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As he started forward to meet the
four people with Patrick O'Herlihy, Remington realized that Laura
was moving toward the stairs. "Laura-" he said, giving
his cousins a nervous smile before turning to follow his wife.
Laura was nervous about meeting the cousins, but she was more
angry about this second attempt to harm Remington, and was determined
to get to the bottom of the situation. Knowing that six pairs
of eyes were on her, and that Remington was a step behind, she
dashed up the stairs to the table on which the pewter vase had
been sitting. There was something hanging beneath it, and she
knelt as Remington joined her.
"Laura, what are you doing?" he asked, kneeling as well
as she examined a knotted doily that was hanging *beneath* the
table. He glanced nervously at the people below, easily picking
out Quinn and Sheila from the four cousins.
Laura indicated the hook and line that the doily was attached
to. "Looking for clues," she answered. The line was
attached to a small winding mechanism. "This-" she said,
touching the doily, "was on the table, *beneath* the vase.
It was hooked to this line, and when the motor engaged, it pulled
the doily out, causing the vase to fall."
Remington peered at the set up. "And it was set off with
this," he said, tapping a small box with an antenna on it.
"Remote control."
Laura glanced down. "Which means that any of them could have
done it as long as they had the transmitter."
Remington's eyes held a glint of amusement. "Laura, my love,
it's bad form to accuse the relatives of attempted murder on first
meeting them."
"I say," the man that Remington had pegged as his cousin
Quinn O'Riley began, "is everything all right up there?"
Remington drew Laura to her feet, smiling as they headed toward
the stair again. "Hazard of the profession, I'm afraid, looking
for clues."
"Clues?" the blonde woman at Quinn's side questioned,
her green eyes wide.
"Yes," Laura said. "Apparently someone rigged that
vase to fall on Remington -"
Remington rolled his eyes, laughing nervously as he pulled Laura
tightly against him. "We can discuss this later, darling,"
he reminded her. Smiling at the lawyer, he held out his hand.
"Mr. O'Herlihy. It's a pleasure to see you again."
"Mr. Steele," the man returned. "May I present
your cousins, your Lordship? Quinn O'Riley and his wife, Sheila,-"
Remington shook hands with his cousin, nodding in Sheila' direction
as Laura smiled tightly. O'Herlihy indicated the other young woman,
this one with flaming red hair and blue eyes that seemed to be
looking through a person. "Miss Bridget O'Riley, and her
brother, John." John was shorter than Quinn and Remington,
with blonde hair and the same blue eyes as his sister - but his
revealed nervousness as he shook Remington's hand.
"Cousin," he said, glancing at Quinn as if expecting
to be slapped back for daring to speak at all.
"What in the name of St. Michael is going on down there?
Is he here-?" an imperious female voice demanded from the
landing. Remington and Laura looked up to see a white haired,
elderly woman, leaning heavily on a silver topped, ebony cane.
Her eyes found Remington, and she brought a hand to her throat
as Quinn called out.
"Sorry we disturbed you, Aunt," he called to her. "There
was a slight mishap -" He broke off, realizing that she wasn't
listening to him.
The woman came slowly down the stairs, to where Callahan was waiting
for her. He escorted her to where Remington and Laura were standing.
Holding out her hand, her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "You
*are* Megan's son," she announced, as he placed his hand
in hers, his expression both uncertain and yet somehow at peace.
"That hasn't been fully proven," Quinn put in, shrugging
as everyone turned to look at him.
Remington smiled at him as Patrick O'Herlihy said, "It has
to the satisfaction of the courts, Mr. O'Riley. All that's left
to be done is for his lordship to sign the papers required to
take possession of his grandfather's estate."
"Well, it's not to *my* satisfaction," Quinn announced,
his eyes boring into Remington. "How do we know that he's
not a con man, trying to get his hands on Uncle Liam's money?"
"Don't be silly, Quinn," Bridget giggled. "Of course
he's Uncle Liam's grandson. Anyone can see that." She linked
her arm through Remington's. "And he's a famous private detective,
as well."
"Bridget is right, Quinn," the old woman said in a tone
that indicated the matter settled.
Laura slipped her hand through is other arm, as if to silently
remind him of her presence. "Ah, forgive me. This is my wife,
Laura Holt-Steele."
"Cousin Laura," Bridget said, a welcoming smile on her
face.
Remington looked again at the woman before him, his curiosity
visible. "And you are-?"
Patrick cleared his throat as if only realizing his lapse. "Margaret
Harrison," he said. "I'm sorry, madam-"
"That's quite all right, Mr. O'Herlihy," she assured
him. Turning back to Remington, she explained, "I'm your
grandfather's sister, lad."
"Oh."
Bridget shivered suddenly, and Remington looked at her. "Cousin?"
"Someone's going t'die tonight," she whispered. Her
pale blue gaze moved across the faces, searching for something.
"John, get her out of here," Quinn ordered. "She's
having another one of her spells-"
John nodded, a jerky, nervous movement as he tried to grab his
sister's arm. "Come on, sis," he said, but she wouldn't
be moved. Her hand was digging into Remington's arm so tightly
that he was afraid she was going to cut off the circulation, but
she remained where she was. "Bridget, -"
"Would someone please explain what's going on?" Laura
asked, moving to gently pry the red haired woman's fingers from
Remington's arm.
"Murder," Bridget said, her eyes locking onto Laura's
just before she collapsed like a rag doll.
Remington caught her easily, lifting her into his arms. "I'll
take her," John offered, stepping forward.
"Just show me where to take her," Remington said. John
started toward the stairs. "I'll be right back," he
promised Laura.
"Shouldn't someone call a doctor?" she asked Margaret.
"She'll be fine," the old woman assured her, linking
their arms as they moved toward the salon.
"Then, this happens often? What's wrong with her?"
"She's crazy," Sheila said bluntly, lifting her shoulders
as the others frowned. "Well, she is. She *claims* to have
second sight, that she can see things before they happen. And
every so often she'll go into this little trance, say perfectly
outrageous things, then collapse. Then, when she wakes, she's
conveniently forgotten what she said."
"Has she seen a doctor?" Laura wanted to know as a maid
brought a tea tray into the room.
"She's been seen by some of the best doctors in London,"
Quinn said tiredly, leaning against the marble mantle of the fireplace
that seemed to take up half the wall. "They can't find anything
wrong, the stupid fools."
Laura accepted the cup of tea that Margaret poured, and sat back,
smiling nervously. While the house itself seemed welcoming, she
had the feeling that she and Remington had stumbled into a nest
of vipers, all waiting to strike.
**********
Remington laid his cousin on her canopy bed, stepping back as
her brother drew a quilt over her. "Will she be all right?"
he asked.
"She'll be fine," John said. He jerked on a bell pull
near the fireplace, then bent to stoke the fire against the chill.
"A maid will be here to stay with her until she wakes up."
There was a tap on the door, and a pale, tiny little woman came
in. "Ah, Mary."
"It happened again, sir?" she asked, looking down at
the woman.
"Yes. Just keep an eye on her."
"I will," she assured him.
John and Remington left the room. "My room's across the hall,"
John informed him. "The master suite's at the far end-"
he pointed across the landing. "Quinn and Sheila usually
stay there- but they're in this wing this visit." His blue
eyes sparkled at last. "Sheila wasn't any too happy with
having to give up her cushy quarters, I'll have you know."
Remington nodded. "I gathered that she and Quinn are neither
one glad to see me."
"It's not personal- at least, not on Quinn's part. He'll
be losing money if he can't get his hands on this place and tear
it down to put up another textile mill."
"He's going to displace all the servants and the tenants
to build a factory?"
"I believe so." He paused at the top of the stairs,
at the back wall, turning on a light to reveal a line of portraits.
"This is the gallery. You might be interested in seeing it."
Remington moved to the portrait before him. A smiling, angelic
looking young woman was sitting, holding an Irish setter puppy,
her blue eyes alight with laughter, her black hair hanging down
over her shoulder. He didn't have to read the name plate beneath
the frame. Something in him knew that he was looking at the face
of his mother. Reaching out a hand, he gently traced the smile.
He could understand how Daniel had fallen in love with her.
"She was a real beauty," John said with a sigh. "I
was always half in love with that portrait - thought she was the
most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."
"I can understand that. When was it painted?" he asked,
looking at the brass nameplate. "Megan Harrison,- There's
no date."
"Uncle Liam had it done from a photograph after she died.
She was only twenty- when that happened -and usually the Harrisons
don't commission portraits until the twenty first birthday."
He pointed to the portrait of a man and woman next to Megan's.
"That was Uncle Liam," he announced. "When he was
twenty one years old."
Remington felt as if he were looking into a mirror. No wonder
his aunt had been so certain that he was indeed Liam O'Riley Harrison's
grandson. The same blue eyes, dark hair, it was almost eerie,
Remington thought. "And the woman?" he asked.
"Megan's mother, Rachel. She died just a year after this
was done. They'd been married for two years - an arranged marriage,
but Uncle Liam claimed until the day he died that he had never
loved anyone as much as he loved her. He never got over her death-
or Megan's."
Remington nodded, his hands in his pockets. John was a different
person out of Quinn's overpowering presence. He smiled, talked
a blue streak. "Do you think Quinn might be so desperate
to get this property that he would try to kill me, John?"
John's eyes widened. "As I said, he's not at all happy t'have
you here, Cousin. He was counting on the money from the buyers
of that factory. I'm not certain, mind you, but I don't think
his business has been doing that well this year."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, when things are good, you'll not find them within
twenty miles of the Manor. It's only when there are troubles that
they come back here to stay for awhile. Free room and board and
such -"
"Where do you and your sister live?"
"Here, with Aunt Margaret. I know, she's not technically
our aunt, but she always insisted that we call her that. She raised
Megan, you know. Megan's death was almost as hard on her as it
was on Uncle Liam. She's almost a recluse in this place. Don't
know where she would go if Quinn got his hands on it."
Remington put a hand on the other man's shoulder in a comforting
gesture. "Well, we'll just have to see that he doesn't get
his hands on it, won't we?"
John smiled greatfully. "I have to admit, Cousin, I was a
bit nervous about your coming here - "
"How so?" Remington asked as they started down the stairs.
"Quinn was certain you'd be Americanized, rude, not at all
suitable."
"And am I? Suitable?" he asked, his hand on the door
to the salon.
John's smile widened. "Perfectly, Cousin." The smile
vanished as soon as he caught Quinn's eyes on him, and John became
quiet and subdued once more.
"Is Bridget settled?" Margaret asked, pouring more tea.
"She's resting comfortably, Aunt," John said, taking
the cup and moving to sit in a corner, away from Quinn.
"What the devil took you so long?" Quinn asked. "I
was about to go look for you myself."
Remington seriously doubted that, except to have found out what
John might be telling him. "We stopped by the gallery on
our way down," he explained. "Looked at the portraits."
Margaret's eyes met his. "Then you see why I know that you're
Megan's son."
"And Daniel's," Remington added. Seeing the cloud cross
Margaret's face, he said, "Daniel Chalmers *was* my father,
Aunt, and I'm sorry if that upsets you but-"
She placed a hand on his. "No. I suppose I'm just used to
not hearing his name spoken. After Megan died and Liam couldn't
find you, he forbade Daniel Chalmers' name to be mentioned in
this house."
Quinn snorted. "With reason. The man was nothing more than
a cheap con man, here to bilk Uncle Liam out of some money-"
Remington would have risen, but both Laura and Margaret placed
a hand on his arm to stop him. Meeting Laura's eyes, he read her
warning that Quinn was *trying* to bait him. To make him lose
his temper. Taking a deep breath, Remington picked up his tea
and took a sip. "Very true, Cousin Quinn. But he left without
the money, didn't he?"
"But he took something far more valuable to Uncle Liam,"
Quinn pointed out. "Megan."
"It was Megan's choice to follow Daniel," Margaret pointed
out.
"Follow?" Laura questioned.
Margaret nodded. "When Liam discovered Daniel's game, he
ordered Daniel out of the house. He knew that Megan was attracted
to him, but he didn't realize how deep that attraction went. He
was going to have Daniel arrested, but Megan told him that she
loved Daniel, and that if he did anything like that he'd never
see her again. Liam - poor, proud, stubborn Liam, called the police
anyway, reported Daniel's attempt to con him. Megan turned and
left the house that night - " She dabbed at her eyes with
a lace handkerchief. "Then, one night, about six months later,
she showed up at the door, carrying her cases, alone - and obviously
with child. She told her father that she and Daniel had eloped,
that they had married within days of having left here. Liam was
furious that she'd gone behind his back, eloping with such an
unsuitable man. He asked where Daniel was, and she was forced
to admit that he was in prison." Quinn snorted softly again,
only this time, it was Sheila who quieted him with a hand on his
arm. He glared at her and shook it off, turning to move away.
"Liam refused to allow Megan to remain here, to raise her
child at the Manor, so she left - " Seeing the pain in Remington's
face, Margaret set her cup on the tray and took his hands in hers.
"He was too full of pride, lad, and he paid for it. Many
times over. We didn't know what happened to her until Daniel came
bursting in here almost a year later, demanding to know where
his son was. Liam ordered him off the property, saying that perhaps
she'd come to her senses and decided to leave him. They very nearly
came to blows that day. I found Daniel later, and he told me that
he'd gotten word while in prison that Megan had had a son - and
that Megan was dead." She sighed. "When he realized
that I hadn't known, he swore that he'd find his son. Somehow,
and that when he did, Liam would the last person he'd tell. I
doubt he ever forgave Liam for turning her out when she was in
need - anymore than I forgave him- or that he forgave himself."
Remington lifted the gnarled, blue veined hands to his lips. "Thank
you, Aunt. For telling me all this."
"Guess you don't want to stay now," Quinn commented.
"Considering that Uncle Liam didn't want you here-"
"On the contrary. He wanted me here enough to require a ten
year wait until I could be found," Remington pointed out
levelly.
Margaret nodded. "He's right, Quinn. Liam tried to find his
grandson, but all he ever found was the birth certificate for
Daniel Harrison Chalmers. Even with all his money, he couldn't
dig deep enough to find where the child had been placed. He deeply
regretted his decision and harsh words to Megan. It was his fondest
hope that you would someday come home, back to the Manor, where
you belong." She drew a deep breath. "I need to rest
for awhile before luncheon. Seeing you -" she touched his
face.
Remington stood, helping her to her feet. "Laura and I will
walk up with you and then go to our own rooms for awhile, I think."
He nodded at John, Quinn, and Sheila. "Later, cousins."
Patrick said, "I'll have the papers ready this evening, you
Lordship."
"Excellent." He offered his arm to Margaret, the other
to Laura. "Shall we, ladies?"
Laura glanced over her shoulder as they started up the stairs,
in time to see Sheila try to put a hand on her husband's arm,
only to be shrugged off again as Quinn moved to the bar to pour
himself a drink. Those two would bear close watching, she decided.
They paused in the gallery to show Laura the portraits of Megan
and Liam, and it was she who found the one of a young, red haired
Margaret, stiffly posed in a chair, wearing jewels and a tiara
that Laura thought had to be worth at least a million dollars.
"I hated that portrait," Margaret announced. "Thought
I looked so stiff. But the artist was another matter entirely.
He was French, and oh, so handsome- and years older than I - "
she said, reminiscing. "He painted another portrait of me,
but my father destroyed it when he found it, and insisted that
a maid remain with Henri and myself at all times after wards."
Her eyes were alight with laughter, seeming to enjoy the shocked
expression on their faces. "I quite scandalized the family,
I assure you."
"Why didn't you marry him?" Laura asked.
"An old story, I fear. He was already married, with a houseful
of children," Margaret explained as they moved toward her
room.
"I'm sorry -"
"I'm not. There are very few things in my life that I apologize
for. Except, of course, for not having stood up to my brother
and insisted that he allow Megan to stay here when she came back."
She stood on tip toe to kiss her grand nephew, then gave Laura
a light kiss. "I'm glad you're home, - Remington," she
said, then smiled. "Where did you *ever* get that name?"
He gave Laura a smile. "I'll tell you about it some other
time," he assured her, opening her door. "When you're
not as tired. Until then, you can call me what Daniel did."
"What was that?"
"Harry."
**********
Once in their suite, which consisted of a living area, a *huge*
walk in closet, an equally huge bath, and a bedroom that was almost
as big as the one at Ashford, Remington locked the door behind
them, and pulled Laura into his arms. She remained there, letting
him hold her, knowing that he needed the comforting after hearing
his mother's story. "She must have loved Daniel very much
to have given all this up for him," she whispered.
"Yes. I suppose I can't help but wonder how my life would
have been different if my grandfather hadn't sent her away, if
I'd been born here, raised here -"
"Well, for one thing," Laura pointed out, "You
wouldn't have become Remington Steele, and we probably wouldn't
have met."
"Oh, I think we would have," he insisted. "It was
fate that brought us together. We would have met no matter what."
"You really think so?" Laura asked, untying his tie
to pull it free. "I like your aunt."
"So do I."
"She must have really shocked everyone with that portrait
-"
"Umm," Remington agreed, pushing her jacket from her
shoulders, then lifting her into his arms. "Shall we check
out the bedroom, your Ladyship?"
"By all means, your Lordship," Laura agreed, burying
her fingers in his hair. "By all means."
He placed her back on her feet beside the bed, pausing for a moment.
"Do you have any idea how much I love you, Laura?"
"Maybe half as much as I love you?" she suggested, already
unbuttoning his shirt.
He shook his head. "Twice as much," he corrected her,
lowering his head to hers- only to stop as a scream echoed through
the house. "It figures," he muttered. "It bloody
figures. We can't escape, Laura," he told her. "Murder
and mayhem just trails after us," he finished, following
her from the suite and to the stairway as the others arrived to
find Bridget, her eyes fixed on the floor at the bottom of the
stairs. At the body that lay there, still.
"The curse," she kept saying. "The curse of Cleary
Castle," Laura heard her say in a haunted voice.
As John pulled his shaken sister into his arms, Remington and
Laura went down the stairs and Remington knelt to turn the maid,
Mary, over, feeling for a pulse. He looked up at Laura. "She's
dead."
To Be Continued----