actuality or a dream or something. I just find it—well, it’s—”
“I know. It’s much too otherworldly for you. You believe in tangible things, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You deal in facts, in the practical world. I know that. But, Megan…” Deirdre leaned forward, her brow wrinkled earnestly. “I’m not crazy.”
“Deirdre, I never meant…!” Megan cried, reaching her hand to her sister.
“No, I know you don’t think I’m insane. But there would be those who did if they knew some of the things I’ve seen and heard. But I know what I saw. It was Dennis, and he spoke to me—whether he was right there in the room with me or in a dream, I’m not entirely sure. But I know it was he, and I know he was desperate. He wants whatever was taken from him. It means a great deal to him. And he came to us for help.”
“I don’t know what to think,” Megan told her honestly. “’Tis hard for me to believe in such things, but I know you are neither crazy nor a liar, and as long as there is any chance that Dennis did come back from the grave, asking for our help, I shall strive to do what he wants. And I’ll take any help you can give me, even if it does come to you in a dream.”
“I only wish I could help you.” Deirdre sighed. “I wish this sort of thing was not always so uncertain. Every night when I go to bed, I pray that I will hear from him again. That he will tell us how to help him.”
Megan hardly knew how to respond to her sister.
Deirdre’s unquestioning faith in her visions amazed her and left her feeling, frankly, a little envious. It must be comforting, she thought, to be without doubt or questions. It was not a state, she feared, that she would ever be in. Her entire life was built upon questions, it seemed.
They continued to talk as they finished peeling the potatoes, and afterward Deirdre put the potatoes on to boil and checked the roast in the oven as she continued to put the evening meal together. Megan went upstairs to wash up before supper, then sat down to record her notes about Broughton House in a small notebook.
It was her custom on any story to keep notes this way. It helped her to plan her actions, she found, as well as think about the story in depth, and it also kept her quotes as accurate as possible. Over the course of the years, it had become an ingrained habit.
She only wished she had more facts to go on.
Finally she went downstairs to supper, finding, to her surprise, that her father had not come home yet. After waiting for him for some time, she and Deirdre sat down to eat, glancing now and again at the clock in the dining room, then at each other, their worry palpable.
He still had not arrived by the time they were through with their meal, and Megan helped Deirdre wash and dry the dishes as they talked, their vague concern growing.
It was with a great deal of relief that they heard the front door open a few minutes later, and then their father strolled in, whistling a tune.
“Good evenin’ to you,” Frank Mulcahey said, grinning and taking off his cap.
“Where have you been?” Megan asked. “We’ve been worried about you.”
“Worried? No need for that. I’ve been out investigating.”
“Investigating?” Megan cocked an eyebrow at her father as he drew closer, though she could not suppress a smile. “Is that what you call it?” She made a show of sniffing the air. “Smells more like ale to me.”
“Aye, well, that was where I was investigating,” he replied. “Is there a bite of supper left for your poor old da? I’m famished.”
“So you’ve been investigating a tavern?” Megan asked teasingly as they sat down at the kitchen table and Deirdre took out the food from the oven, where she had been keeping it warm for their father.
“Nay, but that’s where I made me inquiries.” Frank winked at his daughter, looking pleased with himself.
Megan straightened, intrigued. “What do you mean? What inquiries?”
“I’ve been thinking about how you’re to get inside that great house to expose the villain.” He shook his head. “I went to see it, and it’s an imposing looking place.”
“You’re right about that,” Megan agreed. “I was telling Deirdre that I think my best chance is to get hired on there as a servant. It’s such a grand house, they must need a lot of servants. I would think there are openings pretty often.”
“And I told her she wouldn’t last a week,” Deirdre put in, sitting down across from Megan and their father.
Megan grimaced. “I could manage.”
“That’s if they’d even hire you in the first place. You don’t look like a servant. You’re much too attractive for one thing, and you haven’t a servant’s demeanor,” Deirdre went on.
“I can put on an act,” Megan said. “I’ll wear the drabbest dress I have.”
“Ah, but nothin’ can hide those sparkling eyes of yours,” her father said, reaching out to pat her cheek fondly. “Don’t worry, lass, I’ve a better idea for you.”
“What?” Megan and Deirdre chorused.
“Well, I went to all the taverns last night that were close to Broughton House, and again this afternoon, and it happens I hit gold this afternoon. There’s a footman from the place comes in for a wee nip every evening if he gets the chance to slip away. Name’s Paul, and our Paul’s an informative lad.”
“Really? What did you find out?” Megan leaned forward.
“First of all, I found out that Lord Raine is in residence at Broughton House.”
“Lord Raine? Who’s that?”
“Seems that’s Himself.”
“I thought his name was Moreland,” Megan said.
“Aye, well, ’tis, except it seems he gets a title, see, because he’s next in line to be the Duke of Broughton. While his da’s alive, he’s another sort of lord. The Marquess of Raine. Don’t ask me to explain it. It took me a bit even to figure out that our Paul was talkin’ about the very villain I was interested in. Anyway, he’s at home, which is our good luck—for I’ll tell you, girl, I was worried we might get here and find that he was off in Timbuktu or some such place.”
“Yes, it concerned me somewhat, too.”
“But according to the gossip, the man’s not looking to go off on one of his adventures for a few months yet.”
“That’s good.”
“Even better is what else he told me. Seems they’re in terrible need of a tutor for two of the boys of the family.”
“A teacher?” Megan looked at him, puzzled. “Da! Are you saying I should go there as a tutor? You can’t be serious!”
“Why not? You’ve a much better chance of convincing them you’re a teacher than a scrub maid.”
“You
