Barrett's Hill

by Anne Stuart

  There was a marble bench located at the top of the second rise overlooking the village, and Adam motioned me to it. I seated myself and waited for him to begin. He had a reason for bringing me up here, and I doubted it was licentious, more’s the pity.

  “What have you been holding back from the police?” The question came abruptly.

  “Oh . . . what makes you think I’ve been holding anything back?” I countered, stalling for time. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell him.

  “I know you well enough by this time to know when you’re hiding something. What was it?” His tone suggested no possibility of my refusing to answer. He was very forbidding, standing in front of me. His face was cold as he watched me, and for the first time I felt years younger than he was and totally at a loss.

  “It was hardly anything.” I felt defensive. “It’s just . . . Roxie did say something before she died.”

  “I thought as much. What did she say?”

  I knew it would be useless to stall him; he’d have the truth out of me in the end. I took a deep breath. “She was crying, and just before she fell over she said—she said your name.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” I demanded, rising and taking a step towards him. “It’s more than enough to incriminate you in Constable Putnam’s eyes.”

  “We didn’t need that to make Putnam suspect me. Is that all?” He was disappointed. His eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. “I’d hoped she’d said something to help pinpoint the murderer.”

  “Maybe she did,” I said sourly, glaring out at the sun-bathed view that had so enthralled me a few weeks earlier.

  He turned to me then and flashed his lovely smile that made me quiver inside, as if butterflies were caught within my shoulders. “If you thought I’d killed her then you would be very foolish to go off alone with me,” he said.

  “I am a fool.”

  He bent down and brushed his lips against mine in a tantalizing gesture. Drawing back, his eyes searched my face as if trying to learn some secret. As if I had not made everything all too plain already. I lowered my eyes like the emotional coward I am and stared with great fascination at the muddy path, and two sets of footprints, Adam’s and mine. I turned back to him.

  I sat in silence while I cudgeled my brain for something to say to him, something to do other than throwing myself at his feet. I remembered what had been haunting me ever since Roxie had died.

  “This will sound a bit mad,” I said slowly, breaking the spell. “For some bizarre and totally illogical reason I had thought it was Roxie who’d tried to strangle me. But that’s impossible, isn’t it? I mean, we couldn’t have two murderers, could we?” I appealed to him, the thought sending shivers through my body.

  He considered this for a moment. “I think you may be right, knowing Roxie,” he said reluctantly. “But I don’t think she meant to kill you—just frighten you off.”

  “But why?” I demanded.

  He grinned. “I don’t wish to sound immodest, but she happened to succumb to that lethal charm of mine that you’ve so strenuously resisted.” His eyes mocked me.

  Resisted? How could he be so obtuse, when I was ready to fall at his feet? “Then who murdered her? And why?” I persisted, remembering what I’d overheard in the library last night. He knew the answers if only he trusted me enough to tell me.

  “I haven’t any idea. I’m as much in the dark as you are,” he said innocently, each lying word cutting into me. I rose slowly with all the dignity I could muster, trying to hide the pain and fury that filled me.

  “If you cannot tell me the truth,” I said slowly, hurt at his betrayal forcing the words from me, “then there is nothing more I can do. I should never have let myself trust you, even for a minute.” I began walking back down the hill, struggling to keep the tears from running down my face. I cried too much when he was around, and I despised weakness, particularly in myself. I sensed his presence behind me, but I ignored him, afraid that whatever I did would be the wrong thing.

  “Miranda!” He grabbed my arm and forced me to stop and face him. His expression was uncompromising. “I would tell you if I could.”

  For someone so inexperienced about men I suddenly knew that I could push this no further. He had said all he was going to for the time being, and if I persisted I would only make the situation much, much worse. With less effort than I would have expected I found myself able to summon a faint smile.

  “I believe you,” I told him, and was rewarded by the look on his face. At that moment I would have gladly died for him. I gave up fighting what was inevitable.

  We walked the rest of the way down the hill companionably, not talking of much besides the unexpected mildness of the weather and the maple-sugaring about to start. He promised some year he’d take me to see it. I said nothing in response to that, my newfound wisdom giving me enough tact to stop me from raising all the logical objections I knew existed. Adam would go out of my life very soon, and my talking about it would only make it harder to bear. The only way I could survive was to pretend he’d be with me forever. But it was more than my overwrought imagination could do to picture the two of us involved in anything as sweet and normal an occupation as making maple syrup.

  Mixed in with these vague regrets was the knowledge that had I wanted a normal, innocent relationship with a man. I could have had one with various villagers. I could have been courted with hand-holding, walks by the pond, square dances at the Grange Hall, flowers and blushes and stolen kisses. And I had rejected them all to wait for this too-experienced man with his knowing green eyes, who, if I were being wildly optimistic, I felt viewed me with a sort of amused affection. I no longer had any doubts about him wanting my money—he didn’t seem capable of caring enough about anything to waste his energy on its acquisition. I half wished I could buy him. But these weren’t thoughts for a sunny day in March, and I shut them from my mind, happy just to be with him on that muddy path.

  “I’m going into the village,” he said to me as we reached the house. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but in the meantime, be careful.”

  I could feel curious eyes from the blank windows of the old brown house watching our every expression, every gesture. “What do I have to be careful of?” I questioned, trying not to sound nervous.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said blandly. He started off down the hill, then turned back for a moment. “By the way, when was it that you slept in my bed?”

  I know I turned pale and then bright red in quick succession. “What makes you think I did any such thing?” I retorted as coolly as I could manage.

  He smiled wickedly. “There was the most enticing scent of lilies of the valley clinging to the sheets. Very disturbing, I assure you. I barely slept a wink.”

  “Well, since you didn’t bring the subject up for any purpose other than to embarrass me, there’s nothing I have to say.”

  My dignity as I swept into the house would have done credit to the legendary Sarah Siddons herself. Maxine was waiting expectantly in the hall, admiring herself in the pier glass. She turned to me with an avid expression on her pretty, petulant face, and I was hard put to control the anger I felt welling up inside of me and greet her pleasantly. I must learn to be more charitable, I told myself firmly. Since I was bound to end my life celibate I might as well be a saint as well.

  “I’m glad to see you’re back safely.” Sincerity dripped from her forked tongue. “But you know, you really shouldn’t go off alone with Adam.”

  “What’s he done now to alienate your favor?” I asked wearily, not really caring what evil genius prompted her this time.

  “Oh, he’s a lovely man, I’m sure. But I’d think twice before going off alone with him until we find out who killed Roxie.” She remembered her recent bereavement and sniffed loudly.

  “Maxine
, my dear, you wouldn’t think twice about going off alone with anything in trousers and well you know it,” I said sharply, tossing sainthood to the winds. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” I left her, a picture of frustrated malevolence, and went to find Nanny.

  She was in the kitchen, which was not unexpected, comfortably ensconced in the rocking chair by the huge fireplace. Cook was kneading dough with great passion on the massive marble slab kept for that purpose and regaling Nanny with her suspicions about the recent tragedy.

  “And that young lady was no better than she ought,” Nanny was saying darkly. “If anything was a judgment from God then this was—”

  “That’s an awful thing to say,” I said between gulps of fresh milk, determined to be fair. “The next thing you know you’ll be condoning the murders simply because you didn’t happen to approve of the victims.”

  Nanny pursed her lips in annoyance; I had never contradicted her before, and it must have been a rude shock. After a moment she relaxed, determined to forgive my criticism. “You think there’s a connection between the two murders, then?”

  “Now, Ethel,” Cook clubbed the dough fiercely, “you know we’ve been thinking the very same thing. The main reason we’ve been hoping it wasn’t was, well, you know who the blame points to.”

  “You think Adam did it?” There, I had spoken it aloud, the fear that had been plaguing me.

  “Certainly not!” Nanny was shocked. “There’s lots of men in this very house who’d be more likely to kill a young girl than Mr. Adam, for all his wild ways.” Considering that Karlew was the only other man in the house I thought this was a bit pointed, but I let it pass. “If it was a man who’d been killed I might have my doubts,” she continued. “Mr. Adam could kill a man, easy.”

  “Yes, he surely could,” Cook agreed as she slammed her fist into the grayish lump in front of her. “And he’s done so more than once, if half of what I hear tell is true. Of course, that would have been out west, in a fair fight. But that don’t mean he’d ever harm a hair of any girl’s head. Especially not her sort,” she chuckled grimly.

  “Then who do you think did it?” I persisted, leaning closer. I could tell from Nanny’s face that she had pretty good idea who it was. She opened her mouth to speak and shut it again quickly, her round face wrinkling into secretiveness.

  “There you are, Miranda,” Karlew’s voice boomed into the drafty kitchen. “I’ve been looking all over for you. He nodded benevolently to the hired help. “Your Cousin Elinor wants to see you in her room. She’s a bit under the weather, you know, what with all that bother yesterday.” His florid face registered disapproval for any weakness of the flesh other than his own myriad illnesses, most of which existed entirely in his shallow mind.

  I ignored his referring to cold-blooded murder as a “bother.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” I murmured, slipping past his stocky figure. “I’ll go right up.” Nanny and her suppositions would have to wait till later.

  Elinor’s bedroom was very dark. She had ordered special shades all the way from Boston that would effectively shut out the bright winter sunshine when one of her migraines, as we charitably termed her post-drinking bouts, would attack her. I groped my way through the musty darkness, expecting to see her wasted figure stretched among the fluffy pink bedclothes, when a faint disembodied voice floated from the Martha Washington chair in the darkest corner. I peered through the murk and was rewarded with a glimpse of her hollow eyes, and I moved over to her, tripping slightly over a footstool.

  She looked perfectly awful, worse than I’d ever seen her. She had a nervous twitch in one eye, and her hands were wringing a tattered handkerchief. She looked at me beseechingly.

  “Cousin Elinor, what’s wrong?” I asked softly, kneeling on the floor beside her and taking her hand in mine.

  “I must tell someone,” she croaked. “It’s all my fault. It never would have happened if I’d been brave enough to—”

  “What are you talking about?” I inquired gently, entirely at a loss. “You’re not making any sense.” I looked around the room, searching for a telltale bottle. It was awfully early in the day, and besides, she didn’t appear to be drunk. Terribly disturbed, yes, but not her usual brand of alcoholic stupor.

  “Miranda!” Her claw-like hands grasped mine with amazing force. “You must listen to me. I have to tell you. I have to warn you.”

  She finally had my full attention. “Do you mean you know who killed Carly and Roxie?”

  She shook her head. Then, with what seemed a great effort, pulled herself up and looked into my eyes. “I have no idea who killed Roxie.”

  “But Carly . . . ?”

  Her eyes were calm as they stared into mine. “I killed Carly.”

  For almost the first time in my life I was shocked into silence. I stared at her with unbelieving eyes. “You wouldn’t have!” I said after a moment. “I mean, I thought she’d been . . . um . . . interfered with?” I didn’t want to be too blunt with Cousin Elinor.

  She laughed her fluttery little laugh. Its very normalcy made her words more chilling. “How could they tell with a person like that? She’d spent her days and nights servicing men. I need to tell someone how it happened—it’s been preying on me for too long, and you’re the only one who would understand.”

  “I don’t want to hear.” I tried to pull away from her, but she held tight, her nails digging into my skin.

  “But you must. Otherwise it won’t do any good.” She looked about, a little wildly, I thought. “You see, I was very jealous in those days. Karlew and I were engaged then, and I loved him desperately, so desperately that I didn’t know how I could stand it. I suppose that seems ridiculous to you now, someone loving that pompous, weak fool. But I did. It really was all Adam’s fault—that’s why I haven’t felt guilty letting him bear most of the suspicion for all these years. He took Karlew and the others to Madame Rose’s; none of the others would have thought of doing such a thing. Karlew saw Carly and seemed to go mad. He would hardly speak to me or to anyone else the moment he set eyes on her. All he cared about was getting enough money so he could buy her favors. And he still loved her, even when she was sleeping with his best friends, and accepting money from all sorts of filthy creatures, farmers and drummers and the like. He thought she was better than me. He didn’t want anything to do with me. He just wanted to get enough money together so that she’d run off with him.”

  “Elinor, you don’t really need to tell me all this,” I protested, knowing it would do little good.

  She ignored me. “He finally convinced her to go. I never did find out where he got the money from. Probably stole it from his father.” She laughed harshly, and my sense of unreality grew. “I knew he was going to run off with her that weekend. I tried to get in touch with Adam, thinking he might be able to stop them, but he’d gone to Montpelier. So I did the only thing I could do. I had Fathimore tell her that Karlew wanted to see her on Barrett’s Hill.”

  “Mr. Wilby?” I interrupted with a shudder of distaste. “Why?”

  She looked at me with mild surprise on her face. “Why, because Fathimore hated her. She’d seduced him, and Fathimore couldn’t live with that fact. He’s always been a bit disturbed when it comes to women. It goes back to his childhood, I think. His mother was a very difficult woman. I rather think he might have murdered her,” she said dreamily.

  Her mind started to wander, and she let go of my hand. I flexed it tentatively but made no move to escape. She’d gone this far—I was determined to hear the end of it, no matter how bad it was. I shifted my weight a bit, and she was startled. I think she’d forgotten my presence.

  “So, I waited for her up on that hill. By the big oak tree near the pond, you know the one I mean?”

  I nodded, remembering that chase through the wood last November. Could Elinor have been the one?

&
nbsp; “She came tiptoeing through the woods. She was wearing that dress you found in my old trunk, you know. I put it there on purpose, hoping you’d guess what it was. I thought it would be interesting to see what Fathimore and Karlew would do when they saw you.” She chuckled, sounded half mad.

  “Yes, it was interesting, wasn’t it?” I pacified her.

  “She looked so lovely, making her way slowly through the woods. I’ve always hated that color blue. It reminds me of her, and the way the sun shone on her red-gold hair. It was just about your shade.” She turned those mild, slightly crazed eyes on me speculatively. “But she was much more beautiful than you are, you know. Much more beautiful . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  I waited as long as I could, but my impatience got the better of me. I had to hear the end of this horror story that I couldn’t quite believe.

  “What did she say when she saw you?” I prodded.

  Elinor looked surprised. “Oh, she never saw me. She never saw anyone. As she was standing by the oak I came up behind her with a good solid piece of granite and hit her over the head with it. She didn’t even make a sound. She just lay there on the ground. I remember her hair lying in the muddy snow. Winter came early that year.”

  I ignored the chill I felt and forced my nausea back. This still didn’t make sense. “But why did you stab her, Cousin? Did you hate her so much that you wanted to destroy her body like that?” So far I could accept most of her confession. But even believing in Elinor’s madness I still couldn’t picture her hacking up that poor girl’s limp body.

  “Miranda!” Her voice was reproving. “I didn’t stab her. I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. So . . . so unpleasant.” She sounded as if she were discussing a mild inconvenience instead of a cold-blooded murder.

  “Then who did carve her up?” I questioned hoarsely.

  She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Must you be so vulgar? It was Fathimore, of course. He’d followed us up there, and he said he’d hide all the evidence and make it seem like some tramp had attacked her. Naturally I agreed.”