This Side of Murder

by Anna Lee Huber

  I shook my head at the impossibility of it. “But why? That makes no sense. Unless . . .” I paused as the implications struck me.

  “Someone put it there on purpose,” Max finished my thought.

  How many people knew that Walter was allergic to bee stings? Helen hadn’t exactly been secretive about the fact. She’d had no reason to be. And how many of us had known he was down at the pier, attempting to fix the engine on his yacht? That circumstance hadn’t been private information either. Any one of us could have seized the opportunity.

  Max glanced back toward where Walter lay struggling to catch his breath. “Depending on the number of stings he received and the severity of his reaction, this could prove the death of him.”

  I felt sickened. Especially when I remembered what Sidney had intended to do after I left him less than an hour before. When he’d said he wanted to confront Walter, surely he meant to talk to him, not to trigger a deadly reaction. That would make no sense. If Walter was dead, how could he find out the truth and prove it?

  Unless his macabre jests about his going barmy from shell shock were not jests at all.

  I shook the worrying thought aside to focus on the facts in front of us. If someone had placed that honeycomb swarming with bees in Walter’s path—and it seemed impossible to believe it was not intentional—then they’d either wanted to do one of two things: kill him or send him a warning. It was conceivable that the perpetrator hadn’t known how severe his reaction would be, so this could be a matter of intimidation rather than attempted murder. But given Jimmy’s and Charlie’s deaths, homicide seemed more probable.

  Then if murder was the intent, I could only assume the motive was also the same as those previous deaths. Someone was trying to silence Walter or enact his revenge. If it was the former, then we were running out of men who could enlighten us as to what precisely had happened in the Thirtieth battalion.

  A man who proved to be Walter’s valet approached us, and Max filled him in on what had happened and sent him into the room to assist Mabel and Helen in whatever way he could. Then Max, Tom, and I withdrew ourselves from the doorway, turning toward the stairs.

  “Whatever your previous feelings on the matter, I think it’s now time to inform the other ladies what has been going on here,” I said firmly. “We cannot keep this from them any longer.”

  Max exchanged a grim look with Tom over my head. “You’re right. Let’s gather everyone in the main parlor, save Mabel and Helen, of course.”

  Relieved not to have to argue with them, I split off to the right at the base of the stairs, headed toward the breakfast room and the conservatory to round up anyone who had strayed toward that part of the house. I stepped into the breakfast parlor just long enough to glance around, and finding it empty began to turn to leave again. But someone grabbed me from behind and pushed me deeper into the room.

  CHAPTER 20

  I whirled around and struck out at my assailant, only to have my blow blocked by Sidney’s arm. My forearm stung from the impact.

  “You have to stop doing that!” I hissed at him, rubbing the spot where a bruise was certainly forming.

  “Do you think I relish having my wife try to maim me,” he growled, glancing toward the door. “Unless you know of a better way for me to get your attention without drawing anyone else’s, I’m afraid this is it.”

  I scowled up at him, lowering my voice to match his. “What do you want?”

  He grabbed my shoulder, guiding me deeper into the corner, away from the door. “What happened to Walter? I saw Ryde carrying him into the house.”

  “Did he see you?” I asked, searching Sidney’s face for any sign of dissembling. He seemed genuinely ignorant of the source of Walter’s injuries, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “No,” he snapped. “Was Walter shot? I didn’t see any blood.”

  “Someone placed a box filled with honeycomb swarming with bees in his path so that he would kick it over. Or, at least, we presume that’s what happened. That’s how Max said he found him.”

  Sidney’s eyes hardened. “And Walter is allergic.”

  “Yes.” I didn’t ask how he knew. They had been friends since boyhood. It only made sense that he was aware of Walter’s sensitivity.

  He cursed, turning his head to stare out the window. “Is Mabel with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she think he’ll survive?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted hesitantly, feeling my throat tighten in answer to the distress stamped across my husband’s face. Despite the fact that he’d accepted that Walter might very well be a traitor who had tried to kill him, he still evidently cared for him. It was difficult to dismiss decades of attachment, no matter the cause.

  He didn’t speak, but I could see the pain carving grooves between his eyebrows as he struggled to master his emotions.

  “There’s something else you should know,” I said, then told him the information Tom had shared with me about Walter’s French “mistress” in the village of Suzanne.

  “Could he describe the woman?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to ask. Max stumbled in the door carrying Walter.”

  Sidney’s face was like stone—harsh and rigid. As was his voice, when he next spoke. “So it appears Walter was the traitor, after all. Unless more than one man was visiting this woman and sending her letters.”

  We both knew that wasn’t likely given all the facts we knew.

  “Then who is killing all the men from the Thirtieth?” I asked in consternation. “Walter’s spy chief? Another accomplice—maybe Felix?”

  “It could be,” Sidney replied, but I could tell another thought had occurred to him and I didn’t like it.

  If Walter died, if he took whatever secrets he held to the grave, would we ever learn the truth? Would we ever find the proof to justify Sidney’s decision not to return to the ranks after his recovery from his gunshot wound? Had his last chance to return to his old life a free man just slipped through our fingers?

  Pushed past my endurance, I reached out to grip his shirt in my hands. “Forget this. Forget it all,” I pleaded. “We’ll . . . we’ll run away together. I’ll go wherever you wish to go. To Europe? To America? Just name it. We can start our lives over there. No one here ever need know you’re alive.”

  His hands came up to clasp my shoulders. “Verity, I could never ask that of you.”

  “You’re not. I’m the one suggesting it, remember? Not you.”

  “Yes, but think of your family, your friends, the life you’ve built for yourself.”

  “What life?” I scoffed.

  He smiled sadly. “You might very well never see them again. And you would have to lie to them, never telling them the truth. Could you really do that?”

  “I . . . I know it wouldn’t be easy,” I stammered, faltering. “But we would have each other.” I stared up at him. “That counts for a lot.”

  I could see that he was conflicted. His deep blue eyes swam with doubts and uncertainties.

  “Please, Sidney,” I implored him, putting all of my heartache into my words. “Give this up. For me.”

  He stood stiffly in indecision for one more moment and then shook his head, shattering what little hopes I still had of salvaging our marriage after the revelations of the past day, along with my heart.

  “I can’t, Verity,” he replied, as I backed out of his arms. “Not when I’m so close to the truth. I can’t quit this until I’ve found proof. I need to do this—for myself, for the other men.”

  I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest as I turned to stare out the window.

  “You do understand, don’t you, Verity?”

  “Of course,” I replied bitterly.

  What I understood was that justice and revenge had become all-important to him. He was determined to pursue them to the exclusion of all else, and nothing and no one would be allowed to stand in the way. After all, hadn’t he already proven that by being willing to sacrifice me and ou
r marriage?

  Everything was now about his drive, his obsession with catching this traitor. Even his decision to first lure me here to this house party and then later expose that he was alive had nothing to do with his desire to see me and everything to do with the fact that he needed my presence to play on the conscience of the members of the Thirtieth battalion, as well as my skills to decrypt the coded missive. Otherwise, I had no doubt I would still be completely ignorant of his survival. For if something didn’t serve his current purposes, it didn’t matter.

  “This isn’t just about me,” he protested as I withdrew further into myself. “Think of those messengers and Ben Gerard, and all the hundreds or thousands more men who lost their lives because of this traitor’s actions.”

  I didn’t respond, knowing he wanted to believe that. But if this was really about the others he would have already turned over what evidence he had to the authorities, despite the risks to himself. He would have turned himself in and let the other people who had grown suspicious and witnessed worrying things, like Sam and Max and Mabel, help him. Yes, Sam and Mabel might face some difficulties of their own for the part they played, but surely the War Office would have to listen if so many people expressed their misgivings.

  Now, Sidney had painted himself neatly into a corner.

  Even so, I knew the resources the Secret Service could summon up when needed, and regardless of Sidney’s doubts, I felt certain they would take great interest in a matter such as treason, even if the war was now over. Or almost so. The treaties had yet to be signed.

  I wanted to find the traitor, too, but I wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything else to it. Not my husband, or my marriage, or my life!

  But Sidney seemed to think otherwise.

  “Don’t think I don’t know you well enough to know you’ll never be able to let this go either,” he muttered in frustration. “Maybe for a short time you’ll convince yourself it doesn’t matter. That you can live with the injustice. But it will always haunt you. It will always haunt us.”

  Inside I squirmed, uncomfortable with his words. “That’s not the point,” I replied.

  “It is if you’re insisting we run away together, away from all of this,” he persisted.

  How could he be so obtuse?

  “It isn’t about running away!” I snapped, shooting him a venomous look before turning back to glare outside the window. “It’s about much more than that. And if you can’t already see it . . . then I don’t know if I want to bother to explain.”

  Sidney drew breath to speak, but at that moment we both became aware of the sound of footsteps in the hall just outside the door, signaling we were no longer alone. He drew back deeper into the corner, concealing his body from the sight of anyone entering the room behind a tall hutch while I pivoted to face whoever approached.

  “Verity?” Max asked, glancing about the room. “Were you just speaking with someone?”

  I took a few steps closer to keep Max from moving deeper into the breakfast room. “No, I . . . I was just talking to myself,” I admitted in feigned embarrassment. “I do that sometimes.” I flicked a glance over my shoulder at the windows, checking to be certain my husband remained hidden. “After everything that’s happened. Well, I needed a few moments to myself.”

  I could tell that Max wasn’t completely convinced. “I could have sworn I heard voices. And you sounded quite angry.”

  “Well, who wouldn’t be? Two men are dead and another is clinging to life.” I stiffened in alarm. “Unless . . . ?”

  He shook his head. “We’ve had no report yet. But I’m sure if he had succumbed, someone would have let us know.”

  “Are the others gathered in the parlor?”

  “Yes.” He paused, as if unsure whether to say anything more. “When you didn’t join us, I worried something . . . unpleasant might have waylaid you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sidney’s face tighten in irritation.

  “No, I’m well. I just needed a few minutes to . . . clear my thoughts. But I realize now I’m better off staying with the rest of you.”

  I could feel Sidney’s gaze boring into mine and turned as if to glance out the window one last time at the weather, allowing my eyes to meet his briefly as they slid past. They burned with resentment and frustration, and the clear desire to shake some sense into me. But they began to soften as I looked away, perhaps in answer to the sorrow and longing I couldn’t seem to hide.

  “I’ll join you now,” I told Max, moving toward the door. Sidney disappeared from my peripheral vision.

  Max’s eyes searched mine and I offered him a tight smile, hoping he would assume my distress was due to the murders. He pressed a warm hand to the small of my back and escorted me from the room.

  * * *

  When we reached the parlor, I was surprised to find everyone in an uproar. Apparently, Sam and Tom had taken it upon themselves to inform the other ladies of Jimmy’s and Charlie’s deaths, as well as Walter’s precarious situation. Gladys and Elsie were furious, and not a little frantic. They wanted to know if they were in danger, and demanded to know why they hadn’t been told sooner.

  “Of course, you’re not in danger,” Tom replied, glancing to Sam and then Felix, who sat slumped in one of the chairs near the pianoforte, refusing to assist with the difficult conversation.

  At my and Max’s entrance, Tom looked up hopefully, perhaps thinking we could offer the ladies some reassurance. But given the fact we didn’t know precisely who was responsible, it was difficult to declare that any of us were safe.

  Gladys rounded to face us, her eyes wide with what I recognized to be fear, though she masked it well behind her strident tone. “Did you both know about this? Did you, Verity?”

  There was no need to answer, for it seemed obvious from our calm demeanors that we were already cognizant of the problem.

  “And you didn’t tell us?” she shrieked at me, rather unfairly placing the blame on my shoulders. Though I was sure I would have done the same. As a woman, I would have expected her to take my part.

  “I told them they were idiots to keep it from you,” I replied, sparing the men none of my scorn. “But it was five against one. I hadn’t much of a chance of driving the point into their thick skulls.”

  I turned to cast a disdainful look at Max, and was stunned to see Nellie seated rigidly in a chair near the door. Her eyes were troubled and her brow furrowed, but otherwise she gave no indication of upset. And yet Tom had been so certain she would fly up into the boughs.

  I scowled at Tom and he shrugged.

  “But how can you be certain we aren’t in any danger?” Gladys pressed.

  “He can’t,” I replied. The men turned to glare at me, but I ignored them. We’d just revealed the truth of our situation, and I wasn’t about to start sugarcoating it to placate the men and their sensibilities about what the ladies should or should not know. “But we can say with some certainty that whoever is behind these incidents appears to be targeting the men,” I explained to Gladys, whose shoulders had relaxed, seeming grateful I was leveling with her. “So I would venture to say the ladies are probably safe.”

  “Probably?” squeaked Elsie.

  “Don’t worry,” Tom murmured. “We’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe.”

  Elsie’s expression was doubtful. “Yes. But who will keep you safe?”

  This seemed to stun Tom into silence.

  “And more to the point,” Gladys pressed. “Who is doing this?”

  “We’re attempting to figure that out,” Max said.

  I wished we had some news of Walter’s condition. How bad off was he? Might he recover enough to be able to tell us what had happened? And who he suspected of doing this to him?

  “Was Walter able to fix the motor on his yacht?” I asked, noting the failing light outside the windows. Soon it would be dark, and any attempt to reach the mainland in this wind would become even more treacherous.

  “Not if the
number of tools still scattered about the engine area of the boat were any indication,” Max replied. “I went to offer him what little assistance I could, and when he wasn’t there, went to see if he’d returned to the castle. That’s when I found him lying next to the path.”

  I nodded grimly, wondering how else we might reach help. Or would we be forced to spend another night here, stranded on this island? Perhaps a signal fire. Surely if we placed it near the end of the main quay it could be seen from Poole Harbor. But in these strong winds? We were likely to burn the entire island down, if we could even manage to light it.

  Max raised his voice to be heard over the others’ discussion. “Given the circumstances, I think it would be wise if, for everyone’s safety, we all agreed that no one should leave the castle until the morning when the servants from the mainland are certain to return.”

  The others glanced around the room at each other, and most of them nodded or murmured in agreement.

  “How is that going to keep us safe if the killer is inside the castle with us?” Felix argued disparagingly, speaking up for the first time since we’d entered the room.

  Max frowned. “Because it makes it more difficult for them to isolate us. Jimmy, Charlie, and Walter were all harmed in locations away from the castle, where they would not have expected to find any assistance if they needed it. At least, inside the castle someone might hear you if you called for help. Not to mention the fact it might give the killer pause before acting, out of fear of being caught.”

  It seemed sound logic to me, and the others seemed to agree, but Felix rolled his eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder if his disapproval of Max’s suggestion was solely because Max had made it, or if he had another reason to wish the others would venture away from the castle.

  Max leaned down to murmur in my ear. “I would like to take Felix aside and question him. After all, he is the last officer of his battalion involved with both of the messengers executed for desertion and the deaths of Ben Gerard and Sidney who is not currently clinging to life.”