The Secret of Bourke's Mansion

by Carolyn (Moyer) Swayze

  “Really, Lynn, it’s so foolish of me to be mixed up and uncertain that I deserve to feel low. I’m old enough to decide what I want to do with my life.”

  “Hey, what’s happened to you? You’ve always had a few plans, but everything was flexible. What brought this on?” She appeared prepared to sit on the balcony all night until Kate told all.

  Kate was embarrassed. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that I’m starting to see Grev as a man who is important to me, and I think he’s starting to feel the same way about me.”

  Lynn looked curiously grim. “Well, those things happen. I can’t imagine why it should make you so unhappy.”

  Kate tried to explain. “It’s just that we both agreed that nothing like this would happen. That’s what made the business work and why we got along so well. Now all of that is jeopardized. It’s as good as finished. Tonight we even reminisced over old times—see what I mean? If either of us decides we aren’t really serious about the other, then we could never go back to the old relationship comfortably. Don’t you see?”

  Lynn was staring into the distance. Finally she said slowly, “Kate, knowing you has been one of the best periods of my life, so I feel obligated to tell you what I think of the situation.”

  “Go ahead. I’m interested,” said Kate.

  Lynn drew a breath. “I think you’d be foolish to let that kind of relationship develop.”

  “But, Lynn—” Kate interrupted.

  “Let me finish, Katie. I feel that he’s just a bit too interested in making money. Perhaps he’s been thinking ahead. Maybe he has a suspicion that most of his success is due to you and he realizes that he can’t keep you forever. You’ll meet a fellow or stay in Ireland, or get restless and want a change. He’d be ruined if you left him. Ruined financially, that is. And financially is probably all that he’s concerned about. I’m afraid he wants to keep you for the wrong reasons. You told me he was so certain that you’d go to the island.”

  “Lynn, that’s ridiculous. Grev is a very capable man. He could achieve just as well on his own. And it’s not money that motivates him,” she said defensively, trying to ignore her recollections of how often Grev had stressed the importance of wealth. “It’s the challenge and satisfaction of doing a unique job and doing it well.”

  Lynn said tersely, “I’m only guessing about him, really, but I have heard a few rumors that make me wonder if you’re not being a little naive.”

  “I’m sure you’re wrong,” Kate said, feeling betrayed.

  After a brief, troubled sleep, she awoke to find Lynn cheerily preparing breakfast. Their conversation made no mention of their discussion, for which Kate was thankful. Lynn drove her to the terminal, and accepted Kate’s half-hearted invitation to visit her on the island.

  “I’ll be over on the Friday evening ferry. That will give you a few days alone to be the brave and competent lady of the manor. And to get the heat and power going.”

  “I’m really looking forward to some solitude, but I’ll certainly be glad of company by the weekend. Saturday night on Garrett Island sounds like it could be a little draggy all alone. Bye now.” She turned and walked quickly up the pedestrian ramp.

  As the ferry plied its way through the choppy waves, Kate sat on the deck with a cup of coffee to combat the sting of the morning air. The city faded from her mind as it faded from view, and she watched breathlessly as tiny black dots grew into ragged green islands. Their shorelines were occasionally dotted with cabins and wharves but the only sign of activity on Condor Island, where they stopped to pick up a passenger, was the distant and curiously lazy barking of a dog.

  It would be nice to have a dog again, she mused. There had always been one in her family, but she

  hadn’t missed having one until now. “I must be wanting to settle down. Soon I’ll be hankering for a garden and a cat sleeping by the fire!”

  The crisp air was stimulating. It helped clear a clutter of trivia from her mind as she walked around the deck. She was struck by the air of compatibility among the passengers as she recalled the unseeing eyes and carefully noncommittal face of the average city pedestrian or transit passenger. She was looking forward to the intimacy of a small community as the ferry back-watered in prepara­tion for docking.

  Humming optimistically, she gathered her things together and scanned the shores of Garrett Island with a hopeful eye.

  Chapter 3

  As Kate stood on the wharf, she again heard the lazy barking of a distant dog. Gulls cried as they circled above the departing ferry. It was good to be alone.

  There was a small cluster of buildings across the unpaved road. The largest of these was a low wooden structure, painted a rather pleasant shade of pale green. The sign suspended in front of it on two fence posts read: “Bayshore Groceries—Fred Grayson, Prop.” The store had few windows and seemed to be in a state of general disrepair. The next building was a small shed of the same distinctive color. Black lettering on the window indicated that it was a drugstore and post office.

  Kate took pleasure in the plainness of the two shops. Compared to the slick glass and concrete equivalents in the city, the stores seemed refresh­ing and friendly. It occurred to her suddenly that she would need a few groceries, and she couldn’t help but laugh at herself for forgetting such basics.

  She walked quickly over to the store, mentally compiling a list of necessities. The door was locked. She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, then walked over to a small white shack with “Casey’s Marina” painted in uneven red letters over the door. From within she could hear a cheery glug-glug sound.

  Kate stared for a moment at the man who had opened the door. He had streaks of black grease on his face, giving him the rakish look of a pirate. She judged him to be in his mid-thirties.

  “Well, well. Look what the boat brought in.” He smiled disarmingly.

  “Hello. I’d like to buy some groceries, but the store seems to be closed. Is there anyplace else I might get some?”

  “Sorry. You’re out of luck,” said the pirate. “The Graysons are in Vancouver, and what you see comprises the total business district of Garrett Island.”

  “Oh, but I’ll be hungry later,” Kate said, sounding vulnerable.

  “I’m just making coffee. You’re welcome to join me while you get your bearings. I’m Casey,” he added.

  “Thank you very much. I will join you. I’m Kate. My firm has just purchased the Bourke Estate. I’ve come to sort things out and will be here for a while, so I really will need some groceries.”

  She followed him into his cheery living quarters. A gentle breeze puffed the navy broadcloth curtains over the sink. Casey plopped a plate of toast onto the table. “Help yourself, Katie the business lady.”

  She smiled in appreciation. “I could kick myself for not bringing supplies.”

  “Well, we’ll not let you starve. I’ll tell you what, Kate, you leave your grocery list with me. When the Graysons come back, probably tonight, I’ll bring your groceries up to you.”

  Kate thanked him but insisted that she could come back in the evening.

  “No,” said Casey, “you’ll not want to walk down from there once it’s dark. I’ll give you some fruit to take for now. That should hold you until I have a chance to come up.”

  She quickly jotted down a list of essentials.

  “That’s fine,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to work.” He guided her out of the door into the dazzling brightness of the sun before she had quite finished her coffee.

  As she turned to walk away, she called out, “Would you mind telling me where it is that I’m going? I’ve just realized that I don’t know how to find the place.”

  “Just follow the only road. It winds up the hill. Then at the very crest of the road, you’ll see it. Right at the end of a lane, a large stone house, very sturdy.”

  “Thank you again.” She waved good-bye.

  She was grateful that the island was now off­season
for the tourists. The quiet was most soothing. She sat on her suitcase watching a fishing boat bobbing on the waves. Perhaps I’ll come to a place like this in the spring instead of scurrying all over Ireland or Canada.

  She was still toying with holiday ideas as she continued her walk. As she passed an old gray farmhouse, she saw what must have been the dog she had heard at the wharf. He dutifully gave a few laconic barks but seemed too disinterested in her to leave the comfort of the steps.

  Kate could see a silhouette standing at the shaded window of the farmhouse, She waved in the direction of the window and smiled brightly. The image left the window and the curtains fluttered momentarily. Kate waited expectantly for someone to come to the door in greeting. She assumed that a visitor to the island in the fall was something of a rarity. She slowed her step in anticipation, but no one appeared. As she continued on her way a small, dark cloud scuttled into the path of the sun, and suddenly the warmth of the day was gone. The air seemed strangely foreboding and gloomy. She quickened her pace as the road wound past a deserted stretch of rocky terrain, gray and bleak. A lone gull, perched on a pinnacle of rock, cried plaintively. It was very quiet. The rocky bluffs seemed to muffle any sounds from the ocean. Kate became more anxious to reach her destination. At last she crested the road at the tip of the island and saw what she knew must be the Bourke Estate.

  It was a gray building, made sturdy to the point of drabness by the neat uniformity of row upon row of rather smooth stone. It would have looked squat and dumpy had it not been for the cedar shake roof, soaring imperiously into the pines. Much like a dowdy dowager princess wearing a truly magnificent crown, Kate thought. Here and there, the warm red-brown of the roof was splashed with the brilliant green of coastal moss and lichen. The roof was further embellished by little turrets and gables. Surely the construction had been a roofer’s nightmare. It seemed unnecessarily ornate for a one-story house, but it was attractive just the same. Two massive chimneys reared up on opposite sides of the house.

  She walked quickly down the lane, which was bordered with a low fence of the same smooth stone as the house. The stonework—strong mortar-free workmanship—had been a labor of love of a very fine craftsman indeed. At the garden entrance, the fence was replaced by a hedge that enclosed the house and a very spacious garden. The hedge was formed by hedging and ditching. Young, flexible branches had been intertwined years ago, and the hedge was now as strong as the stone wall. Thorny and inpenetrable to even the smallest animal, an imposing five feet high, it ran the circumference of the neglected garden.

  Cold drops of rain were splattering, and she hurried to find her house key. The door was brand new. “How very odd!” It was a glaringly modern addition to the house—mahogany with glaring chrome fittings.

  The key fit, and she wasted no further time wondering about the door. She closed it quickly behind her and immediately felt the damp chill of an uninhabited house. She found herself in what was apparently the rear, which was momentarily confusing. Finally she made her way to the living room. Here, all of one wall was comprised of windows, small leaded panes interspersed with supporting stone columns. The effect was one of bringing the sea, the trees, the mountains, and even the circling birds right into the room. There was no sign of drapes ever having been there. Kate looked down from the window and saw that the room was situated right on the cliff so that drapes were certainly not needed for privacy.

  A fire was ready to light. Grev had just assumed she would come at his request. She was glad of the convenience of a fire but somehow, in view of Lynn’s warning words, it rankled her that he had anticipated her willingness to come and do as he requested. “I do have a mind of my own,” she asserted aloud and was surprised to see a calico cat raise its head questioningly from a deep wingback chair by the fire.

  “Now, how did you get in?” she asked. “And also, how do you get out?” Surely the cat hadn’t been here since Grev left. Cats were attached more to a house than to the residents, so she had heard. It had probably belonged to the Bourkes. “I think I just won’t let you out,” she decided, “and find out where your open door is.”

  She held a match to the kindling and watched apprehensively as the fire flared up brightly, then almost diminished completely. It was a peculiar feeling to be at the mercy of a fire after mindlessly flicking an apartment thermostat for so many years. She prodded the stubborn logs with a poker, added crumpled newspapers, and blew hopefully. Again, the deceptive burst of flame gave her false hope before it was reduced to a few weakly glowing sparks. Struggling to control her frustra­tion, she began again, scientifically laying the kindling in the dimly remembered manner prescribed in her Girl Guide manual. She held her breath as tenuous flames licked gently around the smallest log. “A watched pot never boils,” she muttered inanely as she got to her feet.

  She found the cook stove in the kitchen no easier to cope with. It had a tendency to smoke maliciously the minute her back was turned, making it necessary to open the door to air the house. That only made the need for a fire more urgent. Periodically, she scurried back to the fireplace to pleadingly feed it progressively larger sticks of wood. At long last a blaze was roaring satisfactorily and the cook stove was generating enough heat to evoke a cheery whistle from the teakettle.

  Kate sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace. She wearily peeled one of the oranges Casey had given her and tossed the peelings one by one into the fire. It was fascinating to watch them splutter into a shower of bright sparks and release their pungent, pleasant aroma.

  The fire was hypnotically restful and conducive to daydreaming. She had no idea of how long she had been staring dreamily into the fire when she realized that her eyes were heavy. She tried to fight the sleepy feeling for a moment and glanced tiredly at her surroundings. It certainly was a beautiful and interesting house, but exploring could wait, she decided.

  Why fight it? she thought. This is a holiday and my time is my own. She drew an afghan over her shoulders, curled up on the soft old sofa, and promptly went to sleep.

  A few hours later she became aware of cold feet and cramped muscles. It took a moment to collect her wits. “Of course, I’m finally on the island. What an exhausting day!”

  The room was dark except for a small glow of orange ash from the fireplace. Kate glanced apprehensively at the windows. It was a very dark night, and the room had again become cold and uninviting.

  “Oh, why didn’t I get organized right away?” she asked of no one in particular. “I seem to have left all my good sense in the city.”

  What she most regretted was having left her bag at the other end of the house. The bag contained a flashlight and other essentials. “Well, I’ll just have to go find it,” she muttered as she groped for her shoes. She was decidedly uneasy. This was a darkness unlike that of the city, where one was never away from the insidious glow of lights, even with the drapes drawn.

  “Now, keep calm,” she told herself when she at last located her shoes. “Dark is the same as light, only, uh, darker. Nothing has changed.”

  She aimed herself in what she presumed to be the general direction of the doorway to the living room. She made her way slowly, carefully, noticing how acute the sense of hearing was when one couldn’t see. She was aware of her heart beating and her uneven breathing. There. She reached the end wall without tripping. Again the distant barking of that indolent dog. She felt along the wall, hands skimming over two closed doors, but she couldn’t locate the open doorway she had remembered. “Perhaps I have the wrong wall.”

  She glanced back at the fireplace to get her bearings just as the last ember died. With the disappearance of that last spark, the darkness became menacing. Trying to dispell a mounting panic, she groped her way around the corner only to crash into what seemed to be some sort of cabinet. Her breath was loud and rapid now as she backtracked to the first closed door. It opened silently, releasing the distinct aroma of mothballs. Kate reached up to feel woolen clothing hanging in front of her.
She edged over to the next door and it, too, glided open easily. She groped ahead into the darkness. At least this doorway seemed to lead somewhere. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness to the point of discerning vague shadows on either side. It must be the hallway. But why the closed door? She was certain she hadn’t closed it.

  She inched her way down the corridor. Floorboards squeaked as she crept along. How typical! She chuckled, regaining her sense of humor. Floorboards always squeak in dark, spooky mansions. But usually there is a hero in the house to reassure the frightened damsel.

  At that instant, she caught the sound of footsteps on the shale walkway. She froze, rigidly listening. All was silent for a moment. The wind was coming up again. She wished she could still it in order to hear better. “Get to the flashlight, you idiot,” she chastised herself. She took a few steps, then stopped short at the sound of a loud thud from somewhere beyond her. There was a loud and vigorous knocking at the door. She held her breath, willing the caller to go away. The insistent knocking was repeated. She heard the door open, another loud thump, and the sudden booming of a masculine voice.

  “Hey, Katie? Kate the business lady! Are you in here?”

  Casey. Of course, it was Casey. He had said he would come. Feeling the perfect idiot, she replied tremulously, “Yes. I’m here in the hall. I think.”

  “What do you mean, you think? What in the name of heaven are you doing prowling around in the dark?”

  There was a crashing commotion and a string of colorful invectives. “I’ve just tripped on something and may never walk again.” Casey groaned.

  “I think you’ve found my bag,” Kate called giddily. “There’s a flashlight in the side pocket.”

  “Well, now, that’s a grand place for a flashlight to be on a dark night.”

  “I fell asleep,” Kate explained lamely, complete­ly shaken by the tension of the last minutes.