People Say I'm Different: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery

by John E. Conley

  Clarke laughed loudly as Clifford scribbled notes.

  “The girl is senseless. We all know that, Lord Stewart,” Clarke said. “It was after dark and she needed a story to tell out of fear that Martha would strike her when she got home. She either fell or took a branch to herself to inflict a wound. Or was it Martha herself that struck her?”

  “Anna idolizes you,” Charles replied. “She was far more traumatized by your threats than any weapon.”

  “I’m flattered. I did not hit her or threaten her in any way,” Clarke said calmly.

  “Mr. Clarke, you met with Donald Hall in the privacy of your home last night and I’m going to propose to you why that happened,” Charles said. “You and Hall have both been embezzling funds from Alnmouth. You discovered his crimes and have been blackmailing him ever since, forcing him to continue to steal from the village just to meet your demands. Was his visit last night the first attempt, or one of many, to get you to stop?”

  Clarke gave no sign of responding, so Charles continued.

  “Embezzlement and blackmail are not actually the most important reasons we are here,” Charles said to the amazement of Clifford, who hid his surprise well. “You purchase kerosene on a regular basis for use at the school, do you not?”

  “I do.”

  “A few nights ago,” Charles said, “you used a small portion of that fuel to set Anna’s shed ablaze while she was in it. You made two mistakes that night, Mr. Clarke. You overlooked Anna’s innate ability to climb in and out of windows. So, preventing her from escaping through the door was useless. Secondly, you allowed her to take the knife with her.”

  Charles sensed an expression of resignation appearing on Clarke’s face.

  “The two things you wanted destroyed—Anna and the knife—both escaped.”

  “That’s a ridiculous statement, Stewart,” Clarke finally stated. “Why in the world would I care if she took a simple knife with her?”

  “Because Mary told me it matched the one used to kill Irene Hall and connected her to the murder,” Charles said.

  The only sound was Clifford’s pencil hard at work. Then even it stopped, as Clifford looked up at the headmaster.

  “Are you suggesting Anna Walker killed Irene Hall?” Clarke said with a tense chuckled.

  “I am. But not by herself. She only did what you demanded she do,” Charles said. “You told her to follow Irene onto the third floor of the Brampton. You told her to stab her in the back. You gave her the knife to do it with, Clarke. Nobody in Northumberland would ever think Anna Walker capable of murder; but she was, as long as you were the one telling her to do it.”

  “But why, man?” Clarke asked pounding the desk. “Why on earth would I tell that girl to kill Irene?”

  “Because Irene Hall, not your mother, killed Arthur Comstock.”

  John Clarke sank back into his chair as if struck down by a bullet.

  “How…did you…,” he stammered, on the verge of breaking down.

  “I tried to trace you back the past twenty years and could only come up with suspicion of bribery in Ireland,” Charles said. “You shouldn’t have been so honest in saying where you’d been. Where did you go after your mother’s execution?”

  “School in Scotland,” Clarke muttered. “But I knew I’d come back. I couldn’t let my mother die in vain. I decided the profession that would get me here the fastest was that of headmaster. I got enough experience to get this job. Then I started studying the people of Alnmouth. I can tell you everything about every one of them. Lord, these people love to talk about their neighbors. And the name that kept coming up was Irene Hall.

  “She was a housekeeper at the Brampton, of course. You knew that. She had access to the entire hotel at any time. She began seeing Comstock in rooms on the third floor. Either she demanded money from him or he tried to end the relationship. In any case, she killed him, lied to the police, and was able to make it look like my mother murdered him in a jealous rage. Once I knew who I was after, it was easy to get Anna to do the rest.”

  Clarke took a drink from a glass on his desk and in the same motion as putting the glass down, pulled open a desk drawer, reached inside, and threw a pill into his mouth.

  Both Charles and Clifford realized what was happening and rose to stop him, but it was too late.

  Clarke smiled and said, “Sit down gentlemen. There’s no taking it back now. I stole the pill from a veterinarian in anticipation of this day. If I hadn’t been so greedy, I would have left as soon as the murder occurred. But then I thought that would look suspicious, so I stuck around and kept taking Hall’s money. It was part of the payment for what Irene did all those years ago.”

  Clarke coughed, which quickly turned into a gag. The color left his face.

  “I…give you…all due credit…Stewart,” Clarke said before slumping down. A moment later, he was dead.

  Anna

  Charles and Clifford returned to the hotel about noon after meeting with Alnwick police in the village hall. Mary and Bingham were waiting for them in the dining room. The entire incident at the school was rehashed before Clifford shoveled down the last of his food and ran off to finish his story and call it into the paper.

  “What are the police going to do about Anna?” Mary asked with a look of concern.

  Charles grinned and said, “Anna? Why would they be concerned with Anna? Clifford and I swore that John Clarke confessed to the whole thing.”

  “Bless you, Charles,” Mary said with relief. “But Anna will have memories, poor child.”

  “Nobody will believe her if she ever does talk about it,” Charles said. “Just as they supposed Clarke’s mother killed the bank manager, they will suppose Clarke killed Irene. Luckily, Clarke himself didn’t die on the third floor or the ghosts of Alnmouth would live on forever.”

  It was good to see Mary smile even a little.

  “How is the girl?” Charles asked, taking a drink of his ale.

  “Quite fine, actually,” Mary replied. “She may not sleep much tonight with the pain. The doctor gave her something that will help that. She may sleep more than me. I’m dreading having to tell her that John won’t be back. She won’t understand.”

  “Maybe that’s for the better,” Bingham offered, with nods of agreement from Charles and Mary.

  “I think you and I need to take Anna on that car ride I promised her,” Mary said to Bingham. “I don’t want her to hear about this from anyone but me. Can we do that?”

  “Of course,” Bingham replied. “I’ll get the car ready. You get the girl.”

  Charles told them, “I’ll check in with Clifford and make sure he has everything he needs. It’s a big day for him.”

  Half an hour later, a jubilant Anna was seated next to Mary in the back of the Daimler as it left Alnmouth. Anna rolled down the window and leaned her head out, feeling the rushing air against her face and her hair flowing freely behind her.

  Mary let the girl enjoy all the new sensations before starting the conversation she dreaded.

  “Anna, I have to tell you something that might make you sad,” she said.

  “What, Mary?” Anna said, looking over at her friend.

  “Mr. Clarke left this morning and will not be back,” Mary said in as steady a voice as she could. “He said to tell you ‘Good bye’ and that he appreciated everything you did for him.”

  The blank look on Anna’s face turned to sadness and then confusion.

  “Mr. Clarke left Alnmouth? But why?”

  “It wasn’t anything you did, Anna. It was something only an adult would understand. Maybe when you’re older….”

  “What will I do, Mary? Where will I go? The shed burned down and…and….”

  “Anna, I wanted to ask you something,” Mary interrupted. “I wanted to know if you would like to come with me and live at my school?”

  The instant change in Anna’s expression gave Mary hope.

  “Your school, Mary? Can I really do that? Will you give me thing
s to do for you like Mr. Clarke?”

  Mary grinned at the girl’s enthusiasm and replied, “Of course, Anna. Whatever you want. And Martha can come visit if you would like.”

  “I would like that,” Anna said, finally smiling.

  It was more than an hour later that Mary and Bingham found Charles with Clifford in the hotel lobby after returning Anna to Martha and beginning the discussion of possibly taking Anna to Scarborough. Martha’s initial reaction was positive and Mary promised to talk to her in more detail later that day. Returning to the hotel, she and Bingham found the other men smoking.

  “So, Charles. Explain how you came to the conclusion that Anna was John’s pawn all the time,” Mary said.

  “Yes. It was quite painful to determine that after your insistence of his innocence,” Charles told her. “However, the hanging of Mrs. Goldsworthy under such questionable circumstances led me to believe the two murders might have been related. The only way that could be true was if they hanged the wrong person and, of course, revenge then became the overriding motive.

  “The newspaper story that mentioned her son…a teenager at the time…gave me the approximate age of the man who might have revenge on his mind. The trip to Ireland added to the fuzziness of John Clarke’s background and he was the man who most closely fit the age we were after. It had always puzzled me why he wanted a headmaster’s job in Alnmouth, of all places. So, did he come here with another purpose in mind?

  “The pictures of the crime scene confused me at first. I always assumed the bare feet were female but couldn’t figure out who that might have been until Mary told me of some of Anna’s habits. That put her at the scene, potentially.

  “The fire at the shed was Clarke’s big mistake. Even though Dorothy Dunne couldn’t identify him, I suspected he was the one who ran away. When Mary told me about Anna’s knife and how the handle matched, I was quite certain of what was going on.”

  Mary said, “I thought the police were actually on the right track when Clifford said they thought somebody killed Irene to keep her quiet about embezzlement.”

  “Oh, that was a distinct possibility,” Charles admitted. “I never ruled that out until the fire at Anna’s shed. Also, I never heard anybody ever say that they thought Donald…or Edward…was capable of murder. I think Clifford would agree with me after interviewing some of the other Aldermen.”

  Bingham said, “Irene must have been quite surprised when she saw Anna coming at her with the knife. The look on Irene’s face made quite an impression on Betty.”

  Mary sat up at the mention of the housekeeper’s name and said with a smile, “Speaking of Betty, Bingham, I suppose you will miss her.”

  Bingham squirmed slightly, looked at Charles quickly, and replied, “Well, actually my Lord, I meant to talk to you about that.”

  Charles nodded. “It seems to me we might be able to find suitable work for her at Balfron Manor. Don’t you agree, Mary?”

  Mary caught his wink and said, “Undoubtedly. It would be an excellent hire.”

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  Discover other ebooks by John E. Conley:

  The Enemy in Our Midst: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery