Whispers at Midnight (34 page)

“Yes,” he agreed. “The fellow will be
wanting to get back to his family. So if you insist, my dear, on
returning right away, I have a proposition I hope you will find
agreeable.”

Though the night air had turned sultry and
still, Amanda gave a little shiver. Ryne had said he had a
proposition for her. Sometimes it seemed both Ryne’s and Gardner’s
minds ran toward the same destination, though on widely different
tracks.

“What is it?” she queried, hoping there was
no tenseness to her voice.

He gave a disarming smile. “I am not needed
at the distillery for a time and yet I have business on the estate
that requires my close attention for a few weeks. If you do not
object, I would like to spend a fortnight at Wicklow. It would save
me the long ride each day and—”

“And you could satisfy yourself that I am
all right.”

“Yes.”

His eyes were filled with such an earnest
expression that Amanda could only regret her suspicion of his
intent. Gardner was no scoundrel like his brother. His only concern
was her welfare.

She smiled. “You are welcome at Wicklow if
that is truly what you wish.”

“Then it is settled. We’ll go out together
tomorrow. I’ll bring Mrs. Campbell to help. She can follow in the
wagon. Perhaps we might even invite guests in for a dinner while I
am there.”

“How nice that would be.” Amanda had not
anticipated the sense of relief she felt over Gardner’s decision.
She had been more frightened than she realized. But Gardner’s
imperturbable nature would make it easier dealing both with Ryne
and with the inexplicable happenings at Wicklow.

“The Wellers would favor an invitation, I am
sure,” Gardner said as he swung open the gate of the white Chinese
fence in front of the O’Reilly house. “I’ll send a note off to them
tomorrow before we leave.”

A light burned brightly in the upstairs
bedroom and a lantern had been left lit at the front door.

“I see the Whitneys are here ahead of
us.”

“I must apologize for spoiling their
evening. I hope they will not be offended that we left them at the
theater.”

“No, no,” Gardner insisted. “Don’t trouble
your head. We are old friends. They will think nothing of it.” He
grinned and took Amanda’s arm, leading her from the brick-lined
path and under the cool shelter of the trees, where a bench had
been placed. He directed her to be seated. “In truth, I was anxious
to leave and you gave me the excuse to do so.” Gardner seated
himself beside her, and taking her hand, lifted it to his lips.
“Now, tell me,” he whispered. “Are you pleased I am coming to
Wicklow?”

Amanda squeezed his hand fondly. Yes, yes.
She was glad, but as a twinkle of moonlight caught his eyes she
noticed that the pupils had taken on a clear, catlike look. It
would be the brandy making them that way. She could smell it
faintly on his breath as he kissed her, almost chastely, on the
lips. But why, then, did she feel the tiny spur of alarm twisting
inside her again?

***

The road wound and wrapped through shadowy
woodlands and around the low marshes and tidal pools near the
river. Amanda had come to know the route well. And each time she
made the trip, as the carriage drew near Wicklow, she could feel a
swift change come over her, filling her with a strange, prideful
bewilderment that the ostentatious old mansion should actually
belong to her.

As predictably, when the carriage wheels
rolled onto the grounds of Wicklow, past the orchards and under the
overhang of the tall elderly oaks, she would be beset by a faint
feeling of solicitude that there was something about Wicklow and
its being bequeathed to her that she ought to know and did not.

She stared at the tall domed spires and the
bright red brick and told herself she was only imagining those
things. Wicklow had been designed to stimulate controversy, just as
cathedrals were designed to inspire and awe.

She had learned enough about Jubal Wicklow
from reading the old ship’s log to know somewhat how his mind
worked. He liked to contrast the beautiful and the terrible. It
shocked and unbalanced people, and that gave him the advantage he
was evidently adept at using. She suspected Jubal had invited talk
about the house even before he died. Strange tales would surely
keep frightened servants in line.

Tobias, the big roan saddle horse Gardner
had put on a lead behind the carriage, raised his head and whinnied
loudly. Amanda shook herself. How had she let her mind go rambling
off like that? She had been staring at the house for several
minutes and was surprised to see that the others were not looking
at her as if she were daft.

She smiled. “It is good to be home,” she
said to no one in particular. This journey had been an amusing one.
Emma was in the best of spirits because after the sale of her
husband’s tools, there were to be a few pounds left for her and
Cecil Baldwin had advanced her the money even though the final
settlement was not done.

“Not a king’s purse, mind you,” she said as
the carriage covered the last stretch of the lane. “But enough to
make a poor woman rejoice. Give us a smile, won’t you, Trudy? Part
of the money’s for you, you know. I insist.” Emma’s cheer could not
be contained and her face beamed beneath the brim of her straw
bonnet.

Trudy offered a rather piteous smile and
murmured a thank-you to her aunt. Her lovely eyes bore none of the
happiness that Emma’s did. The way her lids drooped, she looked as
if she were about to burst into tears. She was surely the moodiest
girl Amanda had ever seen, but Emma apparently took no notice of
either her lack of enthusiasm or her sullenness.

Possibly the girl found the isolation of
Wicklow difficult, although she had seemed happily content the week
before. Or maybe it was that this trip had renewed old memories of
the loss of her mother and the separation from her friends. If that
were the case, then the dinner Gardner had planned for the
following week would surely be good for Trudy.

***

“Well, look what’s come home,” Gussie
exclaimed loudly when she saw Gardner’s luggage included with that
of the women. “Couldn’t stand that Campbell woman’s cooking a day
longer, I’ll bet.”

Gardner hugged Gussie and kissed both her
plump cheeks. “Ahh, now you’ve hit close to the truth. But Mrs.
Campbell and my man Pitt will be along with the wagon in an hour or
so and will stay while I am here. Mrs. Campbell will give you a
hand with the work.”

“Don’t need it,” Gussie said with a pout.
“And I won’t be having that woman in my kitchen. Got enough people
scuffing around in there now,” she added adamantly.

Amanda laughed. The kitchen was Gussie’s
territory and she resented even having anyone come in to get the
kettle for tea. Amanda retreated a pace and left Gardner alone to
find a way of convincing Gussie to share the space with another
cook.

“But the point is, Gussie,” she heard him
say, “I was hoping you could show Mrs. Campbell how to prepare some
of my favorite dishes. Hers simply don’t measure up to what you can
do.”

“Humph,” Gussie muttered. “Wouldn’t do her
any harm, I guess. But she’ll have to watch and stay out of my
way.”

He was most persuasive, really strong-willed
and accustomed to having his way, but he did manage to get it in so
much more subtle and acceptable ways than did Ryne. Gussie puttered
away to the kitchen, no doubt pleased she would have the
opportunity to dominate Mrs. Campbell.

Gardner swung around to Amanda, a wide smile
of triumph lighting his face. It was at that moment that Ezra
swooped down hawklike from his perch on the Turkish King and hooked
his claws into the coppery curls on Gardner’s head. The attack
lasted only an instant, and Ezra went by like a blur to the ledge
of one of the round windows above the door.

“You blasted buzzard.” Gardner shook his
fist. “I’ll wring your neck for that.”

Did he hate the bird? She would think so
from the look of malice in Gardner’s eyes, the pupils wide and
threatening, like a cat on the hunt. It was extraordinary that Ezra
reacted to him that way. The bird seemed either indifferent to or
fond of everyone else.

Gardner’s scowl lasted until he started up
the stairs with Amanda’s bag. Emma and Trudy had gone directly to
their rooms and Gardner had promised to have his man take their
bags up when he arrived.

He pushed the door open and went inside the
rose bedroom, depositing her bag on the narrow bench at the foot of
the bed.

“I see you’ve made some order of Mother’s
room,” he said. “The place was like a curio shop before.”

“Then you approve of what I have done.”

“More than approve.” he nodded. “The house
looks splendid. Who would have thought a pampered English girl
would work so hard? A lesser person . . .” He stopped and looked
questioningly at Amanda, having strolled across the room to the
chair where a black silk shirt had been tossed carelessly over the
back.

His eyes narrowed and as she saw the look of
belligerence on his face she knew he had guessed how the shirt came
to be there. She stiffened, and stains of crimson appeared on her
cheeks.

“I was not pampered,” she said
ineffectually.

Gardner spun around.

“Amanda,” he said, his face unreadable as a
wall, “you are probably tired. I’ll have Gussie make up a room for
me.” A moment later he was shutting the door behind him and she
could hear the heavy thump of his feet in the hall.

She moistened her dry lips. There was no use
in reproaching herself for what had happened. Ryne had not seduced
her, though earlier she might have tried to excuse herself by
believing he had. No, she had wanted his embrace. They had been
drawn together by some madness as intangible and unexplainable as
the midnight whispers that haunted her at Wicklow.

She laughed at the absurdity of it all.
Perhaps she was a little mad herself. She had come to Wicklow
thinking to find an uncomplicated life, but instead found herself
beset on every front by mysteries and complexities greater than she
had ever imagined.

It was about an hour later when the wagon
arrived, and Amanda went downstairs to meet it. Pitt drove around
to the kitchen entrance and hitched the team to a rail. The lanky
fellow helped Mrs. Campbell down and then began unloading the
supplies Gardner had ordered: several hams, a rasher of bacon, a
large cut of beef, a small barrel of oysters, and an array of
vegetables. Gussie was fussing over the bountiful arrival and, to
Amanda’s surprise, being cordial to Mrs. Campbell.

Amanda soon surmised the two cooks had
matters under control and no need of her help. When the women had
gone inside, she directed Pitt to drive the wagon to the stable,
where Groom would help him with the horses.

Gardner, she had learned from Gussie, had
ridden off on the roan and would not be back until near
sundown.

How would it be to have both brothers in the
house? she wondered as she took the path to the river. By Gussie’s
account it had been five years since a civil word had been spoken
between them. Some feud over a woman had started it—she might have
known that would be the cause—and even the death of their mother
had not been enough to reunite them.

It occurred to her that Ryne might stay away
when he learned Gardner was there. But on the other hand, she did
not see Ryne backing away from anything. He was not that sort. No.
Ryne Sullivan would crash in on the devil himself if it suited him
to do so.

She need not think the sudden presence of
his brother in the same house would cause him any distress.

***

Gussie outdid herself, probably as much to
impress Mrs. Campbell as anything else. The dining room was
decorated with freshly cut flowers and Gussie had brought out the
best bone china and etched-crystal goblets. Crystal candelabra sat
at each end of the long table and bright flames reflected
brilliantly from each glass of wine. Gardner sat at one end of the
table, Amanda at the other, Emma and Trudy facing one another on
the sides. A fifth place had been set for Ryne, although Amanda
thought it presumptuous of Gussie to expect him tonight.

“Isn’t this cozy?” came a deep, smooth voice
from the hall. “I see I am not too terribly late.” He strode in,
giving a nod to Gardner and pausing to bow lightly to the ladies
before he seated himself beside Trudy.

Pitt stepped from the doorway and poured a
glass of wine for Ryne and Gussie was there in a moment, loading
his plate with a large slab of roast meat. When they were finished
he lifted his glass and drank deeply.

“Excellent,” he said. “From your cellar,
brother, or from the Wicklow racks?”

“From mine,” Gardner answered cordially. “I
don’t know if Amanda has found the Wicklow cellars.”

“No, I haven’t,” Amanda spoke up. I didn’t
know there was a cellar.”

“Quite a large one,” Ryne said. “More like a
set of dungeons. I’ll show you the wine racks one day,” he added in
his lighthearted, deceptive way. “Very fine vintages down there, I
seem to recall.”

Amanda’s face colored slightly and she
sipped her wine to disguise the fact. It was difficult to know with
Ryne if he was being rude or just being himself or if the two
amounted to the same thing. Nevertheless she told herself she was
relieved when he turned his attention to Trudy, who sat silently
beside him.

“You are looking especially lovely tonight,
Trudy,” Ryne said, his eyes warmly washing over her. “The dress
becomes you.”

“Does it really?” Trudy asked, a look of
delight spreading over her face.

“Of course,” Ryne assured her. “Pink is the
color for you. With that fair hair, you should wear nothing
else.”