“I’m worried, Eric.”
“What about? I can’t see a cloud on the horizon.” He glanced at his watch. “Saxe and Benny are just about airborne by now. One last detail and we’ll be on our way, Maud—” His voice sharpened. “—with an honest-to-god shot at the jackpot.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She looked at him resentfully, wincing as she touched the flesh below her collarbone. “Ever since the lights went out, I’ve had a terrible pain like a needle in my shoulder.”
Eric made an effort to mask his exasperation. It was just like her to pick a time like this for one of her neurotic attacks.
“I suggest you get hold of yourself, Maudie.”
“Stop using that tone. I’m not some kind of hypochondriac freak.”
“But you’re always worked up about something. Now it’s your shoulder.”
“I’m worried sick, damn it!”
“Ah-ha! Now you’ve put your finger on it. You’re not worried because you’re sick. You’re sick because you’re worried.”
A clap of thunder sounded and Maud started nervously. The window panes trembled, creating a singing hum on the air. A gust of wind from the fireplace caused the lighted candles to flicker erratically, sending shadows leaping about the tiered room.
“God, I’ve come to hate this place!” Maud said.
“Steady, old girl. We’re almost home free. The first thing in London, we’ll get you to a doctor — not just the hotel chap; I’ll call a specialist. Meanwhile, I’ve got a job for you.
“I want you to write a cheerful note to Jessica. We’ll both sign it. Tell her how much we’ve liked being here—” Pacing, Eric composed his thoughts. “Tell her how much we enjoyed meeting her friends, Miss Bostwick and old Ryan. Say we’re taking the early flight from Shannon to London and will be at the Cumberland. Didn’t want to disturb her at such an ungodly hour and so forth.
“Assure her that we’re eager to have her visit us in the States the first chance she gets. Then close with love and best wishes for health and happiness from her auntie and uncle.”
Eric made a drink and raised the glass to Maud. “You see, it is absolutely essential that the authorities conclude that the child took her last ride up the cliffs after you and I left for Shannon Airport.”
“Eric, will you really help me find a specialist in London?”
“You have my word on it.”
Eric left the library and went into the drawing room off the great hall. This elegant room faced the driveway and park. Candles created cones of warm light in the corners, providing a feeling of sanctuary against the storm still battering the trees and walls of the mansion.
Eric drank several whiskeys. The dark thought of what lay ahead blurred by the liquor, he slumped into his chair, his head lolling back against the leather cushion.
His thoughts were slow and drowsy. The sequence of events was inevitable. He enjoyed seeing them parade in measured cadences through his lulled consciousness.
There would be a funeral mass, of course, here where she had lived most of her life, lamentation for the soul borne to her final resting place in the cemetery. He would be there, of course, the devoted uncle, eyes flushed with tears, steadying himself with a hand on old Ryan’s arm. Whispers around them... “He’s an American, her uncle is. They were very close.”
And then as the seasons wheeled, Boniface might stay on here, somewhere in the neighborhood, a snug home with a view of the sea perhaps, servants, and enough land for a few good horses. There was salmon fishing. He had never tried that and he imagined he would fancy it. And riding on frosty mornings, the horse’s hooves like iron on the hard ground, the village lads would greet him with quick smiles...
The empty glass slipped from his fingers and dropped with a muffled thump onto the carpeting.
Maud sat at the desk in Andrew Dalworth’s private study. Attempting without success to ignore the storm sounding around the house, she completed the letter Eric had requested her to write to Jessica, signing it — “with all love, Auntie Maud,” leaving room for Eric’s signature under hers.
It was then that the phone on Dalworth’s desk rang shrilly, like a file rasping across her straining nerves.
Clearing her throat, she picked up the receiver and said as casually as she could manage, “Yes? This is Easter Hill...”
A voice she had heard before but was at a loss to place said, “To whom would I be speaking?”
“Mrs. Eric Griffith.”
“Mrs. Griffith, there’s been an accident in—”
“Who is this?” Maud said sharply.
“Begging your pardon, madam, this is Constable Riley calling from Ballytone. If you recall, we had the opportunity to meet on another occasion.”
“What’s happened? What are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Griffith, but I have quite shocking news. An elderly couple was driving a pony trap up the high street this evening. A black convertible passed them at high speed, causing the horse to rear, and something must have happened to the—”
“Can’t you speak up? Was someone hurt?” Maud demanded.
“It’s queer, the old couple escaped without a scratch, but— May I ask you, are you seated, ma’am?”
“Yes.” Maud whispered.
Listening, she sank slowly into the deep chair behind Dalworth’s desk.
Jessica lay on the bed in her room in the darkness, tightly drawn loops of nylon binding her wrists and ankles. Her eyes were closed and she was staring at an inner vision, dappled in brilliant lights and threaded with shifting, monstrous shadows. What she saw was so potentially senseless and violent that the vistas brought a sting of tears to her eyes.
She heard quick footsteps outside her door. Then the knob turned back and forth, desperately but futilely.
Standing outside Jessica’s room, Maud twisted the handle of the door helplessly, a sob sounding in her throat. The upper floors of Easter Hill were dark with shadows. Only a shifting illumination from the candelabra in the great hall penetrated the gloom of the staircase.
Maud turned and ran toward that uncertain light, the slim silver scissors she had taken from Dalworth’s desk gripped in her hand.
Descending the stairs, she crossed the hall quickly, silently. In the drawing room, she cautiously approached Eric’s sleeping figure, listening to heavy breathing that caused a rhythmic bubble of saliva to rise and break on his lips.
Moving his arm gingerly, Maud went through the pockets of his jacket, finding coins, a cigarette lighter, a roll of peppermints. She moved around the chair and checked his vest pockets, watching his flushed features and lidded eyes for any response to her searching fingers.
Maud found what she was looking for, the key to Jessica’s room, in his lapel pocket behind a display handkerchief. Fishing it out, she rose and tiptoed swiftly from the salon, her heart pounding like some wild animal caged behind her ribs. With a heavy candlestick, Maud went quickly up the stairs, the soft light from the candle revealing the pallor that had spread in her cheeks since she had first heard the sound of Constable Riley’s voice.
Unlocking the door to her niece’s room, Maud placed the candlestick on a bureau from where its flame enclosed the bound child in a cone of light. Maud sat beside Jessica on the bed and used the scissors to cut away the swatch of adhesive tape across her lips.
“I’ve been your friend, I haven’t hurt you,” Maud said, her voice strained. She was trembling so that the scissors almost slipped from her fingers. Placing them on the bedside table, she brushed a strand of hair from Jessica’s forehead. “You must help me! For God’s sake, please! All my life I’ve been afraid of dying.”
Maud laughed softly, a fragile sound which echoed the terror glittering in her eyes. “It’s not knowing when it will happen, that’s what terrifies me. I don’t care how much time I’ve got left. But I’ve got to know when. Please tell me, Jessica.”