Ashton Park (32 page)

“I couldn’t very well leave him in the hallway, could I? Not a man of the cloth.”

Catherine left her suitcase behind and hurried up the stairs. She was certain it would be Father O’Flynn, who was leading her through the steps to conversion and her baptism. Tapping on her door, she opened it, and at first saw no one.

“Hullo?” she called out. “Anyone here? Father O’Flynn?”

The priest was in the kitchen putting a kettle on to boil. His back was to her. He was short and in a long black cassock. Instantly she knew it was not Father O’Flynn, who was much taller.

“Father?” she asked.

The priest turned. It was Albert.

“Hello, Catherine.” He did not smile. “It’s time we set our house in order.”

At first she couldn’t speak. Finally she was able to respond. “How… how did you come to find me here?”

“I finally hired a private detective. He had your photograph. Made inquiries. Straight off he thought that if you were still in Belfast the best place to hide from me would be in one of the Catholic districts. Did you have to change your hair color?”

Catherine folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not coming home with you.”

“You never left me a note. But you must have seen me somewhere with Rose, did you? Well, that’s over.”

“That’s fine. It’s over between you and me as well.”

Albert shook his head. “Now that the war is done, your father is coming to spend a few days in Belfast. Inspect our shipyards. Meet the employees. Look over new contracts. It won’t do for your parents to find out we’re separated.”

“Let them find out. I’ll tell them why.”

“You won’t. It will jeopardize your future as well as mine.”

“My future?” A look of anger moved across her face in lines and twists. “Will you please remove the kettle from the heat?”

Albert took the kettle off the stove and its whistling stopped. “You’ll not become a Catholic. I expect you haven’t mentioned to your good Father O’Flynn that you’re separated from your husband, have you? Your landlady told me how much time you spend next door with the nuns.”

“It’s no business of yours, Albert.”

“It is. You’re still my wife. You’ll never be a nun, if that’s the wild thing you’re thinking, and you’ll certainly be no convert, if I tell them I’m planning a divorce.”

“You won’t do that.”

“Of course I will. Now let’s go home and talk. Patch things up. Invite your father to Belfast so he can see how happy we are. As for your Papist obsession, put that aside. See how good things can be among the Protestants again living in a respectable Protestant home and neighborhood.”

Catherine set her face. “I’m not going back with you, Albert.”

“Then I’ll straightaway head over for a chat with the good Father O’Flynn. I’ll scorch his ears, Catherine.”

She did not reply.

Albert poured hot water from the kettle into a teapot. “Where’s your suitcase?”

Catherine hesitated. “Still down by the front door.”

“Good. We’re half done. Fetch the rest of your things while I brew you a cup.”

Lady Elizabeth stirred the cream into her tea with a spoon. “You don’t look well, Holly. Are you all right?”

Aunt Holly hesitated. “I’ve not been feeling quite myself lately. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Shall we summon Dr. Pittmeadow?”

“It’s nothing, really. I’ll be fine,” Holly said, pulling herself together. “You had something you wanted to speak with me about?”

“Yes. I notice you’ve been spending more time with Harrison and Todd Turpin. Which is nothing to me. I know you’re fond of the servants. But I have word that both of them are practicing Catholics. William and I can’t tolerate that.”

Aunt Holly leaned forward in her chair. The morning sun in the parlor lit up her face so that her blue eyes and black hair flashed. “What nonsense. Harrison keeps the Scriptures—the Authorized Version—in his rooms along with a Book of Common Prayer.”

“Well. A maid found a rosary on his desk. And a crucifix under Todd Turpin’s pillow at his room in the servants’ quarters.”

“A maid. Which maid? May I guess? Norah Cole?”

“Norah has been loyal and faithful to this house.”

“She is loyal and faithful to Norah Cole, Elizabeth. She is trying to get back at Harrison for standing up to her. You know of course it was she who told William about your church visits with Mrs. Longstaff?”

Lady Elizabeth stared at her husband’s sister, taking this in.

“Far from being loyal and faithful,” Holly went on, “she has brought no end of grief to this family. Look at the muddle you’re in with Edward now. Are you pleased with how that situation is working itself out? All thanks to Norah giving you private letters Edward had written to Charlotte Squire.”

Lady Elizabeth glanced out a window. “William and I are not happy with the situation between us and Edward. He returned to Scotland in the foulest of tempers. He did not say goodbye or wish us well.”

“How can you blame him? Everything would have sorted itself out on its own. Edward would have lost interest and moved on to someone else. Or approached you about his affections for her. Now it’s a war of wills between yourselves and him.” Her fierce eyes sharpened. “Let me see this crucifix and rosary.”

“They are right here.” Lady Elizabeth slid a small pouch across the table past teacups and saucers. “Now that we’ve decided to summer at Ashton Park it wouldn’t do to have William find these in one of our dresser drawers. I keep them with me at all times.”

Holly opened the pouch and the objects tumbled into her hand. Both were made of silver. She ran the rosary through her fingers first. Then held the crucifix up to the light that flooded the windows.

“These are expensive, Elizabeth. And well made.”

“I see that.”

“Do you really think Harrison or Todd Turpin would purchase costly items like this? Wouldn’t Harrison’s tastes run more along rustic lines?”

Lady Elizabeth shrugged. “Who knows how men think? They both might spend more on sacred items such as this.”

“Well, I know what I think. That these are sacred to someone else. Did you look at the markings on them? Both were made in Dublin.”

Lady Elizabeth took them back and examined them more closely. She sighed and closed her eyes. “I confess I don’t know what to make of the matter.”

“Let me speak with Norah. I believe I can reason with her. I can get to the bottom of this.” She stood to leave, then her stance wavered and she sat back down.

“Holly, are you sure—”

“I said I’ll be fine.” With that she made her way to her room. Norah would have to wait until tonight.

Norah Cole woke from a dream that vanished as soon as she opened her eyes. It left her with an unpleasant feeling. She sat up, staring into the dark. There had been a sound.

“I don’t want to turn on the electric light,” came a woman’s quiet voice. “One moment.”

“Who is it?” demanded Norah. “What do you think you’re doing in my room?”

“Ah. I have it.”

A match rasped and a candle spurted fire. Norah saw Holly, in a black jacket and skirt with a black hat, seated in a chair by her bed.

Holly smiled. “Hello, my dear. I’d heard you were a nighthawk. I’m surprised to find you asleep.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to leave, Norah. Leave and never come back. I want you to get ready and go as if your life depended on it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Holly continued to smile but there was no warmth in her eyes. “After Harrison are you now, Norah? Because he’s caught on to you and won’t let you get away with all your dirty tricks? Where are the crucifix and rosary really from?”

“I swear. Harrison’s room and Todd’s.”

“There are a few things you’ve missed, Norah. I expect you weren’t looking in the right direction. You see, I love Harrison. And when you go after the man I love you cross a line it would be better you had never crossed. So you will do two things tonight. You will get up and leave Ashton Park well before dawn. And you will tell me who the crucifix and rosary truly belong to. Fair?”

Norah glared. “You’re as much a bully as Harrison. I’m not afraid of you either. I shall cry out.”

Holly moved quickly, yanking a pillow out from under Norah and holding it down over her mouth and face. Then she took Harrison’s American pistol from her jacket pocket and pressed the barrel into the side of Norah’s head.

“I’m not going to be civilized about this, Norah, my dear. I have a lot of old pagan Lancashire blood in me, and although I may convert to Christianity one day, I haven’t yet. You might be younger and taller but you are not stronger than I am. I can take away all your breath with the pillow or I can use it to smother the shot of the gun.”

She pulled away the pillow and Norah gasped and pulled more air into her mouth. Holly kept the gun barrel where it was. She coughed and turned away briefly. Then she spoke again. “The hallway is quite empty at three in the morning. I shall drag your body out the back door, put it on a horse I have tethered there, and lead the mare to the sea cliff. Over the side you will go and in the depths you will remain until the sea gives up her dead.”

“You witch!” hissed Norah. “You haven’t the strength to do that. You’re not well.”

“Are you willing, then, to wager your life on my capabilities? Now, I’m going to place the pillow over the gun. If you cry out I shall shoot you and all anyone will hear, if they hear anything at all, is a short squeak that sounds like you are having a bad dream. You can leave Ashton Park and live out your miserable life somewhere else, or you can stay here forever at the bottom of the sea. Which would you prefer?”

“God will judge you for this, Miss Holly.”

“I rather believe He’ll thank me, Norah. For all you know He put me up to it.”

Holly had marched Norah out to the main road in the dark. Several miles in the distance they could see lights from the nearest village.

Holly felt her knees buckle, but recovered quickly. Norah caught the movement and said, “You’re not well, Miss Holly. God’s judgment is falling on you already.”

Holly ignored her and said, “You can get a coach or motorcar from there in the morning. Off you go. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Norah’s eyes were ice. “And on yours.”

Norah began to walk toward the village, suitcase in one hand, a bag with a strap over her other shoulder. Holly heard her shoes go
clack-clack
on the stones. She waited a half hour to be sure Norah didn’t return. Then she made her way back to Ashton Park, heading through the avenue of oak trees toward the manor.

“Harrison. Wake up.”

Harrison shot to a sitting position in his bed. “What’s the matter? What time is it?”

It was Todd Turpin holding a lamp. “It’s four-thirty. Miss Holly’s in a bad way.”

Harrison threw on his clothes. “In a bad way? How do you know about that?”

“I was up and about at four and I found her by the front steps of the manor. She was out cold.”

“Where is she?”

“In her room. Libby’s taking care of her. The doctor’s been called for.” He pulled Harrison’s American pistol from his pocket. “There’s this here before ye go.”

Harrison stared. “How is it you’ve got it?”

“Miss Holly had it in her hand.”

“What?”

Harrison took the pistol and examined it. Then he put it in the middle drawer of his desk and they left the Castle, making their way quickly to the manor.

“She calls out for ye,” Todd told him. “In her fever.”

“What is the illness? What does she have?”

“The doctor will have to say. I think it’s that Spanish flu that’s been giving our folk such a hard go.”

“Not that, please, God. You don’t know, Todd. You can’t be sure.”

Todd shrugged as they half-ran up the steps, the lamplight jumping all over them and the oak doors. “I’m sorry, mate.”

Harrison sat by Holly’s bed and held her hand. The curtains were pulled shut so that even though the day was bright the room was dim.

“I brought you some flowers,” he said. “Fresh-cut. They’re in a vase here.”