by Blythe Baker
“Thank you for your assistance, Miss Beckingham,” he said, opening the study door. As soon as I stepped into the hall, the door closed, and I was alone.
It did not last long, however. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Sherborne Sharp ascending them. His head was down, so he did not see me until he was halfway up. When he did finally look up, he paused for a moment, and then sighed and finished his ascent.
“I suspect you told the police about my criminal ways?”
“There were more important matters to discuss than petty theft,” I said. Though, in truth, I’d forgotten about finding Sherborne in my mother’s room the night before. With everything that had happened afterwards, it had slipped my mind. Now, I wondered whether I shouldn’t have mentioned it.
His dark brows rose in genuine surprise. “So, you didn’t mention the way you found me last night?”
I shook my head. “No.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
“Should I have told them?” Sherborne and I, though newly acquainted, were far beyond the need for discretion in our conversations.
Sherborne reached down to adjust the sleeve of his jacket. The rest of the house was in disarray, but he was sharply dressed, wearing a dark suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. He looked ready to attend church. “I can understand your unease. When one is embroiled in one criminal activity, it is not so odd to think that he could also be embroiled in another.”
It was my turn to look surprised. I’d expected him to immediately defend himself, yet, he was laying out an argument against his innocence.
“You have only seen one side of my character, Alice, and that is my fault,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “I gave you a glimpse of the darkest part of me, and I regret you saw that. However, I have to make it clear that what you glimpsed last night was, indeed, the darkest part of me. Thievery is as far as my criminal activity has ever gone.”
“Thieves are liars,” I reminded him.
“True.” He nodded. “And yet, while murderers are likely to be thieves, thieves are not often murderers.”
“Do you mean to confuse me, Mr. Sharp?” I understood his meaning well enough, but I did not need him to explain probability to me. Rather, I needed him to explain his own actions to me.
“I mean to tell you that I am not a murderer,” he said. “And certainly not the killer of one of my oldest friends. Not only would it be unthinkable to harm Alastair, but what gain would it bring me? If I am nothing more than a thief, as you believe me to be, what would I gain by murdering one of my wealthiest friends?”
Disgust must have been written plainly on my face because Sherborne held up his hands in defense. “I am only making that argument to match your low opinion of me. I would never hurt Alastair because I liked him, but as you seem to think me a man incapable of emotional attachment, I thought I would introduce a more practical defense.”
My opinion of Sherborne was not quite as low as he seemed to think it was, but I saw no reason to inform him of that. His fear that I would tell his secret was a weapon in my hands, and I did not want to relinquish it too quickly.
“You seem to have given this a lot of thought,” I said. “Innocent men do not spend nearly so much time formulating a defense.”
“Being prepared is not a crime,” he said. Then, he stepped forward and lowered his voice further. I wanted to step away from him and put more space between us, but I did not want to give him the illusion that I was afraid of him. So, I stood firm. “Speaking of my defense, I’m afraid I will not be able to leave this morning as I promised you I would,” he said.
He glanced at the study door, ensuring it was still closed. “I truly did plan to leave, but with Alastair’s death, it would look suspicious if I departed too quickly, especially when I originally planned to stay for the week. I don’t want to give the police any reason to look into my background.”
“Your background should be clean. That is what you told me last night, after all. Stealing my mother’s jewelry was your first attempt at thievery, was it not?”
His jaw clenched and then a smile pulled up the right side of his mouth. “You cannot expect me to expose all of my secrets to you, Miss Alice. You have one thing to hold over my head already. I will not supply you with another.”
“Besides,” he continued. “I do not want to leave. Alastair was good to me. I want to be here to support his family and help uncover what exactly happened to him.”
“What do you think happened to him?” I asked, remembering the questions the police had asked me. I knew nothing of the details of Alastair’s life, but Sherborne would know. He would know if Alastair was in trouble or if he’d angered anyone. He could be a key player in solving the crime.
Sherborne shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
The study door opened with a loud squeal of its hinges, and Sherborne leaned around me to smile at Detective Cavins, who was scowling. “Sorry, Detective. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
Detective Cavins looked at me, his top lip pulling back, and then shook his head. “Not long. But do hurry. We have many more interviews to conduct.”
Before I could resist, Sherborne grabbed my hand in an exaggerated gesture, brought my knuckles to his lips, and walked around me and into the study. The door closed with a soft click, and I was once again alone in the hallway, wondering if that kiss to my hand had been a plea for my continued silence.
I wanted desperately to stand outside the study door and listen in on Sherborne’s interview, but I could not risk being caught by the police. Though I had nothing to do with Alastair’s murder, I did not need to give the authorities any reason to suspect me. I had been in the proximity of several different murders in the past, and although the guilty parties had all been caught, it was still an uncanny coincidence. Anyway, my own brother had been convicted of murder. What if the police believed murderous tendencies ran in the family?
Thoughts of Edward and murder led me understandably to thoughts of my brother’s death two years ago. We knew how he died—stabbed during a prison fight—but the person responsible for his death was never named. The authorities told us it was an unfortunate accident. A fight that got out of control. But we had always longed for a more definitive answer than that. And it was that desire for answers that now made me want to help the Drummonds in any way I could. I didn’t know much about their family or Alastair’s life, but I could learn. I could ask questions just as well as any police detective. Even better, perhaps, since the family and their guests would not be as on edge around me.
A few years ago, I never would have considered such a thing, but since then, I had seen Rose get to the bottom of several crimes. Though my “cousin” was not really my family by blood, I had learned much from watching her. Why shouldn’t I apply the courage and careful reasoning Rose had taught me to solving the puzzle of Alastair’s murder?
I decided then and there that I would do exactly that. I would brave all dangers in pursuit of the killer.
10
One by one, the guests in Druiminn Castle were called to the study to talk with the police, and one by one, they returned to the party claiming they had no information to share.
Everyone waited in the sitting room, the fire roaring to combat the overcast, gloomy day outside. Any conversations that were had were whispered and infrequent. No one knew what to say, and with our hosts secluding themselves in their bedrooms, devastated with grief, it seemed best to say little at all.
Finally, Vivian Barry returned to the sitting room after her interview, her eyes ringed in red, a handkerchief held to her nose.
“The police are leaving now,” she said, taking the seat next to her brother. He laid his arm over her shoulders. “I was the last person they needed to speak with.”
“What did you tell them?” Samuel Rigby asked. He had been in the sitting room for over an hour and had not looked at me once. He probably thought I’d told the police what I’d
overheard in the library. Or, at the very least, that I had shared the conversation with someone else.
“The truth,” Vivian said. “That I don’t know anything. That I hardly know the family at all.”
Someone cleared their throat, and we all turned to see the policemen, Detective Cavins and Sergeant Finley, in the doorway.
“Thank you all for your cooperation,” Sergeant Finley said. “We are sorry for your loss and extend our deepest sympathies.”
“Lord and Lady Drummond wished for us to relay what information we can to their guests,” Detective Cavins added. “The information we can share is this. We believe Alastair Drummond was stabbed in his bedroom, after which he stumbled out into the hall, where he died. A window in the bedroom was open, leading us to believe the killer gained entry to the castle through that means and then escaped in the same way.”
“You believe the murder was random?” Charles Barry asked.
“It seems likely,” Sergeant Finley said. “We suspect that the window was used to gain access to the bedroom, where an item of value was stolen. Whether or not the killer knew the victim remains to be seen.”
“An item of value?” Sherborne asked, brows pinched together. Of course that was what would interest him most. He was nothing if not predictable.
“Lady Drummond noticed the item missing from her son’s room, but we will not be announcing what it was just yet,” answered Sergeant Finley.
“Because there’s a chance the killer could be someone inside the castle?” Vivian asked, glancing around nervously. “Or in this very room?”
“All possibilities must be looked into,” Detective Cavins said, seeming deliberately vague. “Using the interviews we conducted and our own investigation, we hope to bring the killer to justice as soon as possible.”
“And what are we to do until then?” Samuel Rigby asked, standing up. His hands were fists at his side. “Are we permitted to leave?”
Sergeant Finley tilted his head to the side, his mouth twisted into a grave expression. “No, I’m afraid we will have to ask you all to remain here for a few days longer.”
“A few days?” Charles looked at his sister, eyes wide. “You really expect us to live at the site of a murder?”
“The victim’s remains have been removed from the scene,” Sergeant Finley said, as if that should make us feel better. “The coroner came only a while ago, so the young man’s body will be examined soon, which we hope will answer even more of our questions. We are optimistic that this case will be resolved shortly.”
“And what if it is not?” Charles asked. “Are we to live here forever?”
“Of course not, sir,” Sergeant Finley started, sounding frustrated for the first time since I had met him.
“You are to remain here until we say otherwise.” Detective Cavins stepped forward, towering over Charles Barry until the young man lowered his head and sat down sheepishly. “Thank you all for your cooperation. We will see you soon,” Cavins added with finality.
When the front doors closed behind the officers, the house exploded into chaos. Not only had a man been murdered, but now none of the guests were permitted to leave.
Even if the police changed their minds and decided we could all go home soon, it seemed to me that crucial evidence might well be taken away from the scene. So, if this case was going to be resolved at all, it would have to happen in the next day or two. It had to be soon, which meant it had to be me.
Soon after the police left, my mother pulled me aside near the fireplace, the crackling of the wood drowning out our voices to ensure we had privacy.
“Alice, please promise me you will be careful for the rest of our stay,” she said, her cold fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist.
“Mama, of course I will be,” I said. “No one here is after me.”
“You do not know that,” she said. “We can’t guess who did this or what their motive was. I think you should sleep in my room tonight.”
“Let’s not panic unnecessarily,” I suggested.
“I am not panicked,” she snapped back. “I am looking out for my daughter. You are in this castle because of me, and I will not allow you to be harmed.”
I laid my other hand over my mother’s, prying her fingers from my wrist, and massaged her cold fingers with my own. “Even if something did happen to me, it would not be your fault. You are not responsible for any of this. Anyway, I’m sure the police will get to the bottom of everything soon.”
That was not exactly the truth. I had seen enough of police investigations over the last several years to have my doubts about their methods and accuracy, but I did not want to worry my mother. Mostly because if she was fastened to my side, I would not be able to do any investigating. She would never allow it.
“I hope you are right,” she said, turning to look down at the fire. “I cannot believe our week away has turned into this.”
Before I could attempt to comfort her, the room around us grew suddenly hushed, and I turned to see Lord and Lady Drummond stepping into the room, Gordon trailing behind them. Despite the tough demeanor Gordon had worn yesterday, he looked every part the dutiful son standing over his mother’s shoulder.
“Hello,” Lady Drummond said, her voice immediately breaking around the word. She dabbed at her nose with a tissue and cleared her throat. “We are…obviously devastated by what has happened. And we…we—”
Her lips trembled and Lord Drummond stepped forward, a hand laid on his wife’s shoulder. For the first time since I’d met him, he was understandably not wearing his signature smile. “We are sorry that you all have been pulled into this,” he said. “The police have alerted us to their decision that everyone should remain on the premises. In order to make this difficult time pass more swiftly for all, we want you to spend your next few days here following the activities previously arranged. As much as possible, please try and stick to a normal routine and enjoy yourselves.”
Gordon winced and looked off to his right, his eyes trained on the floor. I had a similar feeling. How was anyone meant to enjoy themselves after such a tragedy, especially when they could be in the company of a murderer? It was understandable that the Drummonds didn’t want us moping about underfoot, and maybe it would even be helpful for all of our nerves to have some distraction, but how could we possibly pretend everything was normal?
Lord Drummond continued, “The stables are still open and our estate manager, Mr. Kentworth, has kindly volunteered to lead the hunt tomorrow, should some of the gentlemen still wish to go.” He wrung his hands in front of him and glanced down at his wife. It was clear she was usually the one to address their guests and make these kinds of announcements. “I suppose that is all for now. Again, we are sorry.”
Lady Drummond sniffled and hunched forward, as if weakened with sorrow, and her husband pulled her into a comforting embrace. All of the guests remained frozen, unsure what to do or say that could soothe the woman, but only my mother moved forward. As she crossed the room, everyone turned away, relieved they didn’t have to do anything.
I couldn’t hear what my mother said, but whatever it was caused Lady Drummond to turn away from her husband and embrace my mother. Still holding on, the two women walked out of the room together, Lord Drummond following behind. Only Gordon remained in the doorway. His arms were crossed, his shoulder leaning against the frame. And though I never caught him directly, I could feel him watching me as I moved around the room.
“It looks as though I didn’t have much of a choice in whether I remained here or not,” Sherborne said, walking around me to stand where my mother had been just minutes ago.
“It appears not,” I said. “I must admit I’m a little glad for it.”
He wrinkled his forehead. “I can’t understand why anyone would be glad to be locked in an ancient castle after a man has been murdered.”
I shook my head. “I’m glad you remained here.”
Sherborne raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his mouth. “Now,
I am even more perplexed. I thought you despised me.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said. “I do think you could be useful, however.”
Any sign of amusement was gone. “How so?”
“Clearly you are skilled at sneaking around.”
“Clearly not,” he argued. “You found me out.”
I ignored this. “In exchange for keeping your secret, I want you to help me find Alastair’s murderer.”
“So you no longer think I could be guilty of the crime?” he asked quietly.
“I hope this decision will not prove to be a foolish one, but no, I do not think you killed Alastair Drummond.” That was not entirely true, but at the moment, Sherborne Sharp was the only person I could think of to ask for help. If he was the killer, it was better that he think I trusted him to keep me from being his next victim. If he was not the killer, then his skills could be useful in tracking down the person or persons responsible.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
I glanced towards where Gordon was standing in the doorway. Once again, I didn’t see him looking at me, but it seemed as though his eyes had darted away from me just a second before mine landed on him. “I want you to talk to Gordon,” I said. “You are closer with the Drummond family than I am, and I want to know who Gordon most suspects.”
I’d overheard Gordon’s conversation with Samuel Rigby, but I didn’t want to move forward based on one emotional outburst. If Gordon felt compelled to mention his theory to someone a second time, then it would mean he truly believed it a possibility.
Sherborne shook his head.
“Would you rather I told everyone what you were doing in my mother’s room last night?” I threatened.
He pulled away from me, surprise flicking across his face. “Remind me to never forget how ruthless you can be, Alice Beckingham. I’m only refusing because Gordon will not tell me anything.”
“Why not?”
“He has never liked me,” Sherborne said with a shrug. “I have been friends with Alastair for years, but Gordon never found a reason to talk to me that didn’t include insulting me or suggesting it would be best if I left and never returned. Especially now that he is emotional, I am the last person he will want to talk to. You would have much better luck.”
