Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TARRYTOWN, NEW YORK
“You’re sure this is where you want to be, lady?”
Elsa peered out the window at the turreted Gothic mansion. It was only two miles from the Tarrytown train station, but it might as well have been twenty for how remote it felt. If she didn’t know better, she could imagine she’d stepped into a fairy tale set in medieval Europe.
“I’m sure.” Paying the driver his fare, she asked him to return for her at four o’clock.
Pebbles crunched as the taxi rolled away, leaving Elsa on the circular drive.
Slinging her bag over one shoulder, she tipped her head back, trying to take it all in.
Above the veranda, sunshine washed the stone walls in oyster pink.
An arched window with ribbing made the house look like a cathedral.
The roofline, interrupted by a four-story tower, had steps up and down, like a fortress wall.
It was difficult to believe this had also been a residence, and for only two people, as the Van Tessels had no children.
It was so quiet here. All she heard was the rush of wind through the trees. Mr. Spalding was likely inside.
A German shepherd came bounding toward her from behind the house.
“Shoo!” She held out both hands to slow his advance. Mud coated his paws, and yet the dog seemed to be in a state of absolute bliss.
“Stay down,” she tried.
He did not stay down. Instead, he stood on hind legs and planted front paws on her royal blue skirt. She could feel the wet cold seep through the fabric.
“Down!”
The animal’s tail wagged so hard it swayed his body.
He seemed to have no intention of leaving her be.
With grim determination, she tugged off the white cotton gloves she wore and stuffed them in a pocket before taking his paws and shoving them away.
“You really need to work on your manners, pooch. Coming on strong is no way to treat a lady.”
Her hands now as filthy as his paws, she headed toward the closest door to the mansion.
“Mr. Spalding!” she called out, hoping he was near enough to hear.
“Your dog is loose, Mr. Spalding!” And he trotted right alongside her, tongue lolling from a grin, tail beating against her thigh as if they were in cahoots or something.
“Barney!”
The commanding voice stopped her before she reached the veranda.
Turning, she watched the dog run to his owner, who was dressed far more casually than she’d predicted for a man expecting a meeting.
The trousers were fine, she supposed, but he wore no jacket, and his shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows.
He hadn’t even bothered to pomade his brown hair, and a thatch of it fell over his brow.
As the man approached, Barney stayed obediently at his side, ears pricked up, tail still wagging.
“Sorry about that, miss. Barney never met a stranger.”
Elsa squinted at the sun over his shoulder before a cloud diffused the harsh light.
She stifled a gasp. A long scar slashed the left side of his face from the top of his cheekbone to his jaw.
A smaller scar marred his square chin. A gust of wind lifted his hair, revealing a third mark on his brow.
If she’d met him in a dark alley, she would have turned tail and run.
Snapping her attention to his deep grey eyes, she stuck out her hand, hoping that she hadn’t stared for more than a fraction of a second. “Elsa Reisner,” she said. “I’m here from the American Museum of Natural History, for the bird collection.”
He looked at her hand and, instead of shaking it, placed his handkerchief in her palm.
Of course. The mud.
“Thanks.” She wiped between every finger, then pressed the handkerchief to the pawprints on her skirt. At least she couldn’t fret about her first impression with Mr. Spalding since it was his dog who had sullied her.
He extended his hand, and this time Elsa shook it. His grip was firm and calloused. “I’ll pay the dry-cleaning bill.”
“That isn’t necessary, but thank you.” Returning the handkerchief, Elsa shifted her gaze to Barney.
Now that he was sitting and leaning against his master’s leg, she could appreciate that the animal just loved people.
So did she. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Spalding,” she added.
“Your aunt was a fine woman. I didn’t know her well, but we shared a love of birds.
We at the museum are honored by her bequest.”
When he frowned, he looked downright foreboding. “You misunderstand.”
“Do I? Which part?” Remembering her gloves, she pulled them out of her pocket and back on her hands, feeling only slightly less exposed. The handkerchief had been no help in cleaning the dirt from beneath her nails.
The door opened onto the veranda, and a man of middling years in a three-piece suit filled the frame. After a moment’s hesitation, he left the house and joined them.
“Miss Reisner?” Beneath a closely trimmed beard, his face was narrow, and somewhat pinched. The smell of Brilliantine from his light brown hair competed with the fresh air.
“Yes,” she said, looking between the two men.
Turning, the scarred man walked away, and Barney went with him.
“Well.” The newcomer eyed her mud-smeared ensemble. “Guy Spalding. I was watching for a professional, not a schoolgirl.”
Heat flooded her face. She knew she looked younger than her age but couldn’t do much about that. “Then who was that?”
“The man of few words? That’s Luke Dupont, with Dupont & Son, the architectural salvage dealer.
His company is removing and purchasing some architectural elements from me.
The county plans to tear down this monstrosity once the transfer of ownership is complete, so I might as well get some cash out of it first. Now, Miss Reisner, aside from those spectacles, you’re far too pretty to be a researcher type.
I thought girls like you didn’t get up until noon. ”
She bristled. “Blondes, you mean? I certainly hope you haven’t formed your opinion based on the novel Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. It’s a bunch of applesauce, if you ask me. For all of Lorelei’s talk of brains, she sure didn’t have any. Some of us do. Even if we are blond.”
“My daughter is blond,” he told her. “But I see you’re not cut from the same cloth.”
With no reply to that, Elsa straightened her jacket and began walking toward the mansion.
Mr. Spalding’s eyebrows lifted as soon as he noticed her limp. “Ah, that explains a lot.”
Elsa stopped short. “Excuse me?” She and Mr. Spalding were not getting off on the right foot.
If she didn’t turn this around, working with him wouldn’t get any easier.
She needed to try this again. “Mr. Spalding, I’m very sorry for your loss.
Your aunt was a wonderful woman. If there’s anything I can do for you during this time of mourning, let me know.
Otherwise, I will do my work as quickly and efficiently as possible.
If you’ll kindly point me to the collection and the field notes, I’ll keep to my own work and let you get on with yours. ”
The sooner she could start, the sooner she’d be done with this lonely place, where the friendliest beast was a dog. She didn’t even like dogs.
Inside the mansion, Elsa followed Mr. Spalding through the vestibule and into an octagon-shaped parlor with floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the Hudson River.
Birds were everywhere. Not only did they sit upon each horizontal surface, but some had been clipped to the draperies, while canaries and parakeets perched in Victorian birdcages.
Elsa spied warblers, flycatchers, finches, a sandgrouse native to Africa, and an imperial pigeon that had to be from the islands of Papua New Guinea.
“They’re all yellow,” she observed.
“Naturally. This is the yellow room.” Mr. Spalding huffed a laugh and gestured to the gold drapes and papered walls.
“Every room has its color. You’ll see. On some fanciful whim, my aunt had her maid rearrange all the birds a year or so ago.
If Uncle Linus had still been alive, he never would have allowed it. ”
At the museum, birds were grouped by habitats. It made the most sense, especially once they’d started creating dioramas with lifelike flora and fauna in each display case. This way, visitors could see the birds in their proper context.
But here, birds collected from all over the world mingled.
Elsa’s palms began tingling as she counted more than a dozen species spanning eight genera, seven families, and four orders.
The habitats represented here came from five different continents.
It defied all scientific logic, mixing them together like this.
It was disorienting. Even as a child, she had cut pictures from Bird-Lore and pasted them into scrapbooks according to their place in the animal kingdom.
Elsa set her shoulder bag on the writing desk next to a stack of notebooks.
Turning the cover, she cringed at the careless handwriting.
There were protocols in her line of work.
Block letters only, very neat, no abbreviations.
The point was for anyone to be able to understand.
“These are the field notes?” Such amateur recordkeeping would slow her down.
“The ones I’ve come across, yes.” Mr. Spalding unbuttoned his suit jacket and slipped a hand into his trouser pocket.
“The will mentioned that there are notes for every expedition, so there must be more than this, but I’ve no time to hunt for them.
In fact, I’ve no time to show you the rest of the mansion.
Should you finish here, go ahead and move to another room.
There are no locked doors, so help yourself. ”