Sirens (35 page)

Neil carried a gun. Just a pistol, in a shoulder holster, but he made it clear he was armed by removing his jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair that was sitting in the hall outside my rooms. When he knocked on my door at seven and I stepped into the hallway in the lime-green rayon, he raised his eyebrows and lifted the jacket off the chair, ever so slowly.

I walked down the stairs, him trailing me, lifting the gown so that I wouldn’t trip. From below I heard phonograph music—something classical. When we reached the bottom, I followed the sound.

The drawing room had a double-height ceiling and extended the length of one wing. Neil stopped at the door and shut it behind me. The glass doors overlooking the terrace were open to the night, which was warm enough that I didn’t feel the need of a wrap over my bare shoulders. Danny and Louie were down at the far end: Connor standing before a small and unnecessary fire, Lou slouched in an armchair in a black floor-length gown with cap sleeves. She leaped to her feet when I entered the room.

“How often do I have to tell you?” I heard Connor, his voice a growl. “Don’t be so unladylike.”

She stiffened and turned to him. “Sorry, hon. I forget, you know?” She simpered; I could feel it all the way across the room. She reached her arm to him. “I’m sorry.”

That seemed to appease him. But when I reached them, he looked at me. “As part of your training, I wonder if you remember who wrote this piece of music, Louise.”

He was looking straight at me, those steel eyes narrowed to slits.

She took a step back and clasped her hands together. “Oh, I know this one. We listened to this one last week, didn’t we, sweetie?”

“Yes, we did. What is it?”

“Oh,” Lou said. “Oh, I know this.” She paced a little, working her hands into knots. “Um…”

“Louise?” Connor’s eyes never left mine. “You see, Josephine, I’m proud to be Irish. But I disdain ignorance. If we are ever to prove to the world that we should be treated with respect, we must become educated in all things.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Louise, you are taking an awfully long time recollecting.” I’d never witnessed such a cruel exchange. It made me sick. I drew my hands into fists. “I would wager that your friend knows this composer.”

I did, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. I shrugged, though my hands were still clenched. “Mozart?” I asked.

His steel eyes flared, then he turned to face the fire. “It’s Bach, Louise. The
Brandenburg Concerti
.”

“It was on the tip of my tongue! Bach! Of course!” Lou said, and put her hand on his shoulder.

His hand flashed and caught her on the lower part of the chin. She staggered back, her hand to her face. When I moved toward her, she shot me a look that I took to mean, Don’t. So I froze.

But my insides boiled. I saw what it meant for him to think that he was right, that he alone was right. And I cringed at my own sense of rightness.

Lou pressed her hand against her chin. “I promise, sweetie. I’ll remember next time.”

“I believe you should offer our guest a drink.”

“Sure! What would you like, doll? We’ve got a super bottle of champagne on ice right here.”

“That’ll be lovely,” I said through clenched teeth.

Louie poured me a glass. I took it, looked at it, and downed it in a gulp.

I wasn’t certain whether I was trying to fortify myself, drown my troubles, or prove something to Connor, but drinking the champagne like that was a mistake, as I could sense almost at once.

Louie’s eyes grew round as I held out my glass for a refill. She mouthed at me, Watch it.

This time I held the glass up before I drank. “A toast,” I said. The room swam a bit around the edges.

Danny turned, his eyebrows arched.

“To Teddy,” I said. No one else moved. “For bringing us all together,” I said, and took a sip.

“Oh!” said Lou. “I’ll drink to that.” She took a sip, her eyes darting between Danny and me. He did not lift his glass.

“Josephine,” Connor said, his voice a slow drawl, “if you think that Teddy, or his journal, will help you now, you are mistaken.”

The room swam at more than the edges; the whole place seemed
to shrink around me, constricting like a tight-focused telescope. I put one hand on the high back of the chair next to me.

“Your brother betrayed me,” Connor continued. “He lied. And he was responsible for Patrick….” Danny paused, as if something caught in his throat. “I won’t tolerate deception. I will not forgive. My dear, you are here as bait.”

Bait. Hooked, that was for sure, even now when I fought him. And then…the swirling thought…deception?

Danny went on. “You see, I’d asked Neil and Ryan to take care of Teddy. To get rid of him, last year. There was some confusion, because you came out with the discovery of his clothing, the presumption of his drowning.”

Yes, I did. Teddy had asked me to. He had to pretend to be dead, that’s what he told me. So I helped him pretend, even knowing the pain it brought our parents. Such pain. Oh, how this room swam around me.

“Neil and Ryan found him not long after that, Josephine, or so they’ve assured me. Found him alive and then—and I do find this ironic—dumped him alive in a weighted sack into the Sound, right out here, not far from where you said you found his clothes.”

Now the room swam with a vengeance.

“The problem is, they never made certain Teddy was dead. They left. And now all these odd coincidences…” Danny moved toward one of the tall doors and stood staring out into the dark, toward the Sound. “I’m certain I’ve seen Teddy. I think you have as well. I believe he may have made it out of that sack alive.”

I gripped the chair back to steady myself.

Connor continued. “He’s a Houdini, your Teddy. He wriggled himself out of one thing or another, slick and sure. He got out of
the war alive. He missed being killed on Wall Street in ’twenty. And he squirmed out of the sack my boys stuffed him into. Since he’s alive I’m quite sure he’ll come for you. And when he does, I intend to kill him. Along with everyone else who betrayed me.”

Lou sucked in air, a sharp, short breath.

I gripped the chair back with both hands now as the room grew fuzzy and dim, my fingers clenching the plush fabric. My words came out in a croaked whisper. “Why did you burn down my family’s home?”

“Neil and Ryan ransacked the place looking for the journal. They cleaned up after themselves.” Connor shrugged, then pressed on. “The fact that you’ve read most of your brother’s journal makes the rest of this easier. I imagine you know how I handle problems. Yes”—Danny leaned over and picked up the journal and held it—“over the last few hours, I’ve been doing my homework. Unlike my sweet Lou, who cannot remember Bach from one week to the next because she does not do her homework.” Connor put the journal down and then placed his hand on the back of Louie’s neck. I watched her eyes widen as his fingers tightened on her.

“Homework?” My words were slurred.

He picked up the journal again, turning it in his hands. “You’re here because your presence will bring Teddy.” He moved to the fire and tossed the journal into the flames.

I moved fast toward the fire, stumbling, my champagne glass cracking on the fireplace brick, and Lou reached me just in time, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me back before I reached into the flames.

My scar burned, my mind burned with hatred for Connor, as I watched the journal burn, as I’d lied to Rushton about his journal
burning with our house, as I felt myself burn, as I felt my scar burn with shame. I felt the tears well, but as I swallowed them down my burning throat, as I watched the solid piece I had of Teddy for sure die, watched the flames consume his past, his thoughts.

I straightened and shook off Lou’s embrace, then turned to face Connor, my mind churning with thoughts of hatred and revenge.

He said, “Everything I did, everything I’ve done, I’ve done for my brethren. So that they would love me. And so that I could rise above.”

I seethed.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Josephine. How could you?”

I couldn’t.

“Ah, but don’t be too sad. I do have the last pages. The ones you haven’t read.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the final pages from Teddy’s journal.

I staggered, reached, but Connor pulled his hand away, fluttering the pages. “I don’t think so. These are for me,” he said. “I believe Cook has prepared salmon. Louise, would you lead the way?”

She came and took my hand, then led me down the room, which seemed all unbalanced and tipsy, turning and twisting. Again, as in the car, Lou closed her fingers around mine and squeezed.

The memory of that squeeze was the only thing that sustained me through a long and silent dinner.

And this. This sustained me all through the evening, through everything. That I truly had seen Teddy in front of the Algonquin, that it hadn’t been some trick of the imagination, some illusion. Daniel Connor believed Teddy was alive, just as I did. A Houdini, that’s what Teddy was. Teddy was alive.

And coming for me. Just as Daniel Connor wished.

This knowledge made me sick, and at the same time it filled me with joy.

I had no other alcohol that evening, but I slept as if sedated. Luckily, I’d managed to make my way into my own bed. When I awoke, the sun was streaming through the open curtains and the room felt hot, my mouth sticky and dry.

I dressed, and when I tried to open the door, there was Neil, waiting on the other side, unlocking it so I could make my way to breakfast. I was alone, and ate under the silent stare of Neil, with only the slow, sonorous ticking of the tall clock—a rare early American antique, collected from some family farmhouse, where it had lived for centuries, only to be sold to Connor by a poor farmer who probably didn’t know its worth—in the corner of the dining room to keep me company. That and, with incongruous disdain, an empty suit of antique English armor.

When I finished I asked if I could take a walk, Neil shook his head, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “You’re to stay in your room.” He lifted his hand and gestured at the stair.

“Where’s Lou?” I asked as we ascended.

“She went into town.”

“And Mr. Connor?”

“In the greenhouse.” Neil pointed, moving me up to my room, and I went inside and heard the door lock click behind me.

I went to the bathroom window. It was higher than the others, the windowsill about four and a half feet up, but I was delighted to find that it was not screwed shut. I pulled a chair over and pushed
up the sash. The wind lifted the curtains, bringing in the smells of new-cut summer grass, the brick warmed by the sun, the salt and seaweed of the Sound. There was rain on the wind now, too, as low clouds gathered from the west and the sun flitted in and out.

I looked up and down the drive and lawns for any sign of Ryan or Connor before I leaned my head out the window. The height of this window made the cornice below a dangerous six-foot drop. But I could see how the bricks were laid and that I could hang on with my hands, and that once I made the cornice I could plant both feet and scoot along. I leaned out farther, hanging on to the window frame tight. A terrace, a small balcony, with French doors, hung to my left maybe twenty feet away. I tried to remember from my tour which room those doors led into, but the place was so huge all my memories were jumbled.

But the thought that I had an escape route gave me hope.

I leaned out once more and saw that below the balcony thick vines were trained up the side of the bricks. Perhaps a trellis perched underneath the ivy; perhaps the ivy itself would bear my weight.

If I had no other choice, I would risk it.

I heard a noise out front. A car pulled up the long drive; I could see it weaving through the trees. As it turned into the court I saw that it was Connor’s limo. I ducked my head inside and went to the fixed windows of the other room.

The limo pulled to a stop by the fountain, and Ryan got out from the driver’s side. Lou opened the back door and stepped out, and my breath caught. Charlie followed her.

They stood talking in the driveway. Ryan walked back around the house and out of sight. Lou, in a soft gray chemise, gray hat,
long gray sweater, looked like a dove, her hands fluttering as she spoke. Charlie wore an argyle vest over his white shirt; the vest made him look young, collegiate, like he was home for the weekend from Yale or Princeton. My heart thumped.

Was Charlie involved? Lou said that she’d told Danny about my meeting with Charlie. Did Charlie know what was going on here? And, oh my sinking heart, did Charlie belong to Danny Connor?

Lou looked up and saw me and quickly shook her head, which I took to mean: Get back.

I stepped away from the window and went to the door, pressing my ear against it, listening as the front door opened in that great hallway below and Louie’s voice floated up. I couldn’t hear words.

Then I heard her coming up to my room and a minute later heard the door unlock.

I’d hoped Charlie would be with her, but she was alone. She closed the door and put her finger to her lips.

Then she said, loud, “Danny wants you to stay here.” She waved me to the other side of the room so that Neil couldn’t hear us. “I went and got Charlie,” she whispered.