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The car came to a slow halt, and for a moment both the driver and I sat in the warmth of the cabin, staring out the windows.
“Miss…” Mr. Dempsey broke the silence with a nervous twist of his hands on the steering wheel. “My conscience won’t let me drop you here alone—I don’t see a soul, and it’s miles back to anywhere resembling civilization.”
“Oh, that’s silly,” I reprimanded a bit harshly as I was having second, even third thoughts, myself. “I’m sure there’s someone.”
“There’s not a light in the whole place.”
“It’s not dusk yet.”
It was the weakest argument to ever be uttered, but it was the only one I had. He was right. Every window was dark, all empty eyes in a forbidding face.
Before he said another word and perhaps even convinced me to turn and run the other way, I opened my door and exited, shoes crunching on pebbled granite. The early evening smelled of ice, and the chill of the air took my breath away. I reached back in for my things as the chauffeur continued to stare up at the mammoth structure through the windshield.
“Come on, Mr. Dempsey, it’ll all be just fine, and it’s cold.”
He glanced at me again then reluctantly straightened himself from the car and traveled to the trunk to remove my bag as I threw my coat on. I decided against my hat, which was old and merely for function rather than style. First impressions were as important as they came, and I wanted to look as unlike a street urchin as possible.
The driver brought my things, and we made our way together up the stone steps to the front entrance, a fancy affair despite the Boston vines creeping up the front. They were undisturbed, a testament to the lack of guests. The double doors were heavy oak, carved with winding roots and climbing branches that reached into the transom, where an inlaid glass of blue and green made a whimsical canopy. The Nouveau style was out of touch with the estate’s harsh early-century elements but was appealing and still enchanted me.
“It’s the tree of life,” I muttered, tempted to caress the ornate handle resembling something from a storybook.
“Tree of what?” Mr. Dempsey grunted, eying the entrance distrustfully.
“Tree of life. It’s Celtic. Surely you’re familiar?”
“I’m Protestant, miss.” The twinkle in his eye kept me from being annoyed at the wisecrack.
“It represents a connection to nature, strength.”
“Huh,” he replied. “There’s some irony for you.”
I disregarded his callous comment and instead motioned to an inlaid brass button that still appeared new, garish next to the faded glory of its surroundings. “There’s an electric door chime. It appears some of their renovations were completed after all.”
I pressed the button, expecting the typical buzz of ringers that had become so common in the last decade. Instead, there was a peal of chimes, low and whimsical, echoing beyond the thick wooden door panel. My heart trilled along with the sound, so fanciful it banished some of my disquiet.
“The wealthy and their gadgets,” Mr. Dempsey jested, fascinated by the bell but still unsettled.
Several moments passed as we stood next to each other in the cold. I imagined we both felt we were children at the feet of an unfamiliar authority, unsure of whether praise or punishment awaited.
“Miss, I really don’t think there’s anyone here.”
“Hey ’o!”
A mustachioed man appeared around a scraggly copse of evergreen bushes at the corner of the house, and I was extremely relieved.
“Dr. Hannigan!” I exclaimed gladly as he jogged toward us.
“Millie, my girl! You weren’t expected until nightfall! These machines, what a feat of engineering, eh?” He slowed as he reached the car to admire its sleek body and bright paint. “Fifty miles an hour. It should be fiction, but here you are all the way from Boston before the sun’s even set!”
“It was an adventure,” I said politely, offering a tiny grin to the driver to show him I was appreciative. He wasn’t minding me. He was fidgeting, uncomfortable.
The doctor met us on the steps and waved to the door. “I was preparing to leave—my own car is at the back there, a much older model, of course—but I heard your voices. Everyone is probably miles away from the front door, it’ll take them ages. Come, come, everything’s unlocked. It always is.”
He moved to take the bag from the driver, who appeared to want to say something, but at last, handed my things over.
“You’re positive you want to stay, miss?”
“Very, Mr. Dempsey. Thank you for everything and be sure to drive safely.”
