The croquet players froze in mid-action so thatthey resembled a French painting by one of those delightfully modem Impressionists. Everyone was staring at us. Mrs. Van Gelder nudged me and I realized that she expected me to deliver the bad news myself.
“I regret to inform you,” I said, finding it hard to deliver the words with all those eyes upon me, “that my hostess, Mrs. Flynn, passed away last night.”
There was a collective gasp. A couple of the women began to swoon and were caught by attentive males. An older woman fanned herself. Nobody made the sign of the cross, indicating that this was entirely a Protestant gathering. Nobody cried or wailed, indicating that it was entirely non-Irish.
I hoped just to slip away at this point but they had surrounded me. Was Mrs. Flynn in ill heath? It wasn't typhoid, was it? They had come from the city for that very reason … Questions were peppered at me. Mrs. Van Gelder placed the glass of punch into my hands. “Drink this, dear. It will make you feel better.”
“Mrs. Flynn’s death—was it an accident?” a voice asked. I turned to answer and found myself looking straight at Daniel Sullivan. What’s more, Miss Arabella Norton was standing at his side, looking as lovely as ever in a pink lace dress with matching parasol. No wonder he had been able to reach my bedroom window so easily the Sunday night after church. He had been staying with the neighbors as part of their house party. I forgot about tragedy and intrigue as I fought back anger and jealousy. He hadn't come all the way from the city because he was concerned with my welfare. He had only bothered to check on me because he was staying in the house next door with his fiancee. Would he have given me a second thought if he hadn't been so close by? I fought with my emotions and tried to remain calmly professional. I had, after all, been hired to complete an assignment.
“No accident, sir,” I replied and saw his eyebrows react to my meaning.
“I must come to pay my respects to the Senator,” he said. “He is an old and good friend of myfamily. May I escort you back to Adare, miss?”
“Daniel, we have to finish our croquet gamefirst.” Arabella tugged at his arm. “You can't just desert our team, especially not when we're winning.”
“Arabella—Mrs. Flynn has just died. Where is your sense of decorum?” Daniel frowned.
Arabella gave a silly giggle and tossed back her head. “It’s not as if I knew her well. I only met the woman once, I'm sure. Indeed, I'm very sorry for her, but life has to go on, doesn't it, and I don't see how our not playing croquet can make anything better for anyone.”
“If you'd care to take a seat and wait, Miss Gaffney?” Daniel said. His eyes were Imploring. I chose not to be implored.
”Please don't concern yourself with me,” I said stiffly. “I can find my own way back, and I choose to be alone at atimeof such grief. Please excuse me, Mrs. Van Gelder, but I am needed at Adare.” I handed her my untouched glass of lemonade, nodded politely to the assembled company and made my exit.
As I left I heard Arabella’s high, clear voice saying, “Dotellme, Daniel, does every girl in Ireland have red hair? They all look the sametome.”
If it had been a happier occasion, I would have smiled.
Thirty One
I reached the gap in the hedge and squeezed through. There was no sign of Roland anywhere near the big oak tree. Maybe he had other vantage points from which to spy on Belinda. I was reluctant to go back to the house but I realized that I had to act normally until Daniel arranged for my departure. He had promised me he would get me out and I didn't think he would forget that promise—unless Arabella was in the middle of another stupid croquet game. I felt tears stinging at the back of my eyes and angrily brushed them away. I knew perfectly well that Daniel was engaged to another woman. I thought I had learned to accept it by now, but it was always a shock to see them together. At least he would come over to Adare as soon as he could. That was a comforting thought. And once he appeared, I would find a way to share my suspicions with him and he would take charge. Thus reassured, I made my way back through the undergrowth.
A twig cracked on the path ahead of me. I looked up and found myself face tofacewith Bamey Flynn.
“Why, Cousin Bamey, you startled me,” I said. “Is something the matter?” He kept on coming until he was only inches away from me. I cried out in alarm as he reached out and grabbed my wrist.
“Do you mind telling me who the hell you are and what you are doing in my house?” he demanded.
The way he was glaring at me was frightening. This was the other Barney Flynn, the one whohad been described more than once as ruthless.
“Cousin Barney, what on earth has possessed you?” I fought to stay calm. “What are you talking about?”
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
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