A Silent Stabbing

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “I’ll have to give it some thought,” Julia said, and for a startled moment Phoebe thought she was talking about marrying Theo. Then she remembered what they’d been discussing. Godparents. For an instant she had believed Julia wished to bestow on her a priceless gift, and with it a new beginning for them as sisters. But Julia was correct in her choice, and Phoebe couldn’t deny it. Amelia would make the most loving godmother a child could wish for.

  Julia yawned, her eyes closing and her mouth opening wide. Phoebe took that as her cue to leave. Besides, she no longer had the heart for chitchat. She bade her sister good night and received a preoccupied reply.

  * * *

  The next morning, Eva received a reply to the note she had sent her mother the day before. Mum had responded with an invitation to lunch, and Lady Phoebe was only too happy to oblige Eva with a couple of hours off.

  Betty Huntford waited at the open front door as Eva walked up the road. She dispensed with the usual greetings. “Your father won’t be in for lunch. He’s got business a few farms over, so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity.”

  Eva shrugged out of her coat, passing it off to her mother, who hung it on the coatrack. “Is Alice here?”

  “Not at the moment. She’s out again on one of her walks.” Mum frowned, obviously uneasy. “But she said she’d be home for lunch. Eva, what is this all about? You said you’d figured out what was making Alice act so mysteriously. Can’t you tell me what it is?”

  “Let’s wait for Alice. I could be wrong, and I’m sure there’s more to the story that only Alice can tell us.”

  Mum led the way into the kitchen. “What makes you think she’ll be more forthcoming now when she hasn’t been all along?”

  “Because of what I think I know. I’m wagering I can open the floodgates.”

  Mum turned around to face her. “Is it very bad, Eva?”

  Eva embraced her mother briefly. “No. In fact, if it’s what I think, it’s good news. But no guessing. Let’s wait for Alice. You’re sure she’s coming home for lunch?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “And she doesn’t know I’m here?”

  “You said not to tell her, so I didn’t.”

  Eva gave her mother credit for asking no further questions. The kettle began to steam. Mum took it off the burner and set it on the warming plate. From out the back window, Eva spied her sister walking past the toolshed.

  Alice entered through the kitchen door and came to a surprised stop. “Eva, I didn’t think we’d see you today. Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  “Lady Phoebe didn’t need me this afternoon.”

  Alice looked from Eva to their mother, who began bustling back and forth from the cupboard to the table, depositing first a platter of sandwiches, then cutlery, and then, realizing she’d forgotten this or that item, doubling back again—several times.

  Alice watched her with a dawning frown. “Is something wrong with Mum?” she whispered to Eva.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Mum, did you know Eva was coming today?”

  Eva clenched her teeth as Mum stopped short, swinging around to regard her older daughter with a startled expression. No words came out of her mouth. But of course they didn’t. Eva had forgotten one small detail about Betty Huntford. While thoroughly capable of keeping quiet about something, she was equally incapable of outright lying.

  It didn’t take Alice long to reach a conclusion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I, er . . .” Mum’s gaze flicked to Eva.

  Eva folded her hands at her waist. “I asked her not to.”

  Alice’s eyes narrowed as she studied Eva. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, isn’t that exactly what we’ve been asking you since you first arrived?” Mum had recovered her voice, and then some. No, she couldn’t lie, but she could certainly demand answers of her children when she wished. “You’ve been evasive and secretive, and with these long walks of yours to who knows where . . .”

  “Across the fields,” Alice said defensively. “For exercise. Is there a crime in that?”

  “No, of course not.” Eva held up her hands to ward off the drawing of battle lines. “Alice, Mum and I have been terribly concerned about you. Even you have to admit, your showing up here without the children is highly unusual, and your mood has been most peculiar since you arrived.”

  “Forgive me for not being my usual cheerful self.” Alice’s sarcasm was impossible to miss.

  “That’s just it. Something is different about you, Alice. Or different from your usual self.” Eva gestured to the table. “Please, let’s all sit and have a talk, the way we used to when we were younger, before life sent us in separate ways.”

  Mum hurried over to the table. Alice sat with a good deal more reluctance, but at least she hadn’t stormed off to the bedroom she and Eva had once shared. Eva sat between them and clasped her hands on the tabletop.

  “Alice, I believe I know why it was important to you to come to Little Barlow alone.”

  “And why would that be?” Alice’s sarcasm persisted. Their mother looked on in apprehension.

  Eva reached toward Alice, but stopped just short of touching her. “Are you expecting?”

  Mum gasped. A blush suffused Alice’s cheeks, the only answer Eva needed, especially when her sister didn’t immediately issue a denial. Several seconds passed. Then came a shaky, “How did you know?”

  “I probably would have guessed eventually, but with Lady Annondale being in the same condition, the truth dawned on me yesterday.”

  “Oh, Alice.” Mum jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around Alice. Alice accepted the gesture in silence, one hand coming up to pat Mum’s back until she pulled away far enough to look down into her daughter’s face. “But why didn’t you say something? Why keep it a secret? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Eva thought she knew the answer, or at least part of it—trouble at home. But she waited for her sister to enlighten them. As her mother pulled away to resume her own seat, Alice stared down at her hands. “Because I don’t know how I feel about it.”

  “How you feel about it?” Mum looked incredulous. “How is there to feel but joyful? Another baby—oh! It’s wonderful news, Alice. Wonderful.”

  “Is it?” Alice spoke low, with little emotion. “Not every new baby is a joyful event. Not when . . .”

  “Not when what?” Mum again looked mystified.

  This time when Eva reached out, she lowered her hand gently on her sister’s and gave a reassuring squeeze. But she said nothing, once again waiting for Alice to continue.

  “I feel trapped, utterly,” she said. “And there is nothing I can do about it. Especially now, with another one coming and barely enough money for the ones I already have.”

  “Not enough money . . . ?” Mum trailed off. It was as Eva feared. The Ward farm might not be what one would call prosperous, but up until now their barley and wheat had brought in enough to provide for the family and then some.

  Alice shook her head. “Oliver made an arrangement to sell nearly our entire barley crop to a new buyer. The sale fell through, and by then it was too late to find new buyers. Ever since, Oliver’s become reckless with money. He’s even taken to going down to the pub and gambling at night.”

  “That’s why you left,” Mum murmured.

  “Yes. I brought the children to stay with their other grandparents and I told Oliver if he wants us back, he’ll mend his ways and fast. His parents agree with me.”

  Mum took this in, her mouth hanging open. “But, Alice, what if he doesn’t? Issuing an ultimatum can be dangerous.”

  “It’s not an ultimatum,” she said, her chin inching higher. “It’s a simple fact. At least, it was until I realized . . .” She placed a hand on her stomach and blew out a breath.

  “You can all move here.” Mum spoke with defiance. “We’ll take in the lot of you if need be.”

  Alice was already shaking her hea
d before Mum had completed the offer. “The four of us? Five, I mean. How could you possibly?”

  “We’ll figure out a way. If your father and I have to add a room to the house, we will.” Mum glanced through the kitchen doorway into the parlor. “But the money, Alice. Is it as bad as all that?”

  “The gambling is making it worse, of course. He’s always done, you know, but never so that it made a difference to the family. Pennies, mostly. Now that’s changed.”

  Mum craned her neck as she leaned across the table toward Alice. “Is he . . . is he drinking, too?”

  Alice shrugged in an almost Lady Annondale-like way. “I suppose. I’ve yet to see him staggering drunk, but it’s not lemonade those men drink when they’re sitting round the table tossing their hard-earned money into the pot.” She paused and reached for a sandwich on the platter Mum had placed on the table, which they had all but forgotten. “So you see, this is why I didn’t wish to tell you anything. I needed time to think. To figure out what to do.” She bit into the sandwich and slowly chewed, her expression pensive.

  “Well, good heavens, I for one am glad we finally know the truth. I’ve been so worried about you.” Mum came to her feet and went to the stove to retrieve the tea kettle. “We’ll take good care of you and you’ll see, everything will be fine.”

  After lunch, Mum shooed Eva and Alice into the parlor while she cleared the table. Eva sat while Alice went to the hearth and fingered the modest knickknacks on the mantel, Mum’s collection of porcelain dogs: a spaniel, a greyhound, a bulldog, and two terriers, a Scottie and a Yorkie.

  “I’m sorry, Eva,” Alice said over her shoulder. “I know you’ve been worried, too.”

  “I’m still worried, Alice.”

  “As Mum said, things will work out.”

  “Will they?” Eva couldn’t help voicing her qualms. “One thing you haven’t yet explained. How does Keenan fit in to all of this?”

  Alice turned around, the color draining from her face.

  CHAPTER 16

  William’s disclosures kept Phoebe awake most of the night, and in the morning those same matters cried out for her attention.

  First, according to the young assistant, Stephen Ripley hadn’t brought his small shears with him that morning, although he knew he’d need them for the fine work of shaping the hedge. What kind of gardener set out without his proper tools? He had supposedly trained for a head gardener’s position for years at his former place of employment, so how could he have made such a glaring blunder?

  No, she suspected he had forgotten the shears on purpose, specifically so he could send William back for them. And that suggested he’d had private business to conduct, a prearranged meeting there by the hedge. But with whom? Horace Walker? Perhaps the two men needed to consult about their business dealings, and rather than meet in town where they’d be seen and fuel further gossip, they’d chosen a secluded area concealed even from view of the house. But would Horace Walker have murdered the other man? Perhaps, if Mr. Ripley had had second thoughts about the sale.

  William’s recollection also brought into doubt another assumption that Phoebe, Eva, and Miles Brannock had made concerning the fallen flat cap. They had concluded the murderer lost his cap in his struggle with Stephen Ripley and his haste to be away. But when William returned to the hedge with the shears, Stephen Ripley was already dead on the ground, the murderer standing over him. At that moment, according to William, the individual was still wearing the cap and took the time to issue a silent warning to the youth.

  Did the cap fall off the murderer’s head? Or did he intentionally leave it behind, knowing it would incriminate someone once the police discovered it didn’t belong to Mr. Ripley? Unfortunately, the killer might have gotten the cap anywhere. He might have stolen it from the pub, might have switched his own with someone else’s while visiting or at church.

  After having lunch with Julia and their grandparents, Phoebe hurried back to her room. She went to her writing table and, on a fresh sheet of paper, sketched out a diagram. The hedge, the spot where Stephen Ripley fell, the positioning of the tweed cap near his body. This she placed near the bottom of the page and studied the placement of each element as she remembered it. Nearer the top of the page, she drew a box to represent the gardener’s cottage and added the trees that surrounded it. There were several directions from which someone might approach the cottage without being seen.

  The day following the murder, she and Eva had gone to the gardener’s cottage to search for Stephen Ripley’s plaid flat cap, and there they had encountered the killer, probably looking for evidence that linked him to Mr. Ripley. The police having already gone through the house, the individual wouldn’t have expected anyone else to wander in at that time. But she and Eva had surprised him with their arrival. She wondered if he had found what he’d been looking for, or if they had chased him off too soon. He might not have had a second chance to search, as the police had been keeping a closer eye on the property ever since. The evidence might still be there.

  The two matters led to a third concern, a claim Mr. Peele made when she and Eva visited him in Cheltenham. He’d said Stephen Ripley threatened to make life difficult for William and his family, that Mr. Ripley knew something. . . What word had he used? Ah, yes, damaging, about William’s father, Ezra Gaff. At the time it had seemed no more than a ploy to convince an aging man to vacate his position. But there could be more to it. And while William had seemed genuinely frightened—too frightened to lie outright—during the questioning, could he have been protecting someone? His father, perhaps?

  She needed to speak to William. Or perhaps . . . she should go directly to Ezra Gaff. But not alone. On second thought, she should go to Miles Brannock, and bring Eva with her. Eva should be on her way back from her parents’ farm by now. Phoebe lifted the in-house telephone and asked that her motorcar be brought around. Then she changed into a pair of pumps and collected her coat and handbag.

  * * *

  Alice came away from the fireplace and sat beside Eva on the settee. After a quick glance into the kitchen, she sighed. “Keenan and I stayed friends through the years.”

  “How so?” Eva almost didn’t want to know.

  “Mostly through letters. But only occasional ones.”

  “Oh, Alice, why? Why would you risk your marriage to maintain a correspondence with another man? What if Oliver found out?” In fact, it struck Eva as odd that Alice’s husband had never intercepted one of those letters. “How did you ever manage it?”

  “As I said, we only wrote occasionally, and . . .” Alice looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “Keenan didn’t post the letters himself.”

  “Then who did?”

  Alice hesitated a good long moment while a tide of red rose in her face. “Mrs. Verity,” she whispered at length.

  “Mrs. Verity?” Eva’s mouth dropped open. That kind, prudent, very proper woman? “I can’t believe it. Why on earth would she?”

  “Well . . . don’t you remember? She’s actually Keenan’s great-aunt by marriage. She’s always been fond of him, and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for him.” Alice breathed in deeply. “Even this.”

  Eva sat back and studied her sister. From the kitchen came the sounds of her mother washing the dishes. She wondered if Mum was deliberately giving Eva and Alice time to talk alone. “I don’t understand. You could have been with Keenan if you wished. Yet you chose Oliver.” She raised her hands as she grasped for answers.

  “I love Oliver, I do. But there’s always been a part of me he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t even know exists. The part of me that’s more like you, Eva.”

  “Like me?” Eva huffed with indignation. “You see me as inconstant, duplicitous—”

  “That isn’t what I mean. I’m talking about the part of you that’s independent and dedicated and able to make your own way in the world. I gave up all of that when I married Oliver, and it doesn’t occur to him that I might be capable of more than raising children
.”

  “And it occurs to Keenan?”

  Alice nodded. “He’s always understood that about me. It’s why I chose Oliver instead. You see, Keenan encouraged me to do more than simply marry, but at the time, I believed as most women did that marriage and children were the only goal worth pursuing.”

  “Then what changed?”

  “The war. It changed everything.”

  Alice seemed about to go on, but Eva was already nodding in comprehension. She had only to look at Lady Phoebe to understand that, because of the war and the way women had been needed in the workforce while the men were away, many of them were no longer content to while away their lives between the nursery and the kitchen. Poor Alice. She had realized too late that there could be more for her.

  “Are you willing to leave Oliver over this?”

  “No.” Alice sounded adamant. Then a look of pain claimed her features. “I wasn’t sure when I first arrived here. I was so angry with him and so fed up with feeling helpless. But now . . .” She reached for Eva’s hand, enveloping it with her own. “I miss him, Eva.”

  Eva smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. But before you came to that realization, what happened between you and Keenan? Will you tell me?”

  Another hesitation, longer than the first, nearly convinced Eva her sister had finished confiding. Then Alice sighed and said, “After I learned about how much money Oliver lost, I wrote to Keenan and told him I was coming to Little Barlow. That I wished to see him. He wrote back, and we planned a reunion—the very morning his brother was killed.”

  “You did go to meet him at his cottage.” And then lied about it, Eva acknowledged silently.

  “I visited Mrs. Verity first, and then I went to Keenan’s.” Hearing Alice make the admission twisted Eva’s stomach and squeezed her heart, but she held her features steady and waited silently for Alice to continue. “He wasn’t at the cottage when I arrived. He must have been in the barn or the brewery, or maybe out in the orchard. I don’t know. All I do know is I was standing outside his front door and suddenly became paralyzed with the wrongness of what I was doing. Me, a married woman and a mother. A sense of horror filled me. In something like a panic, I grabbed the bundle of scones from my basket, left them by the door, and hurried home.” Alice paused to catch her breath as if she’d been running. “I didn’t see him until I brought more scones to the jail. I wished to explain why I didn’t meet him that morning, but of course that awful chief inspector wouldn’t let me talk to him alone.”