Davenport House 6: House Secrets

by Marie Silk

  “I promise,” she told him. “And promise me you will take care of yourself. We miss you desperately at the house.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he answered. “Goodbye.”

  Late that night, down the road from Davenport House, Father Salvestro was returning home from the train station. He noticed Serena waiting outside the door of his house. “Come inside the house, child. It is too cold to stand out here.”

  “Thank you, Father,” she answered, following him through the front door.

  The priest knelt down in front of the fireplace to begin adding logs to the embers. “How have you been, child? I’ve not seen you in a while.”

  Serena found a chair and sat down. “I hoped that I could give confession tonight, for it might be too late if I wait any longer.”

  The priest nodded and seated himself at the tea table. “I welcome you to give confession tonight, if you wish.”

  Serena took a deep breath and closed her eyes before she began. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been four years since my last confession, and these are my sins…”

  “Go on, child.”

  Serena continued sorrowfully. “I have broken the fifth commandment.”

  “The fifth commandment?” the priest repeated.

  “Yes…I have killed. I killed my child’s father.”

  Chapter 8

  William struggled to keep his eyes open as he drove the winding road into the mountains. He parked the car to the side of the dirt road and groaned in pain as he climbed out. The aches and chills overwhelmed his body, but he was determined to endure the hike up the hill into the trees. When he could see a log cabin in the distance, he cleared his throat and spoke as strongly as his voice would allow. “Miss Jenkins!”

  Greta Jenkins could not hear him from inside the cabin, but her dog sat whimpering at the front door. “You think someone is out there?” she asked. She opened the door while her dog went running to William, who had fallen to the ground and lay shivering. “Dr. Hamilton?” she asked. “You don’t look so good.”

  His teeth chattered as he spoke. “My wife needs help.”

  “Your wife? Looks like you’re the one who needs help.” She took his arm and helped him to his feet, proving herself to be much stronger than she looked. “Come inside the house,” she said. It was the last thing that William heard before he blacked out.

  When he opened his eyes again, he found himself on a log bed near a crackling fire. He fought to remember where he was or how he got there. Greta stepped toward him and said, “Drink this, quickly.”

  He sat up in bed as best he could and took the tall mug from her. As he drank the foul smelling liquid, he had to repress the urge to spit it out. His stomach turned when it hit and he started to sweat heavily.

  Greta leaned over William and searched his face as he shivered and sweated. “You’ll be alright,” she finally said. “So long as you can keep that tea down.”

  William grimaced as his stomach turned into knots, but it was not long before he felt himself falling back into a deep sleep.

  At Davenport House, Abigail was in her room feeding the baby when Sam appeared in her doorway. “Hello, Sam. What is it?”

  Sam walked in and sat at the tea table. “How are you…after everything?”

  Abigail forced a smile. “I’m alright, I suppose. But the house seems to be falling apart around me. At least I got Mary to eat her dinner last night.”

  Sam nodded and was about to speak, but Fiona entered the room just then with a mop and bucket. She froze when she observed that Sam was in the room, and she quickly looked away. “I’m sorry, Miss Abigail. I have just come to clean the washroom. I’ll return later.”

  Abigail was confused. “You’ve already cleaned the washroom today. It’s not necessary to clean it again.”

  Fiona’s chin trembled and she looked at the floor. “It’s Nora’s orders that the washrooms be cleaned twice a day now.”

  Abigail felt impatient. “That’s silly, Fiona. Please attend to your other work. My washroom is fine for the day.”

  “Yes, Miss Abigail,” Fiona said, then left the room.

  Abigail looked at Sam, who had been staring at Fiona the whole time. Abigail’s words snapped him out of his daze. “Don’t ask me why, but Clara has decided that Nora should be the housekeeper.”

  “I know…it’s what I came to talk to you about,” he muttered back.

  “It is? Why?”

  Sam felt his jaw clench with emotion. “It ain’t right the way they’re treating Fiona. She deserves to be housekeeper the same as she was before. Nora is making extra work for her just to be a pain in the neck. I’ve seen Nora make a mess just to watch her clean it up!”

  Abigail frowned. “I was afraid of how this was going over downstairs. How miserable it must be for Fiona.”

  “I hoped you could put a stop to it and make Fiona the housekeeper again.”

  “But Sam, this isn’t my house. Clara decides matters among the staff here.”

  “Well, can’t you talk to her about it?”

  “It isn’t my place. Besides, it would be a terrible time to bother her about such a thing. Poor Clara must plan her own husband’s funeral.”

  Sam looked down in disappointment. “I suppose. But it still ain’t right what they’re doing to Fiona.”

  Abigail looked at him carefully. “Did you really come in here to talk about Fiona?”

  Sam felt his cheeks turning red. “She’s a nice girl and she deserves better. I hoped that you could help her…that’s all.”

  Abigail smiled at him knowingly. “I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t make any promises.”

  “Thanks, Abby,” he said, rising from his seat. “I should be getting back to work now.”

  “Alright, Sam. Have a good day.” After Sam left the room, Abigail laid the baby in the wooden cradle and went to look out her window. She heard Ethan’s voice behind her.

  “Is Patrick asleep already?” he asked.

  “He was just awake, but it seldom lasts long,” she answered, stifling a yawn. “I hoped that Serena would be helping me daily by now. I’m afraid I need her now more than ever since I’m looking after Mary too.”

  “Is Mary alright?”

  Abigail shook her head. “She seems terribly upset about something, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “Is it since you told her about the death that happened here?”

  “No,” she sighed. “Mary was upset even before that. I only hope that William may return home soon, and things can go back to normal.”

  “I hardly remember what normal is like,” Ethan mumbled. “Why don’t you find out what’s going on with Serena at least? I’ll stay here with Patrick.”

  Abigail smiled in relief and kissed Ethan’s cheek. “I hope I can persuade her to help me tonight. Then I might sleep for a little while.” She pulled on her coat and walked next door to the Valentis’ farmhouse.

  Phillip answered the door, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Hello,” he greeted.

  “Good afternoon,” she replied shyly. “Um—I have come to speak with Serena. I hope she is feeling better now.”

  Phillip looked sadly into her eyes. “Serena is resting in her room. Why don’t you come in and have a seat? There’s something you should know.”

  “Oh? Um—yes, I will come in for a moment.”

  They sat across from each other in the kitchen and Phillip began to explain. “I’m aware that you made an arrangement with my sister…that you lent her money and expect her to pay you back by caring for—for your baby.”

  “Yes…has Serena changed her mind?”

  Phillip nodded. “I’ll make sure you get your hundred dollars back, but it might take me awhile. I’m sorry about all this.”

  Abigail looked at him worriedly. “Tell me the truth, Phillip. Have I done something to offend Serena? I don’t understand why she will not come back.”

  Phillip groaned within himself, knowing that hearing the tru
th was the only way Abigail would not blame herself. He lowered his voice. “It’s not you, Abigail. I don’t suppose my sister ever told you about the father of her baby.”

  “She never said a word,” Abigail whispered.

  “My sister hadn’t seen Angelina’s father since she told him she was with child. But the night Serena returned from Pittsburgh and met with you, she came back in a fright after seeing—him—at Davenport House.”

  “Angelina’s father was at the house?” she asked incredulously. “What was he doing there?”

  “He lived there…as Clara’s husband.”

  Abigail stared at him with wide eyes. When she found her voice, she whispered frantically, “How long have you known about this?”

  “She told me the night of the masquerade when she was supposed to help with the baby. I was furious with Lawrence when Serena told me…but I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to him that night.”

  Abigail put her hand over her heart. “No, of course not. This is all so shocking. Does Clara know about Angelina?”

  “Not unless Lawrence told her, which Serena and I both doubt. He was inclined to lie about things.”

  “Yes, I know,” Abigail said bitterly. “Things are just awful at the house right now while the investigation is ongoing. I’m worried for Clara because the police are coming to question her tomorrow. We will have no peace at the house until we understand what happened that night.”

  Serena emerged from her room just then, appearing as if she had heard their conversation. “The police won’t bother Clara tomorrow,” she said, bowing her head in shame. “I’m going to turn myself in. It was me who killed him.”

  Phillip and Abigail gaped at Serena in horror. She looked at them sorrowfully. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble. I never meant to hurt everyone. And I’m sorry about your hundred dollars, Abigail.”

  “I am not worried about the money,” Abigail said breathlessly. “I am worried for you! What about Angelina?”

  Serena shrugged. “I can’t change what has already happened. I only hope that if the investigator brings my daughter home, my brother might take care of her.”

  Phillip stared at her in disbelief. “I don’t understand. Surely, you did not do this thing.”

  “I didn’t know that I killed him until later when they told us he was dead. I thought I only hurt him. He was on his way here to hurt me.”

  “He came here?” Phillip questioned angrily.

  “I saw him through my window. He was approaching the farmhouse, but one of the maids from the house stopped him. He was going to hurt her and I was afraid…so I took a shovel from the garden and hit him from behind. When he fell down, I ran back into the house and locked the door.”

  “Serena, why didn’t you wake me?” Phillip cried emotionally. “I would have helped you bury him where no one could find him!”

  “I swear I never knew that I hurt him enough for him to die!” she cried back.

  Gabriella and Donnie sleepily emerged from their room. “What’s wrong, papa?” asked Donnie. “We heard shouting when we were sleeping.”

  The others exchanged worried glances. Abigail went to the children and gently told them, “It’s alright, children. Go back to bed for now. We’ll be sure to be quiet from now on.”

  Phillip paced the kitchen anxiously while Serena cried into her hands. Abigail looked between them helplessly, but thought it best to leave the farmhouse so that Phillip and Serena could speak privately. “I must leave now,” she told Phillip. “But I will pray for the judge to be merciful.”

  Phillip nodded and opened the front door for Abigail. He wanted to say something, but all he could do was stand there in silence as he watched her leave the farmhouse.

  When Abigail returned to her bedroom in the house, Ethan was trying to calm the crying baby. “Thank goodness you’re here,” he laughed. “I don’t think he would have waited another minute.”

  Abigail calmed the baby, but began to whimper herself. Ethan looked worried. “What happened? Is Serena not coming to help?”

  Abigail shook her head and answered sadly, “No. She won’t be helping after all.”

  In a log cabin deep in the woods, William opened his eyes again, and quickly moved the quilt off of his body and onto the floor. He sat up in the bed and removed his jacket, feeling too warm to wear it. Greta Jenkins sat in a chair beside the bed and looked up at him. “It’s about time,” she said. “Are you ready to eat?”

  William felt the sweat sliding down his face but was suddenly aware of how hungry he was. “Do you have extra food? I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  Greta laughed and nodded toward the nightstand. “There’s soup and bread there just for you.”

  William ate it gratefully and realized it was the first time in weeks he felt hungry. His fever had gone, but he worried that he was contagious to Greta. “I’m sorry I came here when I was so ill. I never meant to come into your home.”

  “It’s no bother,” she replied. “But you only seemed worried for your wife. Is she ill too?”

  William looked alarmed. “I hope not!”

  “Oh,” she laughed. “Then why did you come to me asking for help?”

  He sat there quietly, trying to collect his thoughts. “My wife Mary has been acting as the county midwife for months now, and the clinic in town is unable to take pregnant women. Mary is with child herself and I worry while she is out so much attending to births. Since you are a midwife…I thought…well, I hoped…”

  “But what can I do about it? You know what the folks in town said about me. They don’t want me attending their births anymore.”

  “What if I told them that it was a misunderstanding? Or that the other doctor was only trying to squash the competition?”

  Greta shrugged. “You could try, but I’m not sure what good it would do unless you made it a headline in the paper. That’s what the last doctor did in order to ruin my reputation. Folks believe anything so long as it’s in the paper.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” William answered, thinking hard. “If I could get you a headline, would you resume your practice?”

  “I suppose. Better than hiding out like a fugitive.”

  William laughed for the first time in weeks. “Then I’ll call in a favor with a fellow I know at the editor’s office.”

  “You will?” Greta still looked skeptical.

  “You bet I will,” he said. “Anything to help my wife get the rest she needs.”

  When William returned to his room at the clinic, he made a telephone call to the editor of The Yorktown Times and explained the situation.

  “I see, I see,” the editor said on the other line. “So, what do you want me to write?”

  “I don’t know,” William chuckled. “You’re the writer, Jack. I’m just the doctor. Maybe just tell folks that she is capable and that she has my support. That ought to do it.”

  “Sure thing, Dr. Hamilton. You might have called just in time for me to get it in tomorrow’s paper.”

  “Great, thank you, Jack.” William was satisfied when he hung up the phone with the editor, and noticed that he began to feel better with each passing moment.

  In the servants’ quarters of Davenport House, Nora was looking at Clara’s dinner tray in confusion. “What’s this?” she demanded.

  “Miss Clara’s dinner,” answered Mrs. Malone.

  “It looks like cornbread and chicken soup!” Nora shrieked.

  “You’re a smart one. With them brains, you might be able to help the detectives with their investigation.”

  Nora glared at her. “But I took this off the menu! Didn’t you see that I wrote in chicken salad for tonight?”

  Mrs. Malone shrugged. “I suppose I did see, but I thought Miss Clara would rather have this.”

  “I’m in charge of the menus now! Make the salad at once!”

  Mrs. Malone defiantly plopped herself into a chair and began flipping through a magazine.

  Nora’s
mouth hung open. “It’s your job to prepare the dinner, now do your job!”

  “I already prepared the dinner. If you want salad—make it yourself.” Mrs. Malone sat back in the chair and relaxed.

  “Listen here, you stupid cow—” Nora’s rant was suddenly interrupted by Abigail clearing her throat in the doorway. “Oh, Miss Abigail—how may I help you?”

  Abigail hesitated while she cast Nora a look of disapproval. “I wish to speak to Fiona. Please send her to my room.”

  “Right away, Miss Abigail,” Nora replied. When Abigail left the kitchen, Nora began tearing lettuce and chopping vegetables for the salad. She placed it on a tray and ordered Jane to take it to Clara’s room. “I’ll deal with you later,” she told Mrs. Malone. She then went to tell Fiona the message.

  A few minutes afterward, Fiona entered Abigail’s bedroom upstairs. “You asked for me, Miss Abigail?”

  “Yes, I wish to speak to you for a moment,” Abigail replied, closing the bedroom door. “But first tell me, did Mary eat her lunch today?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Oh good,” Abigail said distractedly. “That isn’t why I called you up, though. I wanted to discuss your position here at the house.”

  Fiona looked at the floor. “I’m being punished.”

  “May I ask what for?”

  “Miss Clara told Bridget to leave the house and not come back…but Bridget did come back and stayed in my room. I think it must be the reason for my punishment.”

  Abigail was quiet while she pondered the words. “It still does not make sense to me why Clara has made these changes, but it is her house, and she should run it as she pleases. Only, Sam told me he was worried about you.”

  Fiona looked up quickly. “Sam talked to you about me?”

  “He asked me to intervene with Clara on your behalf, so that you might be reinstated as housekeeper.”

  Fiona felt her cheeks turning pink. “I’m surprised, Miss Abigail. I thought that Sam was cross with me.”

  Abigail was quiet for a moment, but finally said, “My brother cares for you a great deal.”

  Fiona could hear the racing of her own heart. “Did he tell you that?”