The Seeing

Chapter Twenty

Jessica and Maud arrived at Easter Hill in an airport limousine shortly after midnight, a damp, spring wind buffeting the car and scattering the last of the winter leaves across the gravel driveway and dark lawns.

Jessica went directly down to the stables. As she pulled open the heavy doors, a man she had never seen before came out of the tack room, a cigarette slanting up from his mouth, the moonlight shining on his flattened nose and on the shock of black hair that stood up like a curry brush.

“Hey, what’re you doing here this time of night?”

“I live here,” Jessica said. “I want to make sure that my house is all right. May I ask why you’re in our stables?”

Benny Stiff grinned and said, “Sure, you can. I work here, kid. You’re the little princess. Right?”

“Where is Kevin O’Dell?”

“You mean the young Irisher? He quit. I’m the new groom. Benny Stiff’s the name.”

Another figure emerged from the shadows and Jessica was relieved when she recognized Capability Brown, but her apprehension quickened when she saw that her old friend’s face was set in hard, grim lines.

“Windkin is fine, Miss Jessica,” Mr. Brown said. “I’ve kept an eye on him. But you should know, Miss, there’s been some changes at Easter Hill.”

“Mr. Brown, please tell me.”

“I think that’s a task for Mr. Griffith. You’d best go up to the house now and let him explain how it was.”

Eric was waiting for Jessica in the great hall. “I’d like you to join me in the library, my dear,” he said. “We’ve had some unpleasant goings-on here while you and Maud were away. Since it’s a family matter, I want to explain everything as clearly and frankly as I can.”

The lights and colors in Jessica’s inner vision were now dazzling and white, shadows forming with a powerful sense of urgency along a corridor of diamond-bright illuminations.

Aunt Maud had seated herself on a sofa in the library, long, slim legs crossed and a drink in her hand. Standing beside her was a man with dark hair and a dark complexion, and an array of rings and cufflinks that glittered as brilliantly as the lights behind Jessica’s eyes.

“Jessica, this is Mr. Saxe, an American I met in Ballytone,” Eric said. “He’s spending a few days with us. Tony, may I present Jessica Mallory.”

“A real pleasure, Miss,” Tony Saxe said.

“Now, Jessica, I want you to sit down and hear me out.”

“I prefer to stand, Uncle Eric.”

“Suit yourself.” Eric paced slowly in front of the fireplace, rubbing his large, bony hands together, his expression grave and thoughtful. The measured tread of his footsteps and the tinkle of ice in Maud’s glass were the only sounds jarring the stillness of the shadowed library.

“It was just a week or so ago when I noticed the antique snuffbox was missing.” Smoothing back his blond, thinning hair, Eric then closed his hands over the lapels of his tweed jacket. “It was right over there, plain as day, on the teakwood table, a beautiful little thing, as you know, mother-of-pearl insets and carved Chinese characters. At first, I thought one of the girls had taken it away to clean, but a day or so later something else turned up missing — that solid silver darning egg that belonged to some queen or other. That was always in plain sight, too, on the second shelf of the vitrine in the drawing room. Well, I waited another day for that to show up and then I asked the maids. But Lily and Rose and Mrs. Kiernan, they pretended to be as much in the dark as I was.

“I didn’t want to act in haste, Jessica. I simply couldn’t believe we had a thief in the house. So I waited another day and then I informed the staff that if the objects were returned by the following morning, that would be the end of the matter, that I would consider the incident closed. But the next morning, those objects were still missing.”

Eric’s histrionic talents were now functioning at their sharpest and most subtle pitch. His expression suggested that of a man wrestling with decisions and judgments that brought him almost physical pain.

“In fairness, I gave them all one last chance. I announced that I was driving into Ballytone for a supply of tobacco and would not return until lunch. In my absence, I expected they would take advantage of this last period of grace.”

Eric’s hands twisted together with a sound like that of dry, rustling leaves.

“When the objects failed to appear, I had no recourse but to ask Constable Riley to look into the matter. I truly hoped he would find we had been the victims of a sneak thief, a gypsy, or some other vagrant who might have slipped in when the staff was below stairs.”

Eric raised his hands and let them fall in a gesture of despair. “Constable Riley searched the house from top to bottom, but there was no sign of forcible entry, no broken locks or window panes.”

Eric looked intently at Jessica. “It is now my duty, dear, to tell you where the Constable found those missing objects. The silver darning egg was wrapped in a silk stocking and tucked into one of Lily’s Sunday slippers. The snuff box was in the bottom of Mrs. Kiernan’s trunk, hidden in a button box. In Flynn’s room we found six silver fish knives and a sterling soup ladle bundled up in a towel and stuffed away in his wicker fishing creel. We hadn’t even missed those last items, so there’s no telling how long they’ve been robbing you blind.”

Jessica said quietly, “This just doesn’t make sense, Uncle Eric.”

“I beg your pardon. Are you suggesting Constable Riley doesn’t know how to perform his duties?”

“But there must have been some reasonable explanation.”

“Oh, you can be sure they tried to brazen it out, claimed they had no idea how those things had got into their rooms.”

“Then that’s the truth of it,” Jessica said in a deliberate voice. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to them now.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Eric said. “They’ve packed and gone.”

Jessica looked at him, her expression incredulous. “You mean, they’ve left Easter Hill?”

“I did not make the decision on my own, Jessica. I only acted after consulting with Mr. Ryan’s office in Dublin. His people agreed with me that the servants here should be dismissed on the spot.”

This last statement of Eric’s stretched the truth considerably. He had indeed covered himself by calling the solicitor’s office in Dublin, but presented the facts of the thefts to a secretary in so garbled and rambling a fashion that she had at last interrupted him, suggesting he put the whole matter in writing for the benefit of the insurance company.

“After I explained my decision to the guilty servants, Kevin O’Dell and Rose also decided to leave. They talked rather grandly about their loyalty to one another but my guess is they were using that as an excuse to clear out before we caught them at something else...

“Just one last thing,” Eric said. “Then we can close the book on this unfortunate episode. I took it on myself, Jessica, to inform Constable Riley that we wouldn’t press charges against Lily, Mrs. Kiernan, or Flynn. I went farther than that, in fact, and assured them that we would provide them with reasonable character references when they sought other employment. However, I think it’s unlikely they’ll find positions in this county and so we’ll have to mail them their papers when and if they need them.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Aunt Maud and Uncle Eric, I’ll say goodnight.”

“Have a good sleep, Jessica,” Eric said. “Try to put all this unpleasantness out of your mind. Starting tomorrow, we’ll carry on here at Easter Hill just as before...”

Jessica stopped in the arched doorway of the library and looked steadily at the three adults whose figures were silhouetted by the spurting flames from the fireplace.

“Uncle Eric, where is Fluter?”

“I don’t have a clue, my dear. I think Brown’s been looking after him.”

Jessica turned and walked into the great hall, crossing to the corridors that fanned out toward the servants’ quarters. She went swiftly through the dark kitchens and storerooms, looking into the shadows behind the salad sinks and pot cupboards, calling Fluter’s name softly but insistently. Even the air itself seemed unresponsive to her summons, heavy and motionless in the cavernous rooms.

Jessica walked through the pantry and laundry, opened the door to the rear staircase, and went to the second floor of the sprawling house.

There was no sign of Fluter in her bedroom. Jessica hurried along the corridor, looking into the open doors of the various other suites, calling for the big collie. At the end, she retraced her steps, discouragement settling like a physical weight on her slim shoulders.

The lights of her inner visions flickered constantly now, but she could discern no pattern or meaning in the shadows silhouetted by their illuminations. However, when she reentered her own bedroom, she heard a weak whimpering sound and, snapping on the lights, she saw the great merle collie pulling itself sluggishly from under the bed.

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.”

Jessica was so outraged by what Eric had said that she was momentarily unaware of how helpless she was against three adults. “If you ever raise a hand to me, I promise that you’ll regret it, Uncle Eric,” Jessica said and turned and walked quickly from the library into the hall.

When she heard the sudden rush of footsteps behind her, the girl started to run, but it was already too late. Uncle Eric’s long, sinewy hands caught her wrists and twisted one of her arms cruelly behind her back. And when he increased the pressure, the pain in her shoulder was so fierce that a scream of anguish forced itself past her lips.

Jessica pounded the heel of her riding boot down onto Eric’s glossy moccasin and was rewarded by his bellow of anger.

“Little bitch!” Maud said. She stood watching with Tony Saxe in the doorway of the library.

Panting with exertion, Eric said, “You badly need a lesson in manners, young lady, and you are going to get it.” Tightening his grip on her arm, he forced another cry from Jessica’s throat.

From the corner of her eye, the girl saw a blur of movement on the wide stairs, Fluter’s merle blue-gray ruff rising like a crest around his powerful jaws.

“Fluter!” Jessica cried.

The huge collie jumped, a snarl breaking past its bared teeth.

Maud screamed and Tony Saxe shouted, “Eric! For Christ’s sake — watch it!”

Eric wheeled, his face twisting with panic. Fluter’s body struck Eric’s chest, its weight driving them both in a heap to the floor. Eric screamed, kicking his feet desperately.

“Get him off me! Get him off!” he shouted.

Jessica ran into the vast dark dining room, calling over her shoulder, “Come, Fluter. Come!”

After snarling barks, which chased Maud and Tony back into the library, the collie wheeled and rushed after the girl.

She had by then parted the brocade draperies and pressed fretwork knobs that caused a walnut panel to swing back from the priest hole.

Whispering to the dog, she prodded him down a flight of steps into the cold hiding place, then pressed the lever that forced the panel to swing smoothly back into position.

After a breathless moment, Jessica heard Eric’s voice in the dining room beyond the priest hole.

“I’ll put a bullet through that damned dog’s head...”

She heard footsteps then, the men’s heavy on the old floorboards, Aunt Maud’s high heels clicking like a woodpecker on a cold day.

When the sounds faded in the direction of the pantries and kitchen, Jessica lifted a corner of matting from the floor and raised the trap door exposing steep steps leading to the cellars.

Jessica went down the stairs and snapped her fingers. When the big dog joined her, she whispered, “Stay, Fluter. I’ll come back with Miss Charity...”

On the second floor, Eric and Maud snapped on lights in both wings, checked closets, swept back draperies and dust ruffles, and threw open bathroom doors. Meanwhile, Tony Saxe examined the windows and doors on the first floor. When they regrouped, he said, “No way she could of got outside. The whole place is locked tight.”

“Get a flashlight, Maud,” Eric said. “Maybe she got to the attic...”

Jessica ran down the dew-slick lawn from the gardens of Easter Hill to the staff cottages and stables.

In the darkness of the horse barn, she felt along the walls until her hand touched a bridle and bit on pegs. Pulling them down, she ran to Windkin’s stall, climbed a mounting stool and coaxed the big mare close to her with a cluck of her tongue. There was no time for a saddle; she would ride bare-back to Miss Charity’s. But Windkin pulled away from her, neck muscles flexing and hooves pounding in staccato rhythms.

“Now stop it! You’ve got to help me, Windkin! Please...”

The overhead lights flashed on. Jessica turned and saw the new groom walking toward her, a puzzled smile on his battered features. He had obviously been sleeping. His black hair was pushed up on the back of his head like a cockatoo’s crest. His cheeks were creased from a wrinkled pillow.

“Kind of late to go riding, ain’t it, kid?”

His smile was easy and insolent and when his eyes moved from her shoulders to her narrow waist, she felt exposed and vulnerable.

She said, “My dog is ill. I’m going for the vet.”

“Why don’t you make a phone call? Or get your Uncle Eric to take you in the car?” Putting a cigarette between his lips, he slanted it up toward his cheek but didn’t light it. “What’s going on, little lady?”

“I’ve told you, my dog is sick.”

“You better level with me, kid.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” Jessica was angry with herself. She felt close to tears, resisting an impulse to cross her arms over the thin twill jacket covering her chest.

“Look. Your uncle and aunt know what you’re up to?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Wrong, kid. I gotta check you out. There’s a phone in my digs. Come on.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jessica said furiously.

“Got a hot temper, right?” he said. “I kind of like that.” Removing the cigarette from his mouth, he dropped it into his shirt pocket and then, with a powerful sweep of his arm, caught her about the waist and pulled her down from the stool.

He was frighteningly strong. She struggled desperately against him, almost gagging at the smell of liquor on his breath. But his arm was like an iron band around her slender body.

Laughing, he carried the girl from the stables to his cottage where he snapped on a lamp and dumped her onto a sagging leather couch. Seating himself beside her; he pinned her down, his hands locking her arms above her head.

“Hey, cut the act, kid!” he said, and laughed as she struggled.

“You have no right to touch me, you — bastard.”

He laughed again. “Oh, come on. Old Benny’s not such a bad guy when you get to know him...”

There were footsteps then, a shadow from the open door, and a voice loud around them.

“Take your hands off her, you scum,” Capability Brown said.

When Benny Stiff spun around, the tines of the pitchfork the old man held were just inches from his eyes.

“Hey, hey!” Benny Stiff raised both arms above his head in a gesture of entreaty. “Cool it, pal. We were just having a little fun.”

“On your feet,” Brown said.

“Sure, anything you say.” Moving slowly, Benny stood and inched back and away from the shining pitchfork.

“Did he hurt you, child?” the old man said.

“I’m all right, Mr. Brown.” Jessica said, scrambling from the couch. And it was then, when the old Irishman turned to put a protective hand on the girl’s arm, it was then that Benny struck, a savage right that caught the old man in the face and knocked him across the flagged hearth of the fireplace, the pitchfork clattering to the floor from his suddenly limp hands.

“Get up, you old stumble-bum,” Benny Stiff said. “On your feet!”

But Jessica knew from the unnatural angle of Mr. Brown’s head and neck that he had been badly hurt.

Staring down at the small, huddled figure of the gardener, Benny Stiff’s expression changed.

“Hey, get up!” he said, his voice troubled and uneasy.

But the old man didn’t stir. Eyes that had appreciated all growing things, that had kept vigil through many nights for his country’s enemies, were now fixed and staring on the hearth stones.

“Hey! What’s this? Some kind of act?” Benny said. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”

“You’ve killed him!” Jessica said, her voice rising. “You’ve killed Mr. Brown.”

“It was an accident, kid, that’s the way we got to make it go down...”

With a strangled sob, Jessica wheeled and ran through the cottage door into the darkness. For an instant, Benny Stiff stood paralyzed over Brown’s motionless body.

He knew he should do something, take care of this business, save his own hide, call Griffith or Tony Saxe to tell them what had happened, get his hands on the kid before she ruined them all...

Stiff lunged through the door and ran into the night after Jessica. She was only a dozen yards in front of him, fleeing down the sloping lawn, an occasional streak of moonlight flaring on the bright scarf at her throat.

“Wait, kid!” he bellowed, and started after her, his legs churning under him like pistons.

He closed on her rapidly, near enough at one instant to clutch at the sleeve of her jacket, but still she evaded him. Her advantage lay in the fact that she knew every inch of the grounds near Easter Hill. The terrain was hers. When she darted to the left and he jumped to cut her off, he realized only when the stretches of wire mesh stung his face and hands that she had led him into a trap. Jessica had ducked behind a trellis of climbing Guinea beans and Benny had crashed into the wire grids supporting the vines. While he floundered like a rabbit in a snare, Jessica climbed the garden wall and disappeared into the meadows beyond.

Freeing himself, Benny ran to his cottage, snatched up the phone and dialed the manor house.