Hush Now, Don't You Cry (Molly Murphy, #11)

“Nonsense,” Daniel said. “We can look around without her. Hannan wouldn’t mind. It’s not as if we’re going to pocket the silver.”


“I’m not sure that’s the right thing to do,” I said. Since I stepped into the entry hall I had been feeling a growing sense of uneasiness. I found I was looking over my shoulder, as if unseen eyes were watching me with disapproval. But Daniel was already walking ahead of me, through an archway and into an impressive salon. This room had quite a different feel to it—spacious, light, and opulent with brocade sofas and ornate gilt tables and mirrors. We had gone from Irish stronghold to French chateau in a couple of steps. Daniel looked around with amusement.

“I wonder if he had this lot shipped over from Versailles,” he said, voicing my exact thoughts. “These aren’t copies, they are the real thing. And the paintings aren’t shabby either. These look like genuine Italian old masters, I think.”

“That one’s a Raphael, I believe,” I commented.

Daniel looked surprised and impressed. “Now how do you know that?”

“I’m a well-educated young lady.” I gave a smug little smile. “You don’t think you married a peasant girl straight from the bogs, do you?”

My eyes were drawn to a collection of silver-framed photographs, grouped on a glass-topped table. “I suppose these are the family,” I said. “Look, this one is a group picture. They’re a handsome bunch. Which one is the alderman? There seem to be three men who look very similar.”

“Hannan has a brother who runs the business these days, and there may well be another brother besides. Let me see.”

He came to look at the photograph over my shoulder. There was something strange about it. The top and bottom had a white border but the sides of the photograph disappeared under the silver frame, almost as if they had been cut off.

“Look at this,” I said, pointing at the sides of the picture. “Doesn’t it seem that there were more people in the picture when it was taken—look, to the left of that little boy. Isn’t he holding someone’s hand? And the right side has been cut off too. Why would anyone do that?”

As I held out the photograph to Daniel a voice spoke right behind us, making us spin around guiltily. “Captain Sullivan! How on earth did you get in? I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

Mrs. McCreedy was standing there looking almost flustered.

“The front door was ajar,” Daniel said, replacing the photograph on the table. “We called out and nobody came, so we thought you were probably busy elsewhere.”

“Indeed I was,” she said. “And I’ve no idea how that wretched door came to be open. The master wouldn’t be at all happy to hear that folks could walk right in off the street and help themselves to his things.”

“We were interested to see the house before the family arrived,” I said, not liking this insinuation. “I assure you we weren’t about to pocket anything.”

At this she became even more flustered. “Indeed no. I wasn’t insinuating anything of the sort. You’re the alderman’s guests and of course he’d want you to be welcome in his house. Any other time I’d be happy to show you around—it’s just that right now I’m up to my eyes in work, so if you don’t mind…”

And she tried to usher us toward the front door, like a large sheepdog.

“We can take a look around by ourselves if you’re busy,” Daniel said.

“Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all,” she replied hastily. “I’d rather everything was as it should be before you see it.”

It occurred to me that perhaps she had been lax in her cleaning while they were away and was now rushing to make up for her laziness.

“That’s no problem at all,” I said. “We have all the time in the world. We’ll leave you to get on with your work now, and you can let us know when you’ve a minute free for a tour.”

“I will do that. Thank you kindly.” I could see the worry leaving her face.