Whispers at Midnight (38 page)

She smiled awkwardly and took Cecil’s arm as
they went into the dining room for breakfast. She really did not
know what she would say afterward when she could talk to him
privately. For the first time, she was wavering in her
determination to stay at Wicklow. Every bit of good, every bit of
happiness she had found there had turned to ruin. She tried to tell
herself it was not the house, that these things might have happened
anywhere. But she could not believe it. Wicklow was peppered with
unhappiness and strife. It was Jubal Wicklow’s legacy from his
violent death. Perhaps it would be best if she did sell the
house.

Her heart fell as they reached the table.
She dreaded seeing everyone again so soon and hoped the meal would
be a quiet one. But it was not fated to be so.

Gardner came to her side a moment after she
was seated and squeezed her hand.

His brows were knit tightly together. “I
have heard what happened to Ezra and how upset it has made
you.”

Amanda found herself drawing away from him.
“You disliked the bird,” she said.

Distrust flickered in her eyes. He spotted
it immediately.

“Not precisely that,” he said, straightening
up and soberly taking his seat. Gardner cast an angry glance at
Ryne, who gave him back an equally hard stare.

Afterward, behind the closed doors of the
library, she was able to tell Cecil Baldwin what she suspected.

“Amanda . . .” Cecil Baldwin’s voice dropped
in volume. “Gardner has been around the bird all his life. So has
Ryne. Why would either of them kill it now?”

“Because Ezra might have repeated something
one of them wanted kept secret.” Cecil rubbed his plump hands
together. “My dear, think of it. They were accustomed to the bird.
They would have been careful around it.”

Amanda slumped in her chair. “If one of them
did not kill him, then who?”

“No one. Accept Ryne’s explanation. The bird
died and fell. He was old by any standards. No one killed him.” he
sighed heavily. “Oh, Amanda, don’t you see what is happening to you
in this house? You are imagining things that do not happen. You are
developing a nervous temperament.”

“No, no. I am not. These things are not
imagined. Even you must admit the thefts were not imagined.”

Cecil leaned forward and patted her hand.
“Of course. But I do not admit there is any relation to these other
acts you have reported. You have said yourself it would have been
easy for a thief to slip into the house.”

She saw the anxiety in his eyes, but it was
anxiety for her emotional state and not for her safety. She had
counted on his help and now it appeared he did not believe any
danger existed.

“Mr. Baldwin,” she said, “I am not
hallucinating. I know what is happening and what the purpose
is.”

He looked suddenly distraught. “Then tell
me,” he pleaded.

“You have heard the rumors of gold being
hidden in Wicklow.”

Cecil exhaled a slow breath. “They are not
new.”

“No,” she said. “But I have found evidence
that they are true.”

“What’s this?” His eyes opened wider. “How
can you be sure?”

Amanda could see that his opinion was
changing and it gave her strength to go on with her story.

“I have found a ship’s log which refers to
the gold. I am convinced Jubal Wicklow has hidden the clue to the
location in a passage we found there.”

“We?”

“Trudy and I read it together.”

“Have you kept this a secret between the two
of you?”

“No,” Amanda answered. “It has been
discussed. At first I took the rumors no more seriously than anyone
else. But after these dreadful things happened, I began to wonder
why anyone should want me to leave. The gold is the logical
conclusion.”

“I see.” He paused as if he were very
carefully testing the words that would follow. “And you think that
either Ryne or Gardner is responsible for frightening you?”

“I am certain it is one of them,” she said
slowly. “It could be no one else.”

Cecil Baldwin got to his feet and looked at
Amanda contemplatively for a moment. Then he said in a firm, kind
voice, “Amanda, I have known Ryne and Gardner since they were small
boys. I watched them grow up. I admit Ryne has a wild streak.” His
hand was on her shoulder. “But what you say is unthinkable.”

“No,” she whispered. “You don’t know that
they are both desperate for money. Gardner I believe has lost large
sums gambling.” She recounted the demand for money she had
overheard in Gardner’s house. “And Ryne has none of his fortune
left, not even enough to afford an inn.”

Cecil shook his head gravely. “That does
change matters,” he murmured. “But still . . .”

“There is more,” she said sadly. “Each has
asked me to marry. I thought at first it was because they cared for
me, but I know now it was only to have a claim on the gold.”

“This is a shock,” Cecil stammered. “To
think that either of those boys could be so cruel. You do not think
they are acting together?”

“I am sure that only one of them is
responsible for tormenting me. I am not sure which.”

Cecil took her trembling hand in his and
held it firmly for a few seconds.

“But you have a suspicion?”

She nodded. “I believe Gardner is
responsible.”

He did not speak for a moment and she
wondered what he was thinking. Had she been brash in emptying her
soul before this man? He had been a friend to Gardner and Ryne long
before she arrived on the scene. She looked into those wide gray
eyes, deep and wise as an owl’s. She needed that wisdom if she were
to be safe at Wicklow.

As he turned without a word and mopped his
damp brow, Amanda felt herself shrinking away. Uncertainty grew
within her, and also a fear that he was about to refuse to
help.

Cecil turned to her again and shook his head
sadly as he looked down at her. Just for an instant his eyes had
grown sharp and narrow like those of a bird of prey.

“I will help you fight this, Amanda,” he
said. “You must not think you are alone.”

She was so filled with relief that she
closed her eyes tightly for a moment.

“You do believe me, then,” she
whispered.

“Yes, I do,” he answered. “But without proof
it will be hard to bring him to justice. We must make a plan. Will
you do as I say?”

“I will,” she answered quickly.

“First you must bring me the ship’s log and
let us see what we can discover.”

A look of despair spread over her face.

“But I can’t,” Amanda cried. “It’s been
taken from my room. Last night while I slept he must have slipped
in and taken it.”

Cecil mopped his brow again.

“If only you had confided in me sooner, my
dear.”

“I couldn’t,” Amanda protested. “I didn’t
know what to believe.”

He shook his head woefully. “You should not
have had this ordeal. I blame myself for not looking after you.
Still, who could think one of Elise’s sons could come to this.” His
voice was bland but soothing. “Amanda, you have my word I will
bring this threat to an end. I want you to promise to say nothing
to anyone until I have had a chance to investigate. If Gardner knew
we suspected him . . . well, let us not think of that. Tonight at
your party—”

“Oh,” Amanda cried. “I had forgotten that
the Wellers were to come. How can I possibly have guests when—”

“No,” Cecil interrupted. “Don’t you see, it
is the best thing that could happen. He cannot make another move
with so many people in the house. It will give us time to act.”

“But what can we do?”

His brows rose.

“You leave that to me. I may find a chance
to search his room. If the log is there, then we will have our
proof. You must act as if nothing is wrong. Be the cheerful
hostess.” Cecil smiled reassuringly. “He must not suspect.”

“If you think it best,” Amanda murmured.

She knew Gardner was to accompany the
Wellers on to Williamsburg the following day. And, as Cecil said,
with so many people in the house he could not possibly risk giving
himself away. He didn’t dare, but nonetheless she would be sure her
doors were locked when she went to bed.

Cecil’s eyes flickered. “I think it is the
only way.”

He said he would postpone the business that
had brought him to the country so early and would spend the entire
day at Wicklow. A short time later he left the library to talk with
Emma.

Amanda, finding herself alone, began to
ramble through the volumes housed in the rows and rows of shelves.
Somewhere in the past weeks she had seen a book of Persian verse
that had been translated. She hoped there to discover the meaning
of the lines that were written both on the base of the Turkish King
and on the tomb of Jubal Wicklow.

It took a great deal of courage for her not
to order Groom to drive her into Williamsburg, where she could
arrange passage back to London. But something inside her refused to
give in to the fear that had almost driven her to madness. She was
going to stay and she was going to fight for Wicklow.

Amanda trembled. She felt suddenly that
someone had come into the library. But it was impossible, for there
was only one door and she faced it. Yet the feeling persisted, that
sixth sense that told a person when someone approached unseen. She
had the feeling often now. If Cecil Baldwin knew of that, he would
be even more convinced she was in a delicate mental state.

A moment later she found the volume she
sought and pulled it from the shelf. The surest way to end her
trouble was to find the gold, and find it soon as possible. Once it
was discovered, there could be nothing else to fear.

Amanda seated herself in a large leather
chair and became engrossed in thumbing carefully through the book.
The pages were brittle and now and then a corner crumbled beneath
her hand. She had almost come to the end when she found a folded
sheet of parchment tucked between the pages. Cautiously she opened
it out and read the lines lettered in Jubal Wicklow’s own hand.
Below them were the Persian symbols that appeared to be the same as
those she sought.

Hurriedly she rose and went to stand in the
hall beneath the Turkish King. It was as she had thought. The
Persian words were the same. Any yet it was peculiarly puzzling.
The first word was “guardian.” The others were the same as the poem
in the log.

“
Turbaned king of celestial light,”
she read aloud, and heard the ache of disappointment in her voice.
Her mouth drooped. She had learned nothing. It was only the same
silly, meaningless rhyme. All her hopes lay crushed at her feet and
she was no closer than ever to finding the gold.

Amanda slid the parchment back into the book
and replaced it on the library shelf. She needed to think of
something else. And there was much to be done in preparation for
the dinner to be held at Wicklow that night. She wanted the house
filled with flowers, and extra candles placed in all the rooms.

Rooms had to be made ready for the Wellers
and Ariel. Amanda’s face clouded with unhappiness. She hoped she
could be a fit hostess. How she wished she could be truly pleased
to be holding her party at Wicklow. As it was, she could hardly
trust her emotions.

She went to the window and pushed the dark
velvet draperies aside. The sun beamed down brightly on the garden
and grounds as if to contradict the dreariness she felt standing
inside.

This world around Wicklow that she had so
eagerly desired had made her a captive. The bars were invisible but
she felt trapped, as if she had been lured and caught in a spider’s
hidden web. Would she ever feel free and safe in this house? Only
if Cecil Baldwin could do as he had promised.

***

“Amanda, child, Wicklow has never looked
more splendid,” Margaret Weller kissed her on each cheek, and
smiling brightly, surveyed the gleaming slate floors and shiny
scarlet filigreed panels in the hall. She admired the two tall
arrangements of lilies Amanda had placed in matching brass urns at
the foot of the stairs.

“Yes, it looks wonderful, Amanda,” Jonathan
Weller agreed. “Except for that pile of wood Jubal Wicklow
inflicted on us. He pointed with disgust to the Turkish King. “I
advised Elise to have the thing hauled out and used for kindling
but she wouldn’t hear of disturbing her father’s folly.”

“Father, you are too outspoken.” Ariel
crossed the hall and stood beneath the statue, looking reverently
up to the grim wooden face. “Really, I have always thought it, in a
certain degree, beautiful.” She made a slow, graceful turn toward
her father. Her face was radiant and there was a mysterious glow in
her eyes as she spoke. “In the terrible, angry way that a storm is
beautiful.”

“Humph,” her father responded. “There is
nothing beautiful about a storm when it beats the crops down and
scatters livestock all over the fields.”

Ariel gave a high, thrilling little
laugh.

“Forgive him, Amanda. Father does not
appreciate anything that is not practical.”

Unruffled, he gave Ariel a fond rebuke. “I
wish, daughter, practicality were the one trait I had passed to
you. Perhaps I would not have found myself presented with a bill
for six new gowns as I was today.”

Ariel went to her father and kissed him
gently. “All in a good cause, Father, as you shall see.”

Upstairs Amanda showed the Wellers and Ariel
their rooms, then left them to refresh themselves while she went
down to assist Gussie and Mrs. Campbell with the setting up of a
tea table in the garden.

Ryne’s men had done an expert job of weeding
and pruning. The hedges had been cut into neat green rows, and the
roses, freed of choking weeds, had begun to bloom anew. The sweet
scent of the newly clipped shrubs perfumed the warm summer air.
Even in her despair she could not help but feel a surge of pride
that she had brought Wicklow back from neglect and disorder.