Hush Now, Don't You Cry(14)

“And their wives?”

“Mr. Joseph’s wife rarely comes with him,” she said slowly. “Doesn’t like the ocean. And the master’s a widower. Been without a wife ever since I’ve known him. In fact he’s raised his one child alone since she was small. That’s probably why he doted on her so much and spoiled her if you ask me.”

“And who is she?”

“Miss Irene. She was a rare beauty in her time, and she’s married well too. Mr. Archie comes from one of the best families in New York. She’s done well for herself.”

I remembered the names on that monument. “Do they have any children?” I asked cautiously.

“Two little boys. Master Thomas and Master Alexander. Grand little fellows but full of mischief. Their nursemaid has her hands full with them, especially in a place like this.” She broke off, staring out of the window.

I decided to take the bull by the horns. “Tell me about Colleen,” I said.

She dropped the spoon she had been holding as if it had burned her. “Wherever did you hear about her? Who has been talking?”

“Nobody. We were exploring the town and I saw her grave in the cemetery. It named her parents and her grandfather. And I saw a portrait of her in a gallery in town.”

“A portrait of her?” She was still looking stunned.

“Sitting in a field of flowers, holding a lamb. I was drawn to it because she was such a pretty child. So I was quite shocked when I saw her grave in the cemetery and saw that she’d died only a month after the portrait was painted.”

“The master gave that picture back to the artist after her death,” she said angrily. “He wouldn’t be pleased to hear that the man was trying to sell it again. He’d already been paid for it once. But the master wanted no trace of her around the house. It was just too painful for him to look at her likeness.”

“What happened to her? Did she die of a childhood illness?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. She was found lying on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. God rest her little soul.”

Involuntarily my hand went to my forehead to make the sign of the cross with her.

“How tragic,” I said.

Mrs. McCreedy nodded. “Such a lovely little thing she was too—a beautiful child with a beautiful nature too. Everyone adored her. When she died the light went out of our lives, especially the master’s.” She lifted the corner of her apron and wiped quickly at her eye. “But let’s not mention her name again. We are all forbidden to speak of her anymore. Now, were you still wanting your tour of the house?”

“I’m sure we don’t want to inconvenience you when you are so busy,” Daniel said, giving me a nudge with his knee under the table.

“We could take a look at the main rooms by ourselves, now that you’ve got them all ready, couldn’t we?” I added. “I’m sure you deserve a rest.”

“No rest for the wicked, isn’t that what they say?” She got to her feet and brushed crumbs from her apron. “I’ll take you around.”

“You should not have insisted upon this,” Daniel hissed in my ear. “The poor woman has enough to do.”

“Daniel, I have to take a look at that tower,” I whispered back.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “You think the ghost will be waiting to greet you, do you?”

“Come along then. Let’s start in the dining room through here,” Mrs. McCreedy called to us, already on her way through the door. We followed her into a room dominated by a long polished table over which hung two impressive candelabras.

“Why, this is long enough to feed the five thousand,” I blurted out, obviously demonstrating to her that I was not used to such rooms.

“The table came from the refectory of a monastery in France,” she said. “The master had it shipped over. And the candelabras were from the chapel of a convent in Spain. I’m not sure that I like the idea myself—looting holy places, even though I’m sure he paid a fair price for them—but it’s not my place to comment. I just dust and polish. But you have to admit that they raise the tone of the place.”

“They certainly do,” I said. “It must be a sight with the candles all burning.”

“Maybe the alderman will invite you to dinner when they are all here and then you can see for yourselves,” she said. She led us through to a morning room overlooking the lawns, a writing room, a music room with grand piano and harp, a library full of old books the alderman had had shipped from a stately home in England, the salon we had seen before, and even a ballroom with great crystal chandeliers dotting the ceiling and French windows along one side, facing the ornamental garden and fountain. Every room was finely furnished, with heavy brocade drapes, impressive paintings on the walls, vases, statues, and every kind of objet d’art in niches and on tables, so that the effect was like walking through a museum.