Hush Now, Don't You Cry(36)

In the end I gave up in frustration and had just decided to move away when the back door opened and three men came out. I stood still against the wall, hoping that they wouldn’t turn and look back in my direction, but fortunately they stood for a moment outside the door, then started walking away from me. I recognized one of them as the gardener to whom I had spoken—a pleasant-looking lad.

“Well, how about that, then?” he said to the other men. “Poor old geezer, what a way to go.”

“What do you mean, poor geezer?” a larger, big-boned carthorse of a youth said. “Why should we worry about him? What about us, that’s what I want to know? Who gets the property now? What if they decide to sell it?”

“I suppose it goes to Mr. Joseph, doesn’t it? He was the master’s partner in business,” the pleasant lad said.

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” An older man stepped in between them. “It’s not our place to speculate and until we’re told otherwise we get back to raking leaves and pulling weeds. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Parsons,” the boys muttered.

“You know what I think,” the gardener I had spoken to said. “I think there’s more to this than they are saying. The way they grilled those New York servants—they aren’t sure this was an accident, are they?”

“Watch your mouth, boy,” the older man hissed. “Nothin’ to do with us. We keep our mouths shut and stay well out of it.”

“Lucky for us we go home before dark, that’s what I say,” the bigger youth said, nudging his friend. “They can’t pin nothing on us.”

“Not so lucky if they find out that you haven’t got rid of those brambles over on the far side like you was supposed to,” the older man said.

“How was I to know they’d be coming here in October,” the boy complained. “Ain’t natural, is it? Whoever heard of a family coming up in October?”

“So you’d best get moving now, or you’ll be looking for another job,” the older man said. “We’ve already lost enough time today answering his danged fool questions.” And he stomped off in the direction of the stables. The younger gardeners exchanged a grin and then went their own ways. I paused until they were out of sight, thinking. Daniel had mentioned something about scraps of clothing fiber being caught on bushes. If there were lots of brambles in that far wilderness, maybe I’d turn up a valuable clue. I wasn’t sure why I was so keen on finding clues to an incident that had nothing to do with me—perhaps I wanted to show Daniel how competent I was, but perhaps it was more that I wanted to impress Chief Prescott. A little of both, I suspect. I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge and I had nothing else to do at that moment.

I set out across the formal garden, veering to avoid the fountain that was sending out a mist of spray in that fierce wind until at last I reached the part of the grounds that had been allowed to grow wild. A white painted gazebo was half hidden among tall shrubs. A flagstone path led to it. I went up the steps and peeked inside. It was a simple structure, six sided with a wooden bench running around the walls. There was nothing special about it, except for its location, hidden away from the main house but with a delightful glimpse of the cliffs and ocean through the arched entrance. A drift of red maple leaves had accumulated on the benches and floor and it had an abandoned feel to it. I almost turned away again, then something caught my eye. On the bench just inside the entrance was a tray containing a decanter and a glass, half filled with a brown liquid—brandy or whiskey, I surmised.

Of course my first thought was why the police had not come across this or chosen to remove it for testing. What if the whiskey had been tampered with? Had Brian Hannan been here? Had he decided to have a quiet drink before facing the family? Of course it could easily have a more simple explanation. Maybe Terrence or Joseph, or even Father Patrick, may have needed to escape for an occasional tipple. There was nothing wrong in this and they’d have no problem confirming their presence in the gazebo. But the tray must have been placed there recently, as there wasn’t a single leaf on it, whereas the bench beneath it was littered with them. So it was definitely worth mentioning to Chief Prescott. I changed direction and walked firmly around to the front of the house.

There was no longer a constable standing at the front door, but it was ajar and I stepped unchallenged into the foyer. Nobody was in sight and the hall still had that cold, unfriendly feel to it. I shivered and involuntarily glanced up the staircase. I didn’t care what Mrs. McCreedy had said, there was some sort of presence in this house. Almost as if a curse lay over it, claiming first the beloved child and then the master. But this was the twentieth century and it was America, not Ireland and people no longer believed in curses.