still want him to come and see you,” I said. “No arguing. And I’m making you another boiled egg and going to feed it to you myself.”

He didn’t protest, which made me even more worried. The normal Daniel would have told me in no uncertain terms that he was not about to be bossed around by his wife. I went downstairs and made a good show of enjoying a second breakfast. Then feeling like a stuffed goose, I set out for town and the doctor’s surgery. I decided it was still a little early to make a formal call across the street, so I walked briskly into town and found the doctor’s residence.

The door was opened by his wife. “I believe my husband was planning to stop by and check on your husband, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said. “But I’ll leave a note on his desk to make sure that he does. So don’t worry.”

I left and went to find a newsagent’s shop for a copy of
The New York Times,
then a greengrocer for some grapes. As I passed the harbor I had to stop and take a look at the waterfront before I returned to Daniel. I suppose in a way it reminded me of home with its busy fishing boats, gulls crying overhead, sounds of winches, shouts of men, and the smell of fish and brine and seaweed. I stood there for a while, taking it in, trying to enjoy the scene while thoughts raced around in my troubled brain. As I walked back through the town I looked in the art gallery window and saw that Colleen’s portrait was no longer there. I opened the door and went inside. The same young man came out from the backroom.

“Has the portrait been sold?” I asked.

He looked around. “Portrait?”

“The little girl and the lamb. We looked at it a few days ago.”

“Oh, that. I believe the artist came and took it back. I don’t know. Maybe he had found his own buyer.”

“And I remember you said I could find the artist down by the harbor. What was his name again?”

“Ned Turnbull,” he said. “Not a bad painter, but he needs to adopt a more modern style, if he wants to sell. It’s all Impressionism these days.”

I couldn’t find a logical reason why I wanted to talk to Ned Turnbull and found out who might have bought his painting, so I turned my steps reluctantly in the direction of the cottage and Daniel. It was almost eleven o’clock when I reached the gates of Connemara. A respectable hour to pay a social call. So instead of entering those tall iron gates, I changed direction and went up to the front door of the red-brick colonial house. I knocked, having no real idea what I was going to say. It was opened by a crisply starched maid.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

She looked so prim and severe that words failed me. Luckily at that moment a voice called out from a nearby room, “Who is it, Maude?”

“A lady, Miss Gallinger. I haven’t yet ascertained what she wants.”

“A lady? Well, don’t leave her standing on the doorstep. Invite her in.”

“Please come in, ma’am. What name shall I say?”

“Mrs. Daniel Sullivan. I’m staying at the house across the street.”

I was ushered into an attractive front hall, decorated with hunting pictures, a curly hat stand, and an old wooden chest.

The maid went ahead of me through the doorway on the right. “A Mrs. Sullivan, ma’am. She is staying at the house across the street.”

“Of course she is,” said the voice. “Show her in, Maude.”

And I was invited into a charming sitting room. The furniture was very old and well polished. The sofa had comfortable cushions on it and the chairs needlepoint antimacassars. It smelled old—a mixture of beeswax, woodsmoke, and lavender water. A tiny old woman, wearing a white lace cap of a style that had long gone out of fashion, was seated in a high-backed chair near the window. Her face was smooth and pink, without a wrinkle in sight and her blue eyes were still bright.

“I’ve been watching you,” she said. “I am Miss Gallinger—Catherine Swan Gallinger to be precise.”

“Mrs. Daniel Sullivan,” I said, taking the bony little hand she extended to me and shaking it gently for fear it might shatter. “Molly Murphy Sullivan.”

She beamed. “I’m so glad you’ve come to visit. How kind. I rarely get visitors these days. Do sit down. Maude will bring us some coffee, or would you prefer lemonade?”

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you,” I replied as I took another high-backed chair close to her. “And it’s good of you to see me. I’ve wondered about this house every time I’ve passed it. Have you lived here a long time?”

“I was born here, my dear. My father was a sea captain, as was his father before him. He was lost at sea and I remained as companion to my dear mama. She died many years ago and it’s been my house ever since. I’ll die here soon and am content to do so.”

I nodded, wondering how to put what I wanted to ask. Again she gave me the right opening. “So you’re staying at the haunted castle, are you?”

“Haunted?” I asked. “Why haunted? Have you seen a ghost there?”

She had a delightful melodic laugh. “Oh, no. It’s just what we old-timers called it when we saw it being built. Why would anyone want to build a haunted castle, we asked ourselves? But then I probably shouldn’t make fun of it if you are connected to that family. And it has had more than its share of tragedy, in its few short years, hasn’t it?” She pulled back the lace curtain to take another look at it. “First the granddaughter and now we understand that Mr. Hannan has died tragically. I watched all those policemen coming and going. Tell me, do they suspect foul play?” She was looking at me eagerly.

“I believe they do,” I said. “Miss Gallinger, you are—” I paused, fishing for the right words—“you are so well positioned here to see who goes up and down this street, and I imagine you have a lot of time on your hands.”

She gave that musical laugh again. “A polite way of saying I’m a nosy old lady. But you’re quite right. Looking out of my window and catching glimpses of other people’s lives is about all I can do these days. We can no longer afford a carriage so I can’t go out. And I can only take a few steps. So I have to live vicariously.”

“The evening that Mr. Hannan was killed,” I said. “Did you see him arrive?”

“Oh, yes. He came in a hansom cab from the station.”

“How do you know it was from the station?”

Another laugh. “Because I recognized the horse. That cab picks up passengers from the trains.”

“What time was this?”

“It was just dark. Around seven-thirty, I’d say. I had not yet been summoned to dinner and I always dine at eight.”

“You are sure it was him?”

“Oh, yes. I see rather well for my age and I saw his face in the lantern light as he paid the cabby.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes, quite alone. He went in through the gates but he didn’t go to the house. I believe he went off toward the outbuildings.”

“You didn’t see anyone else arriving either before or after him, did you?”

“I saw a young man. Skinny, not well dressed. He came not too long afterward. He tried to get in to the estate but the gates were locked. He spoke to someone through the gate but he was not admitted. So he went away again.”

“He didn’t try to get in by another way?”

“Not as far as I could see. It was quite dark by then, remember, but I think I spotted him walking back into town.”

“And after that?”

“After that the dinner gong went.”

Coffee arrived along with slices of rich fruitcake. The maid poured for us.

“Miss Gallinger, did you see anyone come to the house earlier in the day who wasn’t a family member?”

“Only you and a man I presume is your husband. Good-looking fellow, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” I said. “But he’s been ill since you saw him. He came down with pneumonia.”

“I suspected something of the kind, didn’t I, Maude?” she asked. “When they sent for the doctor in the middle of the night I knew something was wrong.”

Clearly she didn’t miss a thing. I tried to think what else to ask her. “You heard, presumably, about the little girl who died, didn’t you?”

“The one eight years ago? Oh, yes. I heard about that. Such a shame. She was a pretty little thing, and friendly too. I could walk in my garden in those days and she used to wave to me through the gate. She blew me a kiss once.”

“And her sister?”

“Always two steps behind the other child, and certainly not as friendly. There’s something wrong with her, isn’t there? That’s why he brought her here to live and had the special quarters constructed for her?”

I stared at her in amazement. “You knew about that?”

“Oh, yes. How could I fail to know when I watched the workmen going in and out, bringing supplies in after dark, and they weren’t local men either. He brought the child in after dark too, so I realized she was supposed to be some kind of secret.”

“Do many people know about her?”

“Only myself and Maude, of course. I am not one to gossip, so I have never seen fit to mention her to visitors.” She took a sip of coffee, then looked at me, bright eyed. “Is that why you’ve come to see me? You hope I might have seen something that sheds some light on two baffling deaths?” Before I could answer she went on, “Oh, yes. I never did quite accept that the child’s death was the tragic accident they claimed it was. Children are resilient you know. They don’t fall easily and if they do fall they don’t die easily. So unless she landed wrongly and broke her neck, I don’t believe our cliffs are tall enough to kill anybody.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“It did cross my mind that she might have been dead before she was thrown over the cliff.”

I sat in stunned silence. I could hear the coffee cup rattling in my nervous hand. My brothers and I had fallen occasionally while we clambered on the cliffs at home and had seldom come away with more than scrapes and bruises. Of course a strong push from her sister would have sent Colleen plummeting down, and could have killed her, especially if she was facing away from the cliff edge and fell onto the back of her head. But what if she also had been poisoned first? Not that we’d have any way of finding out now, would we? I couldn’t see the family agreeing to unearthing her remains. I sensed Miss Gallinger staring at me while all this went through my mind.

“I can see you have questioned this too,” she said. “Are you a family member, my dear?”

“No, my husband was a business associate of Mr. Hannan, that’s all. No connection to the family.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem extremely interested for one who has no connection to the family.”

I smiled. “You are very astute. If you really want to know, I’m afraid the girl will be blamed for her grandfather’s death. And I’m also afraid that the local police won’t manage to find the true culprit.”

“And you think you will have a better chance of doing this than a policeman?” She cocked her head on one side, like a bird.

“No, of course not.” I laughed, feigning modesty.

“You may well do better than our local police,” she said. “Prescott was only made chief because of family connections. He hasn’t exactly demonstrated any great skills that I have witnessed. Good luck to you, my dear. I like a resourceful woman. I always felt I should have been able to make much of my life if I hadn’t been saddled with Mama.” She pulled back the drapes and peeked out of the window. “I believe you may have visitors,” she said, and indeed Sid and Gus were walking up the street toward the front gate.

“You’re right,” I said. “These are my friends from New York.”

“Staying at the Roman Palace, no less,” she said dryly. “My, but you move in exalted circles.”

“The Roman Palace is owned by my friend’s cousin,” I said. “She’s a Walcott.”

“Well, she would be, wouldn’t she?” She reached out and patted my hand. “You’d better run along then. But I’ll keep my eyes open for you, just in case there is anything else to be seen.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at her fondly. “I have enjoyed talking with you. I’d like to come again.”

As I went to go she said, “That family, they are great ones for secrecy, aren’t they? Such a lot to hide. All those comings and goings through the little door in the ivy.”

I turned back quickly. “Really?” I asked. “Who, for example?”

“The brother, for example.”

“Joseph Hannan or the priest?”

“Not the priest. The one who resembles Brian Hannan. Always slipping out—or helping a young woman to slip in.” She grinned wickedly. “And his son too. Slipping out, slipping in at the oddest hours.”

“I suspected that,” I said. “He seems like a devious one to me.”

“He went out that evening, you know. I was going to bed, looked out and I saw him. About nine-thirty or ten.”

“Interesting.”

I saw Gus and Sid opening the gate and going through. I knew I had to leave but I didn’t want to abandon this treasure trove of information.

“And I’ll tell you another one,” Miss Gallinger said. “The young woman. The daughter, isn’t she? Very beautiful, but also quite devious. She used to slip out a lot. In fact the day that the girl died, I don’t believe her mother was even there.” She paused for effect. “I never did find out where she went. Do tell me if you ever learn, won’t you? I should be most interested.”

“I will,” I said. “But I really must go now.”

“Of course you must,” she said. Then she called after me, “Take care, my dear. I suspect that the Hannan clan are not the nicest of people in some ways. It’s never good when people acquire money and don’t know what to do with it.”

Twenty-nine

Sid and Gus were just closing the front gate behind them when there was a clatter of horse’s hooves and a cab came up the street toward us at a lively clip. As I watched it came to a halt outside the gate. The cabby climbed down to assist the passenger and out climbed Daniel’s mother.