“And you haven't forgotten about tonight, have you, Barney?” Theresa continued. “The séance? Miss Emily and Miss Ella are going to try and contact Brendan for us.”
A spasm crossed Barney Flynn’s affable face. “I'll leave that to you ladies, if you don't mind. If we're going to start chatting with the dead, there’s a few fellows might want to come back and tell me what they think of me.”
“It’s no joking matter,” Miss Emily said in her deep smooth voice, “but if you don't wish to get in touch with your little son, then that’s entirely up to you.”
Theresa reached out and grabbed Barney’s hand. “Oh do come. Please do. You want to know that he’s all right, don't you? You'd like to hear his voice again?”
“Of course I would, it’s just…” He glanced across at the two women and left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
Miss Emily had risen to her feet and tapped her sister on the arm. “If you would please excuse us, Mrs. Flynn. We need to rest and prepare ourselves mentally if we are to contact the spirits tonight. The room must be set up to make the atmosphere conducive to their appearance.”
Rigged up, more like it, I thought to myself and wondered if I might be able to spy on them I also got to my feet.
“Would you also think it very rude of me if I went to lie down also? The rigors of the journey are just catching up with me.”
“Of course, dear cousin.” Theresa beckoned to the maid who stood in the doorway. “We are about to retire inside ourselves. You men are welcome to sit out here and be eaten alive by mosquitoes. Alice, please show Miss Gaffney to her room and bring her up some hot water. I trust her trunk has already gone up? Good.” She smiled up at me. “We dine at seven-thirty, Molly. Nothing too formal. It is the country, after all, and then you are more than welcome to join us at the séance.”
“I'd be delighted,” I said, and departed with a polite bow.
“She’s really quite civilized, isn't she?” I heard Belinda’s clear voice floating after me. “Apparently all the Irish live don't in bogs.”
“This way, miss,” Alice said, hurrying me across the black and white marble-tiled entrance hall and up the wide main staircase. A stained glass window above the front door threw a rainbow of colors onto the dark carpeted stairs. At the second level a wood-paneled gallery ran around all four sides of the stairwell, with doors going off it. From inside one of these I heard a child singing in a sweet, clear voice. Little Eileen was relaxing after her teatime ordeal. Alice turned me to the left and headed around to the front part of the gallery. “The mistress thought you'd like to have the view,” she said and opened a door at the end of the hallway.
It was a comer room with windows at the front and side of the house, giving me a view of the Hudson and the rocky hillside beyond the lawns. A writing desk sat in one window and the bed was placed to enjoy the best of the view. An electric fan turned lazily in the high ceiling. The room was delightfully cool. The scent of the flowering creeper climbing up the house, mingled with the smell of newly mown grass, drifted in through the open windows.
“Thank you. I shall love it here,” I said, noting that my valise had already been unpacked and my dresses hung in the mahogany wardrobe. I was about to dismiss the maid when I remembered that I had a task to fulfill.
“So how long have you been with Senator and Mrs. Flynn, Alice?” I asked.
“About two years now, miss.”
“Not very long, then. Are you fitting in well? Are the others making you welcome?” I gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s not always easy fitting into a household, is it?”
“As a matter of fact it wasn't too hard,” Alice said. “Most of the girls haven't been here much longer than I have. Mrs. Flynn doesn't seem to keep servants too long. I don't know why. She’s been nice enough to me.”
“I expect they all run off and get married,” I said, giving her a knowing look that made her blush and giggle. “Any handsome male servants around?”
“Ooh, miss, you shouldn't talk that way. The mistress doesn't want us walking out with the male servants. We'd get dismissed on the spot.”
“I suppose she doesn't want another Albert Morell on her hands,” I said.
Alice put her hand up to her mouth to stifle a squeak of terror. “We don't mention him, miss. The devil himself, that man was, by all accounts. Cook says she knew he was up to no good when he helped himself to her meringues, after she'd made sure she'd done therightamount for a dinner party too.”
“How disgusting,” I said. “I wonder why Senator Flynn hired him in thefirstplace if he was such a tricky character.”
“I wouldn't know, miss. He had a way with automobiles, and with horses too, so they say.”
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
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