Thirty-One

Gethsemane rang the old-fashioned bell perched on the marble top of Sweeney’s Inn’s front desk and waited for the smartly uniformed desk clerk to appear.

“How may I help you?” the young man asked.

“I’m here to see Vivian Cunningham. Would you ring her room and see if she’s in?”

The clerk hesitated. He fiddled with a pen and wouldn’t look at Gethsemane.

“Vivian Cunningham,” she repeated. “She’s in—”

“Miss Cunningham checked out.”

“Checked out? When?”

“Last night, ma’am.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“She didn’t say, ma’am. But I believe the ambulance took her to hospital.”

“She left by ambulance?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Gethsemane sighed. Sweeney’s Inn took discretion seriously. “Would you please just tell me what happened? I’m not a reporter nor a process server. I’m not going to broadcast the news nor where I got it all over town.”

The clerk chewed his lower lip.

“Please.” Gethsemane leaned her elbows on the desk and lowered her voice. “Miss Cunningham’s sister was my friend’s girlfriend. Frankie Grennan, do you know him? I’m going to see him later and I’m sure he’d be very concerned about Miss Vivian’s well-being.”

The clerk hesitated once more, then leaned in toward Gethsemane. He spoke in hushed tones. “Miss Cunningham came down to the lobby late last night, said she couldn’t sleep and wanted to know if she could sit by the fireplace and if someone could bring her some paracetamol. Apparently, Miss Markham had the same problem because she came down to the lobby a few minutes after Miss Cunningham got here.” He paused.

“Go on,” Gethsemane encouraged.

“Miss Markham saw Miss Cunningham sitting by the fire, keeping herself to herself, by the way. She saw Miss Cunningham sitting and she went over to her. She lit into Miss Cunningham, calling her names and accusing her of ruining her wedding.”

“What did Miss Cunningham do?”

“Nothing, at first. Just tried to ignore Miss Markham. But after a moment or two of non-stop having her head ate off, Miss Cunningham stood up and punched Miss Markham in the mouth.”

Gethsemane’s mouth fell open. She echoed the clerk. “She punched Miss Markham?”

“Yes, ma’am. And that’s when the holy show began. A real knockdown, drag out.”

Gethsemane surveyed the lobby. No disarray. Nothing broken or bent. Everything in its immaculate place.

“We cleaned up.” The clerk sounded indignant.

“Then what?” Gethsemane asked. “How’d the fight end?”

“We called the guards and they came and broke things up. Between you and me, I’d declare Miss Cunningham the winner. No knockout, but I’d award points for technique and form.”

“The guards came and…”

“The guards broke up the fight, but Miss Cunningham wouldn’t stop screaming. Wailing. Calling for her sister, over and over and over. Terrifying to watch. The guards couldn’t calm her, so they sent for an ambulance.”

“Poor Vivian.”

“We all heard what happened to her sister, gossip in this village being what it is. The anguish of losing her sister that way must have pushed her over the edge. Sorry. Miss Markham hasn’t checked out yet. I can ring her, if you like. Not sure if she’ll see you, though. She refuses to leave her room until the swelling in her face goes down. She won’t let anyone in except housekeeping and room service.”

“No, thank you,” Gethsemane said. “And thank you for the information.”

  

The trip to Carnock, with its menacing trees and threatening brambles, felt as desolate as always. However, this time concern for what she’d find when she crested the hill kept her anxiety at bay. She reached the old asylum and headed straight for the rear of the building, not heeding the weeds and rubbish as she made her way to the low stone walls covered with her namesake rose. She poked her head into the entry way and scanned past the lush blossoms to the garden’s back wall. He sat on the bench in the corner, knees drawn to his chest, bottle of whiskey beside him.

“Frankie,” she said.

He didn’t look at her. “I don’t want any lectures on how I shouldn’t be moping, I shouldn’t be drinking, I shouldn’t be hiding away in a corner, or how soon I’ll get over it.”

“How about I just sit next to you and not say anything.”

He raised his head. “That’d be all right.”

He moved the bottle and she sank down next to him on the bench. He rested his head on her shoulder and they sat, surrounded by sweetly perfumed beauty in the middle of decay.