When Swallows Fall

by Gloria Davidson Marlow

  “This hall is a mirror image of the other, for the most part,” she said as we walked down the hall opposite the ballroom. “The billiard room replaced the ballroom on this one.”

  She opened a door to a room covered in a vast expanse of wood paneling, with dark leather-upholstered chairs, billiard and poker tables.

  We followed the hall to Calvin’s study, her morning room, and a small glass-paned conservatory at the end of the hall. The conservatory jutted out enough from the rest of the house that one could see the dunes and a small sliver of the lighthouse beyond the other corridor, which blocked most of the view. The rest of the conservatory faced a garden quite similar to the one I could see from my own room.

  “They say this was my predecessor’s favorite room,” she said, as she ran her hand across the delicate white spinet. “Some of the maids fear her ghost abides here, just as Desdemona’s walks the upstairs corridor.”

  “I thought Desi haunted the ballroom.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed.

  “The ballroom is a catch-all for everyone who has ever been carried out of Almenara feet first. Eventually, I suppose, I shall join them all in that dreadful room, frightening the next crop of maids by dancing the jig in the middle of the night.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the image her words conjured.

  She sighed. “The thing I’ve always wondered is why, if Amelia was willing to throw herself from the lighthouse in order to escape life here, she would return to haunt the halls.”

  “Do you believe she killed herself?”

  “Of course. What else would I believe?” When I didn’t answer, she led me out of the room. “That Cade killed her? Is that what you heard?”

  “I was led to believe he was a suspect.”

  “Yes, I suppose some might say that.” She was silent for only a moment before asking, “Will you remain at Almenara until after Cade’s trial?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you sit in on the trial, do you think?”

  “I should think so.”

  “It will be difficult for you.”

  “I think I shall manage well enough.”

  She opened several doors, revealing guest rooms, before opening one to a bedroom that I immediately knew had belonged to my sister. The faint scent of her perfume still lingered there, and I wanted nothing more than to enter, to search for some small piece of the girl I remembered, in the belongings scattered about.

  “Desdemona’s room,” she said. “Just the way she left it before he killed her.”

  “Do you really believe Cade capable of killing her?”

  She gave me a sly glance. “I believe a man betrayed is capable of many things.”

  “What about a woman?” I shot back, thinking of Calvin’s innuendo the day of my arrival.

  She laughed outright and pushed the next door open. “This is Cade’s room.”

  Dim light slipped through the crack in the drawn curtains, and the red embers in the hearth made the room warm and cozy. It was the massive bed in the center of the room that captured my attention, however, as another uncharacteristic spell of imagination came over me and I imagined Cade there, illuminated by the flickering light of the fireplace, a welcoming smile on his handsome face.

  I stepped back with a startled gasp, and she pulled the door shut quickly. She didn’t speak a word about my reaction to his room, and for that I was grateful. There was no way to explain without sounding like a lovelorn fool. But something about the smile that played about her mouth told me she guessed where my mind had taken me.

  We came to the picture at the end of the hall, and Lorraine made a sound of disgust.

  “Your sister had this picture painted last year, proof of her indiscretion and idiocy.”

  Perhaps I should have defended Desi instead of nodding my head in silent agreement. But there was something intrinsically wrong with having Tabitha painted to look so different than she was. Had it been the artist’s eye or Desi’s that caught the cold anger in Cade’s eyes, the tightness of his jaw and the cruel twist of his smile? If I had seen Desi before her death, would she have looked at me with sad reproach as she did from the portrait, as if she blamed me for lack of the happiness she had sought and never found?

  “Let’s move on.”

  On the next corridor were the room she shared with her husband, Eleanor’s room, and at the end, the nursery suite where Tabby spent her days and nights.

  I peeked into the nursery, where Tabby was awake and eating a soft cookie as Janie put folded clothes into a short squat bureau. Upon seeing me, Tabby squealed and banged her hands on the table. I could do nothing less than enter the nursery and scoop her into my arms.

  “You’ll be a mess, miss,” Janie warned. “She has a way of making the biggest mess with her cookies.”

  “I don’t mind,” I said, as the child touched my cheeks with hands covered in wet sticky crumbs. I giggled my delight, and Tabby joined in with a chortle of her own.

  “There is one more thing I’d like to show you, Fee,” Lorraine said from the doorway.

  “Can Tabby come?” I asked, reluctant to put my niece down again.

  The woman looked a bit put out but nodded her agreement. “Of course.”

  I followed her to the end of the hall, expecting to see a dead end like the one where the portrait hung in the other hall. Instead, there was a small door at the end of the hallway. On the other side of it, a narrow set of steps led up to the roof.

  Although the worst of the storm had calmed momentarily, the sky remained gray and overcast, and a light, steady drizzle still hit the sides of the large copper cistern that caught water to be piped through the house. Lorraine stepped onto the roof and beckoned me forward.

  “You can see the lighthouse from here,” she said as I hung back just inside the door.

  My sister’s love of heights was in direct contrast to my fear of them, and I shook my head. “It’s too damp. I don’t want Tabitha to catch a chill.”

  Lorraine sighed heavily. “That’s why she should have been left in the nursery.”

  “I had no idea you were going to show me the roof, Lorraine. Besides I didn’t want to leave her in the nursery.”

  “It’s the only place she’s safe, Ophelia,” she said. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  With that, she stepped inside, locked the door behind us, and led us back down the hall.

  She continued on, while I stopped at the nursery. I desperately hoped that I had only imagined the ominous warning in Lorraine’s words as I clung to Richard’s sensible assurance that Tabby was in no danger from Calvin and Lorraine.

  “Does Tabby go outside?” I asked Janie, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Sometimes, if it’s very nice outside, we go for a stroll in the garden. She sickens easily if it’s too damp or too cold out, so I’m careful to take her only on nearly perfect days.” She hastily added, “I would never take her out on a day like today.”

  Realizing she felt I was questioning her ability to care for Tabby, I offered her a smile of encouragement.

  “You take wonderful care of her, Janie. Please don’t think I doubt that. Something Lorraine said just made me wonder if she was ever taken outside.”

  “Well, thank you, miss. I try to take good care of her. Poor little mite.”

  “Janie, it appears that Tabby may be returning home with me. If that happens, would you be willing to come to stay with us? I’m not sure of the salary yet, but there would be room and board included.”

  “Oh, I would love to come with you, miss. I’ve been looking after Tabby since she was a baby, and I would miss her terribly if she were to leave. I would have to discuss it with my parents, of course. I have to make sure they could do without me being so close at hand. But they know how much I love Tabby, and I can send them money when I have some.”

  “Will a move like that upset her, do you think?”

  “I’m sure she’ll miss her father. Mr. Cade is here ever
y night to tuck her in, and he comes in nearly every morning and afternoon to spend a bit of time with her. If we take her familiar things with us, though, I’m sure she’d do fine after a while.”

  “What about the others? Do any of them come to visit her?”

  “Others?” She stared at me blankly before understanding dawned on her. “Oh, you mean Mr. and Mrs. Scott and Miss Eleanor? No, not one of them comes to the nursery. When Dennis Ames stops in, he sometimes comes up to say hello, and Dr. Scarborough comes by on a regular basis. But none of the others. Even when I take her out for a stroll, they rarely even offer her a word or gesture.”

  I nodded. That was exactly what I had feared when Lorraine voiced her desire to keep Tabitha here with them. Even Richard had confirmed that she would be sent away, but at least, as he said, she would be safe.

  ****

  Dinner was a quiet affair without Cade at the table. No one spoke much at all, except to make the most ordinary of observances. We had just been served the main course when Cade came through the front door, his coat and hat dripping as if he had walked home instead of ridden in the enclosed carriage Mrs. Hartley claimed he had taken into the city.

  “Did you have trouble with the carriage, sir?” Mrs. Hartley asked as she took his soaked garments.

  “No, the carriage is fine. I decided to brave the elements on Sampson’s back tonight. I thought a good rain-lashing might straighten out my head.” He divested himself of his sodden boots and traipsed up the stairs without even looking our way.

  “He rode poor Sampson home at breakneck speed, no doubt,” Lorraine surmised.

  “He’ll catch his death of cold, out in this weather,” Eleanor fretted.

  “Maybe he prefers that to hanging,” Calvin said, and although he tried to sound cruel, I thought I detected a hint of worry creasing his brow. Did he realize his cousin didn’t deserve to hang, and if he had doubts, why was he so insistent on seeing it through?

  Chapter Eleven

  The rain was still hammering against the windows when I awoke the next morning, and with a groan I got up and dressed. I had always been a sound sleeper and an early riser, but the fitful sleep I had endured since arriving at Almenara was taking a toll on my usual bright attitude toward morning. Waking up to continuing gray skies also hampered my ability to greet the morning with my customary enthusiasm.

  I had hoped to go for another early morning ride, to explore the beach between Almenara and the lighthouse before speaking to Cade. The stormy weather and the chill that seemed to sink into the room changed my plans, however, and after dressing in a thick gray dress, I went in search of Cade.

  I found him in his study, standing at the large window from which he could see the lighthouse. He spoke before I announced my presence, and I wondered if he’d been expecting my appearance.

  “Shut the door, Fee.”

  I did as he said and came to stand beside him, sharing his view of the shore through the rain-spattered glass. The lighthouse seemed a world away from the warmth of the dark masculine room.

  “She loved it there,” he said quietly. “I warned her it was dangerous, begged her not to go. I even tried ordering her not to, but she paid me no heed. She went every day, rain or shine.”

  How many times had he stood here, watching her go? Had he watched her that last day, knowing it was the last time she’d go to the lighthouse? Had he slipped through the door, followed her to the top, and thrown her over? Shocked at my train of thought, I latched on to the weather and his words for another explanation of Desi’s death.

  “Was it raining the day she died? Is there a chance she might have slipped and fallen over the edge?”

  He shook his head. “It was a beautiful, clear morning. There is a waist-high balustrade that surrounds the parapet. It would have been nearly impossible for her to stumble over it.”

  “Could she have jumped?” The words were harsh and bitter, but finally freed.

  It broke my heart to think of my vibrant sister so desolate that she would leap to her death, but I thought again of the woman my overwrought mind had conjured up on the way to the cemetery. How happy she’d seemed as she soared upward, before the terrified realization that she was falling. Had Calvin’s wife done the same?

  He breathed deeply through his nose, letting the air pass from his mouth before speaking. “Perhaps you should sit down, Ophelia.”

  My heart pounding at the look on his face, I braced myself for what he would say.

  “Just tell me, Cade. Please.”

  “As with everything about your sister, her death was not simple. It wasn’t one that could easily be written off as an accident or a suicide.” He searched my face, his eyes full of concern as his hands wrapped around my upper arms. “She was blindfolded, Fee, and her hands were tied behind her back. There’s no way she could have done that to herself.”

  As the full impact of his words hit me, I was grateful for his hands on my arms, keeping me from falling to the floor as a strange keening sound filled the air around us. I imagined her there in the place she loved, unable to see, unable to effectively fight for her life, as someone pushed her toward the edge. I could almost hear her pleas for mercy, her screams as she was forced over the railing. Had her feet fought for purchase, had she felt the presence of the rocks as she neared them? Had she felt the immeasurable pain of her body being crushed against the jagged stones, or had she died instantly upon impact? Had she known the identity of the person who hurled her to her death? Had it been someone she loved?

  These were the questions that swirled in my head, as my legs buckled and the room grew dim around me. I felt Cade’s hands tighten, heard him say my name, but I could do nothing except give in to the horror of what my sister had endured. I wondered vaguely if this was the phenomena people spoke of, a supernatural connection that allowed me to feel Desdemona’s terror even after she was gone. As if I were there myself, I felt the rush of wind, the way the ground rose up to meet me, and the total darkness that descended at the moment of impact.

  I came back to myself slowly, aware of the sofa beneath me and a moist cloth on my forehead. I opened my eyes to see Cade kneeling beside me, his face dark with concern as he ran the wet rag over my skin. Dory stood just behind him, a basin of water in her hands and her eyes huge with fear.

  “Are you okay, miss?” she asked. “You scared half the life out of me, and Mr. Cade too, I’d say.”

  “I’m fine, Dory,” I pushed myself upright, and Cade came to his feet. He placed the cloth back in the basin.

  “That will be all, Dory. Thank you.” He turned back to me as she scurried from the room. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes.” I tried to say the word firmly, to assure him that I was not about to faint again, but it came out as a broken whisper, and was followed by an even softer denial. “No.”

  I promptly burst into tears, and Cade sat beside me on the settee. Without a sound, he gathered me in his arms, holding me as I wept against his solid chest. When my sobs had subsided to a point where I could talk, I pushed away and looked into his face.

  “Tell me why someone would have killed my sister, Cade, and why everyone believes it was you.”

  “I could tell you they believe in my guilt only because I am her husband and had the most to gain from her death, but that would be a lie. It isn’t simply because I was her husband. Everyone here, from the lowliest servant to the town sheriff himself, heard me threaten to kill her. Less than a week later she was dead, and all eyes turned to me.”

  I remained quiet, and if he was surprised by my lack of shock at his confession, he didn’t show it as he continued.

  “I threatened her, Fee, but I didn’t kill her. There are no other suspects, however, and my guilt would prove quite fortuitous for my relatives, so there isn’t a real outcry for the authorities to find another.”

  I waited for him to mention Amelia’s suicide, to tell me that the suspicion still lingered, but he remained silent on the subject.<
br />
  “What about that man Devlin?” I asked. Would the mention of Amelia’s brother make him think of her? Would he tell me about her then?

  “Devlin and I have known each other since our schooldays. His mutual friendship is one of the few things Calvin and I have ever had in common.”

  “Was he mad even then?” I asked, trying to imagine the wild-eyed man who had interrupted Desi’s funeral at the kind of social functions Calvin and Cade Scott must have attended in their youth.

  Cade chuckled in spite of his seriousness. “He was always a little more impassioned than the rest of us, more sensitive, some might say. He was an artist, after all, more prone to give in to emotion than logic. His flair for the dramatic was a running joke amongst us, but it drew the ladies to him like moths to a flame.”

  “Even Desi?” I asked softly, remembering his professions of love at her funeral.

  “Most especially Desi.” Cade stood and began to pace the room. Even now, as he spoke of his marriage to my sister, I couldn’t help my admiration of his muscles straining against his shirt. “A year ago, we attended another schoolmate’s birthday celebration and Devlin was there. The man’s wife had arranged for Devlin to paint a large lifelike painting of a hunt scene as a gift to him. Devlin unveiled it there, and Desdemona fell in love with his talent instantly. She had been talking about commissioning a painting from the top of the lighthouse, and she decided right then and there that Devlin must be the one who painted it. The arrangements were made before we left that night, and he arrived at Almenara a fortnight later. From the moment he alighted from his carriage, he and my wife were inseparable.”

  I heard the pain in his voice and it brought my mind back to the original conversation and his motive for murder.

  “Is that why you threatened to kill her?”

  “No. Her affair with Devlin was only the last in several affairs Desdemona had over the years.”

  “Oh, Cade.” It broke my heart to think of him caught up in such a web of hurt and deceit.

  “I neither need nor want your pity, Ophelia. I stopped caring long ago. We are both adults, and we both know Desi never loved me. She only married me—”