Hush Now, Don’t You Cry

by Rhys Bowen

  As I turned away from the cliff I spotted something glinting among the rocks below. I made my way back to the place where descent was possible, even if not too gracefully. Indeed it did involve sitting on my bottom for part of the way, but I did check first that nobody was watching and arrived without incident on the shore below. The tide was receding and the seaweed-covered rocks were wet and slippery. I made my way cautiously to the spot where I had seen the glinting object. I was half hoping to find a jewel or something incriminating like a cigarette case with telltale initials on it, but it turned out to be nothing more than several pieces of broken glass. They could have lain there for any length of time, of course. But they hadn’t come from a passing ship. Their edges were still wickedly sharp. Some pieces lay among the rocks, some in a tide pool. I used my handkerchief to retrieve as many as I could, knowing that the larger fragments might contain a valuable fingerprint. Then I wrapped them in the handkerchief before I attempted the scramble back up the cliff to the gardens.

  The glass was quite thick and obviously curved. I wondered if the autopsy might reveal that Mr. Hannan had been hit over the head with a bottle as he stood on the cliff. I also wondered why Chief Prescott’s men had not picked up the pieces themselves. I made it successfully to the top of the cliff, brushed off sand and dirt before walking back through the grounds. As I passed the French windows I paused, again trying to decide where the man who had left the house that way in the dark could have been heading. Perhaps there was a gate in the wall on that side of the property, where a person who did not wish to be seen could slip out unnoticed. But then why walk all that extra distance if one was going into town? Unless one wanted to meet somebody and didn’t want the family to know. My thoughts turned to Mr. Joseph Hannan and the woman who had been with him. What had he done with her, I wondered, and was tempted to go into town to find out if she had gone back to New York or was staying on in one of the small hotels.

  Then I told myself that she was none of my business either. If Joseph Hannan chose to leave his wife at home and brought another woman with him instead, then it wasn’t up to me to snoop into their affairs. And surely her presence here could have nothing to do with Brian Hannan’s death. I paused, considering this, and made up my mind that I would go into town to see if I could find out any more about this mysterious Miss X.

  Thirteen

  As I came close to the back of the house I heard voices. I moved closer, taking the path that ran along the side of the house. A kitchen window was open and inside I glimpsed a row of black-and-white uniforms. So the servants were assembled in the kitchen and from the way those backs stood unmoving I suspected that Chief Prescott was grilling them. I dearly wanted to listen in but there was no convenient bush or obstruction near the window behind which I could hide. I went around the corner where there was a blank wall and flattened myself against this, praying that nobody would come, as I couldn’t think of any logical reason I should be standing in this spot. Certainly not to be out of the wind as it was about the most exposed corner of the house and buffeted me as I stood there. It also snatched away the voices that floated out through the window so that I only caught snippets of conversation. Not enough to make sense of what anyone was saying.

  In the end I gave up in frustration and had just decided to move away when the back door opened and three men came out. I stood still against the wall, hoping that they wouldn’t turn and look back in my direction, but fortunately they stood for a moment outside the door, then started walking away from me. I recognized one of them as the gardener to whom I had spoken—a pleasant-looking lad.

  “Well, how about that, then?” he said to the other men. “Poor old geezer, what a way to go.”

  “What do you mean, poor geezer?” a larger, big-boned carthorse of a youth said. “Why should we worry about him? What about us, that’s what I want to know? Who gets the property now? What if they decide to sell it?”

  “I suppose it goes to Mr. Joseph, doesn’t it? He was the master’s partner in business,” the pleasant lad said.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” An older man stepped in between them. “It’s not our place to speculate and until we’re told otherwise we get back to raking leaves and pulling weeds. Got it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Parsons,” the boys muttered.

  “You know what I think,” the gardener I had spoken to said. “I think there’s more to this than they are saying. The way they grilled those New York servants—they aren’t sure this was an accident, are they?”

  “Watch your mouth, boy,” the older man hissed. “Nothin’ to do with us. We keep our mouths shut and stay well out of it.”

  “Lucky for us we go home before dark, that’s what I say,” the bigger youth said, nudging his friend. “They can’t pin nothing on us.”

  “Not so lucky if they find out that you haven’t got rid of those brambles over on the far side like you was supposed to,” the older man said.

  “How was I to know they’d be coming here in October,” the boy complained. “Ain’t natural, is it? Whoever heard of a family coming up in October?”

  “So you’d best get moving now, or you’ll be looking for another job,” the older man said. “We’ve already lost enough time today answering his danged fool questions.” And he stomped off in the direction of the stables. The younger gardeners exchanged a grin and then went their own ways. I paused until they were out of sight, thinking. Daniel had mentioned something about scraps of clothing fiber being caught on bushes. If there were lots of brambles in that far wilderness, maybe I’d turn up a valuable clue. I wasn’t sure why I was so keen on finding clues to an incident that had nothing to do with me—perhaps I wanted to show Daniel how competent I was, but perhaps it was more that I wanted to impress Chief Prescott. A little of both, I suspect. I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge and I had nothing else to do at that moment.

  I set out across the formal garden, veering to avoid the fountain that was sending out a mist of spray in that fierce wind until at last I reached the part of the grounds that had been allowed to grow wild. A white painted gazebo was half hidden among tall shrubs. A flagstone path led to it. I went up the steps and peeked inside. It was a simple structure, six sided with a wooden bench running around the walls. There was nothing special about it, except for its location, hidden away from the main house but with a delightful glimpse of the cliffs and ocean through the arched entrance. A drift of red maple leaves had accumulated on the benches and floor and it had an abandoned feel to it. I almost turned away again, then something caught my eye. On the bench just inside the entrance was a tray containing a decanter and a glass, half filled with a brown liquid—brandy or whiskey, I surmised.

  Of course my first thought was why the police had not come across this or chosen to remove it for testing. What if the whiskey had been tampered with? Had Brian Hannan been here? Had he decided to have a quiet drink before facing the family? Of course it could easily have a more simple explanation. Maybe Terrence or Joseph, or even Father Patrick, may have needed to escape for an occasional tipple. There was nothing wrong in this and they’d have no problem confirming their presence in the gazebo. But the tray must have been placed there recently, as there wasn’t a single leaf on it, whereas the bench beneath it was littered with them. So it was definitely worth mentioning to Chief Prescott. I changed direction and walked firmly around to the front of the house.

  There was no longer a constable standing at the front door, but it was ajar and I stepped unchallenged into the foyer. Nobody was in sight and the hall still had that cold, unfriendly feel to it. I shivered and involuntarily glanced up the staircase. I didn’t care what Mrs. McCreedy had said, there was some sort of presence in this house. Almost as if a curse lay over it, claiming first the beloved child and then the master. But this was the twentieth century and it was America, not Ireland and people no longer believed in curses.

  I stood waiting for someone to come, listening for voices but the house remain
ed silent, apart from the wind that moaned softly down a chimney. Chief Prescott had been in the kitchen with the servants so I started down the passage that led to the rear of the house. Halfway along this hallway I heard men’s voices coming from behind one of the many doors. I put my ear to the door, trying to discern whether one of those voices belonged to Chief Prescott. I thought I recognized Joseph Hannan’s blustering manner and hesitated to barge in on him, when he had made it so clear that he wanted Daniel and myself off the premises as soon as possible.

  I jumped guiltily as I heard footsteps behind me and spun around to see a footman coming toward me, carrying a tray containing a silver coffeepot and cups. He looked at me curiously.

  “Can I help you, miss?” he asked in a voice that still had a trace of Irish brogue.

  “I was trying to hear whether Chief Prescott was in this room,” I said. “Are you bringing that coffee for him?”

  “I believe he is in there with Mr. Joseph,” the young man said, staring at me impassively. I could see him trying to judge from my appearance whether I was a guest or someone of lesser rank and whether he needed to treat me with deference. Of course I had been out in the wind and up and down a cliff so I’m sure the first impression was not too good.

  “Is he expecting you, miss?” he asked flatly. “Do you have a message for him?”

  “I wish to speak with him immediately concerning the alderman,” I replied in my haughtiest voice. “Kindly announce me when you take in the coffee.”

  “Whom shall I say is calling?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Sullivan. My husband and I are staying in the guest cottage. We were invited by the alderman himself,” I said. “And I have already made the acquaintance of Police Chief Prescott this morning.”

  His fair Celtic face flushed. “Very well, ma’am. I’ll ascertain whether he and Mr. Joseph wish to be disturbed. If you’ll just wait here.”

  He opened the door. “A Mrs. Sullivan is here and wishes to speak to Chief Prescott,” he said grandly.

  “What does she want? We’re busy,” Joseph Hannan said.

  I wasn’t going to stand meekly in the passage while they discussed me and what I might want. I walked into the room. It was a gentleman’s study, with leather chairs, a mahogany desk, and a wall of leather-bound books. It looked so perfect that I couldn’t help wondering whether Brian Hannan had purchased the whole thing from an English stately home and had it shipped across. Joseph Hannan and Chief Prescott were sitting across from each other in leather armchairs. They both looked decidedly displeased to see me.

  “This won’t take a moment of your time,” I said, addressing myself to the police chief. “But I’ve discovered something that may be important for your investigation.”

  “You have? What is it?”

  “I was taking a stroll around the grounds,” I said, “and the wind became rather strong so I decided to take refuge in the little gazebo. Imagine my surprise when I saw a tray on the bench. There was a decanter on it, and a glass, half full. I presume your men must have mentioned it to you, but on the off chance that they hadn’t, I thought I’d better.”

  “Yes, well thank you, Mrs. Sullivan,” the police chief said. “Good of you.” His expression made it clear that nobody had told him about it but he wasn’t about to lose face by admitting it.

  “A tray with a decanter on it, you say?” Joseph Hannan asked.

  “And it looks as if it had been placed there recently,” I added.

  “And how would you know that?” Joseph Hannan asked in what I took to be a patronizing voice.

  I still kept my gaze directed toward the police chief as I answered. “Because there are a good many leaves lying on the bench and none on the tray. So I wondered who might have gone to have a quiet drink alone there, and when that was.”

  “Interestingly enough, that ties in with what I was just telling you,” Joseph Hannan said to the police chief. “That would make perfect sense. Brian arrived last evening and the first thing he needed was a drink before he faced us. But he didn’t want any fuss from us so he took it off to the gazebo where he could drink in peace.”

  My gaze went from the police chief to Joseph Hannan and back again.

  “Mr. Hannan had just this minute mentioned to me that his brother had begun drinking rather heavily and that the family was trying to stop him before it was too late,” Chief Prescott said.

  “Nobody enjoys a good Irish whiskey more than I do,” Joseph Hannan said, “but with Brian it was beginning to take over his life. Threatening all he’d worked for all these years—the business, his political ambitions. Naturally we tried to help him. My wife and daughter are part of the temperance movement so you can imagine how they lit into him any time they saw him with a glass. Poor man, they gave him hell.” He gave a wry smile.

  “So if he arrived last night and wanted a drink, he must have got it from somewhere,” Chief Prescott said. “Where would he have helped himself to a decanter and glasses without being seen? Or one of the servants must have brought him the tray, which is strange, because none of them mentions having done so. In fact they all swear that they didn’t see him arrive.”

  “Ah, well, I think I can shed some light on that,” Joseph said. “Shed being the operative word. Brian knew his drinking wasn’t well received in the house, so he kept a little stash in the shed by the stables. That’s where this probably came from.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” Chief Prescott said. “I was fearing we’d be in for an investigation, given that Mr. Hannan was such an important man in New York. But this explains it all, doesn’t it? You say Mr. Hannan drank too much. Didn’t know when to stop. He sat there in the gazebo last night until he was drunk and then in his drunken stupor he walked the wrong way, over the cliff. A sad ending to a great man, but not entirely unexpected would you say, Mr. Hannan?”

  “It’s what we’ve all been fearing,” Joseph said. “What a waste. Just when his future had never been brighter.”

  Chief Prescott nodded. “Better in a way than the suspicion of a crime hanging over the family.”

  “I suppose it is. And that means there is no reason for Mrs. Sullivan and her husbasnd to stay on any longer, is there?” Mr. Joseph put the question to Chief Prescott. “They’d be free to leave now, wouldn’t they?”

  “I suppose so.” The police chief was hesitant. “Let’s just wait and see that the autopsy confirms what she has just told us. We should hear their initial findings later today with any luck.”

  “And if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if we could stay at least until tomorrow morning,” I said. “My husband is not at all well. He needs a day of rest before we attempt the journey home.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Chief Prescott said. “I noticed he was coughing this morning. Caught a chill, has he? The wind can be fierce at this time of year.”

  “He’d recover better in his own bed at home,” Joseph Hannan said. “That’s the first thing I want when I’m ill. My own bed.”

  “I’d prefer they didn’t leave at this very moment,” Chief Prescott said. Then he actually extended his hand to me. “Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan. You have been most helpful and most observant. No doubt our autopsy will reveal the presence of alcohol in his system and we can close this case.”

  And he escorted me to the door then shut it firmly behind me.

  Fourteen

  Daniel opened his eyes as I came into the bedroom.

  “Oh, there you are,” he said wearily. “I wondered where you had gone. I’m so thirsty, I needed a drink of water, but I didn’t feel like going all the way downstairs to fetch one.”

  “I’ll get you one,” I said and did so. He drank as if he’d been lost in a desert for days. I put my hand on his forehead. “You’re rather hot,” I said.

  “And my head aches like the devil,” he said.

  “I’ll go into town and get you some aspirin from the chemist if you like,” I said.

  “Thank you, if it’s not too much t
rouble.”

  “What else do I have to do?” I looked down at him fondly and stroked his hair. “I want you to get well as soon as possible, don’t I?”

  Having left Daniel with a carafe of water and a glass at his side I put on my hat and cape again and set out on my errand. As I joined the main driveway close to the gate I saw my gardener from yesterday working nearby.

  “Morning, ma’am,” he called. “You’ve heard the terrible news, no doubt.”

  “I have.” I didn’t need a second excuse to go over to him. “What an awful thing to have happened. The whole family was in shock this morning.”

  “I can imagine. The servants were pretty cut up too, I can tell you. Especially Mr. Hannan’s own servants he’d brought from the city. Couple of maids bawling their eyes out and even his cook looked as if he’d been crying—but then he’s a French guy so you expect that kind of thing from foreigners, don’t you?”

  “How many staff actually came from Mr. Hannan’s house in the city?”

  He sucked through his teeth, thinking. “Not many this time. It wasn’t worth bringing up the whole household like he does in the summer. Let me see. The French chef, for one. Mr. Hannan never leaves him behind. He was fond of good food and frankly Mrs. McCreedy’s cooking isn’t too wonderful. What you’d call Irish basic, I think. And usually the butler comes up in the summer, but this time he stayed behind. And who else was there—Mr. and Mrs. Van Horn brought their personal servants. They have a maid and valet who look after them, like in all the good households. But the master just brought a couple of maids and a footman to serve at table, oh, and his chauffeur. He keeps an automobile here to run him around and he has another one in the city. Imagine—two automobiles, and I hear he has a very fine carriage and pair too. Nice what money can do, isn’t it?”

  “No use to him in the end though, was it?” I said.

  “True enough. We’re all wondering what’s going to happen now.” He looked around before speaking again. “We don’t know if the whole kit and caboodle will go to Mrs. Van Horn, seeing as how she’s his only child. Or to Mr. Joseph as his business partner, or whether the fortune will be shared between all the family members. If it’s Mr. Joseph he may not even want to keep on this place. He doesn’t really like it here. He’s a city gent. He doesn’t even stay in the house most times—he sleeps out in the guest cottage where you are now.”