Whispers at Midnight (15 page)

Really she was letting her thoughts get away
from her when she ought to be directing them to the work she was
doing. If she did not stop, she would convince herself there were
indeed spirits in the house. Instead she thought of the rooms. They
were furnished well enough, she decided, for Emma and Trudy. Each
had several chairs, a dressing table, and a four-poster bed with
velvet curtains like those at the windows. Very attractive. But
here in the sitting room, the draperies and the chair cushions were
of brocade with a peacock design that gave the cool feel of a
shaded garden to the small room. A few potted plants by the windows
would make it a delightful place.

The colors, Amanda thought, must have been
chosen to offset the heat of the day, which could be felt at its
strongest on the third floor. But certainly the suite was not
uncomfortably hot, for Wicklow had been constructed with double
brick walls and high gables that kept it bearably cool even on the
sultriest days of summer.

Her eyes made another sweep of the room.
Satisfied she hadn’t left a speck of dust in either the sitting
room or the blue bedroom, Amanda collected her pail and cleaning
cloth and went once more into the second bedroom. This room was a
replica of the blue one except for the color of the fabrics, which
were a light shade of green.

She caught a glimpse of her dust-smudged
face in the oval mirror at the dressing table. The small mirror was
the last item in need of cleaning. Neglect had left a film of dirt
over the glass. Promptly Amanda wrung out her cloth and took a seat
on the tufted-velvet stool at the dressing table. She washed and
polished vigorously until the mirror glistened to her
satisfaction.

That was the last of it. Amanda put her
cloth aside and sought a moment of rest, her elbows on the dressing
table and her hands cupping her chin and cheeks. In the mirror, her
reflection showed the face of a woman tired but pleased with the
fruit of her labors, a face smudged but happy.

A few strands of hair had worked out of the
braids beneath her kerchief and hung damply on her brow. Amanda
exhaled a contented sigh as she loosened the knot and removed the
kerchief, thinking, as she smoothed the whimsical strands away, how
amazing it was that exertion could make one feel incredibly
gratified.

But it could also make one feel incredibly
weary. She hadn’t realized how toil-worn she was or how much she
desired a few moments of rest before she went down the stairs. No
doubt Gussie had come in by now and would have the evening meal
under way. She ought to go down, but it was quiet and peaceful here
with the sunshine fading and the soft lullaby of the wind floating
in from the treetops.

Contentedly Amanda closed her eyes, but no
sooner had her lashes brushed her cheeks than she felt an
involuntary tremor pass through her body. With it came the odd
feeling that someone had entered the room, and yet she hadn’t heard
the sound of footsteps on the stair.

Nevertheless she glanced over her shoulder
to assure herself the hall door of the bedroom remained closed. Her
glance went secondly to the door that opened into the sitting room.
From there she heard a momentary rustle and a slight thump. It was
inconceivable that Gussie would have braved the stairs and come in
search of her. So who could it be? She felt another tiny shudder of
alarm.

“Who’s there?” Amanda called, rising quickly
from the chair but holding firmly on to its back as her eyes search
the doorway. She got no answer, but instead of being reassured by
the silence, was left with the peculiar feeling that she was not
alone in the attic suite. Yet she couldn’t imagine who might have
come up. Ryne had left the house, and even if he had returned, he
wouldn’t bother to look for her.

Nervously she grabbed the kerchief she had
discarded and clutched it to her breast. Once again Wicklow seemed
to have taken a breath of life and shattered her peaceful repose.
Or was she simply reacting to the lengthening shadows and letting
the approach of night heighten her irrational thoughts? She took a
shallow breath and started across the room.

She had always prided herself on being
practical. Having lived in a world of fantasy, she had most
fervently fought to retain a strong sense of reality. It could only
be her imagination that the atmosphere of the room had changed and
that it had lost its peacefulness. But around her the air seemed
warm and static. She felt the pressure of it touching her skin with
a strange, brittle quality, as if at any moment it might become
alive with sparks.

Amanda wiped her forehead with the kerchief
she held crushed in her damp hand.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is someone there?”
Slowly she walked back into the sitting room, only to find it
empty, as was the blue bedroom.

Finally satisfying herself that no one had
come into the suite, Amanda decided the culprit must be Ezra. Her
imagination was far too active. She smiled faintly as her eyes
swept the ceiling and the small brass chandelier that hung in the
center of the sitting room. She expected at any moment to hear Ezra
mutter one of his rhymes and to find him perched in some hidden
spot.

“Ezra, where are you?” she called. “Ezra!.
Out, now! I want to go down and I must shut these doors.” But there
was no flutter of wings and no squawking voice in answer. Instead,
a cool draft of air swept over Amanda and brought goose bumps to
her flesh. She had a sensation of ice ringing her wrist and felt an
odd compulsion to leave the suite without getting either the broom
or the bucket. She was drawn, though she felt more as if she were
being led, to a doorway across the corridor.

Here there were two rooms side by side. The
rooms, she knew, were used for storage and held furniture and
chests that had not been disturbed for decades.

“Nothing worth tinkering with up there,”
Gussie had said. “But Miss Elise would never throw anything away.
Kept all her father’s old papers and books, even most of his
clothes. Like a pack rat she was, always bringing in something new
and never throwing out the old. Hope you won’t be the same.”

“Indeed I won’t.” Amanda had assured her she
would do away with many of the curios and gewgaws that cluttered
the house.

“Watch out for him up there.” Gussie
laughed. The sound was like the cawing of a crow. “That’s where he
stays.”

“He?”

“The ghost. They’ve told you about the
ghost, haven’t they? Old Jubal Wicklow.”

“That’s ridiculous, Gussie.”

Gussie laughed again. It made her eyes close
up and disappear in her plump face. “You’ll find out. If you hear
the whispers. Some folks do.”

“The whispers? Tell me about the
whispers.”

“At midnight,” Gussie said. “The whispers
start at midnight. You’ll hear them then. Or when he wants you
to.”

Amanda had put an end to the talk at that
point. The mention of the whispers disturbed her, even though she
knew Gussie was being absurd. Those whispers Gussie spoke of could
have had nothing to do with her dark dreams.

Gussie said the keys were lost and that no
one had been in the rooms for years. Amanda had been in no hurry to
find them. There was enough to see and do at Wicklow that two old
attic storage rooms were only of secondary interest.

It was for that reason that she shivered and
resisted as her hand, almost of its own accord, reached out and
twisted the knob. She nearly drew back in fright as she heard the
lock click and felt the door open. She seemed to hear her name
called from out of the stillness in that room. Gussie’s words came
rushing back to her. “You’ll hear the whispers when he wants you
to.”

Amanda shook her head. In childhood once she
had thought she heard her mother call out to her and had hurried to
Sarah’s side, only to be told there had been no call. The voice she
heard now was like that one, faint and from a distance, but not her
mother’s. It was a man’s voice, and as much sensed as heard. Amanda
realized with a start that it was the same whisper she had heard in
her dreams.

Was it possible Ezra had learned to mimic
her name? Had he been the mysterious voice in the night, the one
that had accompanied her nightmares? But even as she sought the
explanation, she dismissed it. Who would have taught Ezra her name?
In the space of time she had been there he would hardly have heard
it enough to have adopted it on his own. And certainly he could not
have gained entrance to this attic room where the door had been
shut for years.

She gave the door a light push. It was
heavy, stout and sturdy as a barricade, but creaked and swung open
almost of its own volition. If this were a test of bravery, Amanda
felt sure she would fail. She resisted with all her power the
compulsion to enter that room lit only by the red rays of sunset
and draped with a thousand strange shadows which looked as if they
might hold all manner of evil.

But in the end she could not resist. She
entered and wove a slow path through the maze of old furnishings,
some cast in such dim light that she could not fathom what they
might be. Here and there spiders had fashioned masterful and
intricate webs which seemed to have been positioned to capture the
last glow of the sun. Still she went on feeling as if an icy hand
encircled her wrist and led her to some special spot.

The sun was sinking rapidly in the western
sky. Within a few moments Amanda was wondering if she had been led
into a trap, if she ought to turn and run from this dismal room
before someone came and shut her in. But she could not. She pushed
on until she came to a battered and scarred sea chest half-hidden
in the shadows. And that, she knew, had been her quest. For now she
felt the lightness return to the air as she bent in front of the
chest and worked by feel alone to loosen the buckles and straps
that held it shut.

No surprises were inside, only relics from a
ship, a few old clothes, and some rolls of parchment from which the
ink had faded. She felt her disappointment grow as her hands groped
over the bottom for some item of interest. Jubal Wicklow hadn’t
left his treasure in this chest. It held nothing more valuable than
the buttons on an old coat, and by the look of the tarnish they
bore, they were only brass.

A moment later her searching fingers
discovered a book of some sort and she lifted it out. Now the sun
was gone and the room almost entirely dark. It occurred to Amanda
that if she did not hurry, she would have to descend the stairs
without the aid of a light. She dropped the lid of the trunk, and
with the book tucked under her arm, turned about.

She was as driven to leave the room as she
had been to enter. Within a few minutes she had shaken the dust
from her skirt and hurried into the hall. Still holding the book,
Amanda cautiously felt her way down the dark staircase and went to
her room. She had only just stepped inside and dropped the book on
her desk when she heard Gussie.

“Oh, Miss Fairfax,” came Gussie’s gruff but
anxious voice. She waddled through the door of Amanda’s room,
looking so perplexed that Amanda thought perhaps Gardner had been
right to predict Gussie would become devoted to her. The stout old
woman had a worried look in her eyes and Amanda could swear she had
been wringing her apron. “I’ve called until my voice is gone. Have
you been out?” The worry was quickly replaced by disapproval as
Gussie saw Amanda’s soiled dress and dirty face. “Why, Miss
Fairfax, you’ve been working like a chambermaid and it’s just not
right,” she sputtered. “Cleaning is my job.”

Amanda smiled and stepped close to Gussie so
she wouldn’t have to shout her reply. “That may be, Gussie, but
this house needs us both. Anyway, I’ve only just gotten the attic
rooms ready for Mrs. Jones and her niece.”

Gussie looked at her curiously. “Were you
working in the dark? I looked up the staircase but saw no
light.”

She started to tell Gussie about going into
the storage room, the one Gussie had told her was locked. But she
thought better of it.

“No, Gussie. I finished before dark but sat
down to rest for a while, and before I knew it the sun had gone
down. Did you finish your work in the garden?”

But Gussie was out of earshot and did not
reply. Nor could Amanda hear the little laugh she gave beneath her
breath as her snaillike pace took her out the door.

***

“Good evening,” Amanda said, somewhat taken
aback to find Ryne in the dining room. He stood looking out the
window toward the river, his back to her, legs planted wide, hands
locked behind his back. His black outfit was not the same as the
one he had worn in the morning. It was far more elaborate. The
waistcoat was embellished with gold embroidery and his breeches
carried the same needlework around the buttons at the knee. For a
man without money, he dressed exceedingly well.

Ryne turned briskly around. “And a good
evening to you, cousin,” he responded. “I trust you have had a
pleasant day.”

She supposed that since Gussie was present
he saw fit to amend his bad manners and help her be seated. As she
approached her chair he drew it out and waited for her to sit. She
wondered if it was by chance that his hand brushed her shoulder or
if he knew the act would have a disquieting effect on her.

A moment later he was in his chair and
sipped the ruby liquid from his wineglass. Amanda hadn’t thought
they would be taking their meals together, but she supposed as a
matter of choice he preferred to humor Gussie rather than refuse to
sit at the table with the new mistress of Wicklow.

She was glad Gussie had chosen the small
family dining room, which was nearest the kitchen, instead of the
large formal one. Being with Ryne in this otherwise cozy room was
uncomfortable enough, particularly when she must abide his feigned
good grace. She was annoyed with him still, and even the
sweet-scented bowl of wildflowers between the pewter candlesticks
did not help her mood.