An Independent Woman

by Candace Camp

  All up and down the hall, other people were coming out of their rooms, looking about and asking questions. Nicholas ran down the stairs, Juliana right behind him, everyone else following, as well. Downstairs, in the main corridor, they found a small knot of servants, with other servants running toward them from the back of the house.

  The butler was gripping one of the maids by the arms, and she was babbling hysterically, two other maids standing staring, eyes wide, at them.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Nicholas demanded.

  Rundell turned toward him with relief. “My lord! Mary Louise found—there’s been a great tragedy.”

  “What?”

  For answer, the butler led him down the corridor to one of the smaller reception rooms toward the back of the house. Juliana followed on Nicholas’s heels, with the rest of the household bringing up the rear.

  The room was richly paneled in walnut and very dark, with a kerosene lamp on one of the tables providing a circle of light. A sofa faced the fireplace, the space behind the couch leading toward the windows, which faced the side garden.

  Behind the couch lay Crandall, sprawled facedown, his hair matted with blood.

  Juliana sucked in her breath sharply, and Nicholas let out a sharp oath. He swung back, reaching out to stop the others, but it was too late. Lilith stood behind them, staring at the still form on the floor, her face bleached white and her eyes dark.

  “Crandall…” she breathed. She looked at Nicholas. “What happened? Is he—”

  “Juliana…” Nicholas said, and Juliana quickly went to Lilith, taking her arm and turning her, leading her from the room.

  It was doubtless a sign of the woman’s shock that she went with Juliana without resistance. Seraphina was standing just behind her husband in the doorway, and Winifred hovered behind them. Juliana guided Lilith to the other two women, saying, “Seraphina, why don’t you and Winifred take your mother and go, um, to the sitting room?”

  “What happened?” Seraphina asked, looked scared.

  “Why? What’s in there?” Winifred asked, looking confused. “Did she say Crandall?”

  “Crandall’s been hurt.”

  “What?” Winifred started forward, but Juliana caught her.

  “No. Don’t go in there. You don’t want to see.”

  “See what?” Winifred looked more and more frantic. “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know,” Juliana replied. “Nicholas will look into it. Right now, we don’t know anything.” Juliana glanced around, and, spotting the cluster of servants, she gestured toward her own maid. Celia, at least, having worked for Eleanor, would be both competent and not given to hysteria. “Celia, would you see to the ladies? You might get them a glass of brandy.”

  Celia nodded, proving Juliana’s estimation of her by not asking questions but simply stepping forward to do as Juliana bade her. After the women had left, Juliana turned back, slipping past Peter Hakebourne and Sir Herbert.

  Nicholas was kneeling beside Crandall, and he rose to his feet again when Juliana came back into the room. “He’s dead.”

  “What happened?” Sir Herbert demanded.

  “It looks like someone hit him in the back of the head. The fireplace poker is lying beside him, and there’s blood on it.”

  “Good God.” Sir Herbert looked shaken.

  Mr. Hakebourne blinked and glanced nervously over at the body on the floor. “What are you going to do?”

  “Send for the magistrate, I suppose. Judge Carstairs was just here.” He turned to the butler, who hovered nearby, waiting. “Rundell, send one of the grooms to fetch him.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “But first, tell me what you know about this.”

  “Very little, I fear,” the butler said. Though calm-spoken, Juliana noticed that he was a good deal paler than normal. “We had finished cleaning up and were about to go up to bed. One of the maids saw the light on in here and came to turn it off. That’s when she saw Master Crandall….”

  “She’s the one who screamed?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Did you see anyone coming into or going out of this room?”

  Rundell shook his head. “No. It was not really being used this evening. All the guests were in the main ballroom, and, of course, there were the people outside in the yard. Anyone could have come in here, but I did not see anyone.”

  “Including Crandall?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, I did not see him, either.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Nicholas asked.

  “I’m not sure, my lord. We were rather busy, in and out.”

  Nicholas turned toward the other two men. “Sir Herbert? Mr. Hakebourne?”

  Seraphina’s husband shifted uneasily. “Well, I suppose it was when he, um, when there was that altercation, um, between you and him. He left the room right afterwards.”

  “I took him out of the ballroom,” Hakebourne offered. “We walked back upstairs to his room. Crandall was going to wash his face. I suggested that he stay and lie down, but…” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what he did. I returned to the party. I didn’t see him again.”

  “I want to talk to all the servants,” Nicholas told the butler. “Gather them in the kitchen after you send for the magistrate.”

  “Very good, my lord.” Rundell bowed and exited the room.

  The men looked at each other. Juliana could almost see the thoughts running behind Hakebourne’s and Sir Herbert’s eyes. Crandall and Nicholas despised each other. They had fought, verbally and physically, only this evening. Who was more likely to have taken a poker to Crandall’s head than Lord Barre himself?

  Anxiety twisted in Juliana. It wasn’t Nicholas; it could not have been Nicholas. He had gone upstairs with her. They had been together when they heard the scream. But who knew how long Crandall had lain there before the maid had come into the room? It could have happened long before that…even during the time when Nicholas had left his room. No matter how certain she was that Nicholas had not killed him, she could not really prove it.

  The men turned to look once again at Crandall. Juliana followed their eyes, and a shiver ran down her spine. She had thoroughly disliked Crandall—could not, frankly, remember any moment in her life when she had even thought kindly of him—but it was awful to see him lying there like that, lifeless and bloody. It was a horrible end to his life.

  Nicholas crossed to the small table and picked up the lamp, bringing it over to hold above Crandall. The three men bent down, looking at him. The blood that matted the back of his hair gleamed dark and wet.

  Juliana’s stomach turned at the sight, and she quickly looked away. As she did so, she caught sight of a glimmer of something. She took a step forward, closer to the wall, and looked around the floor in front of the low set of shelves that lay there. At first she could not see anything, but then Nicholas shifted the lamp again, and its light caught something small and sparkly.

  She bent down, seeing a small piece of glass. She picked it up between her fingers. It was red, and she could see now that it was not glass, as she had first thought, but a jewel. A ruby.

  Juliana opened her mouth to point out to the others what she had found, but she quickly closed it and looked over at the men. None of them were watching her. Without a word, she pocketed the gem. It could have fallen from someone’s jewelry at any time, she knew. But it also could have fallen from something on the murderer. It could very likely be a clue as to who had killed Crandall, and if that was the case, she did not want anyone to know what she had found. As long as the killer did not know that he—or she—had lost the gem, he would not get rid of whatever piece of jewelry it had come from.

  It was possible that Hakebourne or Sir Herbert had been the killer. Juliana knew how much Sir Herbert disliked Crandall, and she had just seen Mr. Hakebourne arguing with him this evening. Even if neither one of them was the murderer, they were all too likely to tell someone else about her finding the jewel,
and then news of the gem soon would be all over the house.

  Nicholas turned and set the lamp back down on the table, and the men stepped back from the body. Juliana noticed that Hakebourne cast a frowning look at Nicholas, but he said nothing.

  They left the room, closing the door behind them, and Nicholas posted one of the footmen outside in the hall with instructions to let no one in until the officials arrived. Nicholas went off to speak to the servants in the kitchen, and Juliana went in search of the other women. She found them in the informal sitting room. Celia had built a fire in the grate, and the room was excessively hot. Lilith, however, was sitting close to the fire, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  The older woman looked terrible. Her face was ashen, and her eyes were great pools of despair. Juliana felt a wrench of pity for her. Of all the people in the house, Juliana thought, Lilith was the only one who would truly mourn Crandall’s death. Though she had clearly grown upset with his ways, in her heart she had never seen him as he really was but only as the fine upstanding son she had wanted him to be. She was responsible for many of his unattractive character traits, Juliana thought, spoiling him and filling him with the idea of his own importance, never believing any of the truth she heard about him, but accepting Crandall’s own self-serving versions of what happened. But no one could deny that Lilith had loved Crandall, and Juliana knew that she must be devastated by his death.

  Seraphina, who was sitting much farther away from the fire, on a couch with Winifred, fanning herself, looked up at Juliana’s entrance and offered her a wan smile. Seraphina looked over at her mother, who was staring into the fire as if no one else were in the room. Juliana followed her gaze. She wasn’t sure what to do. Comforting Lilith had never been something she had even thought of doing.

  She walked over and sat down on a chair across from the older woman, doing her best to ignore the heat from the fireplace. “Aunt Lilith…”

  Lilith looked at her vaguely, as if she was not quite certain who Juliana was.

  “I am so sorry,” Juliana told the other woman simply.

  Lilith continued to look at her without saying anything.

  “Perhaps you should go up to your room and lie down.”

  “I cannot sleep,” Lilith replied.

  “I can ask Cook to heat you a cup of milk,” Juliana offered.

  “I don’t want to sleep,” Lilith told her flatly.

  Juliana could think of nothing else to offer. But she could not bring herself to leave the suffering woman. So she sat, as Seraphina and Winifred sat, waiting and saying nothing.

  After a time, Sir Herbert and Mr. Hakebourne entered the room. It was as though none of them could bring themselves to simply go to bed, yet there was nothing to say, either. Sometime later there was the sound of a stir out in the hallway, and Juliana thought that the magistrate must have arrived. Her thought was confirmed when Judge Carstairs entered the room and bowed gravely toward Lilith, then the rest of them.

  “Sad, sad thing,” he commented generally.

  “Judge Carstairs.” Lilith rose and went over to him. “What have you found?”

  He looked a little flustered at facing the murdered man’s mother. “Well, um, Mrs. Barre…you know, you really should be lying down. This isn’t a fit subject for a lady’s ears.”

  “He is my son,” Lilith replied with dignity. “I have a right to know.”

  “Well, um, certainly. It appears to be death by misadventure,” the magistrate said. “Of course, we can’t say for sure ’til the coroner’s court, but I don’t think the reason will change.”

  “Yes, but who did it?” Seraphina asked, her hands knotted into her skirts. “Do you have any idea who could have—”

  The magistrate began to shake his head, but Lilith jumped in before he could speak. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? Who hated my son that much? Who came to blows with him this evening on the dance floor?”

  The judge looked uncomfortable. He had been one of the wedding guests and, like all the others, had been witness to the fight between Nicholas and Crandall.

  “Well, now, as to that, it doesn’t mean that Lord Barre had anything to do with—”

  “He couldn’t have,” Juliana said. “He was with me this evening after that fight.”

  “Well, there, you see.” Judge Carstairs looked relieved. “Lord Barre has an alibi. Entire evening, you say?”

  “This was our wedding night,” Juliana pointed out.

  “Harrumph, yes, well, of course.” The judge looked more embarrassed than Juliana at the topic of conversation. He turned toward Lilith. “The coroner’s court will conduct a full investigation, Mrs. Barre. Your son’s murder will not go unpunished.”

  Lilith looked at the judge for a long moment; then her gaze went to Juliana consideringly. “I believe I will go up to bed now. Ladies, I suggest we leave the gentlemen to their work.”

  Juliana had no desire to leave, but when Lilith held out her hand to take Juliana’s arm for support, she could do nothing else. The women went upstairs, saying little as they walked. Juliana presumed that, like herself, they were all too overwhelmed by the events of the evening to be able even to think clearly.

  Once in her room, Juliana slipped her hand into the pocket of her dressing gown and took out the jewel. Going over to the lamp on the dresser, she bent down and examined the ruby in its light. She could tell nothing from it that she had not seen before, and finally she set it carefully in the top portion of her jewelry box. She pulled off her dressing gown and laid it aside, glancing over at the bed. She could not help but think about what she and Nicholas had been doing when they were interrupted by the scream. She looked down at herself and for the first time realized that she had put her nightgown on inside out. The front of it had clearly shown between the V of the neck of her dressing gown, she knew, and a blush stained her cheeks. It would have been obvious that she had dressed hastily, which would lead the mind to exactly what she had been engaged in.

  At least, she thought as she climbed into bed and pulled the sheet up to her now-heated face, her appearance would have added verisimilitude to what she had told the magistrate about where Nicholas was.

  Turning on her side, she tried to gather her thoughts. But she found that her mind was too scattered; she could settle on nothing for longer than a moment or two.

  At last she heard the sound of steps coming up the stairs. They must have belonged to the other men, she thought, for no one entered the room next door. She continued to wait, thinking she would never go to sleep.

  The next thing she knew, it was morning.

  THE SUN WAS COMING through a crack between the draperies, and its light in her eyes had awakened her. She sat up groggily. She had not gotten enough sleep, but she knew she would not be able to slip back into slumber. She jackknifed her knees and laid her head against them, letting out a soft groan.

  She would have liked to think that the events of the last night had been a dream, but she knew they had not. Crandall was dead. And someone had murdered him. Lilith obviously believed—or wanted to believe—that it was Nicholas.

  The fact that he and Crandall had so publicly quarreled the night before would not look good, Juliana knew. And while she had given him an alibi, the word of one’s wife was not the most reliable proof. It was imperative, therefore, that she and Nicholas find out who had actually committed the murder.

  She got up and washed her face at the basin, then pulled out a morning dress that required no help for her to put on. She did not want to have to drag poor Celia out so early. After slipping on her shoes, she impulsively put the ruby in her pocket, then made her way downstairs.

  Nicholas was the only one at breakfast. He looked up at her and smiled a little wearily as he stood up and came around to pull out her chair. “Could you not sleep, either?”

  “I awoke early,” Juliana told him. “I—my sleep was restless.”

  “’Tis no wonder.”

  As he sat down, one of the maids, a gir
l named Annie, came forward to pour tea for Juliana. Juliana noticed the poor girl’s hand shook so badly that the teapot rattled against the cup. She looked up with concern into the girl’s face. It was pale, her eyes huge.

  “Annie, are you all right?” she asked.

  The maid gulped and glanced over to where the footman was serving up Nicholas’s eggs. “Yes, miss—my lady, I should say.”

  The girl looked so nervous that Juliana could not bring herself to press her. And there was no need to, really. There was little wonder that someone would be afraid in a house where murder had been done the night before.

  The maid topped off Nicholas’s cup, as well, and returned the pot to its place on the sideboard. She picked up a platter of breakfast meats and started toward the table, her back to the door. At that moment the butler entered the room as noiselessly as he always did, coming up to the sideboard behind Annie. She started to turn back, almost running into Rundell, and she let out a shriek and dropped the platter with a crash.

  “Clumsy girl!” Rundell exclaimed. “Get back to the kitchen. At once.”

  “I—I’m sorry, sir,” the girl got out, then burst into tears and rushed from the room.

  The footman hurried to clean up the mess, and Rundell turned toward Nicholas and Juliana. “I beg your pardon, my lord. My lady. I’m afraid the girl is frightened out of what little wits she has.”

  “It’s quite understandable,” Nicholas replied quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I shall bring in another plate right away.”

  The mess was soon picked up, and Rundell left the room, returning shortly with another full plate of meat. He sent the footman on his way and finished serving the remainder of the breakfast himself.

  Nicholas soon dismissed the butler, as well, saying he was certain that the servants were in a turmoil this morning and his presence was needed to reassure them. Rundell nodded and bowed out of the room, closing the door behind him.