Beatrice

by King, Rebecca

  “It isn’t a man. That’s something somebody has dropped, that’s all,” she assured nobody in particular as she made her way to the door. “Maud? Maud, are you at home?” She called as she hurried out into the hallway.

  Silence greeted her and she made her way down the stairs.

  “Maud?”

  Maud usually ran a meticulous household, and kept to a strict timetable which had not changed since the very first day Beatrice had moved in. Maud got up at five o’clock, lit the fires, did the first set of her chores and started to make breakfast at seven. It was now nearly ten o’clock in the morning, so where was she?

  As she walked through the house, Beatrice checked each room as she passed and was concerned to note that the curtains were still drawn and the fires unlit in all of the downstairs rooms. The kitchen, although neat and tidy, had not been used to make breakfast.

  “Maud?”

  “In here dear,” came the muffled reply.

  Beatrice almost wept with relief at the sound of Maud’s voice and hurried to the bedroom in the housekeeper’s quarters.

  “Are you alright? What is it? What’s wrong?” She studied the flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes and knew that Maud had caught a chill. “You were out in the rain yesterday, weren’t you?” She shook her head when Maud glared balefully at her without replying. “I am going to get you some tea. You stay in bed where it is warm.” She paused long enough to light the fire and hurried out of the room.

  “I should be doing that for you,” Maud grumbled.

  “This is the first time in nearly fifteen years that you have missed a day. Now it is my turn to look after you, and I will have no argument about it,” Beatrice huffed as she gathered the tea things and stoked the stove up before she put a kettle of water on to boil.

  Once the water was heating, she moved to the window and drew the curtains back. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the bundle of rags on the floor beside the woods. Although something warned her not to go out there, curiosity urged her to find out what they were, and where they were likely to come from. She was fairly certain that it wasn’t the carcass of a badger or a fox because it was too big and the colours were all wrong.

  She eyed the pot of water. It was going to take a little while to boil so she gathered her shawl and quietly let herself out of the back door.

  The day was going to be a warm one. It was only mid-morning and the sun was already high in the sky, and brought with it a certain mugginess that brought out a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead within minutes of being outside. In spite of that, it was wonderful to be outside, and Beatrice sighed in delight as she was immediately encased in summer sunshine. She hurried down the path toward the gap in the low rockery that ran along the top of the garden, intent on finding out what the bundle was so she could get back to the kitchen to make Maud’s tea.

  “Beatrice?”

  She whirled around, and smiled in delight to find Ben a few feet behind her. “Are you alright?”

  Beatrice opened her mouth to assure him that she was fine but then paused and looked at him hesitantly. “Maud is not very well this morning,” she sighed.

  “Maud?” Ben frowned. Did he know a Maud?”

  “Mrs Partridge. I think she got caught out in the rain yesterday and has caught a chill, so is going to spend the day in bed.”

  Ben nodded. “It sounds the best place for her. Is there anything I can do?” He asked hopefully.

  This morning she looked even more beautiful than she had yesterday. Her hair had once again been swept back into a tight bun at the base of her neck, but several small strands of hair had managed to escape anyway and now danced gaily against her cheek. He was just contemplating kissing the delightful curve of her lips when her words snapped him out of his revere.

  Beatrice shook her head and offered him a smile. “I was just going to investigate this up here. I am sure that it wasn’t here yesterday, but cannot think for the life of me what it might be.” She nodded toward the mysterious bundle of rags.

  She led the way up the path and tried to stop herself from staring at him. It was a struggle to think of anything other than just how wonderful he looked this morning. He had changed into a pair of dark charcoal-coloured trousers, accompanied with a white shirt and beautiful waistcoat which was made from the same material as his rather finely cut jacket. However, she rather felt that his mesmerising masculinity had little to do with the expensive cut of his clothing, and more to do with the charisma of the man himself.

  “I am glad you are here,” she added quietly with a smile. Her heart flipped when he immediately grinned at her.

  “Me too.” He nodded toward the bundle of rags. “Is it wildlife, do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” Beatrice turned around and moved a bit closer to the object of her curiosity. “I don’t think so.”

  “Good Lord,” she whispered moments later. Now that she was closer, she was able to see a pair of feet pointing toward her. Her stomach started to churn as dread drew her to a stop.

  “Go back inside, Beatrice, while I take a closer look,” Ben ordered quietly.

  When she didn’t move, he took her by the shoulders and tried to turn her around only for her to refuse to budge.

  “No, I need to see if it is someone I know.” She looked down at the boots and felt sick with dread at the thought of viewing a corpse, but she couldn’t afford to be squeamish now. She had seen Miss Haversham die right in front of her eyes; she had seen dead bodies before. Although she tried to remind herself that there was absolutely nothing to be concerned about with this body either; deep inside, she knew that this was not just a dead body.

  Ben studied her for a moment and contemplated whether to continue to argue with her until she left. However, for every second that they talked, they were not able to find out who the person was, or if they still needed help. The thought that he might be injured was enough to leave Beatrice where she was so he could squat down beside the body and give it a gentle nudge. He knew immediately from the way the body rocked stiffly that the person was dead, and had been quite some time.

  “I am going to roll him over,” Ben warned her and waited for her to nod before he did just that.

  They both stared in horror at the slack-jawed look of horror on the man’s face, and the large handle that protruded from the centre of the man’s chest. Death had claimed him hours ago from the look of the rigor mortis that had settled into his limbs. Had he been murdered yesterday during the storm? Or overnight while she had been asleep in her bed?

  “God in heaven,” Beatrice whispered, fervently glad that she hadn’t had any breakfast. “He has been murdered.”

  “Do you recognise him?” Ben asked as he studied the ground around the body.

  Beatrice didn’t want to look at that death-gnarled face, she really didn’t, but had to. If only so she could assure herself that she didn’t recognise him. “I don’t think so. No.”

  “What’s that?” Ben asked with a frown as he studied a white piece of something the man held in his clenched fingers.

  “It looks like a piece of paper,” Beatrice replied cautiously but made no attempt to reach out to get it. The thought of having to touch the body made her feel sick. She watched in horror as Ben picked up a twig from the base of the nearest tree, and slowly prised the fingers open enough to retrieve a small piece of white paper.

  He carefully unfolded it and swore. He didn’t want to show her, but could hardly ignore it now that they had it. Reluctantly, he glanced up at her and shook his head.

  “You are not going to like it,” he warned and held the paper aloft for her to read.

  Beatrice tipped her head: Beatrice Northolt, Brantley Manor, Tipton Hollow.

  “Oh my,” she whispered in horror. “He was here for me.”

  “Are you sure you don’t know him, Beatrice?” he demanded.

  When she continued to stare in stunned disbelief at the body and didn’t appear to have even heard him, he grabbed her
shoulders and gave her a single shake in an attempt to draw her attention back to him. The last thing he needed right now was for panic to take hold of her. It was bad enough that they had a body to content with, the last thing he wanted as a hysterical female on his hands as well.

  “I want you to stay calm for me, Beatrice,” he murmured. “Go back inside while I fetch the constable.”

  “Shouldn’t someone stay with him?” she whispered around a muffled sob.

  “He is beyond help, darling. Right now we need to take care of the living. You need to see to Maud. I will go and get Fred.” He tipped her head up and waited until she looked at him. “It will be alright darling, just go back inside and keep the door locked until I get back.”

  “It’s him,” Beatrice whispered. When he drew her into his arms, she didn’t hesitate to slide her arms around him and rest her head on his shoulder. “It’s the man who was looking through the window yesterday. God, Ben, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know darling, but we will get to the bottom of it. I promise.” Ben could feel the fine tremors that coursed through her and sighed.

  Only a few minutes ago she had looked happy and carefree as she had wandered up the garden. Now she was frozen in fear, and clearly deeply distressed by the grim discovery practically on her doorstep. God, life could be so cruel sometimes.

  “It’s him,” she repeated and leaned back to look up at him.

  “Are you sure it is the same one?” He felt her nod.

  If the man had needed help, why hadn’t he knocked on the window? If he wanted Beatrice, why hadn’t he knocked on the door? The fact that he had a piece of paper in his hand with Beatrice’s name and address on indicated that the man didn’t know, and wasn’t familiar with where she lived. But who was he? What was he doing here?

  More importantly, who in the hell had killed him?

  His thoughts immediately turned to the mysterious black carriage that had almost run her over - twice - and the strange visitor who had demanded his package back. Were they connected in some way? He hated to admit it but he rather thought that they were, only couldn’t fathom what Beatrice’s involvement was. After all, she wasn’t a botanist and, unless she was lying about how much work she had done for her uncle then she had nothing to do with the plant inside the study.

  With more questions than answers, Ben carefully turned her toward the house and nudged her into a walk.

  “We can’t just leave him here,” Beatrice whispered and rapidly blinked away the tears that loomed.

  “Well, I am not moving him into the house,” Ben retorted flatly. When she threw him a wry look, he softened his stance. “I don’t mean to sound gruesome, but I think he has been dead for some time. A few more hours lying where he is aren’t likely to hurt him.”

  She knew that he was right and couldn’t bring herself to argue with him. Right now, she couldn’t focus on anything other than the knowledge that while she had slept contentedly in her bed, this man had met a grizzly end only a few feet away.

  “The poor man,” she whispered. “The poor, poor man.” She turned to him. “Who would do something like this Ben? Who?”

  She sounded so lost, so confused, that his heart flipped and he drew her into another quick hug just outside the back door.

  “I don’t know, darling. You go inside and lock the door behind you. Don’t answer it until I get back.” He all but pushed her into the house and closed the door behind her. Once the sound of the bolts being slid home assured him she was safe, he made his way toward his carriage and climbed aboard. He could only hope that Fred Dinage, the village constable, wasn’t doing his rounds because he didn’t want to leave Beatrice alone for a second longer than he absolutely had to.

  Beatrice was pacing nervously in front of the fire when she heard the crunch of the stones in the driveway sometime later. She hurried into the front parlour and peered outside, only to groan at the sight of the nondescript carriage that blocked the end of the driveway. She had a horrible suspicion that she knew who the visitor was, and had absolutely no intention of answering the door to him.

  “Hurry up, Ben,” she whispered and quickly made her way toward the back of the house, where she drew the kitchen curtains and made sure that the bolt was still across the door.

  Heavy thumps sounded on the front door but she ignored them. Instead, she poked her head into Maud’s room only to find her fast asleep. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, and a bowl sat beside her on the floor. It was evident that the housekeeper would have to remain in bed for the day and so, with a sigh, Beatrice set about clearing out the grates and lighting the fires. With something to do, it was easy to ignore the repeated thumps on both the front and back doors as the wretched visitor persisted.

  Once the tidying was done, Beatrice turned her attention to the study. The shutters were still closed and the curtains drawn, but there was enough light from the doorway behind her to take another look at the strange plant. It was difficult to think that something so beautiful could bring so much trouble with it. If only she knew who had sent it to her, and why, she would be able to find out if the death of the man at the end of the garden was linked to the plant in any way. She coughed uncomfortably and, when the sickening smell from the source of the mystery became too much to bear, backed out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her.

  The temptation to take a peek out of the shutters to check the body was still there was strong, but she daren’t, just in case the visitor loitered out there. Besides, she had no idea why she expected it to go missing; he could hardly get up and walk away after all.

  Determined to put the matter to one side until Ben and Fred arrived, she turned her attention to tidying her bedroom. Then, once the house was all in order, she could sit down to wait.

  The crunch of gravel in the driveway sounded again nearly an hour later. Beatrice put her sewing down and contemplated whether she should go back into the front parlour to see who it was but then decided against it. If it was the stranger again, and he happened to look through the window, he would see her. The last thing she wanted was for him to know that she was home alone.

  The sudden rattle of the back door drew her quickly into the hallway. She arrived in the kitchen just in time to see the door knob begin to slowly turn. Unusually, there was no knock on either the back or front doors, yet the person was trying to see if the door would open. Her first thought was that it might be Ben, but she immediately dismissed that idea because she knew Ben would knock and call out.

  While he was busy at the other end of the house, she hurried through the house and took the opportunity to study the black carriage parked at the end of the driveway. Now that she was able to take a closer look at it, she strongly suspected that it was the same one that had nearly run her over yesterday. Was the man who wanted his plant back really a killer? Had he returned now to claim her as his second victim?

  Don’t be a goose. Get a hold of yourself, she warned herself. Why would he want to kill you for a wretched plant?

  Everything went quiet. She stood in the hallway for a moment and listened carefully, but didn’t hear the crunch of wheels on the gravel to indicate that the man had left. Instead, the low murmur of voices broke the silence. Curious, she hurried into the front parlour to take a look out of the window.

  The sight that greeted her made her slump with relief. Outside, Fred and Ben were deep in conversation with the stranger. From the wild gesticulation of the stranger’s hands, he was far from happy about something. Still, Beatrice didn’t hesitate to slide the bolts across the front door, and race outside toward help.

  “I am warning you here and now that I shall take you down to the station if I hear of any more near-misses in these parts with that carriage of yours. I hear that you nearly ran this lady over yesterday – and this gentleman not more than an hour after that. What do you have to say for yourself?” Fred Dinage, the village constable, demanded.

  “It wasn’t me,” the man growled. Although he h
ad heard what the constable had said, his eyes flickered between Beatrice and the open door to the house accusingly.

  “A carriage matching the description of yours was seen in this area yesterday being driven recklessly. It nearly killed two innocent people,” Fred accused.

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Are you denying that you were in here then?” Fred countered.

  “No,” the man shook his head. “I wanted a word with the gentleman here.” Although his words were quiet, the sharpness in them was unmistakeable. He was barely in control of his temper, and shifted his stance to one that almost challenged Fred to do something about his denials. “I still do,” he growled darkly.

  Ben glared at the smaller man. “Look, you were told yesterday that you should go and look for your plant somewhere else. We don’t have your package and never have had it, so stop pestering us.”

  A frown darkened Fred’s face, and he opened his mouth to speak only to close it again with a snap when movement at the end of the driveway drew his attention.

  “Morning all,” Mark drawled as he approached the group. He dropped a quick kiss on Beatrice’s cheek. “How are you?” he asked as he studied her carefully.

  “I am alright,” she replied shakily and smiled at Isaac. “Hello, Isaac. How are you?”

  “I am better than you,” Isaac replied and nodded to the stranger with his brows lifted. “Trouble?”

  “He thinks we have something of his, but we don’t,” she replied quietly.

  “He nearly ran Beatrice down in the road yesterday and was responsible for her hurting her ankle. Then, to cap it all, he nearly ran me and Beatrice over half an hour later,” Ben explained briskly. While he spoke he didn’t take his eyes off the smaller man, who glared back belligerently and didn’t seem to know, or care, that he was now in the presence of three police officers.

  “Where are you staying?” Mark asked as he studied the man closely for distinguishing features.

  “What?” The stranger snapped with a frown.

  “What’s your name and address?”