Whispers at Midnight (16 page)

Gussie brought a basket of bread and while
she was in the room exchanged lighthearted banter with Ryne.

“Run away with me, Gussie,” he said.

Gussie’s smile broadened. It seemed to
Amanda she had little difficulty hearing Ryne’s words. He rarely
raised his voice and yet she responded to each question or comment.
But perhaps that was because they were accustomed to one
another.

Amanda spread a white linen napkin in her
lap while Gussie poured another glass of wine for Ryne. A sudden
burst of laughter from across the table startled her into glancing
up.

Ryne was laughing at some jest Gussie had
made for his ears only. Amanda eyed him covertly. Had she any other
companion for dinner, she could enjoy the meal. But Ryne’s mood
dominated everything. She resented him for it. It should be her
disposition that set the tone at Wicklow. However, with Ryne in the
house, it seemed his strong personality always overruled hers.

Amanda sighed softly and reached for a
blossom from the bouquet of wildflowers. She inhaled deeply of its
fragrance and wondered how Ryne had idled away his day. In a
tavern, she’d wager, intent on a game of cards or dice.

While she pondered how Aunt Elise’s son had
fallen into such slothfulness, Gussie brought a tureen of soup.
Amanda felt a pang of hunger. She had had little to eat all day and
now her appetite had caught up with her all at once. She almost
forgot Ryne as a wisp of steam rose from the bowl and reached her
nostrils. The aroma was so appealing she immediately took up her
spoon to eat.

Amanda sipped her soup, making a point not
even to glance in Ryne’s direction. But when her eyes did chance to
stray that way she saw he had put his spoon down and was watching
her in a peculiar manner. He had a hint of a smile on his lips and
Amanda couldn’t help her curiosity at his line of thought. As
always with him, it was impossible for her to tell if the
expression hinted of warning or warmth. She averted her eyes as she
once more dipped her spoon into the soup bowl.

“Gussie says you cleaned the attic rooms
today.”

So startled was she when Ryne spoke, Amanda
nearly dropped her spoon, and did succeed in making an embarrassing
splash on the shiny cherry wood table.

“Yes, I did,” she replied, dabbing at the
spill with the corner of her napkin. “I’m taking in the two
boarders, a Mrs. Emma Jones and her niece, Trudy. And please do not
tell me I have no right—”

“My dear Amanda, must you always expect the
worst from me?” he cut in. “I approve wholeheartedly. Wicklow needs
people. Poor Gussie could never keep this enormous house, not at
her age. And she tells me the women will be a help to you both.” He
pushed his soup bowl away and wiped his lips. “I was merely
expressing my surprise that you have no aversion to a scrub bucket
and hard work.” He grinned as she shot him a hard look. “Isn’t it
just possible that we have misjudged each other . . . a little? I
may not be as irascible as you think, and you may not be as
frivolous as I thought.”

“It is possible, yes,” she answered stonily.
“But I, more than you, have based my judgment upon some degree of
truth. And without, I remind you, a preconceived idea of your
character.”

Amanda was beset by misgivings even as she
spoke. If he meant to make a gesture of friendship, she should not
have spoken so harshly. But with Ryne she couldn’t help wondering
if he had not calculatedly decided he could not continue to
reproach someone who had agreed to show him charity.

“Ahh, Amanda.” He sighed. “How wary you are.
And not without cause,” he added. “I admit to being a boor. But
then, there must be a dark sheep in every family, I have heard. In
ours it seems my brother garnered all the good graces.”

“I’m sure that’s only as true as you choose
it to be.”

“Well spoken.” He chuckled. It seemed that
no amount of goading would stir his surly temper tonight. This was
a new Ryne indeed, mellow and open-minded to the point of admitting
his faults. He went on. “I do not propose we settle all our
differences. That may come in time. I do propose we declare a truce
while we are within the same walls. And since you are intent on
keeping Wicklow, I will do my part to help. After all, it is only
fair that I earn my keep while you allow me to stay here.”

Amanda hesitated for a moment, uncertain
what to say. Could anyone have witnessed the change in Ryne
Sullivan and claimed women were unpredictable? But how could she
refuse? It was what she had hoped for, that both brothers would
accept her and her determination to live at Wicklow. Gardner had
done so and now Ryne was offering to do the same.

“Come now,” he urged. “It can’t be as
difficult as that to say yes.” He smiled warmly. “I propose to have
my men restore the gardens and grounds, which I’m sure you would
like. The work must wait a few weeks until they have finished
another job, but I promise it will be done.”

He looked particularly attractive, his teeth
flashing white against his tanned skin, his eyes soft and
placating. Amanda kept thinking how gentle his hands could be on
her shoulders and how tenderly his lips had pressed to hers. She
could almost believe he had never been that angry, insulting man
she had suspected of such foul deeds.

“A truce it is,” she agreed. Better that
than a constant state of antagonism. “And I accept your offer to
restore the grounds. It is generous of you.”

Ryne smiled. It was then she again had cause
to doubt her assessment of Gussie’s hearing. The old woman entered
the dining room the moment the matter was closed, though they had
long since finished the soup course. Had the thought of it not been
preposterous, she’d have believed Gussie and Ryne had a prearranged
signal to avoid an interruption.

***

Amanda was in bed when she remembered the
old book she had brought down from the attic. Her curiosity came
back with a rush and she quickly fetched it from the table and took
it to her bed. With a brass candlestick and its bright flame beside
her, she opened the cover and started to read. “Jubal Wicklow, log
of the
Golden Dawn
.” The dates had faded out and there was
water damage to many of the pages. Others were obliterated by age.
Those she could make out at all would be exceedingly slow reading.
But she was able to determine that the log included the account of
his last voyage, the one he made from England to Virginia with his
young bride, Evelyn.

The handwriting was not easy to follow and
many of the entries seemed to be rhymes. Like those Ezra quoted.
But with each sentence read, she knew more of Jubal Wicklow’s
character and began to get a clear image of him in her mind. She
could picture the old villain in his captain’s cabin logging the
whereabouts and activities of the
Golden Dawn
.

There was blood on his hands. He had killed
and looted his way to wealth and had made no attempt to hide the
methods of his success. Jubal Wicklow had possessed a keen mind and
quite probably a devious one. Nevertheless Amanda was fascinated by
his acute observations of life on his ship and in the ports he
visited.

The entry he had made before setting sail
that last time was particularly intriguing
:
I'd have slit John's throat
and let the fish clean his bones. But Evelyn
would not have it. It is one of the greatest mysteries of my
life,
that this diminutive maiden should
bend me, a man who has filled his lifeblood with danger and death,
like a willow to her will. But she does it with the sweet magic of
her voice and the silver sparks deep in her eyes. I can see that
she will bid this scourge of the seas to become a gentleman and
that I will obey.

Amanda must have read for a long time,
though it seemed only a few minutes, before the book grew heavy in
her hands and tilted down, to be lost in the covers. Much that she
read of Jubal Wicklow’s adventures repulsed her. He had indeed been
a hard man. But one thing above all others stood out clear and
true. Jubal Wicklow had loved Evelyn to the very depths of his
soul. What had really happened to them? she wondered as her eyes
slid shut and her head lolled to one side on the pillows.

A short time later Amanda dreamed she was
slipping like a stone into the inky deep waters of the ocean. She
could not breathe. Vile black water filled her nostrils and swelled
her bursting lungs. She gasped desperately for air and clawed at
the murky liquid walls that were sucking her down. She could hear
the eerie whispering voice calling her name from the still surface
of the ebony water. She thought she heard another voice too, and
she wondered if someone else were sinking into the blackness.

“Come out, Amanda. Out,” the whisperer said.
She listened, her terror unbounded. She believed she had only the
flash of an instant to do as the voice commanded, or else she would
be lost forever in the bottomless black water that drew her down.
With a fear-inspired strength and a violent flailing of her arms
she made her way to the safety the whisperer offered.

Amanda awoke, her lungs burning and
struggling uselessly for air. She flung aside a suffocating pillow
that somehow had been placed over her head and had blocked out all
the life-giving air. Gasping and choking, she drew in large gulps
of air until finally the oxygen filled her blood and she could
again breathe and think normally. At last she was able to sit up
and take stock of her surroundings. The little candle still burned
by her bed. The door to her room was still locked. But she was
consumed with the dreadful doubt that it had not been her who had
pulled the pillow over her face.

Before she slept again, Amanda locked both
the feather pillows in the armoire, and even then she rested only
lightly. But by morning when she woke once more, there was a
peculiar cheeriness in the air and the horrid dream seemed far away
and unreal. She was filled with thoughts of all the wonderful
promise Wicklow offered. Gussie was pounding on the door and asking
if she wanted tea. She smiled softly. It occurred to her that
Gussie was beginning to treat her with some affection.

With a lighter spirit in her heart and a
determination that there would be no more nightmares, Amanda
greeted the day. As she threw back the covers on her bed, she found
the ship’s log where it had fallen and been hidden. After the
morning meal she would read more, but for now the book would be
safe in her desk.

***

Gardner came early in the morning and would
not be dissuaded from having Amanda accompany him into
Williamsburg.

“You’re looking more rested now.” Gardner
gazed at her with approving eyes as she swept into the drawing
room, where Gussie had been fussing around him like a mother hen.
“But from what Gussie tells me of your activities, you are due an
afternoon of relaxation and I have come to provide it. Get your
bonnet, my dear. I am taking you into Williamsburg.” Amanda allowed
him to take her hands and press them gently within his own. Gardner
gave her a wonderful feeling of contentment with his bright,
beaming smile. She was surprised at how glad she was to see him.
She made a small protest to his plans, but it was one that lacked
conviction.

“Oh, Gardner, I couldn’t. There is so much
to do here. I’ve hardly begun my work on the house. Has Gussie told
you there are to be boarders?”

“Cecil Baldwin told me the plans have been
made.”

“Are you pleased?”

“Pleased if it will be a help to you,” he
said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and leading her across
the drawing room. “I want you to be happy here. Mother loved this
house and I can see that you have inherited her fondness for it.
But, my dear, you cannot spend all your time scrubbing and dusting.
And, you see, the work will wait. The day I have planned will
not.”

Amanda laughed softly and raised her eyes to
Gardner’s face. He was right, and today she did prefer the fresh
smell of country air to the dusty rooms at Wicklow.

“I believe you have your mind fixed that I
will go.”

“I do. Now, get your bonnet while I have
Groom bring the carriage down.”

He hurried out and Amanda went upstairs to
get her bonnet, a wide-brimmed straw one with pink silk flowers
pinned to the brim. She lingered a few minutes to splash a bit of
scent behind her ears and to find a silk shawl of Aunt Elise’s she
had noticed in the wardrobe. By the time she reached the first
landing of the stairs, the carriage was waiting out front and
Gardner was mounting the front steps to fetch her.

He entered the door and paused, not seeing
Amanda above him for a moment as his eyes went to the Turkish King.
Just briefly, his gaze reflected the glassy stare of the king’s
crystal eyes. He stood quite still, and from her vantage point
Amanda could see that his expression had become somber.

She had been about to call his name but held
her words as she felt an air of uncertainty descend over her.
Instead she gripped the lacquered rail and watched as Ezra, like a
black winged shadow, swooped from his perch on the king’s shoulder
and flew above Gardner’s coppery head. Gardner raised his arm to
warn the bird away. Ezra squawked and dipped low, just missing
Gardner.

“Blasted bird! I’ll wring your pesky neck!”
Gardner threatened. But there was little danger of his catching the
bird in flight and soon Ezra was perched in another of his favorite
spots, the ledge of one of the grille-covered windows above the
front door.

“He knows! He knows!” Ezra said harshly as
he lifted his wings and turned his neck so that his curved beak
looked as if it had been set oddly into the side of his head. He
made a menacing silhouette against the window, but he was there
only a moment before he showed the flash of color under his wings
and took flight to return to the king’s shoulder.