In Like Flynn (14 page)

Sixteen

I
was in luck. It was Friday and Cook served a really delicious steamed turbot with parsley sauce for lunch, followed by an apple crumble and custard. Theresa remained in bed and initially just Clara, Belinda and I sat down at the long mahogany table. The men entered when we were halfway through ourfish, did not apologize for their lateness and continued a conversation that had begun in Barney’s study. It seemed to be a list of people Bamey could count on to sway the voters in particular parts of the state. The notion of swaying voters had been quite new to me when I arrived in New York, but I had already witnessed such swaying, in one case amounting to kidnapping and threats of bodily harm if the voter didn't put his X in the right place. Since I was a female, and hence couldn't vote, I ignored them and they me.

“I am dying of boredom,” Belinda announced, pushing her plate away with the fish half eaten. “After Paris and Florence I thought I'd welcome the chance to do nothing, but I'm too used to the whirl of high society. Do you know in London we dined with different people every single night, and went to theaters too. There’s absolutely nothing to do here.”

“We could play croquet,” Clara suggested and got a withering stare in return.

“Clara, we always play croquet. I suppose I could go out for a bicycle ride. Would you like to join me, Molly? We couldridein the direction of the military academy and see if the young men are practicing any interesting maneuvers.”

“Really, Belinda, I'm sure your sister wouldn't approve,” Qara said. “Don't be such an old fuddy-duddy, Clara,” Belinda said, giving me a grin. “How about it, Molly?”

“I'm afraid I've never tried to ride a bicycle,” I said, “and I don't have the proper clothing.”

“It’s not hard to ride a bicycle. I'm sure you'd master it quickly and you'd find it fun. And it’s an excuse to wear bloomers.”

Clara gasped and put her hand to her mouth. You would never consider leaving the estate in those things, Belinda? And possibly being seen by the young men at the academy?”

“Of course. What else does one wear to ride a bicycle? Skirts get caught up in the chain.”

“I'm afraid I don't possess bloomers either,” I said.

“I'm sure Theresa possesses bloomers she would lend you,” Belinda said. “She owns bicycles, so she must have the right clothing. Ill ask her maid for you.”

“Belinda, as your older cousin, I must forbid it.”

“Fiddlesticks, Clara, you're such an old stick-in-the-mud. This is now the twentieth century. I'm going to leam to drive an auto-mobile when I get home.”

“Speak to her, Bamey,” Clara insisted.

Bamey looked up from his conversation. “About what?”

“Belinda insists on riding a bicycle, wearing bloomers, in the direction of the military academy.”

A grin crossed Barney’s face. “Asking for trouble, eh, Belinda? Going to drive the young soldiers wild with a show of leg?”

Belinda flushed. “Of course not. Just healthy exercise, dear cousin. And I'm trying to persuade Molly to come with me.”

“But I don't know how to ride a bicycle,” I added. “And I promised Eileen that I'd take her for a walk this afternoon.”

“So tell her she can't go out alone, Barney,” Clara said.

Bamey glanced at Clara, then smiled again. “I'm sure you'll be just fine, Belinda. And you'll never make it as far as the military academy on a bicycle. It’s all up and down, you know. Ill wager youll only get as far as the Van Gelders, but perhaps it’s Roland you're secretly hoping to visit.”

“That oaf? Good heavens, no. Whatever gave you that idea?” Belinda said, but her cheeks had turned red and I realized that her secret motive might be to pay a call on one of the Van Gelders' visitors. I was glad I hadn't agreed to accompany her.

After lunch Belinda paraded through the house in her bloomers. I wasn't sure whether this was designed to shock Clara or flirt with Bamey. Knowing that gentleman’s personality I felt that she was playing with fire by encouraging him, but perhaps she already knew that.

“I've asked Theresa’s maid to find you a pair,” Belinda said. “Then I can teach you to ride a bicycle too. It’s a skill every young woman should possess.”

“I'd dearly like to leam,” I said.

I waited until she had departed for the coach house and Clara had gone for her afternoon rest before I headed for the kitchen. A large, round-faced colored woman was sitting in a rocking chair by the open window, fanning herself with a newspaper as she rocked. Beyond the kitchen in the scullery I could hear the clatter of pots and pans as the scullery maid washed the dishes.

As I tapped politely on the door, the woman looked up and scrambled to her feet.

“It’s all right, Cook. Please don't get up,” I said. “I'm Miss Gaffney, the master’s cousin, and I just came to tell you how delicious I thought the lunch was.”

Cook’s elderly face crinkled into a smile. “Well, isn't that kind of you, miss. I have to admit I do make a good, smooth white sauce and the master tells me my apple crumble is the best he ever tasted.”

“It certainly was,” I said. “I understand you've been with the family a long time.”

“All my life, miss. I started in the kitchen with Miz Theresa’s family in Virginia, and when Miz Theresa got married, they asked me if I'd like to go with her as cook. Of course I said yes. The chance to run my own kitchen doesn't come around every day.”

“So you're one of the few servants they kept after the tragedy,” I said. “I heard that they sacked everyone.”

That’s right, miss,” Cook said, her face growing serious. “Me'n Soames, we were the only two they kept on. Well, they knew they could trust us, having been with the family for so long. And on ac-count of the master particularly liking my cookin'.” She laughed at this joke, her large body heaving silently. They take me every-where with them. Why, they even took me when Miz Theresa was poorly and needed to go away to rest.”

“After the tragedy, you mean?”

“When Miss Eileen was expected,” she said, lowering her eyes modestly at the talk of such intimate matters. “She couldn't take the cold in New York so the master sent her to Florida for the winter. I was the only one she tmsted to go with her.” She gave a little smirk of satisfaction. That’s coz I know which side my bread is buttered.”

“The Senator and Mrs. Flynn are lucky to have such a good cook,” I said.

She preened then. They even take me with them to Washington when they leave the rest of the servants behind. I've cooked for all kinds of famous folks, you know. Senators, generals—”

“Have you really? How wonderful.” I looked suitably impressed.

“I'll tell you another who always praised my cooking,” she said confidentially. “That devil. Albert Morell, the chauffeur. You heard about him, of course.”

“Oh yes. We heard all about him, even in Ireland,” I said.

“I warned Annie Lomax enough times,” Cook said, shaking her head. “She was the child’s nursemaid who was sweet on him. I said to her, You watch yourself, my girl.' If he was a sailor he'd have a girl in every port. He wasn't Irish but he could charm the hind leg off a donkey, just like the master can. Always hanging about in this kitchen, praising my cooking. Your food is fit for the gods, Beulah.' That’s what he'd say. And I was fool enough to spoil him—save him tidbits from the master’s table, you know.”

“You said he wasn't Irish,” I interrupted. “What was he? I think I read he was bom locally?”

“Upstate New York, around Albany way, and he said his folks came from England. But you know what I thought?” She leaned closer to me, although we two were alone in the kitchen. “I always thought he had Italian blood in him. He had those dark flashing eyes and his skin in summertime used to go almost as dark as mine.”

Of course, I thought. There was something about the name that hadn't fit. What if it was originally Alberto Morellii I'd have to look into that.

“I should have known he was rotten to the core,” Cook went on. “I should have suspected when he took one of my meringues. We were having a dinner party that night and I had made twenty-four meringue nests to be filled with strawberries and cream. When I came to fill them there were only twenty-three and then Fanny, the scullery maid, said she'd seen Bertie crunching some-thing as he walked through the kitchen.”

“Did he always come and go through the kitchen?” I asked. I looked out of the window. The kitchen garden began after a thin strip of lawn. I could make out the thatched roof of the guest cottage at the rear of the kitchen garden, then, to the right, there was a clear view of the gravel drive and the carriage house beyond.

“It was a short cut from the carriage house, wasn't it?” Cook said. “As a matter of fact he wasn't supposed to be in the main house at all, but he'd drop in here from time to time, and sometimes he'd sneak upstairs to visit Annie.”

“That day the child was taken, did he come in through the kitchen then?”

She shook her head. “It was after lunch, wasn't it? I always take my forty winks in this chair, but I'd have woken up if anyone came to the door. I'd swear he didn't bring the child out this way”

“What about deliveries that day?”

“Deliveries?” She looked puzzled.

“Laundry? Grocery boy?”

“What are you getting at?” she asked.

“I was just wondering if the child could have been carried out in a laundry basket.”

She shook her head. The laundry is done right here, at that big copper in the scullery. Why do you think they keep all these maids?” She looked up at me. “There was no delivery that day and Bertie Morell didn't come through my kitchen. I reckon it was just what the police thought—he got his sweetheart, Annie Lomax, to bring the child to him.”

I couldn't think of anything else to ask her. “I can see my main problem here is not eating so much that my corset won't lace properly.” I smiled at her.

“You should be like Beulah, honey Ain't never worn a corset and don't intend to. And always enjoyed my food, as I expect you can tell from this body!” Again she shook with silent laughter. A woman after my own heart!

I looked up at the kitchen clock and noted that Eileen would be expecting me soon. I left Cook, fanning herself and rocking again, and took a few minutes in my room to collect my thoughts before I went to fetch Eileen. I had learned nothing new from Cook, or had I? That Albert Morell was possibly Italian. That he sneaked in through the kitchen on occasion. That he could be very charming. But all of the above still pointed to his guilt.

Eileeen was dressed for her outing in a large-brimmed bonnet, trimmed with lace. Her petticoats were stiffly starched and she was wearing stout walking boots.

'You mind your manners with Miss Gaffney,” the nanny said, “and don't go running and hurting yourself. Remember you're a lady.”

Poor little thing, I thought, as I took her hand. I thought back to my own childhood when my brothers and I ran barefoot on beaches and climbed on rocks and slipped and skinned knees and came home freckled and dirty. Whoever said that money couldn't buy happiness was right.

The doll’s pram was waiting for us outside the front door. Eileen took the handles and we set off across the lawns. She behaved like a perfect little lady, speaking only when spoken to and answering my questions in a small, grave voice. Even when I pointed out a flagbedecked steamer going upriver and encouraged her to wave to it, it was a sedate wave with no joy in it.

The day was hot and muggy. Flies buzzed around us and I found myself wishing I had not suggested this outing. Clearly Eileen found pushing the pram heavy going over the grass, but wouldn't accept help from me. At last we reached the shade of the trees.

“Let’s stop and rest for a while,” I said. “I don't know about you, but I'm all hot and sweaty.”

“You mustn't say sweaty. It’s not polite,” she corrected.

I sat on a fallen tree trunk and encouraged her to sit beside me. She did, cautiously smoothing her white dress.

“It’s nice here in the forest, isn't it?” I asked. “Almost as if we're explorers in the distant jungle. We could be miles from anywhere.”

In answer a squirrel ran across the clearing and up a big pine tree. Eileen jumped up excitedly. “Look, a squirrel. Can we pet it?”

“I don't think it will stay around long enough for you to pet it,” I said, “but next time we come out, we'll bring some nuts or bread-crumbs and see if we can get it to come down and eat.”

“Oh yes, let’s do that.” For a moment she was an ordinary little girl. “What other animals do you think there are in the forest? Are there bears or wolves?”

“I don't think so,” I said. “Foxes maybe, and badgers and lots of rabbits.”

“Will we see them?”

“If we sit very quietly, maybe we'll see a rabbit.”

She sat, holding her breath in concentration. A jay screeched above our heads. A pigeon rose with noisy flapping of wings. Eileen was entranced. Then suddenly I got the strangest feeling. I could swear that we were being watched. Nothing moved in the undergrowth. I heard no sound, but I could feel the back of my neck prickling as if hostile eyes were on me.

I had not until now given a thought to the fact that another child had been kidnapped in broad daylight from this place. And hadn't Joseph Rimes given some kind of warning to Barney earlier today—something about no lengths to which they wouldn't go? Was it possible that the original kidnapping had some kind of political motive and that Bamey knew more than he had told?

I stood up and jerked Eileen to her feet. “It’s time to go back,” I said.

“Oh no, please. I really want to see a rabbit,” she protested. “Another day. Well come back another day.” I took her by one hand and pushed the doll’s pram with the other. She dragged be-hind me, protesting. “No, please. I don't want to go back. I don't want to…”

I didn't slow my pace until we were out on the sunlit lawn again.

Seventeen

I
was in a quandary as to whether I should mention my suspicion to Bamey. He'd surely want to know if his daughter was in danger. But by the time I returned to the house to find tea being laid on the veranda, I realized that I might have overreacted to what had been nothing more than a cool breeze from the river. Nevertheless, I decided not to take Eileen so far from help again.

Belinda didn't appear for tea, so it was just Clara and myself. Miss Emily and Miss Ella had also been absent all day and I inquired after their health.

“They've been having their meals sent over to them,” Alice, the maid, said. “As if we don't have enough work to do around here without running up and down with food for them.”

“Are they indisposed?” I asked.

“Not that I could see.” She poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of me, giving me a look that indicated I probably wasn't worthy of being served either.

“I do hope nothing has happened to Belinda.” Clara looked flushed from working in the garden all day.

“I'm sure she’s fine. She probably stopped off to visit the Van Gelders and was invited to tea there.”

“I do hope so.” Clara fanned herself. “Young girls these days ask for trouble. Riding a bicycle to the military academy indeed.

There’s no telling what those young men would do if they saw legs exposed to the kneel”

I went to my room to rest and change for dinner. By the time I came down again, Belinda was back and looking rather smug.

“Did you manage to ride as far as the military academy?” I asked.

“No, I didn't. Cousin Bamey was absolutelyright. It was much farther than I thought and the road is atrocious. I think it’s a scandal there are no decent roads only an hour from New York City. What a backward country this is. There are fine roads all over France and England.”

“So how far did you get?” Qara asked. “As far as the Van Gelders?”

Belinda tossed back her sausage curls. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I stopped off there for a glass of lemonade. It was devilishly hot work, riding a bicycle, you know.”

Clara snorted. “Don't tell me you're getting sweet on Roland Van Gelder after all.”

“Good heavens, no. Not if he was the last man on earth.”

“Are their house guests still there?” I asked cautiously. “They said they planned to head out West.”

“Captain Cathers and Mr. Hartley?” Belinda blushed faintly. “Yes, they were still there. And you made quite an impression on Mr. Hartley, Molly. He couldn't stop asking questions about you. He wanted to know all about your girlhood in Ireland. Of course I had to tell him that we knew nothing about Barney’s numerous relatives in the old country.” She gave me a wicked smile. “I'll wager he was trying tofindout whether your family was prosperous enough to make a suitable match.”

“Odious man,” I said. “If he asks you about me again, please tell him I have no interest in furthering his acquaintance.”

“I don't know why,” Belinda said, and I thought she looked relieved. “He is quite good-looking. A little like Lord Byron, don't you think?”

“And just as brooding, I fear. I intend to pick a husband who can make me laugh.”

“Then you should choose Roland Van Gelder,” Belinda said, again tossing her hair. “His behavior is so pathetically comical that you'd be laughing every minute.”

She swept ahead of me down the hallway

We went into the drawing room together to find the Misses Sorensen had recovered enough to grace us with their presence. They were each sitting with a glass of sherry in their hands, working their way through a dish of cheese straws that had been placed between them.

“I was sorry to hear you were indisposed earlier today,” I said.

“Our talent is very taxing,” Miss Emily said. “Two nights in a row was too much for us. And we hear it was too much for poor Mrs. Flynn too. One does not meddle lightly with the spirit world.”

“No indeed,” said Miss Ella, her mouth full of cheese straw.

Cousin Theresa did not appear for dinner, neither did Bamey or Joseph Rimes. I had thought we would be all women at the table, but then Mr. O'Mara appeared at the last moment, looking very embarrassed at the thought of sitting with a lot of women. He took a seat beside me and concentrated hard on eating his soup. It was leek and potato, on account of being Friday, but again Cook had done a wonderful job with it.

“So Senator Flynn has abandoned you to suffer through a hen party, has he, Mr. O'Mara?” I asked him.

He didn't smile. I hadn't expected him to, but he nodded seriously. “The Senator and Mr. Rimes had to meet with important backers. My services were not required.”

I noticed Miss Emily and Miss Ella were scraping their bowls and looking around eagerly for the next course. On my other side Belinda was waxing lyrical about Paris fashions and the shocking amount of ankle that was being revealed on the Champs-Elysées. I took the opportunity to chat with Mr. O'Mara.

“How long have you been with Senator Flynn?” I asked.

“Almost six years.”

“That’s a long time for a young man like yourself. A secretarial position is all very fine, but I'd imagine you must be anxious to move on to something with better prospects.”

“Beggars can't be choosers, Miss Gaffney,” he said quietly.

“Have you ambitions to go into politics yourself one day?”

“Good Lord, no. Such a life wouldn't suit me at all.”

“Then what kind of life would suit you?”

“I had thought to be a lawyer, when I graduated from Columbia University, but I now see that I am not suited to that profession. What about you, Miss Gaffney? How do you envision your future?”

“Aren't all ladies supposed to marry and have babies?” He noted my wicked grin.

“According to the young ladies at Vassar across the river, women can aspire to the law, to medicine, to vote, or to write witty novels if they put their minds to it.”

“And why not?” I asked. “Is there anything in the male physique that would make a man more able to vote, practice law or write novels?”

“Stamina, Miss Gaffney. We are not prone to attacks of the vapors.”

“That’s only because we women are subjected to wearing ridiculous corsets. Apart from that, I would have thought we women were champions at stamina. Look at all those mothers who take care of twelve children. And take Mrs. Flynn—she’s had to have stamina to bear the burden of reliving her tragedy every day forfiveyears.”

“I'd say she was buckling under that burden, Miss Gaffney.”

“Maybe you're right. But what human being could endure it without buckling?”

“The Senator has had to get on with his life.”

“That’s because he has a life outside the home. Did you ever think that it was being cooped up, day in and day out, in a protective little cocoon that made women buckle?”

He looked at me as if I was a fellow human being for the first time. “You may be right,” he said. “Under such conditions, even the strongest constitution can crack.”

Later I wondered whether he had been talking about himself. The next day Belinda informed me that Theresa was still feeling under the weather and would stay in bed yet again.

“She must have caught a chill when we returned home in the rain,” I suggested.

Belinda shook her head. “It’s all in her mind, Molly. There is nothing wrong with her body. She lives on the edge of sanity ever since that awful day. At one moment she appears bright and jolly, but the next she is plunged into the darkest depression. They have doctors these days who specialize in diseases of the mind. They're called alienists. We're trying to persuade her to see one, but she won't admit there is anything wrong.”

“It must be very hard for you and Cousin Bamey.”

“Especially for Barney. You would not believe what he’s had to endure since the kidnapping.”

I nodded, wondering whether Barney had ever paid a visit to her room at night and whether she too had sent him away.

“So we are left to our own devices again today,” Belinda went on. “I thought I might have one of the horses saddled up and ride over to the Van Gelders. I hear that Captain Cathers is a fine horseman. So was Mr. Hartley until his accident.” She lowered her voice. “You know he was thrown from his horse during a hunt and landed on his head and almost died, don't you?”

“So I've been told,” I answered.

“Poor man. Such a tragedy. No wonder he always looks brooding. He is lamenting what might have been. Do you want to ride over with me?”

I didn't like to admit that my riding was on a par with my bicy-cling skills.

“If you can find those bloomers, I think I'd like to practice riding a bicycle,” I said. “But you go out riding by all means. I can have one of the groundsmen help me with my bicycle.”

“If you really don't mind—” She gave me a sweet smile. “It’s such a glorious day for riding, isn't it?”

The bloomers were found and I put them on, delighting in the lightness and freedom when I walked in them. I resolved to have a pair made when I returned to Greenwich Village and also, maybe, to buy myself a bicycle to carry me around the city. Both of these grand schemes would be dependent on my making some money, but I had been bom an optimist. I collected the letter I intended to post to Daniel. It would be wiser if nobody in the house knew I was in contact with anyone in New York, I decided. Then I strode out onto the grounds, taking wonderful man-sized steps. As luck would have it, I ran into Adam, wheeling a barrowful of dead wood up the driveway.

“Just the person I was looking for,” I said. “I was wondering, Adam, if you'd have a few minutes to spare to help me leam to ride a bicycle. I understand they are kept in the carriage house.”

“Yes, miss, that’s right,” he said. “I'll be with yourightafter I've taken this load to the woodpile.”

The big doors of the carriage house were open, revealing an automobile on one side and a grand-looking enclosed carriage on the other. Behind it were the mews and I heard the clip-clop of horse’s hooves as Belinda rode out on afinebay hunter. I looked around for the chauffeur but he was nowhere in sight. Stairs went up the outside of the wall to a door above which must be the chauffeur’s residence. Formerly Bertie Morell’s residence. I was sure the police would have searched it thoroughly. I wondered if the child had ever been held there.

“Here I am then, miss.” Adam’s cheerful voice cut short further musings. He wheeled a sturdy-looking bicycle out of the depths of the carriage house for me and dusted off the saddle. “Ever ridden one of these contraptions before?”

“Never. Is it hard?”

“Not once you get going. You just need to pick up speed and then you go straight enough. I'll hold it while you climb on.”

I eased myself into the saddle and put my foot on the pedals.

“Now, I'm going to give you a push to start and then I'll keep hold of the back of your saddle for a while until you get going,” he said. “Off we go then.”

Suddenly I was moving forward. I turned the pedals and felt myself pick up speed. “Keep it straight, miss. Look straight ahead and keep peddling. That’s it. You're doingfine.”And I was moving on my own. Tentatively I turned the handlebars and rode in a circle. Then I slowed, wobbled and put my foot down just as Adam leaped to catch me.

“You did splendidly,” he said. I noticed he was standing a little too close to me, one hand on the handlebars, the other on the back of the seat. “I've a feeling you're not quite as grand as the rest of these folks, or as least as grand as they'd like to be.”

“You shouldn't talk that way about my cousin,” I said, but I was smiling at him.

“Your cousin would still be living in a wooden house like the one my mother lives in, if he hadn't made a fortune in the ice trade.”

“I heard about that,” I said. “He bought a barge, sailed it up to Maine and came down with it full of ice, is that right?”

“That’s how it got started,” he said. “Then he set about getting a monopoly on the icehouses of New York City. Then, not con-tent with that, he set about buying up all the ice along the river.”

“How can you buy ice from a river? Nobody owns river water, do they?”

“There are ice-cutting leases up and down thisriverin winter-time,” he said. “My father used to have one.”

“Really? How interesting. He doesn't have it any more?”

“Flynn squeezed him out of it.”

“Oh,” I said, digesting this. “Then why do you work for him?”

“He pays good wages and it’s convenient. My pa’s dead now. My mother lives across the riverand she’s in poor health. So I'm able to help her out and see her real regular, which is good.”

“And you were away visiting her the day the child was kidnapped?”

“That’sright.”But he averted his eyes.

“You say you and Bertie were good pals,” I went on. “Did you ever think he'd pull off a thing like that?”

“Never in a million years,” he said. “Oh, I'm not saying that Bertie was straight as a die. He'd cheat at cards, make himself ten bucks on a horse, that kind of thing. But nothing like that.”

“So he never talked to you about his plans?”

He shook his head.

“He never talked big at all?”

“The only thing he ever talked about was going out West. Maybe to Alaska. ‘There are plenty of suckers out there, Adam,’ he'd say to me. ‘I reckon I could make myself a mint in Alaska.’”

I took a deep breath before I asked the next question. “He never suggested that you go in with him then?”

“Me? Hey, I was on the other side of the riverthat day. If he planned something as evil as kidnapping that poor baby, he never told me about it.”

“You know what I think,” I said carefully. “I don't think it was his idea at all. I think someone was paying him, someone who had a grudge against the Flynns.”

He was staring at me now, straight in the eye. “He never said a thing about that.” He paused to consider. “Well, he wouldn't, would he? Anyone who knew who was behind it could wind up dead.” He glanced around. “Look, I have work to do. You're doing justfineon the bicycle. Off you go then.”

I set off up the driveway with quite a bit of wobbling to begin with, and also a lot to think about. If anyone had a grudge against the Flynns, it had to be Adam himself. His father had been cheated out of his livelihood. His mother lived in poverty. It only took a few minutes by boat to cross the riverand I had seen how well he handled a boat.