“How was I to know they’d be coming here in October,” the boy complained. “Ain’t natural, is it? Whoever heard of a family coming up in October?”
“So you’d best get moving now, or you’ll be looking for another job,” the older man said. “We’ve already lost enough time today answering his danged fool questions.” And he stomped off in the direction of the stables. The younger gardeners exchanged a grin and then went their own ways. I paused until they were out of sight, thinking. Daniel had mentioned something about scraps of clothing fiber being caught on bushes. If there were lots of brambles in that far wilderness, maybe I’d turn up a valuable clue. I wasn’t sure why I was so keen on finding clues to an incident that had nothing to do with me—perhaps I wanted to show Daniel how competent I was, but perhaps it was more that I wanted to impress Chief Prescott. A little of both, I suspect. I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge and I had nothing else to do at that moment.
I set out across the formal garden, veering to avoid the fountain that was sending out a mist of spray in that fierce wind until at last I reached the part of the grounds that had been allowed to grow wild. A white painted gazebo was half hidden among tall shrubs. A flagstone path led to it. I went up the steps and peeked inside. It was a simple structure, six sided with a wooden bench running around the walls. There was nothing special about it, except for its location, hidden away from the main house but with a delightful glimpse of the cliffs and ocean through the arched entrance. A drift of red maple leaves had accumulated on the benches and floor and it had an abandoned feel to it. I almost turned away again, then something caught my eye. On the bench just inside the entrance was a tray containing a decanter and a glass, half filled with a brown liquid—brandy or whiskey, I surmised.
Of course my first thought was why the police had not come across this or chosen to remove it for testing. What if the whiskey had been tampered with? Had Brian Hannan been here? Had he decided to have a quiet drink before facing the family? Of course it could easily have a more simple explanation. Maybe Terrence or Joseph, or even Father Patrick, may have needed to escape for an occasional tipple. There was nothing wrong in this and they’d have no problem confirming their presence in the gazebo. But the tray must have been placed there recently, as there wasn’t a single leaf on it, whereas the bench beneath it was littered with them. So it was definitely worth mentioning to Chief Prescott. I changed direction and walked firmly around to the front of the house.
There was no longer a constable standing at the front door, but it was ajar and I stepped unchallenged into the foyer. Nobody was in sight and the hall still had that cold, unfriendly feel to it. I shivered and involuntarily glanced up the staircase. I didn’t care what Mrs. McCreedy had said, there was some sort of presence in this house. Almost as if a curse lay over it, claiming first the beloved child and then the master. But this was the twentieth century and it was America, not Ireland and people no longer believed in curses.
I stood waiting for someone to come, listening for voices but the house remained silent, apart from the wind that moaned softly down a chimney. Chief Prescott had been in the kitchen with the servants so I started down the passage that led to the rear of the house. Halfway along this hallway I heard men’s voices coming from behind one of the many doors. I put my ear to the door, trying to discern whether one of those voices belonged to Chief Prescott. I thought I recognized Joseph Hannan’s blustering manner and hesitated to barge in on him, when he had made it so clear that he wanted Daniel and myself off the premises as soon as possible.
I jumped guiltily as I heard footsteps behind me and spun around to see a footman coming toward me, carrying a tray containing a silver coffeepot and cups. He looked at me curiously.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked in a voice that still had a trace of Irish brogue.
“I was trying to hear whether Chief Prescott was in this room,” I said. “Are you bringing that coffee for him?”
“I believe he is in there with Mr. Joseph,” the young man said, staring at me impassively. I could see him trying to judge from my appearance whether I was a guest or someone of lesser rank and whether he needed to treat me with deference. Of course I had been out in the wind and up and down a cliff so I’m sure the first impression was not too good.
“Is he expecting you, miss?” he asked flatly. “Do you have a message for him?”
“I wish to speak with him immediately concerning the alderman,” I replied in my haughtiest voice. “Kindly announce me when you take in the coffee.”
“Whom shall I say is calling?” he asked.