Whispers at Midnight by Andrea Parnell Page B

his ship sat in port. He had made young Elise a gift
of the set on her eighth birthday.
    Was it possible Aunt Elise would have parted
with the gift her father had given her? It seemed unlikely. But she
would like to see it closer; the grimy window blurred the view
somewhat. Amanda tried the door of the shop but found it bolted
shut. Perhaps they had closed for the lunch hour. Well, no matter.
She’d come back later and inquire. Pulling a handkerchief from her
pocket, she stooped to rub clean a spot on the dirty glass. Inside
she could see a varied assortment of items: jewelry, furniture,
some silver pieces badly tarnished, odds and ends of china, and
other whatnots. Some were certainly of value; others obviously had
seen their best days.
    It dawned on her slowly that the shop was
one where people pawned items for currency. Surely Aunt Elise would
not have pawned the chess set? She had money to spare and had
settled handsome amounts on her sons before she left the colonies.
Amanda straightened up, aware from the reflection in the glass that
passersby were giving her peculiar stares. She might be making too
much of a childhood memory. It had been eleven years since she had
even seen the chess set. Most likely she would find the one she
remembered packed away in a cupboard at Wicklow.
    The sun stood high in the sky as Amanda
hurried toward the livery. The day had become hot and hazy and but
for a light breeze would have been truly uncomfortable. She hadn’t
meant to walk so far. Now she was late and she hoped, as her feet
flew over the pavement in the fastest ladylike walk she could
manage, that the driver she had hired would wait.
     
    ***
     
    Amanda felt a change once the carriage
pulled onto the drive at Wicklow. The air was cool and damp despite
the blaze of the sun. The grounds still smelled of fresh, wet earth
and crushed green leaves the hail had torn from the trees. It was
as if the storm clouds from last night had returned to cast some
dark spell over the house. Even the tiny brown rabbit that scurried
through the brush seemed to be running away from Wicklow.
    As the carriage wheels plowed through the
muck and mud of the lane, her high spirits tumbled by degrees, like
a ball rolling slowly down a set of stairs. Ryne Sullivan’s face
and taunting eyes appeared in her mind. Her thoughts roamed back to
the nightmare and the strange whispers that had broken her sleep
last night.
    What had happened to the smiling sunshine of
morning? Now Wicklow looked as somber as it had in the aftermath of
the storm. The long shadows of afternoon blackened the ground and
the air had a chill to it. Maybe it was the nearness of the river
that made it cooler here. From the crest of the hill she could see
silvery water winding its way below the house.
    Rubbing her temples, Amanda closed her eyes
momentarily. She opened them to see flashes of red where the high
windows of the monstrous house caught a few of the sun’s rays and
threw them defiantly back. Amanda blinked and turned her face from
the angry glare to survey the land of Wicklow.
    The house had been the main building on the
large Wicklow estate, which included almost two thousand acres
surrounding the mansion. That land now belonged to Gardner and
Ryne. Amanda had inherited only the house and the few acres
immediately around it. Quite enough, though, to make her happy, and
certainly all that she alone could care for.
    She shook her head sadly. The overgrown
grounds were as much in need of attention as the interior of the
house. Vines tangled over the shrubs and thick weeds choked the
once carefully cultivated garden, smothering its beauty in a
profusion of wild growth. The long hedges, once a marvel of
landscape artistry, had been allowed to grow untrimmed. It looked
as if not a thing had been tended since she had been named the new
owner.
    The house itself was sound. Cecil Baldwin
had been right when he said it was made of excellent material. The
dark slate roof—no wood shingles