by Rhys Bowen
“She must have caught a chill when we returned home in the rain,” I suggested.
Belinda shook her head. “It’s all in her mind, Molly. There is nothing wrong with her body. She lives on the edge of sanity ever since that awful day. At one moment she appears bright and jolly, but the next she is plunged into the darkest depression. They have doctors these days who specialize in diseases of the mind. They're called alienists. We're trying to persuade her to see one, but she won't admit there is anything wrong.”
“It must be very hard for you and Cousin Bamey.”
“Especially for Barney. You would not believe what he’s had to endure since the kidnapping.”
I nodded, wondering whether Barney had ever paid a visit to her room at night and whether she too had sent him away.
“So we are left to our own devices again today,” Belinda went on. “I thought I might have one of the horses saddled up and ride over to the Van Gelders. I hear that Captain Cathers is a fine horseman. So was Mr. Hartley until his accident.” She lowered her voice. “You know he was thrown from his horse during a hunt and landed on his head and almost died, don't you?”
“So I've been told,” I answered.
“Poor man. Such a tragedy. No wonder he always looks brooding. He is lamenting what might have been. Do you want to ride over with me?”
I didn't like to admit that my riding was on a par with my bicy-cling skills.
“If you can find those bloomers, I think I'd like to practice riding a bicycle,” I said. “But you go out riding by all means. I can have one of the groundsmen help me with my bicycle.”
“If you really don't mind—” She gave me a sweet smile. “It’s such a glorious day for riding, isn't it?”
The bloomers were found and I put them on, delighting in the lightness and freedom when I walked in them. I resolved to have a pair made when I returned to Greenwich Village and also, maybe, to buy myself a bicycle to carry me around the city. Both of these grand schemes would be dependent on my making some money, but I had been bom an optimist. I collected the letter I intended to post to Daniel. It would be wiser if nobody in the house knew I was in contact with anyone in New York, I decided. Then I strode out onto the grounds, taking wonderful man-sized steps. As luck would have it, I ran into Adam, wheeling a barrowful of dead wood up the driveway.
“Just the person I was looking for,” I said. “I was wondering, Adam, if you'd have a few minutes to spare to help me leam to ride a bicycle. I understand they are kept in the carriage house.”
“Yes, miss, that’s right,” he said. “I'll be with yourightafter I've taken this load to the woodpile.”
The big doors of the carriage house were open, revealing an automobile on one side and a grand-looking enclosed carriage on the other. Behind it were the mews and I heard the clip-clop of horse’s hooves as Belinda rode out on afinebay hunter. I looked around for the chauffeur but he was nowhere in sight. Stairs went up the outside of the wall to a door above which must be the chauffeur’s residence. Formerly Bertie Morell’s residence. I was sure the police would have searched it thoroughly. I wondered if the child had ever been held there.
“Here I am then, miss.” Adam’s cheerful voice cut short further musings. He wheeled a sturdy-looking bicycle out of the depths of the carriage house for me and dusted off the saddle. “Ever ridden one of these contraptions before?”
“Never. Is it hard?”
“Not once you get going. You just need to pick up speed and then you go straight enough. I'll hold it while you climb on.”
I eased myself into the saddle and put my foot on the pedals.
“Now, I'm going to give you a push to start and then I'll keep hold of the back of your saddle for a while until you get going,” he said. “Off we go then.”
Suddenly I was moving forward. I turned the pedals and felt myself pick up speed. “Keep it straight, miss. Look straight ahead and keep peddling. That’s it. You're doingfine.”And I was moving on my own. Tentatively I turned the handlebars and rode in a circle. Then I slowed, wobbled and put my foot down just as Adam leaped to catch me.
“You did splendidly,” he said. I noticed he was standing a little too close to me, one hand on the handlebars, the other on the back of the seat. “I've a feeling you're not quite as grand as the rest of these folks, or as least as grand as they'd like to be.”
“You shouldn't talk that way about my cousin,” I said, but I was smiling at him.
“Your cousin would still be living in a wooden house like the one my mother lives in, if he hadn't made a fortune in the ice trade.”
“I heard about that,” I said. “He bought a barge, sailed it up to Maine and came down with it full of ice, is that right?”
“That’s how it got started,” he said. “Then he set about getting a monopoly on the icehouses of New York City. Then, not con-tent with that, he set about buying up all the ice along the river.”
“How can you buy ice from a river? Nobody owns river water, do they?”
“There are ice-cutting leases up and down thisriverin winter-time,” he said. “My father used to have one.”
“Really? How interesting. He doesn't have it any more?”
“Flynn squeezed him out of it.”
“Oh,” I said, digesting this. “Then why do you work for him?”
“He pays good wages and it’s convenient. My pa’s dead now. My mother lives across the riverand she’s in poor health. So I'm able to help her out and see her real regular, which is good.”
“And you were away visiting her the day the child was kidnapped?”
“That’sright.”But he averted his eyes.
“You say you and Bertie were good pals,” I went on. “Did you ever think he'd pull off a thing like that?”
“Never in a million years,” he said. “Oh, I'm not saying that Bertie was straight as a die. He'd cheat at cards, make himself ten bucks on a horse, that kind of thing. But nothing like that.”
“So he never talked to you about his plans?”
He shook his head.
“He never talked big at all?”
“The only thing he ever talked about was going out West. Maybe to Alaska. ‘There are plenty of suckers out there, Adam,’ he'd say to me. ‘I reckon I could make myself a mint in Alaska.’”
I took a deep breath before I asked the next question. “He never suggested that you go in with him then?”
“Me? Hey, I was on the other side of the riverthat day. If he planned something as evil as kidnapping that poor baby, he never told me about it.”
“You know what I think,” I said carefully. “I don't think it was his idea at all. I think someone was paying him, someone who had a grudge against the Flynns.”
He was staring at me now, straight in the eye. “He never said a thing about that.” He paused to consider. “Well, he wouldn't, would he? Anyone who knew who was behind it could wind up dead.” He glanced around. “Look, I have work to do. You're doing justfineon the bicycle. Off you go then.”
I set off up the driveway with quite a bit of wobbling to begin with, and also a lot to think about. If anyone had a grudge against the Flynns, it had to be Adam himself. His father had been cheated out of his livelihood. His mother lived in poverty. It only took a few minutes by boat to cross the riverand I had seen how well he handled a boat.
The gatekeeper swung open the gate for me. “Go careful then, miss,” he said. “Watch out for traffic on the road. Too many automobiles these days.”
I smiled as I set off in the direction of the nearest village, away from West Point and the Van Gelders. The road was empty, with no sign of traffic of any kind, apart from a dog who trotted along, minding his own business. I had no idea how far it was but I assumed I would come to a hamlet of some sort before too long. At first it was a steep uphill climb as the road skirted the mountain above the Flynns' property I had to dismount and push until I came to the crest. I was sweaty, red-faced and out of breath when I came to the top and
I stood for a while, wishing I had brought water with me. Then I mounted again and started the long descent. It was delightful, feeling the cool breeze in my face and watching the trees flashing by me. I was about halfway down when I realized some-thing rather vital—I didn't know how to stop. On the flat it was merely a question of not pedaling. Now I was not pedaling and going ever faster.
My straw hat flew off. Pins came out of my hair. By now I was definitely frightened and not at all sure how this could end safely, unless I met an uphill slope soon. Buildings appeared before me— the hamlet I had been seeking. If I shouted for help, maybe someone would rush to my aid, but I have always hated to look foolish. I'd choose disaster over embarrassment any day I hurtled past the first homes. I was halfway down what passed for a main street when the disaster occurred. A young woman came out of the general store and started to cross the street. I shouted, but too late. She looked up to see me bearing down on her. I swerved to my right to avoid her. She dodged to her left to avoid me. The bicycle skidded and I struck her as I went flying.
Eighteen
The breath was knocked out of me as I hit the dirt road. For a moment I lay there, tangled up in my bicycle, too shocked to move. Then I remembered the young woman I had struck and tried to extricate myself from the machine. By this time the noise of our collision had reached the nearest houses. Large hands lifted the bicycle from me and helped me to sit up.
“Are you all right, miss? Easy now. Careful. Don't try to take it too fast.”
Beside me the young woman had already scrambled to her feet and was brushing herself off. “Are you all right?”she asked me.
“More to the point, are you?” I stood up, somewhat shakily. “I am most terribly sorry. It was my first time on a bicycle and I couldn't stop the wretched thing.”
“I always knew those contraptions were a bad idea,” the local man who had helped me up grunted. “God expected humans to walk on their own two feet, not go racing through the countryside, mowing down innocent folk.”
I examined my victim for signs of damage. She appeared to have come through the ordeal with no cuts or scrapes that I could see. But there was an ugly streak across the pale silk of her dress. “Oh no. I have ruined your lovely dress. There is oil on your skirt. How will we be able to clean it?”
“Please don't upset yourself.” The young woman gave me an encouraging smile. “We have both survived with no broken limbs. Let us count ourselves lucky.”
“Bring the young ladies inside, Homer,” a woman instructed. “They'd probably like a nice cool glass of lemonade and a chance to rest.”
We were led into the nearest building while the bicycle was wheeled behind us. I was grateful to sit in the cool darkness and it took me a moment to realize we were in a saloon. The young woman had obviously realized the same thing, because she looked at me and smiled. She had a delightful smile with dimples in her cheeks.
“I never thought when I set out for a walk today that I would wind up in a saloon,” she whispered.
“It may be the only time in our lives that we are actually invited inside,” I whispered back.
“With pure intentions anyway.”
We shared a laugh. I examined the delicate fabric of her skirt. It was a fine silk, pale blue.
“Maybe they can find us some soap and warm water so that we can try to remove the worst of the damage to your skirt.”
She put her hand onto mine. “Don't worry about it, please. I'll ask my landlady to tackle it, and if she can't, then I'll have my dressmaker put in a new panel.”
“But I should at least pay you to right the damage.”
“Fiddlesticks.” She smiled again. “It was quite an adventure, wasn't it? I've never been run down by a bicycle before.”
“And I have never hurtled down a hill on one.” I held out my hand to her. “My name is Molly M—, Molly Gaffney.”
“Margie McAlister,” she said. “Goodness, you're bleeding,” she added as she examined my arm. “We must ask our hostess for some water to clean your cuts.”
My forearms and palms were starting to sting. Lemonade was brought, then our hostess returned with the hot water and gauze. Miss McAlister waved the woman aside and set about cleaning my grazes with precision.
You'll live,” she said. “Bathe them again in an antiseptic solution tonight and cover them with loose gauze pads.”
“You seem very professional at the task,” I commented.
“I have done some nursing in my time.”
“Do you live around here, or are you a visitor?” I asked.
“A visitor. I live in Georgetown, just outside our nation’s capital, where it is unpleasantly hot at the moment. I thought that the quiet atmosphere by the rivermight be beneficial to my health,” she said. “And you?”
“I'm also a visitor, staying with relatives.”
You're from Ireland?”
“How could you tell, the accent or the red hair and freckles?” I asked with a laugh.
She gave me a wistful smile. “I understand it’s a very beautiful country. Are you just over for the summer or do you live in America permanently now?”
“I'm just on a visit,” I said, deciding I should stick to being Molly Gaffney, just in case. “I haven't decided how long I'll stay. My cousin Theresa doesn't want to part with me.”
“Theresa?” I saw aflickerof reaction in those large dark eyes be-fore she went back to the gauze she was wringing out.
“Senator and Mrs. Flynn. They have a house near here.”
“Adare. I was aware of it,” she said, folding the gauze neatly on the side of the bowl.
“This is not your first visit to the area then?”
“No, some years ago I used to live nearby.” She looked up as the landlord approached and sat on a bench beside us.
“How are we doing, young ladies? None the worse for your little spill?”
“We seem to have been very lucky,” I said. “Nothing worse than a couple of scrapes and bumps.”
“I don't suppose you'll feel like riding that contraption home again,” he said. “Are you staying far from here?”
“I'm staying with Senator Flynn at Adare,” I confessed.
Miss McAlister had changed her mind about her dress and had started dabbing at the worst of the marks with the damp cloth.
“Oh, well then, why don't I use the telephone at the police station and ask for their chauffeur to come and get you, miss?”
“Please don't,” I said quickly. “I am sure I am quite able to make my own way home. I should feel such a fool if I had to be rescued.”
“If you're completely sure, miss. I can have my man wheel the contraption for you if you'd like.”
“You're most kind,” I said, “but I came into the village to post a letter and I must do that before I forget.”
“There’s a post office in the general store across the street,” he said. “Is it all the fashion at Adare to take bicycle excursions? You're the second young lady in two days.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Another slip of a girl came down the hill at full tilt on her bicycle yesterday, only she didn't fall off. She went into the police station. I think she wanted to use the telephone.”
So Belinda had lied about heading toward West Point. I wondered who she had wanted to call. Probably a suitor she didn't want her sister to know about.
Miss McAlister hadrisento her feet. “I should be going,” she said. “You have been most kind.”
“Not at all, miss. Why don't you rest a while and have another glass of lemonade? I'm sure you must be quite shaken up. I'll have the missus bring out the jug. No, no. There’s no need to rush. You take your time to recover. There won't be any men coming in here for a while yet. You're quite safe.”
He shouted for his wife and our glasses were replenished. I was feeling fully recovered, but determined to make good use of the situation.
The gardener at Adare has been telling me that he used to share a pint with Alb
ert Morell, the chauffeur, from time to time. Would that have been in here or is there another tavern nearby?”
“It was here, allright.”The landlord grimaced. “When I think how I called that scoundrel my friend. In here all the time, he was. Drank more than was good for him sometimes, but there wasn't any harm in him—or so I thought. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard what he'd done. My boy thought he was the cat’s whiskers. Took him fishing on his days off, you know.” He leaned closer to us. “Not that he wasn't what you might call slick. Manys the time I've seen him invite some poor sucker to a game of cards, and walk away with the poor man’s cash in his pocket.”
“Did you ever see him meeting shady characters in here?” I asked.
“Shady characters?” The man threw back his head and laughed. “You've been reading too many novels, miss. Like I told the police, Bertie Morell was an ordinary, likable fellow with no malice in him. From what he told me, I understand he had a way with the ladies. We used to tease him about it. Like master, like servant, that’s what we always said.”
Miss McAlister put down her glass and got to her feet. “I really must go. I thank you again for your kindness. Please excuse me.”
“Miss McAlister, are you sure there’s nothing more I can do for you?” I called after her.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” she called back as she pushed open the saloon door and hurried away.
It was a long, dreary slog back to Adare, wheeling the bicycle be-side me. The climb up to the crest was too hard to undertake on a bicycle, especially with sore and grazed limbs, and once at the summit, I was not about to risk the downhill ride and a repeat performance of my last disaster. I should have to get some lessons in stopping before I took a bicycle out again. Fortunately the bicycle had suffered no apparent damage. That would have been most embarrassing!
The long way home gave me plenty of time to think. Disconnected thoughts and ideas ran through my mind—Bertie Morell, who was universally liked and took the landlord’s son fishing, and Belinda, who had lied about bicycling toward West Point when she had instead used a telephone in the village, and the interesting Miss McAlister, who had once been a nurse and now wore an ex-pensive silk gown and who had come to the mosquito-plagued river instead of the ocean for her health.
