“Here we are,” old Tom said, and took over both oars as Adam leaped nimbly onto a small wooden jetty. My bags were handed up, then Tom took me by the hand.
“You're a very curious young lady, by the sound of it,” he said. “Let me give you a word of advice. It don't pay to ask too many questions around here.”
Then he handed me up to Adam and I was ashore.
Seven
I had no time for thought as Adam picked up my bags and set off at a lively pace across the lawn. As I approached the house, I had a chance to study it more closely. I couldn't say I found Adare elegant. Solid. Imposing. Powerful—that was the word for it. The exterior was rough-cut granite. The style was definitely a mixture—a Southern type of veranda running along the side of the house that faced the river, but with that very Italian-looking round tower at the right, French shutters at the windows and a roof that looked more Dutch than anything. I wondered if the first owner had designed it himself and what had attracted Barney Flynn to buy it.
As we approached the veranda, I heard voices and noticed figures sitting in the shade at white-clothed tables. It was four o'clock. Obviously tea was being served. We came closer, unnoticed, until a servant tapped one of the women on the shoulder and pointed to me. Then all heads turned in our direction and a young woman rose to her feet.
“Molly, you're here at last,” she exclaimed, coming to greet me with open arms. “We've been waiting impatiently all day. You must be exhausted, poor lamb. All that tiring travel. Do come and have a cup of tea before you drop.”
“I've only come by train from New York today, not all the way from Ireland,” I said, returning her smile. “And forgive me for asking, but you must be Cousin Theresa.”
“How silly of me.” She had a high, musical laugh. “In my excitement at seeing you, I completely forgot my manners.” She held out her hand. “I am indeed Theresa. How do you do, Cousin. Welcome to Adare.”
“You are most kind to ask me to stay,” I said, taking her hand. It felt cold and so frail that I didn't dare squeeze it. She looked frail too, as if a breath of wind might blow her away. She had pale hair and her skin matched the whiteness of her summer gown. There were dark circles around her eyes and her collar bones stood up above a lowcut neck. But she had a sweet smile as she grasped at my hand.
“Another place please, Alice. And Clara, pour dear Cousin Molly some tea. She must be close to fainting in this heat.”
“I assure you I'm just fine,” I said.
Theresa patted my hand as I sat. “Would you listen to that accent?” she cooed. “Isn't it divine. Straight from the old country. Won't she do Barney’s heart good?”
I looked around the group seated at table and gave what I hoped was a shy smile. A cup of tea was placed in front of me by a severe-looking older woman, clad in a high-necked dress of dark gray, in spite of the sticky heat of the afternoon.
“Please make the introductions, Thesesa,” she said.
“Of course,” Theresa Flynn said. This is Molly Gaffney, Barney’s cousin, newly arrived from Ireland. Molly, may I first present our other guests: Miss Emily Sorensen and Miss Ella Sorensen.”
I screwed up my eyes to look from sun into shade and found my-self observing the famous Sorensen Sisters in the flesh. The strange thing was that there was nothing unusual about them. They looked like two perfectly ordinary middle-aged women. Miss Emily was a trifle dumpy and Miss Ella on the bony side. They both wore their hair in an unflattering fashion of years ago, parted down the middle and rolled into large wings on either side. Their black dresses were unadorned and their faces calm and composed as they inclined their heads to me.
“Miss Sorensen. Miss Sorensen,” I said. “I am pleased to meet you.”
Theresa reached across and squeezed my hand again. “I must tell you all about them later when we are alone. They are so wonderful and we are so honored to have them here. You've heard of them, have you?”
“I believe I might have,” I said. “Are you not the famous spiritualists?”
“We are.” Miss Emily had a deep, masculine voice.
“Has news of their fame reached Ireland?” Theresa said delightedly.
“We are not at the ends of the earth, Cousin Theresa,” I said, making her giggle again in a girlish way.
“The introductions, Theresa.” The woman who had handed me a cup of tea tugged at Theresa’s arm. “There are others present who need to be introduced before you chat with your new friends.”
Theresa flushed. “Oh, of course. I'm sorry. Too much excitement after the normal reclusive nature of our lives here must have gone to my head like wine. Molly, this is my mother’s cousin, Miss Clara Tompkins. She is kind enough to live with us and keep me company.”
The older woman inclined her head without smiling, not taking her eyes off me for one second.
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
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