As Death Draws Near (19 page)

Having read their letters, I thought I grasped at least some of what she was saying.

Reverend Mother met my eyes almost in challenge. “Do you think they had anything to do with this?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. “But their reappearance is something to consider. Mr. Gage is asking at the local inns to see if they might have recently stayed nearby.”

He also intended to visit the constabulary yet again, to inform Corcoran of our midnight marauders, as well as to ask about the gentlemen living in the area and the local activity in aid of the tithe rebellion. But she didn't need to know all of that. Not unless it became pertinent.

“I also hoped I might be able to speak with Miss O'Grady.”

“Of course,” she declared, rising to her feet. “I anticipated as much. She's waiting in the library.”

•   •   •

M
iss O'Grady was seated at one of the only tables in the room, her hands clasped before her, the knuckles white from clenching. She looked up sharply when I entered the room, as if frightened I would pounce. There were dark circles under her pale brown eyes and deep sadness etched in the line of her mouth.

I slowly crossed the room toward her and spoke in a soft voice as I touched the back of the chair across from her. “May I?”

She nodded, watching warily as I pulled the chair out from the table and sat down. I waited, letting her study me, grow accustomed to me, as I'd seen Gage do many times with anxious witnesses and suspects. He seemed to have a knack for setting people at ease that I lacked, but I figured his techniques were worth the attempt.

When she inhaled a breath slightly deeper than the ones before, I decided that was as good as I could expect. “I don't wish to upset you. I know talking about what you saw yesterday is difficult.” Her breathing hitched again. “But I need
your help. I need to know if you saw anything that could help us find whoever did this.”

She shook her head. “I didn't see anyting.”

“I know you think you didn't, but you may have without realizing it.”

She shook her head again, close to tears.

I searched my mind, trying to think of a way to get her to talk to me. “Forget what happened outside the wall for a minute. Block that from your mind, if you can, and just tell me what you remember about when you were walking through the orchard. You went to look for Mother Fidelis because you had a question?”

“I did,” she stammered, swiping away a tear. “About my drawin'. I . . . I didn't think she could've gone far.”

“Is there a reason you set off in the direction you did, toward the wall? Did you see something that made you think she went that way?”

She frowned. “I don't know. I started walkin', and . . .”

“Did you call her name?”

“I did, sure I did. And den . . . I tot I heard someting. But I don't know what. Maybe a twig snappin'. Someting. And I started walkin' faster. I couldn't understand why she'd not heard me. And den . . .” She inhaled shakily. “And den I saw the wall, and the gap, and . . .” She couldn't seem to bring herself to say the rest.

“When you peered through the wall, did you see anyone? Did you hear anything?”

She shook her head, and then lowered it to her chest, wrapping her arms around her torso as if to burrow inside herself.

I didn't press her further, suspecting she was being as truthful as she could and more questions would not yield other answers. “Thank you.”

She didn't respond. I turned in my chair to see one of the sisters whose name I could not recall standing next to the mother superior. At my look she came forward to comfort the girl, and I took my leave, figuring my presence would not help.

“I wish I could have spared her that,” I told the reverend mother as she led me from the room.

“You did well,” she replied, responding to the distress in my voice and not the words.

She guided our steps toward what I knew to be the art classroom, and I glanced at her in question.

“I thought perhaps you might wish to speak to the others in her class. They're supposed to be painting today, but without Mother Fidelis to instruct, I thought it might be best to have them draw.”

“Who will teach the class now?” I asked, and then felt awful for even thinking of so trivial a thing so soon after her death.

She did not chide me, answering this as calmly as she did everything else. “I suspect we shall have to hire an outside instructor. I don't think any of the other sisters possess the necessary skills.”

We paused before the open door of the classroom, watching as a girl dressed as Miss Lennox must have, in the simple gray dress and short white veil of a postulant, struggled in vain to convince the students to stop talking, and for two girls who had crossed the room to return to their seats. By no means would the scene before us be considered rowdy, but it was definitely not the abbey's normal standard.

I glanced at the mother superior to see her reaction, and was surprised to see that it was more resigned than angry. Even so, she clearly was not going to allow this behavior to continue. She moved toward the front of the room. One could not fail to note how quickly the girls hushed and found their seats then. Even the postulant seemed abashed.

The reverend mother turned to stare out at the girls, seeming to pause on each one of them. “From your response, I can see you understand your behavior is unacceptable. I daresay Mother Mary Fidelis would be extremely disappointed were she here to witness it. We are searching for a new instructor for this class, but in the meantime, you will
respect Miss Finch's authority. Do I make myself clear?” Her voice never rose, but remained perfectly level the entire speech, and was all the more effective for its calm.

The girls responded as one, promising they would.

She searched their faces a moment longer, as if to be sure of their sincerity, and then looked to where I still hovered near the door. “Now, Lady Darby and her husband are here to look into the matter of both Miss Lennox's and Mother Mary Fidelis's deaths. I've asked her to join your class today, so that if any of you know anything pertinent, you may tell her. I also understand she is a rather renowned portrait artist, so perhaps she might offer you some assistance with your drawings.”

I bit back a humorless smile, noticing how cleverly she had arranged this. I had not even realized she was aware of my artistic career, but I could not fault her maneuvering. Not only could I give her students some small amount of tutelage, but it also provided me a way to mingle with them instead of standing at the front of the classroom a bit like a statue.

I dutifully wandered through the desks, peering over the girls' shoulders at their sketches and offering what suggestions I could. Most of them were quite atrocious, as was natural, and so I made the broad statements any instructor must repeat for beginners twelve times a day. Try to draw what you truly see, not what you think you should see. Remember your scale—how big is that object compared to the one next to it? Where is your shading?

However, there were a few students who showed promise, in particular the blond-haired girl I had helped the day before. Her still life was well executed, if a tad lifeless, as still lifes tended to be. I praised her effort, learned her name was Miss Cahill, and offered some more advice on how to approach the manner in which she captured light and reflection on the clear glass vase. She listened intently and then dove in to attempt it.

The half an hour passed pleasantly enough, but it yielded no results in terms of the investigation. Several of the girls eyed me with a wariness that seemed unwarranted, unwilling
to meet my eyes, and if they did, glancing away quickly. I was even more certain some of them were hiding something, and I felt increasingly sure it was pertinent to our inquiry. The difficulty lay in convincing them to confide in me before it was too late.

When the class was over, I made my way out to the gardens, waiting near the portico in sight of the doors leading to the kitchen, as I'd told Bree I would. The air was cooler that day, making me glad of the amethyst pelisse with black corded leaf designs and a triangular epaulette-like collar I wore over my gown. I turned my face up to the sunshine, enjoying the feel of its warmth on my cheeks until I heard the door behind me open.

I turned to see Bree and Mrs. Scully emerge, though the latter refused to come farther than the dooryard. Her eyes darted left and then right, chary of something. Yesterday's events had upset her if her sudden skittishness was anything to judge by.

I crossed over to where they stood. “We could talk somewhere else, if you like?” I told Mrs. Scully, trying to set her at ease.

“This'll do, this'll do,” she replied hastily. “What I've to tell ye is short-like anyway.” Her gaze again swept the limited view of the gardens we could see from where we stood.

“I'm listening.”

Her fingers pleated the apron over her gown as if still uncertain. “'Tis only . . . 'tis only there are goin'-ons in town, goin'-ons I think Miss Lennox may've gotten herself involved in.”

I glanced at Bree, who appeared just as baffled. “What ‘going-ons'?”

She shook her head vehemently. “I can't say. But ye'd best be talkin' to Father Begley at the chapel. He'll tell ye.”

Well, that was as ambiguous a bit of information as ever I'd heard. “Mrs. Scully . . .” I began, but she cut me off.

“I must go,” she insisted and turned to hurry back inside the kitchens, leaving Bree and me to stare after her.

I opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated at the sound of
footsteps. A moment later Davy's copper head came into view, followed by Mr. Scully's gray one. They did not see us, and I took the opportunity to observe them. Had Mrs. Scully been worried about her husband seeing her speak to us? Is that what had made her so fidgety? But why? Did she suspect him, or Davy, for that matter, of something terrible? Or were they simply involved with these “going-ons” she referred to so obliquely?

Well, whatever the truth, I hoped this Father Begley would speak to us as Mrs. Scully implied. Otherwise, we were going to be left with yet another question we couldn't answer, and that was one more than I could already stomach.

K
nowing Gage would not be returning for us until after midday, and certain he would be furious were I to go alone, I turned to Bree. “Are you willing to go for a walk?”

She turned to me with a twinkle in her eyes. “What? An' miss the chance to learn how to make boiled baby?”

I cringed, having never enjoyed that particular dessert, especially its appearance. “Have they been putting you to work?”

“No, but I volunteer. Makes 'em more comfortable talkin' to me.” She followed my gaze toward the southern end of the abbey grounds. “Where did ye wish to go?”

I'd been staring off in the direction of the playing fields, where the fourth door to the abbey grounds stood hidden by those holly trees the mother superior mentioned. Gage had told me they'd found the lock had been broken, and the door easily opened and shut. However, I did not relish taking such a long trek, or having to ford the stream. So I swung in the direction of the gardeners' cottages. “This way.”

Bree followed me across the upper gardens and around the side of the abbey to the northern section of the wall, but when I pulled open the door to step out, she stopped me. “Are ye sure this is a good idea?”

“Yes. There's two of us, so no one will bother us.” I smiled in reassurance. “Besides, work has begun to repair the wall
today, so there will be workmen about. If someone did wish to make trouble, they wouldn't do so with so many witnesses.”

She reluctantly acceded my point, though she wasn't finished questioning me. “Where are we goin'? And why?”

The gardeners' cottages slept drowsily in the sun, the tiny glade silent but for the conversation of a pair of birds overhead. I turned right, following the wall toward Davy's cottage and then beyond.

“I want a closer look at the pond Miss Lennox was supposedly visiting. And I want to see what's over that hill beyond it, where the sheep graze. Maybe that will give us a better idea just what she was doing. Or who she was meeting.”

“Why do ye think she went o'er that hill?”

I glanced at her as she fell into step beside me. “Because of her and Mother Mary Fidelis's shoes. If I'm not mistaken, both pairs had manure on them.”

“So that's why ye were tryin' to smell 'em yesterday,” she murmured in sudden understanding. “I wasna' sure what you were doin'.”

I grimaced. “Yes, and neither was anyone else.”

“Aye. Just witch doctorin',” she remarked cheekily.

I gave her the gimlet eye.

The trees beyond Davy's cottage gave over to an open field filled with clover and wild thyme, and even patches of pale pink bindweed, buttercups, and blue milkwort. It was a lovely prospect with the distant cottages beyond, and the rough stone wall of the abbey growing wild with creepers in some spots at our backs. The trail more or less followed the wall, except in one spot where a stand of hawthorns had taken root abutting the stone, forcing the trail to go around them.

As Mrs. Scully had said, within ten minutes we reached the corner of the wall at the far end of the abbey's property. We could hear the sounds of men at work as we approached, the low rumble of their voices, and the shuffle and clink of their tools against dirt and stone. They looked up as we strolled past, standing to doff their caps. I nodded in greeting, but did not dally to force them to make small talk. I could
feel their eyes following us as we made our way toward the pond, but knew they would eventually lose interest.

Out here, away from the protection of the wall, the breeze grew stronger, whipping down across the meadow and rippling the still water on the pond and the tall grasses growing at its verge. The leaves of the beech tree clapped together like applause. We circled the pond as I tried to imagine what, if anything, could have drawn Miss Lennox down to it not once, but at least twice. Her bird excuse seemed dubious, even watching the whirling flight of a flock of meadow pipits. The beech tree was tall, and boasted a small hole in the trunk just above the height of my head, but not for a kingfisher's nest. It likely belonged to a family of squirrels or some other woodland animal.

The stream which flowed away from the pond down toward the smaller one that stood within the abbey walls was easily crossed by a series of flat rocks, which I suspected had been placed there for this very purpose. We paused on the opposite side of the water, staring back across at the abbey surrounded by its stone wall. The white peaked roof of the summerhouse was just visible above it. There was nothing there to be seen that would frighten or alarm, just a rustic wall and the blue sky speckled with clouds overhead.

Furrowing my brow, I turned to face the rising landscape dotted with sheep. From this vantage, I could see that the hill circled around the pond, cupping it within its palms. The stream which fed the pond flowed in from the north just before the rise of the hill, and the stream which trickled down toward the abbey meandered past the base of the other end of the semicircle. At the base of the hill, it was impossible to tell what was beyond, so I lifted my skirts and began to climb, doing my best to avoid any muck the sheep had left behind.

The hill was not steep, but the climb was far enough that my breath quickened, and my legs—too long cramped in boats and carriages, and seated in parlors—ached from the effort. I inhaled deeply in relief as I reached the top and surveyed the countryside around us. Toward the southeast,
past an expanse of fields, I could see the roof of a large building surrounded by trees. The land south of there was filled with nothing but meadows and neatly ordered rows of golden and green crops, stretching all the way to the Priory, I imagined. I couldn't conceive of Miss Lennox or Mother Fidelis setting off in either of those directions, if they ventured any farther at all.

However, the scenery to the north showed much more promise. In that direction, the hill fell away a short distance before rising again, only to have our view blocked by a wall of vegetation. I could see that a road led in that direction, disappearing from our sight behind the trees and bushes. Curious what lay beyond, I set off down the rise to discover how thick the shrubbery was.

Unfortunately, as Bree and I drew nearer, I realized there wasn't simply foliage in our way, but a wall, and a tall one, at that. It was overgrown with creepers and vines, and dappled with moss behind the hedging and tall trees, whose branches overarched the stone. If Miss Lennox or Mother Fidelis had come this way, they would have had to go around it, for there was no door. None that I could see anyway.

I paced toward the west for some time, drawing closer to the cottages I had seen in the distance from the abbey, situated near the road. They could have walked up to the road and around, but that would put them at risk of being seen by anyone living in those homes. Instead, I retraced my steps, curious whether they could have found a way around or through toward the east. But once again, we were foiled. Where the high wall ended a low stone wall began, stopping us and the sheep from stumbling into a deep ditch on the other side.

I scowled. “I guess I was wrong. Maybe they didn't go farther than that hill above the pond.” I planted my hands on my hips and turned to survey my surroundings, feeling like I was missing something.

“Isna that far enough? We've already two reports o' a gentleman hangin' aboot that pond.”

“Yes, but . . .” I narrowed my eyes. “Didn't Mrs. Scully say this was the rendezvous point for one of the rebellions?”

“Aye. In 1798.”

“It's a rather poorly chosen location, don't you think?” She followed my gaze. “There aren't many ways to escape if necessary.”

“Not noo. But tha' low stone wall and ditch look new. I imagine the army built those aboot the same time they started construction on their Military Road that leads into the Wicklow Mountains, where all the rebels who got away went into hidin'. That begins just beyond the Yellow House.”

I studied the low wall. “I suspect you're right.” My gaze traveled back along the low wall to the high wall and its vegetation. “But I still wish I knew what was behind that.”

The low branches of a crab apple tree growing next to the high wall caught my eye, and I began striding toward it. I had already leaned over to pull the back hem of my skirts through my legs and tucked it into the belt of my pelisse by the time Bree caught up with me.

“What are you doin'?” she demanded.

I grabbed hold of the branch which stretched out almost parallel to the ground, level with my chest, preparing to hoist myself up. “I'm going to see what's over this wall.”

But before I could jump upward, she wrapped an arm around my waist to stop me. “By climbin' a tree! Are ye daft?”

I laughed and turned to look at her. “Bree, I've done it hundreds of times before.”

“Maybe. But no' since ye were sixteen, I wager. And no' while ye were in this state.”

I sighed. “What state?”

She glared at me as if I were a child trying to hide something from her. I lifted my eyebrows in challenge, letting her know two could play that game.

“I ken your courses are late.”

I frowned, considering the matter, and then huffed. “By two days.”

“Three.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, aggravated we were even having this conversation. “You know as well as I do that my courses are irregular. Two or three days is nothing. Besides, I think I would know if it was possible I was expecting.”

She arched a single eyebrow, and I felt a blush begin to burn its way up from my chest.

“Yes, I know it's
possible
. I mean . . . that Gage and I . . . we . . .” I broke off with another huff. “But I think I would know if it was happening. There would be signs.”

“You've been exhausted, m'lady.”

“Because we've been traveling, and investigating an inquiry, and Gage sometimes wakes me . . .” I sliced my hand in front of me, stopping myself before I said more. “The point is, there are any number of reasons why I'm tired. And none of those involves a . . . a baby.”

Bree's brown eyes softened in the midst of this fervent defense, and I looked away, all of a sudden feeling quite vulnerable. I noticed my breathing was much quicker than I wished, and I inhaled deeply, trying to steady it.

“Aye, m'lady,” she agreed. “But I'm still no' gonna let ye climb that tree.”

Her stubborn expression told me there was no arguing this, so I relented, pulling my skirts from my belt and allowing them to fall back into place.

“I suppose we should start back. Mr. Gage should be returning soon.” I felt a vague, uncomfortable stirring, wondering if Gage had noted anything, whether he would even notice if my courses were late. Which they weren't, really. Not yet, anyway.

I turned to scour the wall one last time, trying to shake the thought aside. I stiffened as my gaze snagged on something that looked startlingly familiar.

“A gentleman willna say anythin' until you do,” Bree assured me, divining my thoughts, but misreading the reason for my surprise.

I ignored her, moving out into the field in an arc, still facing
the wall. “There.” I pointed. “Haven't you seen that somewhere before?”

Bree followed my finger, her head tilting in consideration. “Maybe.”

The way that single word was drawn out told me she was seeing the same thing I did. That was when I realized why I recognized it.

“Mother Mary Fidelis's sketchbook. That drawing we couldn't place. It was clearly done in spring when this wild cherry tree was blooming. And these creeping cinquefoil flowers weren't depicted. But the rest is the same. The position of the rocks, and the blackthorn, and spindle.”

She nodded. “Aye, I see it.” She darted a glance at me. “So she'd been here.”

I was having a hard enough time believing our luck in finding it, I hadn't even begun to grasp the implications. “Yes. She must have. But why?” I turned to look around me again, back the way we came. “Where was she going? And why did she make that sketch?”

“I dinna ken, m'lady. It seems to lead us nowhere.”

“It does, doesn't it? Except at least we now know for certain Miss Lennox wasn't the only one venturing outside the abbey when she shouldn't have been. And Mother Fidelis had professed her vows.”

“Her solemn ones.” Her expression reminded me this was the most serious of all vows.

“Yes. So what was so important that she would risk, if not precisely breaking them, at least bending them by disobeying her mother superior's orders?” I wasn't well enough versed in convents and the Catholic canon to understand what Mother Fidelis had been jeopardizing, and I didn't need to be to know this wasn't a simple or flippant matter.

Bree shrugged.

“Well, we'd best hurry now. Gage will be waiting.” My stomach growled. “And I'm famished anyway. Though, I think I prefer to skip that boiled baby and whatever else they were preparing.”