Free Hush Now, Don’t You Cry by Rhys Bowen Page A

Terrence and Eliza, who are Joseph’s children. Terrence is a likable rogue, I suspect. Typical Irish gift of the gab with an aversion to work, and his sister is quite the opposite—looks like a Salvation Army lass and does good works. So does their mother, I understand, which might explain why she’s not here.”
    “And why Joseph brings a younger diversion with him.” Daniel chuckled. The chuckle turned to a hacking cough. I looked at him with concern.
    “That cough sounds terrible. You really have caught a bad chill.”
    “And I always pride myself on my strong constitution.” He put his handkerchief up to his mouth as he coughed again.
    I got up. “I’ll go up to the big house and see if they have a chicken or stewing beef,” I said. “You need a good strong broth,” I said.
    “Don’t bother. I’m sure I’ll be right as rain in a day or so,” Daniel said. “It’s just a question of letting these things work their way through the system.”
    “Nonsense. I want you back to your normal self as quickly as possible,” I said. “I’m missing out on my honeymoon. It’s no fun without my husband to share it with me.”
    “It’s almost dark. Go carefully then,” he called after me.
    The temperature had dropped with the sunset and I grabbed a shawl for my shoulders before I set out across the lawns. Lights were now twinkling from the big house, making it no longer so intimidating. Nevertheless, I had no wish to encounter the alderman or any of the family members again without Daniel present so I veered around the side of the house, looking for a servants’ entrance. As I made my way past the fountain, I heard the click of a lock and turned to see someone coming out of one of the French windows that ran along that side of the house. In the half darkness all I saw was a tall slim shadow of a man. He hesitated, looked around, then strode purposefully away from the house and into the darkness. Terrence slipping out for a drink before dinner at a local watering hole, I thought.
    Eventually I came upon a back door, opened it, and entered to find myself in a dark, narrow passageway. Good cooking smells led me to a door on my left and I found myself in the kitchen where we had taken tea. The room was empty but pots were bubbling away on a stove.
    “Hello!” I called. “Anyone there?”
    Nobody appeared. I looked around for a larder. There was no pantry door inside the kitchen so I went back out to the passage again and started opening doors. The first was a broom closet. The second was locked, the third was a servants’ dining room, unused and in darkness. I encountered nobody as I poked around. Where had they all disappeared to? I found myself glancing nervously over my shoulder as I worked my way down the hall. A fourth door was recessed into the wall. I opened it and gave a little scream as I encountered a face literally a few inches from mine. I stepped back with a gasp of horror as the apparition said in an angry voice, “Mrs. Sullivan. Whatever were you doing?” And Mrs. McCreedy stepped into the hallway. She was breathing heavily and her hand was on her large bosom as if she too was recovering from a shock.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was looking for the larder.”
    “The larder?” she was eyeing me suspiciously. “Was the icebox over at the guest cottage not well stocked then? I thought I made sure you’d have all you needed.” She was still gasping as if she had run a race.
    “Yes, thank you. The food is wonderful,” I said. “It’s just that my husband has come down with a bad chill and I thought some kind of broth might be just what he needed. So I came over to see if you had a chicken maybe or some stewing beef or even some bones.”
    “Bones?” She was staring at me impassively.
    “To make a broth. I believe we already have onions and carrots at the cottage.”
    “I’ll see what I can do for you,” she said coldly.
    “Do you do the cooking