Hush Now, Don’t You Cry (28 page)

“Holy Mother of God,” I muttered. That was all I needed right now. But of course I hurried across to join her like a dutiful daughter-in-law.

“Mrs. Sullivan. How good of you to come,” I said.

“As if I could stay away with my boy lying at death’s door,” she said. “Why are you not at his side?”

“He is a lot better than when I sent you the telegram,” I said. “Still not his usual self, but at least that awful fever has broken.”

Gus and Sid had come over to join us as Mrs. Sullivan paid the cabby and the cab departed.

“You remember my mother-in-law, don’t you?” I said. “Mother Sullivan, you remember my two bridesmaids, Elena Goldfarb and Augusta Walcott.”

“Of course I do. I suppose you are here because your family owns one of the cottages, Miss Walcott?” Mrs. Sullivan was all charm and politeness.

“We’re here to support Molly,” Gus said. “She was so worried about Daniel and we thought she needed company.”

“How very kind of you. Molly, you are lucky to have such considerate friends,” she said. “But don’t let’s stand here. Take me to my boy.” I opened the gates and ushered them through. “My my,” she said. “What an imposing-looking place. Not that I’d want it for myself … drafty inside, is it?”

“Rather gloomy,” I said, “but we are not staying there. We are in the little guest cottage on the property. It’s rather cramped, as you’ll see.”

I led them up the path and the thatched cottage came into view.

“Good heavens, now why would anyone build an old thing like that,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “No wonder Daniel got sick. I’m sure that thatch harbors all kinds of insects and diseases.”

“Mind how you go,” I said as I led her up the stairs, with Sid and Gus bringing up the rear.

“Look who I found on my way back from town,” I said, ushering them in to Daniel.

Daniel’s eyes widened. “Ma, what are you doing here?”

“Your wife sent me a telegram that you were at death’s door. I came as soon as I could,” she said. She sat on the bed beside him and took his hand. “How are you, my dear? You don’t look well at all.”

“Certainly feeling better than I was yesterday,” Daniel said. “It was good of you to come.”

“I’ll stay and help Molly take care of you now that I’m here,” she said. “You need building up, that’s for sure. What have you been eating?”

“Very little,” I said for him. “He doesn’t want to eat.”

Mrs. Sullivan patted his hand as if he were a child. “Don’t worry, his mother knows what to tempt him with. If your wife will show me to my room, I’ll go straight down to the kitchen and make you your favorite things.”

“I’m really not up for waffles and that kind of stuff, Ma,” Daniel said.

“Then I’ll poach an egg just the way you like it, and some stewed fruit, maybe? With a vanilla sauce?” She nodded with satisfaction when he didn’t answer. “Come on then, Molly. Where am I to sleep?”

“I’m afraid there’s just one small bedroom through here,” I said. I opened the door. It did look dark and gloomy, with the window opening at the back of the house onto pine trees.

“It will have to do,” she said, the disapproval clear in her voice. “I’m surprised they didn’t invite you to come up to the castle when Daniel became ill.”

“They have their own problems at the moment,” I said. “The owner of the castle, Alderman Hannan, was found dead two days ago.”

“God rest his soul.” She crossed herself. “What a shock. Heart, was it?”

“No, a fall from the cliffs.”

“I thought I overheard someone in the train talking about the alderman’s death, but I didn’t realize it was the man who owned this estate. They were saying what a good thing it was for Tammany Hall. Apparently he was supporting one candidate to head up Tammany but the rank and file wanted another man—silent Charlie Murphy, I believe they called him. Alderman Hannan was dead set against this Murphy and everyone feared a rift. The two men opposite me said that his death was a godsend. I thought that was a funny way to put it, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Strange. But then Tammany politics have always been strange, haven’t they?”

“They’ve done plenty for the Irish, so we can’t say too much against them.” She looked up as Sid put her bag on the chair beside the bed. “Thank you, my dear. Now show me where the kitchen is and I’ll get started.”

“We have a local girl who’s been cooking for us,” I said.

“Splendid. Then she can help me.” With that Mrs. Sullivan marched down the stairs and into the kitchen. I pitied Martha. I went back upstairs to find Sid and Gus standing talking to Daniel.

“Don’t worry, Captain Sullivan, we are not about to tire you with idle girlish chitchat,” Sid said. “But do let us know if there’s anything we can do, other than keep dear Molly company.”

“You’re most kind,” Daniel said, “and frankly there’s nothing I do need at the moment. I confess to feeling as weak as a kitten.”

“Well, isn’t this turning into a merry party,” I said, joining them.

“Why on earth did you have to send a telegram to my mother?” he asked with a resigned sigh.

“The doctor told me to prepare for the worst and to notify your loved ones. I thought she ought to know,” I said. “I didn’t expect her to show up here.”

“You obviously don’t know my mother well enough yet.” He managed a tired smile.

“Anyway, I’ve seen the doctor’s wife and he will include you in his daily round,” I said. “Maybe he can make you up a suitable tonic. But in the meantime, what about some fresh air? Could we assist you downstairs, between us, or at least put you beside the open window?”

“I don’t think I could tackle the stairs yet,” he said. “But I could sit in the window if it would make you happy.”

We moved the little armchair and then helped him across to it, surrounding him with pillows and rugs. When we’d finished he had to laugh. “Look at me, I look like a ninety-year-old.”

“I brought you a copy of the
Times
when I was in town,” I said. “And some grapes and oranges.”

He took the newspaper. “I might manage a grape,” he said.

“And you remember the portrait of the little girl,” I said. I wondered why I found it so hard to use her name.

“In the gallery? You didn’t buy it, did you?”

“No. It had gone. The man at the gallery said that the painter had taken it back. He thought maybe he had found his own buyer. I thought it might be interesting to find who had wanted to buy the picture at this exact moment.”

Daniel wagged a finger at me. “Molly, what are you up to? Remember I warned you about getting involved in a case that doesn’t concern us. The local police are handling it and we should leave it to them, however annoyingly slow they seem to be. Now you women please leave me to enjoy my newspaper.”

As we went down the stairs Gus whispered to me, “He’s not looking well yet, is he, Molly? I hope sitting in the chair is not too much for him.”

“I am concerned about him,” I agreed. “That’s why I asked the doctor to visit again today, although I think I agree with Daniel that he’s an old quack.”

“At least you’ll be free to come and go as you please with his mother watching him like a hawk,” Gus whispered to me.

I shook my head. “I rather think my job will be to give him enough rest and keep her occupied. I wonder how long she’ll stay?”

“We can help too, if you want to go back to New York first thing tomorrow,” Sid said. “Much as I dislike rising before eight, we can make the sacrifice and come here in time for you to catch the six o’clock train.”

“You’re very kind, but you heard what Daniel just said. I really don’t want to upset him now.”

“You want to find out the truth, don’t you?” Sid asked.

“Of course I do, but Daniel is my husband, and he has been very ill. I must think this through and see what the doctor says when he comes.”

A few minutes later a harried-looking Martha came to tell me that Daniel’s mother had taken over the cooking and was there anything else I’d like her to do?

“I think it’s better if we let her keep busy,” I whispered and she grinned. Then she looked up. “Doctor’s here,” she said and went to answer the front door.

“Now what are you doing out of bed?” the doctor asked when he came into the bedroom and saw Daniel in the armchair by the window.

“I thought sea air might be good for him,” I said.

“Ye gods, woman, he’s had an infection of the lungs.” The doctor frowned at me. “A cold wind could do more harm than good. And he’s not strong enough to be sitting up yet. Take his other arm, Mrs. Sullivan, and we’ll get him back to bed where he belongs.”

The doctor’s face was somber and he made
tut-tutting
noises as he listened to Daniel’s chest with his stethoscope. He looked up at me. “There is still fluid on the lungs,” he said. “Lots of hot broth and hot tea to loosen that fluid and help him to cough it up. Good nourishing broth. Maybe an oxtail. And I’ll write you up a recipe for a tonic, and see if the pharmacist has a cough mixture containing licorice and slippery elm.”

“But he’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” I whispered as soon as I had led him out of the room. “He is on the mend?”

“To that I give a cautious affirmation,” he replied. “As I told you before, I’ve seen enough relapses to know that one can’t always predict the outcome. Plenty of rest, Mrs. Sullivan. Complete quiet. No excitement like letting him read a newspaper. He can be propped up in bed to help him breathe more easily, but no getting out of bed until I say that he’s ready.” He opened the front door. “I’ll be by again tomorrow.”

And then he was gone. I went back up to Daniel’s room. “That man took my newspaper,” he said grumpily. “And I was rather enjoying sitting in the window.”

“I suppose we ought to do what he says,” I said.

“At least give me my newspaper back.”

I handed it to him with a smile. “But if you read anything disturbing you are not to get excited.”

“Old fool,” he muttered. “And now my mother here too. I’ve got to make an instant recovery, Molly, so that we can go home to our own house. When did he say I’ll be well enough to travel?”

“You certainly aren’t up to taking a train yet,” I said. “An automobile would be even worse. No, I’m afraid you’ll just have to do what the doctor says and rest and eat good food to get your strength back.”

He sighed. “With my mother forcing food down my throat.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll tell her what the doctor says you are allowed. And as to that, he’s said oxtail soup and calf’s-foot jelly. So as soon as you’re comfortable, I’d better walk back into town to buy the ingredients and to have your prescription filled.”

He gave me a tired smile. “Nobody can say I don’t have an energetic wife,” he said. “I hate to put you through all this.”

“For better or worse, remember?” I said. “I’m glad to have something to occupy me.”

“An excuse to leave the house, you mean.”

“That too.” We smiled into each other’s eyes.

I went down to the kitchen. “Oh, Mrs. Sullivan, don’t go to too much trouble,” I said. “The doctor wants Daniel to have oxtail soup and calf’s-foot jelly. I’m off to town to buy a calf’s foot and an oxtail.”

“If you say so,” she said stiffly. “It’s a pity I didn’t think of it. I’ve a jar of calf’s-foot jelly at home. But that’s no problem. I won’t mind making another one.”

I found Sid and Gus sitting on the bench outside the front door. “I have to go into town again,” I said. “Do you want to join me?”

“Shouldn’t one of us stay with Daniel?” Gus asked.

“His mother is there, and Martha too. And we won’t be long.”

“Then a walk sounds delightful.” Gus got up and slipped her arm through mine. “Poor Daniel. I hope he can cope with a mother and pneumonia at the same time.”

“I left him reading the paper,” I said. “I’m sure we can walk to town and back before he finishes.”

We had a pleasant walk into town, carried out our commissions, and then I took Sid and Gus to the waterfront. The scene looked especially charming in the slanted fall light and Gus immediately wished she had brought her paint box.

“There’s a young man painting over in the dock,” Sid pointed out. “I wonder if he’s any good?” I saw where she was indicating. He was not unlike Daniel—broad, healthy looking with a mop of unruly dark hair. I plucked up courage and went over to him.

“You wouldn’t be Ned Turnbull, would you?” I asked.

“The one and same. What can I do for you ladies?” He gave us a charming smile. “I’ve a variety of paintings of the harbor to sell. Reasonable prices.”

“I wanted to ask you about another painting,” I said. “The little girl with the lamb that had been hanging in the gallery on Farewell street until a few days ago. The man at the gallery said the artist had taken it back so I wondered if you’d found your own buyer for it.”

“Were you wanting to buy it yourself?” he asked.

“It was very charming,” I said noncommittally. “Has someone just bought it?”

“No, I took it back,” he said. “I decided to keep it after all. Sorry, if you were thinking of buying it.”

“Actually I was more interested in the child who is the subject of the painting. Colleen Van Horn, wasn’t it?” I waited for him to say something. The smile had faded and he was staring at me almost belligerently now. I continued, “I was thinking: it must have been painted just before she died. So I wondered if you were commissioned to paint that picture.”

“Not exactly. I saw a likely subject and painted it. She was a natural.”

“So you know the family personally?”

“Used to,” he said. “How about yourself? Are you a friend of the family?”

“In a way,” I said.

“That’s me too. A friend of the family, in a way. And I’m sorry, but the picture is not for sale. Now I must get back to work before I lose the light.”

He went back to his painting, ignoring us completely.

Thirty

We arrived back at the Hannan estate to find chaos. Police were guarding the gate, keeping out men in derby hats and ill-fitting jackets whom I identified instantly as newspaper reporters. Obviously the news of Brian Hannan’s death had now reached New York.

They fell upon us as we approached the gate. “Are you family members? Did you know Brian Hannan well? Is it true that they are calling his death foul play?” The questions flew from all sides, while they stood, pad and pencils ready.