Whispers at Midnight (28 page)

Who? Who? The question beat in her mind like
a jungle drum. She wished she had brought a candle as she nervously
gasped a breath. The darkness made her entrapment all the more
alarming. But perhaps if she could open the curtains she could know
if she were alone or if there was even more to fear.

She shut her eyes and breathed a prayer for
safety. As she murmured the words, she shivered, feeling as if a
second current of chilled air had swept mysteriously out of an
unduly warm night and spread over her.

With a shudder, Amanda turned and threaded
her way across the darkened room to where she remembered the
windows being set. The room was small compared with the others on
this floor and now seemed a tight dark cell. Amanda shivered with
trepidation.

She found the brocade panels and hurriedly
flung them back to let in the light. A cry of agony and surprise
sprang from her lips. The outside shutters had been closed and
locked and the window itself was fastened down so that she could
not raise the sash. Only a few broken beams of moonlight filtered
through the louvers and cast hazy strips of illumination in the
room.

Her lips trembled and her heart pounded so
fast she put a hand to her chest. Someone had planned this. Someone
had tricked her inside. She breathed deeply. The smell of the
incense was gone. Had it been there at all? Or was it only her
imagination betraying her again? She tried to see across the room
to where she believed she had heard the sound of footsteps.

“No!” she cried out. For there was someone
emerging from the black gloom that had been the fireplace. Someone
who had no face, no distinctive features at all. In a sudden
desperate panic, Amanda fled toward the door, hoping against hope
that this time the knob would turn and she could leave this dark,
dreadful place.

When she crashed into the stark, looming
form in her path, she screamed and went careening across the floor,
kicking and striking at her assailant. He gave her one stout blow
to the head as the two of them fell together. Amanda screamed and
called for help. She could make out nothing in the dim light but
that the horrid thing that had hit her was reaching out for her
again.

She pushed and fought to free herself from
the grip of her opponent. She had nearly broken loose when she was
struck a blow to the head that sent her plummeting into blackness.
There was an instant before the silence came, when she thought she
heard the whisperer again. Then the grinding sound came once more.
The tainted musty smell lasted a bit longer, and then Amanda knew
her assailant was gone.

Frantically she struggled to her knees. Her
eyes had adjusted to the faint light and she could see that she was
plainly alone. Ezra was gone too. He must have flown out before the
door shut. Several seconds passed before she broke into a wild fit
of sobs and laughter.

There was no use shouting, no use calling
for help. No one would hear her cries, not deaf Gussie and not
Trudy or Emma on the third floor. And of Ryne, who could say? She
wished she knew if he were in the house or if he might hate her
enough to have plotted this.

Forlornly Amanda dragged herself to the
daybed by the window. She found herself wondering if Evelyn had
ever been so alone and so afraid in this room. She was beginning to
believe that Wicklow was indeed evil and that Jubal did remain
within her walls as a hostile, menacing host. She stretched out on
the bed, making herself as comfortable as possible, accepting, as
she had so many painful happenings since coming here, that she
would have to remain in this stifling room until morning, when
someone came looking for her.

***

“Miss Fairfax. Amanda. Where are you?”
Trudy’s gentle voice stirred Amanda from a deep and heavy
sleep.

She jumped up quickly and went to the door.
The room was dark and still, the sunlight making no more entry than
the soft rays of the moon had during the night. Hurriedly Amanda
smoothed her wrinkled dress and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Trudy! Trudy!” she cried loudly. “I’m in
here. I’m locked in.”

Amanda heard the pattering of Trudy’s
slippered feet coming along the hall. A moment later the doorknob
turned and Trudy burst inside, looking rather puzzled.

“I looked for you in your room,” Trudy said
apologetically, seeing Amanda’s disheveled state. “I brought up tea
and toast. Gussie reports you never take a large breakfast.”

“Oh, Trudy . . .” Amanda’s voice wavered. “I
followed Ezra in here last night and got locked in. I was attacked
and struck on the head and then left to spend the entire night
locked in this horrible room.”

Trudy raised one finely arched brow. “The
parrot has been in the main hall since early morning,” she
said.

Amanda frowned in exasperation. She
suspected Trudy did not believe what she had said.

“He must have flown out without my knowing,
but then the door locked and I couldn’t get away.”

Trudy stared at her. “But the door was not
locked,” she said hesitantly.

“Of course it was locked,” Amanda retorted
crossly. “And I was attacked and left lying on the floor. Even the
window sash was stuck so that I could not open the shutters to let
in what little light there was.” Her eyes sped to the windows
across the room. The curtains she could have sworn she had opened
last night were once again pulled tight.

While Amanda stood in a state of semi-shock,
Trudy crossed the dim room and drew back the curtains. Light
flooded in the small window and brightened the room. When Trudy put
her hands to the sash and raised the window soundlessly and
effortlessly, Amanda could not hold back a surprised gasp. Had
someone slipped back in the room while she slept?

“It was stuck,” Amanda protested weakly. “I
couldn’t open it.”

Nearby an overturned coat rack lay on the
floor and beside it a blue cloak. Amanda knew Trudy was thinking
the object her attacker. But it was not. The attacker had been
real. He must have been.

“Perhaps you had a dream,” Trudy said
consolingly as she took Amanda lightly by the arm and led her to
the rose bedroom. “You might have been sleepwalking. I remember a
dream I had once that seemed terribly real. I—”

“I was not sleepwalking. I found Ezra locked
in my room and was putting him out when I smelled a peculiar odor,
like incense burning. And I heard a voice. It came from that room.
The door was open and Ezra flew in. I followed him.” Amanda’s
forehead was creased as if she might cry. “It was not a dream.”

Trudy was quiet for a few moments and then
nodded. “Aunt Emma and I will wait downstairs for you. We have had
our breakfast early with Mr. Sullivan.”

“Mr. Sullivan was here?”

“Why, yes. Did you not know? I understood
you to say he lived at Wicklow.”

“Yes. He does. It’s only that I thought he
would be away overnight.”

“I see,” Trudy answered, a faint blush
coming to her cheeks. “We’ll wait in the drawing room for you . . .
if you think you are well enough to come down.”

Amanda did not like the implication. “I am
perfectly healthy,” she answered. “And will be down shortly,” she
called after her. What was Trudy thinking? Clearly she did not
believe her story about being locked in the sitting room. Did she
perhaps think Amanda had shared the night with Ryne and made up the
story to explain her rumpled appearance? That thought brought her
to another, more perplexing one. If Ryne had been in the house, why
had he not responded to her cries? Could it possibly be that he had
lured her into that dark room and locked her up?

***

“Nonsense,” Ezra greeted her as she passed
him on the stairs.

“Nonsense to you, you blackguard. You left
me in a tight spot.” Amanda grimaced and shook a finger at him. “A
poor friend you are,” she reproached the proud old bird.

Amanda had bathed and changed her dress. She
was determined that last night’s misadventure would not spoil her
day and she was just as determined to discover who was behind that
deed. She went first to the kitchen and spoke to Gussie. As always,
it was a matter of endurance to converse with her. But by the time
Amanda left and went to meet Emma and Trudy in the drawing room,
she was certain in her own mind that Gussie had not been on the
second floor late the night before.

“Amanda,” Emma said anxiously as Amanda
entered the drawing room, “Trudy has told me of your experience.
How dreadful. We must begin today by checking the locks in this old
house. Such a thing must not happen again.”

Amanda smiled lightly. “You are right. I did
not have a comfortable night.”

“Then let us begin right away,” Emma said.
“Shall we start on your floor?”

But though they tested all the locks on the
second floor, they found none that were faulty, not even that of
the room where Amanda had been trapped. And though Amanda would not
have put it past Jubal to have installed locks that held when they
should not or opened when they should hold, she did not think that
was the case. She was, in fact, all the more convinced that someone
had deliberately shut her in. She did not, however, try to convince
Emma and Trudy, lest they think her daft.

“I suppose I didn’t try hard enough to open
the door,” she said. “I was frightened by the darkness. I may have
turned the knob in the wrong direction.” This she offered though
she knew full well she had nearly twisted the knob from the
door.

“Don’t dwell on it, my dear,” Emma said.
“Such a thing is not likely to happen again.”

Indeed it was not, Amanda concurred. She was
not likely to enter a dark room again without a candle or her keys.
But she had let that event distress her enough. By her plan this
day was not to be given entirely to work. She insisted that Emma
and Trudy join her for a long walk in the gardens. There the roses
bloomed sweetly, and the flower beds, thought not tidy, were massed
with colorful blossoms among the weeds. Emma insisted, on seeing
them, that she would spend part of the afternoon weeding.

About an hour following the midday meal,
Emma found the gardening tools and left Trudy and Amanda working in
the house while she returned to the garden.

“Where shall we start?” Trudy asked,
gathering a mass of cleaning rags and a bundled-straw broom.

“In my bedroom,” Amanda replied. “There’s a
chest there I have not gone through and I would like to see what it
contains.”

The chest was filled mostly with gowns that
had long been out of fashion but which Aunt Elise for some reason
had deigned to keep. Possibly they were garments that had
sentimental meaning to her. One dress, Amanda was almost certain,
had been a wedding gown. It was a pale lavender shade of silk,
embroidered over with silver and gold threads.

With it were a pair of silver slippers and a
sheer veil that must certainly have been part of a bridal ensemble.
Beneath the dress Amanda found a small velvet jewel case.

“I suppose she thought it was safe here,”
Amanda said as she lifted the case from the drawer and snapped open
the lid. “Oh my! Look at this, Trudy. I had no idea there was any
jewelry left which had not been given to Gardner or Ryne.”

Amanda withdrew a stunning pair of emerald
earrings from the case. They must surely be worth several hundred
pounds. Also in the case were a garnet necklace and a small pearl
brooch of lesser value. The other pieces were less significant, a
silver brooch and chain and several rings set with semiprecious
stones.

She smiled. If the inventory showed the
jewelry belonged to her, she would sell most of it. The proceeds
should be enough to live on for a long time. The only item she
really hoped to keep was the emerald earrings, and she told Trudy
that was her plan.

“This one is broken,” Trudy commented,
turning one of the earrings over in her long fingers.

“Which is probably why Aunt Elise put them
away. No doubt she replaced them rather than having this one
repaired.”

“Will you take it to a jeweler?” Trudy
asked.

“Yes,” Amanda answered. “I’ll consult Mr.
Baldwin. Surely he can recommend a jeweler who can do a
satisfactory job. Perhaps one who would be interested in buying the
other pieces.”

The opportunity came sooner than expected,
but not from Mr. Baldwin. Gardner called the next day to satisfy
himself that the women who were staying with Amanda met his
approval. He examined the jewelry carefully, particularly the
earrings, and assured Amanda the jewelry was indeed hers. Later he
showed her the listing on the inventory Cecil Baldwin had given
her.

“Those were among Mother’s favorites,” he
said, holding the shimmering stones to the light and admiring their
beauty. His expression stilled and grew serious before he dropped
them back in the case and turned to Amanda. “Will you keep them or
sell them?”

“I should like to keep them,” she answered,
puzzled by his expression. Did Gardner think the emeralds should
not belong to her? “But shouldn’t these have gone to Ryne or
you?”

“No.” He nodded thoughtfully. “These were
not given her by my father or Ryne’s. I’m sure she meant you to
have them.” He smiled and made a dismissing gesture with his hand.
“Actually Mother gave the most valuable pieces to Ryne and me years
ago. I think she meant it as a subtle suggestion we ought to marry,
but neither of us took the hint.”

“Do you ever mean to marry, Gardner?” Amanda
asked abruptly, not knowing what had led her to inquire about such
a personal matter. But she had suddenly remembered Ryne’s
tormenting words.

Gardner laughed. “Well, now that I have met
you, I must reconsider my confirmation as a bachelor. But if I
cannot persuade you to have me, I mean to remain single.”