Raquel Byrnes (5 page)

I followed Mrs. Tuttle as she walked briskly through the house pointing out this and that during my “official” tour of Shadow Bay Hall a few hours after Davenport’s attack. We started on the third floor, near the room I’d fled.

O’Shay struggled past us with my suitcase cradled in his wiry arms.

She led me to a door at the end of the hall of rooms.

“This door is to the attic and storage area directly overhead.” She checked the handle. “It’s out of bounds and is to remain locked.”

“Locked, got it.”

She squinted at me, but didn’t comment. Instead, she pulled her skirts and apron aside with one hand, brushed past me, and looked back over her shoulder.

“Come on, now. Keep up.”

We walked down the narrow stairway to the second floor, past the blue and cream room. I spotted O’Shay dumping my suitcase unceremoniously onto the floor. We went past three more doors.

“Is that the bathroom?”

“Your room has a private bath,” she said sharply. “These are additional bedrooms.” She pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “That one is a guest room, and of course, yours is there. Mr. Hale’s is the master suite on the other side of the stairs.”

“Are there more bedrooms on Mr. Hale’s side of the second floor?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course there are,” Mrs. Tuttle snapped. “The second floor is for the family so there are parlors for tea, a music room, and some other places you won’t need to visit. I see no need to show them to you.” She walked up the stairs to the third floor and pushed through the door on our right. I followed her in. “This is a study, but more importantly, it has access to the observation deck through there.”

I walked to the window. A flat deck surrounded by iron lacework railing ran the length the room. At an elevated terrace, a single telescope stood in the far corner of the space. It was a place for stargazing or watching the approach of ships.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” I said and put my hand on the handle.

“It’s off limits,” Tuttle said.

“I can’t just go outside and look?”

“The railing is rusted through. The salt air is corrosive, Ms. Ryan. It’s not safe.” She pulled the cord to the blinds, releasing them and blocking my view.

“Of course.” I forced a smile, not wanting to argue that the telescope looked both cared for and clean. Signs that someone had used it recently.

“Because of the safety issue, we keep the study door locked to ensure that no one who might fall goes out there.” She gave a stern look before leading me down the main stairway.

Downstairs she took me through supply closets and pantries adjacent to the kitchen. Near the rear of the house, we passed a wall of windows with grime-covered panes.

“Is this a solarium?” I pressed my hands and face to the window straining to see.

“Yes.” Mrs. Tuttle tapped her foot. “It’s no longer in use. Mr. Hale’s wife used to use it. Since her death, it’s been closed up. Mr. Hale doesn’t like things to be disturbed if at all possible. The house may not be as well kept as you’re used to, Ms. Ryan, but we’ve been having trouble keeping help. Besides, Mr. Hale doesn’t like people tromping about, so for now we’ll deal with repairs as we can.” She caught my gaze, and I stepped back. “And this will remain so until Mr. Hale declares otherwise, Ms. Ryan.”

I regarded her with worry. “I don’t plan on breaking into it.”

“Yes, well.” Mrs. Tuttle cleared her throat. “That concludes your tour. You’re free to roam the grounds, but stay close to the house, Ms. Ryan. You duty is to Mr. Hale, not to your curiosity. He likes company when he eats and for books to be read to him in the afternoon. He also likes walks, and you will have to accompany him because he is not as sure on his feet as he thinks. There is a list of his medications and the times he takes them. Familiarize yourself with it. He is not bedridden, but he should get more rest than he is getting, so you’ll have to work with him on that issue.”

“I will do my best, Mrs. Tuttle,” I said.

“As you should.” She strode past me, back to the foyer, and was gone.

“I’ll just go and check on Mr. Hale, then,” I called out after her.

****

Sometime later, I perused the length of the library’s shelves. My eyes caressed the leather bound volumes. With Davenport sleeping and my things arranged in my new room, I opted to spend the evening exploring my new home. I liked how it smelled in here. It reminded me of home; the den where my father had his billiard table. A tinge of regret trilled through me when I thought of him.

Searching the shelf, I came across a Victorian era book on botany, pulled it out, and sat on the couch facing the fireplace. The few hours I’d spent with Davenport and then unpacking took me into the early evening. The stars blinked outside the picture windows like pier lights on a dark sea.

Bent and crisscrossed antlers formed the base for a chandelier overhead. Black metal shades covered small bulbs shaped like flames that struggled to stay on. Unable to concentrate with the flickering lights, I shut the book, tucked it under my arm, and strode to the large window near the leather armchairs. Tree limbs whipped in the wind and sent leaves tumbling in waves across the lawn. In the distance, wires swayed between huge posts. I wondered if the lights went out a lot here. A low wail, the sound of air pushing under old doors and through window cracks, sent a shiver through me and I pulled my sweater tighter. The crimson cashmere comforted me in this cold house.

Noble Island felt otherworldly. The constantly shifting light and weather threw me, but it was the woods with their shadows and hidden spaces that seemed ominous. I thought about the child’s face in the clearing. Had it been a trick of the eye or an illusion brought on by my bruised head and fatigue? With the commotion surrounding Davenport’s attack, I’d not pursued it.

I walked the interior of the library. Leather wingback chairs sat atop an authentic Persian rug. They flanked a blue marble fireplace. I ran my palm along the supple leather taking in the scent of the burning logs.

Photographs lined the marble mantel on the opposite wall, and I wandered over. A film of dust dulled the sheen of the gilt-framed mirror hanging above the fireplace. Other silver and brass frames held pictures of a younger Davenport smiling and holding the hand of a beautiful blonde woman—his wife, I guessed. I picked up the photo of a young Simon, his striking gaze holding the camera as he stood atop a wood dock ready to dive into a lake. More photos told the story of an active boy, an only child lavished with attention; astride a horse in polo gear, in ski clothes next to his mother, at the helm of a sleek wooden boat.

I walked slowly along the length of the shelf taking in the snapshot story of the man I’d just met. Simon in his college graduation robes with his degree held aloft, a smile on his face. In a silver frame, larger than the others, was a photo of him holding a beautiful raven-haired child in his arms, her eyes the same piercing blue as his. It was the girl I’d seen earlier in the meadow.

A final shot of Simon and his father in black, standing side by side near a stone wall. The distance between them so telling, Simon’s rakish grin replaced with a somber stare. The image held my attention, the sorrow in his eyes so compelling, I didn’t hear Mrs. Tuttle come into the library.

“Are you taking your meals in the library?” She had a wicker tray with tea and a plate of food. Setting it on a table in front of the couch, she regarded me with fists on her hips. “Because you’ve missed all three meals today, Ms. Ryan.”

“I’m sorry,” I said and sat next to the tray on the couch. “I’ll be more mindful. It was nice of you to make me a tray.”

“It’s my job, Ms. Ryan.”

Mrs. Tuttle’s undercurrent of irritation frustrated me, and I stood abruptly, walking back to the mantel. I let the warmth of the fire soothe my frayed nerves.

She was clearly upset over Davenport’s decision to hire me.

“I saw a young girl outside in the meadow earlier,” I said with my back to her. “Black hair, young.”

The clinking of a spoon on porcelain was the only answer I received. I turned to face her.

She held a cup in her hand, blowing the steam away, her gaze far away, almost lost.

I cleared my throat.

“That would be Simon’s daughter, Lavender,” Mrs. Tuttle said and set her cup down. “She’s six.”

“She was out by herself?” I’d grown up in a gated community with nannies and fences. Maybe it was different out here.

“Simon puts no restraints on the girl.”

Still, I found it odd that she would be out in the weather.

“She always manages to come inside before it rains,” Mrs. Tuttle added, answering my thoughts. She lifted an empty cup and saucer. “Please have a seat, Ms. Ryan. I want to speak with you about something.”

“I didn’t plan on what Davenport did, Mrs. Tuttle,” I said. Taking the cup, I held it while she poured tea, then honey. “I know you don’t want me here—”

“Ms. Ryan,” she interrupted. “You seem to think my objection to you is personal.”

“Well, I’m not a group,” I muttered. “You’ve made it clear how you feel about me.”

“Not you,” Tuttle said and took a sip. “Your qualifications.”

“Well that doesn’t really make me feel better.” I drank some tea, stifled a wince, and set the cup down. It was bitter.

“Mr. Hale needs more care than he’s willing to admit. He’s used to going his own way, doing as he pleases, and he seems to be in denial about his recent limitations as I explained earlier.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Davenport looked fine. He wasn’t haggard or terribly thin. He didn’t seem terminal.

“Mrs. Tuttle, he offered me a job. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to consider that if you’re here, then we can’t hire any
real
help,” she snapped. “Your little box of pretty bottles and fragrant oils will do little to help Davenport in the long run. He was taken in by your…your—”

“My what?” Anger roiled and I pointed to my chest. “I helped him. You may have wanted a nurse, but your ad simply said caregiver and companion. I qualify for both. My degree in botany and natural medicine fits the criteria, Mrs. Tuttle.”

Mrs. Tuttle stood and paced between the low table and couch.

I watched her while grinding my jaw. I wasn’t giving in. I wasn’t. I’d come too far, survived too much, for this move to be for nothing. I blinked back the tears that threatened.

“You’re only thinking of yourself here, Ms. Ryan.” Her pursed lips forced my name out like it was a dirty word. “You’ll do him harm in the long run. If he gets worse, would your training in alternative therapies be enough?”

Not wanting to unleash the words whirling in my mind, I gritted my teeth.

Help me not to make things worse with angry words as I’ve done in the past. Give me patience.

“Well?” She fixed me with her rheumy eyes, waiting. Arms crossed, foot tapping, she looked primed for a fight.

I refused to argue. That was an old, damaging habit I resolved to quell. I bit my lip, taking in a slow breath and counting backwards from a hundred.

“Thank you for dinner.” I forced a smile.

“That’s not—” she began, when at the doorway, O’Shay cleared his throat. She turned. “Yes?” she snapped.

“Problem with the damper in Lavender’s room.” He regarded her with worried eyes, agitated. “You’ll want to come look at it.”

“She’ll need extra blankets, then.” Mrs. Tuttle sighed. She frowned, looked in my direction, and then went to meet O’Shay. “Think about what I said, Ms. Ryan.”

I stared after the closed door, my heart heavy. Outside of stealing away in the night again, I doubted anything I said or did would make her happy. I wondered if Simon’s strange behavior, the way he’d shifted away so suddenly in the hall, meant he felt the same after all.

A thud across the room made me jump. I peered at the bookcase to the right of the fireplace. Head tilted, I listened. There it was again, like something heavy dropping on the carpet. I did a slow turn in place. No one else in here. Another thud sent me to the bookcase. A low moan leached out from behind the books, from behind the wall. Heart thrumming, I turned my head, ear against the wallpaper, and listened. I felt it this time, the scrape, and the thump, followed by an anguished sound, like a painful sigh.

“H—Hello?” I lifted a shaking hand and knocked on the wall. It sounded hollow. “Is anybody there?”

Outside, the wind raged sending bits of twigs and leaves against the thick windows. I listened to the whistle of air through the cracks of the sills. Was I hearing the effects of the weather on this old house? Surely there were loose shutters or something to explain the noise. Still I stood there, my head pressed against the wall, straining to hear.

“Rosetta?”

Simon’s voice startled me, and I whipped around, my back to the wall as if caught eavesdropping.

“You’ve got to stop creeping up on me like that,” I breathed.

“Are you all right?” His face, lit by the fireplace, looked ethereal, like Apollo against the sun. The embers glowed orange in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You just looked…what were you doing?”

“I thought I heard something,” I said and flashed on my similar words earlier. I’d thought I’d seen something in the meadow, and it turned out to be a little girl. The creaks and groans of this old mansion put me on edge. I looked up into his concerned face, my heart skipping. “I’m just not used to all the wind, I think.”

“You’re sure?” His brows were furrowed.

Nodding, I let out a laugh, embarrassed. I was tired and overwrought. My run in with Mrs. Tuttle left me unsettled.

“Did your father ask for me?”

“No,” Simon said. “I wanted to let you know that the phones are still not up, so I couldn’t get hold of Dr. Fliven. Also, if the wind continues, the lights may go again. It’s something we deal with every fall when the storms come.”

“Oh.” The tempest churned outside, and I swallowed down worry. “Well, it’s bedtime, so if the lights go out it’ll be OK, I guess.”

Simon’s low chuckle pulled me back to face him.