A bell rang, signaling the end of the hour and the time for the memorial garden party to begin. Grateful for a distraction from a conversation that was rapidly descending toward breaking me open and dragging out all my dark thoughts, I leaped to my feet. Quoth helped me into my coat (actually, Heathcliff’s coat, but he wasn’t going to miss it), and we joined the throng of people waiting for a break in the falling snow to dash out to the orangery.
Morrie ran down the stairs – dressed in a new outfit of pale breeches, a midnight-blue topcoat with gold detail, and a shiny sword – and sidled up to us. “Yo, little birdie, I’m going to need my lanyard. And my girl.”
“I thought I might escort Mina to the garden party—” Quoth started.
“Nope.” Morrie elbowed Quoth out of the way. “Too many people. Too great a risk. See you later.”
“No. Quoth, wait.” I tightened my grip on his arm. “Morrie, you’re being unbelievably rude. Can’t Quoth and I enjoy the morning ourselves? I thought you’d be too busy snooping around for clues about our murder.”
Morrie straightened his shoulder. “I didn’t want to have to say this, but I need to talk to you about something.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is that true, or are you trying to get away from Lydia?”
“Mina, it’s fine, really. He’s right. There are too many people out here. I shall return to the shop and see you later.” Quoth dropped my arm, sinking into the crowd before I could stop him.
“You’re mine again.” Morrie placed my arm in his.
“I’m angry at you. I’m only holding onto you because it’s freezing, and the ground is slippery and I don’t want to fall over.”
“Sure, gorgeous, I believe you.”
As the crowd swept us along, I glanced over my shoulder. Quoth stood on the top of the stairs, his long hair sweeping down his back, his face serene. He raised his hand and gave me a quick wave.
Morrie just acted like a total dick, and Quoth doesn’t care.
A wave of sadness swept over me. For all his fine words, deep down he still believed he was less than. Quoth just took all the shit life handed him. But he shouldn’t have to take it from his friends.
We stepped out into the bitter cold. My teeth chattered as I fought to get the words out. “What you did just then was cruel.”
“If you say so.” Morrie shrugged. “Quoth knows I’m right. Besides, if I’m down here with you, Heathcliff has no choice but to escort Lydia.”
Anger bubbled in my veins. “I knew that was you sole motivation! You robbed Quoth of this chance to enjoy time with me and to hone his skills at remaining human. He’s getting so much better now. He could have managed at the garden party. And if he had trouble he could have slipped into the bushes and shifted without a hassle.”
Morrie held up his lanyard. “This badge has my name on it. Quoth doesn’t have a ticket. You made your choice. Face it, Mina, you’re just as cruel as I am, only I’m the one who’ll say it to his face.”
I opened my mouth to protest more, but Cynthia swept in, her hair immaculate. She wrapped my freezing hands in hers. “I’m so sorry, Mina, that you had to see what you saw last night. And then to find those horrid words on your door! Why, it’s just too much! I thought this weekend would help you forget about gruesome murders, but instead, I’ve landed you in the middle of one. What a nasty business.”
“Yes,” I tried to step around her, but her umbrella blocked the path. Cold snow pelted my bare face.
“Have the police caught the killer yet?”
“Just because I f-f-found the body doesn’t mean the police h-h-have to let me in on their case.”
Cynthia moved her umbrella to the other side. Sensing my opportunity, I surged forward, but Morrie yanked me back to his side.
“I imagine they’re still processing the evidence from the scene,” Morrie said, tightening his grip on my arm, locking me in place. “I believe they thought it might’ve been an opportunistic killing?”
“Yes. Christina’s stolen jewelry may link this case to that terrible thief.” Cynthia shuddered. “The murderer must have been skulking around the grounds when he noticed the jewels, came in the window, and stuck our dear professor right through so he could make his getaway. But I don’t understand why he went upstairs and wrote that note on your door. I just hate to think someone might be casing our home! Grey has engaged a security firm from London,” she pointed to a row of burly, black-clad security guards barking orders at each other through headsets. “Apparently, they look after rock bands and movie stars, so they shall keep the rest of us safe.”
“Yes, well, thank you.” I wrenched Morrie around her. “We must go find a seat.”
“Where’s the fire, gorgeous?” Morrie jogged after me.
“In the orangery.” I pointed to a glowing brazier in the large building. “And considering my lips are about to fall off, I need to go and hug it. Why would you keep Cynthia talking? You know she never says anything of substance, and I already can’t feel my feet.”
“I was trying to find out more information. I thought she might reveal any leads the police were following.”
We emerged onto the wider garden path leading down to the orangery. I dragged my frozen feet forward, my body curling in on itself with every step. Just a little further, Mina, and then you’ll get to be next to that nice warm heater, and enjoy a hot cup of tea—
“Mina, can I talk to you?” Alice appeared in front of me, her lips drawn in a tight line.
Nooooooo. “S-s-sure. We could just go inside and stand by the fire—”
“No,” Alice grabbed me under the arm and tugged me away from Morrie. “Not near any people. Come with me.”
“I’ll save you a seat by the brazier!” Morrie called after me.
Alice dragged me across the lawn and yanked me down behind a parterre. I threw out my hand to break my fall, yelping as I slammed my fingers into the icy snow.
“Sorry.” Alice crouched beside me. “I don’t want anyone to see us. If someone asks what we’re doing here, say you were helping me look for an earring.”
“You’re good at s-s-subterfuge,” I said, rubbing my frozen hands together. “Wh-wh-why are we crouching in the snow instead of inside with the fire and hot chocolate—”
“I don’t know who else to trust,” Alice’s eyes widened as she pulled her earring out of her ear. “But then I saw what was written on your door, and I knew I had to tell you what I know.”
“Wh-wh-what’s that?”
“I know who killed Professor Hathaway, and it wasn’t the Argleton Jewel Thief. It was—”
“Alice, there you are! What are you doing down there?”
Professor Carmichael peered down at us, a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
“Mina was helping me search for my earring, but I think it’s gone forever.” Alice stood up so fast as sent a cascade of snow from the edge of the parterres down on me. I stood up, stuttering out a greeting through my freezing lips.
“That’s a shame.” Professor Carmichael touched Alice’s arm. “Alice, I thought you might like to sit with me. I’ll be able to make corrections to any false statements made about Hathaway during the memorial.”
“Of course,” Alice’s eyes darted to me. “Mina? You coming?”
I nodded, falling in step beside them. What had Alice been about to say? Who was the killer?
At the entrance of the orangery, Professor Carmichael was pulled aside by a Janeite asking about her book. Alice turned to me and hissed. “We can’t talk here, in case someone overhears. Can you sneak out of the party and meet me in the Sacro Bosco?” She pointed to a path on the corner of the formal gardens that lead off into the wood.
“Alice, if you know who the killer is, you should talk to the police—”
“I can’t.” She gulped. “I’ll give you all the evidence you need to stop the killer before they hurt anyone else, but I can’t go to the police. Please, Mina, promise you’ll meet me?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you.”
“There’s a statue of three maenads dancing just off the path to the right. I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes. Thank you, Mina, really. I… I need to talk to someone about this.” Alice’s shoulder slumped. Her beautiful eyes were wide, terrified. Whatever was going on, I had a feeling it wasn’t just about getting her scoop anymore.
I followed Alice into the orangery, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. What does Alice know? What’s she going to tell me?
Chapter Twenty-Four
“A garden party on one of the coldest days of the year?” Morrie passed me a steaming cup of hot chocolate and a cream scone with a layer of ice on top. “This is the cleverest idea!”
I nodded, too cold even to voice my agreement with his sarcasm. Luckily, Morrie had scored us a seat near the glowing brazier that did little to heat the cavernous space.
In the days when Baddesley Hall was a working estate, this grand building with its irrigation slits in the floor would have been used to grow fruit trees in pots and protect them during the harsh winter months. It wasn’t exactly built with entertaining in mind. Fairy lights spilling from a hanging basket on the ceiling and long tables adorned with centerpieces of winter herbs and vegetables looked spectacular but did little to distract from the biting wind and increasingly heavy snowfall outside. Several of Cynthia’s new security detail had already been co-opted to place additional heaters around the room. The band in the corner played carols beside a towering pine tree, reminding me that I hadn’t even started my Christmas shopping yet. Outside, the patio area had been cleared of snow, and the braver among the guests were indulging in a game of croquet.
“Ah, Lydia must have forced Sir Grumpsalot downstairs.” Morrie pointed. Across the patio, Lydia dragged Heathcliff around the croquet field, explaining the rules in a loud, patronizing tone while her other suitors laughed. I noticed he wore his sword at his side. As Lydia lined up her next shot, Heathcliff met my eye and mimed hitting her over the head. I stifled a giggle.
As I sipped my chocolate, Lydia scored point after point. David came to speak to her. She took his arm and allowed him to lead her away. Heathcliff stared after them for a few minutes, then shrugged and dashed inside to join us.
“Shouldn’t you be tailing her every move?” Morrie asked, lifting his teacup to his lips. “What if David is really our murderer?”
I remembered that we’d seen David win match after match during the fencing demonstration, and how the rumor was going around that the killer was a skilled swordsperson. “Yes, maybe we shouldn’t let her out of our sight.”
“I’ve been standing outside in the snow for fifteen minutes trying to hit a stupid ball with a mallet. My balls have shriveled up into my body. I say let her be murdered,” Heathcliff growled. “It would serve her right for blackmailing us.”
“No argument.” Morrie placed the teapot in front of him. “Tea? Guaranteed to heal your soul and unshrink your testicles.”
“No thanks.” Heathcliff pulled his flask out of the top of his breeches and knocked back a deep sip.
“While you’ve been playing nursemaid, Mina might just be able to unmask our killer,” Morrie said. Heathcliff’s hand circled my thigh, and as quietly as I could, I relayed the conversation with Alice that I’d whispered to Morrie as soon as I’d entered the orangery.
“You’re not going alone,” Heathcliff growled. “Take Morrie and Quoth with you.”
“What about you?”
“I’m still warming my nuts. Besides, someone has to keep eyes on Lydia. I’m not a complete monster.”
I smiled at Heathcliff, warmed by his words. Maybe he was starting to see himself the way I saw him.
I glanced at my phone. Ten minutes until I had to meet Alice. Christina hurried in, adorned with an elegant black gown. She took her seat at a table near the front, staring at her clasped hands. Cynthia took her place beneath the Christmas tree, adjusting her solemn black hat. The band ground to a halt. Cynthia tapped the microphone. “If I could have your attention. Welcome all, to the Julius Hathaway memorial garden party. I thank you for braving the inclement weather to be here to pay your respects to this remarkable man who was taken from us in the height of his prime. He had so many more years of Austen scholarship to teach us, and I know we all hope that his daughter Christina will continue the fine tradition he established.”
I watched Christina while Cynthia spoke, admiring her composure. Beside her, David rubbed her shoulder and offered her a tea. Behind him, Lydia made a rude gesture Morrie must’ve taught her.
“Today we shall have members of our community read from some of the professor’s most popular works and relate some of their fondest memories of his antics at various Jane Austen events over the years. But first, we’ll show you clips from the recent documentary on the professor’s life and work.”
A projection screen rolled down in front of the Christmas tree. The camera flashed the name of a documentary director famous for creating sensationalist profiles of ‘misunderstood’ men. It didn’t surprise me Hathaway had been connected with him. The camera zoomed in on a younger Hathaway – his features smug as he spoke to a class filled with cheering students. With his windswept hair and military-style jacket, he looked every bit the romantic hero. Emotional music swelled, and the narrator started to list Hathaway’s accomplishments.
“Intriguing,” Morrie said, leaning forward on his elbows.
The documentary was sickening in light of what Carmichael, Gerald, and Alice had revealed about Hathaway. It spent scant minutes on Jane Austen’s life and work, focusing instead on the scholarly methods that led Hathaway to his various Austen discoveries. Interviews with the professor showed a vain man who was an expert at manipulating the conversation to make himself appear clever and humble and attractive. Gushing interviews from David and various young female students seemed sinister in context.
I glanced over at Christina while her father talked on screen. Although she held her body rigid, tears streamed down her face. David offered her his handkerchief, his face wracked with concern.
Concern, or guilt?
The narrator spoke of Hathaway like some kind of intellectual freedom fighter who was disparaged and outright censored by the ‘academic establishment’ in an attempt to silence his ideas. In reality, he was clearly a manipulative bully with a lot of fringe theories who loved using Jane’s own words to advocate for the same misogynist worldview he’d forced onto Christina, who he held up as a shining example of true womanhood. What a dick. If I’d been indifferent to him before, I was now abhorred.
Press clippings and old photographs flickered on the screen as the narrator explained how Hathaway’s reclusive wife was struck down by a hereditary bone disease, leaving him distraught and heartbroken. All around me, Janeites sniffed into their handkerchiefs, touched at the sad story.
Next, the narrator spoke about how Hathaway tried to take down the academic establishment ‘at their own game’, whatever that meant. Cut to a scene inside a packed lecture hall. Professor Carmichael stood at the lectern, delivering a prestigious lecture series. Surprised, I looked around the orangery for her, but couldn’t see her anywhere. Maybe she’d left in disgust? Back on the screen, Carmichael was in the middle of a point about Austen’s hidden feminism when Hathaway leaped up and started arguing over one of her points. He wouldn’t let her get a word in. When she ordered security to escort him from the building, he accused her of being unable to participate in debate, stopping just short of accusing her of censorship. She yelled, “You’ll pay for this, Julius! I swear to you that you will suffer for what you’ve done.”
According to the narrator, that event caused Carmichael to be lampooned by Hathaway’s followers online, and memes of her red, flustered expression appeared all over the internet. Apparently, this was all part of Hathaway’s ‘cause’. Carmichael nearly lost her university position over his outburst, on what was supposed to be her platform to shine. Wow, no wonder she hates h
im—
“Mina,” Morrie pointed to the time on his phone.
Yikes. Time to go. I skulled the rest of my chocolate, collected my phone and purse, and turned to leave. Morrie rose and offered his hand. “I shall help you back to the Hall so you don’t slip in your dainty shoes,” he said, slightly too loudly, for he was shushed by several women.
We ducked outside, and I raced down toward the wood, the wind biting at my skin. At my side, Morrie kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes trained on the trees, searching for a foe. As we moved under the canopy of trees, Quoth soared down and landed on my shoulder.
I plunged into the trees, casting my eyes in all directions. Branches snapped behind me as Morrie followed close behind. “Alice?” I called. Ahead of me, a grey statue rose out of the snow. Scantily-clad, nubile women danced in a circle, clutching tiny harps and amphorae where wine spilled into the mouths of bearded satyrs. I turned right and stumbled over the icy ground.
Morrie’s fingers dug into my arm. “Gotcha. Over there. I can see something.”
He helped me down the slope. I recognized Alice’s coat on the ground. “Alice, we’re here. Tell us quickly, please, we’ve got to get back before Morrie’s testicles retract into his body—”
“Shite,” Morrie stopped dead, his face grim.
“Croak.” Quoth’s voice cracked, as though he was in pain.
“What?” But then, I saw it, too. Alice’s coat covered something else – a white muslin gown, speckled with blood. Beside the body lay a croquet mallet, the flat end dyed with wet crimson.
“Oh, no.”
Morrie slid down the slope and rolled the shape over. Alice Yo stared up at us, her mouth wide with terror, and the side of her skull caved in. The coat slid off her shoulders, revealing four bloody letters scrawled across her chest. They spelled out one word.
LIAR.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Pride and Premeditation Page 19
