The Haunting of Crawley House (The Hauntings Of Kingston Book 1)

by Dorey, Michelle

  Kevin was at the secretary desk with his exchequer book open, paying the bills. Invoices from the food market, the dairy man, the coal company and others were arranged in a neat pile on his desk. He would write the cheque for each bill and leave Bridget the money for the postage to mail them the next day. For most of them, Bridget simply kept the few pennies and dropped the payments off when she was in the downtown area.

  She was setting the table in the dining room when she noticed him reading through a sheaf of papers.

  “And what’s that ye have there, love?” she said.

  “Nothing you need to worry about, my dear. Just some papers from the lawyers.”

  “The lawyers?” She straightened up from her task. She would set the plates and glasses, and would have the twins put out the cutlery. “What do they want?” To her, anything having to do with lawyers was never a good thing, and certainly was something to be concerned about. She stepped over to where Kevin was seated.

  He folded the papers up and replaced them in an envelope. “Just paperwork settling the land and title to the house is all.” He looked up at her. “Legal mumbo jumbo, that tells us we have a home to live in.” He gave a small smile as he tucked the envelope into one of the pigeon holes which ran above the writing surface.

  “Well, I could have told ye that!” She returned his smile and went back to the table.

  He closed up the desk and put the month’s bills and cheques on top of the desk. “You’ll look after these, dear?”

  “As I do every month, your lordship!”

  He stepped to her and took her in his arms. “Lordship now? I’m now a grand lord, eh?”

  “Ye are to me, Kevin Crawley!” She pecked his cheek and went back to the kitchen. She took the roast out of the oven and put it on top to cool and called the twins in from the backyard to finish setting the table.

  She knew he was lying the second the words came out of his mouth, but she wasn’t going to make a fuss yet until she found out what was in those papers.

  ***

  The next morning, after she put Eamon down for a nap she went to the desk. She had never bothered with the bills and papers of the house. Taking care of three wee ones was work enough, and Kevin seemed to have all that well in hand anyway.

  But why wouldn’t he mention correspondence from lawyers? Anything that involved those shysters cost money, and more importantly, had to do with laws and judges in one form or another. Although Melanie was cold in the ground, she had nevertheless murdered her. So yes, she was quite interested in any communication from lawyers, thank you very much.

  She ran her hand over the front oak panel. She would need to put a coat of furniture wax on it soon. It had been in the house from when she had started working there. It looked so small when Kevin sat at it, but he was a large man.

  She pulled the knob on the panel, folding the cover down so it became the desk’s surface. The thin squeak of the brass fittings told her that some oil was also going to be needed. Tucked among the pigeon holes across the top were a series of different papers—old bills, some letters Kevin had replied to from his brother who lived in Lanark, and some forms from the army.

  The envelope in question was at her fingertips. She looked aside for a moment feeling a twinge of guilt for spying on her husband. Ha! She smiled. It was her home too, was it not? She opened it and took out a sheaf of papers.

  Oh! Last Will And Testament was emblazoned across the top page. Under it, in calligraphic handwriting was ‘Kevin Anthony Crawley’. His will! Now why hadn’t he told her about this yesterday? These were very important papers! Back when she was a washerwoman, one of her clients had said they kept important papers such as insurance policies and wills in boxes at the bank!

  She opened it up to read the mumbo jumbo and soon discovered why he had been so evasive.

  A discovery that led to a murderous rage.

  Chapter 15

  Devlin Griffin was seated in a booth in the Royal Tavern when Danny Boyle approached him.

  “Excuse me, Mister Griffin, but there’s someone to see ya,” he said quietly.

  As usual, Devlin sat with his back to the wall. He scanned the room to see who was making eye contact and saw no one. Keeping his eye on the other men in the room, he said, “Well then, send him over, Danny.” His right hand drifted to his vest where he kept a derringer pistol. He palmed it into his hand. It only held two bullets, but that would be enough to give him time to draw the larger pistol under his jacket.

  “Well, that’s the thing, sir, it’s a lady, and she’s waiting for you in the Ladies’ Room. He leaned down. “It’s Bridey Walsh, Mr. Griffin; you’ve met her before.”

  He lowered his head to think. The name did ring a bell, but… He smiled and his chin rose, to look at Danny. Ahhh… ‘Bridget’ Walsh! He hadn’t laid eyes on her in a long, long time—well over a year. She was a different sort of girl, if he recalled correctly. And a real looker, too. With a glint in his eye, he stood. “Let’s not keep the lady waiting then.”

  He gathered himself and walked toward the Ladies’ Room. His leg wasn’t acting up at all today, so his limp was only slight. His step and pace was more like a man with a pebble in his shoe rather than a man who had been shot through the leg with a rifle three years earlier. That shooter had died screaming and begging for death.

  Bridget was in the farthest corner of the room, away from everyone. She was sitting perched on the edge of a chair at a small table. Her skirt almost went to the floor, and matched her short jacket. Her cloche hat was pulled low, almost to her eyebrows. When he approached, she gave him the oddest smile; welcoming, yes, but was there a hint of fear as well?

  “Miss Walsh… it’s been some time,” he said with his own smile.

  “It’s Mrs. Crawley now, Devlin. I’ve been married a year.”

  He sat back in his seat. There was a… a different sort of attractiveness about this woman. She didn’t have the good-time girl allure of a flapper of course. Her high cheeks became almost apples when she smiled, but it was the intensity of her eyes. Light brown, yes; but when they looked at you, you were the absolute center of her world. One of her eyes was just a tiny bit off center, but to him that made her face more… exotic or something. Just as a beauty mark did, this small flaw made her that more enticing.

  “Well,” he said, tapping his hat against his leg, “although I’m not the marrying kind, it is a disappointment.”

  She gave that smile again.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Crawley?”

  She tilted her head at him. “When we first met, you told me that men were afraid of you.”

  “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

  “Do they still fear you?”

  “I hope so, for their sakes.”

  She sat with her hands on her lap and never taking her eyes off him. “Have you ever done freelance work?”

  “You mean have I killed for hire.”

  She didn’t so much as flinch. “Aye, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”

  “Bridget…”

  Before he could finish his sentence, she leaned into the table. “I have a frank question, Mister Griffin—do you enjoy your labors?” The smile she flashed was a flirty smirk.

  “Why is that important?”

  “Because when I committed murder, I felt an incredible exhilaration.”

  He knew as soon as she said it, she was telling the truth. The woman across from him had taken the life of another human being. And, just like him, was strong enough to admit the passion of it. More importantly, the look in her eyes, the satisfaction and zest in the words of her confession screamed in his mind a single message.

  He was sitting with his soul mate. He nodded. “Yes; it is exhilarating.”

  “There’s something about acting on our blackest and darkest natures, isn’t there, Devlin?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  She leaned across the table and took his hand in hers. “The purer the victim… the more innoc
ent and good they are—taking such a life is a powerful drug, don’t you agree?”

  A lesser man would have found this conversation chilling. Except she was right. To be so utterly and completely evil was intoxicating. He nodded. “I completely agree.” He covered her hand with his own. “And in the spirit of such honesty, I want to tell you that having this discussion is acting like an aphrodisiac upon me.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

  “Me too, Mr. Griffin.”

  “I have rooms upstairs, Bridey.”

  She stood. “I thought you’d never ask.” When she smiled, her lips glistened. And her eyes glittered like diamonds.

  ***

  Two hours later Bridget entered the front door of her home.

  “I’m back, Mrs. Dowd!” she called out as she hung up her coat. “I’m sorry I took so long, but there was quite a series of lineups!” She headed to the kitchen. Her timing was perfect, as Mrs. Dowd was alone.

  “A series, Bridey?”

  She nodded, her eyes downcast. “Yes. The doctor said he ‘found something’ and I had to go for a few tests.”

  “Oh dear Lord!” Mrs. Dowd came from the stove where she had been working. “Bridey, whatever is the matter?”

  She gave her head a small shake. “I’d rather not talk about it, Mrs. Dowd, but would you mind if I took a bath before the children get up?”

  The woman looked at her with sad eyes. “No, not at all! Go on up with ye, girl. Everything’s under control here.”

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Dowd.” She put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.” And not a word to my husband until I find out the results of my tests, all right?”

  “Of course not.”

  In the bathtub she withdrew the thingamajig she had purchased at the pharmacy earlier in the day. There was no way she would bear Devlin Griffin’s child! She rinsed it off under the faucet and after drying it replaced it in its holder and stretched back in the tub. She’d hide it someplace safe later. There was a shelf downstairs by the washing machine she had used before to hide secrets.

  That betrayal was to repay yours, Kevin Crawley. To leave half of your estate to your two daughters and not all of it to your wife? She smiled in satisfaction as she washed the dirt of the day off of her.

  Chapter 16

  It was a beautiful summer’s afternoon and Alice Crawley was on the swing in her backyard. Agnes was pushing her, trying to frighten her by pushing her higher and higher. Alice wasn’t afraid at all—her sister wouldn’t hurt her for all the world. She enjoyed the lurch in her stomach when the swing went as high as it could and then dropped back down.

  The rush of the breeze in her hair kept mussing up the bow, but she didn’t care. As long as Bridey didn’t take notice, it was fine. Unlike Agnes, she was able to keep Bridey’s name in her head, and ‘Mother’ for the out loud. Agnes let ‘Bridey’ slip out every so often though. But whenever she did, Papa was always present to rescue her.

  She skidded her feet on the ground and brought the swing to a stop. “I think it should be your turn Agnes.”

  “No, that’s all right! I like pushing you!” Her sister was wearing the identical outfit; the only difference was that the bow in her hair was on the opposite side. They did that on purpose, because then when they faced each other it was like looking in a mirror.

  Alice giggled. “You hate pushing me! But you hate going up in the air more than pushing me, scaredy cat!”

  “Don’t call me that! You’re the one who has to climb into bed with me when you have a bad dream!”

  “Well, that’s different. Those are dreams—this is only a swing!”

  “Hmph. You can’t fall off a dream and crack your head.” She looked up at the ropes holding the swing. “I only get scared when you push me too high.”

  “Ohhh-kaayy… I’ll only push you a little bit.”

  Agnes jumped onto the large oaken seat and grasped the ropes in her hands. She began to rock back and forth. “Okay then! Let’s go!” Her sister began to push her gently. “You know, when you go slow like that, it’s almost like floating.”

  Alice gave her a more solid push. “I like going up high in the sky!”

  “Not too hard now.”

  The kitchen door at the back of the house opened and Mother Bridget stepped out onto the landing. She was wearing a light jacket and she had her hat on.

  “All right, girls, let’s go down to the lake now!” she called.

  Alice brought Agnes’ swing to a stop.

  “I don’t like that stupid lake,” Agnes said quietly.

  “Shh! She’ll get upset if she hears you!” Alice whispered. “Mother! Will we be picking berries again?” she called out.

  Mother Bridget tilted her head to the side and held up three wicker baskets. “Yes, we will. Now let’s hurry along, Mrs. Dowd can only stay for another hour, and your brother is still napping.”

  “He’s not our brother, Alice, he’s our half brother!” Agnes whispered as they crossed the yard to where Bridey was waiting.

  “Shh! He’s a good baby and I love him!” Alice hissed back.

  “Hmph! You love everyone!”

  Alice took her sister’s hand. “And you most of all.”

  Mother Bridget handed them each their basket, and taking a hand from each of them, walked down through the park to the lakeshore.

  “Do you think there will be any berries left?” she asked the girls.

  “Well, they weren’t ripe at all last week,” said Agnes.

  “Nor the week before,” said Alice. “I hope they shall be ripe this week!”

  “Well, said Mother Bridget, “three’s the charm now, isn’t it?”

  Alice looked up at her stepmother when she said that. She wasn’t sure why, but there was something in her voice that was scary.

  ***

  Mother Bridget had taken them deep into the berry bushes. She had been right, though; they were perfectly ripe! Alice’s face was smeared with blackberry juice and her tummy was full. She was getting a little tired though.

  “Mother, I’m rather tired, may we go home soon?” she asked.

  Mother Bridget looked at her with a funny expression. “Oh, you’re raw-ther tired, eh missy? You sound quite like the proper Englishwoman, don’t you?”

  A chill went up Alice’s spine. She wasn’t being saucy or anything, but Mother Bridey was annoyed for some reason or another.

  “I’m terribly tired too, Mother,” Agnes spoke up. Mother Bridget shot her a nasty look and then smiled.

  “Ted-dib-lee tired, little one?” she asked. Her eyes looked funny.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Agnes said.

  “Well, we can’t be having you English princesses overtire yourselves, can we?” She gestured to the two girls. “Come here and we’ll take the path down to the water’s edge and sit for a moment. Then we’ll head home, all right?”

  The two girls picked their way out of the nest of blackberry bushes, holding their baskets high. When they got to the pathway where Mother Bridget was waiting, she folded her arms and looked at them sternly.

  “Ye have mouths all purple and ye’ve stained ye’er dresses!”