1863 Saratoga Summer Page 20

  “Well, if ye change yer mind, about joining the police, I’d be happy to talk with ye. Ye’re a big man and we could sure use more like yerself, right now, or yer brother. We have no idea how much depth this disastrous day will have,” the constable said, giving Connor a friendly pat on the back as he walked him to the door.

  With a brief nod and smile of empathy, Connor left the building and joined the others at the carriage. He relayed the news to them then sat in the back with Sinead. His eyes closed of their own volition. He knew exhaustion marked his face and body, along with the remains of ashes and charcoal streaks.

  Bowes drove on. The afternoon sun slipped behind gray clouds of smoke, its oppressive heat magnified by flames shooting up in distant areas and lighting the blinded sky. Shadows shifted on the streets even as the sun waned above the flames. For the moment, the streets were hooded, barren.

  ~*~

  The people in the carriage rolled toward their destination in utter silence. Each one was too sick inside to hazard any of their thoughts in inconsequential speech. Bowes turned the horses around a corner.

  A gasp of relief passed Sinead’s lips as the iron fences surrounding sections of Gramercy Park hove into view.

  Connor’s eyes opened. His gaze snapped to look directly into her face. He stared down into her eyes and noticed the gladness in them. She’s lovely looking, he thought, even messy as she is right now.

  Bowes broke the silence. “Listen. Here’s me plan. I’ll leave the three of ye in front while I take these fine horses to the back. They’ve served us well, they have. I’ll secure them in a nearby stable. They can rest and have themselves a grand feed.”

  Egan nodded. “Aye, they’ve earned all that.”

  “That they have,” Bowes said. “And with the way things are going, who knows when we’ll be needing them again, fit and strong.”

  “Bowes, I’ll go with ye and help with the horses. Two of us together are better than one of us alone,” Egan said.

  Connor sat straight in his seat and looked around. “The Dewitts live around here, in one of these fancy buildings? In the midst of all this wealth?” he asked, loudly, surprised at the sound of his own voice.

  “That they do,” Bowes piped, “and not a grateful bone in their bodies. Their daughter was nice enough, but neither one of the parents would give ye a thought or a drink if ye were parched.”

  “Da, stop that,” Sinead said. A sharp edge rode her tone. “We don’t want these lads to think ill of the Dewitts. I’ll need to deal with the Dewitts for Robbie’s sake. I don’t want to incur their anger by putting bad thoughts into the heads of these lads. Such a circumstance will solve nothing.”

  Connor tilted his head to one side. “I’m wondering what they might have thought of our absence this entire day.”

  “They probably thought we were just getting reacquainted,” she supplied.

  “Reacquainted?” Connor arched a brow.

  “Aye, my da told them we knew each other years ago in Ireland.”

  Connor stared at Sinead and then up at Bowes, who sat in the driver’s seat with his shoulders hunched. “Well, did we?” Connor asked. When no answer came, he asked again. “Well, did we? Know each other in Ireland?”

  Bowes swiveled around in his seat. “We’ll talk about all this later, when things have settled down some. Let’s just get through this day.” His voice sounded choked. “Make sure Robbie is fine,” he said in a very evasive fashion.

  Dead silence greeted Bowes’ response. Sinead must have picked up each nuance in her da’s voice. Her hand tightened and tangled in the ripped cloth of her skirt. She closed her eyes for the moment.

  Connor watched her reactions, trying to puzzle out what was happening. A strange, haunted look intensified in his wife’s eyes when she opened them. He needed to get to the bottom of his wife’s secret—or perhaps, her da’s secret.

  Even in Ireland, Connor suspected there was more to this hasty marriage and his da’s relationship with Bowes Brennan than his da let on. He didn’t mentioned to anyone at the time, but, now that he was sure there was much more involved, he’d seek out answers.

  Bowes turned a corner onto upper Fifth Avenue, west of Union Square. The avenue of commodious row houses and ornate mansions stood as silent sentinels of a lovely neighborhood, so far untouched by the hand of the gangs.

  Many of the houses were made of sandstone, which turned them from pink to chocolate depending on their age. Designers captivated by the Italian Renaissance built the houses. The soft brown stone made for richly carved facades and lavish ornamentation.

  The carriage horses stopped with a tiny tug on the reins and a gentle, “Whoa.” Their heads drooped in their harnesses.

  Connor heard Sinead’s sigh of relief and glanced in the same direction she did. The five story Dewitt mansion, its chocolate color reflected in the waning light of the sun, was set back several feet from the roadway and stone sidewalk. A spiked iron fence with what looked like balls and arrows at different intervals separated the brownstone from other houses nearby.

  The entire picture was serene. The property seemed untouched by the rioting in parts of the city. Sinead drew in a deep, breath. She hesitated for only a second before she leaped from the carriage ahead of Connor. She nearly tripped over her full skirt and clutched the side of the vehicle.

  Connor stepped out slowly, still looking up at the house. He held her elbow until she removed the skirt from beneath her shoe then settled his hands on his hips and walked closer to the entrance gates.

  Deadly silence permeated the building. It seemed deserted. No inner lights shone through the closed bottom-floor draperies. Connor took another step forward and tried to open the gate. It was locked.

  “What’s wrong?” Bowes asked.

  “The gate is locked,” Connor said, puzzled. “Do they always lock it?”

  “Usually not until dark. I have a key somewhere,” Sinead said, digging in her reticule for the object. “Ring the bell above the entrance.”

  Connor pulled the chain. The ring echoed over the quiet avenue. Drapes were pulled back from several of the surrounding houses. People peered from their windows. He looked up. Someone parted a curtain on the fourth floor. He rang the bell again, harder.

  Sinead found her key, shoved it into the large lock and jiggled it around. Nothing happened. “How could they have done this? Locked the gate? They knew I was returning home today,” she said in exasperation and turned her attention back to the job at hand.

  Finally, the key turned in the lock. The gate creaked open. Sinead squeezed inside the narrow space, ran across the red bricks and under the small portico decorating the porch at the front of the house. She pounded on the door, bleating one name. “Robbie. Robbie…” She turned to Connor.

  A strange, haunted look intensified in her eyes. No one answered her call.

  Chapter Thirteen

  No matter how hard Sinead slammed the heel of her closed fist on the door, no one hastened to answer it. Waves of terror rose. She sank to the porch floor, her long ash-splattered legs sticking straight out in front, and leaned back against a railing. Loose-limbed, she mouthed a frightened and exhausted groan.

  Expressionless, Connor stepped over to lift her to her feet, effectively barring entrance to the door. Poised above when she stood, he listened intently, ear against the wood. Uncertainties made him scowl, clench his jaw. He looked down at her, puzzled.

  Looking up into the depth of his dark brown eyes, Sinead felt hot and cold at the same time. She took a step back, off the porch. The heat he generated was too much for her to bear. To avoid the shadows of exhaustion and puzzlement that darkened his eyes, she glanced up at the building’s façade.

  She noticed a quick movement, something she imagined she’d seen before. A curtain in the fourth floor window fluttered then hung limp. A small patch of white appeared near the sill and was gone in an instant.

  “Someone’s in the house,” she whispered and craned her neck for
a better view. “Why won’t they answer the bell?”

  A corner of Connor’s mouth edged up with disgust apparent in every crease. One dark eyebrow arched. His expression remained reserved, even though he mustered a sardonic smile. “With all that’s been going on in this city, whoever it may be is probably frightened beyond measure.”

  Leaving Egan to hold the horses, Bowes stomped up on the porch behind Connor and Sinead. “Here, let me try something.” He gripped a long piece of wire and thrust it into the door lock with a quick, furtive motion. With deft fingers, he twisted it in several directions.

  Connor stared at Bowes for a full minute without blinking. “And where did you learn this art?” he asked, unleashed anger in his voice.

  His face serious, Bowes looked up and simply made use of the truth. “You’d be surprised how many men I’ve brought home when they were so far into their cups, they were lucky to know where the hell they lived,” he said, with a grimace. “And, I can’t be telling ye how many times their women locked them out of their own houses. Most often with damned good reason.” He continued jiggling the wire and was able to push it in a bit further.

  Connor stared and watched a slow grin roll onto Bowes’ face, before he continued. “A nasty, mean man in his cups is not one to be fooled with. There’s no talking to them. They have no amount of sense in their brains and far too little control over their actions,” he grumbled.

  Bowes gave the wire a final turn. Something inside the lock clicked. He gave a grunt of satisfaction. Sinead behaved as if what she witnessed was commonplace. Connor shook his head but couldn’t stop himself from grinning along with Bowes.

  He waved at Egan, who sat quietly in the carriage, waiting. Egan pointed to himself and Bowes nodded. Egan jumped out of the carriage, tied the horses to a post and trotted up onto the porch with the others. Bowes drew them together into a circle around him.

  “I want the three of you to listen to me, and listen carefully, mind ye. Ye don’t know who could be in that house,” he said in a low, rough voice, emphasizing the undercurrents of the day. “The house seems deserted but we all sense someone’s in there. For what purpose, we don’t know at the moment, but I intend to find out. Here’s what I want ye to do.”

  He lifted his hand and began to count off on his fingers. “Sinead, I want ye go to the back door. Leave it open for me to be getting in or for you to be gettin out if ye need to do that in a hurry.” He raised a second finger. “You lads stick together and go through this house floor by floor, room by room. Be alert. Examine everything and watch your backs.”

  When he raised his third finger, Connor interrupted. “Those were my plans exactly. Let’s not take any chances. We’ll not be able to help anyone if we’re beaten down in a heap.”

  Bowes blinked once and nodded. “I’ll be taking the horses round back now. I’ll meet ye in the house as quickly as I can,” he whispered over his shoulder while going down the short steps to the gate, which he closed behind him.

  Without a goodbye to her da, Sinead turned the bronzed doorknob and pushed lightly. The door swung in.

  Darkness blanketed the inside foyer. Silence greeted her. Desperate thoughts for Robbie filled her with dread. She opened her mouth to call out, but Connor put a hand over her mouth. He gently rubbed the bottom lip and put a finger to his own before removing his hand. Slowly, she looked up at him and felt dangerous emotions stirring. She nodded.

  His hand fell to his side. “Let’s do things as your father said. You go to open the back door. Egan, stay with her. I don’t want her alone for a minute, until we know who’s here. I’ll look around this floor a bit until you come back. Go quickly!”

  Connor saw Sinead grab Egan’s hand and lead him to a small hallway that ended with a closed door. She undid the latch and angled her body through a narrow opening. Egan followed.

  Left alone, Connor looked around in amazement at the display of useless wealth in a circular room twice the size of the manor’s library in Ireland. Several mahogany tables on tall, thin legs stood to one side of the entranceway. Ornate silver trays were angled on top of them, one lying flat. A huge Oriental rug covered the floor at the bottom of what must have been the main staircase. It led to a landing that branched off with stairs going in two opposite directions to the next floor.

  Three doors faced the room, the one Sinead and Egan had gone through and two double doors, facing each other across the room. Connor moved with stealth to the door on his left. He slid it open but moved back with a quick step. When nothing happened, he sidled slowly into the room, with his back to the wall. His eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light.

  A large fireplace in the room covered one wall. To one side of the grate, several fire utensils, including a long poker, hung neatly in a silver box. Cautiously looking over his shoulder with every footstep and his back to the wall, he navigated the room to the firebox. Heart pounding, he grabbed the poker from its hook and whirled around to face the room. The instrument was cool in his hand and gave him a sense of misplaced confidence.

  The sound of scurrying footsteps, someone running, along with the squeak of boots on a wooden floor, infiltrated the room from the large hall. Connor took a deep breath. He braced himself against the cool, dark brick of the fireplace and waited.

  Egan and Sinead appeared in the doorway.

  Egan whispered, “Connor, are ye there lad?”

  “Aye. Straight ahead.”

  “Show yourself then. The room’s dark with those draperies drawn.”

  Connor took a huge stride forward. “There’s no one in this room,” he said.

  “There’s no one in the servant’s quarters either. The cook’s gone and Nigel isn’t here either,” Sinead commented, a puzzled expression on her face. She frowned and looked around her. “Nothing’s been disturbed in here.”

  “That’s good,” Connor mumbled. “Well then, let’s get on with our work. We’ll check out the other room on this floor, but I sense no one’s around on this bottom level. Perhaps, the help are hiding on the other floors.”

  “Let me call out,” Sinead insisted. “There are only two staircases in the house. This one here,” she said, pointing to the main staircase in the front room, “and the servant’s stairway in the back. If anyone wants to leave in a hurry, those are the only two ways they can get down, short of jumping from a window.”

  “All right. But first, let me make some noise. I’m sure noise might scare up some birds out of their territory.” Connor stamped across the foyer. He scuffed his boots on the bare wood floor and stamped loudly on the rug then stood and listened, his finger to his lips in a gesture of silence.

  Nothing stirred upstairs. Sinead moved to the stairs, letting her heels click on the bare wood. At the bottom, she called up, “Robbie? Robbie, son, ‘tis Mama.”

  “They must be gone,” Egan said. “Afraid of the rioting, no doubt. And sensible they were to do so.”

  “No,” Sinead said. “I’m sure I saw the curtains move on the fourth floor. Someone is up there. I just don’t know who.” She started up the steps.

  Connor grabbed her arm and held her in place. “Lass, don’t you listen to your own father? He said to stay together.”

  “Och, God, Connor. It might be a small boy up there all by himself. I think everyone else left. I can’t stand it. Please, I beg of you. Hurry.”

  “Here’s what we’ll do. You stay close to me. Egan and I will go up the stairs with you in back of us. At the split in the landing, we’ll each take a side. You stay behind me. We’ll follow your da’s directions to look in every room on every floor.” Connor took a step up, turned and grasped her chin in his hand. “If the lad’s up there, we’ll find him.”

  He pointed in one direction to Egan and helped Sinead move onto the step with him. She quickly obeyed, putting her trust in this man, and watched Egan move to Connor’s other side, giving his brother a single nod.

  “It’ll take hours to go through this whole house. And we might frighten
my son more with the waiting.” The color drained from her face and her eyes widened with fear.

  “If that’s what’s you’re thinking,” Connor said, “then call the boy again, louder this time.”

  Sinead cupped her mouth and shouted, “Robbie, ‘tis Mama Jane, darling. If you’re upstairs, come down. I’ll wait in the big hall. I have your da with me, so you don’t have to be afraid, son.”

  “Mama?” The small, high-pitched voice echoed through the empty house.

  “Jane, is that you?” Robbie’s governess, Isabel, called from the head of the fourth floor stairs, “Jane?”

  “Och, Isabel, ‘tis you,” Sinead gasped. Her knees seemed to slip from under her and she sat on the stairs. “And Robbie. Alone here? Come to me. Hurry, please.”

  Suddenly, within seconds, no more, Robbie rushed to the main landing. The hollow sound of his small feet clicking down the stairway echoed in Sinead’s ears. A lovely young blond girl, several years younger than Sinead, followed behind, her blue eyes glassy with tears. When Robbie saw his mother, he flew down the rest of the way and flung himself into her outstretched arms.

  Sinead circled her arms around him, put her cheek on the top of his head and squeezed. He shrieked in her arms, part in youthful glee, part from the fear contained inside him for hours and part with love. He clung to her neck.

  “Och, laddie, ‘tis most glad I am to see you so very fit,” Sinead said, rocking him back and forth in her arms.

  The boy muttered against her neck, with a hint of tears in his voice. “You left me for a long time.”

  “I know we did and I’m sorry.” She brushed his hair from his forehead and pressed her lips against his eyes. “Were you scared?”

  “No.” He turned to Isabel, who remained on the landing. “I wasn’t scared, was I, Isabel?” Then, with all the single-mindedness exerted by a four-year-old with only one thing on his mind, Robbie continued, “You said you’d be back in the morning to get me, to take me riding.”

  He glared at Connor. Connor smiled back at him, ruffled his hair and stepped onto the foyer level.