Murder by Midnight

by Blythe Baker

  As soon as the housekeeper had left, Vivian leaned forward. “Had someone not come to fetch her, I’m not sure that silly girl would ever have left,” she said, showing a hint of amusement. “I think she may have had something of a fancy for her handsome employer.”

  I usually would have joked with Vivian, but I was too distracted by the memory of Hester’s expression before we were interrupted. What had crossed the housemaid’s mind to make her look at me so darkly?

  Had Gordon’s accusation of me having something to do with Alastair’s murder made the rounds of the household staff? Did she suspect me?

  Our conversation had been private to the best of my knowledge, but then again, I had eavesdropped on a conversation the day before. It was quite an easy thing to do, so perhaps someone had overheard Gordon’s theory and shared it.

  While I was lost in thought, my mother finished writing her letter in a matter of minutes and went back upstairs to be with the Drummonds. With Vivian becoming engrossed in a book Samuel Rigby had recommended to her the night before, I was left alone.

  Thinking about what the household staff might believe happened to Alastair gave me an idea, and on a whim, I excused myself and went in search of the housekeeper. It seemed to me I might gain something by further conversation with her. After all, who better knew the goings on of a great house than its servants?

  My search didn’t last long. I found the housekeeper overseeing a maid, possibly a new girl, who looked even younger than Hester. The maid was working in the entryway with a broom and dustpan, cleaning up the debris that had blown in under the large wooden door in the night.

  As soon as she heard my footsteps behind her, the older woman murmured some final instructions to the girl and then stepped away to face me.

  “Miss Beckingham?” she asked, thin gray eyebrows raised.

  I smiled. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”

  “Mrs. Jameson.” Her lips were pressed together firmly, and I could tell she allowed little time for distractions or frivolous chatter.

  “Hello, Mrs. Jameson.” I dragged my hand aimlessly across the wooden top of a table against the wall. It was perfectly dusted, each decoration and frame shining. “Do you have a moment to speak with me?”

  Her brows knitted together. “I stay very busy throughout the day, but I could spare a second if you need me for something, Miss Beckingham.”

  “I can tell you are busy,” I said. “This castle is immaculate.”

  Mrs. Jameson offered a small smile, straightening her shoulders slightly. “It is a grand place to work, but maintaining a castle like Druiminn is not without its challenges.” Then her eyes suddenly widened, as if she realized that her words might be applied to the present situation and the recent death. “I meant in terms of the work, of course,” she added hastily.

  “I know what you meant,” I said. “But I’m sure the current situation is also a challenge, in its own way. I’m referring, of course, to the events of two nights ago.”

  Her expression was apprehensive. She glanced back at the young maid working nearby, as if to be sure the girl wasn’t listening.

  “Difficult and tragic,” she said with a shake of her head. “It is too horrible to comprehend.”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I might not have believed it.”

  Mrs. Jameson looked at me with new interest. “Pardon my asking, Miss, but you were the one to find him?”

  I nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Another guest and I overheard Alastair stumbling down the hallway. By the time we found him, he was already beyond help.”

  Her eyes glazed over, and she shook her head. “I can’t believe something like that could take place in this house. And to such a kind family.”

  “You enjoy working for the Drummonds, then?” I asked.

  Concern flared in her eyes, and I smiled. “I would not tell your secret if you admitted you didn’t love it. Believe me, you would not be the first person to dislike their employer.”

  “Oh, but I do enjoy it,” she said, lifting her chin. “I take pride in my work, and Lord and Lady Drummond appreciate my efforts. That is all I can ask for.”

  “Absolutely. From what little I know of the family, they do seem very warm.”

  Mrs. Jameson nodded, and then looked back over her shoulder as though she expected one of the family members to be standing behind her. “Well, Miss Beckingham, I’m afraid I should really be getting back to work.”

  “Wait,” I said a touch too quickly.

  Mrs. Jameson turned back to me, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”

  “I only wanted to ask you,” I said, stepping forward and lowering my voice. “Well, I wanted to ask about what you may or may not have seen the night that Alastair – I mean, young Mr. Drummond – was murdered?”

  “I already talked with the police,” she said. “I told them what I know.”

  “And I wondered whether you wouldn’t share it with me?” I asked. “I know I am no match for the actual detectives, but since I was the first person to find Alastair, I find myself a bit connected to his death. I would love nothing more than to help put the pieces together in any way I can.”

  Mrs. Jameson’s thin lips pressed together so tightly they looked pale. “I appreciate your desire to help, but I don’t know what Lord and Lady Drummond would think if I were caught gossiping about the tragedy.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But this would not be gossip. It would simply be sharing facts about what transpired.”

  Mrs. Jameson twisted her mouth to the side, looking torn.

  “I came to you because you have the charge of most of the servants in this house. If anyone were to know anything vital about what happened, my guess is that it would be you.”

  I could tell immediately that my flattery would pay off. A shine came to Mrs. Jameson’s face, and she held herself straighter, prouder.

  “Well, that is true,” she admitted. “I overhear most of what goes on in the castle.”

  “And did you happen to overhear anything interesting the night of Alastair’s death?”

  She frowned. “Unfortunately, no. There were so many new guests staying in the castle and so much extra work to do that I hardly had a second to myself. I ran around all afternoon and evening overseeing guest room preparation and the washing and drying of bed linens. On a normal day, I might have been more mindful of my surroundings, but because of the circumstances, I was in a tizzy.”

  “Understandable,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. “And that is what you told the police?”

  “Yes. I explained my duties for the day and then they asked me whether Mr. Drummond had any enemies—anyone who could be angry with him or would want him dead.”

  She paused, staring at me blankly.

  I nearly burst with the question. “And what did you say?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I told them that the deceased was an upstanding young man who was well-liked and respected. Of course, I made no mention of the silly rumors that have been spreading around the castle.”

  “Rumors?”

  She nodded, lips pursed. “Oh, yes. Certain footmen and housemaids have been babbling nonsense about a ghost and the castle being haunted.”

  I remembered Gordon’s claims about Alastair’s final words. They had been about the castle’s resident ghost—the weeping woman dressed in white. Did this mean news of his final words had made it to the staff?

  “I have been employed here for three years now,” Mrs. Jameson said firmly. “And believe me, I would know if the castle was haunted. I’ve been in every corner of this place and have never seen or heard anything supernatural.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “Old buildings such as this one are always rumored to be haunted.”

  “Yes. It’s a lot of nonsense,” she said, shaking her head.

  “However, I wonder—”

  Mrs. Jameson raised a brow, and I smiled. “Not about ghosts, of course.”


  She relaxed.

  “I only wonder whether you know anything about the friendship between the Drummonds and Samuel Rigby.”

  “Mr. Rigby has long been a friend of the family,” she said. “Beyond that, I know very little.”

  “Did you know he had a daughter?”

  She glanced over her shoulder again and then nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard of her, though I never met her. She passed away before I came to work at the castle.”

  My heart sank. “You were not here when Alastair was involved with Mr. Rigby’s daughter?”

  “I have no knowledge about the two of them ever being together, but no, I was not here in those days,” she said. “That would have been Mrs. Brown, the previous housekeeper.”

  I quickly ran through the maids in my mind. The only one I knew by name was Hester, and she had already told me that she had been with the family for five years, which was longer than Mrs. Jameson. So, I could question her, though her obvious affection for Alastair might cloud any facts she had about his involvement with Mr. Rigby’s daughter. A few of the older maids might know something, so I could ask them. Though, rumors would likely start to circulate if I ran around asking every maid about Alastair’s death. And the last thing I wanted was more suspicion being laid on me. Gordon’s accusation was likely unfounded and made in the heat of the moment, but I didn’t need any other reason for him to suspect me of anything.

  “Mrs. Brown served the family loyally for many years,” Mrs. Jameson continued. “In fact, when she retired, the family couldn’t quite part with her and put her up in a cottage on the edge of the property.”

  My attention snapped back to Mrs. Jameson. “Mrs. Brown still lives nearby?”

  She nodded. “A short ride past the stables, actually. We don’t see her often, but she comes up to the servant’s hall occasionally. Likes to keep informed of what goes on here at the big house, I suspect.”

  “And did the police talk with her?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “If there was anyone who would know about any longheld family secrets, surely it would be Mrs. Brown,” I said feverishly.

  Mrs. Jameson’s eyes narrowed, and I realized I’d become too excited. “I don’t know about any secrets,” she said sharply. “But I am sure if the police needed anything from Mrs. Brown, they would have gone to see her. Anyway, the authorities seem to have all in hand. I’m told they believe the murder was committed by a burglar, which seems like a sensible explanation to me. Several windows in the house were left open that night, including poor Mr. Drummond’s, and also a smaller window in the back of the kitchen. It is hardly ever used, so I have no reason to believe anyone on my staff opened it during the day.”

  I did not want to upset Mrs. Jameson, so I did not point out that anyone could have propped open the window for any number of reasons. I also didn’t tell her that it was unlikely a burglar would climb through a kitchen window and then specifically go upstairs into a bedroom in the middle of the night to steal from and attack a sleeping Alastair Drummond. Especially since the only item missing in the entire house was something from Alastair’s room. If the murderer had the ability to climb to and from Alastair’s room specifically, then they would not have need of a kitchen window. And if they did use the kitchen window, then they would have stolen other things from the house.

  Evidently feeling she had shared her mind fully enough, Mrs. Jameson took a few steps back. “I must be getting back to work now, Miss Beckingham.”

  “Thank you for your time.”

  She pursed her lips together, and I knew I would not be getting any more information from Mrs. Jameson over the course of my stay in the castle. Though, thanks to her telling me about Mrs. Brown, hopefully I would soon have all the information I needed.

  13

  I took only enough time to change into my riding clothes and then I rushed out of the house, crossing the sweeping back lawn towards the stables.

  Even though the police said we were allowed to move freely about the property, I still felt as though I was doing something forbidden. With everything that was going on in the castle, I knew I should have left word with my mother of where I was going, but I didn’t want her to ask any questions or forbid my going off on my own.

  I needed to talk with Mrs. Brown.

  I had a feeling Alastair Drummond was less beloved by some than his family and admirers believed, but I could not prove that without knowing more about the history between Alastair and Samuel Rigby. And I hoped Mrs. Brown would be able and willing to tell me more.

  With the men gone for the day, I expected the stables to be empty, but when I pulled open the door, I found a boy who looked about fifteen years old standing in the back stall with the white mare I had ridden my first day at the castle. I hadn’t seen him around the stable yard before. He looked up as I entered.

  “Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” I said.

  “And I didn’t expect anyone until the gentlemen returned from their hunt,” he said, brushing the mare’s back leg with a stiff brush.

  “Are you one of the stable boys?”

  He nodded and backed out of the stall, closing the wooden door behind him. “I am. Were you looking to ride?”

  “I was.” I tipped my head to the white mare. “I prefer the mare.”

  “She is the tamest of the bunch,” he said, grabbing a saddle from the wall behind him and nodding for me to follow him. “A good choice.”

  Once the horse was ready, the boy held out his hand to help me up, but then hesitated. “You aren’t planning to leave the property, are you?”

  “No,” I said. “The police have made it clear that is not allowed.”

  “All right, good. I have been instructed to monitor who comes and goes from the stables, and if anyone is planning to leave, I’m supposed to alert Lord Drummond.”

  “Well, there is no need to alert anyone,” I said with a smile. “I am simply going for a ride to clear my head and get out of the castle.”

  Contented with my answer, the boy helped me onto the horse and sent me on my way.

  The animal was broad and strong beneath me and it took me a few minutes to grow accustomed to riding her again. I pulled on the reins in the direction where Mrs. Jameson said Mrs. Brown’s cottage would be, but the mare was reluctant to follow my lead, moving instead back towards the castle.

  “No, girl,” I grunted, pulling harder on the reins. “This way.”

  The horse shifted course slightly but not enough to make any difference. She was headed straight for the woods that marked the edge of the property on one side.

  I looked over my shoulder to see the stable boy watching me from the door, his hands on his hips. He was too far away to see my face, but I hoped he could tell by my actions that I was doing my best to correct the horse. I didn’t want him running inside to tell anyone that I had taken a horse from the stables. My hope was to meet with Mrs. Brown and then return to the castle before anyone knew any differently.

  “Please,” I begged, kicking the horse’s sides with my heels and tugging on the reins. “There will be a juicy carrot in it for you if you just do as I say.”

  I didn’t know whether the horse could understand me or whether I had simply annoyed her enough that she began following my instruction, but finally, she turned around and began trotting off in the direction of the cottage as though she had been excited about the idea from the start.

  When I looked back to the stable, the boy was gone, and I prayed he hadn’t gone into the castle already.

  But to avoid discussing my ride with anyone, I kicked the mare’s sides again and encouraged her to move faster, clinging to her back as she cantered across the hilly landscape.

  The countryside truly was beautiful. Green stretched as far as the eye could see, and even under the overcast sky, the land seemed to glow as though it produced its own light and did not require the sun at all.

  After riding awhile and enjoying the sights aroun
d me, I began to wonder whether I hadn’t gone too far.

  Mrs. Jameson had not been specific about the whereabouts of the cottage, and I did not know the area well enough at all to know when I had moved beyond the bounds of the estate. So, I slowed the horse down and began scanning the horizon in every direction, searching for the only landmark I knew to expect.

  Just when I began to feel I had certainly gone too far, and I should turn back, I spotted a smoke cloud rising from between the trees.

  I clicked my tongue and then, when that didn’t work, pulled on the reins to encourage the horse towards the smoke. Slowly, I saw the cottage reveal itself from between the trees.

  It was a quaint property. A small stone building that looked to be a similar age to the castle. There was a garden in front filled with various vegetables and greens and a little well on the front lawn. I wrapped the horse’s reins around a low-hanging tree branch, straightened my dress, and moved towards the door.

  It opened before I even knocked, and a short, white-haired woman appeared.

  “Who are you?”

  “Hello,” I said, my voice high with surprise. “My name is Alice Beckingham. I’m a guest of the Drummond family.”

  The woman didn’t seem at all comforted by my announcement, and closed her door slightly until I could only see a portion of her face. “What do you want?”

  I wasn’t sure what exactly I expected to find at the cottage, but I was not prepared to have to talk my way into the woman’s house. Still, I had navigated enough uncomfortable conversations over the last two days to at least have some idea of how best to handle this discussion. I folded my hands behind my back and smiled sadly.

  “I’m sure you have heard about the tragic death of Mr. Drummond the other night?” I asked.

  Mrs. Brown nodded. “The police spoke with me, yes.”

  So the police had been here. That seemed like a good sign. Assuming the woman told them everything she knew—including whatever information she might have about Samuel Rigby and Alastair’s connection—then the police might be well on their way to solving the crime. Assuming, of course, Gordon was right and Mr. Rigby was the murderer.