Always in My Dreams (17 page)

Parnell's bedchamber was larger than her own, but it was a complementary L-shape so that the suites fit together like pieces of a puzzle. A door to the left of his fireplace could be opened into her dressing room. Skye tested the knob as she had on her own side and found the door just as secure. A brief glance around the room didn't reveal a key out in the open. Even if such a key existed, she wasn't of a mind to go rummaging for it just yet. She turned to go and felt something tug on the hem of her dress. Looking down she saw the material had caught on the head of a nail.

Skye pulled it free, then bent down to examine the nail. It was driven into the door frame and bent sideways to act as a latch on the door. Closer examination revealed there were five such nails along the frame, so small that Skye forgave herself for not seeing them immediately. Two were situated near each corner along the length of the jambs and one was in the middle at the top. Skye decided she wouldn't bother looking for a key at any time. One was quite useless unless someone was willing to pry away the nails keeping the door in place.

She laughed softly. The half-formed imaginings that had made the inspection seem important in the first place were without foundation. Making a few notes on her rough sketch, Skye paced off the room. When she was done, she slipped her notepad back in her apron pocket and stuck her pencil behind her ear.

Parnell's room was furnished in much the same manner as her own. The pieces were stained slightly darker and had a more masculine feel to them in their heaviness and lack of ornamentation. A pair of French doors led out to a balcony that was twice the size of hers. It was also separated from her own by a space of more than ten feet.

Skye picked up a few articles of clothing that were scattered on the floor. The things that required washing were slung over her arm. Parnell's wine-red robe she hung in the armoire. His wardrobe was such a large piece of furniture that it couldn't be squeezed into his dressing room. Instead it stood beside the secured door, on the other side of the wall directly opposite her own armoire.

Skye was unaware how much time had passed until she heard the sound of childish laughter. Scooping up a few more pieces of clothing, she headed for the hallway. She collided with Matt as he charged straight for her skirts, intending to hide behind them, or—she realized with a little start—
under
them. She gave a reflexive jerk, coming up on her toes as the boy tried to burrow between her legs.

Walker reached the top step and saw Matthew's tiny feet peeping out from under Skye's gown. "One is moved to envy," he said feelingly, a wicked grin lifting one corner of his mouth.

Certain his next comment was going to be another unflattering comparison of her face to her hair, Skye dropped the armful of clothes and picked up Matt. "Your mama promised me you wouldn't get underfoot," she said, tapping the boy on his nose.

He gave her a sly look that was much older than his years... much,
much
older.

Walker came up on them and noticed Matt's sly expression. He laughed. "That's what I was thinking, young man."

"I'm sure his mind isn't as sullied as yours," she said, with some asperity. She ignored Walker's outstretched hands and hefted Matt to make him more comfortable in her arms. "Get the laundry," she said.

Walker caught up to her again in the rear stairwell, his arms loaded with her castoffs. The narrow stairway was not illuminated and the small window at the second floor landing didn't shed much light by the time they reached the bottom. Skye's steps faltered once, but she caught herself.

"Are you all right?" Walker asked. "This isn't the way to go without a lamp or candle."

She would remember that in the future. "I'm managing just fine, thank you."

Behind her, Walker smiled. He liked the way she prickled at nearly everything he said. Without being told, he took the laundry to the back of the kitchen and dropped it into a large copper kettle. Stopping just long enough at the table to steal a warm cinnamon bun from under Mrs. Reading's nose, Walker caught up to Skye again in the dining room.

"Are you following me?" she asked, setting Matt in a chair. "Don't you have an employer who requires that sort of attention?" She went to the sideboard and opened the middle drawer. She took out a half-dozen spoons and a polishing cloth and put it all in front of Matt. After a brief demonstration on how to clean the spoons, she turned it all over to the little boy. In seconds he was making happy clatter, completely amused by the shiny spoons.

Walker was skeptical. His arms were crossed in front of him, reinforcing his expression. He stopped chewing on the cinnamon roll. "You don't really believe he's going to polish the silver."

The look Skye shot Walker told him how ridiculous his comment was. "What I expect is that he'll be playing while you find his mother and bring her here. She can work in this room and her son can contribute in his own small way." Skye went back to the sideboard, pulled out the entire drawer, and placed it on the table. With another polishing cloth she began to wipe the silverware in earnest.

She looked up at Walker when he didn't move. One of her eyebrows lifted in question.

"In the army," he drawled softly, "the captain generally yelled 'dismissed' when he was done with the troops."

On impulse Skye stuck her tongue out at him.

Watching the warmth run up her face, Walker smiled slowly. "That'll do." He turned smartly on his heel and left the room.

* * *

As the day progressed, it was as if the morning had never happened. Skye's headache vanished and her eyes brightened of their own accord. She kept busy with her inventory and by dinner, with the exception of the cellar and certain locked closets, she had cataloged the contents of the first floor.

Skye ate lightly at the evening meal, certain that her problems at rising had had to do with something she'd eaten the night before. The meal that Mrs. Reading served in the kitchen was a scaled-down version of what Parnell and Walker were enjoying in the dining room. Portions that could not easily be prepared in small amounts were available to the staff. Rose and Daisy Farrow ate in shifts between taking out the courses. Annie helped clear trays and store what food she could in the icebox on the back porch.

Skye shared the table with Matt, Jenny, and Hank. She purposely avoided the shellfish and heavy sauces, taking her fill with the clear soups and vegetables. Annie encouraged her to eat more, but Skye found it easy to resist the temptation.

On the way to her room that evening, Skye was stopped as she passed the parlor. Jonathan Parnell and Walker Caide were sitting opposite one another in the large armchairs, smoking cigars. A blue haze wreathed their heads, and Skye couldn't quite mask her dislike for the odor as she was waved inside. She was thankful that her father had put aside his fondness for cigars years ago.

"I take it you have no appreciation for a good cigar," Parnell said.

"Pity," Walker added softly, with an edge of sarcasm. "He had so much hope for you when you showed good taste in wine."

In tandem Skye and Parnell shot him a sour glance.

Walker merely blew a smoke ring into the air.

"Pity him," Parnell said to Skye. "He drank most of his dinner tonight."

Skye didn't comment, though she was surprised to learn that Walker drank to excess. It didn't fit with the kind of man she suspected he might be. "Is there something you wanted, sir?"

"A moment of your time," he said soberly. "Is there something pressing you now?"

She shook her head. "Actually, Mr. Parnell, I would like a moment with you. I have some questions about the house that you could answer."

He indicated the vacant wing chair. "Won't you sit?"

Skye was going to refuse but thought better of it. She was learning that sometimes her employer's politeness merely sheathed a command. Pushed, he could insist that she sit and the conversation would be stilted and uncomfortable from then on.

Taking a seat on the edge of the wing chair, Skye folded her hands primly in her lap. The pose was an uneasy one for her. In her own home she rarely sat quietly in one place for long. Now she could hear Mrs. Cavanaugh's admonishments: "You flutter too much. Keep still. Back straight. Don't be so quick to look everyone in the eye. Don't look away too long, though—it gives the impression of furtiveness. No one wants a furtive housekeeper. There's always suspicions about the silverware count." Skye couldn't imagine anyone less furtive than Mrs. Cavanaugh.

"You appear to be miles away," Parnell said, observing Skye's expression. "Where do you go?"

Her efforts to play the part right had only succeeded in her being chided for daydreaming. "I'm sorry," she said. "You were saying..."

"Actually, I was waiting to hear what you wanted to say." When she merely looked at him blankly, he prompted, "About the house?"

"Oh, yes. I can't seem to find keys for all the closets. There are two on your wing that don't open and another near Mr. Caide's room. I also cannot open the one under the stairs."

Parnell was thoughtful for a moment. "Do you know, I am not certain any keys to those closets exist. Did you ask Mrs. Reading?"

"No."

"If she doesn't have the keys, then it's a certainty there's nothing in the closets."

"Well, if they're empty, I'd like to utilize them to reorganize some of the more crowded linen cupboards. And the space under the stairs would make a nice area to hang coats and hats. You have no such place in your entryway."

Parnell appeared not to have realized this before. "Is that so?" he asked, frowning slightly as he pictured the foyer in his mind. "Why, you're right." With a small apologetic smile, he shrugged. "I've never noticed."

"Then I have your permission to reorganize?"

"If you can find the keys," he said. "Not if it means taking doors off their hinges or picking locks. I don't believe it's worth that sort of effort."

"It really wouldn't be hard," Skye began to explain. "I could do it eas—"

"No," he interrupted, with a firmness he hadn't used with her yet. His handsome smile took the edge off the command, but the command itself was very much there. "I'm quite serious about this. If the keys can't be found, then leave the doors as they are. I don't want a lot of fussing over some closets. You may have to be creative with your rearranging."

"Very well," she said, hiding her confusion. She hadn't thought it was an unreasonable request. "I'm sure I shall manage."

"I'm sure you shall," Parnell said gravely. "Was there anything else?"

"No."

"Then it's my turn."

Skye waited expectantly, though not eagerly. She worked hard at avoiding Walker's gaze, though she felt his eyes hard on her. Talking to Parnell was unnerving in Walker's presence. She felt as though she could never completely relax.

"Mrs. Reading mentioned earlier that you were asking questions about our ghost."

There was no possibility that Skye could mask her surprise, and she didn't try. She simply couldn't have imagined that Mrs. Reading would think to pass on an off-handed comment about the Granville ghost. "I believe I merely asked her what she knew."

"That's what she said. But I see I've startled you. Certainly you're welcome to talk about the ghost as you see fit. I wouldn't think to censure your tongue." Parnell drew deeply on his cigar, then let out the smoke slowly. "However, I would ask that you consider with whom you are broaching the subject. Mrs. Reading rightly believes that Daisy and Rose Farrow are entirely too suggestible when it comes to the tales of Hamilton Granville. Mrs. Givens used to have trouble getting one of them to go anywhere in this house without the other."

"Of course," she said, struggling not to become defensive. "I spoke only to Mrs. Reading, not to the twins."

"I understand that. It's just something for you to consider." He paused, studying Skye's rigid posture. "I thought you might have some questions for me about the ghost."

"I wouldn't presume to take up your time with that nonsense."

"Do I detect a note of bravado?" he asked lightly, casting a sideways glance at Walker. "Did you hear it, Mr. Caide?"

Walker stubbed out his cigar and rose to his feet. "I heard it," he said tersely. He went to the fireplace and poked at the flames.

"Is that all, sir?" Skye asked, hoping to be dismissed. If Parnell noticed her anxiousness, he gave no sign. She wondered what was making Walker Caide out of sorts. He seemed as impatient to be gone as she. Perhaps it was the effects of the drink.

"There's a book in the library that will give some history of the Granville family," he told her. "If you're interested, I suggest you use it as your source. No one here will be quite so reliable in relating the details." His smile was swift. "Now, that's all, Miss Dennehy."

Skye did not enjoy being the object of her employer's amusement. It was doubly difficult to take with Walker observing it all. Mustering her dignity, Skye bade them both good evening.

* * *

Skye lay in bed for two hours before she surrendered to the fact that she wasn't going to sleep. Still, she rose reluctantly and sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes. The clock on the mantel beat a tattoo in her head while it clicked off the passing time. She had already heard Walker and Parnell part ways in the hall as they retired to their own rooms. She knew that Annie had gone to her quarters with her son long before. It was doubtful Mrs. Reading was still up, or at least out of her room.