by Nita Round
“Sounds good. I can do that.”
“We can make this place all homey.”
“All right. If you don’t mind.”
Emma lifted Maggie’s chin so they could look each other in the eyes. “Of course I don’t mind. I would love to have you here with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Chapter Sixteen
IT WAS A stressful day. The two detectives, Tallins and Peters, kept coming to ask Maggie questions about the man in the cellar and after the seventh or eighth time Maggie started to fray at the edges.
The questions were always the same. “Where were you between the hours of two a.m. and seven a.m.?” they asked.
“Bed,” she replied. Then later they modified the question. “We’re looking at a broader picture. Where were you between the hours of six p.m. and six a.m.?”
“At home.”
“Can anyone verify this? Was Mr. Charles Durrant home?”
“No, he wasn’t there.”
“Where is your brother Ms. Durrant?”
“No idea,” she answered.
“So no one can verify where you were?”
“Well, I was home, I said so before.”
“Yes, I know, you said.”
“And I was there as well,” Emma added when she brought through the tea. “I was there all night.”
The officers looked at each other and in one look exchanged a whole world of meaning. One of them made a note in his little book, and then they left.
The same two officers knocked on the door a little after dark. “Well Ms. Durrant. We are done for today, but we’d prefer it if you didn’t go to the Hall, not until we clear it. It would be best if you found an alternate venue to sleep.” Detective Peters smirked. “Please don’t go far. We may have more questions for you tomorrow.”
“Good night officers,” Emma said and closed the door as they left.
“I’m sorry to put you through all of this Emma.”
“It’s not your fault. Look, stay with me as long as you need. Facilities are a little basic, but you’re welcome to everything I have.”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“Trouble,” Emma snorted. “You never once refused me anything. But perhaps I best not tell the police you threatened me with a shotgun.”
Maggie looked horrified, at first, and then she laughed. “Now that would put the cat amongst the pigeons wouldn’t it?”
“Think I should call them and let them know?”
“Yes. Go put me out of my misery. They want to lock me up you know.”
“Bully for them then. Shall I open the wine?” Emma asked.
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
“Yes. I am, but there is nothing we can do about it right now. Might as well make the most of your freedom while you have it. We’ll sit by the fire, relax and have a glass of wine. We’ve done enough work around the house.”
“Yes, well, I think I need a glass and then some.”
“So we have to thank old Maud, who not only hoarded more tinned food, toilet roll and bed linen than the armed forces, she also stocked us up on gin, brandy and a bottle or two of sherry.”
“Here’s to your Aunt Maud then.”
“Here, here.”
ALONE IN HER own bedroom, Emma realised this was going to be the first night in her own house. It was a strange feeling. Even stranger was the cold. She had never been so cold. “It’s freezing in here,” she said needlessly, because no one could hear. It would be worse in the winter, she thought, but even autumn in the mountains was colder than she had expected. “What did you say?” Maggie called from her room.
Emma opened her bedroom door. “Cold,” she shouted through the door to Maggie’s room. “I think I shall freeze to death here.” She turned her attention back to her own room, and smiled. Her fingers brushed across the edge of the metal bedstead and the shadows seemed to stretch away from her hand. The mattress was new, but the frame was original, she quite liked the look, and it suited the room.
“No you won’t,” Maggie answered from outside Emma’s room. “You’ll harden up in a few days, and by this time next year you’ll not believe you ever thought it cold.”
Emma laughed. “Yeah, right, and I’ll be wearing thermal undies and thick jumpers.”
“There you go. Country girl already.”
“Right.” She pulled back the curtains and stared out into the street. From the houses, the warm glow of fires and lights seemed reassuring. Without clouds, it was brighter than it had been the last time she had looked out these windows. Stars littered the sky, and the moon, although not full, was high and bright enough to cover the ground with radiant silver. The gatehouse to Magwood Hall looked stark and black against the silvery road, but it was beautiful nonetheless.
At the centre of the village green, the old tree waved with branches dark with menace and shook its defiant woody fists at the sky. One minute there was no one there, and then underneath the branches of the tree, a figure, all in white, stood still and unmoving against its dark trunk. She stared up at the window, and Emma knew she was looking at her. She knew it.
“What?” She jumped back and almost fell over the dressing table. “Maggie,” she called out, “come look at this.”
“Coming.” There was a short pause then the sound of feet clunking through the room and across the hall to her room. “What’s the matter?”
“Look out here,” she said, but when she looked back to the tree, there was no one there. “I could have sworn there was someone, a woman, standing beneath the tree...” Her voice faltered as she realised how close Maggie stood. She stood behind and looked over Emma’s shoulder. Emma could feel the heat and strength of her body pulling her closer. Emma couldn’t resist, she leaned back until they were almost touching.
“Is that like the woman flying across the window?” Maggie said.
“She did. I didn’t make it up.”
“No, I don’t suppose you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind,” Maggie shrugged. “No one is there now.”
“No, but it’s not just this. Everywhere I go it seems there is someone watching me.”
“Paranoid too.”
“Pah! Magwood Durrant you should go to bed if you’re not going to be helpful, or at least sympathetic.”
Maggie didn’t move, instead she wrapped her arms around Emma and hugged her. “I’m sorry. It’s been a very difficult day.”
“Maggie,” Emma said as turned and leaned into Maggie’s arms. She sighed. “I don’t mean to be so insensitive. It’s all been very strange of late and I’m not at my best. You’ve had a rotten day.”
“Yes,” Maggie answered.
“I’m right here for you if you want to talk.”
“I’d rather not think of anything at the moment. When I think about this morning...”
She shuddered so hard Emma felt her body shake. “It’s all right, it will get better now.”
Maggie took a deep breath. “Talking of strange. You know there is a story about the tree?”
“Well I wondered why no one chopped it down,” Emma said and she turned to look out through the window, but she did not break contact with Maggie. “Seems diseased or something.”
“It is, kind of. The tree is the village’s dirty little secret,” Maggie smiled, “it’s a scary story.”
“Tell me. I like a good scary story.”
“Long ago, it is said a local woman, no more than a girl, got herself pregnant and not only did the father of the baby reject her, the whole town did too. They vilified her, called her many things, all of them unpleasant.”
“Like what?”
“Devil’s whore, witch, and so on. And then she killed herself, hung from the tree, the very same one you see. Some say she didn’t kill herself, but she was put there, on the tree, as a warning.”
“A warning? About what?”
“I don’t know.”
“So she was murdered or something? On the tree there?”
“Huh huh.”
“What happened to the baby? Did the baby live?”
“Legend says–”
A loud crack and Emma jumped. When they looked through the window the largest branch from the tree had broken off. Neither spoke at first.
Then Emma chuckled. “Bloody hell Maggie. If you wanted to scare me it worked.”
“That’s not the scary part.”
“Then what is?”
“It is said the hanged lady appears in the days before the death of a Lord Durrant.”
“No.”
“Yes. So if you’re seeing ghosts then I’m not long for this world.”
Emma snorted, “You’re pulling my leg.”
“Turn,” Maggie instructed, and as one they about faced to the fire place. “The man who did the dirty deed was the man in the picture there.”
“For real?” Emma’s voice had risen a full octave. “And the woman?”
Maggie pointed at the other picture. “The great Emily Tapper. So now you know. I’m haunted by the ghost of your ancestor for something my ancestor did.”
Emma couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Magwood Durrant you had me going there.” She slapped Maggie’s arm, but there was little force in it. “I don’t believe in ghosts. And you’ve concocted quite a story there.”
“It’s true.”
Emma shook her head and leaned against Maggie, her arm wrapped about Maggie’s waist. “Never mind ghosts,” she said after a while. “After a day like you’ve had, I bet you’re exhausted.”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed, but she did not step away.
Emma rested her head against Maggie’s shoulder, and snuggled up closer. So close she could smell the warmth of Maggie’s skin.
“Emma, are you all right?”
“I am now.”
Maggie chuckled. “We need to sleep.”
“Yes, but you have to let me go first.”
“Do I have to?” Maggie smiled, but her hands dropped to her side.
Emma stood on tiptoes and kissed Maggie at the corner of her mouth. “Goodnight Maggie,” her eyes glinted, “but I am quite prepared to change my mind.”
“You are making this very hard for me.”
“Good.”
“Goodnight Emma. Else I will not leave.”
Emma wanted to ask her to stay. She stared at Maggie for a moment. “This is not the best time is it?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“Go to bed Maggie, sleep well.”
EMMA LAY IN her bed, cold, and unable to sleep. She stared at the ceiling and listened to Maggie toss and turn in the room next door. She got up, padded across the landing to the other room and in the dark could see Maggie, in bed.
“Maggie?” she whispered, “are you awake?”
“No, I’m asleep.”
“Good,” she answered and walked to the side of the bed.
Maggie sat up, but didn’t say anything.
Emma held out her hand. “I’d rather like a cuddle.”
Maggie threw back the bedding and patted the space beside her. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Come to my room, Maggie. We won’t fit in your bed.”
“All right.” Maggie said as she got out of bed. “Cold.”
Emma grabbed her hand and led the way to her room. She got into her bed first, and Maggie slipped in beside her. “But no snoring,” Emma said, as she wrapped Maggie in her arms, “otherwise you can go right back to your own bed.”
Chapter Seventeen
MAGGIE TROD WITH slow deliberation across the landing. After a week, she already knew the location of every creaking floorboard, and avoided each one of them on her way to and from the bathroom. Emma, in her cream coloured pyjamas decorated with teddy bears and hearts, lay sprawled half in, and half out of the bed. Maggie crept back into the room, and pulled the covers back over her sleeping form. It was too early for Emma to be up, and lying out of the covers she would get cold. Maggie looked at her watch. 5:30a.m.—time for work. With a wry smile, she turned away and crept back outside the room. She stepped down the stairs with great care, several of the stairs were also creaky, and Maggie avoided those too.
The week had flown by, and they’d slipped into a comfortable and welcome daily routine. She got up early and went to the farm whilst Emma stayed in bed. They’d meet for lunch, then dinner. Such a simple routine, and Maggie loved it. In spite of so much bad luck and death, this was a life she could enjoy. She strode around the house opening curtains. Weak, early morning light filtered into the lounge and she saw two men approach the house. Before they could knock, Maggie opened the door.
“Morning.” They said in unison.
“Good morning. Detective Tallins, Detective Peters. How very wonderful to see you,” she said without allowing them passage. “What can I do for you today? It has been hours since last we spoke.”
“Can we come in?”
“Why?”
“Is Miss Blewitt here also?”
“She’s upstairs, still asleep, like most normal people at this time in the morning.”
“I’m surprised you’re still here. We opened the Hall two days ago.”
“I know.” Maggie wasn’t going to make it easy for them. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t get in your way.” What she didn’t want to admit, even to herself, never mind the police, was she was more than happy staying in this small house with Emma Blewitt.
“Can we come in?” Detective Peters repeated.
“Try not to wake Miss Blewitt. It’s been a trying few days,” she said as she turned around and walked back to the kitchen. She sat in one of the two kitchen chairs and stared at them. “All right, you are in the house. What are you going to accuse me of now?”
“Nothing. We are here as a courtesy, to bring you up to date.”
“I see, no ulterior motive at all.”
“We’re trying to do our job, Miss Durrant.”
“Of course,” she sighed. “How can I help?”
“The man in cellar?” Detective Tallins prompted.
“Yes.”
“You said you didn’t recognise him,” he said.
Maggie didn’t think it was a question, but she answered anyway. “No I didn’t, but as you might recall, detectives, his face was a little difficult to identify when he was in the cellar.”
“Does the name Barry Swift mean anything to you?” he pressed.
She thought of the name for a few seconds, “Nope,” she answered, “should it?”
“You tell me.”
“No, detective, you tell me. I’ve already said I don’t recognise the name.”
“He was the one in your cellar.”
“I see, but I still don’t know the name.”
“We wondered if you knew him as he has history,” Tallins allowed.
“What sort of history?” Maggie pressed.
“Do you like to gamble Miss Durrant?” Peters asked.
Maggie folded her arms across her chest.
“Do you, or have you ever been to the Broadway Casino, about five miles or so North of Moorville?” he persisted.
“No.”
“Do you know, or have you ever met, a man called Miles Orson, who runs the Casino?”
“No,” she sighed.
Tallins frowned at her. “And how about your brother?”
She laughed. “Best ask him, don’t you think? I am not my brother’s keeper.”
Peters nodded. “Barry Swift has a history associated with the casino, namely debt collection and as an enforcer sometimes.”
“I see. So you wonder if I am a gambler because then I would have a reason for harming Barry Swift?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t gamble, I never have, and I never will. It’s a mug’s game.” She smiled. “I played snap once, as a kid. Does that count?”
Neither answered.
“So if there is no gambling link then what does it all mean? He is a thief then? He likes...liked, breaking into homes like mine to see what he could take?”
“That would not be an unreasonable assumption.” Tallins answered.
“Huh huh. And where does this knowledge leave me?”
“The steps into the cellar are not in the best condition.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Can I be honest with you Miss Durrant?” Tallins went on.
“Please do.”
“We no longer view the death of Mr. Swift as suspicious. It is, we think, a series of unfortunate events and are looking no further.”
“I see. Can you tell me how you came to this conclusion?”
“As you know the steps into the cellar are not in the best condition. You should get them looked at.”
Maggie shrugged. “They are on the to-do list.”
“Looks like he slipped off the steps. We think it was at about four steps down.”
“Then the fall killed him.”
“Cause of death was a blow to the head. Fractured his skull, but what confused the issue was he had been strangled too.”
“What?”
“You can understand our dilemma, then. After analysis at our labs, the current view is the strap from his backpack caught on the newel post on the stairs, he slipped in the dark and panicked. He started to strangle himself and then in the struggle to release himself he fell down the steps to his death.”
Maggie tried not to grin. “Would you say then, the official view is I didn’t do anything wrong?”
No one answered her question, at least not with a direct answer. “The evidence we have collected suggests he was here to commit burglary and, in the act of concealing his presence, met with an unfortunate accident,” Peters recited.
“You can return to the Hall,” Tallins informed her, “but best stay out of the cellar until it is cleaned and made safe.”
