"He is," Claire said as they walked up the ramp. "He not only writes poetry, he's quite a good artist. Unfortunately, it takes a while to get established. Which is why he's working out here. Paddy lets him show his work in the gift shop. It's been a good summer for him."
"He looks to be very much in love with her."
"He is. It's not every day you find someone as devoted as Peter."
"Um, is he the baby's father?"
"No. I wish he were. He wants to marry her, but Megan wants to wait until after the baby is born. She's afraid he'll change his mind once he sees what it's like to be a parent."
Helen and Claire waited at the landing for the others. While Peter stayed at the marina to take care of the luggage, they made their way up to a building Paddy called the carriage house. It, too, had been made of sandstone. It was a simple rectangular building that housed a number of golf carts and a rather dilapidated old pickup with landscaping tools in the bed.
Paddy climbed into one of the golf carts and invited the others to join him. Megan and Richard, looking grumpy and listless, complied.
"If it's all the same, I'd like to walk," Helen said. "It's such a beautiful day, and I want to soak up all this beauty. You've outdone yourself, Paddy." She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek.
That pleased him. "I'm anxious for you to see the inside."
"Me too. I won't be long."
"What about you, Claire? Are you walking or riding?"
"I'll walk with Helen."
"Suit yourself." Paddy stuck a key into the ignition and puttered away.
"I hope you don't mind my walking with you. I should have asked."
Helen took Claire's arm. "Of course not, silly. You're one of the main reasons I came. Well," she added, "I did want to see Paddy too."
They walked in companionable silence. The more she saw, the more Helen fell in love with the place. Every few feet she turned around to capture the view. The higher they climbed, the more she could see of the water and neighboring islands. About halfway up, they stopped to sit on a stone bench and watch a ferry cutting through the water on its way from Sidney on Vancouver Island to Friday Harbor.
"Was Paddy serious about selling this place to you and Fabian?"
"Yes. He wouldn't sell to anyone else. Only family. I think he'd like to see at least one of us carry on the business. One of the stipulations would be that he continue to live here for as long as he wants. He'd like to see it go on as a world-class resort, but it's becoming too much for him to handle.” She paused. "Fabian would have been perfect for a place like this."
"You would, too, Claire. Even if he's gone for good, you could still buy it. You do have the money, don't you?"
"Of course. But it wouldn't be the same without Fabian. I'd need someone to help me run it, someone who knows the business and who's good with people."
"You're good with people."
"Am I?" She sighed, stood up, and began walking. "Then why do I have such a hard time hanging on to a husband?"
Helen sat there for a few moments, before hurrying to catch up with her cousin. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."
"I shouldn't be so sensitive."
Helen could gladly have throttled all five of Claire's ex-husbands. Their deception, and perhaps even more their rejection, had taken a toll on Claire's self-esteem. Her once outgoing and bubbly cousin had diminished into a woman with little confidence in herself or in life.
"What's wrong with me, Helen?"
"Nothing is wrong with you." Helen frowned. "I take that back. There is something. You've forgotten how to have fun and be yourself. You're entirely too dependent on men. I think you should buy this place from Paddy, or at least offer to help him run it. I see the way your eyes light up when you talk about the castle. Put your energy into something worthwhile."
When Claire didn't answer, Helen backpedaled, but not too far. "Listen to me, giving advice. Just the thing I promised myself I wouldn't do."
"It's good advice, Helen. I've been telling myself that for a long time. And you're right. I do love Paradise. Maybe I'll talk to Dad about it"
She hooked arms with Helen again. The long trek up the hill left them both breathless. Or maybe it was the castle itself. The five-story structure towered above them. Paddy opened the wide wooden door before she could ring the bell.
After going through a large entry with green marbled floors and rich oak paneling, they stepped into what Claire called the great hall. Here the marble floor gave way to hardwood and a luxurious-looking Persian rug in a rose pattern of mauve, taupe, and navy. A large fireplace on the opposite wall had been fashioned of a light rose marble. Intricate carvings of cherubs embellished the hearth. Wood sat at the ready in the grate while two wide leather chairs faced the fireplace. A table holding an ornate chess set sat between them. An inviting and welcome setting. On the wall above the fireplace hung an oil painting that had to be at last five feet tall. The dark background was perfect for the round balding man and the beautiful woman who stood behind him.
"Helen, I'd like you to meet Douglas and Mary Werner," Paddy said. "I felt it only right to hang their portrait here. Fine piece of work, is it not?"
"It's lovely." Helen had always appreciated oils for their endurance as well as their beauty.
"It was done in 1902. Found it hanging in the sitting room on the second floor."
"Looks like it's in excellent condition."
"Yes. Like most things here, it only needed a little cleaning up."
Helen turned her attention back to the painting. The image of Douglas Werner reminded her a bit of portraits she'd seen of Napoleon. He'd lost much of his hair. He wore a black tuxedo and a large ruby ring on the hand that rested on a cane. His eyes glistened yet held a hint of sadness. A melancholy man, Helen thought. Sensitive. It fit with what Claire had told her about his depression after the sinking of the Titanic.
Mary had the look of a dutiful princess. She was at least fifteen years younger than her husband. Her ash blond hair swept up in a chignon, she wore a sky blue dress with ruffles at the neck and sleeves. She rested one slender hand on her husband's shoulder and in the other held a pink rose that matched her unsmiling lips.
Her eyes, an odd shade of blue-green, seemed to look straight at Helen, bidding her to come closer. Helen pulled her gaze away, chiding herself for letting Claire's talk of ghosts spur her imagination into thinking the portrait was more than a painting of two people who had posed for an artist over a hundred years ago.
"I wanted to take you around m'self," Paddy said, "but I'm feeling a bit weary. Claire, would you be so kind as to show Helen to her room?"
"Sure. Which one?" Claire had a mischievous look in her eyes.
Helen wondered if perhaps all this talk about ghosts was just a practical joke and they planned to scare her silly,
"Whatever you think." Paddy gave them both a hug. "I'll see you at dinner." He limped past the fireplace and opened a door that led to a hallway and more doors.
When he'd gone, Claire nudged her. "He looks awfully tired. Do you think we should call the doctor?"
"I'm not sure it's necessary. He did look tired, and that's to be expected. His eyes were clear and his pupils looked normal. Let's let him rest, and we'll check in on him in an hour or so."
Claire agreed. "I think we'll put you into the Rosewood Room on the fourth floor. It's near mine and we'll share the connecting sitting room."
"Rosewood Room?"
"You'll love it. The wood around the fireplace is carved in a rose motif. It was Josephine's room. I have Charlotte's. They were the Werners' daughters." She arched her eyebrows. "Your room is right under Mary's bedroom."
"That's a pleasant thought." Helen let her gaze wander back to the intricately carved staircase to her left, which wound up all five floors. She stood in the center and nearly made herself dizzy looking all the way to the top. The entire staircase was lined with wood panels, reminding Helen again of the Craigdarroch Castle in Victoria.
The wood there was a similar shade of rich mahogany. She ran her hand over the satin smooth finish. Werner, too, must have used the finest wood available.
"Want to go up?" Claire asked.
"Absolutely."
"I'll show you to your room first and let you freshen up. Then we can go exploring. I thought we'd start at the top and work our way down." Her eyes glistened with excitement. "You don't think she'll mind, do you?"
"Who? Oh, you mean Mary? She might. But on the other hand, if she really is trying to tell us something, she'll have her chance." Helen decided to play along. She loved seeing Claire more like her old self.
She followed Claire up the stairway, pausing at each landing to admire the woodwork and the ornate furniture, much of it original to the house. Each floor had its own circular landing where one could sit in the turret and gaze out over the landscape or imagine oneself living in the times of old. Every floor provided a grand view, and stopping now on the third floor to catch their breath, Helen could see Vancouver Island and a number of smaller islands to the northwest. The snow atop the Olympic Mountains glowed an iridescent pale pink against the clear blue sky.
"Sunsets are glorious here." Claire dropped onto a Victorian fainting couch, the likes of which Elizabeth Barrett Browning might have used to compose her poems. "And the nights are even better. You can see the lights from Vancouver Island."
"I feel like I'm on sensory overload. There's so much to see."
"We haven't even started yet."
They ascended the stairs once again to the fourth floor, where they veered right down a long corridor. Three doors down, Claire opened the door. "This is the Rosewood Room."
"Oh my." Helen's gaze drifted over the room. The rose theme had been carried out in the stained glass that topped each of the two arched windows and in the comforter covering the elegant double bed. Roses had been carved into the massive headboard. Yet as many roses as were depicted in the room, it was not overdone. "A good thing I like roses."
"Oh look." Claire pointed to a vanity on which someone had placed a vase of fresh roses.
They were the same soft shade of pink as the one Mary held in the painting downstairs.
"Must be from J.B." Helen went to examine the card resting against the vase and noticed droplets of water on the ecru doily and the surface of the vanity as well as on the floor. The trail went as far as the carpet, which also featured a delicate rose motif. A breeze from the open balcony door wafted in, fluttering the curtains. Reaching for a tissue from a box near the bed, Helen wiped up the drips. "Whoever brought these in needs to be more careful. Water marks can ruin the wood finish."
"You're right. I'll tell Hillary. Looks like we caught it before too much damage was done."
After discarding the soiled tissue, Helen dropped to the bed and opened the card. "They're from J.B." To keep you thinking about me. I love you. J.B. Smiling, she closed it again and slid it into her pocket.
"That's so sweet."
"He doesn't want me to forget him."
"I doubt there's much chance of that." Claire fussed with the arrangement, rearranging the flowers into a neater bouquet. "That's funny."
"What?"
"There are only eleven. An odd number. Hmm, I wonder if the water dripped when the other rose was taken. It looks like someone has stolen one of your roses. I'll ask Hillary who brought them up."
"Don't worry about it. They are hard to resist."
"Well, I'll leave so you can have a few minutes to yourself. The bathroom is over in the corner and the sitting room is right through that door. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes?"
"Perfect."
Fifteen minutes later, Claire popped into the sitting room looking flushed and excited. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. "Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be." Helen had no idea what one wore to call on a ghost, so she left on her jeans and tennis shoes and changed into a white blouse, topping it with a navy cotton sweater.
"Okay. Let's go." Claire, too, had dressed casually, in a white T-shirt and khaki walking shorts. She'd thrown a pink sweater over her shoulders and tied the arms in front. Helen couldn't help but smile. Except for the wrinkles on their faces and a few arthritic joints, they reminded her of teenagers about to embark on an adventure. Claire stood at the door with her hand on the doorknob. Several seconds passed and she made no move to open it.
"Are we going or not?" Helen nudged her.
"This is too scary. Maybe we shouldn't."
"Don't be silly. You act like you really expect to see a ghost." Helen moved her aside and pulled open the door.
"I guess I do."
"Well, then, maybe she's expecting us. We wouldn't want to keep her waiting." Grabbing her cousin's hand, she pulled her into the hallway. "I'll lead the way."
"It's a deal."
Once they reached the fifth floor, Claire had gained enough courage to walk beside Helen. At the door to Mary's room, Helen turned the handle and pushed. The door wouldn't budge. "It's probably swollen shut from the damp. Did Uncle Paddy do any renovating up here?"
"I don't think so. He decided to leave Mary's room alone. I've only seen it once. I don't think anyone has slept in it since she died."
"Oh, I'm sure they have." Helen set her shoulder against the door and pushed. It moved a little. "Give me a hand. We should be able to jar it loose."
With one more push the door swung open and slammed against the wall.
In the same instant they heard a crash from inside the room.
Someone screamed.
Chapter Nine
Someone's in there," Claire squeaked.
"I don't think so." The scream, Helen realized, had come from Claire. Her own startled cry was still stuck in her throat.
"Then how do you explain that crash? It sounded like glass breaking." They stood just outside the doorway, motionless. Claire had a death grip on Helen's hand.
Helen was doing a bit of gripping herself. "Maybe we knocked something over when we opened the door."
Still holding on to each other, they stepped into the room, cautiously at first, unwilling or unable to disrupt the silence.
On the floor, in front of a vanity similar to the one in Helen's room, was a broken vase. One lone pink rose lay in the puddle of water and shattered glass. Helen glanced around the room. Satisfied no one was there, she released the breath she'd been holding and knelt to rescue the rose. "We'd better clean this up."
Claire stared wide-eyed at the broken vase. "It's an omen. You're in danger, Helen. That must be it. Why else would she take one of your roses?"
"She? You think your ghost did this?" The game had gone on long enough. "Don't be silly. Hillary or one of the maids must have taken the rose and set it up here. Although I can't imagine why. The vibration we made in opening the door must have shifted the vase and caused it to fall. You can see for yourself that no one is here. Now hurry and find me a mop and broom so we can clean this mess up."
"B-but the balcony door. It's open again."
"Obviously whoever put the rose in here opened the door. I'm sure Hillary will have an answer for us. Now scoot."
"You want me to leave you here alone?"
Helen began picking up the larger shards of glass. "I'll be fine, Claire. Go ahead."
Claire backed out of the room. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Helen hunted around for a wastebasket and found one in the adjoining bathroom. For not having maids coming in here to clean, the suite was impeccable. Someone had brought the rose into the room and taken care to find a vase, but why? And how had they gotten in? The main door apparently hadn't been opened in a while. Helen closed it and opened it again. While she had to yank on the knob, it opened more easily.
Perhaps there was another way in. The balcony? Helen cast out the absurd thought. They were five floors up, and it looked as though Mary's bedroom suite took up half the top floor. The sitting area was rectangular in shape with the exception of the large
circular alcove of the turret. She stepped out onto the circular balcony and looked down. Beneath her on the ground floor was an entry. This balcony, she noticed, was wider than the one in her room, connecting to the roof on both sides. It would be possible to come in that way, provided they could get onto the roof and manage to keep from falling. Again she questioned the absurdity of it. Why would anyone go to all that trouble to take one of her roses and put it in Mary's room? Again she felt certain the culprit was one of the maids. Perhaps Hillary herself, seeing the shade of pink in Helen's flowers, couldn't resist taking one for their ghost.
"Helen!" The panic in Claire's voice brought Helen out of her reverie. The matter would easily be cleared up once she spoke with the hired help.
"I'm out here. On the balcony."
"Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid. . .."
"Nothing has happened to me. I haven't been spirited away. I was just curious as to how the person who left the rose got in."
"It had to be Mary. Don't you see? She loved pink roses. Douglas brought them for her whenever he returned from a trip.
Besides, I can smell her perfume."
Helen, too, could smell a hint of floral fragrance. “Lilac.” She bit her bottom lip and refrained from arguing the point. She'd prove her point soon enough. “Whatever. The fact remains we still have a mess to clean up."
Helen stared openmouthed at the floor where the broken vase had been. She gripped the stem of the rose, forcing a thorn into her palm. Someone had wiped away every trace of water and glass.
"Ow!." Aware of a sharp pain in her hand, Helen looked down at the puncture wound and the droplet of blood. While gathering her wits, she took one of the paper towels Claire had brought and pressed it to her palm to stop the bleeding. She was jumping to conclusions again. "You didn't have to clean that up by yourself."
Claire tore her gaze from the floor to look at Helen. "I didn't. Helen, I swear."
The incident was bordering on bizarre. Someone had been in the room, and Helen felt certain it was no ghost. Perhaps one of the maids had come in while she was on the balcony. Yes, that made sense. Or perhaps Claire had done it as a means of further trying to convince Helen there was indeed a ghost.
A Haunting Refrain: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 4) Page 8
