Farther up the drive I spied a carriage house with a shiny auto-mobile outside. A man in gray uniform was giving it a final polish. My thoughts went to Bertie Morell and I found myself blurting out, “If it was your former chauffeur who kidnapped your son, how on earth do they think he carried the child out of the house without being seen?”
“Easy” he said. “The child’s nanny. She was sweet on him, you see. He was a likable fellow. She must have delivered the child to him. She swears she didn't, of course, but with the electric chair waiting, who wouldn't?”
“And if she’s telling the truth and had nothing to do with it?”
He shook his head. “It had to be her. Do you think I haven't gone through this a million times in my head? There can't be any other explanation. And once she'd handed over the child, he'd have gone willingly enough with Morell. He was a friendly little chap, and he loved going for rides in the car. Morell always had candies for him. I thought he was genuinely fond of the child, but obviously he was just softening him up for the right moment.” His voice cracked and he kicked savagely at a pebble in his path. “Anyway, it’s a subject we don't discuss any more. Let’s go and have breakfast, shall we?”
Again I was marched firmly away.
Back at the house breakfast was in full swing. Theresa, Clara and Belinda, as well as Mr. Rimes and the silent secretary were already seated at the table. Apparently Ronald Van Gelder had been asked to join them. He now sat close beside Belinda, trying to win her over with his charm. Her expression indicated that it wasn't working. There was a row of silver serving dishes sitting over hotplates at one end of the room, but not a servant in sight. I wondered whether I should go and help myself or sit and wait to be served. I certainly didn't want to upset the protocol of the house. As I hovered by the door, Theresa looked up.
“Molly, there you are at last! We were worried about you. Clara said you'd gone for a walk on your own.”
“Only strolling around the grounds, Theresa, not scaling the nearest peak.”
This produced polite laughter.
“But the estate is so large it’s entirely possible to get lost, or to fall and hurt yourself. And you went out without a wrap.”
“I'm used to Irish weather, remember. This is hotter than anything we've ever experienced. And I'm used to an early morning stroll at home.”
“Alone? Molly, you are so independent. Anyway, you must be fainting from lack of food. Do help yourself and come and sit down.”
I was glad for the instructions. I took off one lid after another and had to restrain myself from piling too much food on my plate. There was bacon and kidneys and eggs, tomatoes, smoked fish, flapjacks, potatoes … I reminded myself that I had to fit into some very small waists on those dresses and took an egg with one piece of toast. Then I sat between Mr. Van Gelder and Mr. Rimes. Almost as soon as I sat down Roland Van Gelder pushed his plate away and stood up.
“I must thank you for your early morning hospitality, Mrs. Flynn, but I should hurry back to Mother now. She'll be champing at the bit, wanting to know how many places to set at table.”
“Of course.” Theresa looked around the table. “Will you be joining us, Joseph? You, Desmond?”
“I think well politely decline,” Joseph Rimes said, shooting a quick look at Desmond O'Mara who was concentrating on a congealed kidney on his plate, “A lot of work to be done.”
“Well, you're not keeping my husband away,” Theresa said, with just the hint of a frown. “I've already told Mrs. Van Gelder that Bamey will be delighted to attend.”
“Don't worry. We have correspondence to catch up on. Your husband can go and enjoy himself.”
This time Theresaflushed. “Really, Joe, sometimes I think you forget that Bamey is the employer and you the employee.”
Rimes’s face also turned red. He rose to his feet. “Back to work, I think, Desmond.” And he strode from the room.
“Odious man,” Theresa muttered. “I can't think why Barney keeps him on.”
Roland Van Gelder coughed nervously, making Theresa ex-claim, “Mr. Van Gelder. How extremely ill-mannered of me. Please tell your dear mother that we shall be seven for dinner.”
“And what may I tell her about the possibility of a séance?”
“Miss Emily and Miss Ella take their breakfast in the cottage so I haven't had a chance to see them today, but I'll certainly do what I can to persuade them for your mother.”
“You are most kind, Mrs. Flynn.” Roland bowed his head. “Please excuse me if I run off. My mother doesn't like to be kept waiting.”
As he closed the door behind him, Theresa turned to us. “He really is rather sweet, don't you think? Not at all like his blustering father.”
“I think he’s a crashing bore,” Belinda said. “You obviously didn't observe him making sheep’s eyes at me and trying to get me to promise him my entire dance card this evening. He does resemble a sheep, don't you think?”
“You could do worse,” Cousin Clara said in her dry, sharp voice.
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
Rhys Bowen's books
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