Max nodded. “I’m glad.”
I ignored him, pressing my palms together in my lap to keep them from shaking. “I’m quite certain if Sidney were alive to see me, he would be ashamed of my behavior. He never could abide maudlin emotions.” A self-deprecating huff of laughter escaped from me. “And I have been quite desperately maudlin.”
“Is that why you were so upset by their decision to pretend to summon Sidney? Beyond the fact that it was cruel of them to do so in the first place,” he hastened to add.
“Partly, I suppose.” I wasn’t entirely certain myself of the reasoning behind my reaction, other than that I didn’t want to think of Sidney haunting this world rather than at peace. Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely certain what I was trying to tell Max, except that speaking to him made me feel better.
I looked up to find him watching me, his eyes warm with some emotion.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think Sidney would be disappointed in you in the least,” he murmured. “On the contrary, I suspect he would be the first to understand.”
I pushed to my feet, turning my back to him to examine the bookshelf as I dismissed his sympathy. “Oh, well, that’s kind of you to say—”
“It’s not kind,” he insisted, standing and taking hold of my wrist to make me look at him. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself and Sidney to think he would not have been able to appreciate the pain you’ve endured. Whenever he spoke of you it was with pride and love. Feelings like that do not diminish because you show yourself to be less than perfect in your grief.”
I stared up at him in astonishment. I so wanted to believe that, and yet my battered heart wouldn’t quite let me.
My eyes dropped to where his warm fingers rested against the delicate skin on the inside of my wrist, thinking he must be able to feel how my pulse raced. “Thank you,” I whispered, before turning away.
I crossed to the other side of the room and lifted aside the drapes covering the window, staring out at the rain that now fitfully fell, only to be gusted against the glass in abstract splatters. I couldn’t help but think how fitting it was to my mood. To the entire mood of this house.
“What of your telephone call?” I asked, recalling the reason I had willingly taken part in Helen’s séance.
Max heaved a disgruntled sigh, sinking into the chair I’d vacated. “I wasn’t able to place it.”
I turned in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“The telephone in Walter’s study wouldn’t connect. Presumably because of the storm.”
I frowned, not having considered that. We were rather isolated here on the island. The lines need not be severed for them not to work. “What of the other connections? Are there any others throughout the house?”
He shook his head. “They aren’t working either. But the butler informed me a second line had been installed at the church for the farm workers and the few locals who still live on the island. I was coming to tell you and Sam when I heard you shouting.”
I cringed. “Yes. Well, do you still wish to contact your friend?”
Max considered the matter for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, I think that’s our best hope of gaining any useful information.” His mouth twisted cynically. “Unless you think tonight’s excitement will have convinced any of our suspects to share what they know.”
If I had been confronted with the possibility of meeting the spirit of the man I had killed, I would certainly have had my nerves shaken, but I doubted it would have convinced me to confess. “No, we need to reach that telephone.”
It was Max’s turn to be surprised. “You want to come with me?”
“I don’t want to stay here.”
Thankfully, he didn’t argue with this logic, merely flicked his gaze up and down the rather delicate material of my dress. “Do you wish to change?”
“Give me ten minutes. Tell me where I should meet you.”
* * *
True to my word, ten minutes later I appeared outside the conservatory dressed in a wool serge skirt; my sturdiest shoes; and my dowdy, but faithful mackintosh, which by some stroke of luck my maid had packed. Max was still dressed in his black trousers, but had changed shoes and thrown his own wartime khaki trench coat over his evening kit. For a moment, it brought me up short, for if he had been wearing his officer’s cap and high-polished boots, he would have looked very like Sidney had that cold December morning when I had seen him off at the train platform, headed back to the front for the last time. I had seen hundreds, thousands of men dressed thusly, but it was Sidney’s image that fixed in my mind.
“Are you ready?”
I shook the troubling thought aside and nodded.
“Then let’s go before anyone sees us. I should hate to have to explain why the devil we’re venturing out in this.”
I followed him into the darkened conservatory filled with the perfume of flowers and through the winding aisles to the French doors at the far northwest corner of the castle.
After unlocking them at the top and bottom, he reached back to grasp my hand. “Ready?”
We plunged out into the storm, keeping our heads bowed against the wind as it whipped rain into our faces. Fortunately, the butler had not questioned Max’s urgency to use a telephone, or seen fit to confer with his employer on the matter. Being an earl did have its advantages, particularly when it came to upper servants and their rather snobbish tendencies. Chumley had been only too happy to inform Max that he could have the use of the estate’s lorry. He’d offered to have one of the footmen drive him over, but Max had declined, telling him he could manage quite well on his own.
We had seen it earlier when collecting the bicycles from the adjoining shed, and hastened across the short distance between the castle and the old carriage house. Max opened the passenger door and boosted me up inside before rounding the hood to crank the engine. The interior smelled musty, but it was otherwise unobjectionable, especially since it was dry.
Max carefully drove the lorry through the wooden doors and swung it around to the narrow road leading into the center of the island. We bumped along down the muddy track, neither of us speaking as he strained forward, trying to see through the splatters of rain. As I remembered, the church had not been more than a mile or two from the castle gardens, and traveling along in the lorry we swiftly reached the corner on which it sat. Turning left, Max followed the lane bordered by the low stone wall marking the boundary of the churchyard straight up to the gate. In the storm’s gloom, I could barely make out the outline of St. Mary’s as an even darker shape against the already black night.
“Climb out on my side,” he suggested, throwing the lorry into park.
I followed his suggestion, allowing him to lift me down, and then took his hand as we dashed across the short stone walk between the road and the church. The arched wooden door opened, letting us into a small vestibule. I exhaled in relief as Max closed the door behind us, shutting out the swirling wind and rain.
In the darkness, I couldn’t see anything, but I could sense how confined the space was. When Max opened the interior door to the sanctuary proper, a rush of cold air swept over me, but I still couldn’t see anything. Not even Max, who hovered at my shoulder. I heard him patting his hands along the wall, searching for a light source. He grunted in satisfaction when he found it, but despite the clicks and taps I heard, no illumination appeared.
“The lights are out,” he groused, moving back toward me. “Or, at least this one is. Wait here.”
His footsteps shuffled back into the vestibule, leaving me alone in the gloom. The smoke from extinguished candles seemed to linger in the air, as well as the must of a room not often opened. My eyes gradually began to adjust, and I could see that the arched roof was framed of a darker material than the paler walls and floor. Pews in the shape of dusky hulks marched up the aisle to my right.
I started to move forward, to try to feel my way along the pews toward where the altar candles must be stored, but something m
ade me hesitate. Some nameless dread seemed to steal over me, holding me immobile. Most churches emanated a sense of peace, of stillness, of refuge. Not so here. I stared wide-eyed into the darkness, somehow knowing something was terribly wrong here. Something I wasn’t certain I wanted to see.
I slowly backed up a step, even though my limbs pulsed with the urge to flee. “Max,” I murmured.
I could hear him muttering to himself as he rummaged through the items stored in the vestibule, oblivious to my distress.
“Max.”
“Ah! Here it is.”
Light suddenly flared and I flinched away from the brightness.
“I knew there must be an electric torch somewhere,” he declared as he rejoined me.
I blinked, trying to adjust my vision, peering around me as he swept the torch’s beam left and right, continuing to chatter amicably.
“Now, I suppose the telephone will be in the vestry or the narthex.”
“Max!”
This time my choked cry caught his attention. Especially when I pointed down the aisle toward the body crumpled face-down halfway up the nave.
CHAPTER 14
He hurried toward the lifeless form, dropping down on his knees next to him. Reaching out, he carefully turned the man over so that we could see his face.
I gasped in recognition as Charlie’s sightless eyes stared back up at me. Covering my mouth with both hands, I stifled a sob as I took in the sight of the blood splattering his chest. The front of his once-crisp white shirt was soaked with it, and a pool of the bright crimson liquid covered the floor where he’d lain.
Max passed his hand over Charlie’s eyes to close them, and slowly inched backward to lay him on the floor.
“Wh-what?” I stammered.
“He’s been shot,” he stated.
I swallowed and forced myself to take a steadying breath. “Yes. Yes, I can see that.”
It would be difficult to miss the hole blasted through Charlie’s shirt and deep into his heart. Evidently, this death had not been a suicide, but I glanced about us, searching for the gun, just to be certain.
Max rose to his feet and looped his arm through mine. I latched on to the support he offered, allowing him to pull me away from Charlie. I could feel now that I was trembling, though I didn’t know if it was from shock or the chill of the room.
“Do you need to sit?”
“Maybe for a moment,” I admitted. Much as I wanted to escape the building, it wouldn’t do for my legs to give way before we even reached the door.
He guided me into a pew and sat down beside me, blocking my view of the dead body on the floor.
Staring blindly toward the altar at the front of the church, I focused on breathing in and out. I reminded myself I had seen corpses before, many in worse shape than this one. But never in so intimate a setting, or so soon after speaking to the person in question.
Poor Charlie. He had been so young, so innocent-seeming, despite the heavy secrets he obviously carried.
Is that why he had been killed? To keep those secrets? Had Max and I pried too closely to the dark truths someone had wanted kept, and fearful that Charlie would betray them they’d decided to silence him?
I could think of no other reason why someone would wish the young man dead. And we had been pushing him for answers before dinner. Anyone could have overheard us questioning him, not just Tom. In fact, anyone could have snuck down to the church to kill him after that silly séance in the parlor. Max and I had been closeted in that antechamber for at least half an hour.
I pushed a hand through my damp hair, wishing I hadn’t lost my head. Maybe then I wouldn’t have stormed out and kept Max from venturing to the church sooner. I glanced up at his handsome profile. He might have made it here before the killer struck. He might have been able to stop it.
Or he might have been shot as well. There was really no way of knowing.
Regardless, it was pointless to be sitting here speculating when there were things to be done. I opened my mouth to tell Max I was recovered now, when a prickling sensation began along the back of my neck. Shifting in my seat, I turned to search the darkness behind us.
“What is it?” Max asked, instantly alert.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I admitted in a hushed voice. “But are we certain the killer isn’t still here?”
Max met my gaze in understanding. “Stay here,” he ordered before rising to his feet with the torch.
I watched as he swung the torch around the building, shining it into every corner. Then he retreated down the aisle, pointing it between the pews and even opening the door to peer into the narthex. My muscles tensed, waiting for someone to spring out of the shadows.
But then, just as suddenly as the sensation had begun, it vanished. I looked around me, faintly dazed. If we had been watched, we weren’t any longer.
Max strode back up the aisle, his gaze still searching the shadows at the front of the church. “There’s no telephone in the narthex. Come. Let’s search the vestry and then get out of here.”
I could hear the worry in his voice, even though he was commanding me like a soldier. Plainly this was not an optimal place to take cover. Too many nooks for the enemy to hide in.
I allowed him to take my hand, pulling me up from the pew. But rather than hurrying past Charlie as he urged me, I asked him to wait.
“I’ve had a thought,” I explained, stooping down next to Charlie’s body. Keeping my gaze carefully averted from his face, I lifted the edges of his coat to search through his pockets. After all, Jimmy’s pockets had contained that Field Service Postcard and a piece of burnt cork. If Charlie had been killed by the same person, then perhaps his pockets also held some sort of note or clue.
I stilled as my fingers brushed against something in his left coat pocket.
“What is it?” Max asked.
I slowly extracted a piece of paper wrapped around a long, rectangular object. Rising to my feet, I unfolded the note to find a battered harmonica. I stared at it in confusion before passing it to Max and then focused on the words typed on the paper.
“If we confess our sins, He is
faithful and just to forgive us
our sins and to cleanse us from
all unrighteousness.” 1 John 1:9
“Submit yourselves therefore to
God. Resist the devil, and he
will flee from you.” James 4:7
A chill swept through me reading these Scriptures over a dead body. Words that in the Bible had been intended to be a comfort. This way they sounded less like a benediction and more like a threat.
I remembered then the words Charlie had babbled in the garden while we played croquet. “Resist the devil.” He had been quoting these verses. Or at least the one from James.
I glanced at Max, wondering if he understood any of this better than I did. He scowled down at the paper, before allowing his gaze to drift back to the harmonica.
“What does it mean?”
He shook his head in bafflement. “I don’t know. Except . . .” He paused. “Except that one of the men who were convicted of desertion was always playing one. It irritated some of the men to no end.”
His eyes lifted to meet mine in silent comprehension. Maybe our previous discussions about the possibility that someone had framed two men for desertion and then killed at least one more, possibly two, to keep that truth from coming out had merely been speculation, but this seemed like a confirmation. Perhaps it wasn’t proof that it was true, but it was certainly evidence that someone else believed it was.
Max’s mouth firmed with resolve. “Come on. We need to telephone the authorities.” His voice lowered so that I almost couldn’t hear him. “Before someone else is killed.”
* * *
Regrettably, while the vestry did indeed have a telephone, it was not connecting any better than those at the castle. Max struggled in vain to make it work, testing the cords and tapping the switchhook repeatedly, but the connection remain
ed dead.
Since there was nothing we could do about it in the storm, we hastened back to the lorry. Max cautiously reversed down the narrow lane between the two stone walls and turned us around at the crossroad to drive us back to Umbersea Castle. Sometime while we were inside the church, the storm had begun to worsen again. Winds buffeted the lorry, driving the rain nearly sideways. I gripped the seat beneath me as Max painstakingly inched us forward.
He drove the lorry into the carriage house a trifle too fast, almost slamming the bonnet into the back wall as the tires slid on the dirt. Pulling the hood of my mackintosh up over my head, I climbed out to dash across the small yard toward the conservatory door with Max following at my heels.
I was half-afraid we would find it locked, but it swung inward easily, allowing us to escape from the tempestuous weather. Even so, the parts of me not covered by my mackintosh were thoroughly soaked, and I was certain my hair looked a frightful mess. However, we did not dally taking inventory of our appearances, but strode off through the glass-encased room toward the interior of the castle.
We didn’t attempt to speak, seeming to already be in accord with what must be done. In any case, we would never have been able to hear each other over the deafening drumming of the rain against the glass surrounding us.
Returning to the corridor outside the conservatory, I turned left as Max turned right, skirting around the more public rooms lest I alarm any of the ladies with my bedraggled state. My shoes squelched against the polished floors, drawing the attention of a passing footman, whom I asked to stop. His eyes widened as I drew nearer, directing him to find his employer and tell him he was needed in his study immediately.
Then I retraced my steps to join Max there myself. He tapped furiously at the switchhook, asking if anyone could hear him through the mouthpiece. With an exasperated sigh, he slammed the earpiece down.
This Side of Murder Page 16
