O'Hare House Mysteries

by Kate Danley

"I should hardly say hearty," said Rhoda aghast, running her hand over her waist and craning her neck to erase any sag. "I may be many things but death did not make a glutton out of me. I have kept my figure yet!"

  "Quite right," apologized Wesley, and then too quickly asked, "Clara, should we go?"

  Clara rose, ever so grateful to leave. Rhoda rang the bell and her butler swiftly appeared to escort them out. When the front door finally shut behind them, Clara turned to Wesley and said, "I have never been so relieved to part company."

  "My thoughts exactly, my dear," he replied.

  They walked across the gravel to where Red was waiting. He sat up straight as soon as he noticed them. "Pleasant visit?" he asked.

  Clara looked at him knowingly. "I am sure you are quite aware that it was not."

  "True, Mrs. O'Hare. Quite true."

  "I think perhaps leaving this place was a wise career decision, Red."

  "They are an odd lot," Red muttered, then turned crimson-faced. "Begging your pardon…"

  "No need. You merely said out loud that which we were both thinking."

  Wesley opened the door for Clara and helped her in and immediately they were off, as if the horse was just as grateful to get away from that manor as they were.

  The weather began to change, the sun exchanged for clouds and gloom. A flash of lightning lit up the sky.

  "Oh dear," said Clara. "This is not good."

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, and she couldn't even be sure because of the gloom, she thought she saw a flash of red hair among the bushes.

  "Get out of the way, Miss!" she heard Red cry. There was the scream of the horse as the carriage screeched to a halt. The seat beneath her jolted as the horse reared up again and again. And then she and Wesley were flung violently as the two-wheeled carriage fell upon its side.

  3

  Clara came to with Wesley gripping her hand. "Clara? Clara?" She saw relief cross his face as her eyes fluttered open. "Are you injured, my dear?"

  Clara slowly remembered where she was. She did not feel as if she were injured, merely sore from being thrown about the carriage. "I am fine, darling."

  "Is she all right?" asked Red, his face peering through the cab's side window, which was now directly overhead.

  "Quite!" she called back at him, wincing as she sat up. "And you?"

  "I am fine, Mrs. O'Hare. There was some fool girl that ran in front of the carriage. Spooked my horse. You could fire a gun next to old Daisy and she wouldn't rear up like that. What with the mist and the gloom and the storm coming on… I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Hare."

  She tried to give him a reassuring smile. She could see that he was concerned that his first day on the job was not going entirely according to plan. "Not another word, Red. It wasn't your fault. Is Daisy all right?"

  "Indeed she is, Mrs. O’Hare. Threw a shoe and we shall need some help getting the carriage righted, but otherwise…" Red stopped himself. "As my mam would often say, 'If it ain't bleedin', it ain't nothin' that can't be fixed.'"

  Clara thought some day she would have to meet Red's mother. In the meantime, she would settle for just getting out of the carriage. She had thought his cab quite cunning, very modern with its enclosed interior to protect its passengers from the elements and full-length doors which could be opened by Red from his seat on top. But now she saw this design was unfortunate. The windows were spider-webbed with fractures and the doors were jammed.

  "I suppose Mr. Lowenherz and I shall need your assistance to get out," she said.

  "Of course, Mrs. O'Hare! Let me just go tie Daisy up where she can't wander off!" And with that, Red disappeared from view.

  "It was Minnie," Clara murmured to Wesley.

  "What?" he said, alarmed. "What is my sister doing here?"

  Clara shook her head. "I am not entirely sure, but I'm afraid that Minnie has decided our presence is required."

  Wesley looked about the damaged cab. "She could have just told you. No need to have destroyed a man's livelihood…"

  Red appeared again in the window. "Now, Mrs. O'Hare, if perhaps Mr. Lowenherz can give you a leg up, I'll catch you on this end, and we shall get you out of there."

  "But how shall Mr. Lowenherz be extracted?" Clara asked.

  Wesley gave her a wink. "I am spritely and quick," he replied. "Nothing more than a hop and a skip to get out of this jam."

  Clara stood and was almost tall enough to peek over the edge of the window sill. Wesley laced his fingers together and held out his hands for her to step on. Trusting that her men would not let her down, she placed her foot in Wesley's hand and felt herself being propelled upwards. Red caught her waist and lifted her out of the carriage. He deposited her gently upon the ground.

  "Light as a feather," he said.

  "Cheeky," she replied, giving him a twinkling smile.

  Quick as a monkey, Red climbed onto the side of the cab and crouched with his arms out to grab Wesley's wrists. Clara heard the sound of Wesley jumping inside and Red hauled him up with a grunt. "No more pudding for you, though, sir."

  Wesley laughed as he made his escape and soon was at Clara's side. Another bolt of lightning crossed the sky and fat raindrops began to fall.

  "Oh dear," said Clara. "Whatever shall we do?"

  Wesley took off his coat and offered it to Clara to hold above her head. "I suppose we shall have to return to the manor house to see if Rhoda can spare a driver to take us back to town."

  Clara looked back along the long road they had traveled. The thought of returning to the manor was not a cheerful one, but she knew Wesley spoke the truth.

  Just then, there was the sound of horses' hooves and the rattle of a carriage from the opposite direction.

  "Perhaps there is a good Samaritan inside who might be willing to aid us in this hour of need," Wesley said, raising his arms to flag them down the moment they came into sight.

  It was a large black carriage with gold-leaf and brass details pulled by a team of matched thoroughbreds. Such luxury! Clara was sure that six people could easily fit inside. Wesley waved frantically and the driver gave a "Whoa" as he pulled up on the reins. The carriage stopped directly beside them. The glass window lowered and the man inside stuck his head out.

  "I do say, you seem to be in a bit of a pickle."

  The man was probably in his early twenties, about the same age as Violet would have been. His face had those same unremarkable features of Peter. His eyebrows made a straight line across his forehead. His light brown hair was stick straight, parted down the middle, and greased flat upon his head. His pasty skin had the blotches of red of a man who had spent too much time eating butter and greasy foods.

  Clara noticed that Red became very still beside her. Something about this man made him quite uncomfortable. Red had even gone so far as to turn up his collar and tilt his hat so that it would be very difficult for this person to see his face clearly.

  "Allow me to introduce myself: I am Lord Trevor Beltza and I live in the manor ahead. Do you need a lift?"

  "That would be most welcome," replied Clara. "I am Mrs. Clara O'Hare and this is my companion, Mr. Wesley Lowenherz."

  "Mr. Lowenherz! I do say! Are you that fantastic medium I've been hearing so much about in all the right circles?"

  Wesley gave him a respectful bow, blinking away the rain as it dripped from his auburn hair into his eyes.

  "Well, get in! Get in!" said Trevor Beltza. "We can't have you drowning in this rain. You would then have to raise yourself!" He giggled high and nasally at his own joke, shaking his head at the depths of his wit. Finally, after practically collapsing from mirth, he opened the door. "I do say, already I see you are quite the man I have heard you to be."

  Clara turned to Red. "Will you be all right?"

  Red glanced at Trevor, his face stony. "Be careful with that one, Mrs. O'Hare—" he started, but was interrupted mid-thought.

  "Hurry now! Step to it!" said Trevor. "Mother is waiting and she does hate to be kept waiting."
>
  Clara gripped Red's arm as she turned back to Trevor. "I hate to impose, but may my man ride up top with your driver and hitch our horse to follow us?"

  "Perhaps," said Trevor, pretending to think it over, and then bursting out in excitement. "But only if Mr. Lowenherz promises to entertain us this evening with his talents."

  Clara looked over at Wesley, quite unsure of how he felt about being put on public display. But like the great showman he was, he gave a sweeping bow and a gracious smile. "But of course! I wouldn't dream of anything otherwise! It is the least I can do to repay such kindness."

  Clara wondered how he was capable of saying all that with a straight face.

  Red gave her a stiff nod and walked to the back of the carriage. Clara stepped inside and Wesley followed. She sat across from Trevor upon the plush, burgundy velvet seat with Wesley beside her. She might well have not been there at all, though. Trevor's full attention was on her companion.

  "So tell me," he said, "can you really speak to ghosts? I mean… REALLY?"

  Wesley smiled the wise smile of the sage. If Clara didn't know him so well, she never would have guessed how astutely he was tap dancing around the question. "The veil of the spirit world is thin. Those friends and family who pass and yet remain are tied here because of unfinished business. It is my duty, as a sympathetic, to guide them to their rest however I can."

  "But could you get them to do something wicked? Like, truly wicked? Like, scare an old lady into having a heart attack or pushing an old man out a window?" His question did not seem to have any sort of menace to it. More like a twelve-year-old boy's fascination with how large an object a python could swallow.

  "I am afraid," said Wesley, "that I have no control over them any more than I have control over you. But I can bridge the gap and help deliver the messages that tie them to this world. My goal is to bring them peace, not bring pain to those they left behind."

  "Then what exactly happened at horrible Uncle Oroberg's house?"

  "What?" said Wesley, a crack appearing in his veneer.

  "I mean, I know they swore that there was a mass murderer on the loose, and I have heard enough of you and your companion to know that you were there…"

  Clara and Wesley exchanged glances. How did this young cad know this information?

  Trevor caught their look and leaned forward, a finger aside his nose. "I know they never mentioned you by name in the papers, but I know people in high places."

  Had Marguerite spoken out of turn? It seemed highly improbable.

  "High places?" Wesley asked.

  "My family supports our community philanthropically. Quite an interesting police report…" he replied.

  Was there corruption in the police department Marguerite should be made aware of? Clara made note to speak with their friend the moment they got back to town.

  "I am not sure what you heard," Wesley continued as the carriage gently swayed down the road, "but I assure you that no angry spirits were at work that night. Just a madman."

  "Or woman?" noted Trevor. A lightning bolt flashed across the sky.

  "I am afraid this conversation is quite disturbing to me," said Clara, stepping in. There could be no good to come of it. "Let us discuss more pleasant topics."

  "Of course," said Trevor in mock sympathy. "After such a terrible accident with your carriage, I am sure you are quite shaken. So, tell me, how did you find yourselves in such dire circumstances? I'm sure there is a good story."

  "A young girl leapt out into the road," replied Wesley.

  "Was she all right?"

  "She disappeared."

  "Perhaps she was a ghost…" said Trevor, wiggling his fingers.

  "Lord Beltza, please," said Clara, aghast at his poor taste.

  "Really, you are no fun at all," he remarked, very disappointed in her.

  Clara looked down at her drenched clothes, at Wesley covered in mud, and tried to think what about their appearance would indicate to Trevor that they were in a festive mood.

  "I apologize," said Clara, not sorry at all, "but you must excuse us. We shall be far better companions once we have a chance to recover from our ordeal."

  "I should hope so," Trevor pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out the window at the pouring rain.

  Wesley cleared his throat. "Is there anyone you would like to speak to across the boundary, Lord Beltza?"

  Trevor shrugged, trying hard not to be appeased by Wesley's attempt at goodwill, but finally melted. He gave a mischievous smile. "There is a girl I once knew who stayed at our house for a time. I should be glad to know what she is up to. How she is doing and such. And of course, Father. And if dear Uncle Peter has indeed died…"

  Clara could not help but be shocked by the callous attitude he took towards the demise of a family member.

  "…it would be a lark to find out what happened. Where he disappeared to and such. No one can find him! And of course, there's all that lovely hidden treasure that they keep going on about."

  "Hidden treasure?" asked Clara.

  "Oh, rumor has it he was loaded. My father, Lord Alastair Beltza, I am sure you heard of him, invested a great deal in his pursuits. Uncle Peter is rumored to have sold a bunch of Egyptian artifacts and squirreled away the money. Perhaps even melted down the gold he found in those tombs. Would be smashing to find it."

  Wesley tried to smile, but even he could not help the slight tightness which entered his lips. "We shall see what we can learn," was all he replied.

  Trevor clapped. "Oh! I'm so glad you crashed your carriage! This will be the most fun indeed! La!"

  4

  The carriage pulled up to the front of the manor house. The rain had progressed from a light sprinkling to a torrential downpour. The colors of the lovely gardens were now awash in a stormy green gloom, as if the weather felt the same about their return to this house, Clara thought.

  The butler rushed out of the house with an umbrella and opened the door.

  "Apologies, sir and madam. I was not aware Trevor was bringing visitors." He looked angrily at Trevor, as if this had happened before and was pushing the limits of his patience. The butler then looked closer at Clara and Wesley. Confusion crossed his face for just a moment before he hid it away. "A pleasure to see you again." He informed the carriage occupants of the next course of action. "I shall escort the lady in and return with umbrellas for both gentlemen."

  Clara smiled thankfully. Trevor reached across and clapped Wesley cheerfully upon the knee. "Oh good! We shall have a few wonderful moments by ourselves without having to worry about upsetting the delicate sensibilities of the weaker sex."

  Clara locked eyes with the butler. His judgment of this silly man-child matched her own.

  "Milady?" he asked, reaching out his hand.

  As she stepped beneath the umbrella, she looked back and saw the drenched Red climbing down from the top of the carriage. She stopped and turned towards him. "How goes it?" she asked.

  He gave her a nod, shivering, but not without spirit. "It is a good day to be a duck! I’ll just look to Daisy and then make out what we can do about the carriage."

  "Can you see that my man gets a change of dry clothes and a warm meal?" Clara asked.

  The butler looked at Red, and then suddenly recognized the young man. Clara could see that there was some affection between the two. "I shall be happy to," said the butler. He snapped his finger at the driver who immediately set into motion.

  "Thank you," Clara said.

  "My pleasure," the butler replied.

  "What shall I call you?" Clara asked.

  "Mr. Hopper, if you please," he replied as they continued on to the front of the house.

  "I thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Hopper. I hope we shall not have to impose too long."

  "I am sure that you will be welcome guests. We are only too happy to extend a friendly hand to those in need," he replied, pointedly gazing at Red.

  The doorway to the house was darkened by the silhoue
tte of a shriveled body. "What is going on here?" Rhoda shouted at Clara. "What are you doing back?" The expression on her face was akin to one who had just discovered the cat had brought in a dead mouse and left it upon the floor.

  "I am afraid that we have endured an accident and must impose upon you," Clara replied.

  Rhoda sighed as if Clara were asking for the moon. "Well, I suppose we may be able to make up a room until the rain clears. Mr. Hopper, see to it."

  He inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, Lady Beltza."

  Clara stepped inside and Rhoda said with a sniff, "You are dripping all over the floor."

  "My apologies, Lady Beltza. It was not my intention. I'm afraid that the rain had other plans."

  "Well, we shall have to get your things dried and find you a change of clothes. I'm sure you are too big to fit into any of my things," Rhoda ran her hands over her scrawny waist and bony hips, "but perhaps a past guest left something behind that you can squeeze yourself into."

  Clara debated asking Red if he would allow her to ride Daisy into town, storm or no. Instead, she smiled gratefully. "You are too kind."

  A maid was busy dusting the foyer and Rhoda snapped her fingers at her. "Girl! See to Mrs. O'Hare. I assume your companion Mr. Lowenherz is still traveling with you?"

  Clara was about to reply when Trevor came bounding into the room. He skipped up to Rhoda and planted a kiss upon her cheek. She batted him away.

  "Oh, Mother! We have had the most wonderful luck! Guess who I ran into on the road? I mean, I just learned you already met them, but I can't believe you sent them away! It is the famous Mr. Lowenherz! La!"

  "I am not familiar with his notoriety," she stated.

  "He is only the most renowned medium in polite circles and is to be our guest! We shall be the envy of all society when word gets out!"

  Rhoda seemed to soften with his words. She looked shrewdly at Clara. "Is this true?"

  "Indeed, it is," replied Clara.

  "And why did you not mention your friend's skills before?"

  Clara bit her tongue and did not reply that it was because it was none of her business. Instead she said, "Some may doubt Mr. Lowenherz’s motives, and with one who has experienced such recent tragedy, we did not wish to cause further distress."