Chapter 3: Idlewild Manor

Carson Drew and Hannah welcomed Nancy home with hugs and a chocolate cake and Nancy felt, with some private amusement, like a child being welcomed home from summer camp. But to her great satisfaction, home felt like home again. Always self-possessed, she had gained even more confidence on her travels. She knew who she was- not just Carson Drew's daughter, not just the 'girl detective,' but a young woman in control of her own fate and pleased with her choices. The judgmental glances of women who were still scandalized about her broken engagement didn't bother her at all. The superior, pitying smirk turned on her by a former classmate hanging on Ned's arm at a local restaurant one night did bother her, for a moment, but she was able to take a deep breath and walk away without saying anything. She and Ned had had some good times, but she did not want him back.

The days slipped by and the pieces of a new routine slipped into place. Family. Friends. Volunteer work. A part time job at the community college library, just to keep her income consistent. She felt fulfilled, though impatient for a new case to present itself. And finally, one July afternoon, the missing piece of the puzzle slotted into place when a curt voice over the telephone announced that Sir Morgan Davis required her services as a detective. Would she report to Idlewild Manor at three o'clock, please, and be discreet.

"Hannah, guess what?" Nancy exulted. Hannah turned, smiling her understanding.

"Is it a new case, dear?"

"Yes, it is!" Nancy said happily, and went up to her room to brush her hair and change out of her faded jeans.

"Miss Drew. I'm glad you could come on such short notice." Sir Morgan Davis reached out to shake Nancy's hand. He was a tall man with a brisk, energetic manner, and he looked younger than Nancy knew him to be- his hair was still dark and his brown eyes clear and shrewd beneath thick but well-groomed eyebrows. But despite his immense vitality, his palm was clammy and there were new furrows in his forehead. He cleared his throat. "What I am about to tell you is extremely personal."

"I assure you, Sir Morgan, I hold myself to a very high professional standard."

"You come highly recommended to me by some friends of mine whose similarly personal matter you handled some years ago. And of course, I know your father. He's a good man. I believe I can trust you." Sir Morgan gestured toward a wine-colored sofa. "Please have a seat, Miss Drew."

"Thank you," Nancy said, seating herself and smoothing her skirt over her knees.

"Tea?" Sir Morgan asked, picking up the telephone on the side table. Without giving Nancy a chance to accept or decline he pushed a button and spoke into the receiver, presumably to his housekeeper. Then he seated himself in the wingback chair opposite Nancy and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. Nancy waited.

"I was being blackmailed," he said finally.

"But no longer?"

"The- er, the blackmailer- has died."

"Did you kill him?"

Sir Morgan regarded her for a moment, eyebrows raised. "It was a woman. And no, I did not kill her. Do you really expect people to confess just like that?"

"No one expects to be asked outright," Nancy said. "I can learn a lot from catching people off guard."

"I see."

"Did you file a police report?"

"I couldn't. It was a very sensitive matter. If my wife had found out-" He paused, his lips compressing into a taut line, and shook his head. "My wife, Linda, is in hospice care. I love her very much, Miss Drew. I couldn't bear for her to find out now. I don't want her to- I don't want us to part on bad terms."

"I understand," Nancy said gently. "Was it another woman?"

"And a child," Sir Morgan said, looking grim. "A boy. Well, a man, now."

"And is this son complicit in your blackmail?"

"I'm afraid he is also dead," Sir Morgan said, his distress increasing. "You must have seen the news report. It was two Wednesdays ago. Their car went over the bridge on Furnace Road just outside Bayport."

"Yes," Nancy said. "I read about it in the paper. The victims were a local high school teacher and his mother, who was visiting from out of town."

Sir Morgan nodded. "That was Rowena and Sebastian. Rowena Walker was her full name. My wife employed her as a maid about twenty years ago."

"Forgive me for sounding callous; but if the threat of blackmail no longer exists, where do I come in?"

"My dear Miss Drew," he said, shaking his head again. "No need to apologize. My affair with Rowena has been over for many years. And as for the boy, well, I never knew him. I never even knew he existed until a few months ago. What grief I feel is for what might have been, not for what was. I shall always regret being absent from his life." He stared past her for a moment, his thoughts carrying him far away. Then, suddenly, he returned his attention to Nancy. "What I need from you, Miss Drew, is help in locating Rowena's evidence. I was not as discreet in my youth as I ought to have been. She showed me several letters and an engraved ring I had given her. I want them back so I can destroy them."

Before Nancy could reply, there was a tap at the door and a neatly-dressed middle-aged woman pushed a little cart into the room. She parked it a little off to the side and deftly poured out two cups of tea. Nancy watched Sir Morgan, interested to learn a bit more about his character from his interaction with his employee.

"Thank you, Mrs. McCarthy," Sir Morgan said, accepting his cup. The woman smiled.

"My pleasure. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you. I'll have three of those biscuits, if you don't mind, and don't start with your nagging about my cholesterol."

"Not a word," Mrs. McCarthy promised, setting a little plate of cookies on the table beside his chair. "Miss Drew, would you care for some refreshments?"

"Those cookies do look tempting," Nancy said, smiling.

"Good," Sir Morgan said. "I hate to see young girls depriving themselves. Mrs. McCarthy bakes these herself."

"They are delicious," Nancy told the woman. "My friend Bess would give her left arm for this recipe."

Mrs. McCarthy chuckled. "It's been passed down in my family for generations," she told the girl detective. "I'm glad you enjoy them." She took her cart and trundled it out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

"An excellent woman, but given the chance she nags almost as much as my wife used to," Sir Morgan said in the complacent tone of a man who enjoys being looked after.

"All in your best interests, I'm sure. Sir Morgan, I have a few questions for you about the case."

Over tea and the remaining cookies, Nancy gathered the details she needed. Sir Morgan was an excellent client. Some people she worked with were too frightened or too embarrassed to give her a clear picture of their case; Sir Morgan, after he had overcome his initial reluctance, was intelligent and forthcoming. At her request he made a rough sketch of the ring he had given to Rowena, gave her a sample of his handwriting, and provided her with a lengthy list of information: Rowena Walker's last known address, Sebastian's full name and address, the name of the hotel where Rowena had been staying in Bayport, and his legitimate daughter's name and address.

"I'm afraid I'm leaving for San Fransisco on business in the morning," he said in the end, walking Nancy to the door. "I'll be absent for about a week, unless I am called back by Linda's doctor. Here is my contact information." He handed her a business card with the name of a hotel annotated in pencil on the back.

"Thank you. I will keep you posted on my progress."

"Miss Drew," Sir Morgan said, taking her hand and suddenly looking grave. "Please do be careful. I am worried that the car accident may not have been an accident."

"The thought had occurred to me," Nancy agreed. "I'll be cautious."

"Thank you, Miss Drew. I wish you the best of luck."