That was why her first quick glance missed him, she thought, dropping to her knees and cradling the big head in her arms. Fluter was gravely sick, she knew at once, his tongue black, his nose hot and dry, the great eyes clouded and feverish, his plumed tail rising and falling feebly.
In the bathroom, Jessica filled a porcelain basin with cold water and brought it to the panting dog, lifting his head so he could lap it with his parched tongue. Someone, she realized with a flare of anger, had tightened the collar to the choking point. She loosened it two notches and almost immediately heard the dog’s breathing settle into an easier rhythm.
Jessica turned off the lights in the room and then carefully opened the door to the hall and walked through the darkness to an alcove at the head of the stairs where a French phone rested on a gate-legged table.
Dialing the operator in Ballytone, she gave the lady a number, speaking in a voice that was clear but barely above a whisper.
Then Jessica became aware of two sounds simultaneously, a windy draftiness in her ear, which told her someone in the house had lifted another receiver, and then the faint tapping sounds of her Aunt Maud’s high heels on the parquet floor of the great hall below her.
As Maud peered in her near-sighted fashion up the gloomy staircase, Jessica retreated into the shadows of the alcove, her walking a whisper on the heavy carpet.
“Jessica? Is that you up there?”
At the same instant that her aunt called to her, a click sounded in Jessica’s ear and she heard Dr. Julian Homewood’s voice.
“Hello. Dr. Homewood here...”
Jessica longed to speak to him but she knew now he was too far away to help her. She realized she must solve her own problems tonight, knowing that hesitation at times like this not only compounded one’s fears but one’s dangers, too. And so, in her heart, she whispered a goodbye to Doctor Julian, replaced the phone and ran swiftly through the hall to her dark bedroom. As she fled, she heard the click-click of doors being latched downstairs.
Maud returned just as Eric put the phone down in Dalworth’s study. He glanced at Tony Saxe with an odd smile.
“The little golden princess changed her mind. She decided not to talk to Dr. Homewood,” he said.
Staring from Saxe to Eric, Maud noted the silent communication between them, an appraisal in their smiles. She said abruptly, “Supposing you gentlemen tell me what the hell’s been going on around here?”
Eric lifted the decanter from the bar to add a splash of whiskey to his glass. “I’ll be more than pleased to bring you up-to-date, my dear. Would you hand me that folder, Tony?”
After Eric explained what he had learned about Jessica from the Homewood-Dalworth folder — and after he had outlined their new plans — Maud was silent for a moment. Then she shook her head nervously, distracted by worried thoughts.
“You and Tony may think you know best, but I don’t like it. If Jessica’s got some kind of kooky gift, she could know more than is good for us. I mean, about more than just horse races.”
“Well, that needn’t concern us,” Eric said.
“But you weren’t there at the hotel,” Maud said, a thread of fear in her voice. “She was different, Eric. Almost dangerous. More than just a girl—”
Tony Saxe cleared his throat warningly. “Tone it down, luv,” he said under his breath. “We’ve got company.”
On his words, they all turned and saw Jessica standing in the arched doorways of the library. She had changed into riding clothes, a paisley scarf pulled loosely about her throat. After an interval of strange silence — a quietness that seemed to stretch and hum through the big room — Maud wet her lips and said, “Jessica dear, I thought you were going to bed.”
Eric looked at his niece appraisingly. “Yes, you seemed quite worn out.”
Jessica entered the library, her sturdy boots stopping just outside the semi-circle of golden light cast by the burning logs. Her face was in partial darkness, like a faint star against the mass of black hair.
“Fluter is sick,” she said. “And someone purposely tightened his collar so that it was nearly choking him.”
“I simply cannot believe it,” Eric said. “I can’t believe the servants would take out their spite on a poor, dumb animal...”
Jessica studied him deliberately and candidly, seeing now what had been obscured by grief and dubious loyalty to family. The death of Andrew, the link through him to her mother — all this had served to camouflage what she was seeing now — a cunning, practiced smile, and words transparently evasive and false.
“I’m going to ride Windkin over to Miss Charity’s and bring her back with me. She’ll know what to do for Fluter. And when I’m there, I’ll phone Mr. Ryan in Dublin and ask him to come over here tomorrow morning.”
“What a busy child you are,” Maud said, putting aside her glass.
“What in hell do you want that senile shyster for?” Eric smiled as he moved closer to Jessica. “I think you’re tired and overwrought, young lady. And I think you can forget this notion of riding across the moors like some Gothic heroine. If you wish to call Mr. Ryan, you can do it right from here.”
“I tried to make a call only ten minutes ago and someone in this house was listening in.”
“Well, I was phoning Ballytone. Wanted the late racing results. Perhaps our calls got mixed up...”
“I don’t believe that, either,” Jessica said. “I’m also quite sure you know why I’m calling Mr. Ryan.” In spite of her youth and stature, there was something dominant about Jessica then, her eyes tracking across them like the muzzles of small pistols. “I don’t believe for a minute that Flynn or Lily or Mrs. Kiernan tried to steal anything.”
“You sound like a bloody little district attorney,” Eric said, feeling a sluggish but pleasurable anger stirring in him. “I’m your uncle and I’d advise you to remember that.”
“Then I’d like you to remember this,” Jessica said. “Easter Hill is my home. Those good people you sent away are my dearest friends and they have looked after me most of my life.” Jessica paused and drew a deep breath. “When Mr. Ryan arrives tomorrow morning, I want you all to make arrangements to leave here immediately.”
“As I suspected all along,” Eric said, “you’re a spoiled little ingrate.”
Maud uncrossed her legs and, with no suggestion of haste, stood and smoothed down the front of her skirt. “You’re talking so strangely, dear. I still think you might have a fever...”
She moved toward Jessica, who stepped back at the same instant, retreating from the circle of firelight gilding the floor.
Tony Saxe shrugged. “Kid, I’ve been thrown out of better places than this, so it don’t worry me much.”
“You are my guest here, Tony,” Eric said. “And you’ll stay just as long as it suits me.”
His anger was gathering itself together powerfully, coiling hotly inside him. He wasn’t to be humbled this way, not Boniface. In her absence, he had been a generous patron, the master of Easter Hill, approved of, warmly approved of, he thought, remembering the Irish lads who had whipped off their caps in respect and deference when he had cantered past them.
Pointing a long finger at Jessica, he said with intensity and bitterness, “You listen to me, princess. You’re not turning your own aunt and uncle out into the cold like some haughty lady of the manor. No bloody way. But I’ll tell you what you are going to do. You’re going to your room without any more of these impertinent theatrics — and you are going to stay there. And if you give me any more back talk, I’ll give you what that indulgent old fool, Dalworth, should have given you a long spell ago — the flat of my hand where it will do the most good.”