Page 95 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“What do you mean?”
“You gasped, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m psychic or because we’re sisters, but whatever it is you’re thinking, I don’t have a good feeling about it.”
“The only thing I’m thinking about right now is this party and getting everything ready before the first guest arrives. And then we can figure out where the rubies are.”
Jayne right behind me, I continued my hurried pace down the stairs, aware of her worried gaze following my every step.
CHAPTER 32
I clasped my grandmother’s pearls behind my neck, feeling odd to be doing it alone. Jack and my usual going-out ritual involved me lifting my hair and Jack lingering on the fastenings of my necklace, then finishing with a soft kiss beneath my ear. He was only in the adjacent bedroom, but I missed him as if he were in another country on an extended trip. I’d never seen him have so much as a cold, so to have him confined to bed for nearly a week was unsettling. It was as if the carousel we’d been riding had suddenly switched directions, and I couldn’t quite get my bearings.
I stopped by the bedroom to see if Jack needed anything before I went downstairs. He was propped up on pillows so he could breathe better; pill bottles and a filled water jug sat next to him on the bedside table. He had a large textbook open on his lap, and I recognized it as Greco’s great-uncle’s book about spies.
He watched me approach, that gleam in his eye only partially clouded with medicine. “You look beautiful,” he said.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, making sure I avoided the trash can that was halfway filled with used tissues even though I’d emptied it only a couple of hours before. “Feeling a little better?”
He nodded. “Mrs. Houlihan brought me up some of her tomato bisque and a plate of her cookies. I actually had enough of an appetite to enjoy them.”
I looked around for the plate. “Did you eat them all? Or at least save me a crumb?”
“Sorry—I ate every last bite. I’m sure there are more downstairs.”
“Oh, yes. Tons. I’m just not allowed to have any.” I folded my arms.
“You do realize Mrs. Houlihan works for you, right?”
“Yes, but...” He was right, of course. Having been raised by a military father, I had an almost unnatural respect for authority, and going against her wishes always seemed a bit like insubordination. “It’s complicated,” I said. Changing the subject, I tapped the book in front of him. “Find anything interesting?”
“Not sure. I’m trying to determine who the major players were in the peacock spy ring. Carrollton Vanderhorst, Lawrence’s father, was a known loyalist, but after the Revolution, he retained all of his lands on the Ashley River. Nothing was confiscated as punishment for supporting the wrong side.”
“Interesting,” I said. “What about Lawrence?”
“Defender of the Crown, through and through. A little fanatical about it—which could be why Carrollton kept his true beliefs secret from his son.”
“Speaking of Carrollton, Greco’s uncle, the historian, says that father and son were estranged. And apparently Lawrence’s murderer came from Gallen Hall—two sets of footprints leading from the house, and only one returning. But no one was ever arrested.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “That certainly fuels the fire of the stories of how they were rooting for opposite sides.”
I nodded. “And one more thing. St. Gallen was the patron saint of birds. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
“Definitely not.” He leaned across the bed and picked up a photocopied page. “Yvonne faxed this to me this morning—Nola brought it up for me so I didn’t have to bother you. It’s from an architectural design book she found in the archives about Charleston’s cemeteries. There’s quite a large section regarding the mausoleum at Gallen Hall.”
He handed it to me, but when he saw me squinting, he took it back. “Should I just paraphrase?”
“My glasses are downstairs, just so you know. I was using them this morning to measure napkin folds.”
He was silent for a moment before he continued. “Carrollton Vanderhorst was the one who had the original mausoleum built in 1780, as a family crypt, which is why there were ten niches in the original plan. But he’s also the one who ordered it destroyed two years later and had his son, his son’s fiancée, and the British soldier interred there. Carrollton planned the addition of the two rows as well as commissioned all of the wrought iron for the fence around the periphery, the front gate, and the mausoleum door gate. There were two more gates designed for the cemetery, but they disappeared after Hurricane Hugo in ’eighty-nine. The remaining iron fencing miraculously survived.”
I squinted at the page, wishing I could see. “So there were three gates designed for the redo, but only the front gate along with the mausoleum door survived?”
Jack nodded. “Apparently. Samuel Vanderhorst designed and made all of them. But there’s one last bit of info that I find the most promising.”
He plucked his reading glasses off the collar of his pajamas and then reached under the heavy textbook to pull out a small leather-bound volume. “This rare gem was actually discovered by Cooper at the Citadel library. They have an impressive collection of books about South Carolinians with military backgrounds—of which Carrollton Vanderhorst was one. Apparently, he led several militias up in Virginia during the early years of the French and Indian War. George Washington himself referred to Vanderhorst as his ‘great strategist.’ When I read that, the next part started to make sense to me.”
He flipped the book open to where a clean tissue was being used as a bookmark. “Carrollton died in January 1783 of a”—he paused for a moment to find the correct wording—“‘bilious liver.’ Apparently he’d been ill for several years, so his death wasn’t unexpected. That’s why he’dhad the original mausoleum built to begin with, along with a brick wall to surround the cemetery.” Jack’s gaze met mine. “So, let’s assume that Carrollton finds himself in possession of four valuable jewels for the patriot cause. But he’s dying, and whoever the spy was isn’t there to help him, and maybe he doesn’t know who to trust with the jewels. After all, Alexander and Lawrence have been murdered by a person or persons unknown, so there’s real danger if he’s found with the rubies. Remember, the genius military commander Washington referred to Carrollton as a ‘great strategist,’ so I’m thinking he’s pretty clever. So he figures a cunning way to hide the jewels and uses clues to lead the way just in case he dies before he can find out what to do with the rubies.”
“Except maybe he was too clever, and no one did.” I thought of the drawings I’d given to Anthony, along with the photo of the gate insert and how now would be the time to share what I knew. “I...”
