But then I realized that I didn’t know how many years they’d been “safely far away” in a convent. I wondered why the person they only referred to as “she” would have tied the whole thing up nicely. One thing was evident—those two men were not prepared to believe that Brian Hannan’s death was a random accident.
I finished off my letter, blotted it, and sat watching the sky as the sun sank in the west, making the stone at the top of the castle, peeping over the treetops, glow bright red. It was not a pleasant red of warmth but rather of blood. I stared at it, frowning, wondering if this image in my mind was only brought on by my current mood and by Brian Hannan’s untimely death. But I had sensed the negative currents emanating from that house from the moment I first stood outside the gate. It was a place of hostility and of secrets. I glanced up at that turret window again, thinking about the child’s face. But it winked in the setting sunlight and I couldn’t see beyond the glare.
My thoughts turned to the beautiful little girl that nobody mentioned anymore. Her death had obviously affected the family and shrouded them since it happened. Then I remembered the words spoken by the two men who passed my window. “Exactly the same spot.”
I sat up straight, dropping the pen I had been holding on the table. Had Colleen’s death not been a tragic accident? Had there always been a suspicion among family members that it too was murder?
Seventeen
Daniel hardly touched his supper. Right after, I helped him undress, made him a mustard plaster for his chest, and put him to bed.
“I’ll be fine by the morning,” were his last words before he fell asleep.
I cleaned up, sat and read and waited for the time when I too could go to sleep. I felt lonely and uneasy. Outside an owl hooted and the wind made tree branches around the cottage creak and crack, while the crash of waves on rocks echoed up from the shore. I suppose I have inherited that Irish sense of the fey, of portends, of the thin veil between the natural and supernatural worlds, but I can tell you that I felt very uneasy that night. The weight of something about to happen hung over me. I thought about Colleen and Brian Hannan. I worried about those two little boys whom I hadn’t seen for the whole day.
At last I gave myself permission to go to bed. Daniel was still coughing and tossing in his sleep so I elected to curl up with a rug on the couch again. I drifted off to sleep and was awoken by a loud bump. I was on my feet instantly, heart thumping. My first thought was that Daniel had fallen out of bed. I ran up the stairs and was relieved to see his shape still lying in the bed. Then, of course I wondered if the noise had been someone trying to break into the cottage. I lit a lamp, then went around cautiously from room to room, but everything seemed safe and secure. I was just about to go back to bed, because the night was cold and my bare feet were freezing, when I decided to check on Daniel once more.
The moment I stood over him I knew that something was wrong. His breath was coming in ragged, rasping gasps. I reached for his forehead and he was burning hot. Even as my hand touched him he threw out his arm, making it thump against the wall and he muttered unintelligible words. I ran downstairs to bring up a wet flannel to sponge his face. He knocked me away.
“Keep it away from me,” he moaned. “It’s coming closer.”
“It’s all right, my love,” I said. “You’re just having a bad dream.”
But even as I said it I knew it was more than that. He was hallucinating in his fever. I tried to lift up his head and give him a sip of water, but it was impossible. He fought off my touch. I began to feel frightened. This wasn’t just an ordinary fever such as one might have with a cold or a grippe. It was more serious than that. I felt horribly cut off and alone. I dressed hurriedly and ran across the grounds to the castle. The moon was out, throwing crazy tree shadows across the lawns like long bony fingers reaching out to grab me. I ran up the front steps and hammered on the door.
Nobody came.
I hammered again, louder this time, pounding with my fists. The house had electricity—was there no electric bell? I searched but couldn’t find one in the darkness of the porch. A window, I thought. There must be a window open somewhere. I started to walk around the castle, peering up at the walls in the moonlight. No window that I could see was open. Stark blank walls frowned down at me. I came to the side of the house with the French doors. I tried them, one by one, rattling each door with growing frustration. I reached the back of the house and the back door too was locked. It seemed I had only two options—one was to run all the way into town myself to try and find a doctor, the other was to break a window and wake someone to help me. I remembered how deserted the town had felt when we arrived that wet and windy night. How would I ever find help there?