by Rhys Bowen
He sighed. “Theresa took it very hard. She loved that child. Well, I did too, of course. He was a darling little boy. The best.” He coughed, trying to stifle the emotion in his voice. “I had hoped that Eileen would help Theresa out of her doldrums, but she’s never really taken to the child. She treats her like a stranger.”
I didn't quite know what to say. “It was the very worst thing that could happen to a person, Bamey” I realized that I was addressing him by hisfirstname, as if he really was a cousin and I'd known him for years. He didn't even seem to notice, but nodded his head in agreement.
The very worst thing, but life has to go on, doesn't it? Theresa’s making no effort.”
“Ah, but you have a life outside the home,” I reminded him. “You have your political career. Theresa is surrounded by her memories every moment.”
“She could be a great assistance to me in my political future if she put her mind to it,” he said, “but she’s given up. We hardly entertain any more. I was surprised she agreed to have you at the house. No strange faces, no changes to her routine. It’s enough to stifle afellowand drive him away from home.”
I looked up at him, wondering where this conversation might be leading. “You owe her your support, Bamey,” I said.
“Of course I do. But even a saint can only put up with so much. A husband has a right to expect certain—duties—from a wife. She won't let me near her, you know. I'm a normal, healthy, red-blooded man with normal, healthy needs and she keeps her bedroom door locked at night. What’s a fellow to do?”
Again I wasn't quite sure what he was hinting at. I was all too familiar with those so-called needs of red-blooded men, and their apparent lack of ability to control them. But was he suggesting that I might want to take Theresa’s place? I'd heard about Bamey Flynn’s womanizing, but I hadn't thought it might extend to his own cousin. I didn't quite like the way he was looking at me.
“You made your vows in church,” I said, primly. 'Tor better or worse, in sickness or in health.”
“I know.” He sighed again. “I keep hoping. That’s why I'm so glad you're here, dear Molly.”
Again I glanced at him cautiously, not quite sure what he might be hinting at.
“I'll do my best to cheer up Theresa, I promise,” I said hastily.
“I do hope so. You're so young and full of life. Maybe you're just what she needs, not that dreary Cousin Clara of hers who just drags her down, or her sister who reminds her what she might have been.” He glanced around before lowering his voice. T o tell you the truth, I'm afraid her mind is going. Belinda wants her to see one of these new alienist fellows.”
He looked at me for an opinion. Having never heard of alienists and having no idea what they were, I gave a sympathetic nod. “If he’s going to help her …”
“What I'm afraid of is that the fellow might make her relive the details of that day and it might just push her over the edge. I wouldn't want her to wind up in an institution.”
“Oh, I don't think she’s headed that way, Bamey. Her mind seemed quite bright and alert to me.”
His face lit up. “You think so? I do hope you're right. It was a good sign when she mentioned she might want to visit Ireland. Should I plan a trip for us? Do you think it might help?”
“I could try to encourage the idea in her mind while I'm here,” I said. “I wouldn't rush her or make her feel you were forcing anything on her.” It was in my own interests that he didn't try contacting relatives in Ireland while I was still in the house.
“You're wonderful, Molly. I'm so glad you're here.” He drew me into his arms and hugged me. Again I got thefeelingit wasn't entirely a cousinly hug. I moved away from him, laughing uneasily.
“Do you think breakfast is ready yet? I'm starving after all this exercise.”
“It should be soon,” he said. “But I want to show you my pride and joy first. Come on.” He took my hand and held it sofirmlythat it would have been rude to pull mine away. He led me behind die house, past an extensive kitchen garden and small orchard, then he stopped and pointed.
“There. What do you think of that?”
Amid a stand of chestnut trees stood a perfect Irish cottage. It had a thatched roof, whitewashed walls, just like the one I had left at home. A pang of homesickness shot through me. I had diought I'd never want to see Ireland again, but that cottage almost brought tears to my eyes.
“How did that come to be here?” I stammered.
“I built it.” Barney was smiling with satisfaction. “When I took over this property, I built it for my parents. They were simple folk and didn't feel at ease in the grand house. So I built them a cottage like the one they had left. They spent their last days here.”
“Who lives in it now?” I asked. I had seen a lace curtain twitch and fall back as we approached.
“Nobody. It’s our guesthouse. The two spiritualist ladies are staying in it at the moment. They indicated they didn'tfeelcomfortable in the main house. Not to the liking of their spirit friends, I understand.” He threw back his head and laughed. He had a big, powerful laugh to match his build. “What a load of malarky, don't you think, Molly?”
“I saw them last night. They were rather impressive,” I said. “A floating head that talks and blinks its eyes has to be explained, don't you think?”
“Some theatrical trick,” he said. “But Theresa set her heart on having them here. If they can make her believe that Brendan is happy and she'll see him again some day, then they're worth the money.”
“But you don't believe they'll contact your son?” He shook his head. “My son is gone forever. I'll never see him again.”
I was taking in the lie of the land as we spoke, noticing the gravel driveway that passed to the right of the cottage and went on, presumably up to the gatehouse and the gate. I hadn't realized how extensive the property was. Anybody kidnapping a child in broad daylight would have had to walk miles from the boundary and then cross exposed lawn in full view of the house. Carrying the child out of the house and across those lawns again without being seen seemed to me an impossible task.
Farther up the drive I spied a carriage house with a shiny auto-mobile outside. A man in gray uniform was giving it a final polish. My thoughts went to Bertie Morell and I found myself blurting out, “If it was your former chauffeur who kidnapped your son, how on earth do they think he carried the child out of the house without being seen?”
“Easy” he said. “The child’s nanny. She was sweet on him, you see. He was a likable fellow. She must have delivered the child to him. She swears she didn't, of course, but with the electric chair waiting, who wouldn't?”
“And if she’s telling the truth and had nothing to do with it?”
He shook his head. “It had to be her. Do you think I haven't gone through this a million times in my head? There can't be any other explanation. And once she'd handed over the child, he'd have gone willingly enough with Morell. He was a friendly little chap, and he loved going for rides in the car. Morell always had candies for him. I thought he was genuinely fond of the child, but obviously he was just softening him up for the right moment.” His voice cracked and he kicked savagely at a pebble in his path. “Anyway, it’s a subject we don't discuss any more. Let’s go and have breakfast, shall we?”
Again I was marched firmly away.
Back at the house breakfast was in full swing. Theresa, Clara and Belinda, as well as Mr. Rimes and the silent secretary were already seated at the table. Apparently Ronald Van Gelder had been asked to join them. He now sat close beside Belinda, trying to win her over with his charm. Her expression indicated that it wasn't working. There was a row of silver serving dishes sitting over hotplates at one end of the room, but not a servant in sight. I wondered whether I should go and help myself or sit and wait to be served. I certainly didn't want to upset the protocol of the house. As I hovered by the door, Theresa looked up.
“Molly, there you are at last! We were worried about you. Clara said you'd gone
for a walk on your own.”
“Only strolling around the grounds, Theresa, not scaling the nearest peak.”
This produced polite laughter.
“But the estate is so large it’s entirely possible to get lost, or to fall and hurt yourself. And you went out without a wrap.”
“I'm used to Irish weather, remember. This is hotter than any-thing we've ever experienced. And I'm used to an early morning stroll at home.”
“Alone? Molly, you are so independent. Anyway, you must be fainting from lack of food. Do help yourself and come and sit down.”
I was glad for the instructions. I took off one lid after another and had to restrain myself from piling too much food on my plate. There was bacon and kidneys and eggs, tomatoes, smoked fish, flapjacks, potatoes … I reminded myself that I had to fit into some very small waists on those dresses and took an egg with one piece of toast. Then I sat between Mr. Van Gelder and Mr. Rimes. Almost as soon as I sat down Roland Van Gelder pushed his plate away and stood up.
“I must thank you for your early morning hospitality, Mrs. Flynn, but I should hurry back to Mother now. She'll be champing at the bit, wanting to know how many places to set at table.”
“Of course.” Theresa looked around the table. “Will you be joining us, Joseph? You, Desmond?”
“I think well politely decline,” Joseph Rimes said, shooting a quick look at Desmond O'Mara who was concentrating on a congealed kidney on his plate, “A lot of work to be done.”
“Well, you're not keeping my husband away,” Theresa said, with just the hint of a frown. “I've already told Mrs. Van Gelder that Bamey will be delighted to attend.”
“Don't worry. We have correspondence to catch up on. Your husband can go and enjoy himself.”
This time Theresaflushed. “Really, Joe, sometimes I think you forget that Bamey is the employer and you the employee.”
Rimes’s face also turned red. He rose to his feet. “Back to work, I think, Desmond.” And he strode from the room.
“Odious man,” Theresa muttered. “I can't think why Barney keeps him on.”
Roland Van Gelder coughed nervously, making Theresa ex-claim, “Mr. Van Gelder. How extremely ill-mannered of me. Please tell your dear mother that we shall be seven for dinner.”
“And what may I tell her about the possibility of a séance?”
“Miss Emily and Miss Ella take their breakfast in the cottage so I haven't had a chance to see them today, but I'll certainly do what I can to persuade them for your mother.”
“You are most kind, Mrs. Flynn.” Roland bowed his head. “Please excuse me if I run off. My mother doesn't like to be kept waiting.”
As he closed the door behind him, Theresa turned to us. “He really is rather sweet, don't you think? Not at all like his blustering father.”
“I think he’s a crashing bore,” Belinda said. “You obviously didn't observe him making sheep’s eyes at me and trying to get me to promise him my entire dance card this evening. He does resemble a sheep, don't you think?”
“You could do worse,” Cousin Clara said in her dry, sharp voice.
“Oh no, Clara. Not a Van Gelder.” Theresa shook her head.
“For one thing, Bamey wouldn't hear of it. They are still arch enemies, you know, for all their politeness. And for another, they haven't two pennies to rub together. Belinda needs to marry someone with money. She has expensive tastes, don't you, my angel?”
I didn't think that Belinda’s smile was entirely friendly and wondered if Theresa Flynn’s money had been financing Belinda’s gorgeous outfits. As if in answer to my question Theresa went on, “Which reminds me. I had an idea in bed last night. Let’s have the dressmaker come out this week and we can have a new wardrobe made for Cousin Molly.”
I felt myself becoming hot all over. Posing as a cousin and eating their food was one thing. Having a new wardrobe made was quite another. “Oh no, Cousin. I couldn't possibly allow you to—” I began.
She waved a hand to cut me off. “Molly, I have quite made up my mind to find you a rich and handsome husband while you are in America, and your clothes, while charming, are a trifle passé. Please let me do this for you. It would give me such pleasure, like dressing a full-sized doll. What color do you think, Belinda? Not pink with that coloring. Pale blue? Lime green? What about buttercup yellow?”
I sat there, cringing with embarrassment, conscious that neither Belinda nor Clara was looking at me with favor at this moment.
“Please, Cousin, I beg you,” I stammered. “Anyone would think I had come here to take advantage of your largesse.”
“Why did you come, Cousin Molly?” Belinda asked. “Was it to avoid an unsuitable suitor at home?”
“No, nothing like that. Ireland’s a small country. I wanted to experience a bigger one.”
“Will you travel west and see the Great Plains, do you think?” Cousin Clara asked. “You must get your traveling in before winter arrives. Half the country is snowed in for the season and I'm sure you wouldn't want that.”
“She’s not going anywhere for a long while,” Theresa said firmly. “I'm keeping her here with me. You are my new toy, Molly, and 111 not relinquish you.”
We looked up as Bamey came in. “Any food left for me?” he asked. He lifted one lid, then a second. “Barely enough to feed a sparrow. Have you been stuffing yourself again, Clara?”
I could tell that the remark was a good-natured tease but Clara bristled. “Really Barney, sometimes you go too far. You know that I have a most modest appetite. I ate one of your eggs and two of your slices of bacon, if you really want to know, and if you'd like reimbursement for them then I'm sure—”
“Sit down, Clara. Relax. Can't a fellow have a lighthearted moment in his own home?”
“Not if it’s at my expense,” Clara said.
Bamey spooned a good mound of food onto his plate. “So I gather I just missed the company of a Van Gelder?”
Young Roland, sent over to see how many of us are coming to dinner.”
Bamey chuckled. “Sent over, my foot. Don't they have a tele-phone any longer? You know full well why he was sent. They want your voodoo ladies to hold a seance for them. She’s been trying to snag them for years and now you've outsmarted her. Van Gelders can't allow themselves to be outsmarted by mere Irish peasants.”
“Really, Bamey” Theresa looked annoyed. “Must you see the basest motive in everything?”
“I've seen too much of human nature, my dear, just as you have seen too little, and I can tell you with utter conviction that the Van Gelders would never have invited us to dinner if the Misses Sorensen were not currently under our roof.”
“Then if that’s how you feel, why did you accept their invitation?” Theresa asked coldly
Barney laughed out loud. “What, and miss a chance to eat old Van Gelder’s food?”
Theresa got up and moved away from the table. Cousin Clara followed her. I ate as quickly as I could, wanting also to make my escape. Only Belinda lingered on, chatting happily with Bamey.
As I made my way back to my room, I heard voices through an open door.
“You shouldn't let him get away with it, Theresa. You should re-mind him that it was your money in the first place. Make him dance to your tune.”
“Don't be so naive, Clara. You know full well that Barney is beyond dancing to anyone’s tune. I just wonder how much longer I can take it.”
Twelve
That evening five of us piled into the automobile to bedriven across to the Van Gelders' house. The chauffeur wasthen to come back for Miss Emily and Miss Ella, who hadgraciously agreed to join the party, although they were a little reluctant on the question of the séance.
“The atmosphere does have to be right, or the spirits simply won't come,” Miss Ella had said.
Meaning that the room needed a lot of black swathing and lackof light to perform their tricks, I decided. I was interested to see what they would do in a room that had not been rigged up first.
I sat beside Belinda and Clara in the backseat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. I was wearing one of those instruments of female torture called corsets. Unfortunately Theresa had sent the maid, Alice, up to help me dress for the occasion. Since I didn't want the maid to swoon at the sight of an uncorseted woman, I had had toendure holding onto the bedpost while she tugged at various lacesas if wrestling with a reluctant stallion and finally brought my waistline down to acceptable standards. Not without criticism, however.
“Why, miss, your waist is almost as broad as my own,” she said in a disapproving voice. “The mistress’s waist can be spanned by the master’s hands, and she has delivered two children, you know.”
“We don't go in for corsets much in Ireland,” I said. “We find them too restricting.”
“Mercy me. You just run around with your insides flopping all over the place?” She finished hooking the low back of my ball gown. “It must indeed be a wild, heathen place.”
So now I was sitting in the car, trying hard to breathe. I certainly wouldn't be able to eat a morsel at dinner. And the corset was just the latest in a line of faux pas committed this day. I had been summoned to play croquet and had appeared on the lawn—gasp—without a parasol.
“Molly!” Theresa had exclaimed. “You'll get freckles.” As if I didn't have enough already from a lifetime in the open air. Then I had whacked the croquet ball in an unlady like manner and—gasp again—sat on the grass, where I should surely get a chill and die of pneumonia. As we bumped up the driveway in the automobile,I found myself very glad that I was not a conventional young lady and that I had grown up wild and heathen!
All in all it had been a frustrating day. I was itching to get to work and question anyone who might have known Bertie Morell, or even do some snooping in the Sorensen Sisters' cottage, but Theresa had kept me close beside her every moment. She had babbled incessantly about plans for dressmakers and what colors really did justice to red hair, making me so hot and uncomfortable that I could hardly endure another moment. But she seemed so lively and animated that I hadn't the heart to stop her. Barney had hoped I'd be doing her some good and it seemed as if this was indeed so. I just wasn't doing the job for which I was being paid.
