A Few Right Thinking Men by Sulari Gentill Read Free Book Online Page B

Donelly’s deafness.
    â€œMr. Rowly!” She was obviously pleased to see him.
    â€œHello, Mrs. Donelly,” Rowland replied in a strong, loud voice.
    â€œOh, Mr. Rowly, do come in, sir.” She opened the door wide for him.
    â€œI am so sorry about Mr. Sinclair—he was very good to me.”
    â€œAs, I am sure, you were to him.”
    His uncle’s house was as it had always been: richly decorated and crammed with trinkets and other objects from his many travels. The old man had always liked to call them his “ objets d’art, ” but Rowland never quite saw them that way.
    The stooped housekeeper ushered him into the dining hall, and insisted on bringing him tea.
    â€œHow are you, Mrs. Donelly?” he asked when she ceased fussing long enough for him to speak.
    The housekeeper was almost startled by the question. Rowland shifted uncomfortably as her eyes become moist. He had not intended to distress her.
    â€œI am so terribly upset, Mr. Rowly.” She sat in the chair he pulled out for her. “Last night, I was sure I was going mad….”
    â€œIt must have been terrible to find him like that,” Rowland said, his mind flickering to his uncle’s body on the morgue table.
    Her tears came. “Poor Mr. Sinclair. They were cowardly, beat him so badly…he was not a well man, you know…He went to see Dr. Jones every other day these past weeks…”
    â€œThey?” Rowland interrupted her. “Did you see who did this, Mrs. Donelly?”
    The housekeeper clutched the silver cross that hung from her neck. “I saw something, Mr. Rowly,” she whispered.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt was not of this world, sir.”
    â€œAll right,” said Rowland carefully, trying to keep the scepticism out of his voice. “What was it exactly, Mrs. Donelly?”
    She was now gripping her cross with both hands. She kissed it before she spoke again. “Ghosts, Mr. Rowly. Dark spirits.”
    Rowland was not sure how to respond. His uncle had never mentioned that Mrs. Donelly was mad, and he had never before noticed it either. “What did these apparitions look like?” he said eventually.
    â€œLike ghosts, sir, but they were dark…grey…” She shuddered and kissed her cross again. “I saw them leave and then I found poor Mr. Sinclair.”
    â€œDid you tell the police this, Mrs. Donelly?” Rowland asked gently.
    â€œYes, I did.”
    â€œAnd what did they say?”
    â€œThey brought me a cup of tea.” Rowland smiled slightly.
    The housekeeper’s face was distraught. “Mr. Rowly, what am I going to do, sir? I’ve been doing for Mr. Sinclair for so long…I don’t have any other home. My nephew’s out of work…he can’t take me in—the poor boy can barely feed himself…”
    Rowland was a little surprised. He hadn’t considered what the death of his uncle meant for the staff he employed, particularly those who lived in.
    â€œDon’t worry, Mrs. Donelly,” he said tentatively. “You can stay on here for as long as you want. We won’t be selling the house.” Wilfred usually made such decisions, but Rowland resolved to talk to him. If worst came to worst, surely his uncle’s staff could be retained at Woodlands House. The Sinclairs had always been good employers.
    He finished his tea and wandered back into the foyer where his uncle had died. The police had obviously finished with the scene, for the black and white chequerboard tiles had been scrubbed clean. Rowland felt a sudden surge of anger. Till now, he had crowded his mind with his work and with things more mundane, but as he stood where his uncle had died, he was staggered by a deep sense of loss and outrage.
    Rowland had been close to his father’s younger brother. The elder Rowland Sinclair had always been a man of grand pleasures and passions. He had travelled the world and