by Blythe Baker
“For Catherine.” He lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. “And for our family.”
“You knew about the love affair?” I asked, the words from Mr. Matcham’s letter to Catherine filling my mind. He had claimed to love Catherine and only Catherine very deeply.
Edward laughed, though it sounded more like a cough. “Calling it an affair is an exaggeration. It was a dalliance and nothing more. Mr. Matcham was well known for his long line of flings. The poor women he left in his wake suffered destroyed reputations and fractured family connections. He ruined them, and Catherine would have been no different.”
“I saw a letter he wrote to her,” I admitted, deciding the time for secrets had long passed. “He seemed to care for her.”
“He seemed to, didn’t he?” Edward asked, looking away from me and up into the trees for a moment, thoughtful. “He was a good actor, I’ll give him that. He had been leading her on for the better part of a year. Encouraging her interest with well-timed attention. While in town, he’d see her once or twice. While travelling, he’d write her a letter every few weeks. It was just enough to keep her interested, but not enough to cut into his many other similar relationships, I’m sure. He played her for a fool.”
“Do you know that for a fact?” I asked.
“I know men,” he snapped at me, his teeth bared. “And I knew Matcham. Rotten man. Rotten life. I did the world a favor.”
I stepped away from him, nervous he would pull the trigger prematurely in his anger. “If you believed he didn’t really care for Catherine, why not ask him to leave her?”
“Do you believe murder was my first choice?” he asked.
I wanted to tell him that up until a few seconds before, I wouldn’t have believed murder would ever have been an option for him.
“I asked Mr. Matcham to leave my sister alone,” he said. “I offered him a good sum of money to do so. He refused.”
“Was that not a sign of his true affections, then? Mr. Matcham seemed like a man who cared a good deal for riches. If Catherine meant more to him than money, surely that meant something to you?”
“It was a sign of his power. Matcham was always looking for ways to climb the ladder, to rise into the higher social classes, even as he despised those above him and liked to cause us embarrassment. And my anger only served to increase his enjoyment,” Edward said, his face turning red just from the memory. “In the end, murder was my only option.”
“So, you decided to poison him while he was a guest at your family estate? Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious? Weren’t you afraid someone would figure it out?” I asked, trying to understand Edward’s line of thinking.
“It was the only place I’ve ever been seen socially with Thomas Matcham. It would have been far more suspicious for me to meet with him for the first time in London and then have him drop dead a few hours later. Here, he has been a guest of my family several times and invited many more times, though he often refused. This time, however, I was sure to include in the invitation that Catherine would be here, as well. She was a prize he couldn’t refuse. So, I lured him here, snuck into his room while he slept, and injected him with the poison. I took a chance that the mark from the injection would not be noticed by the authorities.”
“And that’s what you are burying now?” I asked, looking in the hole along the side of the trail. “The vial holding the remains of the fatal dose?”
He nodded. “For help with that, I contacted a large presence from London’s criminal underworld. Someone most people would be happy to know nothing about. He helps people deal with problems similar to mine. He gave me a rare poison, unheard of in most of the world, that goes undetected by medical professionals and mimics a heart attack. For a price, of course. Unfortunately, because of a few mistakes in my past, I already owed this man a great deal of money. Asking for this second favor only indebted me further. That should be punishment enough. I will never escape my debts to this man.”
Edward seemed to be rambling, relieved to be unburdening himself of the secret. His voice was rising in pitch and volume, and his eyes darted around wildly. It was obvious to me that he was nearing a state of hysteria.
“I understand what it means to be desperate,” I said, hoping to bring him back to himself. “I can understand how you must have felt.”
He looked at me as though he were seeing through me. “How could you understand? Are you referring to the death of your parents? Because, as I recall it, you received a notable sum of money that has softened that blow.”
If Edward hadn’t been pointing a gun at me, I would have slapped him. How could money ever make up for the lives of people I’d cared about? “They were your aunt and uncle. Surely, that means something to you.”
“They abandoned our family for India. We scarcely heard a word from them until news of their deaths arrived. Forgive me if I wasn’t heartbroken at the news,” he said.
“What of me?” I asked, hoping to touch on a bit of mercy. “Am I worth nothing to you?”
“You, dear cousin, are worth a great deal to me, in fact,” he said. “As I believe you already know, we were informed of your death before you arrived to live with us in London, and I was to inherit a large sum of money. It would be enough to set up my life in London and begin to pay off my debts.”
“Do you only think of money?”
“That is easy to say when you have plenty of it,” Edward shouted, waving the gun at me. “You have never been desperate the way I am.”
“Surely your father--”
“I could never tell my father of my debts or ask him for help. His own finances are uneasy enough. Not that I would expect you to understand that.”
I wanted to tell Edward of my childhood in New York. Of sleeping on the floor and eating lukewarm broth to survive. But I couldn’t do any of that without revealing my true identity, which would be reason enough for him to shoot me on the spot. The inheritance he talked about would have truly been his family’s had I not deceived everyone into believing I was Rose Beckingham. But still, if I was careful not to reveal too much, I thought I could tell him a few details of my own story. Enough for him to see he was not alone in the world.
“Someone I loved very dearly found themselves in a situation similar to yours,” I said, talking soft and slow, hoping to lull Edward into a calmer state. “He was accused of a horrible crime I do not believe he committed, and the entire world turned on him. He ran away, leaving only a secret message scribbled on a bit of paper, and has not been seen since.”
“What did the message say?” Edward asked, his eyes more curious than murderous now.
I reached into the front of my dress and pulled out my golden locket, flicking it open in the palm of my hand. The small scrap of paper rolled out and I unfolded it.
“Help me,” I read, holding the note out for him to see. “It was discovered at a crime scene, and I believe it was intended for me. I believe he wanted me to find him and help him prove his innocence. So, that is what I am seeking to do. It is why I came back to London. It is why I carry this locket around my neck always. I am doing my best to, as your mother tried to do for you, find this person and protect them from the judgment of the world.”
Edward nodded solemnly, soaking in the story I’d relayed for him, and then he released a labored sigh. “So, because of your unnamed friend, you understand my circumstances. You know that I must protect myself from the judgment of the world. You understand that I can’t let you leave.”
My mouth fell open and I shook my head. “No, Edward. That is not—”
“It is the only way,” Edward said, interrupting me.
“You cannot absolve your guilt for one murder by committing another,” I said. “This is reckless. Foolish. You’ll be found out.”
Edward leveled the gun at my heart, one eye squinted shut. “You wandered into the middle of a firing range, cousin, and hunting accidents happen all the time. Bullets fly astray. Though, it will be especially sad for you, s
ince you survived the explosion in Simla only to find death at the hands of your own cousin. But everyone will be sympathetic for me when I weep and mourn you. When I crumble to pieces with guilt and consider not accepting my inheritance out of shame, they will encourage me, uplift me. They will tell me it was not my fault, that you wouldn’t blame me. I will accept the money, begin life again, and live every day in your memory. That is how my story will go.”
“That is a fairytale, Edward,” I said, replacing the scrap of paper. I tucked the locket back under my dress, and pressed my palms together, begging him to see reason. “They will wonder why you were in the woods alone, why you were shooting through densely grown trees rather than into the nye of pheasants.”
“No one asks a weeping man such questions,” Edward said, certain of himself.
Edward was always so confident. Convinced he was the brightest, most capable person in any room. Why would he be any different when it came to murder? He still thought himself capable of the perfect crime, yet I had discovered his secret. I was seconds away from telling him this very fact when I saw the tiniest flicker of his finger against the trigger. I dove sideways just as a deafening shot rang out.
The foliage off the path was thick, and I struggled against vines and leaves as I rolled over and got to my feet. I could hear the delicate fabric of my dress tearing as I propelled myself deeper into the forest. Edward shouted after while he reloaded, but I didn’t turn back to see whether he was following me. I knew he would be.
The sun struggled to break through the dense canopy of leaves overhead, so I had some shadow to hide in, but I had cut such an obvious path through the underbrush that even the most inexperienced hunter could have tracked me. I couldn’t slow down or stop running until I made it back to the others, until I could see the party and explain what was going on. Surely, Edward wouldn’t shoot me in front of his family. He couldn’t kill the entire group to hide his crimes. He would have to surrender and admit to what he had done.
So, I ran.
I took daily walks in London to stretch my legs and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, but I hadn’t done nearly enough physical exercise to prepare me to run for my life. My lungs felt like lead balloons in my chest, weighing me down, and my legs might have been filled with wet sand. I stopped running long enough to work up the energy to scream, but the sound was drowned out by gunfire, which didn’t seem quite as far away as it had only a few minutes before. I wanted to scream again, but I could hear Edward moving through the brush behind me, gaining on me. I knew as soon as he had a clear shot, he’d take it. So, I pushed on.
When we’d first arrived at Ridgewick Hall and taken a tour of the grounds, I’d thought the woods were a little thin. Lady Ashton kept going on about the joys of being so close to nature, but I thought their “forest” seemed rather sanitized. Like a city dweller’s idea of nature that a true outdoorsman would scoff at. Now, however, I felt as though I were crawling through an endless jungle. How far had I walked into the woods? Daylight felt like it should constantly be just beyond the next tree, but instead I saw only more trees, more shadows. Branches grabbed for me like greedy claws and I was constantly ripping my dress away from vines and thorns. I had stepped into a purgatory from which I would never escape.
Then, mercifully, daylight. A sob escaped my lips when I saw it between the trees. The tall grasses of the field and the bright blue sky beckoned to me, and I dug deep within myself for the strength, the endurance to reach it. It almost seemed like a mirage that would vanish by the time I got to it, but I pushed on regardless. I wouldn’t die in the dark.
When I finally stepped into the grass, I stopped for a moment, blinded by the sunlight. I felt safe in the light and warmth, but then I realized no one could see me yet. The men were hunting beyond the hill, and the rest of the party was even more distant. I’d ventured further than I’d thought, so I pressed forward.
It was much easier to run across the field than the forest, but my legs were tired and burning, and my heart felt seconds away from exploding. I kept reminding myself that I just needed to reach the hill. I needed someone to see me. Anyone.
Too curious to resist any longer, I turned to see Edward stumbling out of the woods behind me. Like me, he was momentarily blinded by the sun, but he quickly adjusted. Like a falcon eyeing its prize, he narrowed his sights on me and ran, the gun resting on his shoulder. I let out a yelp and continued forward.
The hill. I just needed to get to the hill.
I pumped my arms, my dress billowing behind me in the wind. Then, I reached the crest of the hill and ran directly into a nye of pheasants. They took to the sky in a flush, swirling around me in a mess of wings and feathers and tails. I threw my arms over my face to protect myself and then, a shot cracked through the air.
I dropped to the ground out of instinct, diving away from the danger, making myself as flat as possible on the ground. I breathed and waited for the pain, for the beating in my ears to lessen as the blood flowed out of me and into the ground. Then, I heard the screaming.
I looked up just as Lord Ashton reached the top of the hill, Lady Ashton not far behind him. He looked at me for a moment, but quickly moved past me. I followed his trajectory to a dark lump at the base of the hill.
Lord Ashton fell to his knees and lifted the shape into his arms, blood flowing down his hands, and I realized it was Edward.
I heard the screaming again. Only this time, it was my own.
15
“I didn’t see him on the field,” Charles said for what felt like the hundredth time. He didn’t seem to be capable of saying anything else. “I didn’t see him. He wasn’t there just a moment before I pulled the trigger. He ran directly into the path of my bullet.”
“Where is Dr. Shaw?” Lord Ashton yelled in a strangled voice, paying no attention at all to anyone or anything except for Edward. He stroked his son’s hair and planted a kiss on his pale face.
“He went to get his medical bag from the car,” Lady Ashton said. She was next to her husband in the grass, but her glassy eyes kept darting from Edward to me. I could see the conflict in her face, the tear between loyalty and honesty. She knew why he’d been chasing me but couldn’t say anything before I did without revealing she had known of Edward’s guilt all along.
I took the scene in slowly, knowing I had time. I wouldn’t be dying today.
Dr. Shaw came back, his usually gray face a shocking shade of red. He immediately pushed the Beckinghams away and went to work on Edward, trying to stop the blood flow. Lady Ashton continually asked whether he would live, but Dr. Shaw refused to answer.
“Will he survive? Has he died?” she asked through tears that threatened to silence her.
Mrs. Worthing and Vivian arrived while Dr. Shaw continued to work, but Lord Ashton asked Catherine to take Alice back to the house. It broke my heart to think I would have to tell the girls of their brother’s sins.
“Horrible weekend,” Vivian said, pounding a fist into the dirt. “None of us should have come.”
I had to agree. The information the Chess Master had promised me about Jimmy suddenly didn’t seem as important. Was it worth the disintegration of my family? Worth the pain Edward’s death would cause the Beckinghams and Catherine? And Alice? Poor, sweet Alice who adored her older brother, despite his many faults would be devastated by what he’d done.
“What were you two doing here?” Mr. Worthing asked. “You were standing directly between our guns and the birds. Did you not see us?”
“There is no need to place blame, dear,” Mrs. Worthing said. “Clearly, it was a horrible mistake, and I’m sure Rose feels terrible enough as it is.”
Lady Ashton looked at me, and whether it was my imagination or not I couldn’t be sure, it looked as if she gave me a slight head nod.
“Actually,” I said, taking a deep, steadying breath. I still felt like I was recovering from my run across the field. My lungs burned and my legs felt weak and flimsy. “It was not an accident.”
Everyone turned to me, except for Dr. Shaw who was still working away on Edward, giving the bleeding man all of his focus and energy.
“It was an accident that we ran into the line of fire from the hunters, but I only crossed the field here because Edward was chasing me.”
“What do you mean he was chasing you?” Vivian asked. Her pale blonde brows were knitted together in concern. She had shown a serious fondness for Edward, and this news seemed more disturbing to her than Edward being shot.
“I mean,” I said, wanting to make the truth as plain as possible to avoid needing to rehash the story multiple times. “Edward intended to kill me in the woods. He was aiming his gun at me, so I ran.”
Vivian’s face didn’t change, but Mrs. Worthing threw her hands over her mouth, stifling a loud gasp. Mr. Worthing and Charles looked at one another and then at Edward. Lady Ashton looked like she could be sick at any moment. But Lord Ashton had turned an angry shade of red. His neck seemed to be pulsing as he lifted himself to his feet.
“What are you talking about, Rose?” He spat my name at me, his eyes wild.
I swallowed and looked down at the ground. “I was taking a walk when I discovered Edward trying to bury something in the woods. It was a vial that had once contained poison. The poison he used to kill Mr. Matcham.”
Mrs. Worthing gasped again, this time clutching the arm of her husband so tightly he winced and wrenched it out of her grip.
“But Dr. Shaw said Mr. Matcham died of a heart attack,” Vivian said.
“Clearly, Rose is traumatized,” Lord Ashton said. “Edward was probably chasing her to warn her not to venture into the field, and she mistook it for a threat. Someone needs to take her inside and let her calm down.”
I stood up, hoping no one could see how much I was shaking. “I’m perfectly calm, Uncle, and I’m sorry to have to deliver this news, but it is the truth. Edward admitted to me that he murdered Mr. Matcham with a poison that mimics a heart attack. That was why the doctor and the authorities believed he died of natural causes.”
