He left me with his card. Once he departed, I sat down and sipped from my own rapidly cooling cup. Although I’d given my promise, I could not honestly say I was eager to bring the case to Griffin. Under any other circumstances, I would have no hesitation. However, with the connection to the asylum…
But if Allan’s confinement proved as unwarranted as his had been, Griffin would never forgive me for not bringing it to his attention.
“Blast,” I muttered. “I knew we should never have gone to look at those accursed electric lights.”
~ * ~
When I arrived home in the evening, I found Griffin sitting in the downstairs parlor, a pensive look on his face. As he normally used the parlor for meetings with clients, I allowed myself a moment to hope he’d just taken on a new case and would be unable to investigate Allan Tambling’s guilt or innocence. Or sanity and insanity, as the case might be.
“Is everything all right?” I asked, hanging up my hat in the hall. I kept on my suit coat, as was my habit, at least until we retired upstairs for the evening. Saul trotted down the stairs and wound about my ankles, mewing piteously in an unsuccessful attempt to convince me Griffin had neither fed nor petted him all day.
Griffin let out a sigh and rose to his feet. Rather than answer, however, he came and slipped his arms around my waist, tipping up his face for a kiss, which I gladly granted. In some ways, it still seemed strange to spend the evenings in the company of another, let alone a handsome man who wished both physical and emotional intimacy from me. How many years had I trudged up flights of stairs to a lonely apartment, with nothing to occupy me but the ciphers I solved for amusement and a cold bed at the end of the evening?
Too many for my body, which reacted as it usually did to his proximity. “Did you miss me?” he asked, pressing against me.
“Always.” I nuzzled his hair, breathing deeply of his scent before reluctantly drawing away.
“What shall we have for dinner?” he asked, heading for the kitchen. “I believe we have the ingredients for a fish stew, if you’d like.”
“That would be lovely,” I said, following him.
“Good. You can help me make it.”
I sighed loudly enough for him to hear. “I don’t know why you’re so determined to teach me to cook.”
He went to the pantry and began to take out various vegetables. “Because every time I have to leave town on a case for a few days, I come home to discover you subsisting on canned beans and bread, or cheese sandwiches from the lunch counter.”
“I lived on my own for quite some time, you know,” I replied, a bit stung by his implication. “I’m in no danger of starving just because you occasionally leave for a few days.”
“Then it is because I enjoy torturing you.” He cast me a devilish grin as he put an onion on the cutting board and handed me a knife.
“That I can believe.” I took the blade from him. “Very well, if it pleases you, I will go along with this ridiculous notion of yours. When my cooking kills us both, I hope you recall this conversation.”
He stole a kiss, before walking to the sink, where he set to filling a large pot with water. “I shall. I trust you had a pleasant day?”
I sliced into the onion. A minute later, its fumes blew into my eyes, and I blinked back stinging tears. Curse the man; couldn’t he have given me potatoes to cut instead?
“Er, well, I suppose. I might have a case for you. Maybe. Or, rather, I don’t. You recall Allan Tambling from Saturday night?” What an idiotic question. Who forgot a man covered in blood, screaming in the middle of a street? “His brother, Ernest, came by my office. He doesn’t believe Allan is guilty, and he, uh, wishes to retain you.”
Griffin stilled. “Ah.”
“Allan is… Well, he’s…”
“In the lunatic asylum,” Griffin finished for me, his voice flat. “I read it in the papers this morning.”
I hated to be the one to bring this to him. “Ernest disagrees with the doctors and the police and swears up and down his brother is innocent. I don’t know Tambling terribly well, but I would never have thought him a murderer.”
“You would be amazed how many people say as much about acquaintances who prove to have committed all sorts of atrocities,” Griffin said wryly.
“I didn’t answer for you, of course. Perhaps you should speak to him face-to-face? Ernest, I mean.”
Griffin let out a long sigh. “I suppose I should.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For bringing the case to me? There’s no need to apologize.”
I groped about for a happier subject. “And your day? Did anything interesting happen?”
“In a matter of speaking.” Setting the pot on the stove, he turned to me with a rueful expression. “I received a telegram from my parents. They’re coming to visit.”
Chapter 3
Griffin arranged to meet me for lunch the next day, after he’d had the opportunity to speak with Ernest Tambling and learn the particulars of the case. Christine invited herself along as well, on the basis of having been present when we encountered the bloodstained Allan.
We soon found ourselves seated in a booth at Marsh’s Diner. A group of clerks laughed over their sandwiches at a nearby table, and a pair of salesmen gossiped in another booth, their sample cases on the seats beside them. Like most of the restaurants in Widdershins, Marsh’s specialized in seafood. I ordered the poached fish, while Griffin and Christine opted for sandwiches.
“I’ve decided to take the case,” Griffin said briskly, while we waited for our meal. My heart sank a bit at his declaration, but in truth, I’d expected he would. “The asylum superintendent was a friend of the dead uncle and, more casually, of the Tamblings. Ernest has written him to arrange a meeting first thing Monday morning.”
“At Stormhaven?” I asked.
“Of course.” Griffin took a sip from his coffee cup, looking a bit white around the mouth.
“I’ll accompany you.”
“You have work—”
“No one save Christine will even notice I’m gone,” I said firmly. “But I’ll send in a note pleading illness if necessary.” I would no sooner let Griffin go alone to such a place than I would allow him to chop off his own arm. How could he think otherwise?
Some of the color crept back into his face. “Very well. And…thank you.”
The arrival of our food temporarily halted our conversation. Once the waiter had departed again, I asked, “Will your parents’ visit hamper your investigation?”
“No. When I replied to their telegram, I let them know I had an urgent case and would most likely be unavailable for parts of their visit.”
“Your parents are coming to Widdershins?” Christine asked. “Why on earth would they want to do that?”
“Really, Christine!” I exclaimed.
“Well, Kansas surely isn’t so benighted they don’t have post. I should think a letter would be satisfactory enough for most people.”
“Not everyone is happy to go decades without seeing their family.”
“As if you wouldn’t do the same if you had the option.”
Griffin hid his grin behind his sandwich. When he had swallowed, he said, “I’ve been here a year now, or I will have in September. They wish to see I’m as settled and happy as I claim to be in my letters.”
“Hmm.” Christine glanced at me. “And what of Whyborne? I assume your parents know you have a boarder?”
A trace of heat warmed my cheeks. I stared down at my poached fish. Griffin and I had discussed things the night before, of course, but leave it to Christine to drag everything out into the open.
“Well…no,” Griffin admitted. “I left Kansas after an indiscretion, shall we say. As far as they know, I never repeated the act, but I don’t wish to give them any reason to doubt. They do know Whyborne and I are friends. In fact, they were beside themselves with joy to learn I’d made the acquaintance of a man of quality.”
My face burned hotter. Chris
tine cast a glance at me then scowled at Griffin. “So what is poor Whyborne to do—go to a hotel?”
“Not at all,” Griffin said. “My parents have declared their intention to stay in a hotel, in fact.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, and I certainly have no wish to pursue the matter, since it’s to my benefit. When they come to see the house, I’ll lock the door to Whyborne’s room and come up with some excuse as to why it is unused. As for the rest of the house, it should be easy enough to make it appear as if I live alone. The rest of the time, I’ll take them about Widdershins and show them the sights. Being from a tiny farming community in Kansas, I should have no trouble finding things to dazzle them with until they leave. Then life will return to normal.”
“And what do you think of this, Whyborne?”
I picked at my half-eaten fish. “It seems a good plan.”
“What other choice do we have?” Griffin asked irritably, glaring at Christine. “If they knew…well, they wouldn’t go to the police, but they’d be terribly hurt. They’ve always wanted nothing more than an ordinary life for me.”
“My mother wanted an ordinary life for me,” she shot back. “If I’d acceded to her wishes, I’d be sitting at home someplace with a husband and a bunch of squalling brats.”
“I owe them,” Griffin replied doggedly. “Has Whyborne told you of my history?”
“Of course not,” I said, a bit hurt he would think such a thing of me. “I’m not in the habit of repeating confidences.”
“Forgive me, my dear. But I didn’t mean it to be a great secret.” Griffin set aside the remains of his sandwich. “James and Nella Kerr are my adoptive parents. My true mother and father died when I was quite young; I don’t remember anything about them. My sister died with them. The Children’s Aid Society placed my brothers and me on an orphan train to the west.”
“Oh,” Christine said, a bit stiffly. “I’m terribly sorry, Griffin. I didn’t realize.”
“No need to apologize. The Kerrs adopted me in Kansas. They had no children of their own, you see, and decided to take in an orphan to raise as a son. I was very lucky. Some of the children ended up no better than slaves…or worse.”
“What became of your brothers?” she asked tentatively.
Griffin’s expression grew sad. “I never saw either of them again, nor heard any word. Many families changed the names of their new wards, so it would do me no good to search for other Flahertys. I can only hope they found a home, as I did. But you see why I feel I owe it to my parents to…to live up to their expectations. I can’t stand the thought they would regret the choice they made that day on the platform.”
I could picture it clearly: a train depot in some small town, the raw wind sending shivers through the children lined up on the platform, while adults inspected them like heads of cattle. A young Griffin among them, his brothers gone, alone and at the mercy of these complete strangers. How frightened he must have been.
Christine sighed. “I can understand how you might feel so,” she said grudgingly. “Although I think it’s a damnable shame they can’t simply be content to know whether or not you’re happy, whatever form such happiness takes. But they are hardly alone in their attitude, as I believe Whyborne and I can easily attest. How may I assist?”
Griffin smiled. “Thank you for the offer. I won’t trouble you save, perhaps, if we should dine out, to ask you allow Whyborne to escort you.”
To make our deception more convincing, I supposed. The arrangement didn’t please me, of course, but Griffin thought it necessary. Christine pursed her lips and eyed him, before shaking her head with a sigh. “Very well. For Whyborne’s sake. But you owe me a favor, Griffin Flaherty.”
“Whatever you wish,” he agreed quickly.
“Ha! You will regret not forcing me to specify,” she said, pushing her plate away. “Come along, Whyborne. If you won’t be about on Monday, you should put in a few more hours at the museum today.”
We parted from Griffin in front of the diner. As Christine and I turned back toward the museum, I said, “Thank you for your offer of help.”
The line between her brows deepened. “Against my better judgment. Griffin is taking things too far, in my opinion, trying to construct some elaborate charade for their benefit. However, if he is determined to do this, there should at least be someone sensible involved.”
“And I take it I don’t qualify?”
She snorted. “You are far too love-stricken to do anything besides agree to whatever preposterous plan he comes up with.”
“Christine!” I hissed, the tips of my ears burning. “That isn’t true!”
“I suppose it’s a good thing for me he saw fit to return your affections,” she went on, ignoring my protest. “I shudder to think all the moping about I would have had to endure from you had he been content to remain mere acquaintances.”
I wished to sink through the sidewalk. I didn’t know a spell to open the earth beneath me, so instead I said, “You are being entirely unfair. I do not ‘mope about,’ as you put it.”
“Not unless it comes to Griffin.” She shook her head. “Ah well. I only hope when the house of cards he is building falls, it doesn’t come down on your head as well.”
~ * ~
That night, I again wandered the lanes of the sunken city.
I found myself in a vast plaza, surrounded by the alien architecture. Segmented creatures, which seemed half worm, half centipede, wriggled through the black slime under my feet. Jellyfish drifted in the water above me like animate clouds, their long tentacles waving gently in the currents.
I froze, feeling hideously exposed. Where was the thing which hunted me earlier? Was it still looking for me? Or did it know exactly where I was?
In the distance, someone—something—began to sing.
If the song came from a human throat, I couldn’t make out the words. And if it came from some alien organ, did I really want to see what produced it?
The song seemed to emanate from a temple, which loomed at one end of the noisome plaza. It reminded me simultaneously of a stepped pyramid, a ziggurat, and the stone temples of South America, only unfathomably larger. Gargantuan statues flanked what seemed to be a door, and I found myself oddly glad barnacles and coral obscured the details of their faces.
The song shifted and became more urgent. Although I still couldn’t understand its content, I realized the voice belonged to my mother.
Which made no sense. Mother was confined to her bed—what would she possibly be doing here in this nameless city befitting Poseidon?
The song grew stronger, and I felt its alien harmonies tugging at me, almost like a physical thing. I had to go to mother. I had to save her.
No. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t—couldn’t be—Mother.
It was a trap, set by the thing that hunted me before.
I fled the plaza, seeking the streets. If I could only escape the city, perhaps I could save myself.
The cloud of jellyfish descended, blocking my path. Their stinging arms wrapped stickily around me, and I cried out—
And found myself sweating and gasping in bed, Griffin curled against my side.
~ * ~
Early Monday morning, Griffin and I hired a carriage to take us to the lunatic asylum. Low gray clouds blocked out the August sun, and a stiff breeze blew in from the ocean, carrying with it the scent of salt, rotting seaweed, and dead fish. The narrow road followed the coast out of Widdershins proper.
The town clustered around the mouth of the Cranch River where it entered the bay, but to the north the land rose sharply into a series of bluffs overlooking the ocean. One of these jutted out from the rest, its leeward side forming a small cove where, legend had it, the smugglers of old took refuge from inclement weather. Although Stormhaven Cove was no longer used for such purposes, the name still lingered, and the asylum built on the cliff above had taken its moniker rather than that of the town.
A dreary landscape sur
rounded Stormhaven, consisting mainly of rock, tough grasses, and trees stunted on the windward side. Apparently the asylum had fallen victim to the new electricity craze, because poles strung with ugly wires marched alongside the road, providing perches to a flock of bedraggled crows.
As we rode, I watched Griffin out of the corner of my eye. How would he react to the sight of the asylum? Could he truly bring himself to go inside? I longed to take his hand, but of course the presence of our driver made such a gesture impossible. So I merely watched his knuckles grow whiter and whiter as he gripped his silver-headed cane.
“Unless I am much mistaken, the lunatic asylum is run by the city, is it not?” he asked after we had ridden for a while.
“Yes.” I would distract him if at all possible. “Construction began in 1864, using the Kirkbride plan.”
“I wouldn’t have thought a city of Widdershins’s size would have enough patients to supply such a place.”
“Is this going to be one of those conversations where you tell me everything you think wrong with our town? You chose to move here, may I remind you.” I sat back and folded my arms over my chest. “Besides, I’ll have you know the only person in my family to go mad was my maternal grandfather, Isaiah Endicott. Nor did he ever set foot in Widdershins, so far as I know. He lived near Ipswich, on Essex Bay.”
“You’ve never spoken of this before,” Griffin said. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I don’t mind.” Not with him, anyway, although it wasn’t precisely the sort of thing the family wanted widely known. “Apparently, Isaiah went mad about two months before my mother was born. He tried to kill his pregnant wife—attacked her with a knife, I believe, screaming something about cutting ‘it’ out of her.”
Griffin shuddered. “How horrible.”
“Quite. Mother was their first child. Perhaps the stress of impending fatherhood brought forth some hidden delirium. Fortunately, the servants intervened in time. Grandfather Endicott went off to a private hospital and died shortly thereafter. Grandmother relocated permanently to Boston and eventually remarried, to a kind man who treated my mother as his own daughter. So I suppose the story has something of a happy ending, at least.”
Whyborne and Griffin, Books 1-3 Page 50
