In Like Flynn (8 page)

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I was just trying to find my way around the house. I'm Senator Flynn’s cousin Molly Gaffney, just arrived from Ireland. May I ask who you are?”

“I am Soames, the Senator’s butler.” He inclined his head in the barest hint of a bow.

“Soames? I believe I have heard my family mention you before,” I said. “You have been with the Senator for quite a while, haven't you?”

“Ten years, miss.”

“Then you were here before the tragedy,” I blurted out before I had a chance to consider whether it was wise to do so. “We heard that Mrs. Flynn had replaced all her servants after it.”

“Maybe I wasn't considered to be an ordinary servant, miss,” Soames replied with such a withering look that I should have shriveled up on the spot. “Now what was it you were looking for?” he went on, firmly closing the master’s study door behind me.

“I understand there is to be a séance tonight. I am most excited, having never seen one before. I thought I might just take a peek at the room to see where it will be held.”

“The spiritualist ladies have prepared the room and made it clear that they do not wish anyone to enter it,” he said. “Now, may I escort you out to the mistress, who is still on the veranda?”

“No, thank you, Soames,” I said. “I think I may go and write some letters home before dinner. There is a pretty writing desk in my room with a view of the river.” I nodded gravely and felt his eyes watching me as I made my way back up the stairs. Clearly, snooping in this house was not going to be an easy matter.

Nine

I
kept to my room until I heard the dinner gong. Sitting at that elegant little writing desk with its view down the Hudson, I jotted down my impressions so far.

Members of the household to be questioned about Albert Morell—Tom and Adam who had rowed me across. Of the two, Adam might be the more inclined to talk, if suitably encouraged with mild flirtation.

The same cook has apparently been working here since the time when Albert was employed. Ditto Soames the butler, although not likely to get anything out of him.

I wondered if Cousin Clara had been around in those days. Mr. Rimes and Desmond O'Mara had been working with Bamey Flynn in his study on the afternoon of the kidnapping, but three men at work were not likely to notice a baby being carried past their window.

And then what? I asked myself. What was I hoping to get from any of these people? If they had had any suspicions, they would have shared them with the police years ago. If Bertie Morell hadn't been the kidnapper, then I would have to find out who was. And that was probably beyond my ability. The police had access to files and therightto question whomever they chose. I was just one very amateur investigator, staying at a private house. I rather feared that Annie Lomax had put too much faith in me.

But at least I would carry out my commission from Daniel. At the séance tonight I would be a keen observer.

I rose to my feet as I heard the gong echoing up from the tiled foyer and paused to examine my appearance in the glass. Not bad for someone who had been a resident of a peasant cottage in County Mayo until recently I'd surely come a long way in the world. I smirked to myself and almost heard my mother’s voice muttering that pride always comes before a fall.

The party was assembled in an oak-paneled room across the hall from the grand drawing room and master’s study. It appeared to be a smaller sitting room, with several chairs and tables dotted around and a large marble fireplace, unlit at this time of year. A sideboard ran along one wall and apparently sherry was being served. I was about to slip in unnoticed when Soames stepped forward to usher me in.

“Miss Gaffney,” he announced in sonorous tones, making everyone stop and look up at me.

I felt myself blushing, which is always unfortunate for one with such pale skin as mine. Theresa was seated in a dainty Chippendale-style chair. She held out her hand to me.

“Molly, my dear. We'd been wondering where you'd disappeared to. Barney wanted to send for you, but I didn't want you disturbed in case you were sleeping. Did you manage to take a nap?”

“I'm well rested now, thank you, Cousin Theresa,” I said, taking the hand she held out to me. It was still very cold.

“How pretty you look,” she said. “Don't you think she looks delightfully pretty, Belinda?”

The latter cast a critical eye over me. “I'm sure she does,” Belinda said. “Are the leg of mutton sleeves still in fashion in Ireland? I suppose it does take a while for new fashions to travel so far.”

I managed to keep my sweet smile. “Well, you know, in Ireland we're only allowed to change our fashions with the blessing of the Pope,” I said. “And we don't like to disturb his praying too often.”

The rest of the company laughed. 'You've met your match there, Belinda,” Bamey said, eyeing me from across the room, where he stood with Rimes at the drinks table. The fishy Mr. O'Mara was not in evidence. Maybe he had to dine with the servants.

Belinda’s sweet smile wavered for a moment, but I said hastily, “In truth, Miss Butler, I possessed no such fine clothes in Ireland. These have been loaned to me by a kind friend in New York so that I shouldn't disgrace myself at this great house.”

“As if you could disgrace yourself, Molly,” Theresa said. “Your youth and vitality are like a breath of fresh air. I suppose it is all that good Irish fresh air that does wonders for the complexion.”

“That Irish fresh air is more like a gale, half the time.” I smiled at her. “Especially if the wind comes right off the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Oh, is Limerick on the ocean?” Theresa asked. “I always imagined…”

“No, it’s well inland,” I said rapidly. “But the wind sweeps up the river from the ocean and we get our fair share of gales.”

Barney came over with a glass of sherry in his hand. “Here you are, Molly You'll need this if you're going to face the séance afterward.”

I took it gratefully, glad to be occupied with sipping sherry rather than putting my foot in my mouth every time I opened it.

“Don't frighten her, Barney.” Theresa frowned at him. “I'm sure the séance will be a wonderful experience for all of us.”

“So where have your two voodoo ladies got to then?” Bamey asked.

“Behave yourself.” Theresa frowned again. “They have been preparing themselves.” She glanced up. “Ah. Here they come now.”

All conversation broke off as the Misses Sorensen came into the room. They were still dressed head to toe in black, but the dresses were now silk and Miss Ella wore a pleated silk turban. Apart from that, neither wore any other adornment and their faces looked deathly white against all that blackness.

“Miss Emily, Miss Ella. Do come in. I hope you feel up to joining us for dinner before the séance,” Theresa said.

“One has to eat occasionally,” Miss Emily said in her deep voice. “It is important to keep the body in good condition if one is to be open to the spirits.”

“How fascinating,” Cousin Clara said. “So tell me, can you call up spirits at will?”

“Certainly not.” Miss Ella had a sharper, higher voice. “My sister merely makes herself the vessel through which messages are received from the other side. It would be most presumptuous to think our role is anything more than that.”

“It is Chief Ojuweca who does all the work,” Miss Emily said, accepting the sherry glass from the butler’s tray. “Our spirit guide, you know.”

“How simply marvelous, isn't it, Theresa?” Clara said, beaming at Theresa. They have a real spirit guide. Is he a Red Indian?”

“An Indian chief,” Miss Ella said, looking smug. “We were most fortunate that he chose us, of all people.”

I pressed my lips together and tried not to smile. It was almost as if they were discussing servants or even patrons.

“So we don't actually know whether your Indian chief will be able to get in touch with Brendan then?” Theresa asked in a quavering voice.

Miss Emily shook her head. “My dear, we cannot command the spirits. Those who wish to make contact, do so. But we shall keep trying until we dofindyour son for you. I am most hopeful.”

Theresa let out a sigh. “Oh, I'm so glad. Thank you so much for coming. If only I can talk to him again, just once …”

Bamey went over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don't hope for too much, my dear. I don't want you hurt again.”

“Senator Flynn has little faith in our abilities, I can see,” Miss Ella said in her sharp voice. “It may be better if he doesn't attend tonight. The spirits can tell when they are not welcome. Some of them are very shy, you know.”

“Don't worry, ladies. I have no intention of coming,” Barney Flynn said. Theresa can do the talking for both of us.”

“I do wish you'd try to believe, Bamey,” Theresa said. “It would be so wonderful. I'm sure it would make you feel better too.”

Bamey shook his head. “How’s dinner coming along, Soames?” he asked. “Shouldn't the second gong have rung by now?”

“I'll go and see, sir.” Soames bowed and retreated gracefully. A few minutes later he returned to say that dinner was served. Bamey took Theresa’s arm to escort her down the hall and into the dining room. Mr. Rimes latched onto Belinda, who didn't look at all pleased. The rest of us followed, myself and Cousin Clara bringing up the rear. The long, polished table sparkled with chandeliers and silver and crystal. I was glad that Daniel had warned me about the size and extent of the meals or I might have eaten too much of the first courses and been completely full by the time the roast pork arrived. Each course was more delicious than the last. There were things I had never eaten before. I nearly put my foot in it again when I read the words “Seafood Mousse” on the gold-framed menu in my place and wondered if the next thing on my plate might be a mouse stuffed with shrimp!

Then there was wine to accompany the food—a different kind with each course. Remembering how tipsy I had been after Daniel’s champagne and that I needed my wits about me, I took only modest sips.

“Drink up, Molly. Drink up. It will do you good,” Bamey exhorted from the head of the table. I noticed he was following his own instructions well. His face had definitely become flushed and his eyes wild.

“I'm not yet used to wine, Cousin Bamey,” I protested, “but it’s very good. I'm sure I could develop quite a taste for it if I'm not careful.”

“A very dangerous thing, wine,” Miss Emily said. “It lowers the inhibitions and clouds the judgment. We never touch a drop.”

I did note, however, that both Misses Sorensen ate most heartily and cleaned their plates at every course. And apparently sherry wasn't considered wine in their definition, as they had each drunk a couple of glasses.

At last the savory plates were cleared away and Theresa stood up. “We will leave you men to your cigars and port while we go to a higher calling.” She glanced at the Sorensen Sisters. “Do you need more time to prepare? Shall we await you in the drawing room?”

“All is ready, Mrs. Flynn,” Miss Emily said. “If you will follow us.”

Belinda fell into step beside me. “I didn't think I'd be excited, but I am,” she whispered. “Do you think they will make ectoplasm appear? I've always wanted to see it.”

“I've no idea,” I said, “but I'm very anxious to see what they do.”

We were ushered into a small, dark room. The furniture had been hidden under black drapes so that only a circle of chairs was visible. One solitary candle was burning on a black-draped table. The pictures on the walls had been similarly black draped. For some reason it felt uncomfortably cold too. I shivered.

“Please be seated,” Miss Emily commanded.

We sat. That one candle threw monstrous shadows and made our faces look hollow and deathlike.

“We will all hold hands around the table. Take care not to break the power of the circle. Nobody is to say a word. We will open our minds and invite the spirits to come.”

I was sitting with Theresa on one side of me and Belinda on the other. I could feel Theresa’s frail hand absolutely shaking. Belinda’s didn't feel too steady either. And me? Even though I pooh-poohed the whole idea, I found that my heart was beating very fast.

Rubbish, I said to myself. There are no such things as spirits and any minute now 111 see how they are faking.

At that very moment there was a strong gust of wind that swept across the room, blowing the candle out and stirring the draperies on the walls. We were plunged into complete darkness. Cousin Clara wailed.

“Peace,” Miss Emily said. “Someone is in the room with us. I can feel it. Are you with us, Chief Ojuweca?”

“I am here,” said a very different voice. “I bring greetings from the other side to my friends.”

Miss Emily has a deep, masculine-sounding voice, I told myself. Of course she blew the candle out so that we couldn't see her mouth move. And yet, this voice really did sound like a man’s, and not only that, a man for whom English was not his native tongue. Also it seemed to be coming from the farrightcomer of the room, not at all where Miss Emily was sitting.

“Will you deign to show yourself to our friends tonight, Chief Ojuweca?” Miss Emily asked.

I felt Theresa’s hand grab onto mine as I looked up and saw what she saw. In that same far comer of the room a head was materializing. It was too faint to make out the features clearly, but one could see the eyes and hooked nose and the mouth that moved.

“Here I am,” it said. “State what you want of me.”

How did they do it? They were sitting in the circle with us, holding hands. There was no light in the room and yet the head glowed with a faint light of its own. I felt the back of my neck prickling.

“There is a lady present who grieves for her son who has passed over,” Miss Emily said. “She would like to contact him. His name is Brendan, Brendan Flynn. A little boy. Can you contact him for us?”

“I will try,” Ojuweca said. “In the meantime I bring messages for others present. I bring a message for someone whose name starts with a C.”

“That’s you, Clara,” Theresa whispered and Clara whimpered again.

“A message from someone you knew long ago. Someone who was dear to you once.”

“Not Johnny!” Clara exclaimed.

“He says his name is John, yes.”

“Saints preserve us. Johnny’s come back to speak to me. How are you, Johnny?”

“He says he isfineand you don't need to grieve for him. He’s in a better place, but he still misses you.”

Clara gave a sob. “Young Johnny Parker. The only boy I ever loved. Taken from me when we were just seventeen.”

“He died of pneumonia, didn't he?” the voice asked.

“No, he fell through the ice when we were skating.”

“Because he was already weak with the pneumonia that was coming on.”

“I never knew that,” Clara whispered. “Poor, brave Johnny. He came skating with me, even though he was already sick with pneumonia. He really did love me.” And she burst into tears.

“He watches over you, Clara, and waits for the day when you will join him,” the voice said, “and now I have a very strong message coming through. It is for an M?”

“Molly, that’s you,” Theresa whispered.

In spite of the fact that I didn't believe, I thought my heart was going to jump out of my mouth. I didn't want to hear what any of my dead might say.

“It’s your mother, Molly. She’s been trying to get in touch with you for some time.”

God forbid. My mother! She'd be here half the night telling me all the things I was doing wrong. I opened my mouth but no sound would come out.

“She says to tell you not to grieve. You are still her sweet and darling child. She’s not suffering from those terrible headaches any more, and she’s with your father and your little brothers, so all is well.”