He was almost at the bedroom doorway when he heard the sound: a giggle—muted, smothered perhaps, but clearly a giggle. The hair rose on the back of his neck. He listened intently, but did not move. There was a rustling, as of starched sheets. Then a sigh that had no sadness in it. He should have wheeled and bolted, but he didn’t. Like a moth to the flame, he was drawn into that doorway and a sight that first mystified and then seared him.
No candle lit the scene on the bed, but the last of the moonlight bathed it visible and shimmeringly surreal. At first blush, it was a silken knot of tawny limbs, intertwined and serpentine. Then a flash of toe, a whipped wisp of hair, a bulb of surprised flesh confirmed the human form—or forms. The willful moans of surrender, the muzzled grunts of pleasure-pain, the yip at forbidden touch would have conjured in any viewer’s imagination the lustful conjunction of male and female in the oldest act. But what Marc saw, and his mind at first rejected, was the sexual entanglement of woman and woman: Tessa Guildersleeve and Annemarie Thedford.
They were far too engrossed to notice Marc’s shadow fall across the bed, then retreat. Marc did not realize until he had backed across the outer room and sat down on the settee there that he had neglected to take a breath. He was sure they would now hear him gasping, but the moans and sighs continued apace, slowing and receding gradually as the minutes ticked by. Mrs. Thedford’s voice became distinguishable: a sequence of soothing sounds above the grateful mewling of the girl. Marc sat stunned. Yet despite the almost visceral revulsion he felt, the tenderness and consolation in the sounds from that room were undeniably those of love’s afterglow—not the satiate wheezes of lust’s exhaustion. That Annemarie Thedford loved Tessa Guildersleeve was unashamedly revealed.
His mind began to work again. He found himself staring across the room at the commode where Mrs. Thedford kept the only gifts her father had bequeathed her. In a flash, he realized what he had overlooked the day before, and he knew what instrument had stunned Merriwether and made the horrific stabbing possible. Before him was a plausible motive for what he had known all along was a murder committed in the white heat of rage and recrimination. He did not know entirely how the crime had been orchestrated, but he knew for certain who had committed it.
“Ah, Marc. I thought that was you in the doorway. I’m glad you decided to wait.”
Mrs. Thedford was standing across from him, her nakedness swathed in a satin robe, and she was smiling a welcome at him, as if he had arrived a bit early for tea and had happily made himself at home.
“Where are the silver candlesticks, the ones you claimed were so dear to you?”
“I was sure you’d notice sooner or later; nothing much gets past you,” she said, and it sounded for all the world like a compliment.
“There was one here when I searched the room yesterday. If I hadn’t been so obsessed with finding the laudanum, I would have realized it then.”
“Ah, so it was you who’d been in here. You didn’t quite place the hand-mirror or the candlestick back where I always leave them.”
“You hid the other one, didn’t you?”
She smiled warmly. “Silly of me, wasn’t it? I should have tucked them both out of sight.” There was no bitterness in this remark: it was a plain statement.
“You have no idea how much I’ve admired you …” Marc said, his voice nearly breaking.
“And I, you,” she said, pulling a padded chair over beside the settee and sitting down to face him. “And now you’ve come to accuse me of murdering Jason, and I can see the pain it is causing you.”
“I don’t know how you did it, but I know it was you,” Marc said softly, looking away, afraid of what might next be said or done.
“Don’t be so disconsolate, Marc. Of course I did it. And I was positive it would be you who would find me out.” She was gazing upon him with admiration and a plaintive sort of fondness.
“You admit it, then?”
“I do. And now I’d like you to wipe that disappointment off your handsome face and relax, have a glass of sherry with me—sans laudanum—and we’ll discuss everything.”
All Marc could think of replying to this unexpected invitation was, “What about Tessa?”
Mrs. Thedford laughed. “The minute I’ve finished making love to her, she starts snoring like a hedgehog.”
THEY WERE SITTING VERY CLOSE TOGETHER, almost knee to knee, sipping sherry like two old friends after a long absence. Mrs. Thedford did not take her eyes off Marc, even as she tipped her sherry glass to her lips. Her seeming unconcern and aplomb were as unnerving as they were incredible.
“I suggest that you go first, Marc. Tell me all you think you know.” She sat back, smiling encouragement. Marc collected his thoughts.
“I believe you heard Tessa cry out when she was attacked by Merriwether, and thinking logically that it was Rick Hilliard behaving abominably, you grabbed a candlestick and ran down the hall into Tessa’s room. There you discovered Merriwether in his nightshirt on top of a helpless Tessa who, already drugged and disoriented, had mercifully passed out. You did what any responsive person would have done: you struck Merriwether on the back of the skull with the only weapon you had, the candlestick. He reared up, still conscious for an instant, spun around, then collapsed on the carpet, faceup and legs splayed, but still breathing. Enraged by his actions—after all, he had just violated in the most reprehensible manner possible a young woman who was not merely your ward but your … paramour—you decided to finish him off. This was a decision taken in a fury, totally irrational and utterly unlike anything you had ever done or thought to do.”
“You are very generous.” She seemed amused by this quaint narrative.
“You could have struck him again with the candlestick, but I suspect the fact that he was facing you may have caused you to hesitate. It was then that you spotted Rick slumped unconscious on the settee. There was only one candle lit beside Tessa’s bed, and in your fear for Tessa you had not seen him. He had foolishly strapped on his sabre to impress Tessa. You pulled it from its scabbard, gripped it with both hands, steeled yourself, and plunged it into Merriwether’s chest. Then, the deed done, you were suddenly horrified at what you’d done. Tessa was unconscious and breathing regularly. You had to place the blame elsewhere if you were to survive and help her through this crisis. Somehow you smeared blood all over poor Hilliard, picked up your candlestick, and ran. I’m certain that the weapon is still in this building and can be found.
“But, of course, Tessa’s cry had been heard by both Armstrong and Beasley, something you hadn’t had time to consider. Fortunately, Armstrong was too drunk or hungover to respond. His door was ajar, so he must have seen you, in the weak light from Tessa’s room or his own. The bloody candlestick was in your grip. Beasley claims it was no more than two minutes between the time he heard Tessa cry and his arrival there, so he, too, must have seen you in the dark hall. How you contrived to have them lie for you and do it so consistently I can only guess. But it was midmorning Tuesday before I began my questioning. You had ample time before that to intimidate and coach your colleagues, who are after all your underlings and dependents.”
“And you believe me capable of that sort of bullying hypocrisy?” She looked genuinely hurt at being accused of this latter, more venial, transgression.
“Not at first and that was my mistake. I thought from the beginning that this was a crime of passion—I could not get the image of that steel stake through Merriwether’s body out of my mind. But having watched you rehearse on Monday, having worked with you alone here yesterday afternoon, and performed next to you last evening, no, I could not believe you capable of organizing and manipulating such a conspiracy.”
“Thank you. Because, you see, I did nothing of the sort.”
“But Beasley and Armstrong must have seen you. There wasn’t time for you to hear the cry, realize its significance, pick up the candlestick, stumble into Tessa’s room, strike Merriwether down, discover Hilliard, draw his sword, stab Merriwet
her, decide to set up the young lothario as the murderer, find something to dip into Merriwether’s spouting blood, smear Rick’s jacket, breeches, hands, and boots, pick up the dropped candlestick, and flee back to your room. All of this in two minutes? No.”
“The reason you believed their testimony was because all of them were telling the truth. What they say they saw is what they did see.” She said this proudly, and still there was a twinkle of amusement in her steady gaze.
“It is not possible.”
“Well, let me tell you what was possible and what did happen. More sherry?”
Marc shook his head. Mrs. Thedford leaned forward again, allowing the top of her robe to slip open several inches. She didn’t appear to notice, however, for she had suddenly become quite serious, narrowing her gaze and appearing to visualize the actions as she narrated them.
“I knew I would lose Tessa someday. Men were increasingly attracted to her, and I could see her trying out various responses to their overtures. She never stopped loving me, never left my bed except when it was imprudent not to. I’m sure you’re worldly enough to realize that our love is considered by most to be unnatural.”
“But you were also her mentor,” Marc protested. “She must have been terribly confused. And as the older adult, you bore full responsibility for the … the situation.”
“Again, you are right, and wise beyond your years. But, you see, I, too, was confused. Tessa was not the first woman I had loved, and I knew when she came to me that I should not approach her on those terms. She needed a mother.” Her eyes looked away. “All children do.” She covered her momentary distress by refilling her sherry glass from the decanter beside her on the floor.
“You lost your own mother when you were very young?”
“I never knew her. Still, I missed her. Odd, isn’t it?”
“Not at all,” Marc said, having known such a feeling himself.
“Ultimately, we became … involved, and though I tried several times to end it, Tess wouldn’t hear of it and I was miserable at the thought. We convinced ourselves it was right.”
“Surely you were risking everything, the company, the—”
“Perhaps. But I was determined that Tessa not become entangled with any other members of the troupe. So when I saw Jason pursuing her, I read him the riot act. And for a while everything was fine, until Tessa—”
“Started showing an interest in him.”
“Yes. You saw for yourself, though, on Monday afternoon how she used the attraction to get back at me because I refused to favour her over Thea in the distribution of parts. She is too young to understand the difference between personal and artistic decisions. Besides which, Thea has been a loyal member of the company and a good friend since joining it.”
“You planned to help her through her pregnancy?”
The smile returned briefly. “My, you are good at this detecting business. Thea came to me after Jason’s death. If only she’d come sooner.”
“You might have got them safely married?”
“Something like that.”
“It must have been you who talked her out of killing herself after his death.”
“I certainly tried. Anyway, when I saw Tessa and Ensign Hilliard hitting it off so well, I was not only not concerned, I was actually pleased. I was sure he would take her in the way of a man—she was shamelessly testing her seduction techniques on him—and that she would then have some better notion about that sort of love, with the certainty that we would be on our way to Detroit by week’s end and any emotional connection would be broken permanently.”
“You were willing to let Tessa make a choice? Was that not dangerous for you? You might have lost her affection for good.”
“That is true, and I thought I was strong enough to carry it off. I even pictured myself as noble and self-sacrificing, a mother letting the child choose the world over her.” Her face clouded over. “But, alas, I was not that brave. When Tessa and Hilliard went into her room, I assumed the worst, and braced for it. I went to my bedroom, where I could not possibly be privy to any of the goings-on through the wall. I even put my infamous earplugs in. But not for long. Soon I found myself standing, naked and fearful, right over there with my ear pressed to the wallpaper. I could hear their giggling and the clink of glasses. Then nothing for a long time. I became alarmed. Before I could make up my mind what to do—perhaps get dressed and try a discreet rap on their door—I heard Tessa’s cry. It wasn’t a scream. It was a sharp yelp of surprise and physical pain. That’s all. But I knew what it meant.” At last she looked away, abashed.
Marc understood at last how the crime had been accomplished. “There were two cries, weren’t there? The first one heard only by you.”
She swung her head around to face him, the glorious ropes of her sandy hair swinging sensuously in the variable light. She was smiling through a scrim of tears. “Ah, you are far too young to be so clever. You must come from exceptional stock.”
Marc was flattered, unaccountably, but pressed on. “That’s how you and you alone were able to get down to that room, kill Merriwether, entrap Hilliard, and get back here.”
“That’s right. Of course, I had no conception of what was actually going on in there, you understand. I was out of my mind with jealousy and anger at Tessa and at my own foolish weakness: I simply ran out into the hall without a stitch on, the candlestick in my hand. I just assumed that it was the soldier on top of her. Then I was shocked to see the candlestick suddenly smeared with blood and hair, even more to see Jason on the floor, staring up and dazed, his eyes slowly closing. I had hit him a savage blow, but had no memory of it.
“It must have taken me a minute or so to comprehend what I had done. Then the rage took hold, pure and unstoppable. The violator was not young Hilliard, whose amorous pawings I could understand, but Jason Merriwether, a man to whom I had given a second life. I put my trust in him, was about to make him a partner in the Bowery Theatre. And I had specifically warned him away from Tessa. You can’t imagine how betrayed I felt. In that moment, I hated all men, monsters who had done nothing but betray me all my adult life. I saw the gleam on the sword, I don’t think I even knew it was Hill-iard’s, but I pulled it out, walked over to Jason, and plunged it through the son-of-a-bitch’s heart.”
The recollection of that grotesque act had brought sweat to her brow and a tremble to her lip. In a quieter tone she continued. “The blood began spouting everywhere, and I instinctively jumped aside. Some splattered me, but I was naked, so no harm done. I went over to check on Tessa, but I was shaking so hard by then I could not properly detect her pulse. She began breathing regularly with that little-girl snore I know so well. I was sure now that she was all right, and had seen nothing. I took a large handkerchief of hers and dipped it in Jason’s blood and smeared it on Hilliard—it took several trips to soak his uniform. And I knew, as you said, how it would go when the two of them were discovered. Then I came back here, unseen.”
“That explains why I could find no evidence of blood being splattered on Rick’s tunic: you smeared it with a cloth. And there was a set of boot-prints approaching the body because Rick never did stagger back to the settee. You or Jason must have knocked the ashtray onto the floor after he was struck. But you still had a bloody handkerchief and a candlestick to dispose of.”
“Yes. I had put on a little fire in the stove earlier, so I started it up and burned the hanky.”
“I found traces of it in the ash in your grate yesterday.”
“Did you?”
“But the candlestick would be harder to hide. Why didn’t you just wipe it clean?”
“I intended to. It took a few minutes for the fire to get going, and I also realized that I needed to wash myself thoroughly—I had some blood on my hands and arms. So I did that, praying that neither Hilliard nor Tessa would wake up too soon, and praying also that it would be Hilliard first so Tessa might be spared the scene in that room. I was more anxious about that than making sure I
wasn’t caught. I had just dried myself and slipped into a nightgown when I heard Tessa scream loud enough to wake the dead. My heart turned to ice. But the die was cast. I grabbed the candlestick, ran into my bedroom, threw myself down, jammed the candlestick under the blanket, stuffed in my earplugs, and tried to calm myself. It seemed like an eternity before Clarence and Jeremiah came rushing in to fetch me. And the rest you know.”
Yes. Rick waking when Tessa screamed, not at the gory sight of Merriwether on the floor, but rather at her handsome young soldier, apparently mortally wounded on the settee. For her, it had been the nightmarish image of a stabbed and dying lover: she didn’t yet know that one of her nightmare cries had been real and had sealed Rick Hilliard’s fate.
“Tessa didn’t see Merriwether,” Marc said. “She saw only Rick. Being drugged, she has no recollection of the rape except for the initial jab of pain. She doesn’t even know she screamed aloud that second time. And now the blood on Rick has become a hero’s badge of devotion.”
“Tessa has come through this ordeal better than any of us. I have committed murder, killed a man I once admired and respected. I can never forgive myself for that. Nor will any rationalization justify it or mitigate the remorse I feel. What’s more, and just as bad, I have allowed an innocent, even noble, young man to be falsely accused. But I have suffered much before this, and gone on. I hope I have the strength to do so this time.”
Vital Secrets Page 21
