In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

Daniel

So that was that. I was being ordered home. In one way I was relieved, in another I was frustrated that I had managed to accomplish so little. I had caused Miss Emily and Miss Ella to bolt, and I had uncovered some of their tricks, but that was a long way from being able to stop their little game. And I was no nearer at all to finding out the true story behind the Flynn baby’s kidnapping. It now seemed that Albert Morell was in the pay of the Black Hand, or that they somehow had a hold over him, and he had carried out their instructions. Why else would the note have been signed with a black hand on it? And I had not been able to prove that Annie Lomax hadn't played her part in it, bringing the child to the cottage. All in all, a dismal failure.

I lay feeling annoyed, frustrated and sorry for myself until the maid came up with a supper tray, containing a cup of beef tea and some thinly sliced bread and butter. I cleared my plate and fell asleep.





Twenty-four

That night I woke again to cramps and vomiting. I lay there suffering, rather than wake one of the servants, but this time it was even more severe and I became quite frightened. In my weakened state hallucinations danced in front of my eyes and it suddenly came to me that this was a curse, put upon me by Miss Emily and Miss Ella for standing in their way. I didn't believe in curses any more than I believed in spirits, but lying all alone in a dark room, listening to the owl hoot outside my window while my body was wracked with cramps, I was not at my most logical.

Theresa came to minister to me in the morning and again by midday I was feeling stronger. I kept down a little lunch, and that afternoon Theresa suggested I might feel up to joining everybody on the porch to enjoy the cool breeze from the river. A strapping footman carried me downstairs and deposited me on the wicker chaise. Theresa, Belinda and Clara were all sitting around the tea table and little Eileen was being grilled on her daily activities as I was carried out.

I noticed the others stayed well clear of me, probably not fully believing the doctor’s diagnosis that I didn't have typhoid. I noticed Clara eyeing me suspiciously as she poured my tea. “Are you sure Cousin Molly would not be better off staying in her bed as the doctor ordered?” she asked.

“Oh, but Qara, it’s so terribly lonely to be up there all alone all day,” Theresa said. “I should know. I've spent enough lonely days myself in recent years. Molly needs cheering up.”

“If you're sure it’s nothing contagious,” Clara said. The child is with us, remember.”

Eileen wanted to go up to me, but was restrained by her nanny. “Miss Gaffney isn't well,” she said. “She won't want you disturbing her.” And the child was hurriedly taken back upstairs.

I took a thin slice of bread and some tea with the others but felt as weak as a kitten. If this continued, when would I ever be strong enough to travel, and what excuse could I use to make my exit?

We were in the middle of tea when we heard the sound of horse’s hooves on the gravel drive. Soon a horse-drawn cab came into sight and stopped at the front door. Teacups were put down and everyone watched with great interest as a slim, bearded gentleman got out of the cab. He was pale and light-haired, with round, wire spectacles like the kind that Jacob wore. His tweedy travel clothes were well worn and clearly designedfora cooler cli-mate. In his hand he carried a black leather travel bag and he stood looking around nervously before marching up to the front steps.

“Who on earth—” Clara began, but Belinda had already leaped to her feet.

“Dr. Birnbaum—it’s really you. How wonderful of you to cornel”

The man shook hands with a curious little clicking of heels and bow. Belinda grabbed his sleeve and dragged him up the steps.

“Theresa, this is the Dr. Birnbaum I told you about. He’s the one I met in Paris and he said he might be coming to America, so I said of course he had to promise to come to Adare and here he is.”

I was intrigued by Belinda’s choice. I should have thought that the pale and rather shabby doctor was not her type at all.

Theresa held out her hand. “Dr. Birnbaum. Any friend of Belinda’s is most welcome,” she said. “Do sit down and have some tea.”

“How kind.” The doctor bowed again.

“May I introduce two members of my family—my cousins Miss Tompkins and Miss Gaffney.”

“Your servant, ladies.” Another bow. He turned back to Theresa. “Then you must be Mrs. Flynn, the one I have come to help.” He spoke English fluently but with a pronounced German accent.

“Come to help?” Theresa looked puzzled. “I don't understand. I thought you were a friend of Belinda’s.”