by Rhys Bowen
“So what should I know about this kidnapping?” I asked innocently as he was going through one of his briefings.
“Nothing more than was in the papers,” he said. The chauffeur was shot on his way to pick up the ransom money. The child was never found. It was the most awful tragedy and I presume theyll be trying to shut it from their minds, apart from Mrs. Flynn and her séances, of course.”
“So this chauffeur must have been a really wickedfellow,“I said. “No conscience at all.”
“Absolutely,” Daniel agreed.
“You don't think he was in the pay of someone else then?” Daniel raised an eyebrow. “What are you hinting at?“
“Just that it seems rather a dashing and ambitious crime for a humble chauffeur to carry off alone. I was wondering if he had been paid to take the child and to collect the money while the real villain lurked in the background—and has wisely kept quiet ever since.”
Daniel shook his head violently, making those unruly curls dance. “Oh no, Molly Murphy. No! Absolutely no! I can read your mind like a book and you are not going to poke your nose into this. Trust me—the police carried out a most extensive investigation and came up with nothing, apart from the chauffeur. So put it from your mind and don't think of it again—and that’s an order.”
“Yes, Daniel.” I lowered my eyes and attempted a good imitation of a simpering female.
The train rumbled over a bridge and we were off the island of Manhattan. On my left the riveropened up with tall brown cliffs along the far shore. The river presented such a lively scene full of craft of all sizes, ranging from humble rowboats to barges laden with timber and granite and bricks to bright-painted side-wheeler paddle steamers looking most jaunty withflagsflying.I had been given the choice between making the trip by steamer or train, but opted for the quicker journey. I didn't want too much time to sit and brood about what I had let myself in for and what might go wrong.
Not for the first time I wondered why I hadn't found respectable employment for myself instead of trying to establish myself in a man’s profession, and a dangerous one at that. At this very moment I could have been selling ladies' hats, or serving tea and cakes in a genteel coffeehouse, safe and secure instead of never knowing what might happen tomorrow. Letting my thoughts wander like this and swaying to the rhythmic motion of the train reminded me of the occasion, a little over a year ago, when I had been forced to flee by train from a life of boredom, drudgery and unchanging certainty in Ireland. I had killed a man by accident, in circumstances that I won't go into now, but suffice it to say that it was a case of flee or be hanged. I had chosen the former. I had lived with my heart in my mouth ever since, but at least I had never been bored. Thus satisfied, I looked out of the window and enjoyed the view.
We stopped at neat little pastel-painted towns along the way. People got into my compartment and disembarked again further up the line. The river had opened into a wide, tranquil lake bordered by green meadows and willow trees. I caught glimpses of fine houses set in parkland and wondered if Adare would be as grand. Then we pulled up beside a great granite building. The sign on the station said OSSINING. I looked out of the window with interest.
“What is that, an army post?” I asked the two women who now sat opposite me.
They shook their heads and made clucking noises. “Dear me no. That’s Sing Sing, the prison. They've got the most desperate criminals in the state locked up in there.”
“I've a sister who lives in this very town,” the other confided. “I tell her I don't know how she sleeps sound in her bed at night, knowing what depraved creatures are on her doorstep.”
More clucking noises and shaking of heads. I studied the prison with interest as the train pulled out of the station, but could see nothing beyond the high wall. It didn't seem likely that any of the depraved creatures would find a way to escape from that formidable institution.
Soon the river narrowed again. Tall mountains loomed on either side as the river raced through its granite padiway. It was a scene right out of an Italian Romantic painting, complete with cliffs, rapids and valiant boatmen. I was so intrigued at watching little craft attempting to navigate upstream that I almost missed my station.
I was still gazing out of the window as we came to a halt. I leaped up as I heard the station master yelling: “Peekskill. All aboard,” and had to make a great fuss to find a porter willing to lift down my valise. I suspect that I could have taken care of it myself, but was already into die part of helpless young girl newly arrived from Ireland.
“Where are you heading to then?” the man asked, depositing the case on the platform as the train steamed out. “Will you require the hack?”
I had no idea. I had written informing Senator Flynn the train I intended to take, but had received no reply. “I'm for Senator Flynn’s residence: Adare,” I said.
“Adare? That’s on the other side of the river,“he said, looking at me curiously, “and no bridge between here and Albany. I hope you're a good swimmer.”
“Is there no ferry here?” I asked, wondering how I would con-tact a house on the other bank and how they planned to meet me.
“No public ferry. There’s no real village on the other side. Just the few houses at Jones Point and then wilderness all the way to the military academy at West Point. Why the Senator chose to have a house over on that shore, miles from civilization, beats me. Are you expected at Adare?”
His expression indicated that I was probably a new maid. Why did nobody ever take me for a young lady of quality? I gave him my most haughty stare. “I'm the Senator’s cousin, visiting from Ireland.”
“Bless my soul.” The man’s look of embarrassment told me that I had exactly read his thoughts. “Well then, in that case, there should be someone to meet you. What’s your name, miss?”
“Molly Murphy,” I blurted-out, then corrected myself immediately. “Molly Murphy Gaffney Miss Gaffney” I felt my cheeks burning, furious with myself that I had failed the very first test. I surely wouldn't last long at this assignment if I couldn't remember my own name.
“Anyone from Adare here?” the man shouted. “I've a Miss Gaffney waiting to be picked up.”
A small, wiry man with a shock of gray hair poking from under a cap came running up from the direction of the shore. “Hold your horses, I'm coming,” he announced, then took off his cap to me. “Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. I got held up while a string of barges was coming past. Which is your luggage?” I pointed and he hoisted the valise onto one shoulder, while I carried the hatbox. “The skiff’s this way, miss. If you'd be so good as to follow me.”
I thanked the gentleman who had been watching over me and followed my valise down a rocky path to the shore. A small boat was tied up there and a second man, this one young and strapping, sprang to attention as we approached.
“You found her then, Tom. That’s good,” he said. “Here, miss. Ever been around boats before?”
I was just about to answer that I'd lived on the shore for most of my life when I remembered that I came from the city of Limerick and probably hadn't needed to go anywhere by boat. “Not really,” I said.
“Take my hand then, miss, and try to step into the middle of the craft,” the young man said and almost lifted me down. I was conscious of big, muscular arms and enormous strength.
“And your name is?“
“Adam, miss,” he said. Tom and I are gardeners at Adare, and also boatmen when the need arises.”
Tom loaded in my bags, jumped down with an agility that I wouldn't have expected from his age, untied the rope and we drifted out into the stream. Immediately the current caught us and the two men had to strain on the oars, pulling strongly against the force of the current.
“So Adare is upstream from here, is it?” I asked.
“No, miss, not really,” Adam said. “You can catch a glimpse of it through the trees on the other bank there. But with this current, if we don't start out heading upstream, we'd be back in the Tappan Zee
before we knew what had hit us.”
Adam, I thought, watching the burfy one pull at the oar. Annie Lomax had mentioned a gardener called Adam. But she'd also said that all of the servants had been dismissed. Was this a new gardener with the same name, or had he somehow managed to escape the purge? I glanced at him with interest. If it were the same Adam, then Annie hadn't trusted him. I wondered now if that was because he was a sly individual or because of his way with women. He was certainly giving me the eye at this moment.
“So have you been with the Senator long?” Tasked, addressing them both.
“Old Tom’s been at Adare since before the Senator’s time,” Adam said. The Senator bought the house about ten years ago, wouldn't you say, Tom?”
Tom nodded, grunting with the pull of the oars.
“And I came as apprentice about five years ago.“
“Was that before the tragedy with the Senator’s son?” I asked.
“A few months before,” he said. So it was indeed the same man.
“That must have been so terrible for everyone at the house,” I said. “His family in Ireland certainly felt it hard enough. My poor mother never stopped crying.”
Adam nodded. “It was bad,” he said. “A bad time. If you ask me they've never really gotten over it.”
Tom glared at him. 'You keep your mind on the rowing and forget about the gossiping. It was none of our business then and it still ain't now.”
“You two must have been lucky or particularly good workers,” I pressed on. “1 heard that Cousin Flynn fired all his employees after the tragedy.”
“Most of them, yes,” Tom said. “But it just happened that Adam and I were away when it took place. I was laid up with pneumonia and Adam was visiting his sick mother, who lives on the other side of the river. So the master figured we could have had nothing to do with the crime and he kept us on.”
I nodded. The western bank was fast approaching, but as yet I saw no sign of a house. A great hill rose up, clad in a shaggy coat of trees, with the occasional boulder showing through—as wild as anything I'd seen in Connemara at home.
“So from what we heard, it was the chauffeur did it?” I ventured as the two rowers negotiated us past a clump of swirling vegetation brought down from upstream. “He must have been a smart one to have planned something as cunning as that.”
Adam looked up now. “Bertie? He never struck me as another Thomas Edison, nor as having an evil nature either. We often went for a pint at the tavern and—”
“Watch your oar, boy” old Tom snapped. 'You'll run us aground and the little lady will be feeding the fishes.”
They rowed in silence past some frightening-looking rocks. Then I looked up and gasped. The trees had parted. In front of me were green lawns and behind them a sprawling, gray stone house, rising three stories high amid the trees. It had a romantic look to it, with a round tower on the far right and painted shutters at the windows.
“Here we are,” old Tom said, and took over both oars as Adam leaped nimbly onto a small wooden jetty. My bags were handed up, then Tom took me by the hand.
“You're a very curious young lady, by the sound of it,” he said. “Let me give you a word of advice. It don't pay to ask too many questions around here.”
Then he handed me up to Adam and I was ashore.
Seven
I had no time for thought as Adam picked up my bags and set off at a lively pace across the lawn. As I approached the house, I had a chance to study it more closely. I couldn't say I found Adare elegant. Solid. Imposing. Powerful—that was the word for it. The exterior was rough-cut granite. The style was definitely a mixture—a Southern type of veranda running along the side of the house that faced the river, but with that very Italian-looking round tower at the right, French shutters at the windows and a roof that looked more Dutch than anything. I wondered if the first owner had designed it himself and what had attracted Barney Flynn to buy it.
As we approached the veranda, I heard voices and noticed figures sitting in the shade at white-clothed tables. It was four o'clock. Obviously tea was being served. We came closer, unnoticed, until a servant tapped one of the women on the shoulder and pointed to me. Then all heads turned in our direction and a young woman rose to her feet.
“Molly, you're here at last,” she exclaimed, coming to greet me with open arms. “We've been waiting impatiently all day. You must be exhausted, poor lamb. All that tiring travel. Do come and have a cup of tea before you drop.”
“I've only come by train from New York today, not all the way from Ireland,” I said, returning her smile. “And forgive me for asking, but you must be Cousin Theresa.”
“How silly of me.” She had a high, musical laugh. “In my excitement at seeing you, I completely forgot my manners.” She held out her hand. “I am indeed Theresa. How do you do, Cousin. Welcome to Adare.”
“You are most kind to ask me to stay,” I said, taking her hand. It felt cold and so frail that I didn't dare squeeze it. She looked frail too, as if a breath of wind might blow her away. She had pale hair and her skin matched the whiteness of her summer gown. There were dark circles around her eyes and her collar bones stood up above a lowcut neck. But she had a sweet smile as she grasped at my hand.
“Another place please, Alice. And Clara, pour dear Cousin Molly some tea. She must be close to fainting in this heat.”
“I assure you I'm just fine,” I said.
Theresa patted my hand as I sat. “Would you listen to that accent?” she cooed. “Isn't it divine. Straight from the old country. Won't she do Barney’s heart good?”
I looked around the group seated at table and gave what I hoped was a shy smile. A cup of tea was placed in front of me by a severe-looking older woman, clad in a high-necked dress of dark gray, in spite of the sticky heat of the afternoon.
“Please make the introductions, Thesesa,” she said.
“Of course,” Theresa Flynn said. This is Molly Gaffney, Barney’s cousin, newly arrived from Ireland. Molly, may I first present our other guests: Miss Emily Sorensen and Miss Ella Sorensen.”
I screwed up my eyes to look from sun into shade and found my-self observing the famous Sorensen Sisters in the flesh. The strange thing was that there was nothing unusual about them. They looked like two perfectly ordinary middle-aged women. Miss Emily was a trifle dumpy and Miss Ella on the bony side. They both wore their hair in an unflattering fashion of years ago, parted down the middle and rolled into large wings on either side. Their black dresses were unadorned and their faces calm and composed as they inclined their heads to me.
“Miss Sorensen. Miss Sorensen,” I said. “I am pleased to meet you.”
Theresa reached across and squeezed my hand again. “I must tell you all about them later when we are alone. They are so wonderful and we are so honored to have them here. You've heard of them, have you?”
“I believe I might have,” I said. “Are you not the famous spiritualists?”
“We are.” Miss Emily had a deep, masculine voice.
“Has news of their fame reached Ireland?” Theresa said delightedly.
“We are not at the ends of the earth, Cousin Theresa,” I said, making her giggle again in a girlish way.
“The introductions, Theresa.” The woman who had handed me a cup of tea tugged at Theresa’s arm. “There are others present who need to be introduced before you chat with your new friends.”
Theresa flushed. “Oh, of course. I'm sorry. Too much excitement after the normal reclusive nature of our lives here must have gone to my head like wine. Molly, this is my mother’s cousin, Miss Clara Tompkins. She is kind enough to live with us and keep me company.”
The older woman inclined her head without smiling, not taking her eyes off me for one second.
“And this is my sister Belinda Butler, making afleetingvisit to us on her way home from Europe.”
The second woman was in direct contrast to thefirst. She was a pink-and-white gorgeous creature in a delightfully lac
y creation with a cameo on a pinkribbonaround her neck. She turned big blue eyes on me and gave me a sweet smile. “I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Cousin Molly. What a delightfully quaint accent you have. Do all the people in Limerick sound like you?”
To be honest I hadn't a notion what the inhabitants of Limerick sounded like, never having spoken to one. “More or less,” I said.
“How strange to think that Barney would have spoken like that if he'd been born there and not here,” Belinda said. She fanned herself with a dainty carved ivory fan.
“A sandwich, Molly dear?” Theresa asked. “Or will you take an eclair? Cook is most gifted when it comes to pastries.”
I opted for the sandwich, noting that the fast-melting choco-late on the eclair would no doubt wind up on my person or my dress. Even here in the deep shade of the veranda, the heat was oppressive.
“You've just returned from Europe, Miss Butler?” I asked Belinda. “Did you have a chance to visit my country?”
“I'm afraid not, Miss Gaffney I was only away for a month and one only had time to visit the important places—you know, cities noted for their fine art and cultural heritage like Florence and Paris.”
“We are not. without a cultural heritage of our own in Ireland, you know,” I said. “The castles and monasteries date back to the dawn of time.”
She frowned, as if I was a sweet puppy that had unexpectedly bitten her. “I didn't mean to imply that the culture of your country was any less important, Miss Gaffney. Dear me, no. That was not my intention.”
“I'm sure you didn't, Miss Butler.” I smiled sweetly at her. “And given the chance, I would also have chosen Paris and Florence over Dublin any day.”
Theresa laughed delightedly. “Isn't she a gem? She has Barney’s wit, doesn't she? Molly—I may call you Molly, mayn't I?—I can't tell you what a joy it is to have you here. Life has been so awfully dreary and I haven't been well, you know. I have been so longing for a merry companion and now God has provided you in answer to my prayers.”
