Whispers at Midnight (7 page)

Cecil’s eyes twinkled at her. “You have
brought an unexpected pleasure to my morning,” he said. “Now,
remember, I expect you to notify me immediately if you need my
assistance in any way. Meanwhile, I will hasten to complete the
documents concerning the estate. Elise had the contents of the
house cataloged before she left. I believe Gardner has a copy,
besides myself.” Cecil covered his mouth and coughed. “Though I
warn you, besides the furnishings, which you’ll most likely want to
keep, there are only a few things of much value. I can help you
dispose of those should you wish to.”

Amanda nodded. How kind he was. She would
need to sell some things from the house. She had so little money
left.

“I’ll expect you soon,” she said
thoughtfully. “Meanwhile, I’ll be very busy getting Wicklow in
order. It all seems to be under dustcovers.”

Amanda hurried away, happily contented to
have made one friend in Williamsburg already. It gave her a
light-hearted feeling as she strolled past the taverns and visited
shops, frugally selecting the few necessities she required. She
bought a loaf of bread, since she didn’t know when Gussie would
return. Her own culinary skills ran afoul if she went past making
tea. Perhaps Gussie would teach her to cook once she was back at
Wicklow.

Amanda’s final purchases were made at a
mercantile store not far from Cecil’s office. She found she enjoyed
introducing herself as the new owner of Wicklow and seeing the
interest that knowledge stirred. She knew the friendly shopkeepers
would soon spread the word of her arrival.

Once upon the street again, Amanda lifted
her face to the sun and thought eagerly of the day when she would
be accepted as one of the gentlefolk of Williamsburg. She liked
being in the colonies. She liked the newness of this town, so fresh
and free compared with the crowded streets and tired, dingy
buildings of London.

Suddenly and curiously, Amanda’s face
changed. The smile vanished from her lips. What had made her think
of London? Not the white picket fence nor the tall shading oaks in
the distance. Possibly it was the passing of a carriage ahead. The
spinning wheels had brought a dark thought fluttering through her
mind to mar her happiness. Her mother and Aunt Elise had been
thrown from a carriage such as that.

Amanda turned down another street to rid
herself of the sight. She had grieved for her mother and for Aunt
Elise. That part of her life was over, though she would have
loyally served as her mother’s manager for as long as her stage
career lasted. But the choice had been taken from her and she must
not dwell on the loss. Her mother would understand the longing to
establish her own life here near Williamsburg and the need to be
accepted simply as Amanda Fairfax.

Wandering aimlessly through the narrowing
streets, Amanda took little notice of which way she turned or what
street she took. She had walked for some time with her mind rather
blank and unsettled when something in a shop window caught her eye.
She stopped for a closer look. Her wandering had brought her to a
part of the city less prosperous than where she had started her
journey. Here, nearer the outskirts of town, the shops had a meaner
look and the people presented a less fashionable picture. Yet for
all the disarray, among the items in this dusty shop window were
some that must be quite valuable.

Through the smudged glass she could see an
ornately carved ivory, ebony, and gold chess set. It was a replica
of the one Aunt Elise had used to teach her the game eleven years
ago. The turbaned kings, the veiled queens, and the knights on tiny
steeds with flaring nostrils stood at odds on the open board. Could
there be two like that unusual set? Hadn’t that same ivory king
been her champion when she had won? Aunt Elise must have arranged
those wins to strengthen a little girl’s confidence. Yes, it must
be the same set. She remembered vaguely Aunt Elise telling her
Jubal Wicklow had the figures and board made in some Eastern
country where his ship sat in port. He had made young Elise a gift
of the set on her eighth birthday.

Was it possible Aunt Elise would have parted
with the gift her father had given her? It seemed unlikely. But she
would like to see it closer; the grimy window blurred the view
somewhat. Amanda tried the door of the shop but found it bolted
shut. Perhaps they had closed for the lunch hour. Well, no matter.
She’d come back later and inquire. Pulling a handkerchief from her
pocket, she stooped to rub clean a spot on the dirty glass. Inside
she could see a varied assortment of items: jewelry, furniture,
some silver pieces badly tarnished, odds and ends of china, and
other whatnots. Some were certainly of value; others obviously had
seen their best days.

It dawned on her slowly that the shop was
one where people pawned items for currency. Surely Aunt Elise would
not have pawned the chess set? She had money to spare and had
settled handsome amounts on her sons before she left the colonies.
Amanda straightened up, aware from the reflection in the glass that
passersby were giving her peculiar stares. She might be making too
much of a childhood memory. It had been eleven years since she had
even seen the chess set. Most likely she would find the one she
remembered packed away in a cupboard at Wicklow.

The sun stood high in the sky as Amanda
hurried toward the livery. The day had become hot and hazy and but
for a light breeze would have been truly uncomfortable. She hadn’t
meant to walk so far. Now she was late and she hoped, as her feet
flew over the pavement in the fastest ladylike walk she could
manage, that the driver she had hired would wait.

***

Amanda felt a change once the carriage
pulled onto the drive at Wicklow. The air was cool and damp despite
the blaze of the sun. The grounds still smelled of fresh, wet earth
and crushed green leaves the hail had torn from the trees. It was
as if the storm clouds from last night had returned to cast some
dark spell over the house. Even the tiny brown rabbit that scurried
through the brush seemed to be running away from Wicklow.

As the carriage wheels plowed through the
muck and mud of the lane, her high spirits tumbled by degrees, like
a ball rolling slowly down a set of stairs. Ryne Sullivan’s face
and taunting eyes appeared in her mind. Her thoughts roamed back to
the nightmare and the strange whispers that had broken her sleep
last night.

What had happened to the smiling sunshine of
morning? Now Wicklow looked as somber as it had in the aftermath of
the storm. The long shadows of afternoon blackened the ground and
the air had a chill to it. Maybe it was the nearness of the river
that made it cooler here. From the crest of the hill she could see
silvery water winding its way below the house.

Rubbing her temples, Amanda closed her eyes
momentarily. She opened them to see flashes of red where the high
windows of the monstrous house caught a few of the sun’s rays and
threw them defiantly back. Amanda blinked and turned her face from
the angry glare to survey the land of Wicklow.

The house had been the main building on the
large Wicklow estate, which included almost two thousand acres
surrounding the mansion. That land now belonged to Gardner and
Ryne. Amanda had inherited only the house and the few acres
immediately around it. Quite enough, though, to make her happy, and
certainly all that she alone could care for.

She shook her head sadly. The overgrown
grounds were as much in need of attention as the interior of the
house. Vines tangled over the shrubs and thick weeds choked the
once carefully cultivated garden, smothering its beauty in a
profusion of wild growth. The long hedges, once a marvel of
landscape artistry, had been allowed to grow untrimmed. It looked
as if not a thing had been tended since she had been named the new
owner.

The house itself was sound. Cecil Baldwin
had been right when he said it was made of excellent material. The
dark slate roof—no wood shingles like those on the houses in
town—brick walls, and wide stone steps would last another century.
Somehow that thought of permanence lifted her spirits again, and by
the time the carriage reached the house she was once more eager to
get inside.

The driver halted his horses and climbed
down to assist Amanda in alighting from the carriage. She paid the
man and thanked him, watching contemplatively as he drove away.
From the branches of a great oak a bird warbled the sweet, clear
song of summer. Amanda lifted her eyes to the treetops and smiled,
feeling the last of her apprehension fly away. She would not let an
embarrassing meeting with Ryne Sullivan, nor a nightmare sprung
from fatigue, dim her happiness at owning Wicklow.

Adding her own happy tune to that of the
bird, Amanda whirled lightly and started up the steps. Above, a
movement in a window caught her eye. She thought first that Ryne
might have come back to the house. But a second glance assured her
the silhouette belonged to a woman moving about in Aunt Elise’s
bedroom.

Angered, Amanda flew up the steps, spurred
on by the indignity of Ryne Sullivan’s having brought another of
his doxies to her house. Finding the door unlocked, another affront
to her ownership, she rushed inside, skirts flying out behind her,
and raced to the stairs. The very thought of him made her
choke.

“Who’s there?” came a cry from a plump old
dragon of a woman standing in the parlor door.

Bewildered, Amanda turned from the stairs
and hurried toward the woman. She could not believe anyone could
have come down the stairs and reached the parlor before she herself
opened the front door. It seemed doubly unlikely that this woman,
old and weighty, could have moved with such speed.

“Who are you?” Amanda asked angrily,
withstanding a scorching look from a pair of dark eyes. “What are
you doing in my house?”

The woman had a long, sharp nose that was
out of sorts on a plump face, and wiry white hair knotted on the
top of her head.

“If you’re looking for Miss Fairfax, she’s
not here,” she said loudly, waddling toward Amanda. “Don’t know
when she’ll be back. Don’t know nothing about her except she’s got
this house what ought to belong to Mr. Gardner or Mr. Ryne.”

“I am Miss Fairfax,” Amanda said hotly.
“Who’s upstairs?” She waited impatiently for an answer, but the old
woman either didn’t hear or ignored her words. She simply frowned
and shook her grizzled head from side to side.

“Some English girl, they say. Don’t know
what got into Miss Elise, giving the house up to some stranger.”
She stopped and laughed. “She won’t stay long, though. Old Jubal’ll
see to that. Won’t have a stranger owning Wicklow. No he
won’t.”

Amanda’s chin went up stubbornly. “Stop your
prattling and tell me who is upstairs.”

“What’s that, miss?” The old woman cupped a
hand to her ear. “I said Miss Fairfax isn’t here.”

The woman was intolerable. “Oh, forget you!”
Amanda shouted, and spun around. She’d find out for herself who was
in Aunt Elise’s bedroom. Out of breath, she arrived at the top of
the stairs and dashed down the hall to the corner room where she
had seen the woman in the window. “Hello, who’s there?” she asked,
thrusting the door open and searching the dim rose bedroom with her
eyes.

She saw no one. The room was as she had left
it. The bed unmade, the dustcovers in a heap in one corner. The
chair she had pulled close to the bed sat as she remembered. Had
anyone been in the room other than she and Elizabeth, there was
nothing to show it. And yet she couldn’t rid herself of the
conviction that she had seen someone.

Almost in a panic, she shut the door and
hurried through the other rooms, searching them all. There was no
evidence of anyone else in the house. Not Ryne. Not another woman.
At last she was left with the uncomfortable suspicion that once
again her imagination had tricked her. But there was still the
matter of the old woman downstairs.

Undoubtedly she was Gussie, and nearly deaf
to boot. And certainly she was not receptive to Amanda’s being at
Wicklow. She resented it most emphatically.

Deep in thought and wondering how she would
ever be able to get along with Gussie, Amanda came slowly down the
stairs. Gussie wouldn’t be capable of much work, either. She could
probably handle cooking duties, but considering her age and
inability to move quickly, she wouldn’t be of much help in
maintaining the house. At least that explained the layer of dust.
It would take someone of Gussie’s age a year simply to sweep the
floors at Wicklow. Still, she’d have to keep her on. Aunt Elise had
stipulated that Gussie stay at Wicklow as long as she wished.

Amanda had reached the midpoint of the
stairs when she saw that a man had joined Gussie in the great hall
below. He was tall and quite nicely turned-out, she judged by the
breadth of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist. The snug
breeches he wore were fawn-colored and his coat, expertly cut of
the darkest brown velvet, was trimmed with gold braid and
buttons.

He removed the cocked hat he wore,
uncovering a headful of coppery hair that, though it was cut fairly
short, curled delightfully. So Gardner had come, she thought,
seeing his tanned face and recognizing the handsome profile of his
features.

He had his face close to Gussie’s and she
was saying something to him. Whatever it was seemed to have angered
him. He scowled and swore and looked quickly toward the stairs,
spotting her there. She thought his scowl deepened for a moment, as
if he were having difficulty restraining some fierce emotion. But
then he smiled and the dark look vanished.

“Amanda,” he said eagerly. Gardner shoved
the hat and his cane into Gussie’s unwilling hands. Like a
springing cat, he bounded up the steps until he reached the point
where Amanda stood spellbound. Gardner O’Reilly’s clear blue eyes
had lit up with an excitement that must be genuine. He didn’t give
Amanda a chance to speak before he wrapped her in a welcoming hug.
“How good to see you again,” he said in a voice as smooth and
soothing as velvet.